Part 7 — CHAP. VI. Novelty, and the unexpected appearance of objects.

OF all the particulars that contribute to raise emotions, not excepting beauty, or even greatness, novelty hath the most powerful influence. A new spectacle attracts multitudes. It produceth instantaneously an emotion which totally occupies the mind, and for a time excludes all other objects. The soul seems to meet the strange appearance with a certain elongation of itself; and all is hushed in close contemplation. In some instances, there is perceived a degree of agony, attended with external symptoms extremely expressive. Conversation among the vulgar never is more interesting, than when it runs upon strange objects and extraordinary events. Men tear themselves from their native country in search of things rare and new; and curiosity converts into a pleasure, the fatigues, and even perils of travelling. To what cause shall we ascribe these singular appearances? The plain account of the matter follows. Curiosity is implanted in human nature, for a purpose extremely beneficial, that of acquiring knowledge. New and strange objects, above all others, excite our curiosity; and its gratification is the emotion above described, known by the name of wonder. This emotion is distinguished from admiration. Novelty where-ever found, whether in a quality or action, is the cause of wonder: admiration is directed upon the operator who performs any thing wonderful.

During infancy, every new object is probably the occasion of wonder, in some degree; because, during infancy, every object at first is strange as well as new. But as objects are rendered familiar by custom, we cease by degrees to wonder at new appearances that have any resemblance to what we are acquainted with. A thing must be singular as well as new, to excite our curiosity and to raise our wonder. To save multiplying words, I would be understood to comprehend both circumstances when I hereafter talk of novelty.

In an ordinary train of perceptions where one thing introduces another, not a single object makes its appearance unexpectedly[73]. The mind thus prepared for the reception of its objects, admits them one after another without perturbation. But when a thing breaks in unexpectedly and without the preparation of any connection, it raises a singular emotion known by the name of surprise. This emotion may be produced by the most familiar object, as when one accidentally meets a friend who was reported to be dead; or a man in high life, lately a beggar. On the other hand, a new object, however strange, will not produce this emotion if the spectator be prepared for the fight. An elephant in India will not surprise a traveller who goes to see one; and yet its novelty will raise his wonder. An Indian in Britain would be much surprised to stumble upon an elephant feeding at large in the open fields; but the creature itself, to which he was accustomed, would not raise his wonder.

Surprise thus in several respects differs from wonder. Unexpedtedness is the cause of the former emotion: novelty is the cause of the latter. Nor differ they less in their nature and circumstances, as will be explained by and by. With relation to one circumstance they perfectly agree, which is the shortness of their duration. The instantaneous production of these emotions in perfection, may contribute to this effect, in conformity to a general law, That things soon decay which soon come to perfection. The violence of the emotions may also contribute; for an ardent emotion, which is not susceptible of increase, cannot have a long course. But their short duration is occasioned chiefly by that of their causes. We are soon reconciled to an object, however unexpected; and novelty soon degenerates into familiarity.

Whether these emotions be pleasant or painful, is not a clear point. It may appear strange, that our own feelings and their capital qualities should afford any matter for a doubt. But when we are ingrossed by any emotion, there is no place for speculation; and when sufficiently calm for speculation, it is not easy to recal the emotion with sufficient accuracy. New objects are sometimes terrible, sometimes delightful. The terror which a tyger inspires is greatest at first, and wears off gradually by familiarity. On the other hand, even women will acknowledge, that it is novelty which pleases the most in a new fashion. At this rate, it should be thought, that wonder is not in itself pleasant or painful, but that it assumes either quality according to circumstances. This doctrine, however plausible, must not pass without examination. And when we reflect upon the principle of curiosity and its operations, a glimpse of light gives some faint view of a different theory. Our curiosity is never more thoroughly gratified, than by new and singular objects. That very gratification is the emotion of wonder, which therefore, according to the analogy of nature, ought always to be pleasant[74]. And indeed it would be a great defect in human nature, were the gratification of so useful a principle unpleasant. But upon a more strict scrutiny, we shall not have occasion to mark curiosity as an exception from the general rule. A new object, it is true, that hath a threatening appearance, adds to our terror by its novelty. But from this experiment it doth not follow, that novelty is in itself disagreeable. It is perfectly consistent, that we should be delighted with an object in one view, and terrified with it in another. A river in flood swelling over its banks, is a grand and delightful object; and yet it may produce no small degree of fear when we attempt to cross it. Courage and magnanimity are agreeable; and yet when we view these qualities in an enemy, they serve to increase our terror[75]. In the same manner, novelty has two effects clearly distinguishable from each other. A new object, by gratifying curiosity, must always be agreeable. It may, at the same time, have an opposite effect indirectly, which is, to inspire terror. For when a new object appears in any degree dangerous, our ignorance of its powers and qualities affords ample scope for the imagination to dress it in the most frightful colours[76]. Thus the first sight of a lion at some distance, may at the same instant produce two opposite feelings, the pleasant emotion of wonder, and the painful passion of terror. The novelty of the object, produces the former directly, and contributes to the latter indirectly. Thus, when the subject is analized, we find, that the power which novelty hath indirectly to inflame terror, is perfectly consistent with its being in every case agreeable. The matter may be put in a still clearer light by varying the scene. If a lion be first seen from a place of safety, the spectacle is altogether agreeable without the least mixture of terror. If again the first sight put us within reach of this dangerous animal, our terror may be so great as quite to exclude any sense of novelty. But this fact proves not that wonder is painful: it proves only that wonder may be excluded by a more powerful passion. And yet it is this fact, which, in superficial thinking, has thrown the subject into obscurity. I presume we may now boldly affirm, that wonder is in every case a pleasant emotion. This is acknowledged as to all new objects that appear inoffensive. And even as to objects that appear offensive, I urge that the same must hold so long as the spectator can attend to the novelty.

Whether surprise be in itself pleasant or painful, is a question not less intricate than the former. It is certain, that surprise inflames our joy when unexpectedly we meet with an old friend: and not less our terror, when we stumble upon any thing noxious. To clear this point, we must trace it step by step. And the first thing to be remarked is, that in some instances an unexpected object overpowers the mind so as to produce a momentary stupefaction. An unexpected object, not less than one that is new, is apt to sound an alarm and to raise terror. Man, naturally a defenceless being, is happily so constituted as to apprehend danger in all doubtful cases. Accordingly, where the object is dangerous, or appears so, the sudden alarm it gives, without preparation, is apt totally to unhinge the mind, and for a moment to suspend all the faculties, even thought itself[77]. In this state a man is quite helpless; and if he move at all, is as likely to run upon the danger as from it. Surprise carried to this height, cannot be either pleasant or painful; because the mind, during such momentary stupefaction, is in a good measure, if not totally, insensible.

If we then inquire for the character of this emotion, it must be where the unexpected object or event produceth less violent effects. And while the mind remains sensible of pleasure and pain, is it not natural to suppose, that surprise, like wonder, should have an invariable character? I am inclined however to think, that surprise has no invariable character, but assumes that of the object which raises it. Wonder is the gratification of a natural principle, and upon that account must be pleasant. There, novelty is the capital circumstance, which, for a time, is intitled to possess the mind entirely in one unvaried tone. The unexpected appearance of an object, seems not equally intitled to produce an emotion distinguishable from the emotion, pleasant or painful, that is produced by the object in its ordinary appearance. It ought not naturally to have any effect, other than to swell that emotion, by making it more pleasant or more painful than it commonly is. And this conjecture is confirmed by experience, as well as by language, which is built upon experience. When a man meets a friend unexpectedly, he is said to be agreeably surprised; and when he meets an enemy unexpectedly, he is said to be disagreeably surprised. It appears then, that the sole effect of surprise is to swell the emotion raised by the object. And this effect can be clearly explained. A tide of connected perceptions, glides gently into the mind, and produceth no perturbation. An object on the other hand breaking in unexpectedly, sounds an alarm, rouses the mind out of its calm state, and directs its whole attention upon the object, which, if agreeable, becomes doubly so. Several circumstances concur to produce this effect. On the one hand, the agitation of the mind and its keen attention, prepare it in the most effectual manner for receiving a deep impression. On the other hand, the object by its sudden and unforeseen appearance, makes an impression, not gradually as expected objects do, but as at one stroke with its whole force. The circumstances are precisely similar, where the object is in itself disagreeable.

The pleasure of novelty is easily distinguished from that of variety. To produce the latter, a plurality of objects is necessary. The former arises from a circumstance found in a single object. Again, where objects, whether coexistent or in succession, are sufficiently diversified, the pleasure of variety is complete, though every single object of the train be familiar. But the pleasure of novelty, directly opposite to familiarity, requires no diversification.

There are different degrees of novelty, and its effects are in proportion. The lowest degree is found in objects that are surveyed a second time after a long interval. That in this case an object takes on some appearance of novelty, is certain from experience. A large building of many parts variously adorned, or an extensive field embellished with trees, lakes, temples, statues, and other ornaments, will appear new oftener than once. The memory of an object so complex is soon lost; of its parts at least, or of their arrangement. But experience teaches, that even without any decay of remembrance, absence alone will give an air of novelty to a once familiar object; which is not surprising, because familiarity wears off gradually by absence. Thus a person with whom we have been intimate, returning after a long interval, appears like a new acquaintance. Distance of place contributes to this appearance, not less than distance of time. A friend after a short absence in a remote country, has the same air of novelty as if he had returned after a longer interval from a place nearer home. The mind forms a connection betwixt him and the remote country, and bestows upon him the singularity of the objects he has seen. When two things equally new and singular are presented, the spectator balances betwixt them. But when told that one of them is the product of a distant quarter of the world, he no longer hesitates, but clings to this as the more singular. Hence the preference given to foreign luxuries and to foreign curiosities, which appear rare in proportion to their original distance.

The next degree of novelty, mounting upward, is found in objects of which we have some information at second hand. For description, though it contribute to familiarity, cannot altogether remove the appearance of novelty when the object itself is presented. The first sight of a lion occasions some wonder, after a thorough acquaintance with the corrected pictures or statues of that animal.

A new object that bears some distant resemblance to a known species, is an instance of a third degree of novelty. A strong resemblance among individuals of the same species, prevents almost entirely the effect of novelty; unless distance of place or some other circumstance concur. But where the resemblance is faint, some degree of wonder is felt; and the emotion rises in proportion to the faintness of the resemblance.

The highest degree of wonder ariseth from unknown objects that have no analogy to any species we are acquainted with. Shakespear in a simile introduces this species of novelty.

One example of this species of novelty deserves peculiar attention; and that is, when an object altogether new is seen by one person only, and but once. These circumstances heighten remarkably the emotion. The singularity of the condition of the spectator concurs with the singularity of the object, to inflame wonder to its highest pitch.

In explaining the effects of novelty, the place a being occupies in the scale of existence, is a circumstance that must not be omitted. Novelty in the individuals of a low class, is perceived with indifference, or with a very slight emotion. Thus a pebble, however singular in its appearance, scarce moves our wonder. The emotion rises with the rank of the object; and, other circumstances being equal, is strongest in the highest order of existence. A strange animal affects us more than a strange vegetable; and were we admitted to view superior beings, our wonder would rise proportionably; and accompanying Nature in her amazing works, be completed in the contemplation of the Deity.

However natural the love of novelty may be, it is a matter of experience, that those who relish novelty the most, are careful to conceal its influence. This relish, it is true, prevails in children, in idle people, and in men of a weak mind. And yet, after all, why should one be ashamed for indulging a natural propensity? A distinction will explain this difficulty. No man is ashamed to own, that he loves to contemplate new or strange objects. He neither condemns himself nor is censured by others, for this appetite. But every man studies to conceal, that he loves a thing or performs an action, merely for its novelty. The reason of the difference will set the matter in a clear light. Curiosity is a natural principle directed upon new and singular objects, in the contemplation of which its gratification consists, without leading to any end other than knowledge. The man therefore who prefers any thing merely because it is new, hath not this principle for his justification; nor indeed any good principle. Vanity is at the bottom, which easily prevails upon those who have no taste, to prefer things odd, rare, or singular, in order to distinguish themselves from others. And in fact, the appetite for novelty, as above mentioned, reigns chiefly among persons of a mean taste, who are ignorant of refined and elegant pleasures.

The gratification of curiosity, as mentioned above, is distinguished by a proper name, viz. wonder; an honour denied to the gratification of any other principle, emotion, or passion, so far as I can recollect. This singularity indicates some important final cause, which I endeavour to unfold. An acquaintance with the various things that may affect us, and with their properties, is essential to our well-being. Nor will a slight or superficial acquaintance be sufficient. It ought to be so deeply ingraved on the mind, as to be ready for use upon every occasion. Now, in order to a deep impression, it is wisely contrived, that things should be introduced to our acquaintance, with a certain pomp and solemnity productive of a vivid emotion. When the impression is once fairly made, the emotion of novelty, being no longer necessary, vanisheth almost instantaneously; never to return, unless where the impression happens to be obliterated by length of time or other means; in which case the second introduction is nearly as solemn as the first.

Designing wisdom is no where more legible than in this part of the human frame. If new objects did not affect us in a very peculiar manner, their impressions would be so slight as scarce to be of any use in life. On the other hand, did objects continue to affect us as deeply as at first, the mind would be totally ingrossed with them, and have no room left either for action or reflection.

The final cause of surprise is still more evident than of novelty. Self-love makes us vigilantly attentive to self-preservation. But self-love, which operates by means of reason and reflection, and impells not the mind to any particular object or from it, is a principle too cool for a sudden emergency. An object breaking in unexpectedly, affords no time for deliberation; and, in this case, the agitation of surprise is artfully contrived to rouse self-love into action. Surprise gives the alarm, and if there be any appearance of danger, our whole force is instantly summoned up to shun or to prevent it.