is antecedent to any reasoning, by
an instinct that works us to its own purposes without our concurrence.

SECTION 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 further it removes us from all
idea of fiction, the more perfect 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 favorite actors; spare no cost 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 reported 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 sympathy. 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 sufficiently distinguish what we would by no means
choose to do, from what we should be eager enough to see if it was 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 nothi