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heatre would deess of the imitaof the real symof our having a ght in the reprewe do not suffid by no means be eager enough elight in seeing our heartiest This noble

of Europe, I bed as to desire to an carthquake, elf to the greatsuppose such a what numbers d the ruins, and aye been content glory! Nor is it, es, our immunity ght; in my own it. I apprehend rt of sophism, by upon; it arises veen what is indoing or suffering he cause of some with a sword, it at we should have fact; and yet it being both living rime and of my absolutely necesimminent hazard

afferings of others,

is before our eyes, or whether they are turned back to it into history, it always touches with delight, This is not an unmixed delight, but blended with no small uneasiness. The delight we have in such things hinders us from shunning scenes of misery; and the pain we feel prompts us to relieve ourselves in relieving those who suffer; and all this antecedent to any reasoning, and by an instinct that works us to its own purposes without our concurrence.

SECT. XV.-OF THE EFFECTS OF TRAGEDY. IT is thus in real calamities. In imitated distresses, the only difference is the pleasure resulting from the effects of imitation; for it is never so perfect but we can perceive it is imitation, and on that principle are somewhat pleased with it. And indeed in some cases we derive as much or more pleasure from that source than from the thing itself, But then, I imagine, we shall be much mistaken if we attribute any considerable part of our satisfaction in tragedy to the consideration that tragedy is a deceit, and its representations no realities. The nearer it approaches the reality, and the farther it removes us from all idea of fiction, the more per fect is its power. But be its power of what kind it will, it never approaches to what it represents. Choose a day on which to represent the most sublime and affecting tragedy we have ; appoint the most favourite actors; spare no costs upon the scenes and decorations; unite the greatest efforts of poetry, painting, and music; and when you have collected your audience, just at the moment when their minds are erect with expectation, let it be re ported that a state criminal of high rank is on the point of being executed in the adjoining square;

in a moment the emptiness of the theatre would demonstrate the comparative weakness of the imitative arts, and proclaim the triumph of the real sym, pathy. I believe that this notion of our having a simple pain in the reality, yet a delight in the representation, arises from hence, that we do not suffi ciently distinguish what we would by no means choose to do, from what we would be eager enough to see if it were once done. We delight in seeing things which, so far from doing, our heartiest wishes would be to see redressed. This noble capital, the pride of England and of Europe, I believe no man is so strangely wicked as to desire to see destroyed by a conflagration or an earthquake, though he should be removed himself to the greatest distance from the danger. But suppose such a fatal accident to have happened, what numbers from all parts, would crowd to behold the ruins, and amongst them many who would have been content never to have seen London in its glory! Nor is it, either in real or fictitious distresses, our immunity from them which produces our delight; in my own mind I can discover nothing like it. I apprehend that this mistake is owing to a sort of sophism, by which we are frequently imposed upon; it arises from our not distinguishing between what is indeed a necessary condition to our doing or suffering any thing in general, and what is the cause of some particular act. If a man kills me with a sword, it is a necessary condition to this that we should have been both of us alive before the fact; and yet it would be absurd to say, that our being both living creatures was the cause of his crime and of my death. So it is certain that it is absolutely neces sary my life should be out of any imminent hazard before I can take a delight in the sufferings of others,

real or imaginary, or indeed in any thing else, from any cause whatsoever. But then it is a sophism to argue from thence, that this immunity is the cause of my delight either on these or any other occasions. No one can distinguish such a cause of satisfaction in his own mind, I believe; nay, when we do not suffer any very acute pain, nor are exposed to any imminent danger of our lives, we can feel for others, whilst we suffer ourselves; and often then most when we are softened by affliction; we see with pity even distresses which we would accept in the place of our own.

SECT XVI.-IMITATION.

THE second passion belonging to society is imitation, or if you will, a desire of imitating, and consequently a pleasure in it. This passion arises from much the same cause with sympathy; for as sympathy makes us take a concern in whatever men feel, so this affection prompts us to copy whatever they do; and consequently we have a pleasure in imitating, and in whatever belongs to imitation merely as it is such, without any intervention of the reasoning faculty, but solely from our natural constitution, which Providence has framed in such a manner as to find either pleasure or delight, ac cording to the nature of the object, in whatever regards the purposes of our being. It is by imitation, far more than by precept, that we learn every thing; and what we learn thus we acquire not only more effectually, but more pleasantly. This forms our manners, our opinions, our lives. It is one of the strongest links of society; it is a species of mutual compliance, which all men yield to each other without constraint to themselves, and which is extremely flattering to all. Herein it is that

painting, and many other agreeable arts, have laid one of the principal foundations of their power. And since by its influence on our manners and our passions it is of such great consequence, I shall here venture to lay down a rule which may inform us, with a good deal of certainty, when we are to attribute the power of the arts to imitation, or to our pleasure in the skill of the imitator merely, and when to sympathy or some other cause in conjunction with it. When the object represented in poetry or painting is such as we could have no desire of seeing in the reality, then I may be sure that its power in poetry or painting is owing to the power of imitation, and to no cause operating in the thing itself. So it is with most of the pieces which the painters call still life. In these a cottage, a dunghill, the meanest and most ordinary utensils of the kitchen, are capable of giving us pleasure. But when the object of the painting or poem is such as we should run to see if real, let it affect us with what odd sort of sense it will, we may rely upon it, that the power of the poem or picture is more owing to the nature of the thing itself than to the mere effect of imitation, or to a consideration of the skill of the imitator, however excellent. Aristotle has spoken so much and so solidly upon the force of imitation in his poetics, that it makes any farther discourse upon this subject the less necessary.

SECT. XVII.-AMBITION.

ALTHOUGH imitation is one of the great instruments used by Providence in bringing our nature towards its perfection, yet if men gave themselves up to imitation entirely, and each followed the other, and so on in an eternal circle, it is easy to see that there never could be any improvement