the same in all men, form an universal language, which no distance of
place, no difference of tribe, no diversity of tongue, can darken or
render doubtful. Education, though of mighty influence, hath not power
to vary or sophisticate, far less to destroy, their signification. This
is a wise appointment of Providence. For if these signs were, like
words, arbitrary and variable, it would be an intricate science to
decipher the actions and motives of our own species, which would prove a
great or rather invincible obstruction to the formation of societies.
But as matters are ordered, the external appearances of joy, grief,
anger, fear, shame, and of the other passions, forming an universal
language, open a direct avenue to the heart. As the arbitrary signs vary
in every country, there could be no communication of thoughts among
different nations, were it not for the natural signs in which all
agree. Words are sufficient for the communication of science, and of all
mental conceptions: but the discovering passions instantly as they
arise, being essential to our well-being and often necessary for
self-preservation, the author of our nature, attentive to our wants,
hath provided a passage to the heart, which never can be obstructed
while our external senses remain entire.
In an inquiry concerning the external signs of passion, actions ought
not altogether to be overlooked: for though singly they afford no clear
light, they are upon the whole the best interpreters of the heart[40].
By observing a man’s conduct for a course of time, we discover
unerringly the various passions that move him to action, what he loves
and what he hates. In our younger years, every single action is a mark
not at all ambiguous of the temper; for in childhood there is little or
no disguise. The subject becomes more intricate in advanced age; but
even there, dissimulation is seldom carried on for any length of time.
And thus the conduct of life is the most perfect expression of the
internal disposition. It merits not indeed the title of an universal
language; because it is not thoroughly understood but by those who
either have a penetrating genius or extensive observation. It is a
language, however, which every one can decipher in some measure; and
which, joined with the other external signs, affords sufficient means
for the direction of our conduct with regard to others. If we commit any
mistake when such light is afforded, it never can be the effect of
unavoidable ignorance, but of rashness or inadvertence.
In reflecting upon the various expressions of our emotions, voluntary
and involuntary, we must recognise the anxious care of Nature to
discover men to each other. Strong emotions, as above hinted, beget an
impatience to express them externally by speech and other voluntary
signs, which cannot be suppressed without a painful effort. Thus a
sudden fit of passion is a common excuse for indecent behaviour or harsh
words. As to the involuntary signs, these are altogether unavoidable. No
volition or effort can prevent the shaking of the limbs or a pale
visage, when one is agitated with a violent fit of terror. The blood
flies to the face upon a sudden emotion of shame, in spite of all
opposition:
Vergogna, che’n altrui stampo natura,
Non si puo’ rinegar: che se tu’ tenti
Di cacciarla dal cor, fugge nel volto.
_Pastor Fido, act 2. sc. 5._
Emotions indeed properly so called, which are quiescent, produce no
remarkable signs externally; nor is it necessary that the more
deliberate passions should, because the operation of such passions is
neither sudden nor violent. These however remain not altogether in the
dark. Being more frequent than violent passion, the bulk of our actions
are directed by them. Actions therefore display, with sufficient
evidence, the more deliberate passions, and complete the admirable
system of external signs, by which we become skilful in human nature.
Next in order comes an article of great importance, which is, to examine
the effects produced upon a spectator by external signs of passion. None
of these signs are beheld with indifference: they are productive of
various emotions tending all of them to ends wise and good. This curious
article makes a capital branch of human nature. It is peculiarly useful
to writers who deal in the pathetic; and with respect to
history-painters, it is altogether indispensable.
When we enter upon this article, we gather from experience, that each
passion, or class of passions, hath its peculiar signs; and that these
invariably make certain impressions on a spectator. The external signs
of joy, for example, produce a chearful emotion, the external signs of
grief produce pity, and the external signs of rage produce a sort of
terror even in those who are not aimed at.
Secondly, it is natural to think, that pleasant passions should express
themselves externally by signs that appear agreeable, and painful
passions by signs that appear disagreeable. This conjecture, which
Nature suggests, is confirmed by experience. Pride seems to be an
exception; its external signs being disagreeable, though it be commonly
reckoned a pleasant passion. But pride is not an exception; for in
reality it is a mixed passion, partly pleasant partly painful. When a
proud man confines his thoughts to himself, and to his own dignity or
importance, the passion is pleasant, and its external signs agreeable:
but as pride chiefly consists in undervaluing or contemning others, it
is so far painful, and its external signs disagreeable.
Thirdly, it is laid down above, that an agreeable object produceth
always a pleasant emotion, and a disagreeable object one that is
painful[41]. According to this law, the external signs of a pleasant
passion, being agreeable, must produce in the spectator a pleasant
emotion; and the external signs of a painful passion, being
disagreeable, must produce in him a painful emotion.
Fourthly, in the present chapter it is observed, that pleasant passions
are, for the most part, expressed externally in one uniform manner; and
that only the painful passions are distinguishable from each other by
their external expressions. In the emotions accordingly raised by
external signs of pleasant passions, there is little variety. They are
pleasant or chearful, and we have not words to reach a more particular
description. But the external signs of painful passions produce in the
spectator emotions of different kinds: the emotions, for example, raised
by external signs of grief, of remorse, of anger, of envy, of malice,
are clearly distinguishable from each other.
Fifthly, emotions raised by the external signs of painful passions, are
some of them _attractive_, some _repulsive_. Every painful passion that
is also disagreeable[42], raises by its external signs a repulsive
emotion, repelling the spectator from the object. Thus the emotions
raised by external signs of envy and rage, are repulsive. But this is
not the case of painful passions that are agreeable. Their external
signs, it is true, are disagreeable, and raise in the spectator a
painful emotion. But this painful emotion is not repulsive. On the
contrary, it is attractive; and produceth in the spectator good-will to
the man who is moved by the passion, and a desire to relieve or comfort
him. This cannot be better exemplified than by distress painted on the
countenance, which instantaneously inspires the spectator with pity, and
impels him to afford relief. The cause of this difference among the
painful emotions raised by external signs of passion, may be readily
gathered from what is laid down chapter Emotions and passions, part 7.
It is now time to look back to the question proposed in the beginning,
How we come to understand external signs, so as readily to ascribe each
sign to its proper passion? We have seen that this branch of knowledge,
cannot be derived originally from sight, nor from experience. Is it then
implanted in us by nature? The following considerations will help us to
answer this question in the affirmative. In the first place, the
external signs of passion must be natural; for they are invariably the
same in every country, and among the different tribes of men. Pride, for
example, is always expressed by an erect posture, reverence by
prostration, and sorrow by a dejected look. Secondly, we are not even
indebted to experience for the knowledge that these expressions are
natural and universal. We are so framed as to have an innate conviction
of the fact. Let a man change his habitation to the other side of the
globe; he will, from the accustomed signs, infer the passion of fear
among his new neighbours, with as little hesitation as he did at home.
And upon second thoughts, the question may be answered without any
preliminaries. If the branch of knowledge we have been inquiring about
be not derived from sight nor from experience, there is no remaining
source from whence it can be derived but from nature.
We may then venture to pronounce, with some degree of confidence, that
man is provided by nature with a sense or faculty which lays open to him
every passion by means of its external expressions. And I imagine that
we cannot entertain any reasonable doubt of this fact, when we reflect,
that even infants are not ignorant of the meaning of external signs. An
infant is remarkably affected with the passions of its nurse expressed
on her countenance: a smile chears it, and a frown makes it afraid. Fear
thus generated in the infant, must, like every other passion, have an
object. What is the object of this passion? Surely not the frown
considered abstractly, for a child never abstracts. The nurse who frowns
is evidently the object. Fear, at the same time, cannot arise but from
apprehending danger. But what danger can a child apprehend, if it be not
sensible that the person who frowns is angry? We must therefore admit,
that a child can read anger in its nurse’s face; and it must be
sensible of this intuitively, for it has no other means of knowledge. I
have no occasion to affirm, that these particulars are clearly
apprehended by the child. To produce clear and distinct perceptions,
reflection and experience are requisite. But that even an infant, when
afraid, must have some notion of its being in danger, is extremely
evident.
That we should be conscious intuitively of a passion from its external
expressions, is conformable to the analogy of nature. The knowledge of
this language is of too great importance to be left upon experience. To
rest it upon a foundation so uncertain and precarious, would prove a
great obstacle to the formation of societies. Wisely therefore is it
ordered, and agreeably to the system of Providence, that we should have
Nature for our instructor.
Manifold and admirable are the purposes to which the external signs of
passion are made subservient by the author of our nature. What are
occasionally mentioned above, make but a part. Several final causes
remain to be unfolded; and to this task I apply myself with alacrity. In
the first place, the signs of internal agitation that are displayed
externally to every spectator, tend to fix the signification of many
terms. The only effectual means to ascertain the meaning of any doubtful
word, is an appeal to the thing it represents. Hence the ambiguity of
words expressive of things that are not objects of external sense; for
in that case an appeal is denied. Passion, strictly speaking, is not an
object of external sense: but its external signs are; and by means of
these signs, passions may be appealed to, with tolerable accuracy. Thus
the words that denote our passions, next to those that denote external
objects, have the most distinct meaning. Words signifying internal
action and the more delicate feelings, are less distinct. This defect
with respect to internal action, is what chiefly occasions the intricacy
of logic. The terms of that science are far from being sufficiently
ascertained, even after the care and labour bestowed by an eminent
writer[43]: to whom however the world is greatly indebted, for removing
a mountain of rubbish, and moulding the subject into a rational and
correct form. The same defect is remarkable in criticism, which has for
its object the more delicate feelings. The terms that denote these
feelings, are not more distinct than those of logic. To reduce this
science of criticism to any regular form, has never once been attempted.
However rich the ore may be, no critical chymist has been found to give
us a regular analysis of its constituent parts, and to distinguish each
by its own name.
In the second place, society among individuals is greatly promoted by
this universal language. The distance and reserve that strangers
naturally discover, show its utility. Looks and gestures give direct
access to the heart; and lead us to select with tolerable accuracy the
persons who may be trusted. It is surprising how quickly, and for the
most part how correctly, we judge of character from external
appearances.
Thirdly, after social intercourse is commenced, these external signs
contribute above all other means to the strictest union, by diffusing
through a whole assembly the feelings of each individual. Language no
doubt is the most comprehensive vehicle for communicating emotions: but
in expedition, as well as in the power of conviction, it falls short of
the signs under consideration; the involuntary signs especially, which
are incapable of deceit. Where the countenance, the tones, the gestures,
the actions, join with the words, in communicating emotions, these
united have a force irresistible. Thus all the agreeable emotions of the
human heart, with all the social and virtuous affections, are, by means
of these external signs, not only perceived but felt. By this admirable
contrivance, social intercourse becomes that lively and animating
amusement, without which life would at best be insipid. One joyful
countenance spreads chearfulness instantaneously through a multitude of
spectators.
Fourthly, dissocial passions being hurtful by prompting violence and
mischief, are noted by the most conspicuous external signs, in order to
put us upon our guard. Thus anger and revenge, especially when suddenly
provoked, display themselves on the countenance in legible
characters[44]. The external signs again of every passion that threatens
danger, raise in us the passion of fear. Nor is this passion occasioned
by consciousness of danger, though it may be inflamed by such
consciousness. It is an instinctive passion, which operating without
reason or reflection, moves us by a sudden impulse to avoid the
impending danger[45].
In the fifth place, these external signs are made subservient in a
curious manner to the cause of virtue. The external signs of a painful
passion that is virtuous or innocent, and consequently agreeable,
produce indeed a painful emotion. But this emotion is attractive, and
connects the spectator with the person who suffers. Disagreeable
passions only, are productive of repulsive emotions involving the
spectator’s aversion, and frequently his indignation. This artful
contrivance makes us cling to the virtuous and abhor the wicked.
Sixthly, of all the external signs of passion, those of affliction or
distress are the most illustrious with respect to a final cause; and
deservedly merit a place of distinction. They are illustrious by the
singularity of their contrivance; and they are still more illustrious by
the sympathy they inspire, a passion to which human society is indebted
for its greatest blessing, that of securing relief in all cases of
distress. A subject so interesting, ought to be examined with leisure
and attention. The conformity of the nature of man to his external
circumstances, is in every particular wonderful. His nature makes him
prone to society; and his situation makes it necessary for him. In a
solitary state he is the most helpless of beings; destitute of support,
and in his manifold distresses destitute of relief. Mutual support, the
shining attribute of society, being essential to the well-being of man,
is not left upon reason, but is inforced even instinctively by the
passion of sympathy. Here sympathy makes a capital figure; and
contributes, more than any other means, to make life easy and
comfortable. But however essential sympathy be to comfortable existence,
one thinking of it beforehand, would find difficulty in conjecturing how
it could be raised by external signs of distress. For considering the
analogy of nature, if these signs be agreeable, they must give birth to
a pleasant emotion leading every beholder to be pleased with human
misfortunes. If they be disagreeable, as they undoubtedly are, ought not
the painful emotion they produce to repel the spectator from them, in
order to be relieved from pain? Such would be the conjecture, in
thinking of this matter beforehand; and such would be the effect, were
man purely a selfish being. But the benevolence of our nature gives a
very different direction to the painful passion of sympathy, and to the
desire involved in it. Far from flying from distress, we fly to it in
order to afford relief; and our sympathy cannot be otherwise gratified
than by giving all the succour in our power[46]. Thus external signs of
distress, though disagreeable, are attractive; and the sympathy they
inspire us with is a powerful cause, impelling us to afford relief even
to a stranger as if he were our friend or blood-relation.
This branch of human nature concerning the external signs of passion, is
so finely adjusted to answer its end, that those who understand it the
best will admire it the most. These external signs, being all of them
resolvable into colour, figure, and motion, should not naturally make
any deep impression on a spectator. And supposing them qualified for
making deep impressions, we have seen above, that the effects they
produce are not what would be expected. We cannot therefore account
otherwise for the operation of these external signs, than by ascribing
it to the original constitution of human nature. To improve the social
state, by making us instinctively rejoice with the glad of heart, weep
with the mourner, and shun those who threaten danger, is a contrivance
illustrious for its wisdom as well as benevolence. With respect to the
external signs of distress in particular, to judge of the excellency of
their contrivance, we need only reflect upon several other means
seemingly more natural, that would not have answered the end proposed. I
am attracted by this amusing speculation, and will not ask pardon for
indulging in it. We shall in the first place reverse the truth, by
putting the case that the external signs of joy were disagreeable, and
the external signs of distress agreeable. This is no whimsical
supposition; for these external signs, so far as can be gathered from
their nature, seem indifferent to the production of pleasure or pain.
Admitting then the supposition, the question is, How would our sympathy
operate? There is no occasion to deliberate for an answer. Sympathy,
upon that supposition, would be not less destructive, than according to
the real case it is beneficial. We should be incited, to cross the
happiness of others if its external signs were disagreeable to us, and
to augment their distress if its external signs were agreeable. I make a
second supposition, That the external signs of distress were indifferent
to us, and productive neither of pleasure nor pain. This would
annihilate the strongest branch of sympathy, that which is raised by
means of sight. And it is evident, that reflective sympathy, felt by
those only who have more than an ordinary share of sensibility, would be
far from being sufficient to fulfil the ends of the social state. I
shall approach nearer truth in a third supposition, That the external
signs of distress being disagreeable, were productive of a painful
repulsive emotion. Sympathy upon this supposition would not be
annihilated; but it would be rendered useless. For it would be gratified
by flying from or avoiding the object, instead of clinging to it, and
affording relief. The condition of man would in reality be worse than if
sympathy were totally eradicated; because sympathy would only serve to
plague those who feel it, without producing any good to the afflicted.
Loath to quit so interesting a subject, I add a reflection, with which I
shall conclude. The external signs of passion are a strong indication,
that man, by his very constitution, is framed to be open and sincere. A
child, in all things obedient to the impulses of nature, hides none of
its emotions: the savage and clown, who have no guide other than pure
nature, expose their hearts to view by giving way to all the natural
signs: and even when men learn to dissemble their sentiments, and when
behaviour degenerates into art, there still remain checks, which keep
dissimulation within bounds, and prevent a great part of its mischievous
effects. The total suppression of the voluntary signs during any vivid
passion, begets the utmost uneasiness, which cannot be endured for any
considerable time. This operation becomes indeed less painful by habit:
but luckily the involuntary signs, cannot by any effort be suppressed or
even dissembled. An absolute hypocrisy, by which the character is
concealed and a fictitious one assumed, is made impracticable; and
nature has thereby prevented much harm to society. We may pronounce
therefore, that nature, herself sincere and candid, intends that mankind
should preserve the same character, by cultivating simplicity and truth,
and banishing every sort of dissimulation that tends to mischief.
CHAP. XVI.
SENTIMENTS.
Every thought suggested by a passion or emotion, is termed _a
sentiment_[47].
The knowledge of the sentiments peculiar to each passion considered
abstractly, will not alone enable an artist to make a just
representation of nature. He ought, over and above, to be acquainted
with the various appearances of the same passion in different persons.
Passions, it is certain, receive a tincture from every peculiarity of
character; and for that reason, it rarely happens that any two persons
vent their passions precisely in the same manner. Hence the following
rule concerning dramatic and epic compositions, That a passion be
adjusted to the character, the sentiments to the passion, and the
language to the sentiments. If nature be not faithfully copied in each
of these, a defect in execution is perceived. There may appear some
resemblance; but the picture upon the whole will be insipid, through
want of grace and delicacy. A painter, in order to represent the various
attitudes of the body, ought to be intimately acquainted with muscular
motion: not less intimately acquainted with emotions and characters
ought a writer to be, in order to represent the various attitudes of the
mind. A general notion of the passions, in their grosser differences of
strong and weak, elevated and humble, severe and gay, is far from being
sufficient. Pictures formed so superficially, have little resemblance,
and no expression. And yet it will appear by and by, that in many
instances our reputed masters are deficient even in this superficial
knowledge.
In handling the present subject, it would be endless to trace even the
ordinary passions through their nicer and more minute differences. Mine
shall be an humbler task; which is, to select from the best writers
instances of faulty sentiments, after paving the way by some general
observations.