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 suitable affections, generally feel the exalted pleasures of devotion upon every view and contemplation of His works, either in an explicit and distinct manner, or in a more secret and implicit one. Hence, part of the general indeterminate pleasures, here considered, is deducible from the pleasures of theopathy.

We must not omit in this place to remind the reader of a remark made above, viz. that green, which is the middle colour of the seven primary ones, and consequently the most agreeable to the organ of sight, is also the general colour of the vegetable kingdom, i.e. of external nature.

These may be considered as some of the principal sources of the beauties of nature to mankind in general. Inquisitive and philosophical persons have some others, arising from their peculiar knowledge and study of natural history, astronomy, and philosophy, in general. For the profusion of beauties, uses, fitnesses, elegance in minute things, and magnificence in great ones, exceeds all bounds of conception, surprise, and astonishment; new scenes, and those of unbounded extent, separately considered, ever presenting themselves to view, the more any one studies and contemplates the works of God.

And upon the whole, the reader may see, that there are sufficient sources for all those pleasures of imagination, which the beauties of nature excite in different persons; and that the differences which are found in different persons in this respect, are sufficiently analogous to the differences of their situations in life, and of the consequent associations formed in them.

An attentive person may also, in viewing or contemplating the beauties of nature, lay hold, as it were, of the remainders and miniatures of many of the particular pleasures here enumerated, while they recur in a separate state, and before they coalesce with the general indeterminate aggregate, and thus verify the history now proposed.

It is a confirmation of this history, that an attentive person may also observe great differences in the kind and degree of the relish which he has for the beauties of nature in different periods of his life; especially as the kind and degree may be found to agree in the main with this history.

To the same purpose we may remark, that these pleasures do not cloy very soon, but are of a lasting nature, if compared with the sensible ones; since this follows naturally from the great variety of their sources, and the evanescent nature of their constituent parts.

When a beautiful scene is first presented, there is generally great pleasure from surprise, from being struck with objects and circumstances which we did not expect. This presently declines; but is abundantly compensated afterwards by the gradual alternate exaltation of the several constituent parts of the complex pleasures, which also do probably enhance one another. And thus we may take several reviews of the same scene, before the

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 pleasure, which it affords, comes to its maximum. After this the pleasure must decline, if we review it often: but if at considerable intervals, so as that many foreign states of mind intervene, also so as that new sources of the pleasures of this kind be broken up, the pleasure may recur for many successions of nearly the same magnitude.

The same observations hold in respect of the pleasures from the beauties of nature in general, and indeed from all the other sources, works of art, liberal arts, sciences, &c. These all strike and surprise the young mind at first, but require a considerable time before they come to their maximum; after which some or other will always be at its maximum for a considerable time. However, the pleasures of imagination in general, as well as each particular set and individual, must decline at last from the nature of our frame. In what manner they ought to decline, so as to be consistent with our summum bonum, by yielding, in due time, to more exalted and pure pleasures, whose composition they enter, I will endeavour to show hereafter.

These pleasures are a principal source of those which are annexed to the view of uniformity with variety, as above noted, i.e. of analogies of various orders; and consequently are a principal incitement to our tracing out real analogies, and forming artificial ones.

The novel, the grand, and the marvellous, are also most conspicuous in the works of nature; and the last strikes us particularly in many of the phænomena of nature, by seeming to exceed all bounds of credibility, at the same time that we are certified by irrefragable evidences of the truth of the facts. The satiety which every pleasure begets in us, after some continuance, makes us thirst perpetually after the grand and novel; and, as it were, grasp at infinity in number and extent; there being a kind of tacit expectation, that the pleasure will be in in proportion to the magnitude and variety of the causes, in the same manner as we observe, in other cases, the effects to be in some degree proportional to their causes.

The pleasures of novelty decline not only in this class, but also in all the others, sensible and intellectual, partly from our bodily frame, partly from the intermixture, and consequent association, of neutral circumstances (i.e. such as afford neither pleasure nor pain) in their successive recurrences.

A disposition to a pleasurable state is a general attendant upon health, and the integrity of our bodily faculties; and that in such a degree, as that actual pleasure will spring up from moderate incitements, from the transient introduction of the associated circumstances of former pleasurable states. If the body be indisposed in some degree, it is, however, possible to force it into a state of pleasure by the vivid introduction of various and powerful circumstances: but this unnatural state cannot last long; and, if the indisposition to pleasure be great,

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 it cannot be introduced at all. On the contrary, where the disposition to pleasure is preternaturally prevalent, as after wine and opium, and in certain morbid cases, the least hint will excite profuse joy, leaning chiefly to the pleasures of imagination, ambition, sympathy, or devotion, according to the circumstances.

It is easy to see how the doctrine of vibrations, which appears to be the only one that admits of permanent states of motion, and disposition to motion, in the brain, suits these last remarks in a peculiar manner.

The Beauties of the Works of Art.

The works of art, which afford us the pleasures of beauty, are chiefly buildings, public and private, religious, civil, and military, with their appendages and ornaments, and machines of the several kinds, from the great ones employed in war, commerce, and public affairs, such as ships, military engines, machines for manufacturing metals, &c. down to clocks, watches, and domestic furniture. The survey of these things, when perfect in their kinds, affords great pleasures to the curious; and these pleasures increase for a certain time, by being cultivated and gratified, till at last they come to their height, decline, and give way to others, as has been already observed of the pleasures arising from the beauties of nature.

The chief sources of the pleasures which the fore-mentioned works of art afford, appear to be the following:—the beautiful illuminations from gay colours: the resemblance which the play-things, that pleased us when we were children, bear to them; the great regularity and variety observable in them; the grandeur and magnificence of some, and the neatness and elegance of others, and that especially if they be small; the fitness to answer useful ends; their answering a multiplicity of these by simple means, or by analogous complex ones, not exceeding certain limits in complexness; the knowledge conveyed in many cases; the strong associations with religion, death, war, justice, power, riches, titles, high birth, entertainments, mirth, &c. fashion, with the opinions and encomiums of persons supposed to be judges; the vain desire of having a taste, and of being thought connoisseurs and judges, &c. &c.

In architecture there are certain proportions of breadths, lengths, depths, and entire magnitudes, to each other, which are by some supposed to be naturally beautiful, just as the simple ratios of 1 to 2, 2 to 3, 3 to 4, &c. in music, yield sounds which are naturally pleasant to the ear. But it rather seems to me, that economical convenience first determined the ratios of doors, windows, pillars, &c. in a gross way, and then that the convenience of the artist fixed this determination to some few exact ratios, as in the proportion between the lengths and breadths of the pillars of the several orders. Afterwards these proportions

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 became associated so often with a variety of beauties in costly buildings, that they could not but be thought naturally beautiful at last. In merely ornamental parts the beauty of the proportions seems to arise entirely either from fashion, or from a supposed resemblance to something already fixed as a beautiful proportion. It is easy from, these principles to account for the prevalency of different proportions, and general tastes, in different ages and countries.

The Pleasures arising from Music, Painting, and Poetry.

Let us next consider the three liberal and sister arts of music, painting, and poetry.

Of Music.

Now, in respect of music, it is to be observed, that the simple sounds of all uniform sonorous bodies, and particularly the single notes of the several musical instruments, also all the concords, or notes, whose vibrations bear to each other the simple ratios of 1 to 2, 2 to 3, 3 to 4, &c. sounded together, or near to each other, may be considered as originally pleasant to the ear. Discords are originally unpleasant, and therefore, as in other like cases, may be made use of to heighten our pleasures, by being properly and sparingly introduced, so as to make a strong contrast. To which if we add the uniformity and variety observable in all good music, we shall have the chief pleasures affecting children and young persons, upon their being first accustomed to hear music.

By degrees the discords become less and less harsh to the ear, and at last even pleasant, at least by their associations with the concords, that go before or follow them; so that more, and also more harsh discords, are perpetually required to give a relish, and keep the sweetness of the concords from cloying. Particular kinds of air and harmony are associated with particular words, affections, and passions, and so are made to express these; besides which there is often a natural aptitude in the music to represent the affection, as in quick music, and concords to represent mirth. Music in general is connected with gaiety, public rejoicings, the amorous pleasures, riches, high rank, &c. or with battles, sorrow, death, and religious contemplations. There is an ambition to excel in taste, in performance, and in composition, and a difficulty which enhances the pleasure, &c. &c. till by these and such like ways, the judgments and tastes of different persons, in respect of music, become as different as we find them to be in fact.

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 Of Painting.

Our pleasures from pictures are very nearly related to those of imitation, which, as observed above, take up a considerable part of our childhood; and the several playthings representing men, houses, horses, &c. with which children are so much delighted, are to be considered, both as augmenting and gratifying this taste in them.

To this it is to be added, that as the ideas of sight are the most vivid of all our ideas, and those which are chiefly laid up in the memory as keys and repositories to the rest, pictures, which are something intermediate between the real object and the idea, and therefore in cases of sufficient likeness more vivid than the idea, cannot but please us by thus gratifying our desire of raising up a complete idea of an absent object. This an attentive person may observe in himself in viewing pictures.

The surprise and contrast which arise in children, upon their seeing persons and objects present in their pictures, which yet they know to be absent, by striking the mind with the impossible conception of the same thing in two places, are probably the sources of considerable pleasure to them.

To these causes let us add the gay colours, and fine ornaments, which generally go along with pictures; and we shall have the chief sources of the pleasures which painting affords to young persons, and to those who have not yet been much affected with the various incidents of life, and their representations, or acquired a taste and skill in these things.

For, after this, the pleasures arising from pictures are quite of another kind, being derived from the same sources as those that belong to the scenes, affections, and passions represented, from the poetical descriptions of these, from the precise justness of the imitation, from ambition, fashion, the extravagant prices of the works of certain masters, from association with the villas and cabinets of the noble, the rich, and the curious, &c. &c.

The nature of the caricatura, burlesque, grotesque, picturesque, &c. may be understood from what is delivered in other parts of this Section, concerning laughter, wit, humour, the marvellous, absurd, &c. to which they correspond.

Painting has a great advantage over verbal description, in respect of the vividness and number of ideas to be at once excited in the fancy; but its compass is, upon the whole, much narrower; and it is also confined to one point of time.

The representations of battles, storms, wild beasts, and other objects of horror, in pictures, please us peculiarly, partly from the near alliance which the ideas suggested bear to pain, partly from the secret consciousness of our own security, and partly because they awaken and agitate the mind sufficiently to be strongly affected with the other pleasures, which may then be offered to it.

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 Of Poetry.

The beauties and excellencies of good poetry are deducible from three sources. First, The harmony, regularity, and variety of the numbers or metre, and of the rhyme. Secondly, The fitness and strength of the words and phrases. Thirdly, The subject matter of the poem, and the invention and judgment exerted by the poet in regard to his subject. And the beauties arising from each of these are much transferred upon the other two by association.

That the versification has of itself a considerable influence, may be seen by putting good poetical passages into the order of prose. And it may be accounted for from what has been already observed of uniformity and variety, from the smoothness and facility with which verses run over the tongue, from the frequent coincidence of the end of the sentence, and that of the verse, at the same time that this rule is violated at proper intervals in all varieties, lest the ear should be tired with too much sameness, from the assistance which versification affords to the memory, from some faint resemblance which it bears to music, and its frequent associations with it, &c. &c.

The beauties of the diction arise chiefly from the figures; and therefore it will be necessary here to inquire into the sources of their beauties.

Now figurative words seem to strike and please us chiefly from that impropriety which appears at first sight, upon their application to the things denoted by them, and from the consequent heightening of the propriety as soon as it is duly perceived. For when figurative words have recurred so often as to excite the secondary idea instantaneously, and without any previous harshness to the imagination, they lose their peculiar beauty and force; and in order to recover this, and make ourselves sensible of it, we are obliged to recall the literal sense, and to place the literal and figurative senses close together, that so we may first be sensible of the inconsistency, and then be more affected with the union and coalescence.

Besides this, figurative expressions illuminate our discourses and writings by transferring the properties, associations, and emotions, belonging to one thing upon another, by augmenting, diminishing, &c. and thus, according as the subject is ludicrous or grave, they either increase our mirth and laughter, or excite in us love, tenderness, compassion, admiration, indignation, terror, devotion, &c.

When figures are too distant, or too obscure, when they augment or diminish too much, we are displeased; and the principal art in the use of figures is to heighten, as far as the imagination will permit, the greatest beauty lying upon the confines of what disgusts by being too remote or bombast. And this extreme limit for figurative expressions shews evidently, that the pleasure

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 arising from them is nearly allied to pain; and their beauty owing to a certain kind and degree of inconsistency.

However, as the various figures used in speaking and writing have great influences over each other, alter, and are much altered, as to their relative energy, by our passions, customs, opinions, constitutions, educations, &c. there can be no fixed standard for determining what is beauty here, or what is the degree of it. Every person may find, that his taste in these things receives considerable changes in his progress through life; and may, by careful observation, trace up these changes to the associations that have caused them. And yet, since mankind have a general resemblance to each other, both in their internal make and external circumstances, there will be some general agreements about these things common to all mankind. The agreements will also become perpetually greater, as the persons under consideration are supposed to agree more in their genius, studies, external circumstances, &c. Hence may be seen, in part, the foundation of the general agreements observable in critics, concerning the beauties of poetry, as well as that of their particular disputes and differences.

It may also be proper to remark here, that the custom of introducing figures in a copious manner into poetry, together with the transpositions, ellipses, superfluities, and high-strained expressions, which the laws of the versification have forced the best poets upon in some cases, have given a sanction to certain otherwise unallowable liberties of expression, and to a moderate degree of obscurity, and even converted them into beauties. To which it may be added, that a momentary obscurity is like a discord in music properly introduced.

The pleasure which we receive from the matter of the poem, and the invention and judgment of the poet, in this respect, arises from the things themselves described or represented. It is necessary therefore, that the poet should choose such scenes as are beautiful, terrible, or otherwise strongly affecting, and such characters as excite love, pity, just indignation, &c. or rather, that he should present us with a proper mixture of all these. For, as they will all please singly, so a well-ordered succession of them will much enhance these separate pleasures, by the contrasts, analogies, and coincidences, which this may be made to introduce. In all these things the chief art is to copy nature so well, and to be so exact in all the principal circumstances relating to actions, passions, &c. i.e. to real life, that the reader may be insensibly betrayed into a half belief of the truth and reality of the scene.

Verses well pronounced affect us much more, than when they merely pass over the eye, from the imitation of the affections and passions represented, by the human voice; and still much more, when acted well, and heightened by the proper conjunction of realizing circumstances.

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 Since poetry makes use of words, which are the principal channel of mutual communication for our thoughts and affections, and has by this means an unlimited compass in respect of time, place, &c. it must, upon the whole, have great advantages over painting.

As the pleasures of imagination are very prevalent, and much cultivated, during youth; so, if we consider mankind as one great individual, advancing in age perpetually, it seems natural to expect, that in the infancy of knowledge, in the early ages of the world, the taste of mankind would turn much upon the pleasures of this class. And agreeably to this it may be observed, that music, painting, and poetry, were much admired in ancient times; and the two last brought to great perfection. What was the real perfection of the ancient Grecian music, also how far the modern very artificial compositions ought to be allowed to excel them, must be left to those who are judges of these matters.

The beauties of oratory are very nearly allied to those of poetry, arising partly from an harmonious flow and cadence of the periods, so that uniformity and variety may be properly mixed, partly from the justness and nervousness of the expressions, and partly from the force of the arguments and motives brought together by the invention of the orator, and so disposed as to convince the judgment, excite and gain the affections. In both cases it is very necessary, that the reader or hearer should conceive favourably of the design and author, in a moral light. Poetry has the advantage of oratory, in respect of the sweetness of the numbers, and boldness of the figures; but oratory, being a real thing, and one which has great influence in many the most important transactions, does, by this reality, affect some persons more than poetry; I mean persons that are mere readers or hearers; for, as to those that are interested in the debate, to whom it is a reality, there can be no doubt.

The beauties of history will easily be understood from what is said of poetry and oratory.

It is to be observed, that poetry, and all fictitious history, borrow one chief part of their influence from their being imitations of real history, as this again does from the strong affections and passions excited by the events of life, and from the contagiousness of our tempers and dispositions.

The same kind of contrasts and coincidences, which, in low and comic things, would be wit or humour, become the brilliant passages that affect and strike us most eminently in grave poetry, in oratory, and history.

The Pleasures arising from the Study of the Sciences.

The study of the sciences has a great connexion with the natural and artificial beauties already considered, and receives great lustre from them in consequence thereof.

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 But besides this, there are many original sources of pleasure in the study of the sciences: as, First, From the many instances of uniformity with variety: Secondly, From the marvellous and seemingly impossible which occur in all parts of knowledge: Thirdly, From the great advantages respecting human life, which accrue to mankind in general from the pursuit of knowledge, also from the honours, riches, &c. which are the rewards conferred upon particular persons that are eminent; Lastly, From the numerous connexions of truth of all kinds with those most amiable and important doctrines, which religion, natural and revealed, teaches us. And when these pleasures, in the several subordinate kinds and degrees, have been sufficiently associated with the favourite study, they render it at last pleasant in itself, as we usually term it, i.e. these several particular pleasures coalesce into a single general one, in which the compounding parts cannot be discerned separately from each other, and which consequently appears to have no relation to its several compounding parts; unless when by a particular attention to, and examination of, what passes in our minds, we lay hold of the last compounding parts before their entire coalescence, or reason upon the causes of these pleasures, by comparing their growth, and the changes made in them, with the concomitant circumstances. Thus if it be observed as a general fact, that persons grow fond of particular studies, remarkably after having received some great present advantage, or hope of a future one from them, we may reasonably presume, that the pleasure which they take in these studies, is in part derived from this source, even though it cannot be felt to arise from it explicitly.

Of Invention.

The copiousness and quickness of the invention being principal requisites for the cultivation of the arts and sciences with success, I will say something concerning invention here, my subject being now sufficiently opened for that purpose.

Invention then may be defined the art of producing new beauties in works of imagination, and new truths in matters of science. And it seems to depend, in both cases, chiefly upon these three things. First, A strong and quick memory: Secondly, An extensive knowledge in the arts and sciences; and particularly in those that are contiguous to, or not far distant from, that under consideration: and, Thirdly, The habit of forming and pursuing analogies, the deviations from these and the subordinate analogies in many of these first deviations, &c. &c.

First, A strong and quick memory is necessary, that so the ideas of the poet or philosopher may depend upon, and be readily suggested by, each other.

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 criterions, &c. And it is evident that the ideas taken from such parts of knowledge, as are pretty nearly allied to his particular study, will be of most use to him in it.

Thirdly, Analogy will lead him by degrees, in works of fancy, from the beauties of celebrated masters to others less and less resembling these, till at last he arrives at such as bear no visible resemblance. Deviations, and the subordinate analogies contained within them, will do this in a much greater degree; and all analogies will instruct him how to model properly such entirely new thoughts as his memory and acquaintance with things have suggested to him. In science analogy leads on perpetually to new propositions; and being itself some presumption of truth, is a guide much preferable to mere imagination.

It may be observed, that the trains of visible ideas, which accompany our thoughts, are the principal fund for invention, both in matters of fancy and in science.

As invention requires the three things here spoken of, so, conversely, no person who is possessed of them, and who applies himself to any particular study either of the imaginative or abstract kind, with sufficient assiduity, can fail for want of invention. And the nature of this faculty seems as reconcilable with, and deducible from, the power of association, and the mechanism of the mind here explained, as that of any other.

The Beauty of the Person.

The word beauty is applied to the person, particularly in the female sex, in an eminent manner; and the desires and pleasures arising from beauty, in this sense, may be considered as an intermediate step between the gross sensual ones, and those of pure esteem and benevolence; for they are, in part, deduced from both these extremes; they moderate, spiritualize, and improve the first, and, in the virtuous, are ultimately converted into the last.

But they arise also from many other sources in their intermediate state, particularly from associations with the several beauties of nature and art already mentioned, as of gay colours, rural scenes, music, painting, and poetry; from associations with fashion, the opinions and encomiums of others, riches, honours, high birth, &c. from vanity and ambition, &c. Besides which, the pleasure of gratifying a strong desire, and the pain of disappointment, are to be considered here, as being evidently distinguishable from all the rest in some cases.

That part of beauty which arises from symmetry, may perhaps be said to consist in such proportions of the features of the face, and of the head, trunk, and limbs, to each other, as are intermediate in respect of all other proportions, i.e. such proportions as would result from an estimation by an average: one may say

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 at least, that these proportions would not differ much from perfect symmetry.

The desires excited by the beauty of the person increase for some time, especially if the sensible ones are not gratified, and there be also a mixture of hope and fear, in the relation to the attainment of the affections of the beloved person. But they sometimes decrease, like other desires, from mere want of novelty, after the affections are gained; and must always do so after gratification. Nevertheless, if there be the proper foundation for esteem and religious affection in each party, mutual love, with the pleasures arising from it, may increase upon the whole, the real circumstances of life affording more than sufficient opportunity for gaining in one respect what is lost in another.

The beauty of the air, gesture, motions, and dress, has a great connexion with the beauty of the person, or rather makes a considerable part of it, contributing much to the sum total; and when considered separately, receiving much from the other part of the beauties of the person. The separate beauty of these things arises from some imitation of a natural or artificial beauty already established, from fashion, high birth, riches, &c. or from their being expressive of some agreeable or amiable quality of mind. The reciprocal influences of our ideas upon each other, and the endless variety of their combinations, are eminently conspicuous in this article; the strength of desire here rendering the associations, with the several steps previous to the perfect coalescence of the ideas associated, more visible than most other cases.

Wit and Humour.

I come now to examine the pleasures of mirth, wit, and humour.

But, first, it will be necessary to consider the causes of laughter, and particularly the mental ones.

Now it may be observed, that young children do not laugh aloud for some months. The first occasion of doing this seems to be a surprise, which brings on a momentary fear first, and then a momentary joy in consequence of the removal of that fear, agreeably to what may be observed of the pleasures that follow the removal of pain. This may appear probable, inasmuch as laughter is a nascent cry, stopped of a sudden; also because if the same surprise, which makes young children laugh, be a very little increased, they will cry. It is usual, by way of diverting young children, and exciting them to laughter, to repeat the surprise, as by clapping the hands frequently, reiterating a sudden motion, &c.

This is the original of laughter in children, in general; but the progress in each particular is much accelerated, and the occasions multiplied, by imitation. They learn to laugh, as they learn to talk and walk; and are most apt to laugh profusely,

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 when they see others laugh; the common cause contributing also in a great degree to produce this effect. The same thing is evident even in adults; and shews us one of the sources of the sympathetic affections.

To these things it is to be added, that the alternate motions of the chest follow the same degrees of mental emotion with more and more facility perpetually, so that at last children (who are likewise more exquisitively sensible and irritable than adults) laugh upon every trifling occasion.

By degrees they learn the power of suspending the actions both of laughing and crying, and associate this power with a variety of ideas, such as those of decency, respect, fear, and shame: the incidents and objects, which before occasioned emotion sufficient to produce laughter, now occasion little or none, from the transmutation of their associations: their new associated pleasures and pains are of a more sedate kind, and do not affect them so much by surprise; and, which is a principal cause in respect of individuals, their equals laugh less, and, by forming them to the same model with themselves, make the disposition to laughter decrease still faster. For whatever can be shewn to take place at all in human nature, must take place in a much higher degree than according to the original causes, from our great disposition to imitate one another, which has been already explained.

It confirms this account of laughter that it follows tickling, as noted above, i.e. a momentary pain and apprehension of pain, with an immediately succeeding removal of these, and their alternate recurrency; also that the softer sex, and all nervous persons, are much disposed both to laugh and cry profusely, and to pass quickly from one state to the other. And it may deserve to be inquired, how far the profuse, continued laughter and mirth on one hand, sorrow, hanging the lip, and crying, on the other, which occur in madness, agree with it.

As children learn the use of language, they learn to laugh at sentences or stories, by which sudden alarming emotions and expectations are raised in them, and again dissipated instantaneously. And as they learnt before by degrees to laugh at sudden unexpected noises, or motions, where there was no fear, or no distinguishable one, so it is, after some time, in respect of words. Children, and young persons, are diverted by every little jingle, pun, contrast, or coincidence, which is level to their capacities, even though the harshness and inconsistency, with which it first strikes the fancy, be so minute as scarce to be perceived. And this is the origin of that laughter which is excited by wit, humour, buffoonery, &c.

But this species of laughter abates also by degrees, as the other before considered did, and, in general, for the same causes; so that adults, and especially those that are judges of politeness and propriety, laugh only at such strokes of wit and humour, as

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 surprise by some more than ordinary degree of contrast or coincidence; and have at the same time a due connexion with pleasure and pain, and their several associations of fitness, decency, inconsistency, absurdity, honour, shame, virtue, and vice; so as neither to be too glaring on the one hand, nor too faint on the other. In the first case, the representation raises dislike and abhorrence; in the last, it becomes insipid.

From hence may be seen, that in different persons the occasions of laughter must be as different as their opinions and dispositions; that low similitudes, allusions, contrasts, and coincidences, applied to grave and serious subjects, must occasion the most profuse laughter in persons of light minds; and, conversely, increase this levity of mind, and weaken the regard due to things sacred; that the vices of gluttony, lewdness, vain-glory, self-conceit, and covetousness, with the concomitant pleasures and pains, hopes, fears, dangers, &c. when represented by indirect circumstances, and the representation heightened by contrasts and coincidences, must be the most frequent subject of mirth, wit, and humour, in this mixed degenerate state, where they are censured upon the whole; and yet not looked upon with a due degree of severity, distance, and abhorrence; that company, feasting, and wine, by putting the body into a pleasurable state, must dispose to laughter upon small occasions; and that persons who give themselves much to mirth, wit, and humour, must thereby greatly disqualify their understandings for the search after truth; inasmuch as by the perpetual hunting after apparent and partial agreements and disagreements, as in words, and indirect accidental circumstances, whilst the true natures of the things themselves afford real agreements and disagreements, that are very different, or quite opposite, a man must by degrees pervert all his notions of things themselves, and become unable to see them as they really are, and as they appear to considerate sober-minded inquirers. He must lose all his associations of the visible ideas of things, their names, symbols, &c. with their useful practical relations and properties; and get, in their stead, accidental, indirect, and unnatural conjunctions of circumstances, that are really foreign to each other, or oppositions of those that are united; and after some time, habit and custom will fix these upon him.

The most natural occasions of mirth and laughter in adults seem to be the little mistakes and follies of children, and the smaller inconsistencies and improprieties which happen in conversation, and the daily occurrences of life; inasmuch as these pleasures are, in great measure, occasioned, or at least supported, by the general pleasurable state, which our love and affection to our friends in general, and to children in particular, put the body and mind into. For this kind of mirth is always checked where we have a dislike; also where the mistake or inconsistency rises beyond a certain limit; for then it produces concern,

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, and uneasiness. And it is useful not only in respect of the good effects which it has upon the body, and the present amusement and relaxation that it affords to the mind; but also because it puts us upon rectifying what is so amiss, or any other similar error, in one another, or in children; and has a tendency to remove many prejudices from custom and education. Thus we often laugh at children, rustics, and foreigners, when yet they act right, according to the truly natural, simple, and uncorrupted dictates of reason and propriety, and are guilty of no other inconsistency than what arises from the usurpations of custom over nature; and we often take notice of this, and correct ourselves, in consequence of being diverted by it.

Inconsistency, Deformity, and Absurdity.

Having now considered, in a short and general way, all the pleasures that seem properly to belong to the head of imagination, I will say something concerning the pains of this class, viz. those which arise from the view of gross inconsistency, absurdity, and deformity. Here we may observe,

First, That these pains are the root and source of many of the fore-mentioned pleasures, particularly those arising from figurative expressions, and of wit and humour, as has been shewn in treating of these things.

Secondly, That the disgust and uneasiness here considered never rise to any very great height, unless some of the pains of sympathy, or of the moral sense, mix themselves with them. From whence it seems to follow, that the mere pleasures of imagination and beauty are also of a kind much inferior to those of sympathy, and the moral sense.

The perplexity, confusion, and uneasiness, which we labour under in abstruse inquiries, philosophical, moral, and religious, ought, perhaps, to be referred to this head. Also the secondary perplexity which arises from our being subject to this perplexity, confusion, and uneasiness. However, all this is to be accounted for as any other evil, and does not seem to be attended either with greater or less difficulties. No perplexity can give us more than a limited degree of pain; and all our perplexities have probably both the same general good effects as our other pains; and also, like each of these, some good effects peculiar to themselves.

We may now observe upon the whole, that according to the foregoing history of the pleasures of imagination, there must be great differences in the tastes and judgments of different persons; and that no age, nation, class of men, &c. ought to be made the test of what is most excellent in artificial beauty; nor, consequently, of what is absurd. The only things that can be set up as natural criterions here, seem to be uniformity with variety, usefulness in general, and the particular subserviency of this or

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 that artificial beauty to improve the mind, so as to make it suit best with our present circumstances, and future expectations. How all these criterions consist with each other, and unite in the single criterion of religion, of the love of God, and of our neighbour, understood in the comprehensive sense of these words, I shall endeavour to shew hereafter.

Section II
THE PLEASURES AND PAINS OF AMBITION.

The opinions of others concerning us, when expressed by corresponding words or actions, are principal sources of happiness or misery. The pleasures of this kind are usually referred to the head of honour; the pains to that of shame; but as it is most convenient to have a single word, to which to refer both the pleasures and pains of this class, I have made choice of ambition for that purpose. It will therefore be our business, under this proposition, to inquire by what association it is brought about, that men are solicitous to have certain particulars concerning themselves made known to the circle of their friends and acquaintance, or to the world in general; and certain others concealed from them; and also, why all marks and evidences, that these two several kinds of particulars are made known, so as to beget approbation, esteem, praise, high opinion, &c. or dislike, censure, contempt, &c. occasion such exquisite pleasures and pains, as those of honour and shame, i.e. of ambition.

The particulars which we desire to have made known to, or concealed from, others, in order to obtain praise, or avoid dispraise, may be classed under the four following heads.

First, External advantages or disadvantages.

Secondly, Bodily perfections and imperfections.

Thirdly, Intellectual accomplishments or defects.

Fourthly, Moral ones, i.e. virtue or vice.

I will now endeavour to shew what pleasures and pains, bodily and intellectual, are associated with the opinions which others form of us in these four respects; i.e. either with the several methods by which they receive their information; or with those by which they signify their having received it, and their consequent approbation or disapprobation, respect or contempt.

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 External Advantages and Disadvantages.

I begin with the consideration of external advantages or disadvantages.—The principal of these are fine clothes, riches, titles, and high birth; with their opposites, rags, poverty, obscurity, and low birth.

Now it is evident, that these external advantages and disadvantages become such by being made known to others: that the first gain men certain privileges and pleasures; and the last subject them to inconveniences and evils only, or chiefly, when they are discovered to the world. It follows therefore that every discovery of this kind to others, also every mark and associate of such discovery, will, by association, raise up the miniatures of the privileges and pleasures, inconveniences and evils, respectively; and thus afford, in each instance, a peculiar compound pleasure or pain, which, by the use of language, has the word honour or shame respectively annexed to it.

This is the gross account of the generation of these pleasures and pains; but the subordinate particulars contain many things worthy of observation.

Thus fine clothes please both children and adults, by their natural or artificial beauty; they enhance the beauty of the person; they excite the compliments and caresses of the attendants in a peculiarly vivid manner; they are the common associates of riches, titles, and high birth; they have vast encomiums bestowed upon them; and are sometimes the reward of mental accomplishments and virtue. Rags, on the contrary, are often attended with the most loathsome and offensive ideas, with bodily infirmity, poverty, contempt, and vice. It is easy therefore to see, that in our progress through life, a compound associated desire of fine clothes, and abhorrence of rags, will spring up so early as to be deemed a natural one. And if a person passes of a sudden from rags to fine clothes, or vice versâ, the pleasure or pain will be enhanced accordingly, by the juxta-position of the opposites.

Now these pleasures and pains which thus attend a person’s being actually dressed in fine clothes, or in rags, will, by farther associations, be transferred upon all the concomitant circumstances, the possession of fine clothes, the hopes of them, or the fear of rags; and particularly upon all narrations and symbols, whereby others are first informed of the person’s dress, or discover their prior knowledge of it; so that the person shall have his vanity gratified, or his shame excited, by all such narrations, and by all the concomitant circumstances and symbols.

Riches, titles, and high birth, are attended with associates of the same kind as fine clothes; with this difference, however, that it requires a farther progress in life to be sufficiently affected with the compound pleasure resulting from the associates of these, and consequently for acquiring a taste for those pleasures

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 of honour, which riches, titles, and high birth afford. Agreeably to which it may be observed, that the first instance of pride and vanity in children is that which arises from fine clothes.

In the progress through life, especially in the virtuous, it often happens that opposite associations are generated, i.e. such as break the connexion between the ideas of happiness and fine clothes, riches, titles, high birth; also between misery and rags, poverty, obscurity, and low birth; nay there are some instances in which these last are connected with some kinds and degrees of happiness. Now in all these cases the pride and vanity, or shame, by which we hope or fear to have our circumstances, in these respects, known to the world, lessen, cease entirely, or even turn about to the opposite quarter accordingly; so that when a person has lost his desire of being rich, or high born, he also loses his desire of being thought so; and when he gains an opposite desire of becoming poor, on a religious account, for instance, or a complacence in being low born, on account of his present high station, &c. he desires also to have this known to the world. And yet there may, in most cases, be perceived some distance in time between the desire of being, and the subsequent associated desire of being thought, viz. such a distance of time as may suffice for the associations to produce their effect in.

Riches are attended with many conveniences, whether a person be known to possess them, or no; and there are inconveniences, as well as conveniences, attending the reputation of being rich; but titles and high birth are then only productive of privileges and pleasures when made known to the world; whence it is easy to see that pride and vanity may shew themselves much more commonly in respect of titles and high birth, than in respect of riches, which is agreeable to the fact.

The shamefacedness of rustics, poor persons, and inferiors in general, in the presence of their superiors, with the great confusion and uneasiness that often attend it, arises from the sources of honour and shame here laid open, and particularly from the strong contrast between their own circumstances and those of their superiors.

Bodily Perfections and Imperfections.

The chief bodily circumstances, which are the sources of the pleasures of honour, or of the pains of shame, are beauty, strength, and health, on the one hand; and their opposites, deformity, imbecility, unfitting a person for the functions of life, and disease, on the other. I will make some short remarks upon each.

Beauty has an intimate connexion with one of the most violent of our desires; affords a great pleasure, even where this desire is not felt explicitly; has the highest encomiums bestowed

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 upon it in books, especially in such as are too much in the hands of young persons, and the highest compliments paid to it in discourse; and is often the occasion of success in life; all which holds more particularly in respect of women, than of men. No wonder therefore, that both sexes, but especially women, should desire both to be and be thought beautiful, and be pleased with all the associated circumstances of these things; and that the fear of being or being thought deformed, should be a thing to which the imagination has the greatest reluctance. And the reputation of beauty, with the scandal of deformity, influences so much the more, as beauty and deformity are not attended with their respective pleasing or displeasing associates, except when they are made apparent to, and taken notice of by, the world. So that here the original desire is rather to be thought beautiful than to be so; and this last is chiefly a consequential one arising in our minds from the close connexion of being with being thought.

In strength it is otherwise. This is the source of many conveniences, and imbecility, its opposite, of many inconveniences, whether they be taken notice of or no; as well as of some which depend on their being thus taken notice of. It is reasonable therefore here to suppose, that our first and greatest desire should be after the thing itself, and so it is in fact. However, since several advantages arise from shewing our strength; since also the ostentation of happiness of any kind belonging to ourselves, or the notice which others take of it, bring in the pleasing idea with great vigour; it is evident that there must be eager desires of being thought strong, agile, &c. as well as of being so. And, by parity of reason, men will be much ashamed of being thought weak and feeble, as well as afraid of being so. And as women glory chiefly in beauty, so men do in strength; this being chiefly a source of advantages and pleasures to men, as that is to women. Nay, one may even observe, that any great degree of beauty in men, or strength in women, by being opposite to that perfection which is peculiar to each sex, is thought rather undesirable than desirable.

Health and sickness have many connexions with beauty and strength, deformity and imbecility, respectively; and therefore may easily be conceived to become respectively the sources of the pleasures of honour or of the pains of shame, agreeable to the fact. But, in diseases, so many greater pains and evils, fears, anxieties, &c. with some pleasures, such as those of friendship, occur likewise, that there is, in most cases, little room for shame to exert itself: however, if the disease be the consequence either of a virtuous, or a vicious, course of action, the honour or shame, belonging to virtue or vice respectively, will be transferred upon it.

There is a high degree of shame, which attends the natural evacuations, particularly those of the fæces and urine, which is in part deduced from the offensiveness of the excrements of the

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 body, and is nearly related to the shame attending bodily infirmities and diseases. But this shame, as it respects the fæces and urine, has also a particular connexion with that which relates to the pudenda, arising from the vicinity of the organs; and thus they give and receive mutually. They are also both of them much increased by education, custom, and the precepts and epithets of parents and governors. The original sources of the shame relating to the pudenda are probably the privacy requisite (which is both cause and effect), the greatness of the pleasure, and the sense of guilt which often attends; and there may be perhaps something of instinct, which operates here quite independently of association.

Intellectual Accomplishments and Defects.

The intellectual accomplishments and defects which occasion honour and shame, are sagacity, memory, invention, wit, learning; and their opposites, folly, dullness, and ignorance. Here we may deduce a considerable part from the many advantages arising from the accomplishments, disadvantages from the defects, in the same manner as has been done already in the two foregoing articles. But a great part, perhaps the greatest, is deduced from the high-strained encomiums, applauses, and flatteries, paid to parts of learning, and the outrageous ridicule and contempt thrown upon folly and ignorance, in all the discourses and writings of men of genius and learning; these persons being extremely partial to their own excellencies, and carrying the world with them by the force of their parts and eloquence. It is also to be observed, that in the education of young persons, and especially of boys and young men, great rewards are conferred in consequence of intellectual attainments and parts; and great punishments follow negligence and ignorance; which rewards and punishments, being respectively associated with the words expressing praise and censure, and with all their other circumstances, transfer upon praise and censure compound vivid miniatures, pleasant and painful.

In like manner all the kinds of honour and shame, by being expressed in words and symbols, that are nearly related to each other, enhance each other: thus, for instance, the caresses given to a child when he is dressed in fine clothes prepare him to be much more affected with the caresses and encomiums bestowed upon him when he has been diligent in getting his lesson. And indeed it ought to be remarked, that the words and phrases of the parents, governors, superiors, and attendants, have so great an influence over children, when they first come to the use of language, as instantly to generate an implicit belief, a strong desire, or a high degree of pleasure. They have no suspicions, jealousies, memories, or expectations of being deceived or disappointed; and therefore a set of words expressing pleasures of

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 any kind, which they have experienced, put together in almost any manner, will raise up in them a pleasurable state, and opposite words a painful one. Whence it is easy to see, that the fine language expressing praise, and the harsh one expressing dispraise, must instantly, from the mere associations heaped upon the separate words, put them into a state of hope and joy, fear and sorrow, respectively. And when the foundation is thus laid, praise and dispraise will keep their influence from the advantages and disadvantages attending them, though the separate words should lose their particular influences, as they manifestly do in our progress through life.

The honour and shame arising from intellectual accomplishments do often, in learned men, after some time, destroy, in great measure, their sensibility, in respect of every other kind of honour and shame; which seems chiefly to arise from their conversing much with books and learned men, so as to have a great part of the pleasures, which they receive from this their conversation, closely connected with the encomiums upon parts and learning; also to have all terms of honour applied to them, and the keenest reproach, and most insolent contempt, cast upon the contrary defects. And, as the pleasures which raillery, ridicule, and satire, afford to the by-standers, are very considerable, so the person who is the object of them, and who begins to be in pain upon the first slight marks of contempt, has this pain much enhanced by the contrast, the exquisiteness of his uneasiness and confusion rising in proportion to the degree of mirth, and insolent laughter, in the by-standers: whence it comes to pass, that extremely few persons have courage to stand the force of ridicule; but rather subject themselves to considerable bodily pains, to losses, and to the anxiety of a guilty mind, than appear foolish, absurd, singular, or contemptible to the world, or even to persons of whose judgment and abilities they have a low opinion.

All this is, in general, more applicable to men than to women, just as the honour and shame belonging to beauty and deformity is more applicable to women than men; both which observations are easily deducible from the different talents and situations in life of the two sexes.

Virtue and Vice.

We come, in the last place, to consider moral accomplishments and defects, or virtue and vice. Now it is very evident, that the many advantages, public and private, which arise from the first, will engage the world to bestow upon it much honour and applause, in the same manner as the evil consequences of vice must make it the object of censure and reproach. Since therefore the child is affected with the words expressing honour and censure, both from the separate influences of these words, and from the application of phrases of this kind to other subjects of praise and

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 dispraise, he must be affected by the commendations bestowed upon him when he has done well, and by the censures past on him when he has done ill.

These commendations and censures are also attended with great immediate rewards and punishments, likewise with the hopes and fears relating to another world; and when the moral sense is sufficiently generated, with great secret indeterminate pleasure or pain of this kind; and these associations add a particular force to the honour and shame belonging respectively to virtue and vice. At the same time it is easy to see, that some considerable progress in life is ordinarily required before men come to be deeply and lastingly affected by these things; also that this kind of honour and shame may, at last, from the superior force of the associated pleasures and pains, absorb, as it were, all the other kinds. A religious man becomes at last insensible, in great measure, to every encomium and reproach, excepting such as he apprehends will rest upon him at the last day, from Him whose judgment cannot err.

This is the general account of the honour and shame paid to virtue and vice respectively. I will now make a few short strictures upon some of the principal virtues and vices.

First, then, piety is not in general, and amongst the bulk of mankind, had in great honour. This proceeds from several causes; as that in the order of our progress it is the last of the virtues, and therefore, having few votaries, it must have few advocates; that in the first attempts to attain it, men often fall into great degrees of enthusiasm and superstition, and so expose themselves to the charges of folly, madness, and self-conceit; and that pretences to it are often made use of by hypocrites to cover the worst designs. Now from these and such like causes it happens, that men are much ashamed to be thought devout, fearing that exquisite uneasiness, which being ridiculed and contemned as fools, madmen, and hypocrites, occasions. At the same time it appears, that amongst those who have made considerable advances in religion, piety will be had in the greatest honour: these see evidently how it may be distinguished from enthusiasm, superstition, and hypocrisy; and are very little solicitous concerning the opinions of the profane world, who are apt to confound them; and therefore as far as their piety will permit any foreign desire to arise, they have an exquisite relish for the honour and esteem proceeding from the reputation of piety.

Benevolence springs up more early in life than piety, and has at first view a more immediate good influence upon society. There are also greater numbers who arrive at some imperfect degrees of it, than who arrive at like degrees of piety; neither are the degenerations and counterfeits of benevolence so common as those of piety. On these accounts much greater and more frequent encomiums are bestowed upon it by the bulk of

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, than upon piety; and these with the many advantages resulting from the reputation of being benevolent, make most persons eagerly desire this reputation; so that they perform many actions from mere ambition, or from a mixture of this with benevolence, which they desire the world should think to proceed from mere benevolence.

Military glory, and the high applauses bestowed upon personal courage, seem, in a considerable degree, deducible from this source, from the benevolent design of protecting the innocent, the helpless, one’s friends and country, from invasions, robberies, wild beasts, &c. The connexion of these with bodily strength, and the characteristical perfections of men as distinguished from women and children; the rarity and difficulty of them; the vast encomiums bestowed upon them by poets, orators, and historians, especially in ancient times, i.e. by those authors which are read in schools, and lay hold of our pliant imaginations when young; the ridicule cast upon timorousness by boys and men, as not being a common imperfection amongst them; and the connexion of the fear of death with the sense of guilt; all concur likewise, and have carried mankind so far as to make them confer the highest honours upon the most cruel, lawless, and abominable actions, and consequently incite one another to perform such actions from ambitious views. However, this false glare seems to fade in theory, amongst writers; and one may hope that the practice of mankind will be, in some measure, agreeable to the corrections made in their theory.

Temperance and chastity have considerable honours bestowed upon them: but the shame and scandal attending the opposite vices, and which arise from the loathsome diseases, and the many miseries, which men bring upon themselves and others by these vices, are much more remarkable. The detail of these things might easily be delivered from parallel observations already made. It happens sometimes, that some degrees of these vices are looked upon by young and ignorant persons as honourable, from certain connexions with manliness, fashion, high life; however, this is still in conformity with the doctrine of association, and the derivation of all the pleasures of honour from happiness under some form or other; and, when the same persons become better instructed in the real consequences and connexions of things, their opinions change accordingly.

Negative humility, or the not thinking better or more highly of ourselves than we ought, in respect of external advantages, bodily, intellectual, or moral accomplishments, and being content with such regards as are our due, which is the first step; and then positive humility, or a deep sense of our own misery and imperfections of all kinds, and an acquiescence in the treatment which we receive from others, whatever it be; being virtues which are most commodious to ourselves and others, and highly amiable in the sight of all those who have made a due proficiency in religion,

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 and the moral sense, come at last to be honoured and esteemed in an eminent manner, and consequently to incite men from mere vanity and ambition to seek the praise of humility. And the ridicule and shame which attend vanity, pride, and self-conceit, concur to the same purpose; which is a remarkable instance of the inconsistency of one part of our frame with itself, as the case now stands, and of the tendency of vice to check and destroy itself.

From the whole of what has been delivered upon this class of pleasures and pains, one may draw the following corollaries.

. I. All the things in which men pride themselves, and for which they desire to be taken notice of by others, are either means of happiness, or have some near relation to it. And indeed it is not at all uncommon to see persons take pains to make others believe that they are happy, by affirming it in express terms. Now this, considered as a mere matter of fact, occurring to attentive observation, might lead one to conclude, that the pleasures of honour and ambition are not of an original, instinctive, implanted nature, but derived from the other pleasures of human life, by the association of these into various parcels, where the several ingredients are so mixed amongst one another, as hardly to be discernible separately. The young, the gay, and the polite, are ambitious of being thought beautiful, rich, high-born, witty, &c. The grave, the learned, the afflicted, the religious, &c. seek the praise of wisdom and knowledge, or to be esteemed for piety and charity; every one according to his opinions of these things, as the sources, marks, or offsprings of happiness. And when men boast of their poverty, low birth, ignorance, or vice, it is always in such circumstances, with such additions and contrasts, or under such restrictions, as that the balance, upon the whole, may, some way or other, be the more in their favour on that account.

. II. Praise and shame are made use of by parents and governors, as chief motives and springs of action; and it becomes matter of praise, to a child, to be influenced by praise, and deterred by shame; and matter of reproach, to be insensible in these respects. And thus it comes to pass, that praise and shame have a strong reflected influence upon themselves; and that praise begets the love of praise, and shame increases the fear of shame. Now, though the original praise, commendation, blame, censure, &c. of good parents and preceptors, extend only, for the most part, to acquired accomplishments and defects, and particularly to virtue and vice; yet the secondary influence will affect men in respect of all sorts of encomiums and censures, of every thing that comes under the same denomination, that is associated with, or tied up by, the same words. Though the preceptor direct his pupil only to regard the judgment of the wise and good, still there are so many like circumstances attending the judgment of others, that it will be regarded something the

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 more from the lessons received, in respect to the wise and good, exclusively of others.

. III. In considering the sources of honour and shame, it will appear, that they are by no means consistent with one another; and, by a farther inquiry, that the maximum of the pleasures of this class ulimately coincides, omni ex parte, with moral rectitude.

Section III
THE PLEASURES AND PAINS OF SELF-INTEREST.

may be distinguished into three kinds, viz.

First, Gross self-interest, or the cool pursuit of the means whereby the pleasures of sensation, imagination, and ambition, are to be obtained, and their pains avoided.

Secondly, Refined self-interest, or a like pursuit of the means that relate to the pleasures and pains of sympathy, theopathy, and the moral sense.

And, Thirdly, Rational self-interest, or the pursuit of a man’s greatest possible happiness, without any partiality to this or that kind of happiness, means of happiness, means of a means, &c.

Gross Self-interest.

The love of money may be considered as the chief species of gross self-interest, and will help us, in an eminent manner, to unfold the mutual influences of our pleasures and pains, with the factitious nature of the intellectual ones, and the doctrine of association in general, as well as the particular progress, windings, and endless redoublings of self-love. For it is evident at first sight, that money cannot naturally and originally be the object of our faculties; no child can be supposed born with the love of it. Yet we see, that some small degrees of this love rise early in infancy; that it generally increases during youth and manhood; and that at last, in some old persons, it so engrosses and absorbs all their passions and pursuits, as that from being considered as the representative, standard, common measure and means of obtaining the commodities which occur in common life, it shall be esteemed the adequate exponent and means of happiness in general, and the thing itself, the sum total of all that is

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 desirable in life. Now the monstrous and gigantic size of this passion, in such cases, supported evidently by association alone, will render its progress and growth more conspicuous and striking; and consequently greatly contribute to explain the corresponding particulars in other passions, where they are less obvious.

Let us inquire, therefore, for what reason it is that children first begin to love money. Now they observe, that money procures for them the pleasures of sensation, with such of imagination as they have acquired a relish for. They see that it is highly valued by others; that those who possess it are much regarded and caressed; that the possession of it is generally attended by fine clothes, titles, magnificent buildings, &c.; imitation, and the common contagion of human life, having great power here, as in other cases. Since therefore ideas exciting desire are thus heaped upon money by successive associations perpetually recurring, the desire of it in certain sums and manners, viz. such as have often recurred with the concomitant pleasures, must at last grow stronger than the fainter sensible and intellectual pleasures; so that a child shall prefer a piece of money to many actual gratifications to be enjoyed immediately.

And as all the fore-mentioned associations, or such as are analogous to them, continue during life, it seems probable, that the love of money would at last devour all the particular desires, upon which it is grounded, was it not restrained by counter-associations; just as it was observed above, that the pleasure of gratifying the will would devour all the particular pleasures, to which it is a constant associate, did not repeated disappointments preserve us from this enormous increase of wilfulness.

Let us next examine how the love of money is checked.

First, then, It is checked by the strong desires of young persons, and others, after particular gratifications; for these desires, by overpowering their acquired aversion to part with money, weaken it gradually, and consequently weaken the pleasure of keeping, and the desire of obtaining, all which are closely linked together in this view; notwithstanding that the last, viz. the desire of obtaining, and by consequence (in an inverted order) the pleasure of keeping, and the aversion to part with, are strengthened by the desires of particular pleasures to be purchased by money, in another view. And this contrariety of our associations is not only the means of limiting certain passions, but is a mark set upon them by the Author of nature, to shew that they ought to be limited, even in our progress through this life; and that they must ultimately be annihilated, every one in its proper order.

Secondly, The insignificancy of riches in warding off death and diseases, also shame and contempt in many cases, and in obtaining the pleasures of religion, and the moral sense, and even those of sympathy, ambition, imagination, and sensation,

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 first lessen their value in the eyes of those who make just observations upon things in their progress through life, and afterwards fix a positive nothingness and worthlessness upon them.

Thirdly, The eager pursuit of any particular end, as fame, learning, the pleasures of the imagination, &c. leaves little room in the mind either for avarice, or any other foreign end.

Now by these and such like considerations we may account not only for the limitation put to the love of money, but also for certain mixtures of tempers and dispositions, which are often found in fact, and yet seem at first sight inconsistent ones. Thus profuseness, in respect of sensual and selfish pleasures, is often joined with avarice. Covetous persons are often rigidly just in paying, as well as exacting; and sometimes generous, where money is not immediately and apparently concerned. They have also moderate passions in other respects; for the most part, are suspicious, timorous, and complaisant. And the most truly generous, charitable, and pious persons, are highly frugal, so as to put on the appearance of covetousness, and even sometimes, and in some things, to border upon it.

We may see also, why the love of money must, in general, grow stronger with age; and especially if the particular gratifications, to which the person was most inclined, become insipid or unattainable—Why frequent reflections upon money in possession, and the actual viewing large sums, strengthen the associations by which covetousness is generated—Why children, persons in private and low life, and indeed most others, are differently affected towards the same sum of money, in different forms, gold, silver, notes, &c.

Let us next inquire, for what reasons it is that the love of money has the idea of selfishness attached to it in a peculiar manner, much more so than the pursuit of the pleasures of honour, imagination, or sympathy; whereas all are equally generated by association, from sensible and selfish pleasures, all in their several degrees promote private happiness, and are all pursued, in some cases, coolly and deliberately, from the prospect of obtaining private happiness thereby. Now the reasons of this seem to be,

First, That whatever riches one man obtains, another must lose; so that the circulation of money by trades, professions, offices, &c. is a kind of gaming; and has most of the same disgustful ideas annexed to it, when considered with some attention, and exclusively of private selfish feelings; whereas the pleasures of sympathy consist in doing good to others; those of ambition are scarce attainable in any great degree without this, or at least the appearance of it; and the pleasures of imagination are both capable of a very extensive communication, and most perfect when enjoyed in company.

Secondly, A regard to self frequently recurring must denominate a pleasure selfish; so that if any of the most generous

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 pleasures, and such as at first view have no immediate relation to self-interest, be pursued in a cool deliberate way, not from the influence of a present inclination, but the pre-conceived opinion that it will afford pleasure, this is referred to self-interest. Now money has scarce any other relation to pleasure than that of an evident means; so that even after it has gained the power of pleasing instantaneously, the intermediate deliberate steps and associations must, however, frequently appear. It procures the other pleasures for us every day, after it has become pleasant in itself; and therefore must always be considered as a principal means. The other pleasures have, in general, a far greater share of indirect associations with previous pleasures, and acquire the power of gratifying, not so much from being manifest causes of other gratifications, as their most common adjuncts; whereas money is generally the most visible of all the causes. But honour, power, learning, and many other things, are pursued, in part, after the same manner, and for the same reasons, as riches; viz. from a tacit supposition, that the acquisition of every degree of these is treasuring up a proportional degree of happiness, to be produced and enjoyed at pleasure. And the desires of each of these would in like manner increase perpetually during life, did they not curb one another by many mutual inconsistencies, or were not all damped by the frequent experience and recollection, that all the means of happiness cease to be so, when the body or mind cease to be disposed in a manner proper for the reception of happiness.

It is also worthy of observation, that riches, honours, power, learning, and all other things, that are considered as means of happiness, become means and ends to each other in a great variety of ways, thus transferring upon each other all the associated pleasures which they collect from different quarters, and approaching nearer and nearer perpetually to a perfect similarity and sameness with each other, in the instantaneous pleasures which they afford when pursued and obtained as ends.

It appears likewise that all aggregates of pleasure, thus collected by them all, must, from the mechanism and necessity of our natures, and of the world which surrounds us, be made at last to centre and rest upon Him who is the inexhaustible fountain of all power, knowledge, goodness, majesty, glory, property, &c. So that even avarice and ambition are, in their respective ways, carrying on the benevolent designs of Him who is All in All. And the same thing may be hoped of every other passion and pursuit. One may hope, that they all agree and unite in leading to ultimate happiness and perfection. However, they differ greatly in their present consequences, and in their future ones, reaching to certain intervals of time, indefinite and unknown to us, thus becoming good or evil, both naturally and morally, in respect of us, and our limited apprehensions, judgments, and anticipations. And yet one may humbly hope,

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 as was said above, that every thing must be ultimately good, both naturally and morally.

Refined Self-interest.

The second species of self-interest is that which I call refined self-interest. As the foregoing species is generated by an attention to, and frequent reflection upon, the things which procure us the pleasures of sensation, imagination, and ambition; and, therefore, cannot prevail, in any great degree, till these pleasures have been generated, and prevailed for some time; so this species, or refined self-interest, which is a cool, deliberate seeking for ourselves the pleasures of sympathy, religion, and the moral sense, pre-supposes the generation of these pleasures, and the enjoyment of them for a sufficient time. And as some degree of gross self-interest is the natural and necessary consequence of the three first classes of pleasures, so is some degree of refined self-interest of the three last. A person who has had a sufficient experience of the pleasures of friendship, generosity, devotion, and self-approbation, cannot but desire to have a return of them, when he is not under the particular influence of any one of them, but merely on account of the pleasure which they have afforded; and will seek to excite these pleasures by the usual means, to treasure up to himself such means, keep himself always in a disposition to use them, &c. not at all from any particular vivid love of his neighbour, or of God, or from a sense of duty to him, but entirely from the view of private happiness. At least, there will be a great mixture of this refined self-interest in all the pleasures and duties of benevolence, piety, and the moral sense.

But then this refined self-interest is neither so common, nor so conspicuous in real life, as the gross one, since it rises late, is never of any great magnitude in the bulk of mankind, through their want of the previous pleasures of sympathy, religion, and the moral sense, in a sufficient degree, and in some it scarce prevails at all; whereas gross self-interest rises early in infancy, and arrives at a considerable magnitude before adult age. The detail of this second species of self-interest may be seen in books of practical religion.

Rational Self-interest.

The third species of self-interest is the rational. This is the same thing with the abstract desire of happiness, and aversion to misery, which is supposed to attend every intelligent being during the whole course of his existence. I have already endeavoured to shew, that this supposition is not true in the proper sense of the words; and yet that very general desires do frequently recur to the mind, and may be excited by words and symbols of general import.

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 The hopes and fears relating to a future state, or to death, which is our entrance into it, are of this kind, and may be considered as proceeding from rational self-interest, in the highest and most abstracted sense that the terms admit of practically, since we have no definite knowledge of the nature and kind of the happiness or misery of another world. These hopes and fears are also the strongest of our selfish affections, and yet at the same time the chief foundation of the pure disinterested love of God, and of our neighbour, and the principal means of transferring our associations, so as that we may love and hate, pursue and fly, in the manner the best suited to our attainment of our greatest possible happiness. For hope, being itself a pleasure, may, by association, render indifferent, and even disagreeable, objects and actions pleasant; and fear may make agreeable ones painful: hence we can either increase desires and aversions, that are suitable to our state, or obliterate and convert them into their contraries, if they be unsuitable, by means of their connexion with the hopes and fears of death, and a future state. I will therefore briefly state the rise and progress of these hopes and fears.

All our first associations with the idea of death are of the disgustful and alarming kind; and they are collected from all quarters, from the sensible pains of every sort, from the imperfection, weakness, loathsomeness, corruption, and disorder, where disease, old age, death, animal or vegetable, prevail, in opposition to the beauty, order, and lustre of life, youth, and health; from the shame and contempt attending the first in many instances; whereas the last are honourable, as being sources of power and happiness, the reward of virtue, &c.; and from the sympathetic passions in general. And it is necessary, that the heedlessness and inexperience of infancy and youth should be guarded by such terrors, and their head-strong appetites and passions curbed, that they may not be hurried into danger and destruction before they are aware. It is proper also that they should form some expectations with respect to, and set some value upon, their future life in this world, that so they may be better qualified to act their parts in it, and make the quicker progress to perfection during their passage through it.

When children begin to have a sense of religion and duty formed in them, these do still farther heighten and increase the fear of death for the most part. For though there are rewards on the one hand, as well as punishments on the other; yet fear has got the start from the natural causes of it before-mentioned: and as pain is in general greater than pleasure, as was shewn above, from its consisting in stronger vibrations; so fear is in general more vivid than hope, especially in children.

Moreover, the sensual and selfish appetites are the original of all the rest; yet these are sinful, and inconsistent with our own and others’ happiness; they must therefore be restrained, and at

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 last eradicated. But parents and governors are, in this case, more apt to have recourse to fear than to hope (in general, I suppose with reason, because hope is too feeble to withstand the violence of the natural appetites and passions.) And it is to be added to all, that adults, by discovering, in general, much more of fear and sorrow in the apprehensions or prospect of death, than of hope and comfort, from the continuance of the causes just mentioned, propagate and increase the fear still farther in one another, and in children, infecting all around them, as is usual in other cases of the like kind. And by this means it comes to pass, that the fear of death does in some circumstances, particularly where the nervous system is, through a bodily disorder, reduced to an aptness to receive uneasy and disgustful vibrations, only or chiefly, being in a state of irritability approaching to pains, grow to a most enormous size, collecting and uniting every disagreeable idea and impression under the associations belonging to death; so that such persons live in perpetual anxiety and slavery to the fear of death. And where there is the consciousness of past guilt, or the want of an upright intention for the future, it rages with still greater fierceness, till these be removed entirely, or in part, by repentance and amendment.

It is farther to be observed, that the fear of death is much increased by the exquisiteness of the punishments threatened in a future state, and by the variety of the emblems, representations, analogies, and evidences, of natural and revealed religion, whereby all the terrors of all other things are transferred upon these punishments; also by that peculiar circumstance of the eternity of them, which seems to have been a general tradition previous to the appearance of Christianity, amongst both Jews and Pagans, and which has been the doctrine and opinion of the Christian world ever since, some very few persons excepted. The consideration of any thing that is infinite, space, time, power, knowledge, goodness, perfection, &c. quite overpowers the faculties of the soul with wonder and astonishment: and when the peculiar feeling and concern belonging to self are applied here, and excited by the word infinite, by meditation, reading, &c. we must, and we ought to be alarmed to the full extent of our capacities. And the same conclusion follows, though we should suppose the punishments of a future state not to be absolutely and metaphysically infinite. For their great exquisiteness, and long duration, which are most clearly and plainly declared in the Scriptures, make them practically so.

This is a brief sketch of the origin and progress of the fears attending the consideration of death, and a future state. We now come to inquire, how the hopes are generated.

First, then, We are to observe, that repentance, amendment, and consciousness of past virtue, and of good intentions for the future, give a title to the hopes and rewards of a future state;

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 and that though while there are perpetual alternations of opposite consciousnesses, i.e. recollections and judgments on our own actions, the fear may prevail in general, both from the additional weight of the natural fear, and from the previous possession which the religious fear has obtained; yet by degrees the agreeable consciousness must prevail in those who are sincere (and sometimes it is to be feared a delusive one of the same kind in others), moderate the religious fear by little and little, and, in great measure, overcome the natural one; for which the way has been prepared from the superior strength of the religious fear, which has already obscured it in serious persons. And thus by degrees hope will begin to take place, as the general state of the mind, and the consideration of death, and a future state, become, for the most part, matter of joy and comfort.

Secondly, The deliverance from the fear of death adds greatly to this joy, in the same way as the removal of other pains is made the source of pleasure. And the returns of the fear of death at certain intervals, according to the state of our bodies or minds, and the moral qualities of our actions, will, if they be not too frequent, keep up this source of pleasure in the hope of futurity.

Thirdly, When the slavish fear of God is thus removed by faith and hope, all the pleasing sympathetic affections, such as love, gratitude, confidence, begin to exert themselves with respect to God, in a manner analogous, but in a degree far superior, to that in which they are exerted towards men. And it is easy to see how these, and such like causes concurring, may, in many cases, quite overcome the natural and religious fears of death and pain, and even make them acceptable.

. From hence we may pass to the fervours of devotion; these being chiefly the hopes, and pleasing affections, just spoken of, coalescing together so intimately by repeated associations, as that the separate parts there mentioned cannot be distinguished from each other in the compound. And as these fervours are themselves often esteemed a sign of holiness, and consequently a foundation of farther hope, they perpetuate and increase themselves for a certain time, i.e. till the new convert finds the reiterated appearance of the same ideas give less and less emotion and pleasure, just as in the other pleasures, sensible and intellectual; looks upon this as a mark of spiritual desertion; finds numberless, unexpected, unthought of, sins and imperfections, not yet subdued; falls into bodily disorders, from unseasonable severities, or spiritual intemperance, &c.; and thus becomes dejected, scrupulous, and fearful.

By degrees the fears taken from death, and a future state, are confined to the mere apprehension of transgression, without any regard had to those, and even where they, when considered and expected, raise no fears.

However, all these things mortify pride, and the refined

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 ; lead, or even compel, men to resign all to God; and so advance them to a more pure, disinterested, and permanent love of God, and of their neighbour, than they could have arrived at (all other things remaining the same), had they not undergone these anxieties; and therefore are to be esteemed the kind corrections of an Infinitely Merciful Father.

Section IV
THE PLEASURES AND PAINS OF SYMPATHY.

sympathetic affections may be distinguished into four classes, viz.

First, Those by which we rejoice at the happiness of others.

Secondly, Those by which we grieve for their misery.

Thirdly, Those by which we rejoice at their misery.

And Fourthly, Those by which we grieve for their happiness.

Of the first kind are sociality, good-will, generosity, and gratitude. Of the second, compassion and mercy. Of the third, moroseness, anger, revenge, jealousy, cruelty, and malice. And of the fourth, emulation and envy.

It is easy to be conceived, that associations should produce affections of all these four kinds, since in the intercourses of life the pleasures and pains of one are, in various ways, intermixed with, and dependent upon, those of others, so as to have clusters of their miniatures excited, in all the possible ways in which the happiness or misery of one can be combined with the happiness or misery of another; i.e. in the four above-mentioned. I will now enter upon the detail of the rise and progress of each of them.

The Affections by which we rejoice at the Happiness of others.

The first of these is sociality, or the pleasure we take in the mere company and conversation of others, particularly of our friends and acquaintance, and which is attended with mutual affability, complaisance, and candour. Now most of the pleasures which children receive are conferred upon them by others, their parents, attendants, or play-fellows. And the number of the pleasures which they receive in this way, is far greater than

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 that of the pains brought upon them by others. Indeed the hurts, and bodily injuries, which they meet with, are chiefly from themselves; and the denials of gratifications are either very few in number, or, if they be more frequent, give little uneasiness. It appears therefore, that, according to the doctrine of association, children ought to be pleased, in general, with the sight and company of all their acquaintance. And the same things, with some alterations, hold in respect of adults, through the whole course and general tenor of human life.

Besides the pleasures for which we are indebted to others, there are many which we enjoy in common with others, and in their company and conversation, and which therefore both enhance, and are enhanced by, the gaiety and happiness that appear in the countenances, gestures, words, and actions, of the whole company. Of this kind are the pleasures of feasting, sports and pastimes, rural scenes, polite arts, mirth, raillery, and ridicule, public shows, public rejoicings, &c. And in general it may be observed, that the causes of joy and grief are common to great numbers, affecting mankind according to the several divisions and subdivisions thereof into nations, ranks, offices, ages, sexes, families, &c. And by all these things it comes to pass, that the face of an old acquaintance brings to view, as it were, the indistinct mixed recollection, the remaining vestiges of all the good and evil which we have felt, while his idea has been present with us.

The same observation may be made upon places; and particularly upon those where a man has spent his infancy and youth.

To all this it is to be added, that the rules of prudence, good manners, and religion, by restraining all rusticity, moroseness, and insolence, and obliging us to actions of a contrary nature, even though we have not the proper internal feelings, do by degrees contribute to beget these in us, i.e. to beget sociality and complaisance; just in the same manner, as a person in a passion becomes much more inflamed from his own angry expressions, gestures, and actions.

Good-will, or benevolence, when understood in a limited sense, may be termed that pleasing affection which engages us to promote the welfare of others to the best of our power. If it carry us so far as to forego great pleasures, or endure great pains, it is called generosity. But good-will and benevolence, in a general sense, are put for all the sympathetic affections of the first and second class, viz. those by which we either rejoice in, and promote, the happiness of others, or grieve for, and endeavour to remove, their misery; as ill-will and malevolence, understood in a general sense also, are put for the contrary affections, viz. those of the third and fourth class.

Benevolence, in the limited sense, is nearly connected with sociality, and has the same sources. It has also a high degree of

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 honour and esteem annexed to it, procures us many advantages, and returns of kindness, both from the person obliged, and others; and is most closely connected with the hope of reward in a future state, and with the pleasures of religion, and of self-approbation, or the moral sense. And the same things hold with respect to generosity in a much higher degree. It is easy therefore to see, how such associations may be formed in us, as to engage us to forego great pleasure, or endure great pain, for the sake of others; how these associations may be attended with so great a degree of pleasure as to overrule the positive pain endured, or the negative one from the foregoing of a pleasure; and yet how there may be no direct, explicit expectation of reward, either from God or man, by natural consequence, or express appointment, not even of the concomitant pleasure which engages the agent to undertake the benevolent or generous action. And this I take to be a proof from the doctrine of association, that there is, and must be, such a thing as pure disinterested benevolence; also a just account of the origin and nature of it.

Gratitude includes benevolence, and therefore has the same sources with some additional ones; these last are the explicit or implicit recollection of the benefits and pleasures received, the hope of future ones, the approbation of the moral character of the benefactor, and the pleasures from the honour and esteem attending gratitude, much enhanced by the peculiar baseness and shamefulness of ingratitude.

The Affections by which we grieve for the Misery of others.

Compassion is the uneasiness which a man feels at the misery of another. Now this in children seems to be grounded upon such associations as these that follow: the very appearance and idea of any kind of misery which they have experienced, or of any signs of distress which they understand, raise up in their nervous systems a state of misery from mere memory, on account of the strength of their imaginations; and because the connexion between the adjuncts of pain, and the actual infliction of it, has not yet been sufficiently broken by experience, as in adults.—When several children are educated together, the pains, the denials of pleasures, and the sorrows, which affect one, generally extend to all in some degree, often in an equal one.—When their parents, attendants, &c. are sick or afflicted, it is usual to raise in their minds the nascent ideas of pains and miseries, by such words and signs as are suited to their capacities; they also find themselves laid under many restraints on this account. And when these and such like circumstances have raised the desires and endeavours to remove the causes of these their own

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