if submitted to common sense. It would seem strange that any one
should deliberately and intelligently take the position that beauty
and sublimity are merely emotions of our minds, and not qualities of
objects: when we hear men speaking in this way, we are half inclined
to suspect that we misunderstand them, or that they misunderstand
themselves. I look upon a gorgeous sunset, and call it beautiful. What
is it that is beautiful? That sky, that cloud, that coloring, those
tints that fade into each other and change even as I behold them, those
lines of fire that lie in brilliant relief upon the darker background,
as if some radiant angel had thrown aside his robe of light as he
flew, or had left his smile upon the cloud as he passed through the
golden gates of Hesperus, these, these, are beautiful; _there_ lies
the beauty, and surely not in me, the beholder. An emotion is in my
mind, but that emotion is not beauty; it is simple _admiration_, _i.
e._, wonder and delight. There is no such emotion as beauty, common as
is the ambiguous expression "emotion of beauty." There are emotions of
fear, hope, joy, sorrow, and the like, and these emotions I experience;
I know what they mean; but I am not conscious of having ever
experienced an emotion of _beauty_, though I have often been filled
with wonder and delight at the sight of the beautiful in nature or art.
When I experience an emotion of fear, of hope, of joy, or of sorrow,
what is it that is joyful or sorrowful, hopeful or fearful? My mind,
of course, that is, I, myself. The object that occasions the emotion
on my part, is in no other sense fearful or joyful than as it is the
occasion of my being so. If, in like manner, beauty is an emotion, and
I experience that emotion, it is, of course, my mind that is beautiful,
and not the object contemplated. It is I, myself, that am beautiful,
not the sunset, the painting, the landscape, or any thing of that sort,
whatever. These things are merely the occasion of _my_ being beautiful.
Could any doctrine be more consoling to those who are conscious of any
serious deficiency on the score of personal attractions! Can any thing
be more absurd?
_The common View correct._--I beg leave to take the common sense
view of this question, which I cannot but think is, in the present
instance, the most correct, and still to think and speak of the beauty
of _objects_, and not of our own minds. Such is certainly the ordinary
acceptation and use of the term, nor can any reason be shown why, in
strictest philosophy, we should depart from it. There is no need of
applying the term to denote the emotion awakened in the mind, for that
emotion is not, in itself, either a new or a nameless one, but simply
that mingled feeling of wonder and delight which we call admiration,
and which passes, it may be, into love. To make beauty itself an
emotion, is to be guilty of a double absurdity. It is to leave the
quality of the object which gives rise to the emotion altogether
without a name, and bestow that name where it is not needed, on that
which has already a name of its own.
_Beauty still objective, though reflected from the Mind._--If to this
it be replied, that the beauty which we admire and which _seems_ to
be a property of the external object, is, nevertheless, of internal
origin, being merely a transfer to the object, and association with it,
of certain thoughts and feelings of our own minds, a reflection of our
own consciousness gilding and lighting up the objects around us, which
objects are then viewed by us as having a light and beauty of their
own, I answer, that even on this supposition, the external object, as
thus illumined, has the power of awakening the pleasing emotion within
us, and that power is its beauty, a property or quality of the object
still, although borrowed originally from the mind; just as the moon,
though it give but a reflected light, still shines, and with a beauty
of its own. So long as those thoughts and feelings lay hidden in the
mind, untransferred, unassociated with the external object, they were
not _beauty_. Not until the object is invested with them, and they have
become a property of that object, do they assume, to the mental eye,
the quality of beauty. So, then, beauty is even still an objective
reality, something that lies without us, and not within us.
_The Power of expressing an objective Quality, likewise._--In like
manner, if it be contended that beauty is only the sign and expression
of mental qualities, I reply, that power of signifying or expressing is
certainly a property of the object, and that property is its beauty,
and is certainly a thing objective, and not a mere emotion.
_All Beauty not Reflection, nor Expression._--I am far from conceding,
however, that all beauty is either the reflection or expression of
what passes within the mind. There are objects which no play of the
fancy, no transfer or association of the mental states, can ever render
beautiful; while, on the other hand, there are others which require no
such association, but of themselves shine forth upon us with their own
clear and lustrous beauty. Suppose a child of lively sensibility, and
with that true love of the beautiful, wherever discerned, which is one
of the finest traits of the child's nature, to look for the first time
upon the broad expanse of the ocean; it lies spread out before him a
new and sudden revelation of beauty; its extent of surface, unbroken
by the petty lines and boundaries that divide and mark off the lands
upon the shore; its wonderful deep blue, a color he has seen hitherto
only in the firmament above him, and not there as here--that deep blue
relieved by the white sails, that, like birds of snowy wing, flit
across its peaceful bosom, or lie motionless in the morning light on
its calm expanse; its peculiar convexity of surface, as it stretches
far out to the horizon, and lifts up its broad shoulders against the
sky;--these things he beholds for the first time, they are associated
with nothing in his past experience; he has never seen, never dreamed
of such a vision; it is not the reflection of his own thoughts or
fancies; but it is, nevertheless, to him a scene of rare and wondrous
beauty, the recollection and first impression of which shall haunt him
while he lives. If, in after life, he came to philosophize upon the
matter, it would be difficult to convince him that what he thus admired
was but the play of his own imagination, the transfer of his own mental
state, the association of his own thought and feeling with the object
before him; in a word, that the beauty which so charmed him lay not at
all in the object contemplated, but only in his own mind.
_A further Question._--That the beauty which we perceive is a quality
of objects, and not merely a subjective emotion, that there is in the
object something which, call it what we will, is the producing cause of
the emotion in us, and that this objective cause, whatever it be, is,
in the proper use of terms, to be recognized as beauty, this we have
now sufficiently discussed. Admitting, however, these positions, the
question may still arise, whether that which we call beauty in objects
has, after all, an absolute existence, independent of the mind that
is impressed by it? The beauty that I admire in yonder landscape, or
in the wild flower that blooms at my feet, is, indeed, the beauty of
the landscape or the flower, and not of my mind; it pertains to, and
dwells in, the object, and not in me; but dwells it there independently
of me, the observer, and when I do not behold it? If there were no
intelligent, observing mind, to behold and feel that beauty, would the
object still be beautiful, even as now? This admits of question. Is the
beauty a fixed, absolute quality, inherent in the object as such, and
_per se_, or is it something springing out of the relation between the
mind of the observer and the object observed.
_No Evidence of its Existence except its Effect._--That it is relative,
and not absolute, may be argued from the fact that we have no evidence
of any such quality or cause, save as in operation, save as producing
effects in us; and as we could never have inferred the existence of the
cause, had it not been for the effect produced, so we have no reason
to suppose its existence when and where it does not manifest itself
in operation, that is to say, when and where it is not observed. As
the spark from the smitten steel is not strictly to be regarded as
itself a property of the steel, nor yet of the flint, but as a relative
phenomenon arising from the collision of the two, so beauty, it may
be said, dwells not absolutely in the object _per se_, nor yet in the
intelligent subject, but is a phenomenon resulting from the relation of
the two.
_Further Argument from diversity of Effects._--The same may be argued
from the diversity of the effects produced. If beauty is a fixed,
absolute quality of objects, it may be said, then the effects ought to
be uniformly the same; whereas there is, in fact, no such uniformity,
no standard of beauty, none of taste, but what seems to one man
exceedingly fine, excites only the aversion and disgust of another,
and even the same person is at different times differently affected by
the same object. Hence it may be inferred that the beauty is merely a
relation between the mind and the object contemplated, varying as the
mind varies.
_Reply to the first Argument._--To these arguments I reply, in the
first place, that it is not necessary that a cause should be in actual
operation, under our immediate eye, in order that we should conclude
its independent and constant existence. If, whenever the occasion
returns, the effects are observed, we conclude that the cause exists
_per se_, and not merely in relation to us. Otherwise we could never
believe the absolute existence of any thing, but should, with Berkley
and Hume, call in question the existence of matter itself, save as
phenomenal and relative to our senses. The same argument that makes the
beauty of a rose relative merely to the observer, makes the rose itself
merely a relative existence. How do I know that it exists? I see it,
feel it, smell it; it lies upon my table; it affects my senses. I turn
away now. I leave the room. How do I know _now_ that the rose exists?
It no longer affects my senses; the cause no longer operates; the
effect is no longer produced. I have just as much reason to say it no
longer exists, as to say it is no longer beautiful.
_Reply to the second Argument._--To the argument from the diversity
of effect, I reply, that admitting the fact to be as stated, viz.,
that the same object is differently regarded by different minds, the
diversity may arise from either of two sources. The want of uniformity
may lie in the cause, or it may lie in the minds affected by it. The
exciting cause may vary, and the effects produced by it will then be
diverse; or the minds on which it operates may differ, and in that
case, also, the effects will be diverse. We are not to conclude, then,
from diversity of effect that the cause is not uniform. A beautiful
object, it is true, affects different observers differently, but the
reason of the diversity may be in _them_ and not in the object.
What then is the fact? Are the minds of all observers equally
susceptible of impression from the beautiful? By no means. They differ
in education, habit of thought, culture, taste, native sensibility, and
many other things. Hardly two minds can be found that are not diverse
in these respects. Ought we then to expect absolute uniformity of
effect?
_Not to be conceded that there is no Agreement._--It is by no means
to be conceded, however, that there is no such thing as a standard of
beauty or of taste, no general agreement among men as to what is or
is not beautiful, no general agreement as to the emotions produced.
There is such agreement in both respects. Within certain limits it
is uniform and complete. Certain aspects of nature, and certain works
of art, are, in all ages, and by all men, regarded as beautiful. The
Apollo Belvidere, and the Venus of the Capitol, are to us what they
were to the ancients; the perfection of the beautiful. The great work
of Raphael, scarcely finished at his death, the last touches still
fresh from his hand--that work which, as it hung above his bier, drew
tears from all eyes, and filled with admiration all hearts--is still
the wonder and admiration of men. And so it will be in centuries to
come. And so of the emotions produced by the contemplation of the
beautiful. Making due allowance for habits of association, mental
culture, and differences of native sensibility, we shall find men
affected much in the same way by the beautiful in nature or art. The
men of the same class and condition as to these matters--the peasant
of one age or country, and the peasant of another, the philosopher of
one time, and of another, the wealthy, uneducated citizen, and the
fashionable fool, of one period and nation, and of another--experience
much the same effects in view of one and the same object. The same
general laws, too, preside over and regulate the different arts which
have relation to the beautiful, in all ages of the world.
_Consequences of the Theory that Beauty is merely relative._--If beauty
be not absolute but relative only, it follows, 1. That, if there were
no observers of nature or art, neither would be longer beautiful. 2.
If, for any reason any thing is for the time unseen, as, _e. g._, a
pearl in the sea, a precious stone in the mine, or a rich jewel in the
casket, it has no beauty so long as it is there and thus. 3. As minds
vary in susceptibility of impression, the same thing is beautiful to
one person and not to another; at one time and not at another; nay,
at one and the same moment it is both beautiful and not beautiful,
according as the minds of the observers vary. I cannot say with truth,
that the Mosaics of St. Peter's, or the great diamond of the East,
are, at this moment, really beautiful, because I do not know who, or
whether any one, may, at this moment, be looking at them.
_Intimate Relation between the Mind and the Object._--While I maintain,
however, the existence of beauty as an absolute and independent quality
of objects, and not merely as relative to the mind that perceives and
enjoys it, I would, by no means, overlook the very intimate relation
which subsists, in the present case, between the perceiving mind
and the object perceived. Beauty makes its appeal primarily to the
senses. It pleases and charms us, because we are endowed with senses
and a nature fitted to receive pleasure from such objects. In the
_adaptation_ of our physical and mental constitution to the order and
constitution of material things as they exist without, lies the secret
of that power which the beautiful exerts over us.
_Might have been otherwise constituted._--We might have been so
constituted, doubtless, that the most beautiful objects should have
been disgusting, rather than pleasing: the violet should have seemed
an ugly thing, and the sweetest strains of music harsh and discordant.
There are disordered senses, and disordered minds, to which, even
now, those things, which we call beautiful, may so appear. For that
adaptation of our sensitive nature to external objects, and of these
objects to our sensitive nature, by virtue of which, the percipient
mind recognizes and feels the beauty of the object perceived, and takes
delight in it, we are indebted wholly to the wisdom and benevolence of
the great Creator.
_The Doctrine maintained._--Still, _given_, the present constitution
and mutual adaptation of mind and matter, and we affirm the independent
existence of the beautiful as an object _per se_, and not merely as an
affection of the percipient mind. The perception and enjoyment of the
beauty are subjective, relative, dependent; the beauty itself not so.
_The second Question._--If beauty be, then, as we find reason to
believe, not wholly a subjective affair, but a quality or property of
external objects, the question now arises,
II. What is it in the object, that constitutes its beauty?
_Theory of Novelty._--And first, is it the _novelty_ of the thing? Is
the novel the beautiful? Doubtless, novelty pleases us. It has this in
common with the beautiful. Yet some things that are novel, are by no
means beautiful. A mill for grinding corn is a great curiosity to one
who has never seen such a machine before, but it might not strike him
as particularly beautiful.
Every thing, when first beheld, is novel; but every thing is not
beautiful. Let us look more closely at the element of novelty. That
is novel which is new to _us_ merely, which appears to us for the
first time. It may be new to the intellect, a new idea, or to the
sensibility, a new feeling, or to the will, a new act. As a new idea it
satisfies our curiosity, as a new feeling it developes our nature, as a
new volition it enlarges the sphere of our activity. In these respects,
and for these reasons, novelty pleases, but in all this we discover no
resemblance to the beautiful.
_Novelty heightens Beauty._--It is not to be denied that novelty, in
many cases, heightens the beauty of an object. By familiarity, we
become, in a measure, insensible to the charms of that which, as first
beheld, filled us with delight. The sensibility receives no further
excitement from that to which it has become accustomed. To enjoy
mountain scenery most highly, one must not always dwell among the
mountains. To enjoy Niagara most highly, one must not live in the sight
of it all his days. But beauty, and the _enjoyment_ of the beautiful,
are surely different things, and while novelty is accessory to the full
effect of the beautiful on our minds, and even indispensable to it, it
is not, itself, the element of beauty, not the ground and substance of
it.
_Not always pleasing._--Jouffroy even denies that novelty is always
pleasing. Some things, he contends, _displease_ us, simply because they
are new. We become accustomed to them, and our dislike ceases. Thus it
is, to some extent, with difference of color in the races.
_Theory of the Useful._--Is, then, the _useful_ the beautiful? This
theory next claims our attention. The foundation of the emotions
awakened in us by the beautiful in nature or art, is the perception
of utility. We perceive in the object a fitness to conduce, in some
way, to our welfare, to serve, in some way, our purposes, and for this
reason, we are pleased. The utility is the beauty.
_The most useful not the most beautiful._--That the beauty of an object
may, in our perception, be heightened by the discovery of its fitness
to produce some desirable end, or rather, that this may add somewhat
to the pleasure we feel in view of the object, is quite possible; that
this is the main element and grand secret, either of that emotion on
our part, or of the beauty which gives rise to it, is not possible. It
is sufficient to say, that, if this were so, the most useful things
ought, of course, to be the most beautiful. Is this the case? A stream
of water conducted along a ship canal is more useful than the same
stream tumbling over the rapids, or plunging over a perpendicular
precipice. Is it also more beautiful? A swine's snout, to use a homely
but forcible illustration of Burke, is admirably fitted to serve the
purpose for which it was intended; useful exceedingly for rooting and
grubbing, but not, on the whole, very beautiful.
_Dissimilarity of the two._--Indeed, few things can be more unlike, in
their effect upon the mind, in the nature of the emotions they excite,
than the useful and the beautiful. This has been well shown by Jouffroy
in his analysis of the beautiful. Kant has also clearly pointed out the
same thing. Both please us, but not in the same way, not for the same
reason. We love the one for its advantage to us, the other _for its own
sake_. The one is a purely selfish, the other a purely disinterested
love, a noble, elevated emotion. The two are heaven-wide asunder. The
glorious sunset is of no earthly use to us, otherwise than mere beauty
and pleasure are in themselves of use. The gorgeous spectacle becomes
at once degraded in our own estimation by the very question of its
possible utility. We love it not for the benefit it confers, the use
we can make of it, but for its own sake, its own sweet beauty, because
it is what it is. There it lies, pencilled on the clouds, evanescent,
momentarily changing. There it is, afar off. You cannot reach it,
cannot command its stay, have no wish to appropriate it to yourself,
no desire to turn it to your own account, or reap any benefit from
it, other than the mere enjoyment; still you admire it, still it is
beautiful to you. Of what use to the beholder is the ruddy glow and
flash of sunrise on the Alpine summits as seen from the Rhigi or Mount
Blanc? Of what use, in fact, is beauty in any case, other than as it
may be the means of refining the taste, and elevating the mind? That
it has this advantage we are free to admit; and it is certainly one of
the noblest uses to which any thing can be made subservient; but surely
this cannot be what is meant when we are told that beauty _consists_
in utility, for this would be simply affirming that the cause consists
in the effect produced. Beauty refines and elevates the mind, is a
means of æsthetic and moral culture; as such it is of use, and in
that use lies the secret and the subtle essence of beauty itself. In
other words, a given cause produces a given effect, and that effect
_constitutes_ the cause!
_The utility of Beauty an incidental Circumstance._--The truth is, that
while the beautiful does elevate and ennoble the mind, and thus furnish
the means of the highest æsthetic and moral culture, this advantage is
wholly incidental to the existence of beauty, not even a necessary or
invariable effect, much less the constituting element. This is not the
reason why we admire the beautiful. It does not enter into our thoughts
at the moment. As on the summit of Rhigi, I watch the play of the first
rosy light on the snowy peaks that lift themselves in stately grandeur
along the opposite horizon, I am not thinking, at that moment, of the
effect produced on my own mind, by the spectacle before me; I am wholly
absorbed in the magnificence of the scene itself. It is beautiful, not
because it is useful, not because it elevates my mind, and cultivates
my taste, and contributes, in various ways, to my development, but it
produces these effects because it is beautiful. The very thought of the
useful is almost enough, in such cases, to extinguish the sentiment of
the beautiful.
_Beauty cannot be appropriated._--That only is useful which can be
_appropriated_, and turned to account. But the beautiful, in its very
nature, cannot be appropriated or possessed. You may appropriate the
picture, the statue, the mountain, the waterfall, but not their beauty.
These do not belong to you, and never can. They are the property of
every beholder. Hence, as Jouffroy has well observed, the possession
of a beautiful object never fully satisfies. The beauty is ideal, and
cannot be possessed. It is an ethereal spirit that floats away as a
silver cloud, ever near, yet ever beyond your grasp. It is a bow,
spanning the blue arch, many-colored, wonderful; yonder, just yonder,
is its base, where the rosy light seems to hover over the wood, and
touch gently the earth; but you cannot, by any flight or speed of
travel, come up with it. It is here, there, everywhere, except where
you are. It is given you to behold, not to possess it.
_Theory of Unity in Variety._--Evidently we must seek elsewhere than in
utility the dwelling-place of beauty. The secret of her tabernacle is
not there. Let us see, then, if _unity in variety_ may not be, as some
affirm, the principle of the beautiful. The intellect demands a general
unity, as, _e. g._, in a piece of music, a painting, or a play, and
is not satisfied unless it can perceive such unity. The parts must be
not only connected but related, and that relation must be obvious. At
the same time the sensibility demands variety, as _e. g._, of tone and
time in the music, of color and shade in the painting, of expression
in both. The same note of a musical instrument continuously produced,
or the same color unvaried in the painting, would be intolerable. The
due combination of these two principles, unity and variety, say these
writers, constitutes what we call beauty in an object. The waving line
of Hogarth may be taken as an illustration of this principle.
_Objection to this View._--Without entering fully into the discussion
of this theory, it may be sufficient to say, that while the principle
now named does enter, in some degree into our conception of the
beautiful, it can hardly be admitted as the ground and cause, or even
as the chief element of beauty. Not every thing is beautiful which
presents both unity and variety. Some things, on the other hand, are
beautiful which lack this combination. Some colors are beautiful,
taken by themselves, and the same is true of certain forms, which,
nevertheless, lack the element of variety. In the construction of
certain mathematical figures, which please the eye by their symmetry
and exactness, we may detect, perhaps, the operation of this principle.
On the other hand, it will not account for the pleasure we feel when
the eye rests upon a particular color that is agreeable. A bright red
pebble, or a bit of stained glass, appears to a child very beautiful.
It is the color that is the object of his admiration. We have simple
unity but no variety there. On the other hand, in a beautiful sunset we
have the greatest variety, but not unity, other than simply a numerical
unity.
We cannot, on the whole, accept this theory as a complete and
satisfactory resolution of the problem of the beautiful, although it is
supported by the eminent authority of Cousin, who, while he regards all
beauty as ultimately pertaining to the spiritual nature, still finds in
the principle, now under consideration, its chief characteristic so far
as it assumes external form.
_Order and Proportion._--Shall we then, with Aristotle. Augustine,
Andrè, and others, ancient and modern, seek the hidden principle
of beauty in the elements of _order and proportion_? What are order
and proportion? Order is the arrangement of the several parts of a
composite body. Proportion is the relation of the several parts to
each other in space and time. Not every possible arrangement is order,
but only that which appears conducive to the end designed, and not
every possible arrangement of parts is proportion, but only that which
furthers the end to be accomplished. To place the human eye in the
back part of the head, the limbs remaining as they now are, would be
_disorder_, for motion must in that case, as now, be forward, while the
eye, looking backward, could no longer survey the path we tread. The
limbs of the Arabian steed, designed for swiftness of locomotion, bear
a proportion to the other parts of the body, somewhat different from
that which the limbs of the swine, designed chiefly for support, and
for movements slower, and over shorter distances, bear to his general
frame. The proportion of each, however, is perfect as it is. Exchange
each for each, and they are quite out of proportion.
_Only another Form of the Useful._--Since order and proportion, then,
have always reference to the end proposed to be accomplished, we have,
in fact, in these elements, only another form of the useful, which, as
we have already seen, is not the principle of beauty.
_Not always Beautiful._--Accordingly, we find that order and proportion
do not, in themselves, and when unassociated with other elements,
invariably strike us as beautiful. The leg of the swine is as fine a
specimen of order and proportion as that of the Arab courser, but is
not so much admired for its beauty. It must be admitted, however, that
these elements in combination, do with others, enter more or less fully
into the formation of the beautiful, are intimately associated with its
external forms. The absence or violation of these principles would mar
the beauty of the object.
_The spiritual Theory._--The only theory of beauty remaining to be
noticed is the spiritual theory, which makes beauty consist, not
in matter as such, nor in any mere arrangement of matter in itself
considered, but in the manifestation or expression, under these
sensible material forms, of the higher, the _hidden spiritual nature_,
or element, appealing thus to our own spiritual nature, which is
thereby awakened to sympathy. In the sensible world about us we find
two elements diverse and distinct each from the other, the idea and the
form, spirit and matter, the invisible and the visible. In objects that
are beautiful we find these two elements united in such a way, that the
one expresses or manifests the other, the form expresses the idea, the
body expresses the spirit, the visible manifests the invisible, and our
own spiritual nature recognizing its like, holds communion and sympathy
with it as thus expressed. That which constitutes the beautiful, then,
is this manifestation, under sensible forms, and so to our senses, of
the higher and spiritual principle which is the life and soul of things.
_Relation of the Beautiful to the True and the Good._--It differs from
the true in that the true is not, like the beautiful, expressed under
sensible forms, but is isolated, pure, abstract, not addressed to the
senses, but to reason. It differs from the good, in that the good
always proposes an end to be accomplished, and involves the idea of
obligation, while the beautiful, on the contrary, proposes no end to be
accomplished, acknowledges no obligation or necessity, but is purely
free and spontaneous. Yet, though differing in these aspects, the good,
the true, and the beautiful, are at basis essentially the same, even as
old Plato taught, differing rather in their mode of expression, and the
relations which they sustain to us, than in essence.
_Relation of the Beautiful to the Sublime._--The relation of the
beautiful to the _sublime_, according to this theory, is simply this:
In the beautiful, the invisible and the visible, the finite and the
infinite, are harmoniously blended. In the sublime, the spiritual
element predominates, the harmony is disturbed, the sensible is
overborne by the infinite, and our spirits are agitated by the
presence, in an unwonted degree, of the higher element of our own
being. Hence, while the one pleases, the other awes and subdues us.
_Application of this Theory._--Such, in brief outline, is the theory.
Let us see now whether it is applicable to the different forms of
beauty, and whether it furnishes a satisfactory explanation and account
of them.
Surveying the different forms of being, we find among them different
degrees of beauty. Does, then, every thing which is beautiful express
or manifest, through the medium, and, as it were, under the veil, of
the material form, the presence of the invisible spiritual element? and
the more beautiful it is, does it so much the more plainly and directly
manifest this element?
_The Theory applied to inorganic Forms._--And first, to begin with
the lowest, how is it with the inanimate, inorganic, merely chemical
forms of matter? Here we have certain lines, certain figures, certain
colors, that we call beautiful. What do they express of the higher or
spiritual element of being? In themselves, and directly, they express
nothing, perhaps. Yet are they not, after all, suggestive, symbolical
of an idea and spirit dwelling, not in them, but in him who made
them, of the Creator's idea and spirit, inarticulate expressions,
mere natural signs, of a higher principle than dwells in these poor
forms? Do they not suggest and express to us ideas of grace, elegance,
delicacy, and the like? Do we not find ourselves attracted by, and,
in a sort, in sympathy with these forms, as thus significant and
expressive? Is it not thus that lines, and figures, and mathematical
forms, the regular and sharply cut angles of the crystal, the light
that flashes on its polished surface, or lies hid in beautiful color
within it, the order, proportion, and movement, by fixed laws, of the
various forms of matter, appear beautiful to us? For what are order,
proportion, regularity, harmony, and movement, by fixed laws, and what
are elegance, and grace of outline and figure, but so many signs and
expressions of a higher intelligence?
_Theory applied to vegetable Forms._--Passing onward and upward in the
scale of being, taking into view, now, the organic forms of vegetable
life, do we not find a more definite articulate expression of the
spiritual and invisible under the material form? The flower that blooms
in our path, the sturdy tree that throws out its branches against the
sky, or droops pensively, as if weighed down by some hidden sorrow,
address us more directly, speak more intimately to our spirits, than
the mere crystal can do, however elegant its form, or definite its
outline. They express sentiments, not ideas merely. They respond to
the sensibilities, they appeal to the inner life of the soul. They are
strong or weak, timid or bold, joyous or melancholy. It requires no
vigorous exercise of fancy to attribute to them the sensibilities which
they awaken in us. When in lively communion and sympathy with nature,
we can hardly resist the conviction that the emotions which she calls
into play in our own bosoms are, somehow, her own emotions also; that
under these forms so expressive, so full of meaning to us, there lurks
an intelligence, a soul.
_To the animal Kingdom._--In the animal kingdom, this invisible
spiritual principle, the energy that lies hidden under all forms
of animate and organized substance, becomes yet more strongly and
obviously developed. The approach is nearer, and the appeal is more
direct, to our own spiritual nature. We perceive signs, not to be
mistaken, of intelligence and of feeling; passion betrays itself,
love, hate, fear, the very principles of our own spiritual being, the
very image of our own higher nature. Beauty and deformity are now more
strongly marked than in the lower degrees of the scale of being.
_To Man._--In man we reach the highest stage of animal existence with
which we are conversant, the highest degree of life, intelligence,
soul--the being in whom the spiritual shines forth most clearly
through the material veil--and, shall we not say also, the being
most beautiful of all? The highest style of beauty to be found in
nature pertains to the human form, as animated and lighted up by the
intelligence within. It is the expression of the soul that constitutes
this superior beauty. It is that which looks out at the eye which sits
in calm majesty on the brow, lurks in the lip, smiles on the cheek,
is set forth in the chiselled lines and features of the countenance,
in the general contour of figure and form, and the particular shading
and expression of the several parts, in the movement, and gesture,
and tone; it is this looking out of the invisible spirit that dwells
within, through the portals of the visible, this manifestation of
the higher nature, that we admire and love; this constitutes to us
the beauty of our species. Hence it is that certain features, not in
themselves, perhaps, particularly attractive, wanting, it may be, in
certain regularity of outline, or in certain delicacy and softness, are
still invested with a peculiar charm and radiance of beauty from their
peculiar expressiveness and animation. The light of genius, or the
superior glow of sympathy, and a noble heart, play upon those plain,
and, it may be, homely features, and light them up with a brilliant and
regal beauty. Those, as every artist knows, are precisely the features
most difficult to portray. The expression changes with the instant. The
beauty flashes, and is gone, or gives place to a still higher beauty,
as the light that plays in fitful corruscations along the northern sky,
coming and going, but never still.
_Man not the highest Type of Beauty._--Is then the human form the
highest expression of the principle of beauty? It can hardly be; for in
man, as in all things on the earth, is mingled along with the beauty
much that is deformed, with the excellence much imperfection. We can
conceive forms superior to his, faces radiant with a beauty that sin
has never darkened, nor passion nor sorrow dimmed. We can conceive
forms of beauty more perfect, purer, brighter, loftier than any thing
that human eye hath seen or human ear heard. We conceive them, however,
as existing only under some sensible form, as manifest in some way
to sense, and the beauty with which we invest them is the beauty of
the spiritual expressing itself in the outward and visible. It is the
province of imagination to fashion these conceptions, and of art to
attempt their realization. This, the poet, the painter, the sculptor,
the architect, the orator, each in his way, is ever striving to do, to
present under sensible forms, the ideal of a more perfect loveliness
and excellence than the actual world affords.
This ideal can never be adequately and fully represented. The
perfection of beauty dwells alone with God.
_Consideration in favor of the Theory now explained._--It is in favor
of the theory now under consideration, that it seems thus more nearly
to meet and account for the various phenomena of beauty, than any other
of those which have passed under our review, and that it accounts for
them, withal, on a principle so simple and obvious. The crystal, the
violet, the graceful spreading elm, the drooping willow, the statue,
the painting, the musical composition, the grand cathedral, whatever
in nature, whatever in art is beautiful, all mean something, all
express something, and in this lies their beauty; and we are moved by
them, because we, who have a soul, and in whom the spiritual nature
predominates, can understand and sympathize with that which these forms
of nature and art, in their semi-articulate way, seem all striving to
express.
_The Ideas thus expressed pertain not to Nature but to the divine
Mind._--It is not necessary that, with the ancient Greeks, we should
conceive of nature, as having herself an intelligent soul of these
forms as themselves conscious of their own meaning and beauty. It is
enough that we recognize them as conveying a sentiment and meaning not
their own, but his who made them, and made them representative and
expressive of his own beautiful thought. Words are not the only modes
of expression. The soul speaks more earnestly and eloquently often in
signs than in words. And when God speaks to men, he does it not always
in the barren forms of human speech, but in the flower that he places
by my path, in the tree, the mountain, the rolling ocean, the azure
firmament. These are his _words_, and they are beautiful, and, when he
will, they are terrible. Happy he who, in all these manifestations,
recognizes the voice of God.
§ II.--COGNIZANCE OF THE BEAUTIFUL.
_Beauty an Object of Cognition._--We have treated, in the preceding
section, of the idea of the beautiful, in itself considered. We proceed
to investigate the action of the mind as cognizant of the beautiful in
its actual manifestations, whether in nature or art. Beauty, as we have
found reason to believe, is not a conception merely, existing only in
the mind, but a quality of certain objects. As such it has objective
value and existence, and the mind is cognizant of it as such, perceives
it, observes it, compares it and the object to which it pertains
with other like and unlike objects, judges and decides respecting
it. This quality of objects makes its appeal, as do all objects of
perception, first to the senses, and through them to the mind. There
is thus awakened in the mind, or suggested to it, the original and
intuitive conception of the beautiful; there is also, and beside this,
the cognizance by the mind of the beautiful as an actual and present
reality manifest in the object before it. As it perceives other
objects of a like nature, it classes them with the preceding, compares
them severally, judges of their respective merits, their respective
degrees and kinds of beauty. This discriminating power of the mind, as
exercised upon the various objects of beauty and sublimity, whether in
nature or art, we may designate by the general name of _taste_.
_Nature of this Power._--There has been much difference of opinion as
to the precise nature of this power, whether it is a distinct faculty
of the mind, or the simple exercise of some faculty already known and
described, whether it is of the nature of intellect, or of emotion, or
the combination of both. Hence the various definitions of taste which
have been given by different writers, some regarding it as strictly an
intellectual faculty, others as an emotion, while the greater number
regard it as including the action both of the intellect in perceiving,
and of the sensibility in feeling, whatever is beautiful and sublime.
What has been already said, sufficiently indicates with which of these
general views our own most nearly accords. We use the term taste
to denote the mind's power of cognizing the beautiful, a power of
knowing, of discriminating, rather than of feeling, an exercise of
judgment and the reflective power, directed to one particular class
of objects, rather than any distinct faculty of the mind. Feeling is
doubtless awakened on the perception of the beautiful; it may even
precede the judgment by which we decide that the object before us is
truly beautiful; but the feeling is not _itself_ the perception, or the
judgment; is not itself _taste_, whatever may be its relation to taste.
_Proposed Investigation._--As this is a matter of some importance to a
correct psychology, and also of much difference of opinion, it seems
necessary, for purposes of science, to investigate somewhat carefully
the nature of this form of mental activity. It is not a matter to be
settled by authority, by arbitrary definition, or dogmatic assertion.
We must look at the views and opinions of others, and at the reasons
for those opinions.
_Definitions._--As preliminary to such investigation, I shall present
some of the definitions of taste, given by the more prominent writers,
representing each of the leading views already indicated.
Blair defines it "a power of receiving pleasure from the beauties of
nature and art." Montesquieu, a French author of distinction, defines
it "something which attaches us to certain objects by the power of an
internal sense or feeling." Gerard, author of an Essay on Taste, makes
it consist in the improvement of the internal senses, viz., sense of
novelty, sublimity, beauty, imitation, harmony, etc. Accordant with
this are the lines of Akenside:
"What, then, is taste but those internal powers,
Active and strong, and feelingly alive
To each fine impulse?"
_Nature of these Definitions._--The definitions now given, it will be
perceived, make taste a matter of _sensibility_, of mere _feeling_,
a sensation or sense, a passive faculty of being pleased with the
beauties of nature and art.
_Another Class of Definitions._--Differing from this, others have
carefully distinguished between the rational and emotional elements,
the power of _discriminating_ and the power of _feeling_, and have
made taste to consist properly in the former. Of this class is Brown.
McDermot also takes the same view. This author, in his critical
dissertation on the nature and principles of taste, defines it as the
_power of discriminating_ those qualities of sensible and intellectual
being, which, from the invisible harmony that exists between them and
our nature, excite in us pleasant emotions. The emotion, however,
though it may be the parent of taste, he would not regard as a
constituent element of it.
_Definitions combining both Elements._--The greater number, however,
of those who have written on this subject, have combined in their
definitions of taste both these elements, the power of perceiving and
the power of feeling. So Burke: "That faculty, or those faculties of
the mind which _are affected with_, or which _form a judgment of_, the
works of imagination and the elegant arts." Alison: "That faculty of
the mind by which we _perceive_ and _enjoy_ whatever is beautiful or
sublime in the works of nature and art." Reid also makes it consist in
"the power of discerning and relishing" these objects. Voltaire makes
the feeling quite as essential as the perception. Benard, Professor of
Philosophy in the College Royal at Rouen, in the excellent article on
taste, in the Dictionnaire des Sciences Philosophiques, defines taste
as "that faculty of the mind which makes us to discern and feel the
beauties of nature, and whatever is excellent in works of art." It
is a compound faculty, according to this author, inhabiting at once
both worlds, that of sense and that of reason. Beauty reveals itself
to us only under sensible forms, the faculty which contemplates the
beautiful, therefore, seizes it only in its sensible manifestation. The
pure idea, on the other hand, in its abstract nature, addresses not the
taste but the understanding; it appears to us, not as the beautiful,
but as the true. Taste, then, has to do with sense. Still, says Benard,
"the essential element which constitutes it, pertains to the reason;
it is, in truth, only one of the forms of this sovereign power, which
takes different names according to the objects which it deals with;
_reason_, properly speaking, when it employs itself in the sphere of
speculative truth; _conscience_, when it reveals to us truths moral or
practical; _taste_, when it appreciates the beauty and suitableness of
objects in the real world, or of works of art."
_These three Classes comprehensive._--Other authorities and
definitions, almost without number, might be added, but they fall
essentially under the three classes now specified. Which of these
views, then, is the correct and true one? is the question now before
us. Is taste a matter of feeling, or is it an intellectual discernment,
or is it both? Evidently we cannot depend on authority for the decision
of this question, since authorities differ. We must examine for
ourselves.
_Etymology of the Term._--To some extent the word itself may guide us.
Borrowed, as are most if not all words expressing mental states and
acts, from the sphere of sense, there was doubtless some reason why
this word in particular was selected to denote the power of the mind
now under consideration. Some close analogy, doubtless, was supposed to
exist between the physical state denoted by this word in its primary
sense, and the mental faculty to which we refer, so that, in seeking
for a term by which to designate that intellectual faculty, none would
more readily present itself, as appropriate and suggestive of the
mental state intended, than the one in question. This analogy, whatever
it be, while it cannot be taken as decisive of the question before us,
is still an element not to be overlooked by the psychologist. What,
then, is the analogy? How comes this word--_taste_--to be used, rather
than any other, to denote the idea and power now under consideration?
_Taste as a Sense._--In the domain of sense, certain objects brought
in contact with the appropriate physical organ, affect us as sweet,
sour, bitter, etc. This is purely an affection of the sensibility,
mere feeling. We say the thing _tastes_ so and so. The power of
distinguishing such qualities we call the power or sense of taste.
Primarily mere sensation, mere feeling, we transfer the word to denote
the power of judging by means of that sensation. There is, in the
first instance, an affection of the organ by the object brought in
contact with it, of which affection we are cognizant; then follows an
intellectual perception or judgment that the object thus affecting us,
possesses such and such qualities, is sweet, sour, bitter, salt, etc..
The sensation affords the ground of the judgment. The latter is based
upon the former. The sensation, the simple feeling, affords the means
of discriminating, judging, distinguishing, and to this latter power
or process the word taste, in the physical sense, is more frequently
appropriated. We say of such or such a man, his taste is acute, or his
taste is impaired, or dull, etc., meaning his power of perceiving and
distinguishing the various properties of objects which affect his sense
of taste.
_Analogy of this to the mental Process called Taste._--It is easy to
perceive, now, the analogy between the physical power and process thus
described, and the psychological faculty under consideration, to which
the name primarily denoting the former has been transferred. Objects
in nature and art present themselves to the observation, and awaken
pleasure as beautiful, or excite disgust as the opposite. A mere matter
of sensibility, of feeling, this. Presently, however, we begin to
notice, not the mere feeling of pleasure or aversion, but the character
of the object that awakens it, we discriminate, we attribute to the
object such and such qualities, take cognizance of it as possessing
those qualities. This discriminating power, this judgment of the mind
that the object possesses such properties, we call taste. As, in the
sphere of sense, the feeling awakened affords the means of judging
and distinguishing, as to the qualities of the object, so here. The
beautiful awakens sensation--a vivid feeling of pleasure, delight,
admiration; deformity awakens the reverse; and this feeling enables
us to judge of the object, as regards the property in question, viz.,
beauty or deformity, whether, and how far, as compared with other
objects of the mind, it possesses this quality. In either case--the
physical and the psychological--the process begins with sensation
or feeling, but passes on at once into the domain of intellect, the
sphere of understanding or judgment; and while, in either case, the
word taste may, without impropriety, be used to denote the feeling
or susceptibility of impression which lies at the foundation of the
intellectual process, it is more strictly appropriate to the faculty of
discriminating the objects, and the qualities of objects, which awaken
in us the given emotions.
So far as the word itself can guide us, then, it would seem to be in
the direction now indicated.
_Appeal to Consciousness._--Analogy, however, may mislead us. We must
not base a doctrine or decide a question in psychology upon the meaning
of a single term. Upon observation and consciousness of what actually
passes in our own minds, in view of the beautiful, we must, after all,
rely. Let us place ourselves, then, in the presence of the beautiful in
nature or art, and observe the various mental phenomena that present
themselves to our consciousness.
I stand before a statue of Thorwalsden or Canova. The spell and
inspiration of high art are upon me. What passes now in my mind?
_The first Element._--First of all, I am conscious of almost instant
emotion in view of the object, an emotion of pleasure and delight.
No sooner do my eyes rest upon the chiselled form that stands in
faultless and wondrous beauty before me, than this emotion awakens. It
springs into play, as a fountain springs out of the earth by its own
spontaneous energy, or, as the light plays on the mountain tops, and
flushes their snowy summits, when the sun rises on the Alps. It is by
no volition of mine that this takes place.
_A second Element._--Along with the emotion, there is another thing
of which, also, I am conscious. Scarcely have my eyes taken in the
form and proportions on which they rest with delight, scarcely has
the first thrill of emotion, thus awakened, made itself known to the
consciousness, when I find myself exclaiming, "How beautiful!" The soul
says it; perhaps the lips utter it. If not an oral, it is, at least, a
mental affirmation. The mind perceives, at a glance, the presence of
beauty, recognizes its divinity, and pays homage at its shrine; not now
the blind homage of feeling, merely, but the clear-sighted perception
of the intellect, the sure decision of the understanding affirming,
with authority 'That which thou perceivest and admirest is beautiful.'
This is an act of judgment, based, however, on the previous awakening
of the sensibility. I know, because I feel.
_A third Element._--In addition to these, there may, or may not be,
another phase of mental action. I may begin, presently, to observe,
with a more careful eye, the work before me, and form a critical
estimate of it, scan its outline, its several parts, its effect as
a whole, ascertain its merits, and its defects as a work of art,
study its design, its idea, and how well it expresses that idea, and
fulfills that design. I seek to know what it is in the piece that
pleases me, and why it pleases me. This may, or may not, take place.
Whether it shall occur, or not, will depend on the state of the mind
at the moment, the circumstances in which it is placed, its previous
training and culture, its habits of thought. This, too, is an exercise
of judgment, comparing, distinguishing, deciding; a purely intellectual
process. It is not so much a new element, as a distinct phase of that
last named. It is the mind deciding and affirming now, not merely that
the object is beautiful, but _in what_ and _why_ it is so.
_Uniformity of Results._--I change now the experiment. I repeat it. I
place myself before other works, before works of other artists--works
of the painter, the architect, the musician, the poet, the orator.
Whatever is beautiful, in art or nature, I observe. I perceive, in
all cases, the same results, the occurrence of essentially the same
mental phenomena. I conclude that these effects are produced, not
fortuitously, but according to the constitution of my nature; that they
are not specific instances, but general laws of mental action; in other
words, that the mind possesses a susceptibility of being impressed
in this manner by such objects, and also a faculty of judging and
discriminating as above described. To these two elements, essentially,
then, do the mental phenomena occasioned by the presence of the
beautiful, reduce themselves.
_The Question._--Which, then, of these elements is it that answers
to the idea of taste, as used to denote a power of the mind? Is it
the susceptibility of emotion in view of the beautiful, the power of
feeling; or is it the faculty of judging and discriminating; or is it
both combined? Our definitions, as we have seen, include both; the
word, itself, may denote either; both are comprised in our analysis of
the mental phenomena in view of the beautiful.
_Not the first._--Is it the first? I think not. Taste is not mere
emotion, nor mere susceptibility of emotion. A child or a savage may
be deficient in taste, yet they may be as deeply moved in view of
the beautiful, in nature or art, as the man of cultivated mind; nay,
their emotion may exceed his. They may regard, with great delight and
admiration, what he will view with entire indifference. So far from
indicating a high degree of taste, the very susceptibility of emotion,
in such cases, may be the sure indication of a want of taste. They are
pleased with that which a cultivated and correct taste would condemn.
The power of being moved is simply sensibility, and sensibility is not
taste, however closely they may be related.
_Taste the intellectual Element._--Is taste, then, the power of mental
discrimination which enables me to say that such and such things are,
or are not, beautiful, and which, in some cases, perhaps, enables me
to decide why, or wherein they are so? Does it, in a word, denote the
_intellectual_ rather than the _emotional_ element of the process? I am
inclined to think this the more correct view. Susceptibility of emotion
is, doubtless, concerned in the matter. It has to do with taste. It
may be even the ground and foundation of its exercise, nay, of its
existence. But it is not, itself, taste, and should not be included,
therefore, in the definition.
_Reason for distinguishing the two._--As we distinguish, in
philosophical investigation, between an emotion and the intellectual
perception that precedes and gives rise to it, or between the
perception and the sensation on which it is founded, so I would
distinguish _taste_, or the intellectual perception of the beautiful,
from the _sensation_ or _feeling_ awakened in view of the object. The
fact that both elements exist, and enter into the series of mental
phenomena in view of the beautiful, is no reason why they should both
be designated by the same term, or included in the same definition,
but, rather, it is a reason why they should be carefully distinguished.
The precise nature of this faculty may be more distinctly perceived,
if we consider, more particularly, its relation to the _judgment_, and
also to the _sensibility_.
_Taste, as related to Judgment._--According to the view now taken,
taste is only a modification, or rather a particular direction of that
general power of the mind which we call _judgment_; it is judgment
exercised about the beautiful. It is the office of the judgment to
form opinions and beliefs, to inform us of relations, to decide
that things are thus and thus, that this is this, and that is that.
As employed in different departments of thought, it appears under
different forms, and is known under diverse names. As employed about
the actual and sensible, we call it understanding; in the sphere of
abstract truth it works under the cognomen of reason; in the sphere
of practical truth, the thing that is good and right to be done by
me, it is known as conscience; in the sphere of the ideal and the
beautiful it is taste. In all these departments of mental activity
it is exercised, employs itself upon all these subjects, giving us
opinion, belief, knowledge, as to them all. The judgment as thus
exercised in relation to the beautiful, that is to say, the mind
observing, comparing, discriminating, deciding, forming the opinion,
or reaching it may be the positive knowledge that this thing is, or
is not, beautiful--for this is simply what we mean by judgment in any
particular instance--judgment, as thus exercised, is known by the name
of _taste_. More strictly speaking, it is not so much the _exercise_
of the judgment in this particular way in given instances, as the
_foundation_ or _ground_ of that exercise, the _discriminating faculty_
or _power_ of the mind by virtue of which it thus operates.
_Judgment does not furnish the Ideas._--Does, then, the judgment, it
may be asked, give us originally the ideas of the true, the beautiful,
and the good? This we do not affirm. Judgment is not the source of
ideas, certainly not of those now mentioned. It does not originate
them. Their origin and awakening in the human mind is we should say,
on this wise. The beautiful, the true, the good, exist as simple,
absolute, eternal principles. They are in the divine mind. They are in
the divine works. In a sense they are independent of Deity. He does not
create them. He cannot reverse them or change their nature. He works
according to them. They are not created by, but only _manifested in_,
what God does. We are created with a nature so formed and endowed as
to be capable of recognizing these principles and being impressed by
them. The consequence is, that no sooner do we open the eye of reason
and intelligence upon that which lies around and passes before us, in
the world, than the idea of the true, the beautiful, the morally good,
is awakened in the mind. We instinctively perceive and feel their
presence in the objects presented to our notice. They are the product
of our rational intelligence, brought into contact, through sense, with
the world in which we dwell. The idea of beauty or of the right, thus
once awakened in the mind, when afterward examples, or, it may be,
violations, of these principles occur, the judgment is exercised in
deciding that the cases presented do or do not properly fall under the
class thus designated; and the judgment thus exercised in respect to
the beautiful, we call _taste_, in respect to the right, _conscience_.
_Taste as now defined._--As now defined, taste is, as to its principle,
_the discriminating power of the mind with respect to the beautiful or
sublime in nature or art_; that certain state, quality, or condition
of the mental powers and the mental culture, the result partly of
native difference and endowment, partly of education and habit, by
virtue of which we are able to judge more or less correctly as to the
beauty or deformity, the merit or demerit of whatever presents itself
in nature or art as an object of admiration, whether and how far it is
in reality beautiful, and of its fitness to awaken in us the emotions
that we experience in view thereof. If we are able to observe, compare,
discriminate, form opinions and conclusions well and correctly, on
these matters, our taste is good; otherwise bad. Whether it be the
one or the other, will depend not entirely on native endowment, not
altogether on the degree to which the judgment is cultivated and
developed in respect to other matters, but quite as much on the culture
and training of the mind with respect to the specific objects of
taste, viz., the beauties of nature and art. Men of strong minds, good
understanding, and sound judgment in other matters, are not necessarily
men of good taste. Like every other faculty of the mind, taste requires
cultivation.
_Taste and good Taste._--It is necessary to distinguish between taste,
and good taste. Many writers use the terms indifferently, as when we
say such a one is a man of taste, meaning of good taste, or such a one
has no taste whatever, meaning that he is a man of bad taste. Strictly
speaking, the savage who rejoices in the disfigurement of his person
by tattooing, paint, and feathers, is a man of _taste_, as really as
the Broadway dandy, or the Parisian exquisite. He has his faculty of
judging in such matters, and exercises it--his standard of judging, and
comes up to it. He is a man of taste, but not of correct taste. He has
his own notions, but they do not agree with ours. He violates all the
rules and principles by which well-informed minds are guided in such
matters. He shocks our notions of fitness and propriety, excites in us
emotions of disgust, or of the ludicrous, and, on the whole, we vote
him down as a man of no authority in such matters.
_As related to Sensibility._--Thus far we have spoken of taste only as
related to the judgment. It is necessary to consider also its relation
to the _sensibility_. Taste and sensibility are very often confounded.
They are, in reality, quite distinct. Sensibility, so far as we are at
present concerned with it, is the mind's _capability of emotion_ in
view of the beautiful or sublime. Taste is its _capability of judging_,
in view of the same. Viewed as acts, rather than as states or powers of
the mind, sensibility is the feeling awakened in view of a beautiful
object; taste is the judgment or opinion formed respecting it. In the
case already supposed, I stand before a fine statue or painting. It
moves me, attracts me, fills me with delight and admiration. In this,
it is not directly and immediately my taste, but my sensibility, that
is affected and brought into play. I begin to judge of the object
before me as a work of art, to form an opinion respecting its merits
and demerits; and, in so doing, my taste is exercised.
_The two not always proportional._--Not only are the two principles
distinct, but not always do they exist in equal proportion and
development in the same mind. Persons of the liveliest sensibility
are not always, perhaps not generally, persons of the nicest taste.
The child, the uneducated peasant, the negro, are as highly delighted
with beautiful forms and beautiful colors as the philosopher, but
could not tell you so well why they were moved, or what it was, in the
object, that pleased them; neither would they discriminate so well
the truly beautiful from that which is not worthy of admiration. If
there may be sensibility without taste, so, on the other hand, a high
degree of taste is not always accompanied with a corresponding degree
of sensibility. The practised connoisseur is not always the man who
enjoys the most at sight of a fine picture. The skillful musician has
much better taste in music than the child that listens, with mingled
wonder and delight, to his playing; but we have only to glance at the
countenance of each, to see at once which feels the most.
_Sensibility not inconsistent with Taste._--I should not, however,
infer from this, that a high degree of sensibility is inconsistent with
a high degree of taste. This was Mr. Stewart's opinion. The feeling,
he would say, will be likely to interfere with the judgment, in such a
case. Doubtless; where the feeling is highly wrought upon and excited,
it may, for the time, interfere with the cool and deliberate exercise
of the judgment. Yet, nevertheless, if sensibility be wanting, there
will not be likely to be much taste. If I feel no pleasure at sight of
a beautiful landscape or painting, I shall not be likely to trouble
myself much about its comparative merits or defects. It is useless, in
such a case, to inquire what pleases me, or why I am pleased, when,
in truth, nothing pleases me. There is no motive for the exercise
of judgment in such a case, neither is there an opportunity for its
action. The very foundation for such an exercise is wanting. A lively
sensibility is the basis of a correct taste, the ground on which it
must rest, the spring and life of its action. The two are related
somewhat as genius and learning which are not always found in equal
degree, yet are by no means inconsistent with each other. There may be
a high degree of mental strength and activity, without corresponding
acquisitions; yet there can hardly be learning without some degree
of mental power and activity. There may be sensibility without much
taste, but hardly much taste without sensibility. Taste is, in a great
measure, acquired, cultivated, an art; sensibility, a native endowment.
It may be developed, strengthened, educated, but not acquired. Genius
produces, sensibility admires, taste judges or decides. Their action
is reciprocal. If taste corrects and restrains the too ready or too
extravagant sensibility, the latter, on the other hand, furnishes the
ground and data upon which, after all, taste must rely in its decisions.
_Cultivation of Taste._--We have investigated, with some care, as was
proposed, the nature of that power of the mind which takes cognizance
of the beautiful. On the cultivation of this power, a few words must be
said in this connection. Taste is an intellectual faculty, a perceptive
power, a matter of judgment, and, as such, both admits and requires
cultivation. No forms of mental activity depend more on education and
exercise, for their full development, than that class to which we give
the general name of judgment, and no form of judgment more than that
which we call taste. The mind uncultivated, untrained, unused to the
nice perception of the beautiful, can no more judge correctly, in
matters of taste, than the mind unaccustomed to judge of the distance,
magnitude, or chemical properties of bodies, can form correct decisions
upon these subjects. It must be trained by art, and strengthened by
exercise. It must be made familiar with the laws, and conversant
with the forms of beauty. It must be taught to observe and study the
beautiful, in nature and in art, to discriminate, to compare, to judge.
The works in literature and in art which have received the approbation
of time, and the honorable verdict of mankind, as well as the objects
in nature which have commanded the admiration of the race, must become
familiar, not by observation only, but by careful study. Thus may taste
be cultivated.
HISTORICAL SKETCH.
_View of Plato._--Among the ancients, _Plato_ was, perhaps, the first
to distinguish the idea of the beautiful from other kindred ideas, and
to point out its affinity with the true and the good, thus recognizing
in it something immutable and eternal. In making the good and the
beautiful identical, however, he mistakes the true character and end of
art, Previously to Plato, and even by him, art and the beautiful were
treated only in connection with ethics and politics' æsthetics, as a
distinct department of science, was not known to the ancients.
_Of Aristotle._--_Aristotle_ has not treated of the beautiful but
only of dramatic art. Poetry, he thinks, originates in the tendency
to imitate, and the desire to know. Tragedy is the imitation of _the
better_. Painting should represent, in like manner, not _what is_,
but what _ought to be_. In this sense, may be understood his profound
remark, that _poetry is more true than history_.
_Plotinus and Augustine._--After Aristotle, _Plotinus_ and _Augustine_
alone, among the ancients, have treated of the beautiful. The work of
Augustine is not extant. It is known that he made beauty consist in
unity and fitness of parts, as in music. The treatise of Plotinus is
regarded as at once beautiful and profound. Material beauty is, with
him, only the expression or reflection of spiritual beauty. The soul
alone, the mind, is beautiful, and in loving the beautiful, the soul
loves its own image as there expressed. Hence, the soul must, itself,
be beautiful, in order to comprehend and feel beauty. The tendency of
this theory is to mysticism.
_Longinus and Quintilian._--Longinus, and Quintilian, treat of the
sublime, only with reference to eloquence and oratory; so, also,
Horace, of art, as having to do with poetry.
_Bacon._--Among the moderns, _Bacon_ recognizes the fine arts as among
the sciences, and poetry as one of the three chief branches of human
knowledge, but nowhere, that I am aware, treats of the beautiful,
distinctly, as such.
_School of Leibnitz._--It was the school of _Leibnitz_ and _Wolf_ in
Germany that first made the beautiful a distinct science. Baumgarten,
disciple of Wolf, first conceived this idea. Like Plato, however, he
makes the beautiful too nearly identical with the good and with morals.
_School of Locke._--In England, the school of _Locke_ have much to
say of beauty. Shaftesbury and Hutcheson, while they do not clearly
distinguish between the beautiful and the good, adopt the theory of
unity in variety, as already explained. Hogarth falls into the same
class, his idea of beauty being represented by the waving line. Burke
does not distinguish sufficiently between the sublime and the terrible.
_French Encyclopedists._--In France, the _Encyclopedists_ coincide,
essentially, with the school of Locke, and treat of the beautiful,
chiefly in its moral aspect.
_The later Germans._--In Germany, again, _Winckelman_, an artist, and
not a philosopher, seizing the spirit of the Greek art, ascribes, as
Plato had done, the idea of beauty to God, from whom it passes into
sensible things, as his manifestations.
In opposition to this ideal and divine aspect, _Lessing_ takes a more
practical view, regarding the beautiful from the stand-point of the
_real_. _Herder_ and _Goethe_ contribute, also, much to the science of
æsthetics. All these do little more than prepare the way for _Kant_,
who goes more profoundly into the philosophy of the matter. He makes
beauty a _subjective_ affair, a play of the imagination.
_Schiller_ makes it the joint product of the reason and the
sensibility, but still a _subjective_ matter, as Kant.
_Schelling and Hegel._--_Schelling_ develops the spiritual or ideal
theory of beauty. _Hegel_ carries out this theory and makes a complete
science of it, classifies and analyzes the arts. His work is regarded
as the first complete discussion of the philosophy of the fine arts.
It is characterized by strength, clearness, depth, power of analysis,
richness of imagination.
_Theory of Jouffroy._--_Jouffroy_, in France, among the later writers,
has treated fully, and in an admirable manner, of the philosophy
of the beautiful. His theory is derived from that of Hegel, with
some modifications. It is essentially the theory last presented in
the discussion of the subject in the preceding section, viz., the
expression of the spiritual or invisible element under sensible forms.
No writer is more worthy of study than Jouffroy. His work is clear,
strong, and of admirable power of analysis.
_Cousin._--Among the eclectics, _Cousin_, in his treatise on the true,
the beautiful, and the good, has many just observations, with much
beauty and philosophic clearness of expression.
_McDermot._--In English, beside the works already referred to, must be
noticed the treatise of _McDermot_ on Taste, in which the nature and
objects of taste are fully and well discussed.
CHAPTER IV.
IDEA AND COGNIZANCE OF THE RIGHT.
§ I.--IDEA OF RIGHT.
_The Idea of Right a Conception of the Mind._--Among the conceptions
which constitute the furniture of the mind, there is one, which, in
many respects, is unlike all others, while, at the same time, it is
more important than all others; that is, the notion or idea of _right_.
_Universally prevalent._--When we direct our attention to any given
instance of the voluntary action of any intelligent rational being,
we find ourselves not unfrequently pronouncing upon its character as
a _right_ or _wrong_ act. Especially is this the case when the act
contemplated is of a marked and unusual character. The question at once
arises, is it right? Or, it may be, without the consciousness of even a
question respecting it, our decision follows instantly upon the mental
apprehension of the act itself--this thing is right, that thing is
wrong. Our decision may be correct or incorrect; our perception of the
real nature of the act may be clear or obscure; it may make a stronger
or weaker impression on the mind, according to our mental habits, the
tone of our mental nature, and the degree to which we have cultivated
the moral faculty. There may be minds so degraded, and natures so
perverted, that the moral character of an act shall be quite mistaken,
or quite overlooked in many cases; or, when perceived, it shall make
little impression on them. Even in such minds, however, the _idea_ of
right and wrong still finds a place, and the understanding applies
it, though not perhaps always correctly, to particular instances of
human conduct. There is no reason to believe that any mind possessing
ordinary endowments, that degree of reason and intelligence which
nature usually bestows, is destitute of this idea, or fails altogether
to apply it to its own acts, and those of others.
_The Question and its different Answers._--But here an important
question presents itself: _Whence come_ these ideas and perceptions;
their origin? How is it, why is it, that we pronounce an act right or
wrong, when once fairly apprehended? How come we by these notions? The
fact is admitted; the explanations vary. By one class of writers our
ideas of this nature have been ascribed to _education_ and _fashion_;
by another, to _legal restriction_, human or divine. Others, again,
viewing these ideas as the offspring of nature, have assigned them
either to the operation of a _special sense_, given for this specific
purpose, as the eye for vision; or to the joint action of certain
associated emotions; while others regard them as originating in an
exercise of _judgment_, and others still, as _natural intuitions_ of
the mind, or reason exercised on subjects of a moral nature.
_Main Question._--The main question is, are these ideas _natural_,
or _artificial and acquired_? If the latter, are they the result
of education, or of legal restraint? If the former, are they to be
referred to the _sensibilities_, as the result of a special sense or
of association, or to the _intellect_, as the result of the faculty of
judgment or as intuitions of reason?
1. _Education._--Come they from _Education and Imitation?_--So Locke,
Paley, and others, have supposed. Locke was led to take this view, by
tracing, as he did, all simple ideas, except those of our own mental
operations, to sensation, as their source. This allows, of course,
no place for the ideas of right and wrong, which, accordingly, he
concluded, cannot be natural ideas, but must be the result of education.
_Objection to this View._--Now it is to be conceded that education
and fashion are powerful instruments in the culture of the mind.
Their influence is not to be overlooked in estimating the causes that
shape and direct the opinions of men, and the tendencies of an age.
But they do not account for the _origin_ of any thing. This has been
ably and clearly shown by Dugald Stewart, in answer to Locke; and it
is a sufficient answer. Education and imitation both _presuppose_
the existence of moral ideas and distinctions; the very things to be
accounted for. How came they who first taught these distinctions, and
they who first set the example of making such distinctions, to be
themselves in possession of these ideas? Whence did _they_ derive them?
Who taught _them_, and set _them_ the example? This is a question not
answered by the theory now under consideration. It gives us, therefore,
and can give us, no account of the origin of the ideas in question.
2. _Legal Enactment._--Do we then derive these ideas from legal
_restriction and enactment_? So teach some able writers. Laws are made,
human and divine, requiring us to do thus and thus, and forbidding such
and such things, and hence we get our ideas originally of right and
wrong.
_Presupposes Right._--If this be so, then, previous to all law, there
could have been no such ideas, of course. But does not law _presuppose_
the idea of right and wrong? Is it not built on that idea as its basis?
How, then, can it originate that on which itself depends, and which it
presupposes? The first law ever promulgated must have been either a
just or an unjust law, or else of no moral character. If the latter,
how could a law which was neither just nor unjust, have suggested to
the subjects of it any such ideas? If the former, then these qualities,
and the ideas of them, must have existed _prior_ to the law itself; and
whoever made the law and conferred on it its character, must have had
already, in his own mind, the idea of the right and its opposite. It is
evident that we cannot, in this way, account for the _origin_ of the
ideas in question. We are no nearer the solution of the problem than
before.
In opposition to the views now considered, we must regard the ideas
in question, as, directly or indirectly, the work of nature, and the
result of our constitution. The question still remains, however, in
which of the several ways indicated, does this result take place?
3. _Special Sense._--Shall we attribute these ideas to a _special
sense_? This is the view taken by Hutcheson and his followers.
Ascribing, with Locke, all our simple ideas to sensation, but not
content with Locke's theory of moral distinctions as the result of
education, he sought to account for them by enlarging the sphere of
sensation, and introducing a new sense, whose specific office is to
take cognizance of such distinctions. The tendency of this theory is
evident. While it derives the idea of right and its opposite from
our natural constitution, and is, so far, preferable to either of
the preceding theories, still, in assigning them a place among the
sensibilities, it seems to make morality a mere _sentiment_, a matter
of feeling merely, an impression made on our sentient nature--a
mere subjective affair--as color and taste are impressions made on
our organs of sense, and not properly qualities of bodies. As these
affections of the sense do not exist independently, but only relatively
to us, so moral distinctions, according to this view, are merely
subjective affections of our minds, and not independent realities.
_Hume and the Sophists._--Hume accedes to this general view, and
carries it out to its legitimate results, making morality a mere
relation between our nature and certain objects, and not an independent
quality of actions. Virtue and vice, like color and taste, the bright
and the dull, the sweet and the bitter, lie merely in our sensations.
These skeptical views had been advanced long previously by the
Sophists, who taught that man is the measure of all things, that things
are only what they seem to us.
_Ambiguity of the term Sense._--It is true, as Stewart has observed,
that these views do not necessarily result from Hutcheson's theory,
nor were they, probably, held by him; but such is the natural tendency
of his doctrine. The term _sense_, as employed by him, is, in itself,
ambiguous, and may be used to denote a _mental perception_; but when
we speak of _a_ sense, we are understood to refer to that part of
our constitution which, when affected from without, gives us certain
sensations. Thus the sense of hearing, the sense of vision, the sense
of taste, of smell, etc. It is in this way that Hutcheson seems to have
employed the term, and his illustrations all point in this direction.
He was unfortunate, to say the least, in his use of terms, and in his
illustrations; unfortunate, also, in having such a disciple as Hume, to
push his theory to its legitimate results.
If, by a special sense, he meant only a direct perceptive power of
the mind, then, doubtless, Hutcheson is right in recognizing such a
faculty, and attributing to it the ideas under consideration. But
that is not the proper meaning of the word _sense_, nor is that the
signification attached to it by his followers.
_No Evidence of such a Faculty._--But if he means, by sense, what the
word itself would indicate, some adaptation of the sensibilities to
receive impressions from things without, analogous to that by which we
are affected through the organs of sense, then, in the first place,
it is not true that we have any such special faculty. There is no
evidence of it; nay, facts contradict it. There is no such _uniformity_
of moral impression or sensation as ought to manifest itself on this
supposition. Men's eyes and ears are much alike, in their activity,
the world over. That which is white, or red, to one, is not black to
another, or green to a third; that which is sweet to one, is not sour,
or bitter, to another. At least, if such variations occur, they are
the result only of some unnatural and unusual condition of the organs.
But it is otherwise with the operation of the so-called special sense.
While all men have probably, some idea of right and wrong, there
is the greatest possible variety in its application to particular
instances of conduct. What one approves as a virtue, another condemns
as a crime.
_No Need of it._--Nor, secondly, have we any need to call in the aid
of a special sense to give us ideas of this kind. It is not true, as
Locke and Hutcheson believed, that all our ideas, except those of our
own mental operations, or consciousness, are derived ultimately from
sensation. We have ideas of the true and the beautiful, ideas of cause
and effect, of geometrical and arithmetical relations, and various
other ideas, which it would be difficult to trace to the senses as
their source; and which, equally with the ideas of right and wrong,
would require, in that case, a special sense for their production.
4. _Association._--Shall we, then, adopt the view of that class of
ethical writers who account for the origin of these ideas by _the
principle of association_? Such men as Hartley, Mill, Mackintosh, and
others of that stamp, are not lightly to be set aside in the discussion
of such a question. Their view is, that the moral perceptions are the
result of certain combined antecedent emotions, such as gratitude,
pity, resentment, etc., which relate to the dispositions and actions
of voluntary agents, and which very easily and naturally come to
be transferred, from the agent himself, to the action in itself
considered, or to the disposition which prompted it; forming, when
thus transferred and associated, what we call the moral feelings and
perceptions. Just as avarice arises from the original desire, not of
money, but of the things which money can procure--which desire comes,
eventually, to be transferred, from the objects themselves, to the
means and instrument of procuring them--and, as sympathy arises from
the transfer to others of the feelings which, in like circumstances,
agitate our own bosoms, so, in like manner, by the principle of
association, the feelings which naturally arise in view of the conduct
of others, are transferred from the agent to the act, from the enemy
or the benefactor, to the injury or the benefaction, which acts stand
afterward, by themselves, as objects of approval or condemnation. Hence
the disposition to approve all benevolent acts, and to condemn the
opposite; which disposition, thus formed and transferred, is a part of
conscience. So of other elementary emotions.
_Makes Conscience a mere Sentiment._--It will be perceived that this
theory, which is indebted chiefly to Mackintosh for its completeness,
and scientific form, makes conscience wholly a matter of sentiment
and feeling; standing in this respect, on the same ground with the
theory of a special sense, and liable, in part, to the same objections.
Hence the name _sentimental_ school, often employed to designate,
collectively, the adherents of each of these views. While the theory,
now proposed, might seem then to offer a plausible account of the
manner in which our moral _sentiments_ arise, it does not account for
the origin of our _ideas_ and _perceptions_ of moral rectitude. Now
the moral faculty is not a mere sentiment. There is an intellectual
perception of one thing as right, and another as wrong; and the
question now before us is, Whence comes that perception, and the
idea on which it is based? To resolve the whole matter into certain
transferred and associated emotions, is to give up the inherent
distinction of right and wrong as qualities of actions, and make virtue
and vice creations of the sensibility, the play and product of the
excited feelings. To admit the perception and idea of the right, and
ascribe their origin to antecedent emotion, is, moreover, to reverse
the natural order and law of psychological operation, which bases
emotion on perception, and not perception on emotion. We do not first
admire, love, hate, and then perceive, but the reverse.
_Further Objections._--The view now under consideration, while it seems
to resolve the moral faculty into mere feeling, thus making morality
wholly a relative affair, makes conscience, itself, an acquired,
rather than a natural faculty, a secondary process, a transformation
of emotions, rather than itself an original principle. It does it,
moreover, the further injustice of deriving its origin from the purely
_selfish_ principles of our nature. I receive a favor, or an injury;
hence I regard, with certain feelings of complacency, or the opposite,
the man who has thus treated me. These feelings I come gradually to
transfer to, and associate with, the act in itself considered, and this
with other acts of the same nature; and so, at last, I come to have a
moral faculty, and pronounce one thing right, and another wrong.
_At Variance with Facts._--This view is quite inadmissible; at
variance with facts, and the well-known laws of the human mind. The
moral faculty is one of the earliest to develop itself. It appears
in childhood, manifesting itself, not as an acquired and secondary
principle, the result of a complicated process of associated and
transferred emotion, requiring time for its gradual formation and
growth, but rather as an original instinctive principle of nature.
_Sympathy._--Adam Smith, in his "Theory of Moral Sentiments," has
proposed a view which falls properly under the general theory of
association, and may be regarded as a modification of it. He attributes
our moral perceptions to the feeling of _sympathy_. To adopt the
feelings of another is to approve them. If those feelings are such as
would naturally be awakened in us by the same objects, we approve them
as morally proper. Sympathy with the gratitude of one who has received
a favor, leads us to regard the benefaction as meritorious. Sympathy
with the resentment of an injured man, leads us to regard the injurer
as worthy of punishment, and so the sense of demerit originates;
sympathy with the feelings of others respecting our own conduct gives
rise to self-approval and sense of duty. Rules of morality are merely a
summary of these sentiments.
_This View not sustained by Consciousness._--Whatever credit may be
due to this ingenious writer, for calling attention to a principle
which had not been sufficiently taken into account by preceding
philosophers, we cannot but regard it as an insufficient explanation
of the present case. In the first place, we are not _conscious_ of
the element of sympathy in the decisions and perceptions of the moral
faculty. We look at a given action of right or wrong, and approve of
it, or condemn it _on that ground_, because it _is_ right or wrong,
not because we sympathize with the feelings awakened by the act in the
minds of others. If the process now supposed intervened between our
knowledge of the act, and our judgment of its morality, we should know
it and recognize it as a distinct element.
_No imperative Character._--Furthermore, sympathy, like other emotions,
has no _imperative_ character, and, even if it might be supposed to
suggest to the mind some idea of moral distinctions, cannot of itself
furnish a foundation for those feelings of _obligation_ which accompany
and characterize the decisions of the moral faculty.
_The Standard of Right._--But more than this, the view now taken
makes the standard of right and wrong _variable_, and dependent on
the feelings of men. We must know how others think and feel, how the
thing affects them, before we can know whether a given act is right or
wrong, to be performed or avoided. And then, furthermore, our feelings
must agree with theirs; there must be sympathy and harmony of views
and feelings, else the result will not follow. If any thing prevents
us from knowing what are the feelings of others with respect to a
given course of conduct, or if for any reason we fail to sympathize
with those feelings, we can have no conscience in the matter. As those
feelings vary, so will our moral perceptions vary. We have no fixed
standard. There is no place left for right, as such, and absolutely. If
no sympathy, then no duty, no right, no morality.
_Result of the preceding Inquiries._--We have, as yet, found no
satisfactory explanation of the origin of our moral ideas and
perceptions. They seem not to be the result of education and
imitation, nor yet of legal enactment. They seem to be natural, rather
than artificial and acquired. Yet we cannot trace them to the action
of the sensitive part of our nature. They are not the product of a
special sense, nor yet of the combined and associated action of certain
natural emotions, much less of any one emotion, as sympathy. And yet
they are a part of our nature. Place man where you will, surround him
with what influences you will, you still find in him, to some extent
at least, indications of a moral nature; a nature modified, indeed, by
circumstances, but never wholly obliterated. Evidently we must refer
the ideas in question, then, to the intellectual, since they do not
belong to the sensitive part of our nature.
5. _Judgment._--Are they then the product and operation of the faculty
of judgment? But the judgment does not _originate_ ideas. It compares,
distributes, estimates, decides to what class and category a thing
belongs, but creates nothing. I have in mind the idea of a triangle,
a circle, etc. So soon as certain figures are presented to the eye,
I refer them at once, by an act of judgment, to the class to which
they belong. I affirm that to be a triangle, this, a circle, etc.;
the judgment does this. But judgment does not furnish my mind with
the primary idea of a circle, etc. It deals with this idea already in
the mind. So in our judgment of the beauty and deformity of objects.
The perception that a landscape or painting is beautiful, is, in one
sense, an act of judgment; but it is an act which presupposes the idea
of the beautiful already in the mind that so judges. So also of moral
distinctions. Whence comes the _idea_ of right and wrong which lies at
the foundation of every particular judgment as to the moral character
of actions? This is the question before us, still unanswered; and to
this there remains but one reply.
6. _These Ideas intuitive._--The ideas in question are _intuitive_;
suggestions or perceptions of _reason_. The view now proposed may be
thus stated: It is the office of reason to discern the right and
the wrong, as well as the true and the false, the beautiful and the
reverse. Regarded subjectively, as conceptions of the human mind,
right and wrong, as well as beauty and its opposite, truth and its
opposite, are simple ideas, incapable of analysis or definition;
_intuitions of reason_. Regarded as objective, right and wrong are
realities, qualities absolute, and inherent in the nature of things,
not fictitious, not the play of human fancy or human feeling, not
relative merely to the human mind, but independent, essential,
universal, absolute. As such, reason recognizes their existence.
Judgment decides that such and such actions do possess the one or the
other of these qualities; are right or wrong actions. There follows
the sense of obligation to do or not to do, and the consciousness of
merit or demerit as we comply, or fail to comply, with the same. In
view of these perceptions emotions arise, but only as based upon them.
The emotions do not, as the sentimental school affirm, originate the
idea, the perception; but the idea, the perception, gives rise to the
emotion. We are so constituted as to feel certain emotions in view of
the moral quality of actions, but the idea and perception of that moral
quality must _precede_, and it is the office of reason to produce this.
_First Truths._--There are certain simple ideas which must be regarded
as first truths, or first principles, of the human understanding,
essential to its operations, ideas universal, absolute, necessary. Such
are the ideas of personal existence, and identity, of time and space,
as conditions of material existence; of number, cause, and mathematical
relation. Into this class fall the ideas of the true, the beautiful,
the right, and their opposites. The fundamental maxims of reasoning and
morals find here their place.
_How awakened._--These are, in a sense, intuitive perceptions; not
strictly innate, yet connate; the foundation for them being laid in our
nature and constitution. So soon as the mind reaches a certain stage
of development they present themselves. Circumstances may promote
or retard their appearance. They depend on opportunity to furnish
the occasion of their springing up, yet they are, nevertheless, the
natural, spontaneous development of the human soul, as really a part
of our nature as are any of our instinctive impulses, or our mental
attributes. They are a part of that native intelligence with which we
are endowed by the author of our being. These intuitions of ours, are
not themselves the foundation of right and wrong; they do not make one
thing right and another wrong; but they are simply the reason why we so
regard them. Such we believe to be the true account of the origin of
our moral perceptions.
§ II.--COGNIZANCE OF THE RIGHT.
_The Cognition distinguished from the Idea of Right._--Having, in
the preceding section, discussed the _idea_ of the right, in itself
considered, as a conception of the mind, we proceed now to consider
_the action of the mind as cognizant of right_. The theme is one of no
little difficulty, but, at the same time, of highest importance.
_Existence of this Power._--After what has been already said, it
is hardly necessary to raise the preliminary inquiry, as to the
_existence_ of a moral faculty in man. That we do possess the power of
making moral distinctions, that we do discriminate between the right
and the wrong in human conduct, is an obvious fact in the history
and psychology of the race. Consciousness, observation, the form of
language, the literature of the world, the usages of society, all
attest and confirm this truth. We are conscious of the operation of
this principle in ourselves, whenever we contemplate our own conduct,
or that of others. We find ourselves, involuntarily, and as by
instinct, pronouncing this act to be right, that, wrong. We recognize
the obligation to do, or to have done, otherwise. We approve, or
condemn. We are sustained by the calm sense of that self-approval,
or cast down by the fearful strength and bitterness of that remorse.
And what we find in ourselves, we observe, also, in others. In like
circumstances, they recognize the same distinctions, and exhibit the
same emotions. At the story or the sight of some flagrant injustice
and wrong, the child and the savage are not less indignant than the
philosopher. Nor is this a matter peculiar to one age or people. The
languages and the literature of the world indicate, that, at all
times, and among all nations, the distinction between right and wrong
has been recognized and felt. The [Greek: to dikaion] and [Greek: to
kalon] of the Greeks, the _honestum_ and the _pulchrum_ of the Latins,
are specimens of a class of words, to be found in all languages, the
proper use and significance of which is to express the distinctions in
question.
Since, then, we do unquestionably recognize moral distinctions, it is
clear that we have a moral faculty.
_Questions which present themselves._--Without further consideration of
this point, we pass at once to the investigation of the subject itself.
Our inquiries relate principally to the _nature_ and _authority_ of
this faculty. On these points, it is hardly necessary to say, great
difference of opinion has existed among philosophers and theologians,
and grave questions have arisen. What _is_ this faculty as exercised; a
judgment, a process of reasoning, or an emotion? Does it belong to the
rational or sensitive part of our nature: to the domain of intellect,
or of feeling, or both? What is the value and correctness of our
moral perceptions, and especially of that verdict of _approbation_ or
_censure_, which we pass upon ourselves and others, according as the
conduct conforms to, or violates, recognized obligation? Such are some
of the questions which have arisen respecting the nature and authority
of conscience.
I. _The Nature of Conscience._--What is it? A matter of _intellect_, or
of _feeling_; a _judgment_, or an _emotion_?
A careful analysis of the phenomena of conscience, with a view to
determine the several elements, or mental processes, that constitute
its operation, may aid us in the solution of this question.
ANALYSIS OF AN ACT OF CONSCIENCE.
_Cognition of Right._--Whenever the conduct of intelligent and rational
beings is made the subject of contemplation, whether the act thus
contemplated be our own or another's, and whether it be an act already
performed, or only proposed, we are cognizant of certain ideas awakened
in the mind, and of certain impressions made upon it. First of all,
the act contemplated strikes us as _right_ or _wrong_. This involves
a double element, an _idea_, and a _perception_ or _judgment_. The
_idea_ of right and its opposite are, in the mind, simple ideas, and,
therefore, indefinable. In the act contemplated, we _recognize_ the one
or the other of these simple elements, and pronounce it, accordingly,
a right or wrong act. This is simply a _judgment_, a perception, an
exercise of the understanding.
_Of Obligation._--No sooner is this idea, this cognition, of the
rightness or wrongness of the given act, fairly entertained by
the mind, than another idea, another cognition, presents itself,
given along with the former, and inseparable from it, viz., that of
_obligation_ to do, or not to do, the given act: the _ought_, and
the _ought not_--also simple ideas, and indefinable. This applies
equally to the future and to the past, to ourselves and to others:
I ought to do this thing. I ought to _have done_ it yesterday. He
ought, or ought not to do, or to have done it. This, like the former,
is an intellectual act, a perception or cognition of a truth, of a
reality for which we have the same voucher as for any other reality
or apprehended fact, viz., the reliability of our mental faculties
in general, and the correctness of their operation in the specific
instance. It is a conviction of the mind inseparable from the
perception of right. Given, a clear perception of the one, and we
cannot escape the other.
_Of Merit and Demerit._--There follows a third element, logically
distinct, but chronologically inseparable, from the preceding: the
cognition of merit or demerit in connection with the deed, of good
or ill desert, and the consequent approval or disapproval of the
deed and the doer. No sooner do we perceive an action to be right
or wrong, and to involve, therefore, an obligation on the part of
the doer, than, there arises, also, in the mind, the idea of merit
or demerit, in connection with the doing; we regard the agent as
deserving of praise or blame, and in our own minds do approve or
condemn him and his course, accordingly. This approval of ourselves
and others, according to the apprehended desert of the act and the
actor, constitutes a process of trial, an inner tribunal, at whose bar
are constantly arraigned the deeds of men, and whose verdict it is no
easy matter to set aside. This mental approval may be regarded by some
as a matter of feeling, rather than an intellectual act. We speak of
_feelings_ of approval and of condemnation. To approve and condemn,
however, are, properly, acts of the judgment. The feelings consequent
upon such approval or disapproval are usually of such a nature, and
of such strength, as to attract the principal attention of the mind
to themselves, and, hence, we naturally come to think and speak of
the whole process as a matter of feeling. Strictly viewed, it is an
intellectual perception, an exercise of judgment, giving sentence that
the contemplated act is, or is not, meritorious, and awarding praise or
blame accordingly.
This completes the process. I can discover nothing in the operation of
my mind, in view of moral action, which does not resolve itself into
some one of these elements.
_These Elements intellectual._--Viewed in themselves, these are,
strictly, intellectual operations; the recognition of the right, the
recognition of obligation, the perception of good or ill desert, are
all, properly, acts of the intellect. Each of these cognitive acts,
however, _involves a corresponding action of the sensibilities_. The
perception of the right awakens, in the pure and virtuous mind,
feelings of pleasure, admiration, love. The idea of obligation becomes,
in its turn, through the awakened sensibilities, an impulse and motive
to action. The recognition of good or ill desert awakens feelings of
esteem and complacency, or the reverse; fills the soul with sweet
peace, or stings it with sharp remorse. All these things must be
recognized and included by the psychologist among the phenomena of
conscience. These emotions, however, are based on, and grow out of, the
intellectual acts already named, and are to be viewed as an incidental
and subordinate, though by no means unimportant, part of the whole
process. When we speak of conscience, or the moral faculty, we speak of
a _power_, a faculty and not _merely_ a feeling or susceptibility of
being affected. It is a cognitive power, having to do with realities,
recognizing real distinctions, and not merely a passive play of the
sensibilities. It is simply the mind's power of recognizing a certain
class of truths and relations. As such, we claim for it a place among
the strictly cognitive powers of the mind, among the faculties that
have to do with the perception of truth and reality.
_Importance of this Position._--This is a point of some importance.
If, with certain writers, we make the moral faculty a matter of mere
feeling, overlooking the intellectual perceptions on which this
feeling is based, we overlook and leave out of the account, the chief
elements of the process. The moral faculty is no longer a cognitive
power, no longer, in truth, a faculty. The distinctions which it
seems to recognize are merely _subjective_; impressions, feelings,
to which there may, or may not, be a corresponding reality. We have
at least no evidence of any such reality. Such a view subtracts the
very foundation of morals. Our feelings vary; but right and wrong do
not vary with our feelings. They are objective realities, and not
subjective phenomena. As such, the mind, by virtue of the natural
powers with which it is endowed by the Creator, recognizes them. The
power by which it gives this, we call the _moral faculty_; just as
we call its power to take cognizance of another class of truths and
relations, viz., the beautiful, its _æsthetic_ faculty. In view of
these truths and relations, as thus perceived, certain feelings are,
in either case, awakened, and these emotions may, with propriety, be
regarded as pertaining to, and a part of, the phenomena of conscience,
and of taste; the full discussion of either of these faculties will
include the action of the sensibilities; but in neither case will a
true psychology resolve the faculty into the feeling. The mathematician
experiences a certain feeling of delight in perceiving the relation
of lines and angles, but the power of perceiving that relation, the
faculty by which the mind takes cognizance of such truth, is not to be
resolved into the feeling that results from it.
_Result of Analysis._--As the result of our analysis, we obtain the
following elements as involved in, and constituting, an operation of
the moral faculty:
(1.) The mental perception that a given act is right or wrong.
(2.) The perception of obligation with respect to the same, as right or
wrong.
(3.) The perception of merit or demerit, and the consequent approbation
or censure of the agent, as doing the right or the wrong thus perceived.
(4.) Accompanying these intellectual perceptions, and based upon them,
certain corresponding emotions, varying in intensity according to the
clearness of the mental perceptions, and the purity of the moral nature.
II. _Authority of Conscience._--Thus far we have considered
the _nature_ of conscience. The question arises now as to its
_authority_--the reliableness of its decisions.
If conscience correctly discerns the right and the wrong and the
consequent obligation, it will be likely to judge correctly as to the
deserts of the doer. If it mistake these points, it may approve what is
not worthy of approval, and condemn what is good.
_What Evidence of Correctness._--How are we to know, then, whether
conscience judges right? What voucher have we for its correctness?
How far is it to be trusted in its perceptions and decisions? Perhaps
we are so constituted, it may be said, as invariably to judge that to
be right which is wrong, and the reverse, and so to approve where we
should condemn. True, we reply, this may be so. It may be that I am so
constituted, that two and two shall _seem_ to be four, when in reality
they are five; and that the three angles of a triangle shall _seem_ to
be equal to two right angles, when in reality they are equal to three.
This may be so. Still it is a presumption in favor of the correctness
of all our natural perceptions, that they are the operation of original
principles of our constitution. It is not probable, to say the least,
that we are so constituted by the great Author of our being, as to be
habitually deceived. It may be that the organs of vision and hearing
are absolutely false; that the things which we see, and hear, and
feel, through the medium of the senses, have no correspondence to our
supposed perceptions. But this is not a probable supposition. He who
denies the validity of the natural faculties, has the burden of proof;
and proof is of course impossible; for the simple reason, that, in
order to prove them false, you must make use of these very faculties;
and if their testimony is not reliable in the one case, certainly it
is not in the other. We must then take their veracity for granted; and
we have the right to do so. And so of our moral nature. It comes from
the Author of our being, and if it is uniformly and originally wrong,
then he is wrong. It is an error, which, in the nature of the case, can
never be detected or corrected. We cannot get beyond our constitution,
back of our natural endowments, to judge, _à priori_, and from an
external position, whether they are correct or not. Right and wrong are
not, indeed, the creations of the divine will; but the faculties by
which we perceive and approve the right, and condemn the wrong, are
from him; and we must presume upon their general correctness.
_Not infallible._--It does not follow from this, however, nor do we
affirm, that conscience is infallible, that she never errs. It does
not follow that our moral perceptions and judgments are invariably
correct, because they spring from our native constitution. This is not
so. There is not one of the faculties of the human mind that is not
liable to err. Not one of its activities is infallible. The reasoning
power sometimes errs; the judgment errs; the memory errs. The moral
faculty is on the same footing, in this respect, with any and all other
faculties.
_Its Value not thus destroyed._--But of what use, it will be said, is
a moral faculty, on which, after all, we cannot rely? Of what use, we
reply, is _any_ mental faculty, that is not absolutely and universally
correct? Of what use is a memory or a judgment, that sometimes errs?
We do not wholly distrust these faculties, or cast them aside as
worthless. A time-keeper may be of great value, though not absolutely
perfect. Its authorship and original construction may be a strong
presumption in favor of its general correctness; nevertheless its hands
may have been accidentally set to the wrong hour of the day.
_Actual Occurrence of such Cases._--This is a spectacle that not
unfrequently presents itself in the moral world--a man with his
conscience pointing to the wrong hour; a strictly conscientious man,
fully and firmly persuaded that he is right, yet by no means agreeing
with the general convictions of mankind; an hour or two before, or, it
may be, as much behind the age. Such men are the hardest of all mortals
to be set right, for the simple reason, that they are conscientious.
"Here is my watch; it points to such an hour; and my watch is from the
very best maker. I cannot be mistaken." And yet he is mistaken, and
egregiously so. The truth is, conscience is no more infallible than
any other mental faculty. It is simply, as we have seen, a power of
perceiving and judging, and its operations, like all other perceptions
and judgments, are liable to error.
_Diversity of Moral Judgment._--And this which we have just said, goes
far to account for the great diversity that has long been known to
exist in the moral judgments and opinions of men. It has often been
urged, and with great force, against the supposed existence of a moral
faculty in man, as a part of his original nature, that men think and
act so differently with respect to these matters. Nature, it is said,
ought to act uniformly; thus eyes and ears do not give essentially
conflicting testimony, at different times, and in different countries,
with respect to the same objects. Certain colors are universally
pleasing, and certain sounds disagreeable. But not so, it is said,
with respect to the moral judgments of men. What one approves, another
condemns. If these distinctions are universal, absolute, essential; and
if the power of perceiving them is inherent in our nature, men ought to
agree in their perception of them. Yet you will find nothing approved
by one age and people, which is not condemned by some other; nay, the
very crimes of one age and nation, are the religious acts of another.
If the perception of right and wrong is intuitive, how happens this
diversity?
_This Diversity accounted for._--To which I reply, the thing has been
already accounted for. Our ideas of right and wrong, it was stated,
in discussing their origin, depend on circumstances for their time
and degree of development. They are not irrespective of opportunity.
Education, habits, laws, customs, while they do not originate, still
have much to do with the development and modification of these
ideas. They may be by these influences aided or retarded in their
growth, or even quite misdirected, just as a tree may, by unfavorable
influences, be hindered and thwarted in its growth, be made to turn and
twist, and put forth abnormal and monstrous developments. Yet nature
works there, nevertheless, and in spite of all such obstacles, and
unfavorable circumstances, seeks to put forth, according to her laws,
her perfect and finished work. All that we contend is, that nature,
under favorable circumstances, develops in the human mind, the idea of
moral distinctions, while, at the same time, _men may differ much in
their estimate of what is right, and what is wrong_, according to the
circumstances and influences right and wrong to particular cases, and
decide as to the morality of given actions, is an office of judgment,
and the judgment may err in this, as in any other of its operations.
It may be biassed by unfavorable influences, by wrong education, wrong
habits, and the like.
_Analogy of other Faculties._--The same is true, substantially, of
all other natural faculties and their operations. They depend on
circumstances for the degree of their development, and the mode of
their action. Hence they are liable to great diversity and frequent
error. Perception misleads us as to sensible objects, not seldom; even
in their mathematical reasonings, men do not always agree. There is
the greatest possible diversity among men, as to the retentiveness of
the memory, and as to the extent and power of the reasoning faculties.
The savage that thinks it no wrong to scalp his enemy, or even to
roast and eat him, is utterly unable to count twenty upon his fingers;
while the philosopher, who recognizes the duty of loving his neighbor
as himself, calculates, with precision, the motions of the heavenly
bodies, and predicts their place in the heaven, for ages to come. Shall
we conclude, because of this diversity, that these several faculties
are not parts of our nature?
_General Uniformity._--We are by no means disposed to admit, however,
that the diversity in men's moral judgments is so great, as might, at
first, appear. There is, on the contrary, a general uniformity. As to
the great essential principles of morals, men, after all, do judge much
alike, in different ages and different countries. In details, they
differ, in general principles, they agree. In the application of the
rules of morality to particular actions, they differ widely, according
to circumstances; in the recognition of the right and the wrong, as
distinctive principles, and of obligation to do the right as known, and
avoid the wrong as known, in this they agree. It must be remembered,
moreover, that men do not always act according to their own ideas of
right. From the general neglect of virtue, in any age or community, and
the prevalence of great and revolting crimes, we cannot safely infer
the absence, or even the perversion, of the moral faculty.
_Precisely in what the Diversity consists._--It is important to bear in
mind, throughout this discussion, the distinction between the _idea_
of right, in itself considered, and the _perception_ of a given act
as right; the one a simple conception, the other an act of judgment;
the one an idea derived from the very constitution of the mind,
connate, if not innate, the other an application of that idea, by the
understanding, to particular instances of conduct. The former, the
_idea_ of moral distinctions, may be universal, necessary, absolute,
unerring; the latter, the _application_ of the idea to particular
instances, and the decision that such and such acts are, or are not,
right, may be altogether an incorrect and mistaken judgment. Now it is
precisely at this point that the diversity in the moral judgments of
mankind makes its appearance. In recognizing the distinction of right
and wrong, they agree; in the application of the same to particular
instances in deciding _what_ is right and _what_ is wrong--a simple act
of the judgment, an exercise of the understanding, as we have seen--in
this it is that they differ. And the difference is no greater, and no
more inexplicable, with respect to this, than in any other class of
judgments.
_Conscience not always a safe Guide._--I have admitted that conscience
is not infallible. Is it, then, a safe guide? Are we, in all cases to
follow its decisions? Since liable to err, it cannot be, in itself, I
reply, in all cases, a safe guide. We cannot conclude, with certainty,
that a given course is right, simply because conscience approves it.
This does not, of necessity, follow. The decision that a given act is
right, or not, is simply a matter of judgment; and the judgment may,
or may not, be correct. That depends on circumstances, on education
partly, on the light we have, be it more or less. Conscientious men
are not always in the right. We may do wrong conscientiously. Saul of
Tarsus was a conscientious persecutor, and verily thought he was doing
God service. No doubt, many of the most intolerant and relentless
bigots have been equally conscientious, and equally mistaken. Such men
are all the more dangerous, because doing what they believe to be right.
_It is, nevertheless, to be followed._--What, then, are we to do? Shall
we follow a guide thus liable to err? Yes, I reply, follow conscience;
but see that it be a right and well-informed conscience, forming its
judgments, not from impulse, passion, prejudice, the bias of habit,
or of unreflecting custom, but from the clearest light of reason, and
especially of the divine word. We are responsible for the judgments we
form in morals, as much as for any class of our judgments; responsible,
in other words, for the sort of conscience we have. Saul's mistake lay,
not in acting according to his conscientious convictions of duty, but
in not having a more enlightened conscience. He should have formed a
more careful judgment; have inquired more diligently after the right
way. To say, however, that a man ought not to do what conscience
approves, is to say that he ought not to do what he sincerely believes
to be right. This would be a very strange rule in morals.
_Conscience not exclusively intellectual._--I have discussed, as
I proposed, the _nature_ and _authority_ of conscience. In this
discussion I have treated of the moral faculty as an intellectual,
rather than an emotional power I would not be understood, however, as
implying that conscience has not also an emotional character. Every
intellectual act, and faculty of action, partakes more or less of this
character, is accompanied by feeling, and these feelings are in some
degree peculiar, it may be, to the particular faculty or act of mind
to which they relate. The exercise of imagination involves some degree
of feeling, either pleasurable or painful, and that often in a high
degree; so also the æsthetic faculty. It is peculiarly so with the
exercise of the moral faculty. As already stated, in our analysis of an
act of conscience, it is impossible to view our past conduct as right
or wrong, and to approve or condemn ourselves accordingly, without
emotion; and these emotions will vary in intensity, according to the
clearness and force of our intellectual conception of the merit or
demerit of our conduct.
These feelings constitute an important part of the phenomena of moral
action, and consequently of psychology; as they belong, however, to the
department of _sensibility_, rather than of _intellect_, their further
discussion is not here in place. They will be considered in connection
with other emotions in the subsequent division of the work.
INTELLECTUAL FACULTIES
SUPPLEMENTARY TOPICS.
CHAPTER I.
INSTINCT.--THE INTELLIGENCE OF THE BRUTE AS DISTINGUISHED FROM THAT OF
MAN.
Closely connected with the philosophy of human intelligence is the
science of _instinct_, or the intelligence of the brute--a subject of
interest not merely in its relations to psychology, but to some other
sciences, as natural history, and theology.
_We work at a Disadvantage in such Inquiries._--With regard to this
matter, it must be confessed, at the outset, that we work, in some
respects, in the dark, in our inquiries and speculations concerning it.
It lies wholly removed from the sphere of consciousness. We can only
observe, compare, and infer, and our conclusions thus derived must be
liable, after all, to error. The operations of our own minds we know
by the clearest and surest of all sources of knowledge, viz., our own
consciousness; the operation of brute intelligence must ever be in
great measure unknown and a mystery to us. How far the two resemble
each other, and how far they differ, it is not easy to determine, not
easy to draw the dividing line, and say where brute intelligence stops
and human intelligence begins.
_Method proposed._--Let us first define instinct, the term usually
applied to denote brute intelligence, and ascertain, if possible, what
are its peculiar characteristics; we may then be able to determine
wherein it differs from intelligence in man.
_Definition._--I understand, by instinct, a law of action, governing
and directing the movement of sentient beings--distinct, on the
one hand, from the mere blind forces of matter, as attraction,
etc., and from reason on the other; a law working to a given end by
impulse, yet blindly--the subject not knowing why he thus works;
a law innate, inherent in the constitution of the animal, not
acquired but transmitted, the origin of which is to be found in the
intelligent author of the universe. These I take to be the principal
characteristics of that which we term instinct.
_Instinct a Law._--It is a _law of action_. In obedience to it the bee
constructs her comb, and the ant her chambers, and the bird her nest;
and in obedience to it, the animal, of whatever species, seeks that
particular kind of food which is intended and provided for it. These
are merely instances of the operation of that law. The uniformity and
universality which characterize the operations of this principle, show
it to be a law of action, and not a merely casual occurrence.
_Works by Impulse._--It is a law _working by impulse_, not mechanical
or automatic, on the one hand, nor yet rational on the other. The
impelling or motive force, in the case supposed, is not that of a
weight acting upon machinery, or any like mechanical principle, nor yet
the reflex action of a nerve when irritated, or the spasmodic action of
a muscle. It is not analogous to the influence of gravitation on the
purely passive forms of matter. Nor yet is it that higher principle
which we term reason in man. The bird constructs her nest as she does,
and the bee her cell, in obedience to some blind yet powerful and
unfailing _impulse_ of her nature, guiding and directing her movements,
prompting to action, and to this specific form of action, with a
restless yearning, unsatisfied until the end is accomplished. Yet the
creature does not herself understand the law by which she works. The
bee does not know that she constructs her comb at that precise angle
which will afford the greatest content in the least space, does not
know why she constructs it at that precise angle, could give no reason
for her procedure, even were she capable of understanding our question.
It is not with her a matter of reflection, nor of reason, at all, but
merely of blind, unthinking, yet unerring impulse.
_As innate._--This law is _innate_, _inherent_ in the constitution of
the animal, _not acquired_. It is not the result of education. The
bird does not learn to build her nest, nor the bee her comb, nor the
ant her subterranean chambers, by observing how the parent works and
builds. Removed from all opportunities of observation or instruction,
the untaught animal still performs its mission, constructs its nest or
cell, and does it as perfectly in solitude as among its fellows, as
perfectly on the first attempt as ever after. Whatever intelligence
there is involved in these labors and constructions, and certainly
the very highest intelligence would seem, in many instances, to be
concerned in them, is an intelligence transmitted, and not acquired,
the origin of which is to be sought, ultimately, not in the creature
itself, but in the Author of all intelligence, the Creator of the
universe. The intelligence is that not of the creature, but of the
Creator.
_Manifests itself irrespective of Circumstance._--It is to be further
observed, with respect to the principle under consideration, that it
often manifests its peculiar tendencies prior to the development of
the appropriate organs. The young calf butts with its head before its
horns are grown. The instinctive impulse manifests itself, also, under
circumstances which render its action no longer needful. The beaver
caught and confined in a room, constructs its dam, as aforetime,
with whatsoever materials it can command, although, in its present
circumstances, such a structure is of no possible use. These facts
evidently indicate the presence and action of an impulse working
blindly, without reflection, without reason, without intelligence, on
the part of the animal.
_Indications of Contrivance._--On the other hand, there are instances
of brute action which seem to indicate contrivance and adaptation to
circumstances. The bee compelled to construct her comb in an unusual
and unsafe position, steadies it by constructing a brace of wax-work
between the side that inclines and the nearest wall of the hive. The
spider, in like manner, whose web is in danger, runs a line, from
the part exposed to the severest strain or pressure, to the nearest
point of support, in such a manner as to secure the slender fabric. A
bird has been known, in like manner, to support a bough, which proved
too frail to sustain the weight of the nest, and of her young, by
connecting it, with a thread, to a stronger branch above.
_These Facts do not prove Reason._--Facts of this nature, however
interesting, and well authenticated, must be regarded rather as
exceptions to the ordinary rule, the nearest approach which mere
instinct has been known to make toward the dividing line that separates
the brute from the human intelligence. They do not, in themselves,
prove the existence of reason, of a discriminating and reflecting
intelligence, on the part of the animal; for the same law of nature
that impels the creature to build its nest or its comb, under ordinary
circumstances, in the ordinary manner, may certainly be supposed
to be capable of inducing a change of operation to meet a sudden
exigency, and one liable at any time to occur. It is certainly not
more wonderful, nor so wonderful, that the bee should be induced to
brace her comb, or the spider her web, when in danger, as that either
should be able to construct her edifice originally, at the precise
angle employed. It must be remembered, moreover, that, in the great
majority of cases, brute instinct shows no such capacity of adaptation
to circumstances.