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THREE TREATISES:

I. CONCERNING ART.

II. CONCERNING MUSIC, PAINTING, AND POETRY.

III. CONCERNING HAPPINESS.

CONCERNING ART:

A DIALOGUE.

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE THE EARL OF SHAFTESBURY.

MY LORD,

THE following is a conversation in its kind somewhat uncommon, and for this reason I have remembered it more minutely than I could imagine. Should the same peculiarity prove a reason to amuse your lordship, I shall think myself well rewarded in the labour of reciting. If not, you are candid enough to accept of the intention, and to think there is some merit even in the sincerity of my endeavours. To make no longer preface, the fact was as follows.

A friend, from a distant country, having by chance made me a visit, we were tempted, by the serenity of a cheerful morning in the spring, to walk from Salisbury to see lord Pembroke's at Wilton. The beauties of gardening, architecture, painting, and sculpture belonging to that seat, were the subject of great entertainment to my friend: nor was I, for my own part, less delighted than he was, to find that our walk had so well answered his expectations. We had given a large scope to our curiosity, when we left the seat, and leisurely began our return towards home.

And here, my lord, in passing over a few pleasant fields, commenced the conversation which I am to tell you, and which fell at first, as was natural, on the many curious works, which had afforded us both so elegant an amusement. This led us insensibly to discoursing upon art, for we both agreed, that whatever we had been admiring of fair and beautiful, could all be referred to no other cause. And here, I well remember, I called upon my friend to give me his opinion upon the meaning of the word "art" a word it was (I told him) in the mouth of every one; but that nevertheless, as to its precise and definite idea, this might still be a secret; that so it was, in fact, with a thousand words beside, all no less common, and equally familiar; and yet all of them equally vague and undetermined.-To this he answered, that as to the precise and definite idea of art, it was a question of some difficulty, and not so soon to be

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resolved; that, however, he could not conceive a more likely method of coming to know it, than by considering those several particulars, to each of which we gave the name. It is hardly probable, said he, that music, painting, medicine, poetry, agriculture, and so many more, should be all called by one common name, if there was not something in each which was common to all. It should seem so, replied I.—What, then, said he, shall we pronounce this to be?-At this, I remember, I was under some sort of hesitation.-Have courage, cried my friend, perhaps the case is not so desperate. Let me ask you, Is medicine the cause of any thing? Yes, surely, said I, of health.-And agriculture, of what?Of the plentiful growth of grain.-And poetry, of what?-Of plays, and satires, and odes, and the like. And is not the same true, said he, of music, of statuary, of architecture, and, in short, of every art whatever?—I confess, said I, it seems so. Suppose, then, said he, we should say, it was common to every art to be a cause: Should we err?-I replied, I thought not. Let this then, said he, be remembered, that all art is cause. I promised him it should.

But how, then, continued he, if all art be cause, is it also true, that all cause is art?-At this again I could not help hesitating. -You have heard, said he, without doubt, of that painter famed in story, who being to paint the foam of a horse, and not succeeding to his mind, threw at the picture in resentment a sponge bedaubed with colours, and produced a foam the most natural imaginable. Now, what say you to this fact? Shall we pronounce art to have been the cause?-By no means, said I.What, said he, if instead of chance, his hand had been guided by mere compulsion, himself dissenting and averse to the violence? Even here, replied I, nothing could have been referred to his art. But what, continued he, if instead of a casual throw, or involuntary compulsion, he had willingly and designedly directed his pencil, and so produced that foam, which story says he failed in? Would not art here have been the cause?-I replied, in this case, I thought it would.-It should seem, then,

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a Artis maxime proprium, creare et gignere. Cic. de Nat. Deor. 1. ii. c. 22. Εστι δὲ τέχνη πᾶσα περὶ γένεσιν. "All art is employed in production; that is, in making something to be." Arist. Ethic. 1. vi. c. 4.

The active efficient causes have been ranged and enumerated after different manners. In the same Ethics they are enumerated thus: atria yàp dokovσ εἶναι φύσις, καὶ ἀνάγκη, καὶ τύχη· ἔτι δὲ νοῦς, καὶ πᾶν τὸ δι ̓ ἀνθρώπου. “The several causes appear to be nature, necessity, and chance; and besides these, mind, or intellect, and whatever operates by or through man." lib. iii. c. 3. The paraphrast An

dronicus, in explaining this last passage, пây тò di àveρúrou, adds olov Téxvn,

λλn Tis Tρutis, "as, for instance, art, or any other human action."

Alexander Aphrodisiensis speaks of efficient causes, as follows: 'Aλà μǹv тà KUρίως αἴτια ποιητικὰ, φύσις τε, καὶ τέχνη, καὶ προαίρεσις. "The causes, which are strictly and properly efficient, are nature, art, and each man's particular choice of action.” Περὶ Ψύχης, p. 160. B. ed. Ald.

In what manner art is distinguished from the rest of these efficient causes, the subsequent notes will attempt to explain.

b See Valer. Max. 1. viii. c. 11. See also Dion. Chrysost. Orat. lxiii. p. 590.

said he, that art implies not only cause, but the additional requisite of intention, reason, volition, and consciousness; so that not every cause is art, but only voluntary or intentional cause.— So, said I, it appears.

And shall we, then, added he, pronounce every intentional cause to be art?-I see no reason, said I, why not.-Consider, said he; hunger this morning prompted you to eat. You were then the cause, and that too the intentional cause, of consuming certain food and yet will you refer this consumption to art? Did you chew by art? Did you swallow by art?-No, certainly, said I. So by opening your eyes, said he, you are the intentional cause of seeing, and by stretching your hand, the intentional cause of feeling; and yet will you affirm, that these things proceed from art?—I should be wrong, said I, if I did: for what art can there be in doing what every one is able to do by mere will, and a sort of uninstructed instinct?-You say right, replied he, and the reason is manifest: were it otherwise, we should make all mankind universal artists in every single action of their lives. And what can be a greater absurdity than this?—I confessed that the absurdity appeared to be evident.-But if nothing, then, continued he, which we do by compulsion, or without intending it, be art; and not even what we do intentionally, if it proceed from mere will and uninstructed instinct; what is it we have left remaining, where art may be found conversant? Or can it, indeed, possibly be in any thing else, than in that which we do by use, practice, experience, and the like, all which are born with no one, but are all acquired afterward by advances unperceived. I can think, said I, of nothing else.-Let therefore the words habit and habitual, said he, represent this requisite, and let us say, that art is not only a cause, but an intentional cause; and not only an intentional cause, but an intentional cause founded in habit, or, in other words, an habitual cause.-You appear, said I, to argue rightly.

But if art, said he, be what we have now asserted, something learnt and acquired; if it be also a thing intentional or voluntary, and not governed either by chance or blind necessity; if this, I say, be the case, then mark the consequences.-And what, said I, are they? The first, said he, is, that no events, in what we call the natural world, must be referred to art; such as tides, winds, vegetation, gravitation, attraction, and the like. For these all happen by stated laws; by a curious necessity which is not to be withstood, and where the nearer and immediate causes appear to be wholly unconscious. I confess, said I, it seems so. In the next place, continued he, we must exclude all those admired works of the animal world, which, for their beauty and order, we metaphorically call artificial. The spider's web, the bee's comb, the beaver's house, and the swallow's nest, must all be referred to another source. For who can say, these ever

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