BEAUTY;
ILLUSTRATED CHIEFLY BY AN
ANALYSIS AND CLASSIFICATION
OF BEAUTY IN WOMAN,
BY ALEXANDER WALKER,
AUTHOR OF "INTERMARRIAGE," "WOMAN," "PHYSIOGNOMY FOUNDED
ON PHYSIOLOGY," "THE NERVOUS SYSTEM," ETC.
EDITED BY AN AMERICAN PHYSICIAN
NEW YORK:
HENRY G. LANGLEY, 8 ASTOR-HOUSE.
1845.
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1840, BY J. & H. G.
LANGLEY, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the Southern
District of New York
STEREOTYPED BY J. S. REDFIELD,
_13 Chambers Street, New York_
DEDICATION.
TO GEORGE BIRBECK, M.D., F.G.S.,
PRESIDENT OF THE LONDON MECHANICS' INSTITUTION, &c., &c., &c.
A department of science, which in many respects must be regarded as new,
cannot so properly be dedicated to any one as to the inventor of the best
mode of diffusing scientific knowledge among the most meritorious and most
oppressed classes of society.
When the enemies of freedom, in order effectually to blind the victims of
their spoliation, imposed a tax upon knowledge, you rendered the
acquirement of science easy by the establishment of mechanics'
institutions--you gave the first and greatest impulse to that diffusion of
knowledge which will render the repetition of such a conspiracy against
humanity impossible.
You more than once also wrested a reluctant concession, in behalf of
untaxed knowledge, from the men who had evidently succeeded, in some
degree, to the spirit, as well as to the office, of the original
conspirators, and who unwisely hesitated between the bad interest which is
soon felt by all participators in expensive government, and their dread of
the new and triumphant power of public opinion, before which they know and
feel that they are but as the chaff before the whirlwind.
For these services, accept this respectful dedication, as the expression
of a homage, in which I am sure that I am joined by thousands of Britons.
Nor, in writing this, on a subject of which your extensive knowledge
enables you so well to judge, am I without a peculiar and personal motive.
I gratefully acknowledge that, in one of the most earnest and strenuous
mental efforts I ever made, in my work on "The Nervous System," I owed to
your cautions as to logical reasoning and careful induction, an anxiety at
least, and a zeal in these respects, which, whatever success may have
attended them, could not well be exceeded.
I have endeavored to act conformably with the same cautions in the present
work. He must be weak-minded, indeed, who can seek for aught in philosophy
but the discovery of truth; and he must be a coward who, believing he has
discovered it, has any scruple to announce it.
ALEXANDER WALKER.
APRIL 10, 1836.
AMERICAN ADVERTISEMENT.
The present volume completes the series of Mr. Walker's anthropological
works. To say that they have met with a favorable reception from the
American public, would be but a very inadequate expression of the
unprecedented success which has attended their publication.
"INTERMARRIAGE," the first of the series, passed through six large
editions within eighteen months, and "WOMAN," has met with a sale scarcely
less extensive. The numerous calls for the present work, have compelled
the publishers to issue it sooner than they had contemplated; and, it is
believed, that it will be found not less worthy of attention than the
preceding.
All must acknowledge the interesting nature of the subject treated in the
present work, as well as its intimate connexion with those which have
already passed under discussion. The analysis of beauty on philosophical
principles, is attended with numerous difficulties, not the least of which
arises from the want of any fixed and acknowledged standard. The term
Beauty is, indeed, generally considered as a vague generality, varying
according to national, and even individual taste and judgment.
Mr. Walker claims, in his advertisement, numerous points of originality,
some of which, on examination, may perhaps prove to have been proposed
previously by other writers. Enough, however, will remain to entitle him
to the credit of great ingenuity and acuteness. As treated by him, the
subject assumes an aspect very different from that exhibited in any other
publication. To trace the connexion of beauty with, and its dependance on,
anatomical structure and physiological laws--to show how it may be
modified by causes within our control--to describe its different forms and
modifications, and defects, as indicated by certain physical signs--to
analyze its elements, with a view to its influence on individuals and
society, in connexion with its perpetration in posterity--all these were
novel topics of vast and exciting interest, and well adapted to the
genius, taste, and research of our author.
In preparing the present edition, it has been thought expedient to make
some verbal alterations, and omit a few paragraphs, to which a refined
taste might perhaps object, and to bring together in the Appendix such
collateral matter, as might serve to correct, extend, or illustrate the
views presented in the text. With these explanations, the work is
confidently commended to the popular as well as philosophical reader, as
worthy of studious examination.
CONTENTS.
PRELIMINARY ESSAY Page ix
English Advertisement 1
CHAPTER I.--Importance of the Subject 11
CHAPTER II.--Urgency of the Discussion of this Subject in
relation to the Interests of Decency and Morality 21
CHAPTER III.--Cautions to Youth 35
CHAPTER IV.--Nature of Beauty 46
CHAPTER V.--Standard of Taste in Beauty 56
CHAPTER VI.--The Elements of Beauty 72
SECTION I.--Elements of Beauty in Inanimate Beings 74
SECTION II.--Elements of Beauty in Living Beings 88
SECTION III.--Elements of Beauty in Thinking Beings 93
SECTION IV.--Elements of Beauty as employed in
Objects of Art 103
Beauty of Useful Objects 104
Beauty of Ornamental Objects 108
Beauty of Intellectual Objects 113
Summary of this Chapter 120
APPENDIX to the Preceding Chapters 123
SECTION I.--Nature of the Picturesque 123
SECTION II.--Cause of Laughter 125
SECTION III.--Cause of the Pleasure received from
Representations exciting Pity 131
CHAPTER VII.--Anatomical and Physiological Principles 139
CHAPTER VIII.--Of the Ages of Women in relation to Beauty 152
CHAPTER IX.--Of the Causes of Beauty in Woman 166
CHAPTER X.--Of the Standard of Beauty in Woman 171
CHAPTER XI.--Of the Three Species of Female Beauty generally
viewed 185
CHAPTER XII.--First Species of Beauty: Beauty of the Locomotive
System 189
First Variety or Modification of this Species of
Beauty 191
Second Variety or Modification of this Species
of Beauty 197
Third Variety or Modification of this Species of
Beauty 198
CHAPTER XIII.--Second Species of Beauty: Beauty of the Nutritive
System 203
First Variety or Modification of this Species of
Beauty 208
Second Variety or Modification of this Species
of Beauty 210
Third Variety or Modification of this Species of
Beauty 212
CHAPTER XIV.--Third Species of Beauty: Beauty of the Thinking
System 225
First Variety or Modification of this Species of
Beauty 226
Second Variety or Modification of this Species
of Beauty 227
Third Variety or Modification of this Species of
Beauty 229
CHAPTER XV.--Beauty of the Face in particular 233
CHAPTER XVI.--Combinations and Transitions of the Three
Species of Female Beauty 254
CHAPTER XVII.--Proportion, Character, Expression, &c. 259
CHAPTER XVIII.--The Greek Ideal Beauty 280
CHAPTER XIX.--The Ideal of Female Beauty 307
CHAPTER XX.--Defects of Beauty 320
Defects of the Locomotive System 320
Defects of the Vital System 323
Defects of the Mental System 327
CHAPTER XXI.--External Indications, or Art of Determining the
precise Figure, the degree of Beauty, the Mind,
the Habits, and the Age of Women, notwithstanding
the Aids and Disguises of Dress 329
External Indications of Figure 329
External Indications of Beauty 332
External Indications of Mind 335
External Indications of Habits 337
External Indications of Age 339
Appendix 343
PRELIMINARY ESSAY,
BY THE AMERICAN EDITOR.
Her beauty hangs upon the cheek of night
Like a rich jewel in an Ethiop's ear:
* * * * *
Death hath no power yet upon thy beauty--
Thou art not conquered; beauty's ensign yet
Is crimson on thy lips, and in thy cheeks.--SHAKSPEARE.
It maybe set down, we suppose, as a matter sufficiently settled to become
a principle, that men are moved by nothing more generally and certainly
than by the power of Beauty--particularly Beauty in Woman. That it has an
influence upon _all_ of one sex, like that which Master Shakspeare has
given picture of in the lines we have set upon our front, we would not
pretend to say: but that the wild bard was no freshman in his knowledge of
humanity so far as heart and mind matters were concerned, we feel safe to
assert--and feel confident that the passionate language of Romeo
trespasses no bounds, and is but a faithful declaration of a power that
rules with a milder or a mightier sway in the bosoms of all who answer to
the distinctive name of Man.
This may seem a wide assertion. But it is no less true. The reason of the
slow belief in this universality is, that men are not always subject to
the influence, while the principle of it is always a tenant within them.
There is a time--and with the time comes the development. The mind, as it
unfolds, becomes acquainted with nothing so calculated to excite its
wonder, as its own properties and capabilities--its new perceptions--its
new affections. Till progress brings with it this knowledge of ourselves,
we remain ignorant of half that is within us to affect us like a spell,
and within whose reach we have been unconsciously passing onward and
upward, by a Providential ordering, from our childhood at least, if not
from our cradles.
Keeping this in view, let us consider for a moment something of the
elements of Beauty, and their influence, as a principle, upon the
principles of our nature.--And first it must be admitted that they are
good--of a good origin--and tend to a good result. They are good elements,
we believe, for we find them almost ever associated with what is pleasing,
improving, and satisfactory to us. Indeed, in this connexion, we find them
a source of consolation and delight, where all else has failed to minister
or even suggest them. They are of a good origin--for, if they were not, no
such effect would be wrought upon a system so sadly prone to evil and
villanous principles, and so little open to pure, and elevating, and
comforting ones, that they may be said to come about it, most
emphatically, like "angel-visits." They are elements, again, that tend to
a good result, in their operation, for their consequences are almost ever,
to make men better satisfied with their condition--where they come in, as
an influence upon it, at all--better satisfied with almost everything
about them, so long as they are conscious they are creatures of
proportions and proprieties, and affected intrinsically by them.
If what we here set down respecting the _elements_ of Beauty be true, it
is certainly of an interesting importance in view of the influence of that
quality upon the principles of our nature. We call it _quality_. Perhaps
this is not name enough for something so peculiar and powerful in its
connexion with the _total_ of our spirits. We will term it such, however,
for want of a wider language--and leave men to _feel_ out such definition
as they may deem more good and grateful.
Implanted, then, so deeply as Beauty is in the human heart--so universal,
that millions bow to it as something to fear while they worship--so
certain, as a principle, that scarcely a human being can be said to walk
without the sphere of its influence--it would be needless as well as
unphilosophical to deny that the great object of its fixture--its
enthronement upon its high place, should be one of no common character, or
of a tendency and effect within us, which it would be wrong and
inexcusable to overlook.
What then is the design of this singular and mysterious power, in
connexion with this sad and unaccountable nature--so often the theme of
eulogy and lament--of lofty, long, and desperate satire, among men? The
best answer, we think, is rendered in the influence, where operation is
open to every one who thinks, observes, reasons, acts, among his
fellows.--To enter into particular definitions here, would be needless as
well as wearisome. The general effect upon man, as a sentient and moral
being, must be the point to which our simple remarks and reasons must be
confined.
We have somewhere seen it observed--and have little doubt in the publicity
and good sense of the thought--that there was perhaps no one thing which
tended so materially to awaken lofty and good sentiments among the
people--to qualify the rough outline of character--and soften and
harmonize the untaught elements of their nature, as the frequent,
unrestrained, and encouraged contemplation of the perfect statuary, which
their master sculptors were continually erecting in their temples. This
freedom was a perpetual lesson to a nation. The principle was developed,
and the power of Beauty had a new, and forming, and mastering sway. A
people were coming into the light of better feeling--better
society--better government, under the gradual but no less certain
operation of a living principle, brought into great and beautiful action,
under the commanding hand of Genius, that seemed to pass at once from the
sky, whose perfect things it presented to the sons of earth!--It is not
singular, we think, that such a leading forth of Beauty to the
contemplation of awakened man, should produce effects like those to which
we have adverted. It strikes us that it would have been strange had this
consequence not been generated, and noble sculpture thus have stood before
a world as cold as the marble from which it was stricken. We believe that
Beauty saw a renovating power in the wonder of the Venus--and it would be
a sad thing to feel that it had ever ceased in its progress where woman or
the chisel were doing such things to advance it. Nor has it ceased.
History presents too many instances of the monarch power of Beauty in
woman, to permit us to doubt upon this subject. It has passed upon the
spirit of Man like a thing of necromance--winning him to its command, and
bowing him to its will, until royalty itself has stood powerless in its
presence, and the poor mass of mortals, stricken and panting like cornered
deer before the inexorable hunter. It has been the salvation and ruin of
nations, as well as families and individuals--for queens have obeyed its
supremacy as well as maidens, and kings squared their mandates, and
regulated their course, by the "line of beauty." All this is matter of
record. Sacred and profane story abounds with instances which admit of no
denial, while they excite our wonder. But the wonder ceases,
notwithstanding, when we turn from record to our own experience, and _see_
the effect, on others and ourselves, of what we once _read_ about in the
curious annals of our species. We now see the finished sculpture that
delighted and softened the people of an age, gazed on and admired by every
being whom we are accustomed to regard as rational. No one pretends to
question, much less to deny the beauty of the lovely statue, in which the
perfection of woman is portrayed in the finished feature or the swelling
form. Insensibility here would properly be regarded as a thing to be
ashamed of--as little better than a moral paralysis, which might well
exclude the questionable man from the circle of reasonable, enlightened,
and rising people, as a sad fellow, and a poor pilgrim on the earth. You
will rarely find the roughest nature with a cuticle that will not confess
some sensibility in a presence such as this--and I think we may set it
down as a thing well ascertained, that the picture or chiselling of a
beautiful woman will command the tribute of delight--the
acknowledgment--and loud one too--of a whole and hearty worship from the
tar, as well as the amateur. The galleries of our artists, in which the
principle of Beauty is made to speak and command, sufficiently prove that
there is no passing away of this power which has moved, ruled, and
regulated, to a degree almost incredible, the world of Man, from the time
he came to this school, and this trial of the passions and affections. Let
the question be asked of any one, whose spirit is in healthful action, if
his experience before the work of art, imbodying the Beauty we speak of,
is not of a humanizing--and we will add civilizing, as well as elevating
character, and we are willing to abide the issue of his answer, in full
support of the position we have taken. Such is our belief on the
universality of this influence or element. We have heard it denied, it is
certain--but it was even by those who have never tested the power by an
application of it to themselves, or a surrender to its mysteries, by an
approach to the real presence--and who, like bachelors upon the fearful
subject of matrimony, only betray a silliness just in proportion to their
ignorance. These are the men who have not yet unfolded. They are in the
chrysalis condition--and to be pitied accordingly. They may depend upon
it, when they pass from the _slough_, they will be ready to confess they
are, alas! too deep in that other "Slough of Despond," which is too well
represented by a sad sensitiveness to the magic of Beauty, and as sad a
consciousness that there is no approach for them, which can be crowned by
a capture of the citadel, or the least enjoyment of the glorious delights
it encloses. When we hear men deteriorating this power, or thanking the
gods they never bent knee or uttered vow at its shrine, we are ever ready
to believe they have either bowed all their days to far other and sadder
principles, and made oath to idols of bad material and worse sculpture, or
that they are as much beyond the reach of any good, and proper, and
beautiful influence, as the clod of the valley to which they are
hastening. They may take pride in denial of such influence--but what is
there to boast of in insensibility of any kind, where the very betrayal of
admiration is the best evidence of a good taste--a good feeling--a good
faith--a good principle? It cannot have escaped common observation, we
presume, that a love of Beauty--or, at least, any peculiar sensitiveness
to that quality in the female sex, has been held--and by sensible men,
too--as a weakness, or an index only of a weak mind, or a feminine spirit.
This is certainly very foolish--and a lamentable mistake. But it is easily
accounted for. It will be observed that the doctrine is never held save by
men who see beauty in things which other persons would hold abhorrent.
They are men who are in love with metaphysics, or glory in a mathematical
existence. They like, beyond all, the _features_ of a problem, and think
only of the _good face_ of a speculation. They see, as they profess, at
least, no proportions, save in some cold system of an absurd philosophy,
and are only fit for judgment in things either too abstract for the mass
of men, or too decidedly "earthy" to be worthy the attention of beings
made for a better sphere, and capable of seeing something in much that is
around us, which intimates the order and beauty by which that sphere is
distinguished. This is enough to put an end to this objection, in
reference to the subtle element of which we are venturing our humble, but
we believe, orthodox sentiments. For ourselves, we know of no more sad or
senseless mental condition in which we could be placed--we mean in the
social relation--than this one of such ungraceful stupidity, as this of
which a boast is made by such weary fellows as we have adverted to. If
Beauty is an _outside_ principle, which they argue is of no utility, and
quite unworthy of one who should look beyond the mere _coating_ of this
existence for his reward or his satisfaction, then we say that even an
_outside_ of loveliness and grace, is better than an _interior_ of
deformity, uselessness, indefiniteness, chaos--even though it pretend to
be all spiritual, while it suggests little but nonsense, and is quite
certain to end in nothing.
There is another thought in connexion with this element of Beauty in
Woman, which certainly deserves consideration. We believe the philosophy
which it intimates is founded in very good sense, and withal, in
propriety. Insensibility to the power, we have observed, is no index of
anything virtuous or elevated. It is rather, in all cases, a bad omen. Men
look upon it--and that very rationally--as indicative of something
unhealthy in the moral system. It seems to tell of a hardness--bad
propensities--a crustaceous nature. In short, man regards his fellow, who
is dead to this influence, as rather to be suspected at all times, than to
be trusted at any. But this is not his saddest trial--or what should be
regarded as such, if he can sign himself a man, with any conscience
whatever. His estimation by woman is unqualified and unquestioned. He is
set down by her as a creature as unworthy of regard by the sisterhood, as
he is devoid of warmth or wit in anything that has to do with the social
relations, and, above all, with the mysteries of the passions and
affections. He is marked by them with a timble brand. He is set apart as
a poor thing, who knows nothing of what he was made for, and whose ideas
of the graceful and lovely in life are about as defined and worthy as
those of the brutes that perish. He is run upon and laughed at by the
playful, and satirised and scathed by the witty. In the circle he is
treated--not pitied--as a piece of circulating insensibility; in the
street he is pointed at as one who might be well set up as a mark at its
corners. And this is right. It is well he should be visited by rebuke from
her who presents so continually around him the elements of that power he
is foolish to resist, and unable, after all, to depreciate. Woman's
opinion, here, is a part of the great system which the influence she
defends is meant to support--and we truly hope that she will maintain it
aloud as long as she can utter it. Of the power of Beauty, both the world
of fact, and the world of fancy, are abounding in instances. The records
of ancient story present us with their Helens and their Cleopatras, who
wrought upon nations by the magic of their faces. Later times show us the
wonder of the power in Mary of Scotland, and many a page might be adverted
to, full of the adventures which marked the love passages of kings as well
as clowns, originating in this mysterious influence, as developed in the
graces and glories of woman.
The power of Beauty operates widely, and everywhere. It takes the good man
captive as well as the miscellaneous one, who has no definite rule to
guide him on his wanderings. It bows the masters and teachers of men at
its shrine, as well as the scholars and children of life. It draws the
merchant from his desk--the philosopher from his chair. It gives new
utterance to the poet, while it wins the statesman to confess that there
is some virtue in the outside of the world, after all, and some attraction
apart from the chaos of cabinets and broad seals.
There is a beautiful exemplification of this power given by Florian, in
his story of a Theban sculptor. He is a wandering orphan in the streets
of his native city, and his first entrance into the workshop of the
celebrated Praxitiles well proves the truth of what we have set down in
the foregoing pages.--"He is suddenly transported on beholding so many
masterpieces of art! He gazes upon them--he is lost in admiration! and
turning to Praxitiles with an air of grace and juvenile freedom, "Father,"
cried he, "give _me_ the chisel, and teach me to become as great as thou
art." Praxitiles stared at the boy, astonished at the fire of enthusiasm
which kindled in his eyes, and embracing him with affection, "Yes!" said
he, "remain with me; I will now be _your_ master, but my hope shall be
that you may soon be _mine_."
The pupil soon becomes worthy of his teacher. He becomes the heir of his
fortune, and removes to Miletus. There, the daughter of the governor
visits his statuary, and from the time of that visit, his destiny is
sealed. Love usurps the place of every other passion, and the chisel is
cast aside in silence, under that supremacy. The Venus of marble that
adorned his study, was no longer a Venus before that living one which
filled his eye and his bosom. He felt that he must tell his love, or die.
He declares it, in a hurried letter--a slave betrays him--and the
indignant father accuses him before the council. He is banished from the
city--and embarks in a Cretan vessel.
At this time pirates surprise the city, and pillage the temple of Venus.
The statue of that goddess is torn from its pedestal. It was the Palladium
of the island, and on its possession hung the happiness of the Milesians.
The oracle of Delphos was consulted, and it was answered that Miletus
would not be safe till a new statue of Venus, beautiful as the Goddess
herself, should replace that ravished by the pirates. The inhabitants were
in despair. They accused the governor of unjustly banishing the only man
who might now save the city. He is seized, and hurried in chains to a
dungeon. Now came the trial of the daughter, whose beauty had brought on
this fearful crisis. She equips her vessel, and with treasures about her,
determines to go in person to Athens--Corinth--Thebes--to find some artist
who should emancipate her father. Tempted to land on a delicious island,
she there comes suddenly upon her lover, whom she had been taught to
believe had been long laid under the waters that lashed the heights of
Naxos.
The story is soon told. In the humble cabin of his solitude he had
prepared a statue which he said would meet the demand of the sybil. But he
claimed to have it placed veiled upon the pedestal in the temple of
Miletus, before she should even look upon the marble. She consents--and
they embark for that island. The artist is received with shoutings and
joy. The statue is borne to its trial on the altar of Venus. It stands
erect. He fears nothing--and it is unveiled. The features are not
mistaken--and the people utter cries of joy as they behold the image of
his mistress! The enamored sculptor had made her, in his loneliness, the
model of his Venus!--He is called on to claim his reward. "Release him you
have imprisoned," he cried--"release her father--and I ask no more."--It
is done--and the father gives up the daughter to his preserver, at the
foot of her statue.
Can the power of Beauty be better illustrated than in this simple tale? We
are not shown simply its effect upon an uneducated, artless
individual--upon a mind in its singleness, and just awakened to its own
capabilities of suffering and joy--but we see it operating in a wide and
unquestioned influence, upon the spirit of a whole people. It was not
demanded by fate that there should be merely a replacing of the piece of
marble upon the pedestal from which it had been torn--it was required that
the statue should be as royal in its _Beauty_ as that was whose place it
should supply. Beauty was the spirit-word of the destiny of Miletus. It
was Beauty which had been guardian of the city--and it was Beauty which
must now restore it, by her return to her temple.
But we will not dwell upon this story, though it so beautifully
exemplifies the position we maintain. There are many instances of frequent
occurrence in the world, which tell as strong a tale, of the influence of
Grace and Beauty, as is here presented in the Grecian record. We may not
witness them--but the power is working ever like fate in the mingled
material of our life; and it only requires a sober faith, together with a
moderate observation, to convince all men that they are the creatures of
Beauty, as much as they are of destiny and dust.
But there is another consideration connected with this subject--an
important one, too--and for that reason we have reserved it to the last.
We are settled in our conviction that there is something in Personal
Beauty, of a representative and correspondent character. It represents a
spiritual beauty--corresponds with a moral symmetry. Though we call it an
_outward_ property, still it must be a picture of the _internal_. It would
seem impossible that there can be a speaking expression of grace and
loveliness, upon a face that is but a telegraph of an inward deformity and
ugliness. Perhaps all this may seem somewhat ideal in its philosophy--and,
perhaps, almost transcendental. But we hold it to be true. It certainly
appears to us reasonable that the minor should reflect the reality, as
well in this heaven-made humanity, as amid the earthy art of our
drawing-rooms. That the spirit should speak out in the language of the
countenance, is to us as excellent sense as that it should tell its story
in protuberances and indentations. Who can deny this--and where will the
argument fail? We pause for a reply.
Let us be understood, however. We have no idea of going beyond reason in a
theory, which, though it may appear more than plausible to us, may seem
far this side of plausible to others. Yet we think we are borne out by
example. We do not maintain, it will be remembered, that beauty of person
must necessarily be the representative of _moral beauty_, according to the
best and highest definition of that term. That definition, we presume,
would include the virtuous and the heavenly. That these traits are
unfailing accompaniments of noble features--the beautiful countenance--the
finished form--it would be hazardous and foolish to assert. What we intend
to say is this--that we believe external beauty is the representation of
an internal and spiritual quality of the same nature. That Beauty may be
spiritual, though it may not be moral--the Beauty of Virtue. It may be the
beauty of superior and surpassing powers--the Beauty of Genius. It may be
the beauty of a mind, uncommon in its attractions, and in its proportions
beyond fault or question. It may be the beauty of intellectual
symmetry--and this may find its speaking resemblance in the chiseled face
and figure, as certainly as the moral loveliness of the
heaven-inspired--the emphatically _good_ man. Of what more perfect mental
proportions could the human countenance have been indicative, than the
countenance of Napoleon? The symmetry of Genius spake there, if it _was_
true--as it certainly was--that moral beauty had no telegraph in that
splendid sculpture of the man.
But we have said as much as we can afford to--though the more particular
subject of our remarks--or what in good faith should have been, if it has
not--Beauty in Woman, would seem to be one on which it would not be deemed
unknightly to give way to a pretty expression. We must, however, leave all
considerations of gallantry on this score, to others who can amplify
better than we can, when we have got to the end of our chapter.
ADVERTISEMENT.
There is perhaps no subject more universally or more deeply interesting
than that which is the chief subject of the present work. Yet no book,
even pretending to science or accuracy, has hitherto appeared upon it. The
forms and proportions of animals--as of the horse and the dog--have been
examined in a hundred volumes: not one has been devoted to woman, on whose
physical and moral qualities the happiness of individuals, and the
perpetual improvement of the human race, are dependant.
The cause of this has been, probably, the neglect on the part of
individuals, to combine anatomical and physiological knowledge with the
critical observation of the external forms of woman; and, perhaps, some
repugnance to anthropological knowledge on the part of the public. The
last obstacle, if ever it existed, is now gone by, as many circumstances
show; and it will be the business of the author, in this work, to endeavor
to obviate the former.
The present work, beside giving new views of the theory of beauty, and of
its application to the arts, presents an analysis and classification of
beauty in woman. A subsequent work will apply the principles here
established to intermarriages and crossings among mankind, and will
explain their results in relation to the happiness of individuals, and to
the beauty and the freedom from insanity of their offspring. A final work
will examine the relations of woman in society, will expose the
extravagant hypothesis of writers on this subject who have been ignorant
of anthropology, and will describe the reforms which the common interests
of mankind demand in this respect.
It is now to be seen, whether a branch of science which is strictly
founded on anatomy and physiology--one which entangles the reader in no
mystical and delusive hypothesis, and presents to him only indisputable
facts--one which is applicable to the subject most universally and deeply
interesting to mankind, the critical judgment of female beauty, as founded
on necessary functions--and one which unravels the greater difficulties
which that subject presents--may not excite and permanently command a
great degree of public interest.
A preliminary view of the importance of this subject is given in the first
chapter; the urgency of its discussion, in relation to the interests of
decency and morality, is established in the second; and some useful
cautions as to youth are offered in the third.
In regard to the importance of the subject, I may, even here, avail myself
of the highest authorities.
THOMAS MORE, speaking of the people of his commonwealth, says: "They do
greatly wonder at the folly of all other nations, which, in _buying a
colt_ (whereas, a little money is in hazard), be so chary and circumspect,
that, though he be almost all bare, yet they will not buy him, unless the
saddle and all the harness be taken off--lest, under those coverings, be
hid some gall or sore. And yet, in _choosing a wife_, which shall be
either pleasure or displeasure to them all their life after, they be so
reckless, that, all the residue of the woman's body being covered with
clothes, they esteem her scarcely by one hand-breadth (for they can see no
more but her face), and so to join her to them, not without great jeopardy
of evil agreeing together--if anything in her body afterward should chance
to offend and mislike them."[1]
FRANCIS BACON is of similar opinion.
Happily, the advancement of anthropological science in modern times, may,
as is here shown, be so applied as to render quite unnecessary the
_objectionable methods_ proposed by both these philosophers, in order to
carry their doctrines into practice.
_Shall I be blamed, because I avail myself of the progress of knowledge to
render all that these great men desired on this subject of easy attainment
and inoffensive to woman? Shall I be blamed, because I first facilitate
that which the still farther advancement of knowledge will inevitably
render an everyday occurrence, and the guide of the most important act of
human life?_--I care not.
In the details as to female beauty, it will be seen how incorrectly
Winckelmann says: "In female figures, the forms of beauty are not so
different, nor the gradations so various, as in those of males; and
therefore in general they present no other difference than that which is
dependant upon age.... Hence, in treating of female beauty, few
observations occur as necessary to be made, and the study of the artist is
more limited and more easy.... It is to be observed, that, in speaking of
the resemblance of nude female figures, I speak solely of the body,
without concluding from it that they also resemble each other in the
distinctive characters of the head, which are particularly marked in each,
whether goddess or heroine."--The differences, even in the bodies of
females, are here shown to be both numerous and capable of distinct
classification.
It is right to observe, that this work has nothing to do with an early
production of the writer, a consciousness of the small value of which
prevented his attaching his name to it, which he now knows to be utterly
worthless, and which has since been vamped up with things which are more
worthless still.
The most valuable features of the present work are entirely new and
original. Others are such as the writer thought not unworthy of
preservation from earlier essays. He has also, throughout this work,
adopted from other writers, with no other alteration than accuracy
required, every view, opinion, or remark, which he thought applicable to
a department of science, of which all the great features are new.
Such being the case, he thinks it just, at once to himself and others, to
indicate here the only points on which he can himself lay any claim to
originality. These are as follows:--
The more complete establishment of the truth that, in relation to man and
woman in particular, beauty is the external sign of goodness in
organization and function, and thence its importance.--Chapter I., and the
work generally.
The showing that the discussion of this subject, though involving the
examination of the naked figure, is urgent in relation to decency (the
theory of which is discussed), morality, and happy intermarriage.--Chapter
II.
The showing that the ancient religion was the cause of the perfection of
the fine arts in Greece, by its personification of simple attributes or
virtues, as objects of adoration.--Chapter II.
The exposition of the nature, the kinds, and the characteristics of
beauty; and of some errors of Burke, Knight, &c., on this
subject.--Chapter IV.
The showing that there are elements of beauty invariable in their nature
and effect, and that these are modified and complicated in advancing from
simple to complex beings, and the arts relating to them.--Chapter VI.
The pointing out these elements of beauty, and their mode of operation in
inanimate beings; and the errors of Knight and Allison on this
subject.--Sect. I., Chapter VI.
The pointing out these elements, and others which are superadded, in
living beings; and the errors of Allison on this subject.--Sect. II.,
Chapter VI.
The pointing out these elements, and others which are farther superadded,
in thinking beings; and the errors of Burke and Knight on this
subject.--Sect. III., Chapter VI.
The exposition of these elements, as differing, or variously modified, in
the useful, ornamental, and intellectual arts, respectively; and some
remarks on ornament in architecture, and in female dress.--Sect. IV.,
Chapter VI.
The explanation of the nature of the picturesque, after the failure of
Knight and Price in this respect.--Sect. I., Appendix to preceding
chapters.
The vindication of the doctrine of Hobbes, as to the cause of laughter;
and exposition of the errors of Campbell and Beattie on this
subject.--Sect. II., Appendix.
The explanation of the cause of the pleasure received from representations
exciting pity; and of the errors of Burke, &c., on that subject.--Sect.
III., Appendix.
The arrangement of anatomy and physiology, and the application of the
principles of these sciences to the distinguishing and judging of
beauty.--Chapter VII.
The explanation of the difference in the beauty of the two sexes even in
the same country.--Chapter IX.
Various arguments establishing the standard of beauty in woman; and
exposure of the sophistry of Knight, on this subject.--Chapter X.
The showing, by the preceding arrangements, that the ancient temperaments
are partial or complex views of anthropological phenomena.--Chapter XI.,
et seq.
The description of the first species of beauty, or that of the locomotive
system, and of its varieties, as founded on examination of
structure.--Chapter XII.
The description of the second species of beauty, or that of the nutritive
system, and of its varieties, as founded on examination of
structure.--Chapter XIII.
The description of the third species of beauty, or that of the thinking
system, and of its varieties, as founded on examination of
structure.--Chapter XIV.
The explanation of the cause of the deformity produced by the obliquely
placed eyes of the Chinese, &c.--Chapter XV.
The explanation of the mode in which the action of the muscles of the face
becomes physiognomically expressive.--Ibid.
The explanation of the physiognomical character of the different kinds of
the hair.--Ibid.
The explanation of the cause of the different effects of the same face,
even in a state of repose.--Ibid.
The indication of the faulty feature, and its gradual increase, even in
beautiful faces.--Ibid.
The exposition of the different organization of Greek and Roman
heads.--Ibid.
The explanation of the combinations and transitions of beauty.--Chapter
XVI.
The explanation of the numerical, geometrical, and harmonic methods of
proportion, employed by the ancient Greeks.--Chapter XVII.
Some remarks on character, expression, and detail in art.--Ibid.
Some observations on the Greek forehead, actual as well as ideal.--Chapter
XVIII.
The explanation of the reason of the Greek ideal rule, as to the
proportion between the forehead and the other parts of the face.--Ibid.
The explanation of the reason of the Greek ideal rule, as to the profile
of the forehead and nose, or as to the direction of the mesial line which
they form, and the exposition of Winckelmann's blunder respecting
it.--Ibid.
The explanation of the reason why the Greeks suppressed all great degrees
of impassioned expression.--Ibid.
The mere indication of the Greek idealizations as applied to the nutritive
and locomotive systems, and the explanation of the latter in the
Apollo.--Ibid.
The replies to the objections of Burke and Alison, as to ideal
beauty.--Ibid.
The enunciation of the ideal in attitude.--Ibid.
Various views as to the Venus de Medici, the conformation of the nose, and
the connexion of odor with love, in animals and plants.--Chapter XIX.
Some remarks on the Venus de Medici.--Ibid.
The pointing out and explanation of various defects in beauty.--Chapter
XX.
The pointing out and explanation of various external indications of
figure, beauty, mind, habits, and age.--Chapter XXI.
The writer may possibly be mistaken as to the originality of one or two of
these points; but, leaving the critical reader to deduct as many of these
as it is in his power to do, enough of novelty would remain for the
writer's ambition, in this respect, if he had done no more than exposed
the errors of Burke, Knight, Alison, &c., and established the true
doctrine of beauty, in the first chapters--given an analysis and
classification of beauty in woman, in the chapters which follow--and
applied this to the fine arts, and solved the difficulty of Leonardo da
Vinci, &c., in the last chapters.
ANALYSIS AND CLASSIFICATION OF BEAUTY IN WOMAN.
CHAPTER I.
IMPORTANCE OF THE SUBJECT.
It is observed by Home, in his "Elements of Criticism," that a perception
of beauty in external objects is requisite to attach us to them; that it
greatly promotes industry, by promoting a desire to possess things that
are beautiful; and that it farther joins with utility, in prompting us to
embellish our houses and enrich our fields. "These, however," he says,
"are but slight effects, compared with the connexions which are formed
among individuals in society by means of this singular mechanism: the
qualifications of the head and heart are undoubtedly the most solid and
most permanent foundations of such connexions; but as external beauty lies
more in view, and is more obvious to the bulk of mankind, than the
qualities now mentioned, the sense of beauty possesses the more universal
influence in forming these connexions; at any rate, it concurs in an
eminent degree, with mental qualifications, to produce social
intercourse, mutual good-will, and, consequently, mutual aid and support,
which are the life of society."
Dr. Pritchard similarly observes, that "the perception of beauty is the
chief principle in every country which directs men in their marriages."
Advancing a step farther, Sir Anthony Carlisle thinks a taste for beauty
worthy of being cultivated. "Man," he observes, "dwells with felicity even
on ideal female attributes, and in imagination discovers beauties and
perfections which solace his wearied hours, far beyond any other resource
within the scope of human life. It cannot, then, be unwise to cultivate
and refine this natural tendency, and to enhance, if possible, these
charms of life. We increase and heighten all our pleasures by awakening
and cultivating reflections which do not exist in a state of ignorance.
Thus, the botanist perceives elegances in plants and flowers unknown and
unfelt by the vulgar, and the landscape-painter revels in natural or
imaginary scenery, with feelings which are unknown to the multitude. It
would be absurd to pretend that the more exquisite and more deeply
attractive beauty of woman is not worthy of more profound, as well as more
universal cultivation."
Such are the observations of philosophical anthropologists, who,
nevertheless, in these remarks, consider mere physical beauty independent
of its connexion with corresponding functions or moral qualities.
If, however, the external beauty of woman, calculated as it is to flatter
the most experienced eye, limited its effect to a local impression, to an
optical enjoyment, the sentiment of beauty would be far from having all
its extent and value. Happily, ideas of goodness, of suitableness, of
sympathy, of progressive perfection, and of mutual happiness, are, by an
intimate and inevitable association, connected with the first impression
made by the sight of beauty.
The foundation of this feeling is well expressed by Dr. Pritchard, in his
observation that "the idea of beauty of person is synonymous with that of
health and perfect organization."
Hence, it has been observed, the great ideal models of beauty please us,
not merely because their forms are disposed and combined so as to affect
agreeably the organ of sight, but because their exterior appears to
correspond to admirable qualities, and to announce an elevation in the
condition of humanity. Such do the Greek monuments appear to physiologists
and philosophical artists, whose minds pass rapidly from the beauty of
forms to that locomotive, vital, or mental excellence which it compels
them to suppose.
Goodness and beauty in woman will accordingly be found to bear a strict
relation to each other; and the latter will be seen always to be the
external sign of the former.
There are, however (slightly to anticipate what must afterward be
explained), different kinds, both of beauty and of goodness, which are
confounded by vulgar observers; or rather there are beauty and goodness
belonging to different systems of which the body is composed, and which
ought never to be confounded with each other.
Where, consequently, one of these kinds of beauty and of goodness is
wanting, even in a remarkable degree, others may be found; and, as the
vulgar do not distinguish, it is this which leads to the gross error that
these qualities have no strict relations to their signs.
Want of beauty, then, in any one of the systems of which the body is
composed, indicates want of goodness only in that system; but it is not
less a truth, and scarcely of less importance, on that account.--I will
now illustrate this by brief examples.
There may, in any individual, exist deformity of limbs; and this will
assuredly indicate want of goodness in the locomotive system, of that or
general motion. There may exist coarseness of skin, or paleness of
complexion; and either of these will as certainly indicate want of
goodness in the vital system, or that of nutrition. There may exist a
malformation of the brain, externally evident; and this no less certainly
will indicate want of goodness in the mental system, or that of thought.
It follows that even the different kinds and combinations of beauty, which
are the objects of taste to different persons, are founded upon the same
general principle of organic superiority. Nay, even the preferences which,
in beauty, appear to depend most on fancy, depend in reality on that
cause; and the impression which every degree and modification of beauty
makes on mankind, has as a fundamental rule only their sentiment, more or
less delicate and just, of physical advantage in relation to each
individual. Such is the foundation of all our sentiments of admiration and
of love.
The existence or non-existence of these advantages, and the power of
determining this, or the judgment of beauty, are therefore of transcendent
importance to individuals and to families. Such judgment can be attained
by analysis and classification alone. Nothing, therefore, can more nearly
affect all human interests than that analysis and classification of beauty
which are here proposed.
To place beyond a doubt, and to illustrate more minutely, the
extraordinary importance of this subject, as regards advantages real to
the species, I may anticipate some of the more minute applications of my
doctrine.
If, in the locomotive system of the female, much of the delicacy of form,
and the ease and grace of her movements, depend upon the more perfect
development of the muscles of the pelvis, and its easily adapting itself
to great and remarkable changes, how important must be the ability to
determine, even by walk or gesture, the existence of this condition!
If, in the vital system, the elasticity and freshness of the skin are the
characteristics of health, and their absence warns us that the condition
of woman is unfavorable to the plan of nature relatively to the
maintenance of the species--or, if the capacity of the pelvis, and the
consequent breadth of the haunches, are necessary to all those functions
which are most essentially feminine, impregnation, gestation, and
parturition, without danger either to parent or to child--of what extreme
importance must be the ability to determine this with certainty and ease!
If, in the mental system, the capacity and delicacy of the organs of
sense, and the softness and mobility of the nervous system, are necessary
to the vivid and varying sensibility of woman--if it is in consequence of
this, that woman is enabled to act on man by the continual observation of
all that can captivate his imagination or secure his affection, and by the
irresistible seduction of her manners--if it is these qualities which
enable her to accommodate herself to his taste, to yield, without
constraint, even to the caprice of the moment, and to seize the time when
observations, made as it were accidentally, may produce the effect which
she desires--if it is by these means that she fulfils her first duty,
namely, to please him to whom she has united her days, and to attach him
to her and to home by rendering both delightful--if all this is the case,
of what inexpressible importance must be the ability to determine, in each
individual, the possession of the power and the will to produce such
effects!
If (descending to still more minute inquiries) external indications as to
figure are required as to parts concealed by drapery--if such indications
would obviate deception even with regard to those parts of the figure
which are more exposed to observation by the closer adaptation of
dress--if, even when the face is seen, the deception as to the degree of
beauty, is such that a correct estimate of it is perhaps never formed--if
indications as to mind may be derived from many external circumstances--if
external indications as to the personal habits of women are both numerous
and interesting--if such indications even of age and health are sometimes
essential--if all this be the case, let the reader say what other object
of human inquiry exceeds this in importance.
Let us not then deceive ourselves respecting the source of those
impressions which one sex experiences from the sight of the other. It is
evidently nothing else than the more or less delicate and just perception
of a certain conformity of means with a want which has been created by
nature, and which must be satisfied.
"It is very obvious," says Dr. Pritchard, "that this peculiarity in the
constitution of man must have considerable effects on the physical
character of the race, and that it must act as a constant principle of
improvement, supplying the place in our own kind of the beneficial control
[in the crossing of races] which we exercise over the brute creation." And
he adds: "This is probably the final cause for which the instinctive
perception of human beauty was implanted by Providence in our nature."
We need not wonder, then, that the Greeks should have preferred beauty to
all other advantages, should have placed it immediately after virtue in
the order of their affections, or should have made it an object of
worship.
Even the practical application of this principle to the improvement of the
human race is not a matter of conjecture. We have seen both families and
nations ameliorated by the means which it affords. Of this, the Turks are
a striking example. Nothing, therefore, can better deserve the researches
of the physiologist, or the exertions of the philanthropist, than the fact
that there are laws, of which we have yet only a glimpse, according to
which we may influence the amelioration of the human race in a manner the
most extensive and profound, by acting according to a uniform and
uninterrupted system.
Well might Cabanis exclaim: "After having occupied ourselves so curiously
with the means of rendering more beautiful and better the races of animals
or of plants which are useful or agreeable--after having remodelled a
hundred times that of horses and dogs--after having transplanted, grafted,
cultivated, in all manners, fruits and flowers--how shameful is it to have
totally neglected the race of man! As if it affected us less nearly! as if
it were more essential to have large and strong oxen than vigorous and
healthy men, highly odorous peaches or finely striped tulips, than wise
and good citizens!"
I actually know a man who is so deeply interested in the doctrine of
crossing, that every hour of his life is devoted to the improvement of a
race of bantam fowls and curious pigeons, and who yet married a mad
woman, whom he confines in a garret, and by whom he has some insane
progeny.
Let it not be imagined that the discovery of the precise laws of crossing
or intermarriage, and the best direction of physical living forces, in
relation both to the vital faculties and to those of the mind, upon which
knowledge and skill may operate for the improvement of our race, is a
matter of difficulty.
It will be shown in this work, that there exist not only an influence of
beauty and defects on offspring, but peculiar laws regulating the
resemblance of progeny to parents--laws which regard the mode in which the
organization of parents affects that of children, or regulates the organs
which each parent respectively bestows.
It will accordingly be shown, that, as, on the size, form, and proportion,
of the various organs, depend their functions, the importance of such laws
is indescribable--whether we regard intermarriages, and that immunity from
mental or bodily disease which, when well directed, they may ensure, or
the determination of the parentage of a child--or the education of
children, in conformity with their faculties--or the employment of men in
society.
I conclude this brief view in the words of the writer just quoted: "It is
assuredly time for us to attempt to do for ourselves that which we have
done so successfully for several of our companions in existence, to
review and correct this work of nature--a noble enterprise, which truly
merits all our cares, and which nature itself appears to have especially
recommended to us by the sympathies and the powers which it has given
us."
CHAPTER II.
URGENCY OF THE DISCUSSION OF THIS SUBJECT IN RELATION TO THE INTERESTS OF
DECENCY AND MORALITY.
It has now been seen that beauty results from the perfection, chiefly of
external forms, and the correspondence of that perfection with superiority
of internal functions; on the more or less perfect perception of which,
love, intermarriage, and the condition of our race, are dependant.
This mode of considering the elements, the nature, and the consequences of
beauty, is equally applicable to the two sexes; but, in woman, the form of
the species presents peculiar modifications.
In this work, it is the form of woman which is chosen for examination,
because it will be found, by the contrast which is perpetually necessary,
to involve a knowledge of the form of man, because it is best calculated
to ensure attention from men, and because it is men who, exercising the
power of selection, have alone the ability thus to ensure individual
happiness, and to ameliorate the species; which are the objects of this
work.
Let it not be imagined that the views now taken are less favorable to
woman than to man. Whatever ensures the happiness of one ensures that of
the other; and as the variety of forms and functions in man requires as
many varieties in woman, it is not to exclusion or rejection with regard
to woman that this work tends, but to a reasoned guidance in man's choice,
to the greater suitableness of all intermarriages, and to the greater
happiness of woman as well as man, both in herself and in her progeny.
But notwithstanding the importance of any work which is in any degree
calculated to promote such an object, some will tell us that the analysis
of female beauty, on which it can alone be founded, is indelicate.--I
shall, on the contrary, show that decency demands this analysis; that the
interests of nature, of truth, of the arts, and of morality, demand it.
Our present notions of sexual decency belong more to art than to nature,
and may be divided into artificial and artful decencies.
Artificial decencies are illustrated in the habits of various nations.
They have their origin in cold countries, where clothing is necessary, and
where a deviation from the degree or mode of clothing constitutes
indecency. They could not exist in hot climates, where clothing is
scarcely possible.
In hot climates, natural decency can alone exist; and there is not, I
believe, one traveller in such countries whose works do not prove that
natural decency there exists as much as in cold countries. In
exemplification of this, I make a single quotation: it would be easy to
make thousands. Burchell, speaking of the Bushmen Hottentots, says: "The
natural bashful reserve of youth and innocence is to be seen as much among
these savages, as in more polished nations; and the young girls, though
wanting but little of being perfectly naked, evinced as just a sense of
modesty as the most rigid and careful education could have given them."
In mild climates, the half-clothed or slightly-clothed people appear to be
somewhat at a loss what to do. Fond of decorations, like all savage or
half-civilized people, they seem to be divided between the tatooing and
painting of hot climates, and the clothing of cold ones; and when they
adopt the latter, they do not rightly know what to conceal.
The works of all travellers afford the same illustrations of this fact. I
quote one. Kotzebue describes the custom among the Tartar women of Kasan,
of flying or of concealing their countenance from the sight of a stranger.
The necessity of conforming to this custom threw into great embarrassment
a young woman who was obliged to pass several times before the German
traveller. She at first concealed her face with her hands; but, soon
embarrassed by that attitude, she removed the veil which covered her
bosom, and threw it over her face. "That," adds Kotzebue, "was, as we say,
uncovering Paul to cover Jacques: the bosom remained naked. To cover that,
she next showed what should have been concealed; and if anything escaped
from her hands, she stooped, and then," says Kotzebue, "I saw both one
and the other."
In colder or more uncertain climates, the greatest degree of covering
constitutes the greatest degree of artificial decency: fashion and decency
are confounded. Among old-fashioned people, of whom a good example may be
found in old countrywomen of the middle class in England, it is indecent
to be seen with the head unclothed; such a woman is terrified at the
chance of being seen in that condition; and if intruded on at such a time,
she shrieks with terror and flies to conceal herself. In the equally
polished dandy of the metropolis, it is indecent to be seen without
gloves. Which of these respectable creatures is the most enlightened, I do
not take upon me to say; but I believe that the majority of suffrages
would be in favor of the old woman.
So entirely are these decencies artificial, that any number of them may
easily be created, not merely with regard to man or woman, but even with
regard to domesticated animals. If it should please some persons partially
to clothe horses, cows, or dogs, it would ere long be felt that their
appearing in the streets without trowsers or aprons was grossly indecent.
We might thus create a real feeling of indecency, the perception of a new
impurity, which would take the place of the former absence of all impure
thought, and once established, the evil would be as real as our whims have
made it in other respects.
Moral feeling is deeply injured by this substitution of impure thoughts,
however fancifully founded, for pure ones, or rather for the entire
absence of thought about worthless things. Artificial crimes are thus
made, which are not the less real because artificial; for if aught of this
kind is believed to be right, there is weakness or wrong in its violation.
But violated it must be, if it were but accidentally.
To corrupt minds, this very violation of artificial decency in the case of
woman affords the zest for the sake of which many of these decencies seem
to have been instituted; and thus are created the artful decencies.
The purpose and the zest of artful decency are well illustrated by
coquetry. Coquetry adopts a general concealment, which it well knows can
alone give a sensual and seductive power to momentary exposure. Coquetry
eschews permanent exposure as the bane of sensuality and seduction; and
where these are great, as among the women of Spain, the concealment of
dress is increased, even in warm climates. Nothing can throw greater light
than this does on the nature of these decencies.
That coquetry has well calculated her procedure, does not admit of a
doubt. She appeals to imagination, which she knows will spread charms over
even ugly forms; she seeks the concealment under which sensuality and lust
are engendered; and, in marriage, she at last lifts the veil which
gratifies, only to disgust, and repays a sensual hallucination by years of
misery.
Ought religion to claim the right of saying grace to such unveiling of
concealment and the nuptial rites that follow it? Ought religion to profit
by the impurities of sexual association? Marriage is a civil ceremony in
other countries, even in Scotland. Such profane and profitable sanctions
have nothing to do with primitive Christianity: they are abhorrent to its
letter as well as to its spirit. But worldly and profitable religion is
connected in business with government, under the firm of Church and State,
and drives a thriving trade, in which the junior partner is contented with
the profit arising from the common acts of life, while the senior one
draws much of his living from other rites.[2]
What is said here, is no argument for living nudity: that, our climate and
our customs forbid; and, in so doing, we can only regret that they are
unfavorable to natural purity; while perfect familiarity with the figure
ensures that feeling in the highest degree.
A distinguished artist informs me that greater modesty is nowhere to be
seen than at the Life academy; and it was an observation of the great
Flaxman, that "the students, in entering the academy, seemed to hang up
their passions with their hats." I can, from personal experience, give the
same testimony in behalf of medical students at the dissecting-rooms. The
familiarity of both these classes with natural beauty leads them only to
seek to inform their minds and to purify their taste.[3]
Sinibaldi observes, that "nothing is more injurious to morals and to
health, than the incitements of the women who in such numbers walk our
streets," and that "the laws as to offences against morals ought certainly
to affect them the moment their language or actions can be deemed
offensive." But it is not to those who are critically conversant with the
highest beauty of the human figure, that defective forms, ill-painted
skins, rude manners, and contagious diseases, are at all seductive.
Nothing, then, can be more favorable to virtue than the decoration of
every house with the beautiful copies of the glorious works of ancient
Greece; and it is only humiliating to think that what has been so
extensively done in this respect in the best houses, is less owing to our
own taste than to the poor wanderers from Lucca or Barga. Experiment on
this subject is peculiarly easy in London: let any one spend an hour in
the shop of the very able Mr. Sarti, of Dean street, where he will meet
the most liberal attention, and let him ask himself, in coming out,
whether his moral feeling, as well as his taste, is not improved.
Those who cannot make this experiment, will perhaps be satisfied with the
assurance of Hogarth, who says: "The rest of the body, not having
advantages in common with the face, would soon satiate the eye, were it
to be as constantly exposed, nor would it have more effect than a marble
statue." Surely this is decisive enough in its way! Now let them mark what
follows. "But," he continues, "when it is artfully clothed and decorated,
the mind at every turn resumes its imaginary pursuits concerning it. Thus,
if I may be allowed a simile, the angler chooses not to see the fish he
angles for, until it is fairly caught." He meant of course--"the _fish_
chooses not to see the _angler_, until it is fairly caught!"
Be it known then to all, even the most aristocratic as to sexual
association--I say the most aristocratic, and not the most religious,
because religion is in some countries made the pander to aristocracy--be
it known that the critical judgment and pure taste for beauty are the sole
protection against low and degrading connexions.
Home observes that "the sense of beauty does not tend to advance the
interests of society, but when in a due mean with respect to strength.
Love in particular arising from a sense of beauty, loses, when excessive,
its sociable character: the appetite for gratification, prevailing over
affection for the beloved object, is ungovernable, and tends violently to
its end, regardless of the misery that must follow. Love in this state is
no longer a sweet agreeable passion: it becomes painful, like hunger or
thirst, and produces no happiness but in the instant of fruition. This
discovery suggests a most important lesson, that moderation in our desires
and appetites, which fits us for doing our duty, contributes at the same
time the most to happiness: even social passions, when moderate, are more
pleasant than when they swell beyond proper bounds." Payne Knight says:
"When, at the age of puberty, animal desire obtrudes itself on a mind
already qualified to feel and enjoy the charms of intellectual merit, the
imagination immediately begins to form pictures of perfection, by
exaggerating and combining in one hypothetic object every excellence that
can possibly belong to the whole sex; and the first individual that meets
the eye, with any exterior signs of any of these ideal excellences, is
immediately decorated with them all, by the creative magic of a vigorous
and fertile fancy. Hence, she instantaneously becomes the object of the
most fervent affection, which is as instantaneously cooled by possession:
for, as it was not the object herself, but a false idea of her raised in
heated imagination, that called forth all the lover's raptures, all
immediately vanish at the detection of his delusion; and a degree of
disgust proportioned to the disappointment, of which it is the inevitable
consequence, instantly succeeds. Thus it happens that what are called
love-matches are seldom or ever happy."
Now, nothing can more effectually prevent even the existence of the mania
described by these two philosophers than a critical judgment and a pure
taste for beauty, which again therefore are the sole protection against
low and degrading connexions.
A just sense of this truth will give high encouragement to sculpture and
painting--arts which may everywhere be looked upon as the best tests, as
well as the best records, of civilization. Such encouragement they need in
truth; for the monstrous monopoly of landed property and the accumulation
of wealth in few hands--the great aim of our political economy--renders
art poor, indeed.
I am aware that the vulgar among artists think otherwise; from the few
rich they obtain employment; and, like the dog with his master, they look
not beyond the hand that doles out their pittance. But the rich are few;
and their palaces are already filled. A diffusion of wealth alone can give
encouragement to art; nor can this ever be while British industry is
crushed under the weight of enormous taxation.
Having removed some objections to art, I would add a few words to artists
on the cause of the fine arts in Greece, from a paper I, two years ago,
contributed to a monthly periodical.[4]
That the mythology of Greece had an influence over its arts, is generally
granted; but I am not aware, that it has either been shown to be
exclusively their cause, or that its mode of operation has ever been
explained.
Religion, I may observe, is as natural to man as his weakness and
helplessness. There is not one of its systems, not even the vilest, which
has not afforded him consolation. Of its higher and better systems, some
are equally admirable for the grandeur and the beauty of the truths on
which they are founded, the simplicity and the elegance of their
ostensible forms, the power and applicability of their symbols, and their
sympathy with, and control over, the affections and the imagination.
These high characteristics peculiarly distinguished the religion of
ancient Greece.
By bigots, we are indeed told, that, though Homer is our model in epic,
Anacreon in lyric, and Æschylus in dramatic poetry--though the music of
Greece doubtless corresponded to its poetry in beauty, pathos, and
grandeur--though the mere wreck of her sculpture is never overlooked in
modern war and negotiation--though the mere sight of her ruined Parthenon
is more than a reward for the fatigue or the peril of a journey to the
Eternal city--though these products of art are the test of the highest
civilization which the world has witnessed--though to these chiefly Rome
owed the little civilization of which she was capable, and we ourselves
the circumstance that, at this hour, we are not, like our ancestors,
covered only with blue paint or the skins of brutes--though all this is
true as to the arts of Greece, we are told that, by the strangest
exception, the religion of Greece was a base superstition.
That religion, however, was the creator of these arts. They not only could
not have existed without it, but they probably could never have been
called into existence by any other religion.
The personification of _simple_ Beauty, Valor, Wisdom, or Omnipotence, in
Venus, Mars, Minerva, or Jupiter, respectively, was essential to the
_purity_ and the _power_ of expression of these attributes in the worship
of the deities to whom they respectively belonged. The union of absolute
beauty and valor in one being, is not more impossible than their union in
one expression of homage and admiration. Delicacy, elegance, and grace,
were as characteristic of the statue, the worship, and the temple, of the
goddess of beauty, as attributes nearly opposite to these were of the
statue, the worship, and the temple, of the god of war. Thus, were the
fine arts in Greece created by the personification of _simple_ attributes
or virtues as objects of adoration; and thus is excellence in these fine
arts incapable of being elicited by any system of religion in which more
than one attribute is ascribed to the god.
They must be ignorant, indeed, of the wonderful people of whom I now
speak, who allege, that the Greeks worshipped the mere statue of the god
and not the personified virtue. Even the history of their religion proves
the reverse. It was the tomb which became the altar, and retained nearly
its form. It was the expression of love, of regret, and of veneration for
departed virtue, which became divine adoration; and, as individual acts
and even individual names were ultimately lost in one transcendent
attribute, so were individual forms and features, in its purified and
ideal representation. Here, then, instead of finding the worship of men or
of their representations, we discover a gradual advance from beings to
attributes--from mortal man to eternal virtue--and a corresponding and
suitable advance from simple veneration to divine adoration.
When, in great emergencies of the state, the sages and the soldiers of
Athens, in solemn procession repaired to the temple of Minerva, turned
their faces toward the statue of the goddess, and prostrated themselves in
spirit before her--let the beautiful history of Grecian science tell,
whether in the statue they worshipped the mere marble structure, or, in
its forms and attributes, beheld and adored a personification of eternal
truth and wisdom, and so prepared the mind for deeds which have rendered
Greece for ever illustrious. Or, when returning from a Marathon, or a
Salamis, the warriors of Athens, followed by trains of maidens, and
matrons, and old men, returned thanks to the god of victories--let the
immortal record of the long series of glorious achievements which
succeeded these, tell, whether gratitude to their heroes was not there
identified with homage to the spirit or the divinity that inspired them.
True it is, that, whenever physical or moral principles are personified,
the ignorant may be led to mistake the sign for that which is signified;
but one of the most admirable characteristics of the Grecian religion is,
that, with little effort, every external form may be traced to the spirit
which it represents, and every fable may be resolved into a beautiful
illustration of physical or moral truth. So that when mystic influences,
with increasing knowledge, ceased to sway the imagination, all-powerful
truths directed the reason.
The natural and poetical religion of Greece, therefore, differed from
false and vulgar religions in this, that it was calculated to hold equal
empire over the minds of the ignorant and the wise; and the initiations of
Eleusis were apparently the solemn acts by which the youths and maidens of
Greece passed from ignorance and blind obedience to knowledge and
enlightened zeal. Thus, in that happy region, neither were the priests
knaves, nor the people their dupes.[5]
And what has been the result of this fundamental excellence?--that no
interpolated fooleries have been able to destroy it;--that the religion of
Greece exists, and must ever exist, the religion of nature, genius, and
taste;--and that neither poetry nor the arts can have being without it.
Schiller has well expressed this truth in the following lines:--
"The intelligible forms of ancient poets,
The fair humanities of old religion,
The power, the beauty, and the majesty,
That had their haunts in dale, or piny mountains,
Or forest, by slow stream, or pebbly spring,
Or chasms, and watery depths--all these have vanished;
They live no longer in the faith of reason;
But still the heart doth need a language; still
Doth the old instinct bring back the old names;
* * And even, at this day,
'Tis Jupiter who brings whate'er is great,
And Venus who brings everything that's fair."
CHAPTER III.
CAUTIONS AS TO YOUTH.
In relation to _early_ sexual association, it cannot be doubted, that,
when the instinct of reproduction begins to be developed, the reserve
which parents, relatives, and instructers, adopt on this subject, is often
the means of producing injurious effects; because, a system of concealment
on this subject, as observed in the preceding chapter, is quite
impracticable. Discoveries made by young persons in obscene books, the
unguarded language or shameless conduct of grown-up persons, even the wild
flights of an imagination which is then easily excited, will have the most
fatal consequences.
Parents or instructers ought, therefore, at that critical period, to give
rational explanations as to the nature and the object of the propensity,
the mechanism of reproduction in various vegetable and animal beings, and
the fatal consequences to which this propensity may lead. Such procedure,
if well conducted, cannot but have the most beneficial results; because,
in order that a sane person should avoid any danger, it is only necessary
that he should see it distinctly.
The advantage, it has been observed, which the parent, relative, or
instructer, derives, from himself in forming the adolescent in the new
faculty which is developed in him, is to prevent his choosing, among
corrupt servants or ignorant youths of his own age, the confidants of his
passion. The parent or instructer, moreover, is then justly entitled to,
and has gratefully given to him, the entire confidence of the adolescent;
and he is thereby enabled exactly to appreciate the degree of power of the
propensity which he desires to divert or to guide.
Such being the case, it is the business of the parent to present a true
picture of the effects of too early association of this kind, on the
stature, the various development of the figure, the muscular power, the
quality of the voice, the health, the moral sense, and especially on the
acuteness, the power, the dignity, and the courage, of the mind.
In doing this, it would be as stupid as injurious to employ the slightest
degree of false representation, of unjust reprimand, or too much of what
is called moralizing, which is often only the contemptible cant of a being
who cannot reason, especially when it takes the place of a simple and
powerful statement of facts. All of these would only render the young man
a dissembler, and would compel him to choose another confidant.
Among other considerations, varying according to the circumstances of the
case, those stated below may with advantage be presented.
At a certain period in the life both of plants and animals, varying
according to their kind and the climate they live in, they are fit for
and disposed to the reproduction of their species. The sexes in both are
then attracted to each other. In plants, the powder termed pollen, in
animals a peculiar liquid which, deriving its name by analogy from the
seeds of plants, is termed seminal, is secreted by the male plant or
animal, and, by organs differently formed in each kind, is cast upon ova
or eggs either contained within, or deposited by, the female. The details
of this process are among the most beautiful and interesting of the living
economy. In mankind, the attainment of this period is termed puberty.
It is with this critical period, and his conduct during it, that all that
the youth deems most valuable, all that can decide his fortunes and his
happiness in the world, his stature, figure, strength, voice, health, and
mental powers, are most intimately connected.
In regard to stature, the body appears to complete its increase in height
chiefly at the age of puberty, and during the first years which succeed
that age. To be assured of the powerful influence of his own conduct, at
this period, upon his stature, the youth has only to compare the tall men
and women of the country as in Yorkshire, Lancashire, Westmoreland,
Cumberland, and the Scottish borders, where they have not been overworked,
with the stunted and dwarfed creatures of the metropolis, where a
stranger, when he first enters it, is apt to think he sees so many ugly
boys and girls, whereas, they are full-grown London men and women. Half
the population of the metropolis is affected in this way; and it is the
obvious consequence of the acceleration of puberty by confinement,
stimulating food, indecent plays, and sexual association.
In regard to the perfect development and beauty of the figure, the youth
is probably aware that the most beautiful races of horses and dogs rapidly
deteriorate, if men do not carefully maintain them by continence as well
as by crossing. The too early employment, the depraved abuses, the injury,
or the removal, of the sexual organs, are all of them causes still more
certain of deformity. The latter of these causes acts, of course, most
obviously; and it is evidenced in the almost universal malformation of
eunuchs, geldings, &c.
That, in regard to bodily strength, sexual continence adds energy to the
muscular fibre, is clearly seen by observing the most ardent quadrupeds
previous to the time of the union of their sexes. But, this being past,
precisely in the same proportion does the act of reproduction debilitate
and break down the strongest animal. Many male animals even fall almost
exhausted by a single act of union with the opposite sex.
Every classical student has read the beautiful allegory of Hercules, who,
having spun at the knees of Omphale ([Greek: omphalos] the navel, here put
for the most essential part of the female generative organ), thereby lost
his strength: this beautifully expresses the abasement of power amid the
indulgences of love. Euripides also depicts the terrible Achilles as timid
before women, and respectful with Clytemnestra and Iphigenia. Hence, when
a foolish lord reproached the poet Dryden with having given too much
timidity toward women to a personage in one of his tragedies, and added
that he knew better how to employ his time with the ladies, the poet
answered: "You now acknowledge that you are no hero, which I intended that
personage to be."
As to voice, which depends on the muscles of respiration, and more
immediately on those of the mouth and throat, as general strength does on
the muscles of the whole body, both merely affording expressions of the
mind, the influence of the sexual union upon it is prodigious. How
entirely it is altered by the removal of the testes in eunuchs is known to
every one: in corresponding proportion, is it altered by every act of the
generative organs, but especially by sexual indulgence during puberty. The
horrible voice of early libertines and prostitutes presents an alarming
example of this. To those who value voice in conversation, in the
delightful and humanizing exercise of music, or in the grander efforts of
public speaking, nothing more need be said.
As to health, the less we are prodigal of life, the longer we preserve it.
Every one capable of observing may see that the stag loses his horns and
his hair after procreation; that birds fall into moulting and sadness; and
that male insects even perish after this effort, as if they yielded their
individual life to their progeny. Indeed, everything perishes so much the
more readily, as it has thus transmitted life to its descendants, or has
cast it away in vain pleasures.
In mankind, as in other animals, to procreate is in effect to die to one's
self, and to leave one's life to posterity; especially, if this takes
place in early life. It is then that man becomes bald and bent; and that
the charms of woman fade. Even in advanced age, epicures are so well aware
of this, that they are known to abstain from amorous excess, as the
acknowledged cause of premature death.
In relation to mind--as the generative power is the source of several
characteristics of genius, the exhaustion of that power at an early age
must take away these characteristics. Genius as surely languishes and is
extinguished amid early sexual indulgence, as do the faculties of voice
and locomotion, which are merely its signs and expressions.
It is thus with all our faculties, locomotive, vital, mental, at an early
age. They are strengthened by all that they do not dissipate; and that
which their organs too abundantly dispense is not only taken immediately
from their own power, and mediately from that of the other organs, but it
ensures the permanent debility of the whole.
It is true that the strong passions which are modified or characterized by
the sexual impulse, excite the imagination and impel the mind to sublime
exertions; but the sole means of either obtaining or preserving such
impulsion is, to shun the indulgence of pleasure in early life, and its
waste at later periods.
It has accordingly been observed, that the passion of love appears to be
most excessive in animals which least excel in mental faculties. Thus the
beasts which are the most lascivious, the ass, the boar, &c., are also the
most stupid; and idiots and cretins display a sensuality which brutifies
them still more. Hence, the Homeric fable that Circe transformed men into
beasts.
It would also appear that the most stupid animals, swine, rabbits, &c., in
general produce the greatest number of young; while men of genius have
engendered the fewest. It is remarked that none of the greatest men of
antiquity were much given to sexual pleasure.
It is, then, of the greatest importance to young men who are ambitious of
excellence, to mark well this truth, that the most powerful and
distinguished in mental faculties, other things being equal, will be he
who wastes them least in early life by sexual indulgence--who most
economizes the vital stimulant, in order to excite the mental powers on
great occasions. By such means may a man surely surpass others, if he have
received from his parents proportional mental energy.
Beside the means already indicated, there is one proposed by an able
writer, as serving to divert the instinct of propagation when too early
and excessive, and consequently dangerous: that is, the sentiment of love.
To employ this means, he observes, "it is necessary to search early, after
knowing the character of the adolescent whom it is wished to direct, for a
young woman whose beauty and good qualities may inspire him with
attachment. This means will serve, more than can easily be imagined, to
preserve the adolescent both from the grosser attractions of libertinism
and the disease it entails, and from _the more dangerous snares of
coquetry_. It is," he adds, "a virtuous young woman and a solid
attachment that are here spoken of."--At some future period I shall
probably show how wise this recommendation is, as well as the necessity
and the advantages of early marriages, under favorable circumstances.
Having now shown the evils of early sexual association, I may briefly
notice those of later libertinism.
If, even in more advanced life, and when the constitution is stronger, the
instinct of propagation be not restrained within just limits, it
degenerates into inordinate lewdness or real mania: "Repperit obscænas
veneres vitiosa libido." By such depravation, nobleness of character is
utterly destroyed.
This scarcely evitable consequence of great fortune and of the facility of
indulgence, it has been justly observed, will ever be the ruin of the
rich, and a mode of enervating the most vigorous branches of the most
powerful house.
The libertine, then, owing to exhaustion, by sexual indulgence, is
characterized by physical and moral impotence, or has a brain as incapable
of thinking, as his muscles are of acting.
As libertines are enfeebled by indulgence, it follows that they are
proportionally distinguished by fear and cowardice. Nothing, indeed,
destroys courage more than sexual abuses.
But, from cowardice, spring cunning, duplicity, lying, and perfidy. These
common results of cowardice are uniformly found in eunuchs, slaves,
courtiers, and sycophants; while boldness, frankness, and generosity,
belong to virtuous, free, and magnanimous men.
Again, cowardice, artifice, falsehood, and perfidy, are the usual elements
of cruelty. Men feel more wounded in self-love, as they are conscious of
being more contemptible; and they avenge themselves with more malignity
upon their enemy, as they find themselves more weak and worthless, and as
they consequently dread him more.
These are the causes of that malignant revenge which princes have often
shown, as, in ancient times, Tiberius, Caligula, Nero, Domitian,
Heliogabalus, &c. In later times, Catharine de Medici solicited the
massacre of the Protestants; Paul, Constantine, and Nicholas, of Russia,
were happy only when they wallowed in blood; Charles X., equally
effeminate and bigoted, perpetrated the massacre of the Parisians; Don
Miguel covered Portugal with his assassinations; and nearly all the
sovereigns and sycophants in Europe upheld or palliated his atrocities.[7]
The strong and brave man, on the contrary, scarcely feels hurt, and scorns
revenge.
It is not cruelty only with which we may reproach these effeminate
individuals: it is every vice which springs from baseness of character.
Libertinism, moreover, is not hurtful only to the health and welfare of
these individuals: it is so also to those of their posterity.
Finally, the results of libertinism have constantly marked, not merely the
ruin of families, but the degeneration of races, and the decay of empires.
The delights of Capua caused the ruin of Hannibal; and the Roman, once so
proud before kings, finally transformed himself into the wretched slave of
monsters degraded far below the rank of humanity.
So little, however, do men look to remote consequences that perhaps the
most frightful punishments of libertinism are the diseases which it
inflicts. Man may, then, be said to meet only death on the path of life.
The dangers of promiscuous love are, indeed, far beyond what young men
will easily believe. I do not exaggerate when I state, that, out of every
three women, and those the least common of the promiscuous, two at least
are certainly in a state of disease capable of the most destructive
infection. A surgeon in the habit of receiving foul patients at a public
hospital tells me, I might safely say that nine out of every ten are in
this state.[8]
While writing this, Sir Anthony Carlisle observes to me, that, "the
special disease which appears to be a punishment for sexual profligacy, is
not only malignant, painful, and hideous, in every stage of it, but the
only remedy known for its cure, mercury, is a poison which generally
leaves its own evils for the venom which it destroys. This frightful
disease has no natural termination but in a disgusting disgraceful death,
after disfiguring the countenance, by causing blindness, loss of the nose,
the palate and teeth, and by the spoliation of the sinning organs. The
miserables, who thus perish in public hospitals, are so offensive to the
more respectable patients, that they are confined to appointed rooms,
termed foul wards, where they linger and die in the bloom of life, either
of the penalty inflicted by their profligacy, of the poison administered
to them, or of incurable consequent diseases, such as consumption, palsy,
or madness."
Hence, it has been observed, that, if we have to deal with a young man
incapable of guidance by the nobler motives, of feeling contempt for vice,
and horror for debauchery, there yet remain means to be employed. Let him
be conducted to the hospital, where he will find collected the poor
victims of debauchery--the unhappy women whom, even the day before, he may
have seen in the streets, with faces dressed in smiles, amid the torments,
the corrosion, and the contagion of disease. This may leave an impression
sufficiently deep. But let him also know that these unhappy creatures are
a thousand times more pitiable than the libertine who destroys them, and
who forfeits the only good we cannot refuse to other wretches, compassion
for the misery he endures.[9]
CHAPTER IV.
NATURE OF BEAUTY.
In this chapter, my aim is to show that there is more than one kind of
beauty, and that much confusion has arisen among writers, from not clearly
distinguishing the characteristics of these kinds.
An essential condition, then, of all excitement and action in animal
bodies, is a greater or less degree of novelty in the objects impressing
them--even if this novelty should arise only from a previous cessation of
excitement.
Now, objects of greater or less novelty are the causes of excitement,
pleasurable or painful, by means of their various relations.
The lowest degree of bodily pleasure (though, owing to its constancy,
immense in its total amount) is that which arises, during health, from
those relations of bodies and that excitement which cause the mere local
exercise of the organs--a source of pleasure which is seldom the object of
our voluntary attention, but which seems to me to be the chief cause of
attachment to life amid its more definite and conspicuous evils.
All higher mental emotions consist of pleasure or pain superadded to more
or less definite ideas. Pleasurable emotions arise from the agreeable
relations of things; painful emotions, from the disagreeable ones.
The term by which we express the influence which objects, by means of
their relations, possess of exciting emotions of pleasure in the mind, is
BEAUTY.
Beauty, when founded on the relations of objects, or of the parts of
objects, to each other, forms a first class, and may be termed _intrinsic
beauty_.
When beauty is farther considered in relation to ourselves, it forms a
second class, and may be termed _extrinsic_ beauty.
We are next led (hitherto this has apparently been done without analyzing
or defining the operation) to a division of the latter into two genera;
namely, the _minor beauty_, of which prettiness, delicacy, &c., are
modifications, and that which is called _grandeur_ or _sublimity_.
The characters of the minor beauty or prettiness, with relation to
ourselves, are smallness, subordination, and subjection. Hence female
beauty, in relation to the male.
The characters of grandeur or sublimity, with relation to ourselves, are
greatness, superordination, and power. Hence male beauty, in relation to
the female.
By the preceding brief train of analysis and definition, is, I believe,
answered the question--"whether the emotion of grandeur make a branch of
the emotion of beauty, or be entirely distinct from it."
Having, by this concise statement of my own views on these subjects, made
the reader acquainted with some of the materials of future consideration
here employed, I may now examine the opinions of some philosophers, in
order to see how far they accord with these first principles, and what
answer can be given to them where they differ.
That _beauty_, _generally considered_, has nothing to do with particular
size, is very well shown by Payne Knight, who, though he argues
incorrectly about it in many other respects, here truly says: "All degrees
of magnitude contribute to beauty in proportion as they show objects to be
perfect in their kind. The dimensions of a beautiful horse are very
different from those of a beautiful lapdog; and those of a beautiful oak
from those of a beautiful myrtle; because, nature has formed these
different kinds of animals and vegetables upon different scales.
"The notion of objects being rendered beautiful by being gradually
diminished, or tapered, is equally unfounded; for the same object, which
is small by degrees, and beautifully less, when seen in one direction, is
large by degrees, and beautifully bigger, when seen in another. The stems
of trees are tapered upward; and the columns of Grecian architecture,
having been taken from them, and therefore retaining a degree of analogy
with them, were tapered upward too: but the legs of animals are tapered
downward, and the inverted obelisks, upon which busts were placed, having
a similar analogy to them, were tapered downward also; while pilasters,
which had no analogy with either, but were mere square posts terminating a
wall, never tapered at all."
Speaking of beauty generally, and without seeing the distinctions I have
made above, Burke, on the contrary, states the first quality of beauty to
be comparative smallness, and says: "In ordinary conversation, it is usual
to add the endearing name of little to everything we love;" and "in most
languages, the objects of love are spoken of under diminutive epithets."
This is evidently true only of the objects of _minor_ or _subordinate
beauty_, which Burke confusedly thought the only kind of it, though he
elsewhere grants, that beauty may be connected with sublimity! It shows,
however, that relative littleness is essential to that first kind of
beauty.
With greater knowledge of facts than Burke possessed, and with as feeble
reasoning powers, but with less taste, and with a perverse whimsicality
which was all his own, Payne Knight similarly, making no distinction in
beauty, considered smallness as an accidental association, failed to see
that it characterized a kind of beauty, and argued, that "if we join the
diminutive to a term which precludes all such affection, or does not even,
in some degree, express it, it immediately converts it into a term of
contempt and reproach: thus, a bantling, a fondling, a darling, &c., are
terms of endearment; but a witling, a changeling, a lordling, &c., are
invariably terms of scorn: so in French, '_mon petit enfant_,' is an
expression of endearment; but '_mon petit monsieur_,' is an expression of
the most pointed reproach and contempt."
Now, this chatter of grammatical termination and French phrase, though
meant to look vastly clever, is merely a blunder. There is no analogy in
the cases compared: a "darling" or little dear unites _dear_, an
expression of love, with _little_, implying that dependance which enhances
love; while "witling" or little wit unites _wit_, an expression of talent,
with _little_, meaning the small quantity or absence of the talent alluded
to; and it is because the latter term means, not physical littleness,
which well associates with love, but moral littleness and mental
degradation, that it becomes a term of contempt.
Even from the little already said, it seems evident that much of the
confusion on this subject has arisen from not distinguishing the two
genera of beauty, and not seeing that "the emotion of grandeur" is merely
"a branch of the emotion of beauty."
The other genus of beauty, _grand_ or _sublime beauty_, is well described
by the names given to it, grandeur or sublimity. Some have considered
sublimity as expressing grandeur in the highest degree: it would perhaps
be as well to express the cause of the emotion by grandeur, and the
emotion itself by sublimity.
Nothing is sublime that is not vast or powerful, or that does not make him
who feels it sensible of its physical or moral superiority.
The simplest cause of sublimity is presented by all objects of vast
magnitude or extent--a seemingly boundless plain, the sky, the ocean,
&c.; and the particular direction of the magnitude or extent always
correspondingly modifies the emotion--height giving more especially the
idea of power, breadth of resistance, depth of danger, &c. Of the objects
mentioned above, the ocean is the most sublime, because, to vastness in
length and breadth, it adds depth, and a force perpetually active.
Now, that these objects, though sublime, are beautiful, is very evident;
and it is therefore also evident how much Burke erred in asserting
comparative smallness to be the first character of beauty generally
considered. This and similar errors, as already said, have greatly
obscured this subject, and have led Burke and others so to modify and
qualify their doctrines, as to take from them all precision and certainty.
Hence, in one place, Burke says: "As, in the animal world, and in a good
measure in the vegetable world likewise, the qualities that constitute
_beauty_ may _possibly_ be united to things of _greater dimensions_ [that
is, littleness may be united with bigness!]; when they are so united they
constitute _a species something different both from the sublime and
beautiful_, which I have before called, Fine."
So also he says: "Ugliness I imagine likewise to be consistent enough with
an idea of the sublime. But I would by no means insinuate that ugliness of
itself is a sublime idea, unless united with such qualities as excite a
strong terror."
Here, he confounds sublimity with terror, as do Blair and other writers,
when they say that "exact proportion of parts, though it enters often
into the beautiful, is much disregarded in the sublime." It is a fact,
that exactly in proportion as ugliness is substituted for beauty in vast
objects, is sublimity taken away, until at last it is utterly lost in the
terrible.
Even Blair shows that sublimity may exist without terror or pain. "The
proper sensation of sublimity appears," he observes, "to be
distinguishable from the sensation of either of these, and, on several
occasions, to be entirely separated from them. In many grand objects,
there is no coincidence with terror at all; as in the magnificent prospect
of wide-extended plains, and of the starry firmament; or in the moral
dispositions and sentiments, which we view with high admiration; and in
many painful and terrible objects also, it is clear, there is no sort of
grandeur. The amputation of a limb, or the bite of a snake, is exceedingly
terrible, but is destitute of all claim whatever to sublimity."
Payne Knight shows that terror is even opposed to sublimity: "All the
great and terrible convulsions of nature; such as storms, tempests,
hurricanes, earthquakes, volcanoes, &c., excite sublime ideas, and impress
sublime sentiments by the prodigious exertions of energy and power which
they seem to display: for though these objects are, in their nature,
terrible, and generally known to be so, it is not this attribute of terror
that contributes, in the smallest degree to render them sublime.... Timid
women fly to a cellar, or a darkened room, to avoid the sublime effects of
a thunder-storm; because to them they are not sublime, but terrible. To
those only are they sublime, '_qui formidine nulla imbuti spectant_,' who
behold them without any fear at all; and to whom, therefore, they are in
no degree terrible."
This farther confirms the distinction which I made of beauty into minor or
subordinate, and grand or sublime beauty, although Knight adopted other
principles, if principles they may be called, and neglected such
distinction.
There is but one other error on this subject which I need to notice. Burke
says: "To make anything very terrible, obscurity seems in general to be
necessary. When we know the full extent of any danger, when we can
accustom our eyes to it, a great deal of the apprehension vanishes. Every
one will be sensible of this, who considers how greatly night adds to our
dread, in all cases of danger.... Those despotic governments which are
founded on the passions of men, and principally upon the passion of fear,
keep their chief as much as may be from the public eye. The policy has
been the same in many cases of religion. Almost all the heathen temples
were dark."
From what has already been said, it is evident that all this contributes
to terror, not to sublimity; and that the same error is made by Blair when
he says, "As obscurity, so disorder, too, is very compatible with
grandeur, nay, frequently heightens it."
To expose the weakness and to destroy the authority of some writers on
this subject, can only set the mind free for the investigation of truth.
I may, therefore, conclude this chapter by quoting the shrewd remarks of
Knight on some of the principles of Burke. I shall afterward be forced
critically to examine the notions of Knight in their turn.
Burke states that the highest degree of sublime sensation is astonishment;
and the subordinate degrees, awe, reverence, and respect; all which he
considers as modes of terror. And Knight observes that this graduated
scale of the sublime, from respect to astonishment, cannot, perhaps be
better illustrated than by applying it to his own character.
"He was certainly," says Knight, "a very respectable man, and reverenced
by all who knew him intimately. At one period of his life, too, when he
became the disinterested patron of remote and injured nations, who had
none to help them, his character was truly sublime; but, unless upon those
whom he so ably and eloquently arraigned, I do not believe that it
impressed any awe.... If, during this period, he had suddenly appeared
among the managers in Westminster Hall without his wig and coat, or had
walked up St. James's street without his breeches, it would have
occasioned great and universal astonishment; and if he had, at the same
time, carried a loaded blunderbuss in his hands, the astonishment would
have been mixed with no small portion of terror: but I do not believe that
the united effects of these two powerful passions would have produced any
sentiment or sensation approaching to sublime, even in the breasts of
those who had the strongest sense of self-preservation and the quickest
sensibility of danger."
Thus, I believe, it now appears that novelty[10] is the exciting cause of
pleasurable emotion, and of the consequent perception of beauty in the
relations of things, and that the two genera of beauty--the minor or
subordinate beauty, and grandeur or sublimity--have distinct
characteristics, the confounding of which by writers has led to the
obscurity of this part of the subject.
CHAPTER V.
STANDARD OF TASTE IN BEAUTY.
The expression, "standard of taste," is used to signify the basis or
foundation of our judgments respecting beauty and deformity, and their
consequent certainty.
Setting aside such objection as might be raised to a standard of taste on
the doctrine of Berkeley (which I refuted in 1809, and which I need not
enter into here), this matter was long ago settled by David Hume; and I
have nothing new to say upon the subject (there is probably enough of
novelty in other chapters, whatever its worth may be), except that Burke
appears to have borrowed all he knew about it from that incomparably more
profound philosopher.
As I ought not, however, to omit here a view of the subject, I cannot do
better than transcribe the words of Hume and Burke respectively. While
this will put the reader in possession of all that I think necessary upon
this subject, it will farther tend to show in what Burke's ability as a
philosopher consisted.
I must first, however, observe that the word "taste," as expressing our
judgment of beauty, is a metaphor whimsically borrowed from the lowest of
our senses, and is applied to our exercise of that faculty, as regards
both natural objects, and the fine arts which imitate these.
It is not wonderful that the variety and inconstancy of tastes respecting
the attributes and the characters of beauty, should have led many
philosophers to deny that there exist any certain combinations of forms
and of effects to which the term beauty ought to be invariably attached.
In his "Philosophical Dictionary," Voltaire, after quoting some nonsense
from the crazy dreamer who did so much injury to Greek philosophy, says:
"I am willing to believe that nothing can be more beautiful than this
discourse of Plato; but it does not give us very clear ideas of the nature
of the beautiful. Ask of a toad what is beauty, pure beauty, the [Greek:
to kalon]; he will answer you that it is his female, with two large round
eyes projecting from her little head, a large and flat throat, a yellow
belly, and a brown back. Ask the devil, and he will tell you that the
beautiful is a pair of horns, four claws, and a tail. Consult, lastly, the
philosophers, and they will answer you by rigmarole: they want something
conformable to the archetype of the beautiful in essence, to the [Greek:
to kalon]." This is wit, not reason: let us look for that to a deeper
thinker--as proposed above.
David Hume says: "It appears that, amid all the variety and caprice of
taste, there are certain general principles of approbation or blame, whose
influence a careful eye may trace in all operations of the mind. Some
particular forms or qualities from the original structure of the internal
fabric, are calculated to please, and others to displease.... If they fail
of their effect in any particular instance, it is from some apparent
_defect_ or imperfection in the organ.
"In each creature there is a sound and a defective state; and the former
alone can be supposed to afford us a true standard of taste and sentiment.
If, in the sound state of the organ, there be an entire or a considerable
uniformity of sentiment among men, we may thence derive an idea of the
perfect beauty; in like manner as the appearance of objects in daylight,
to the eye of a man in health, is denominated their true and real color."
To the same purpose writes Burke, after some preliminary observations:--
"All the natural powers in man, which I know, that are conversant about
external objects, are the senses, the imagination, and the judgment.
"First, with regard to the senses. We do and we must suppose, that, as the
conformations of their organs are nearly or altogether the same in all
men, so the manner of perceiving external objects is in all men the same,
or with little difference.
"As there will be little doubt that bodies present similar images to the
whole species, it must necessarily be allowed, that the pleasures and the
pains which every object excites in one man, it must raise in all mankind,
while it operates naturally, simply, and by its proper powers only.
"Custom, and some other causes, have made many deviations from the natural
pleasures or pains which belong to these several tastes; but then the
power of distinguishing between the natural and the acquired relish
remains to the very last.
"There is in all men a sufficient remembrance of the original natural
causes of pleasure, to enable them to bring all things offered to their
senses to that standard, and to regulate their feelings and opinions by
it.
"Suppose one who had so vitiated his palate as to take more pleasure in
the taste of opium than in that of butter or honey, to be presented with a
bolus of squills; there is hardly any doubt but that he would prefer the
butter or honey to this nauseous morsel, or to any other bitter drug to
which he had not been accustomed; which proves that his palate was
naturally like that of other men in all things, that it is still like the
palate of other men in many things, and only vitiated in some particular
points."
In the same manner, Payne Knight observes that "things, naturally the most
nauseous, become most grateful; and things, naturally most grateful, most
insipid.
"This extreme effect, however, only takes place where the palate has
become morbid and vitiated by continued, and even forced gratification;
and even when the metaphors taken from this sense, and employed to express
intellectual qualities, show that it is always felt and considered as a
corruption, even by those who are most corrupted: for though there are
many who prefer port wine to malmsey, and tobacco to sugar, yet no one
ever spoke of a sour or bitter temper as pleasant, or of a sweet one as
unpleasant." By this concession, Knight answers several of his own
objections.
"When it is said," farther observes Burke, very properly, "taste cannot be
disputed, it can only mean, that no one can strictly answer what pleasure
or pain some particular man may find from the taste of some particular
thing. This indeed cannot be disputed; but we may dispute, and with
sufficient clearness too, concerning the things which are naturally
pleasing or disagreeable to the sense. But when we talk of any peculiar or
acquired relish, then we must know the habits, the prejudices, or the
distempers of this particular man, and we must draw our conclusions from
those."
Hume proceeds to a second point, by observing that "one obvious cause, why
many feel not the proper sentiment of beauty, is the want of that
_delicacy_ of imagination which is requisite to convey a sensibility of
those finer emotions.
"Where the organs are so fine, as to allow nothing to escape them, and at
the same time so exact, as to perceive every ingredient in the
composition; this we call delicacy of taste, whether we employ these terms
in the literal or metaphorical sense."
Burke enlarges on this, after preliminary observing that "the power of the
imagination is incapable of producing anything absolutely new; it can only
vary the disposition of those ideas which it has received from the
senses. Now, the imagination is the most extensive province of pleasure
and pain, as it is the region of our fears and our hopes, and of all our
passions that are connected with them.
"Since the imagination is only the representation of the senses, it can
only be pleased or displeased with the images, from the same principle on
which the sense is pleased or displeased with the realities; and
consequently there must be just as close an agreement in the imaginations
as in the senses of men.
"There are some men formed with feelings so blunt, with tempers so cold
and phlegmatic, that they can hardly be said to be awake during the whole
course of their lives. Upon such persons, the most striking objects make
but a faint and obscure impression. There are others so continually in the
agitation of gross and merely sensual pleasures, or so occupied in the low
drudgery of avarice, or so heated in the chase of honors and distinction,
that their minds, which had been used continually to the storms of these
violent and tempestuous passions, can hardly be put in motion by the
delicate and refined play of the imagination. These men, though from a
different cause, become as stupid and insensible as the former; but
whenever either of these happen to be struck with any natural elegance or
greatness, or with these qualities in any work of art, they are moved upon
the same principle."
On a third point, Hume says: "But though there be naturally a wide
difference in point of delicacy between one person and another, nothing
tends farther to increase and improve this talent, than _practice_ in a
particular art, and the frequent survey or contemplation of a particular
species of beauty.
"So advantageous is practice to the discernment of beauty, that, before we
can give judgment on any work of importance, it will even be requisite
that that very individual performance be more than once perused by us, and
be surveyed in different lights with attention and deliberation."
This is well illustrated by Burke, who observes: "It is known that the
taste (whatever it is) is improved exactly as we improve our knowledge, by
a steady attention to our object, and by frequent exercise.
"To illustrate this--(that there is a difference, not in the causes, nor
in the manner of men's being affected, but in the degree, owing to natural
sensibility, or greater attention to the object)--to illustrate this by
the procedure of the senses in which the same difference is found, let us
suppose a very smooth marble-table to be set before two men; they both
perceive it to be smooth, and they are both pleased with it because of
this quality. So far they agree.
"But suppose another, and after that another table, the latter still
smoother than the former, to be set before them. It is now very probable
that these men, who are so agreed upon what is smooth, and in the pleasure
thence, will disagree when they come to settle which table has the
advantage in point of polish.... Nor is it easy, when such a difference
arises, to settle the point, if the excess or diminution be not glaring.
"In these nice cases, supposing the acuteness of the sense equal, the
greater attention and habit in such things will have the advantage. In the
question about the tables, the marble-polisher will unquestionably
determine the most accurately.
"In the imagination, beside the pain or pleasure arising from the
properties of the natural object, a pleasure is perceived from the
resemblance which the imitation has to the original.
"All men are nearly equal in this point, as far as their knowledge of the
things represented or compared extends.
"The principle of this knowledge is very much accidental, as it depends
upon experience and observation, and not on the strength or weakness of
any natural faculty; and it is from this difference in knowledge that what
we commonly, though with no great exactness, call a difference in taste,
proceeds.
"A man to whom sculpture is new sees a barber's block, or some ordinary
piece of statuary; he is immediately struck and pleased, because he sees
something like a human figure; and entirely taken up with this likeness,
he does not at all attend to its defects. No person, I believe, at the
first time of seeing a piece of imitation, ever did. Some time after, we
suppose that this novice lights upon a more artificial work of the same
nature; he begins to look with contempt on what he admired at first; not
that he admired it even then for its unlikeness to a man, but for that
general though inaccurate resemblance which it bore to the human figure.
What he admired at different times in these so different figures, is
strictly the same; and though his knowledge is improved, his taste is not
altered. Hitherto his mistake was from a want of knowledge in art, and
this arose from his inexperience; but he may be still deficient, from a
want of knowledge in nature. For it is possible that the man in question
may stop here, and that the masterpiece of a great hand may please him no
more than the middling performance of a vulgar artist; and this not for
want of better or higher relish, but because all men do not observe with
sufficient accuracy on the human figure, to enable them to judge properly
of an imitation of it."
On other points, Hume makes the following observations:--
"Without being frequently obliged to form _comparisons_ between the
several species and degrees of excellence, and estimating their proportion
to each other ... a man is indeed totally unqualified to pronounce an
opinion with regard to any object presented to him. By comparison alone,
we fix the epithets of praise or blame, and learn how to assign the due
degree of each.
"But to enable a critic more fully to execute this undertaking, he must
preserve his mind free from all _prejudice_ and allow nothing to enter
into his consideration, but the very object which is submitted to his
examination.
"It is well known, that, in all questions submitted to the understanding,
prejudice is destructive of sound judgment, and perverts all operations of
the intellectual faculties: it is no less contrary to good taste; nor has
it less influence to corrupt our sentiments of beauty. It belongs to _good
sense_ to check its influence in both cases; and in this respect, as well
as in many others, reason, if not an essential part of taste, is at least
requisite to the operations of this latter faculty. In all the nobler
productions of genius, there is a mutual relation and correspondence of
parts; nor can either the beauties or blemishes be perceived by him whose
thought is not capacious enough to comprehend all those parts, and compare
them with each other, in order to perceive the consistence and uniformity
of the whole. Every work of art has also a certain end or purpose for
which it is calculated; and is to be deemed more or less perfect, as it is
more or less fitted to attain this end."
To a repetition of this, Burke adds some useful remarks:--
"As many of the works of imagination are not confined to representation of
sensible objects, nor to efforts upon the passions, but extend themselves
to the manners, the characters, the actions, and designs of men, their
relations, their virtues and vices, they come within the province of the
judgment, which is improved by attention and by the habit of reasoning.
"The cause of a wrong taste is a defect of judgment. And this may arise
from a natural weakness of understanding (in whatever the strength of
that faculty may consist), or which is much more commonly the case, it
may arise from a want of proper and well-directed exercise, which alone
can make it strong and ready. Beside that ignorance, inattention,
prejudice, rashness, levity, obstinacy, in short, all those passions, and
all those vices which pervert the judgment in other matters, prejudice it
no less in this its more refined and elegant province. These causes
produce different opinions upon everything which is an object of the
understanding, without inducing us to suppose, that there are no settled
principles of reason.
"A rectitude of judgment in the arts, which may be called a good taste,
does in a great measure depend upon sensibility; because, if the mind has
no bent to the pleasures of the imagination, it will never apply itself
sufficiently to works of that species to acquire a competent knowledge in
them. But though a degree of sensibility is requisite to form a good
judgment, yet a good judgment does not necessarily arise from a quick
sensibility of pleasure; it frequently happens that a very poor judge,
merely by force of a greater complexional sensibility, is more affected by
a poor piece, than the best judge by the most perfect; for as everything
new, extraordinary, grand, or passionate, is well calculated to affect
such a person, and that the faults do not affect him, his pleasure is more
pure and unmixed.
"In the morning of our days, when the senses are unworn and tender, when
the whole man is awake in every part, and the gloss of novelty fresh upon
all the objects that surround us, how lively at that time are our
sensations, but how false and inaccurate the judgments we form of things!
"Every trivial cause of pleasure is apt to affect the man of too sanguine
a complexion: his appetite is to keen to suffer his taste to be
delicate.... One of this character can never be a refined judge; never
what the comic poet calls '_elegans formarum spectator_.'
"The rude hearer is affected by the principles which operate in these arts
even in their rudest condition; and he is not skilful enough to perceive
the defects. But as arts advance toward their perfection, the science of
criticism advances with equal pace, and the pleasure of judges is
frequently interrupted by the faults which are discovered in the most
finished compositions."
The chief idea above expressed, is again repeated by Sir J. Reynolds, who
says: "The principles of these (the imagination and the passions) are as
invariable as the former (the senses), and are to be known and reasoned
upon in the same manner, by an appeal to _common sense_ deciding upon the
common feelings of mankind."
These views are thus summed by Hume: "The organs of internal sensation are
seldom so perfect as to allow the general principles their full play, and
produce a feeling correspondent to those principles. They either labor
under some defect, or are vitiated by some disorder; and by that means,
excite a sentiment, which may be pronounced erroneous. When the critic has
no delicacy, he judges without any distinction, and is only affected by
the grosser and more palpable qualities of the object: the finer touches
pass unnoticed and disregarded. Where he is not aided by practice, his
verdict is attended with confusion and hesitation. Where no comparison has
been employed, the most frivolous beauties, such as rather merit the name
of defects, are the object of his admiration. Where he lies under the
influence of prejudice, all his natural sentiments are perverted. Where
good sense is wanting, he is not qualified to discern the beauties of
design and reasoning, which are the highest and most excellent. Under some
or other of these imperfections, the generality of men labor; and hence, a
true judge in the finer arts is observed, even during the most polished
ages, to be so rare a character: strong sense, united to delicate
sentiment, improved by practice, perfected by comparison, and cleared of
all prejudice, can alone entitle critics to this valuable character; and
the joint verdict of such, wherever they are to be found, is the true
standard of taste and beauty."
Taking the principal ideas above, Burke also concludes: "On the whole it
appears to me, that what is called taste, in its most general acceptation,
is not a simple idea, but is partly made up of a perception of the primary
pleasures of sense, of the secondary pleasures of the imagination, and of
the conclusions of the reasoning faculty, concerning the various relations
of these, and concerning the human passions, manners, and actions."
"It is sufficient for our present purpose," Hume farther observes, "if we
have proved that the taste of all individuals is not upon an equal
footing, and that some men in general, however difficult to be
particularly pitched upon, will be acknowledged by universal sentiment to
have a preference above others.
"Though men of delicate taste be rare, they are easily to be distinguished
in society by the soundness of their understanding, and the superiority of
their faculties above the rest of mankind. The ascendant which they
acquire, gives a prevalence to that lively approbation, with which they
receive any productions of genius, and renders it generally predominant.
Many men, when left to themselves, have but a faint and dubious perception
of beauty, who yet are capable of relishing any fine stroke which is
pointed out to them. Every convert to the admiration of the real poet or
orator, is the cause of some new conversion. And though prejudices may
prevail for a time, they never unite in celebrating any rival to the true
genius, but yield at last to the force of nature and just sentiment."
Hume finally obviates some apparent difficulties:--
"But notwithstanding all our endeavors to fix a standard of taste, and
reconcile the discordant apprehensions of men, there still remain two
sources of variation, which are not sufficient indeed to confound all the
boundaries of beauty and deformity, but will often serve to produce a
difference in the degrees of our approbation or blame. The one is the
different humors of particular men; the other, the particular manner and
opinions of our age and country.
"A young man, whose passions are warm, will be more sensibly touched with
amorous and tender images, than a man more advanced in years, who takes
pleasure in wise, philosophical reflections concerning the conduct of life
and moderation of the passions. At twenty, Ovid may be the favorite
author; Horace at forty; and perhaps Tacitus at fifty. Vainly would we, in
such cases, endeavor to enter into the sentiments of others, and divest
ourselves of those propensities which are natural to us. We choose our
favorite author as we do our friend, from a conformity of humor and
disposition.
"Such preferences are innocent and unavoidable, and can never reasonably
be the object of dispute, because there is no standard by which they can
be decided.
"For a like reason, we are more pleased, in the course of our reading,
with pictures and characters that resemble objects which are found in our
own age or country, than with those which describe a different set of
customs.
"A man of learning and reflection can make allowance for these
peculiarities of manners; but a common audience can never divest
themselves so far of their usual ideas and sentiments, as to relish
pictures which nowise resemble them."
Thus I believe the reader has before him a view, sufficiently clear, of
that popular topic, the standard of taste, as well as of the agreement
which subsists among the best writers on the subject. In the next chapter,
we proceed to a more fundamental and difficult inquiry.
CHAPTER VI.
THE ELEMENTS OF BEAUTY.[11]
On the subject of the preceding chapter, even the reasonings of Hume
appear to me to be of too vague and indefinite a kind. It requires the
more minute scrutiny into which I shall now enter, in order to place it
upon a deeper and more scientific foundation. If I can here show that, in
the material qualities of the objects of nature and art, there exist
elements of beauty equally invariable in themselves and in the kind of
effect they produce upon the mind, it is evident there can be no farther
dispute about a standard of beauty.
Many attempts have been made to determine the material elements of beauty,
by Hogarth, Home, and others. All have more or less failed, from not
observing that these elements are modified, varied, and complicated, as we
advance from the most simple to the most complex class of natural beings,
or of the arts which relate to these respectively. Many partial views of
perfect truth and great interest have been taken, and by every one of
these it will be my duty here to profit: but, from the failure just
pointed out, no philosophical and systematic doctrine of beauty, ascending
from its origin in elements through its higher combinations, has ever been
attained by any of the numerous, deep, acute, and elegant thinkers who
have devoted their time to this subject, as the foundation of taste and of
the fine or intellectual arts.
Profiting, as I ought to do, by the partial views of these philosophers, I
pretend here only to take one larger view--to analyze, to generalize, to
systematize, the materials which they present to me.
In the hope of accomplishing this, I shall now endeavor successively to
trace the elements of beauty which belong respectively to inanimate,
living, and thinking beings, and to the useful, ornamental, and
intellectual arts which have a reference to these, the neglect of all
which I have described as the fundamental cause of previous failure.
Again, I repeat, it is to this analysis and generalization alone, and to
the systemization founded upon it, that I make any pretence. The materials
have long been presented by all the great writers on the subject: they
have only left them in confusion, and without conclusion. I shall now
proceed to employ them.
SECTION I.
ELEMENTS OF BEAUTY IN INANIMATE BEINGS.
Though Burke did not accurately trace the elements of beauty in any one
class of the objects of nature or art, he yet states a preliminary truth
on this subject so well, that I here quote it: "It would be absurd," he
observes, "to say that all things affect us by association only; since
some things must have been originally and naturally agreeable or
disagreeable, from which the others derive their associated powers; and it
would be, I fancy, to little purpose to look for the cause of our passions
in association, until we fail of it in the natural properties of things."
Home, advancing farther, says: "If a tree be beautiful by means of its
color, its figure, its size, its motion, it is in reality possessed of so
many different beauties, which ought to be examined separately, in order
to have a clear notion of the whole.
"When any body is viewed as a whole, the beauty of its figure arises from
regularity[12] and simplicity; and viewing the parts with relation to each
other, from uniformity[12], proportion, and order."
I will here only observe that these are the qualities, as will speedily
appear, which Burke should have set down as the fundamental and first
characteristics of beauty, instead of relative littleness, which belongs
not to beauty generally, but only to the minor or subordinate beauty.
Even Home, having arrived thus far, says: "To inquire why an object, by
means of the particulars mentioned, appears beautiful, would, I am afraid,
be a vain attempt."
But he truly adds: "One thing is clear, that regularity, uniformity,
order, and simplicity, contribute each of them to readiness of
apprehension, and enable us to form more distinct images of objects than
can be done, with the utmost attention, where these particulars are not
found." And he subjoins: "This final cause is, I acknowledge, too slight,
to account satisfactorily for a taste that makes a figure so illustrious
in the nature of man; and that this branch of our constitution has a
purpose still more important, we have great reason to believe."
Now had Home seen that the characteristics of general beauty always are,
with regard to the object, accordant and agreeable relations, the
importance of the qualities he has just enumerated would have been
evident; for, without them, these characteristics of the object could not
exist: simplicity, regularity, uniformity, order, &c., are the very
elements of accordant and agreeable relations. This is in reality the
still more important purpose in which Home believed, and to which the
readiness of apprehension he now alludes to eminently contributes.
As to simplicity, he observes, that "a multitude of objects crowding into
the mind at once, disturb the attention, and pass without making any
impression, or any lasting impression; and in a group, no single object
makes the figure it would do apart, when it occupies the whole attention.
For the same reason, even a single object, when it divides the attention
by the multiplicity of its parts, equals not, in strength of impression, a
more simple object comprehended in a single view: parts extremely complex
must be considered in portions successively; and a number of impressions
in succession, which cannot unite because not simultaneous, never touch
the mind like one entire impression made as it were at one stroke.
"A square is less beautiful than a circle, because it is less simple: a
circle has parts as well as a square; but its parts not being distinct
like those of a square, it makes one entire impression; whereas, the
attention is divided among the sides and angles of a square.... A square,
though not more regular than a hexagon or octagon, is more beautiful than
either, because a square is more simple, and the attention less divided.
"Simplicity thus contributes to beauty."
By regularity is meant that circumstance in a figure by which we perceive
it to be formed according to a certain rule. Thus, a circle, a square, a
parallelogram, or triangle, pleases by its regularity.
"A square," says Home--(who here furnishes the best materials to a more
general view, because he most frequently assigns physical causes, and
whom, with some abbreviation, I therefore continue to quote)--"a square is
more beautiful than a parallelogram, because the former exceeds the latter
in regularity and in uniformity of parts. This is true with respect to
intrinsic beauty only; for in many instances, utility comes in to cast the
balance on the side of the parallelogram: this figure for the doors and
windows of a dwelling-house, is preferred because of utility; and here we
find the beauty of utility prevailing over that of regularity and
uniformity."
Thus regularity and uniformity contribute to intrinsic beauty.
"A parallelogram, again, depends for its beauty on the proportion [or
relation of quantity] of its sides. Its beauty is lost by a great
inequality of these sides: it is also lost by their approximating toward
equality; for proportion there degenerates into imperfect uniformity, and
the figure appears an unsuccessful attempt toward a square."
Thus proportion contributes to beauty.
"An equilateral triangle yields not to a square in regularity nor in
uniformity of parts, and it is more simple. Its inferiority in beauty is
at least partly owing to inferiority of order in the position of its
parts: the sides of an equilateral triangle incline to each other in the
same angle, which is the most perfect order they are susceptible of; but
this order is obscure, and far from being so perfect as the parallelism of
the sides of a square."
Thus order contributes to the beauty of visible objects.
"A mountain, it may be objected, is an agreeable object, without so much
as the appearance of regularity; and a chain of mountains is still more
agreeable, without being arranged in any order. But though regularity,
uniformity, and order, are causes of beauty, there are also other causes
of it, as color; and when we pass from small to great objects, and
consider grandeur instead of beauty, very little regularity is required."
It follows, from all that has been here said, and this has been shown by
Burke, that any rugged, any sudden projection, any sharp angle, is in the
highest degree contrary to the idea of beauty. Such projections and angles
are destitute of all the qualities which have just been
enumerated--simplicity, regularity, uniformity, proportion, order; and
conformably to the principles I have laid down in a previous chapter, they
can present only relations which are naturally disagreeable. This view is
corroborated by the fact, that all very sharp, broken, or angular objects,
were disagreeable to the boy couched by Cheselden, as they are to all eyes
of very nice sensibility.
Now, as angular forms give, to the sense of touch, sharpness, roughness,
or harshness, so do opposite forms give smoothness or fineness. Hence,
Burke makes smoothness his second characteristic of beauty, and that far
more truly than he makes littleness its first, for, as he observes,
"smoothness is a quality so essential to beauty, that I do not now
recollect anything beautiful that is not smooth."
Such being really the case, I am bound to expose Knight's sophistry on
this point. "This elegant author," says he, "has expatiated upon the
gratifications of feeling smooth and undulating surfaces in general: but,
I believe, these gratifications have been confined to himself; and
probably to his own imagination acting through the medium of his favorite
system: for, except in the communication of the sexes, which affords no
general illustration, and ought therefore to be kept entirely out of the
question, I have never heard of any person being addicted to such
luxuries; though a feeling-board would certainly afford as cheap and
innocent a gratification, as either a smelling-bottle, a picture, or a
flute, provided it were capable of affording any gratification at all."
This is a good specimen of the kind of perverted reasoning, which
peculiarly distinguishes Knight.
A man affecting the character of philosopher, ought calmly to have
observed that, by young people before puberty, and, consequently, when
there is not the slightest sexual bias, smooth objects are generally found
to be agreeable, and rough or harsh ones to be the reverse. This would at
once have set him right upon this point.
If, to such a man, it should for a moment have appeared worth while to ask
why we do not make use of feeling-boards, as well as of smelling-bottles,
he ought to have sought the solution of his difficulty in the nature of
the senses; and then, with a trifle more of ability than Payne Knight
hereby shows himself to have possessed, he would have seen that smoothness
affords us as much pleasure as any smell, but that, as it would have been
always troublesome, and often impossible, to apply our fingers to smooth
surfaces, we generally receive the varied and incessant pleasure it
affords, by means of sight; that it is borne by light to the eye, as smell
is by the air; and that this is the reason why, except when contact is
indispensable, we have no need of anything in the way of a feeling-board.
But Knight says: "Smoothness being properly a quality, perceivable only by
the touch, and applied metaphorically to the objects of the other senses,
we often apply it, very improperly, to those of vision; assigning
smoothness as a cause of visible beauty, to things which, though smooth to
the touch, cast the most sharp, harsh, and angular reflections of light
upon the eyes; and these reflections are all that the eye feels, or
naturally perceives.... Such are all objects of cut-glass or polished
metal; as may be seen by the manner in which painters imitate them: for,
as the imitations of painting extend only to the visible qualities of
bodies, they show those visible qualities fairly and impartially.... Yet
the imitative representation of such objects in painting is far less harsh
and dazzling than the effects of them in reality: for there are no
materials that a painter can employ, capable of expressing the sharpness
and brilliancy of those angular reflections of the collected and
condensed rays, which are emitted from the surfaces of polished metals."
It seems, to me, scarcely possible to find sophistry more worthless than
this, or rather a more contemptible quibble; for that which, availing
himself of our technicalities about light, he calls angularity, sharpness,
&c., has no analogy with disagreeable angularity of form. To produce the
brilliance and splendor which he calls angular, and describes as so
_offensive_, we polish crystalline and metallic bodies in the highest
degree!--we value precisely those which thus admit of greatest
splendor!--and, on that very account, the diamond (rightly or wrongly, is
not the question) is deemed the most valuable object on earth!
So much for those elements of beauty, in inanimate things, which fall
under the cognizance of our fundamental sense, or that of touch.
As to sight and its objects, it is true that, as this organ varies in
different persons, their taste is modified, with regard to colors. But the
preference of light and delicate colors to dark and glaring ones, is
almost universal among persons of sensibility.
Alison, indeed, ascribes the effects of all colors to association.
"White," he says, "as it is the color of day, is expressive to us of the
cheerfulness or gayety which the return of day brings: black, as the color
of darkness [night], is expressive of gloom and melancholy." And he adds:
"Whether some colors may not of themselves produce agreeable sensations,
and others disagreeable sensations, I am not anxious to dispute." But
this is the very point into which Alison ought to have inquired. Nature
does nothing without foundation in the simplest principles; and this
foundation is not only anterior to, but is the cause of all association.
That, independent of any association, blackness is naturally disagreeable,
if not painful, is happily determined by the case of the boy restored to
sight by Cheselden, who tells us that the first time the boy saw a black
object, it gave him great uneasiness; and that, some time after, upon
accidentally seeing a negro-woman, he was struck with great horror at the
sight. This appears to be perfectly conclusive.
Knight indeed says: "As to the uneasiness which the boy, couched by
Cheselden, felt at the first sight of a black object, it arose either from
the harshness of its outline, or from its appearing to act as a partial
extinguisher applied to his eyes, which, as every object that he saw,
seemed to touch them, would, of course, be its effect." It is highly
probable that black operates in both these ways; and it has therefore
natural effects, independent of all association.
As to sounds, Alison observes, that the cries of some animals are sublime,
as the roar of the lion, the scream of the eagle, &c.; and he thinks they
become so, because we associate them with the strength and ferocity of the
animals which utter them. By opposite associations, he accounts for the
beauty of the notes of birds. And he says, that there is a similar
sublimity or beauty, in the tones of the human voice, and that "such
sounds are associated, in our imaginations, with the qualities of mind of
which they are in general expressive, and naturally produce in us the
conception of these qualities."
This writer endeavors to establish his views on this subject, by
observing, that "grandeur or sublimity of sound, can no otherwise arise
from its loudness, than as that loudness excites an idea of power in the
sonorous object, or in some other associated with it in the mind: for a
child's drum, close to the ear, fills it with more real noise, than the
discharge of a cannon a mile off; and the rattling of a carriage in the
street, when faintly and indistinctly heard, has often been mistaken for
thunder at a distance. Yet no one ever imagined the beating of a child's
drum, or the rattling of a carriage over the stones, to be grand or
sublime; which, nevertheless, they must be, if grandeur or sublimity
belong at all to the sensation of loudness. But artillery and lightning
are powerful engines of destruction; and with their power we sympathize,
whenever the sound of them excites any sentiments of sublimity."
Now, all this is directly opposed to the doctrine it is meant to support.
It distinctly implies that loudness is so natural and so frequent a result
of the violent contact of bodies, that we sometimes mistakenly ascribe
power to objects, of which we have not correctly distinguished the sounds,
owing to imitation, distance, &c. The occasional mistake implies the
general truth.
Alison, himself, notwithstanding his doctrine of association, is
accordingly led to observe, that "there are some philosophers who consider
these as the natural signs of passion or affection, and who believe that
it is not from experience, but by means of an original faculty, that we
interpret them: and this opinion is supported by great authorities."
He adds the following observations, which, notwithstanding the error they
involve, are too much to the purpose to be omitted here, and which in
reality illustrate a natural and true theory, better than they do his
own:--
"It is natural, however, to suppose, that in this, as in every case, our
experience should gradually lead to the formation of some general rules,
with regard to this expression.
"The great divisions of sound are into loud and low, grave and acute, long
and short, increasing and diminishing. The two first divisions are
expressive in themselves: the two last, only in conjunction with others.
"Loud sound is connected with ideas of power and danger. Many objects in
nature which have such qualities, are distinguished by such sounds; and
this association is farther confirmed from the human voice, in which all
violent and impetuous passions are expressed in loud tones.
"Low sound has a contrary expression, and is connected with ideas of
weakness, gentleness, and delicacy. This association takes its rise, not
only from the observation of inanimate nature, or of animals, where, in a
great number of cases, such sounds distinguish objects with such
qualities, but particularly from the human voice, where all gentle, or
delicate, or sorrowful affections are expressed by such tones.
"Grave sound is connected with ideas of moderation, dignity, solemnity,
&c., principally, I believe, from all moderate, or restrained, or
chastened affections being distinguished by such tones in the human voice.
"Acute sound is expressive of pain, or fear, or surprise, &c., and
generally operates by producing some degree of astonishment. This
association, also, seems principally to arise from our experience of such
connexions in the human voice.
"Long or lengthened sound seems to me to have no expression in itself, but
only to signify the continuance of that quality which is signified by
other qualities of sound. A loud or a low, a grave or an acute sound
prolonged expresses to us no more than the continuance of the quality
which is generally signified by such sounds.
"Short or abrupt sound has a contrary expression, and signifies the sudden
cessation of the quality thus expressed.
"Increasing sound signifies, in the same manner, the increase of the
quality expressed.
"Decreasing sound signifies the gradual diminution of such qualities.
"Motion furnishes another sort of beauty.
"Figure, color, and motion, readily blend in one object, and one general
perception of beauty. In many beautiful objects they all unite, and
render the beauty greater."
These characteristics are too universal not to support the doctrine of
natural appropriation and power, of which association is merely a
consequence.
It may be said, that all this chiefly regards mere geometrical forms, not
objects in nature. But, on referring to inanimate objects, it will be
found that they everywhere present these forms.
The round, the simplest form appears to characterize all elementary bodies
and all that are free from compression, to be in fact the most elementary
and the most readily assumed in nature. This form, accordingly, is
presented by the drops of water and of every liquid, by every atom
probably of oxygen, hydrogen, and azote, by the smallest as well as the
largest bodies, even the innumerable celestial orbs.
All the other, the angular forms are presented by inanimate bodies under
compression, or by mineral crystals.
Thus, then, do these simple geometrical forms characterize the simplest
bodies in nature; and it appears that this first kind of beauty is
peculiarly their own. It will, in the sequel, be as clearly seen, that
each of the other classes of natural beings presents beauty of a different
kind, which similarly characterizes it. Hence, no rational theory of
beauty could be formed by writers, who indiscriminatingly jumbled together
the characteristics of all the kinds of beauty, and expected to find them
everywhere.
As, then, from all that has been said, it appears that all the elements of
beauty which have thus been noticed, belong to inanimate beings, and as
this is shown by the passages I have quoted from the best writers, it
seems surprising, not merely that they should not have seen this to be the
case, but, that it should not have led them to observe, that there exists
also a second beauty, of living beings, and third, of thinking beings, as
well as others of the useful, the ornamental, and the intellectual arts
respectively, in each of which some new element was only added to the
characters of the preceding species.
It seems still more surprising that Alison, who deviates so widely from
all fundamental principles, should have actually stumbled upon an
observation of a few of the characteristics of inanimate beings, and
traced them as they pass upward through some living and thinking
beings--whose new characteristics, however, he did not discriminate. He
observes, that "the greater part of those bodies in nature, which possess
hardness, strength, or durability, are distinguished by angular forms. The
greater part of those bodies, on the contrary, which possess weakness,
fragility, or delicacy, are distinguished by winding or curvilinear forms.
In the mineral kingdom, all rocks, stones, and metals, the hardest and
most durable bodies we know, assume universally angular forms. In the
vegetable kingdom, all strong and durable plants are in general
distinguished by similar forms. The feebler and more delicate race of
vegetables, on the contrary, are mostly distinguished by winding forms. In
the animal kingdom, in the same manner, strong and powerful animals are
generally characterized by angular forms; feeble and delicate animals, by
forms of the contrary kind."[13]
SECTION II.
ELEMENTS OF BEAUTY IN LIVING BEINGS.
I have now to show that, in living beings, while the characters of the
first and fundamental beauty, that of inanimate beings, are still
partially continued, new characteristics are added to them.
Plants accordingly possess both rigid parts, like some of those described
in the preceding section, and delicate parts, which, in ascending through
the classes of natural beings from the simplest to the most complex, are
the very first to present to us new and additional characters totally
distinct from those of the preceding class.
I. To begin as nature does, then, we find the trunks and stems of plants,
which are near the ground, resembling most in character the inanimate
bodies from among which they spring. They assume the simplest and most
universal form in nature, the round one; but as growth is their great
function, they extend in height and become cylindrical.
Even the branches, the twigs, and the tendrils, continue this elementary
character; but it is in them, or in the stem when, like them, it is
tender, that such elementary characters give way to the purposes of life,
namely, growth and reproduction, and that we discover the new and
additional characters of beauty which this class presents to us.
II. To render this matter plain, I must observe that the formation of
rings, which unite in tubes, appears to be almost universally the material
condition of growth and reproduction. Every new portion of these tubes,
moreover, and every superadded ring, is less than that which preceded it.
It is from this that results the first characteristic of this second kind
of beauty, namely, fineness or delicacy. Hence, Burke made the possession
of a delicate frame, without any remarkable appearance of strength, his
fifth condition in beauty; and he here erred only from that want of
discrimination which led him to confound together all the conditions of
beauty, and prevented his seeing that they belonged to different genera.
Now, as fine and delicate bodies, which are growing, will shoot in that
direction where space, air, and light, can best be had, and as this, amid
other twigs and tendrils, will greatly vary, so will their productions
rarely continue long in the same straight line, but will, on the contrary,
bend. Hence, the curved or bending form is the second characteristic of
this kind of beauty.
It is worthy of remark, that, as the trunks, stems, twigs, and tendrils,
of plants assume the simplest and most universal form in nature, the round
one, so their more delicate parts have again the tendency to bend into a
similar form.
In the young and feeble branches of plants, it is observed by Alison, that
the bending form is "beautiful, when we perceive that it is the
consequence of the delicacy of their texture, and of their being
overpowered by the weight of the flower.... In the smaller and feebler
tribe of flowers, as in the violet, the daisy, or the lily of the valley,
the bending of the stem constitutes a very beautiful form, because we
immediately perceive that it is the consequence of the weakness and
delicacy of the flower."
From the circumstances now described, it results that all the parts of
plants present the most surprising variety. They vary their direction
every moment, as Burke observes, and they change under the eye by a
deviation continually carrying on, but for whose beginning or end you will
find it difficult to ascertain a point.
Variety is therefore the third characteristic of this second kind of
beauty; and in the indiscriminating views of Burke, he made two similar
conditions, viz: "Thirdly, to have a variety in the direction of the
parts; but, fourthly, to have those parts not angular, but melted as it
were into each other;" thus applying these to beauty generally, to which
they are not applicable, but in a confused and imperfect way.
It is scarcely necessary to observe that variety, as a character of
beauty, owes its effect to the need of changing impressions, in order to
enliven our sensibility, which does not fail to become inactive under the
long-continued impression of the same stimulant.
It is connected with this variety that unequal numbers are preferred, as
we see in the number of flowers and of their petals, in that of leaves
grouped together, and in the indentations of these leaves.
From all this springs the fourth and last characteristic of this second
species of beauty, namely, contrast. This strikes us when we at once look
at the rigid stem and bending boughs, and all the variety which the latter
display.
It will be observed, that, of all the characteristics of beauty, none tend
to render our perceptions so vivid as variety and contrast.
I conclude this section with a few remarks on the errors which Alison has
committed on this subject.
"In the rose," says that writer, "and the white lily, and in the tribe of
flowering shrubs, the same bending form assumed by the stem is felt as a
defect; and instead of impressing us with the idea of delicacy, leads us
to believe the operation of some force to twist it into this
direction."--This, however, is no defect arising from the bending form not
being abstractly more beautiful, but from its being contrary to the nature
of the stem of flowering shrubs to bend, from its being, as he himself
observes, the result of some force to twist it.
He asserts, however, that in plants, angular forms are beautiful, when
they are expressive of fineness, of tenderness, of delicacy, or such
affecting qualities; and he thinks that this may perhaps appear from the
consideration of the following instances:--
"The myrtle, for instance, is generally reckoned a beautiful form, yet the
growth of its stem is perpendicular, the junction of its branches form
regular and similar angles, and their direction is in straight or angular
lines. The known delicacy, however, and tenderness of the vegetable, at
least in this climate, prevail over the general expression of the form,
and give it the same beauty which we generally find in forms of a contrary
kind."--The mistake here committed is in supposing the beauty of the
myrtle to depend on its angularity, instead of its being evergreen,
fragrant, and suggesting pleasures of association.
"How much more beautiful," he says, "is the rose-tree when its buds begin
to blow, than afterward, when its flowers are full and in their greatest
perfection! yet, in this first situation, its form has much less winding
surface, and is much more composed of straight lines and of angles, than
afterward when the weight of the flower weighs down the feeble branches,
and describes the easiest and most varied curves."--But he answers himself
by adding: "The circumstance of its youth, a circumstance in all cases so
affecting, the delicacy of its blossom, so well expressed by the care
which Nature has taken in surrounding the opening bud with leaves, prevail
so much upon our imagination, that we behold the form itself with more
delight in this situation than afterward, when it assumes the more general
form of delicacy."
"There are few things in the vegetable world," he says, "more beautiful
than the knotted and angular stem of the balsam, merely from its singular
transparency, which it is impossible to look at without a strong
impression of the fineness and delicacy of the vegetable."--But it is its
transparency, not its angularity, that is beautiful.
The beauty of color is not less conspicuous than that of form in this
class of beings.
SECTION III.
ELEMENTS OF BEAUTY IN THINKING BEINGS.
I have next to show that, in thinking beings, while the characters of
inanimate, and those of living beauty, are still more or less continued,
new characteristics are also added to them.
I. In animals, accordingly, the bones bear a close analogy to the wood of
plants. They generally assume the same rounded form; but, as thinking
beings are necessarily moving ones, their bones are hollow to combine
lightness with strength, and they are separated by joints to permit
flexion and extension.
II. As animals, like plants, grow and reproduce, a portion of their
general organization, their vascular system, which serves the purpose of
growth and reproduction, consists, like plants, of trunks, branches, &c.;
and the surface of their bodies, the skin, is formed by a tissue of these
vessels. Accordingly, both the vessels themselves, and the tissue which
they form, present the delicacy, the bending, the variety, and the
contrast, which are the characters of the preceding species of beauty.
The undulating and serpentine lines which art seeks always to design in
its most beautiful productions, exist in greater number at the surface of
the human body than at that of any other animal. Wherever, as Hogarth
observes, "for the sake of the necessary motion of the parts, with proper
strength and agility, the insertions of the muscles are too hard and
sudden, their swellings too bold, or the hollows between them too deep,
for their outlines to be beautiful; nature softens these hardnesses, and
plumps up these vacancies with a proper supply of fat, and covers the
whole with the soft, smooth, springy, and, in delicate life, almost
transparent skin, which, conforming itself to the external shape of all
the parts beneath, expresses to the eye the idea of its contents with the
utmost delicacy of beauty and grace."
It is principally in the features of the face, as has often been observed,
and on the surface of the torso and of the members of a beautiful woman,
that these delicate, bending, varied, and contrasted lines are multiplied:
by their union, they mark the outlines of different parts, as in the
region of the neck, of the bosom, at the shoulders, on the surface of the
abdomen, on the sides, and principally in the gradual transitions from the
head to the neck, and from the loins to the inferior extremities.
These lines vary under different circumstances; much enbonpoint producing
round lines, and leanness or old age producing straight ones.
Woman and man stand pre-eminent among animals as to this kind of beauty;
and to them succeed the swifter animals, as the horse, the stag, &c.
The animals, on the contrary, of which the surface presents right lines
and square forms, are correspondingly deprived of beauty; as the toad, the
hog, and all the animals which seem to us ugly.
In all animals, also, the beauty of color, even when slightly varied,
becomes extremely interesting.--In human beauty, considerable variety is
produced by the different shades of the skin.
Such, indeed, is the variety resulting from all this, that some degree
even of intricacy is produced. The undulating lines which cross in every
direction, and the tortuous paths of the eye, are the means of an
agreeable complication.
Hence Burke, following Hogarth, says: "Observe that part of a beautiful
woman where she is perhaps the most beautiful, about the neck and breasts:
the smoothness, the softness, the easy and insensible swell, the variety
of the surface, which is never for the smallest space the same, the
deceitful maze, through which the unsteady eye slides giddily, without
knowing where to fix, or whither it is carried. Is not this a
demonstration of that change of surface, continual, and yet hardly
perceptible at any point, which forms one of the great constituents of
beauty?
The hair affords an excellent instance of this agreeable complication.
Soft curls agitated by the wind have been the theme of every poet. And
yet, says Hogarth, "to show how excess ought to be avoided in intricacy,
as well as in every other principle, the very same head of hair, wisped
and matted together, would make the most disagreeable figure; because the
eye would be perplexed, and at a fault, and unable to trace such a
confused number of uncomposed and entangled lines."
III. But animals have a higher system of organs and functions which
peculiarly distinguishes them, and which presents new and peculiar
characteristics of beauty. This consists of the organs by which they
receive impressions from, and react upon the objects around them--the
first organs which Nature presents having altogether external relations,
and the first, consequently, in which we look for fitness for any purpose.
The importance of fitness to the beauty of such objects is learned
imperceptibly. Lines and forms, though the most elegant, fail to please
us, if ill distributed in this respect: and objects, to a great extent
destitute of the other characters of natural beauty, become beautiful when
regarded in relation to fitness. Thus would this sense appear to be so
powerful, as in some measure to regulate our other perceptions of beauty.
It is fitness which leads us to admire in one animal, what would displease
us if found in another. "The variety," says Barry, "and union of parts,
which we call beautiful in a greyhound, are pleasing in consequence of the
idea of agility which they convey. In other animals, less agility is
united with more strength; and, indeed, all the different arrangements
please because they indicate either different qualities, different degrees
of qualities, or the different combinations of them."
In relation to the various fitness of the human body, the same writer
says: "We should not increase the beauty of the female bosom, by the
addition of another protuberance; and the exquisite undulating transitions
from the convex to the concave tendencies, could not be multiplied with
any success. In fine, our rule for judging of the mode and degree of this
combination of variety and unity, seems to be no other than that of its
fitness and conformity to the designation of each species."
But it is less necessary for me to adduce authorities in support of this
truth, than to answer the objections that have been made to it by some of
the ablest writers on the subject--objections which have generally their
origin in the narrow views which these men have taken, and in those
partial hypotheses which, even when true, led them to reject all other
truth.
"It is said," observes Burke, "that the idea of a part's being well
adapted to answer its end, is one cause of beauty, or indeed beauty
itself.... In framing this theory, I am apprehensive that experience was
not sufficiently consulted. For, on that principle, the wedgelike snout of
a swine with its tough cartilage at the end, the little sunk eyes, and
the whole make of the head, so well adapted to its offices of digging and
rooting, would be extremely beautiful."--And so they are, when the beauty
of fitness for their purpose is considered; but that purpose being the
mere growth and fattening of an animal of sensual and dirty habits, it is
a fallacy to represent this, without explanation, as a fair proof of the
absence of connexion between fitness and beauty.
"If beauty in our species," says the same writer, "was annexed to use, men
would be much more lovely than women; and strength and agility would be
considered as the only beauties."--Burke was a stringer of fine words, not
for woman, but for queens, when that served a selfish and venal purpose.
The sentence just quoted shows that his gallantry was as ignorant as it
was mean. He here asserts by implication that women are less useful than
men, although it is to women that the care of the whole human race, during
its most helpless years, is committed, and although they take upon
themselves all that half of the duties of life which men are as little
capable of performing, as women are of performing the portion suited to
men.
"And," says he, "I appeal to the first and most natural feelings of
mankind, whether, on beholding a beautiful eye, or a well-fashioned mouth,
or a well-turned leg, any ideas of their being well fitted for seeing,
eating, or running, ever present themselves."--Is running, then, the
proper use of the leg in woman! Rousseau more truly thought its use was
to _fail_ in running, or _not_ to run! Is eating the only use of her
mouth! This, too from the man who deplored that "the age of chivalry was
gone!"--Nevertheless, I will venture to assert that such things never were
and never will be seen, without suggesting ideas of fitness of some kind
or other.
"There is," he proceeds, "another notion current, pretty closely allied to
the former; that perfection is the constituent cause of beauty. This
opinion has been made to extend much farther than to sensible objects. But
in these, so far is perfection, considered as such, from being the cause
of beauty, that this quality, where it is highest in the female sex,
almost always carries with it an idea of weakness and imperfection."--For
this plain reason, that female perfection is utterly incompatible with
great muscular perfection or strength, which would indeed be injurious to
the performance of every feminine function.
We may now advance another step in the subject under discussion. What,
then, are the peculiar physical characters of beings thus possessing sense
and motion, and thus characterized by fitness?
"It must be remembered," says Knight, "that irregularity is the general
characteristic of trees, and regularity that of animals."--It would have
been more correct to say that symmetry is this peculiar characteristic.
There is little resemblance between the parts of one side; and it is
symmetry which results from the uniform disposition of double parts, and
from the regular division of single ones.
Hence an agreeable impression is produced by the corresponding disposition
and the exact resemblance of the eyes, of the eyebrows, of the ears, of
the hemispheres of the bosom, and of the different parts of which the
limbs are composed; and the forehead, the nose, the mouth, the abdomen,
the back, are agreeably distinguished by means of the median line which
divides them.
It appears that the eye is pleased by the exactness of corresponding
parts; and that symmetry is the first character of beauty in thinking
beings.
Occasional irregularity makes us better appreciate the importance of
symmetry. The oblique direction of the eyes, squinting, twisting of the
nose or lips, unequal magnitude of the hemispheres of the bosom, or
unequal length of the limbs, disfigure the most beautiful person.
But how does symmetry contribute to fitness, or why is it necessary?
"All our limbs and organs," says Payne Knight, "serve us in pairs, and by
mutual co-operation with each other: whence the habitual association of
ideas has taught us to consider this uniformity as indispensable to the
beauty and perfection of the animal form. There is no reason to be deduced
from any abstract consideration of the nature of things, why an animal
should be more ugly and disgusting for having only one eye, or one ear,
than for having only one nose or one mouth; yet if we were to meet with a
beast with one eye, or two noses, or two mouths, in any part of the world,
we should, without inquiry, decide it to be a monster, and turn from it
with abhorrence: neither is there any reason, in the nature of things, why
a strict parity, or relative equality, in the correspondent limbs and
features of a man or a horse, should be absolutely essential to beauty,
and absolutely destructive of it in the roots and branches of a tree. But,
nevertheless, the Creator having formed the one regular, and the other
irregular, we habitually associate ideas of regularity to the perfection
of one, and ideas of irregularity to the perfection of the other; and this
habit has been so unvaried, as to have become natural."
This is the common cant of every weak man at loss for a reason. Now, it is
not by any "habitual association" with "our limbs and organs serving us in
pairs," that we are "taught to consider this uniformity indispensable to
beauty," but because, independent of all association, we could not
conveniently walk upon one leg, or, indeed, on any unequal number of legs:
and there being two sides in the moving organs, there are necessarily two
in the sensitive organs, which are mere portions of the same general
system. Thus it is locomotion to be performed that renders "a strict
parity, or relative equality, in the correspondent limbs and features of a
man or a horse" absolutely essential to beauty; and it is the absence of
locomotion which renders it utterly worthless, and therefore very rare, in
"the roots and branches of a tree."
In animals, proportion is not less essential than symmetry. It is indeed
the second character of this kind of beauty. As this part of the subject
has been perfectly well treated by Mr. Alison, I need only quote what he
has said:--
"It is this expression of fitness which is, I apprehend, the source of the
beauty of what is strictly and properly called proportion in the parts of
the human form.
"We expect a different form, and a different conformation of limbs, in a
running footman and a waterman, in a wrestler and a racing groom, in a
shepherd and a sailor, &c.
"They who are conversant in the productions of the fine arts, must have
equally observed, that the forms and proportions of features, which the
sculptor and the painter have given to their works, are very different,
according to the nature of the character they represent, and the emotion
they wish to excite. The form or proportions of the features of Jove are
different from those of Hercules; those of Apollo, from those of Ganymede;
those of the Fawn, from those of the Gladiator. In female beauty, the form
and proportions in the features of Juno are very different from those of
Venus; those of Minerva, from those of Diana; those of Niobe, from those
of the Graces. All, however, are beautiful; because all are adapted with
exquisite taste to the characters they wish the countenance to express."
In "the Hercules and the Antinous, the Jupiter and the Apollo, we find
that not only the proportions of the form, but those of every limb, are
different; and that the pleasure we feel in these proportions arises from
their exquisite fitness for the physical ends which the artists were
consulting.
"The illustration, however, may be made still more precise; for, even in
the same countenance, and in the same hour, the same form of feature may
be beautiful or otherwise."
SECTION IV.
ELEMENTS OF BEAUTY AS EMPLOYED IN OBJECTS OF ART.
I divide the arts into the useful, the ornamental, and the intellectual,
commonly called the fine arts; and I shall endeavor to show, that the
objects of each of these are characterized by a peculiar kind of beauty,
corresponding to one of those already described.
I shall endeavor to show that the objects of the useful arts are
characterized by the simple geometrical forms which belong to inanimate
beings; that those of the ornamental arts are characterized by the
delicate, bending, varied, and contrasted forms of living beings; and that
those of the intellectual arts are, in their highest efforts,
characterized chiefly by thinking forms, as in gesture, sculpture,
painting, or by functions of mind actually exercised, in oratory, poetry,
music.
In all these arts, purpose is implied--not purpose in the hypothetical
sense, as applied to the existence, conditions, and objects, of natural
beings--but in the common intelligible sense of the word, as expressing
the intention of men in the pursuit of these arts.
_Beauty of Useful Objects._
Here the purpose being utility, this kind of beauty arises from the
perception of means as adapted to an end, which of course implies, the
parts of anything being fitted to answer the purpose of the whole.
This implies an act of understanding and judgment; for of no product of
useful art can we perceive the extrinsic beauty, until we know its
destination, and the relations which that involves.
When these are known, so powerful is the sense of utility, that, though
deviation from the elementary beauty never ceases to be felt, yet that
sense sanctions it to a great extent. Hence it is that an irregular
dwelling-house may become beautiful, when its convenience is striking.
Hence it is that, in the forms of furniture, machines, and instruments,
their beauty arises chiefly from this consideration; and that every form
becomes beautiful by association, where it is perfectly adapted to its
end.
The greater, however, the elementary beauty, that can be introduced in
useful objects, the more obvious will their utility be, and the more
beautiful will they universally appear. This will be granted the moment I
mention simplicity.
Of all the elements of beauty already spoken of--of all the means of
producing accordant and agreeable relations--simplicity appears to be the
most efficient; and in all the useful arts, no elementary consideration
recommends their objects so much.
This implies all the rest, regularity, uniformity, proportion, order, &c.,
as far as is compatible with purpose.
Thus, in regard to uniformity, says some one, a number of things destined
for the same purpose, as chairs, spoons, &c., cannot be too uniform,
because they are adapted to uniform purposes; but it would be absurd to
give to objects destined for one purpose the form suited to those destined
for another.
So also the objects of useful art will resemble in form precisely as they
resemble in purpose; and where the purpose is similar, and the deviation
which is admissible is slight, this becomes a subject of great nicety,
and, if ornament be at the same time admissible, a subject of exquisite
taste.
It was by the transcendent exercise of these qualities, that the Greeks
succeeded in fixing the orders of architecture. The most beautiful columns
would have shocked the sight, if their mass had not corresponded to that
of the edifice which they sustained; and the difference which existed in
this respect, required a difference of ornament.
Home indeed observes, that "writers on architecture insist much upon the
proportions of a column, and assign different proportions to the Doric,
Ionic, and Corinthian; but no architect will maintain, that the most
accurate proportions contribute more to use, than several that are less
accurate and less agreeable."
That such a man should have committed such an error is surprising. It
seems evident that the different proportion in the columns of these orders
is admirably suited to the different quantity of matter in their
entablatures. A greater superincumbent mass, required shorter and thicker
columns; a less superincumbent mass, longer and slender ones. Many
experiments, much observation, were requisite to determine this; but the
Greeks had the means of making them, and solved every problem on the
subject; and the result of the perfection they attained is, that all err
who depart from the truth they have determined.
It was, again, the differing quantities of matter in the entablatures, and
the accurately-corresponding dimensions of the columns that determined, of
course amid infinite experiment and observation, the nature of their
ornaments. Hence, the Doric is distinguished by simplicity; the Ionic by
elegance; and the Corinthian by lightness, in ornament as well as in
proportion.
Even, therefore, if we were to destroy all the associations of elegance,
of magnificence, of costliness, and, still more than all, of antiquity,
which are so strongly connected with such forms, the pleasure which their
proportions would afford, would remain, as in all cases where means are
best adapted to their end.
In his objections to proportion as an element of beauty, Burke only
confounds this kind of beauty with that which I have next to describe.
"The effects of proportion and fitness," he says, "at least so far as they
proceed from a mere consideration of the work itself, produce approbation,
the acquiescence of the understanding, but not love, nor any passion of
that species. When we examine the structure of a watch, when we come to
know thoroughly the use of every part of it, satisfied as we are with the
fitness of the whole, we are far enough from perceiving anything like
beauty in the watchwork itself; but let us look on the case, the labor of
some curious artist in engraving, with little or no idea of use, we shall
have a much livelier idea of beauty than we ever could have had from the
watch itself, though the masterpiece of Graham."
It is an emotion of pleasure which is the inevitable result of the
perception of beauty, not love, nor any passion of the kind. These will or
will not follow, according to the nature of the object, and of the mind of
the observer. A hill, a valley, or a rivulet, may be beautiful, and it
will excite an emotion of pleasure when its beauty is discerned; but it
may produce no desire or passion of love. There may exist, then, the
beauty of utility, as to the structure of the watch, and that of ornament
as to its case; and some minds will more readily perceive the one; others,
the other.
When Burke adds, "In beauty, the effect is previous to any knowledge of
the use; but to judge of proportion, we must know the end for which any
work is designed;" he forgets, that, in the instance of the barber's
block, &c., he showed that the perception of beauty, as well as
proportion, required observation, experience, and reflection.
_Beauty of Ornamental Objects._
There are three great arts which, under circumstances of high
civilization, become ornamental, namely, landscape-gardening,
architecture, and dress--the particular arts by which our persons are more
or less closely invested;[14] and all of them, then, require beauty of the
second kind, that which belongs particularly to vegetable beings, and is
characterized by delicate, bending varied, and contrasted forms.
All these, regarded as ornamental arts, have chiefly bodily and sensual
pleasures for their purpose; and this I consider as distinguishing them
from the intellectual arts, which have a higher purpose.
Of landscape-gardening, the materials are plants, and therefore its beauty
is evidently dependant on, or rather composed of, theirs.
The same kind of beauty will be found in every ornamental art. Hence,
Alison says: "The greater part of beautiful forms in nature, are to be
found in the vegetable kingdom, in the forms of flowers, of foliage, of
shrubs, and in those assumed by the young shoots of trees. It is from
them, accordingly, that almost all those forms have been imitated, which
have been employed by artists for the purposes of ornament and elegance."
On this kind of beauty, mistaking it for the only one, Hogarth founded his
peculiar doctrine. "He adopts two lines, on which, according to him, the
beauty of figure principally depends. One is the waving line, or a curve
bending gently in opposite directions. This he calls the line of beauty;
and he shows how often it is found in flowers, shells, and various works
of nature; while it is common also in the figures designed by painters and
sculptors, for the purpose of decoration. The other line, which he calls
the line of grace, is the former waving line, twisted round some solid
body. Twisted pillars and twisted horns exhibit it. In all the instances
which he mentions, variety plainly appears to be so important an element
of this kind of beauty, that he states a portion of the truth, when he
defines the art of drawing pleasing forms to be the art of varying well;
for the curve line, so much the favorite of painters, derives much of its
beauty from its perpetual bending and variation from the stiff regularity
of the straight line." It is evident, however, that in this, he mistakes
one kind of beauty for all.
Of architecture, considered as a fine art, much of the beauty depends on
the imitation of vegetable forms. Employing materials which require the
best characteristics of the first kind of beauty, it, in its choicest and
ornamented parts, imitates both the rigid trunks, and the delicate and
bending forms of plants. Its columns, tapering upward, are copied from the
trunks of trees; and their decorations are suited with consummate art to
their dimensions, and the weight they support. The simple Doric has little
ornament; the elegant Ionic has more; the light Corinthian has most.
On the subject of these finely-calculated ornaments, some observations
have struck me, which I have not seen mentioned elsewhere. The Doric
presents only columns, without any other ornament than that of which their
mere form admits. The Ionic expresses increased lightness, by the
interposition of its volute, as if the superincumbent weight had but
gently pressed a soft solid into a scroll. The Corinthian expresses the
utmost lightness, by forming its capitals of foliage, as if the weight
above them could not crush even a leaf. The Composite expresses gayety, by
adding flowers to the foliage. It is from imperfect views of this, that
the meaning and effect of caryatides have been mistaken: instead of being
oppressed by weight, they seem, when well employed, to have no weight to
support.
In nearly all internal architectural decorations, it is the delicate,
bending, varied, and contrasted vegetable forms which are imitated.
"There is scarce a room, in any house whatever," says Hogarth, "where one
does not see the waving line employed in some way or other. How inelegant
would the shapes of all our moveables be without it? how very plain and
unornamental the mouldings of cornices and chimney-pieces, without the
variety introduced by the ogee member, which is entirely composed of
waving lines."
The distinctions I have here made, are farther illustrated by the remarks
of Alison, who says: "These ornaments being executed in a very hard and
durable substance, are in fact only beautiful when they appear but as
minute parts of the whole. The great constituent parts of every building
require direct and angular lines, because in such parts we require the
expression of stability and strength. It is only in the minute and
delicate parts of the work, that any kind of ornament is attempted with
propriety; and whenever ornaments exceed in size, in their quantity of
matter, or in the prominence of their relief, that proportion which, in
point of lightness or delicacy, we expect them to hold with respect to the
whole of the building, the imitation of the most beautiful vegetable forms
does not preserve them from the censure of clumsiness and deformity."
In dress, considered as an ornamental art, and, as practised by the sex
which chiefly studies it, the chief beauty depends on the adoption of
winding forms in drapery, and of wreaths of flowers for the head, &c.
These are essential to the variety and contrast, as well as to the gayety
which that sex desires.
"Uniformity," says Hogarth, "is chiefly complied with in dress, on account
of fitness, and seems to be extended not much farther than dressing both
arms alike, and having the shoes of the same color. For when any part of
dress has not the excuse of fitness or propriety for its uniformity of
parts, the ladies always call it formal."
These irregular, varying, and somewhat complicated draperies excite that
active curiosity, and those movements of imagination, to which skilful
women never neglect to address themselves in modern costume.
It is with the same feeling and intention, whether these be defined or
not, that, in the head-dress, they seek for bending lines and
circumvolutions, and that they combine variously the waves and the tresses
of the hair.
For the same reason, a feather or a flower is never placed precisely over
the middle of the forehead; and if two are employed, great care is taken
that their positions are dissimilar.
It has sometimes struck me as remarkable, that precious stones are almost
always arranged differently from flowers. While the latter are placed
irregularly, and in waving lines, not only on the head, but the bosom, and
the skirt of the dress, the former are in general regularly placed, either
on the median line of the person, as the middle of the forehead and, in
Eastern countries, of the nose, or symmetrically in similar pendants from
each ear, and bracelets on the arms and wrists.
The instinctive feeling which gives origin to this is, that flowers adorn
the system of life and reproduction, and by their color and smell,
associate with its emotions, which they also express and communicate to
others--they, therefore, assume the varied forms of that system; whereas,
diamonds, attached generally to mental organs, or organs of sense, are
significant of mental feelings, love of splendor, distinction, pride,
&c.--they, therefore, assume the symmetrical form of these organs. Hence,
too, flowers are recommended to the young; diamonds are permitted only to
the old.
_Beauty of Intellectual Objects._
I have already said, that the intellectual arts are, in their highest
efforts, characterized chiefly by animal forms, as in gesture, sculpture,
and painting, or by animal functions actually exercised, in oratory,
poetry, and music.
In the useful arts, the purpose is utility; in the ornamental arts, it is
bodily or sensual pleasure; and in the intellectual arts, it is the
pleasure of imagination.
The first elements of beauty, however, are not forgotten in these arts. As
simplicity is conspicuous in the works of nature, so is it a condition of
beauty in all the operations of mind. In philosophy, general theorems
become beautiful from this simplicity; and polished manners receive from
it dignity and grace. The intellectual arts are especially dependant upon
it: it has been a striking character of their most illustrious
cultivators, and of their very highest efforts.
How much the characters and accidents of elementary beauty influence
intellectual art, has been well shown by Mr. Knight.
"In the higher class of landscapes," he says, "whether in nature or in
art, the mere sensual gratification of the eye is comparatively so small,
as scarcely to be attended to: but yet, if there occur a single spot,
either in the scene or the picture, offensively harsh and glaring--if the
landscape-gardener, in the one, or the picture-cleaner, in the other, have
exerted their unhappy talents of polishing, all the magic instantly
vanishes, and the imagination avenges the injury offered to the sense. The
glaring and unharmonious spot, being the most prominent and obtrusive,
irresistibly attracts the attention, so as to interrupt the repose of the
whole, and leaves the mind no place to rest upon."
"It is, in some respects," he observes, "the same with the sense of
hearing. The mere sensual gratification, arising from the melody of an
actor's voice, is a very small part, indeed, of the pleasure which we
receive from the representation of a fine drama: but, nevertheless, if a
single note of the voice be absolutely cracked and out of tune, so as to
offend and disgust the ear, it will completely destroy the effect of the
most skilful acting, and render all the sublimity and pathos of the finest
tragedy ludicrous."
This, I may observe, is a concession of much that he elsewhere
inconsistently contends for; for sensual beauty could never act thus
powerfully, if it possessed not fundamental importance as an element even
in the most complex beauty.
That the second kind of beauty also enters into the acts or products of
intellectual beauty, is sufficiently illustrated by the observation of
Hogarth, who on this subject observes, that all the common and necessary
motions for the business of life are performed by men in straight or plain
lines, while all the graceful and ornamental movements are made in waving
lines.
As Alison has given the best view of the history and character of beauty
in the intellectual arts, as that indeed constitutes the most valuable
portion of his work, I shall conclude this section by a greatly abridged
view of these as nearly as possible in his own words.
There is no production of taste, which has not many qualities of a very
indifferent kind; and our sense of the beauty or sublimity of every object
accordingly depends upon the quality or qualities of it which we consider.
This, Mr. Alison might have observed, is in great measure dependant upon
our will. We can generally, when we please, confine our consideration of
it to the qualities that least excite pleasurable or painful emotion, and
that can least interest the imagination.
It is in consequence of this, that the exercise of criticism always
destroys, for the time, our sensibility to the beauty of every
composition, and that habits of this kind generally destroy the
sensibility of taste.
When, on the other hand, the emotions of sublimity or beauty are produced,
it will be found that some affection is uniformly first excited by the
presence of the object; and whether the general impression we receive is
that of gayety, or tenderness, or melancholy, or solemnity, or terror,
&c., we have never any difficulty of determining.
But whatever may be the nature of that simple emotion which any object is
fitted to excite, if it produce not a train of kindred thought in our
minds, we are conscious only of that simple emotion.
In many cases, on the contrary, we are conscious of a train of thought
being immediately awakened in the imagination, analogous to the character
of expression of the original object.
"Thus, when we feel either the beauty or sublimity of natural scenery--the
gay lustre of a morning in spring, or the mild radiance of a
summer-evening--the savage majesty of a wintry storm, or the wild
magnificence of the tempestuous ocean--we are conscious of a variety of
images in our minds, very different from those which the objects
themselves present to the eye. Trains of pleasing or of solemn thought
arise spontaneously within our minds; our hearts swell with emotions, of
which the objects before us seem to afford no adequate cause; and we are
never so much satiated with delight, as when, in recalling our attention,
we are unable (little able, perhaps, and less disposed) to trace either
the progress or the connexion of those thoughts, which have passed with so
much rapidity through our imagination.
"The effect of the different arts of taste is similar. The landscapes of
Claude Lorraine, the poetry of Milton, the music of the greatest masters,
excite feeble emotions in our minds when our attention is confined to the
qualities they present to our senses, or when it is to such qualities of
their composition that we turn our regard. It is then only we feel the
sublimity or beauty of their productions, when our imaginations are
kindled by their power, when we lose ourselves amid the number of images
that pass before our minds, and when we waken at last from this play of
fancy, as from the charm of a romantic dream.
"The degree in which the emotions of sublimity or beauty are felt, is in
general proportioned to the prevalence of those relations of thought in
the mind, upon which this exercise of imagination depends. The principal
relation which seems to take place in those trains of thought that are
produced by objects of taste, is that of resemblance; the relation, of all
others the most loose and general, and which affords the greatest range of
thought for our imagination to pursue. Wherever, accordingly, these
emotions are felt, it will be found, not only that this is the relation
which principally prevails among our ideas, but that the emotion itself is
proportioned to the degree in which it prevails.
"What, for instance, is the impression we feel from the scenery of spring?
The soft and gentle green with which the earth is spread, the feeble
texture of the plants and flowers, the young of animals just entering into
life, and the remains of winter yet lingering among the woods and
hills--all conspire to infuse into our minds somewhat of that fearful
tenderness with which infancy is usually beheld. With such a sentiment,
how innumerable are the ideas which present themselves to our
imagination! ideas, it is apparent, by no means confined to the scene
before our eyes, or to the possible desolation which may yet await its
infant beauty, but which almost involuntarily extend themselves to
analogies with the life of man, and bring before us all those images of
hope or fear, which, according to our peculiar situations, have the
dominion of our heart!--The beauty of autumn is accompanied with a similar
exercise of thought.
"Whatever increases this exercise or employment of imagination, increases
also the emotion of beauty or sublimity.
"This is very obviously the effect of all associations. There is no man
who has not some interesting associations with particular scenes, or airs,
or books, and who does not feel their beauty or sublimity enhanced to him
by such connexions. The view of the house where one was born, of the
school where one was educated, and where the gay years of infancy were
passed, is indifferent to no man.
"In the case of those trains of thought, which are suggested by objects
either of sublimity or beauty, it will be found, that they are in all
cases composed of ideas capable of exciting some affection or emotion; and
that not only the whole succession is accompanied with that peculiar
emotion which we call the emotion of beauty or sublimity, but that every
individual idea of such a succession is in itself productive of some
simple emotion or other.
"Thus the ideas suggested by the scenery of spring, are ideas productive
of emotions of cheer fulness, of gladness, and of tenderness. The images
suggested by the prospect of ruins, are images belonging to pity, to
melancholy, and to admiration. The ideas, in the same manner, awakened by
the view of the ocean in a storm, are ideas of power, of majesty, and of
terror."
To prevent circumlocution, such ideas may be termed ideas of emotion; and
the effect which is produced upon the mind, by objects of taste, may be
considered as consisting in the production of a regular or consistent
train of ideas of emotion.
"In those trains which are suggested by objects of sublimity or beauty,
however slight the connexion between individual thoughts may be, it will
be found, that there is always some general principle of connexion which
pervades the whole, and gives them some certain definite character. They
are either gay, or pathetic, or melancholy, or solemn, or awful, or
elevating, &c., according to the nature of the emotion which is first
excited. Thus the prospect of a serene evening in summer, produces first
an emotion of peacefulness and tranquillity, and then suggests a variety
of images corresponding to this primary impression. The sight of a
torrent, or of a storm, in the same manner, impresses us first with
sentiments of awe or solemnity, or terror, and then awakens in our minds a
series of conceptions allied to this peculiar emotion."
The intellectual, or fine arts are those whose objects are thus addressed
to the imagination; and the pleasures they afford are described, by way of
distinction, as the pleasures of the imagination.
SUMMARY OF THIS CHAPTER.
Thus, by analysis, generalization, and systematization, of the materials
which the best writers present, I have, in this chapter, endeavored to
take new and larger views; and, by an examination of the elements of
beauty, I have endeavored to fix its doctrines upon an immoveable basis.
I have shown that there exist elements of beauty equally invariable in
themselves, and in the kind of effect they produce upon the mind; that
these elements are modified, varied, and complicated, as we advance from
the most simple to the most complex class of natural beings, or of the
arts which relate to these respectively; that the elements of beauty in
inanimate beings, consist in the simplicity, regularity, uniformity,
proportion, order, &c., of those geometrical forms which are so intimately
connected with mere existence; that the elements of beauty in living
beings, consist in adding to the preceding the delicacy, bending, variety,
contrast, &c., which are connected with growth, and reproduction; that the
elements of beauty in thinking beings, consist in adding to the preceding
the symmetry, proportion,[15] &c., which are connected with fitness for
sense, thought, and motion; that the elements of beauty in the objects of
useful art, consist in the same simplicity, regularity, uniformity,
proportion, order, of geometrical forms which belong to inanimate beings;
that the elements of beauty in the objects of ornamental art consist in
the same delicacy, bending, variety, contrast, which belong to living
beings; and that the elements of beauty in the objects of intellectual art
consist in thinking forms, in gesture, sculpture, and painting, or in
functions of mind actually exercised, in oratory, poetry, and music.
The elements of beauty have hitherto been confounded by many writers, as
more or less applicable to objects of all kinds; and as this general and
confused application was easily disproved as to many objects, uncertainty
and doubt have been thrown over the whole. The remaining writers have
consequently been led to adopt, as characters of beauty, only one or two
of these elements, which were consequently capable of application only to
one or two classes of its objects. Hence, no subject of human inquiry has
hitherto been left in a more disgraceful condition than this, the very
foundation of taste.
I do not hesitate to state that, owing to the near approximations to
truth, and the insensible transitions into error, which I have found in
every writer, and the immense mass of confused materials which they
present, this subject has cost me more trouble than any one I have ever
investigated, except that of my work on the mind;[16] nor without some
physiological knowledge, do I think tasks of this kind at all practicable.
Generally speaking, each branch of knowledge is most surely advanced by
acquaintance with its related branches; and philosophers cannot too much
bear in mind the words of Cicero: "Etenim omnes artes quæ ad humanitatem
pertinent, habent quoddam commune vinculum, et quasi cognatione quadam
inter se continentur."
APPENDIX TO THE PRECEDING CHAPTERS.
SECTION I.
NATURE OF THE PICTURESQUE.[17]
In landscape, the nature of the beautiful and the sublime seems to be
better understood than that of the picturesque. There are few disputes as
to the former; many as to the latter. These disputes, moreover, are not as
to _what is picturesque_, but as to _what picturesque is_.
Payne Knight asserts, that the picturesque has no distinctive character,
and merely designates what a painter would imitate. Price, on the
contrary, has given so many admirable illustrations of it, that its
characteristics are before every reader. Strange to tell, its nature or
essence has not been penetrated, because these characteristics have not
been rigidly analyzed.
Price has, indeed, generalized considerably on this subject, by showing
that irregularity, roughness, &c., enter into all scenes of a picturesque
description; and the examination of any one of them will certainly verify
the truth of his observation.
Thus, on a remote country-road, we often observe the deep ruts on its
surface which in winter would render it impassable--the huge and loose
moss-grown stone, ready to encumber it by falling from the bank--the
stunted pollard by its side, whose roots are exposed by the earth falling
away from it, and which must itself be swept away by the first wind that
may blow against it in an unfavorable direction--the almost ruined
cottage, above and beyond these, whose gable is propped up by an old and
broken wheel, and whose thatched roof, stained with every hue of moss or
lichen, has, at one part, long fallen in--the shaggy and ragged horse that
browses among the rank weeds around it--and the old man, bent with age,
who leans over the broken gate in front of it.
Here, in every circumstance, is verified the irregularity and roughness
which Price ascribes to the picturesque. But he has failed to observe,
that _the irregularity and roughness are but the signs of that which
interests the mind far more deeply_, namely, the universal DECAY which
causes them. This is the essence of the picturesque--the charm in it which
begets our sympathy.
Confining his remark merely to ruins, the author of "Observations on
Gardening," says: "At the sight of a ruin, reflections on the change, the
decay, and the desolation, before us naturally occur; and they introduce a
long succession of others, all tinctured with that melancholy which these
have inspired; or if the monument revive the memory of former times, we do
not stop at the simple fact which it records, but recollect many more
coeval circumstances which we see, nor perhaps as they were, but as they
are come down to us, venerable with age, and magnified by fame."--What is
here said of ruins, and is indeed as to them sufficiently striking, is
true of the picturesque universally, and it is only surprising that, amid
such disputes, this simple and obvious truth should not have been
observed.
In landscape, therefore, the picturesque stands in the same relation to
the beautiful and sublime, that the pathetic does to them in poetry.
Hence, speaking also of ruins only, Alison says: "The images suggested by
the prospect of ruins, are images belonging to pity, to melancholy, and to
admiration."
A thousand illustrations might be given in support of this truth and the
principle which it affords; but I think it better to leave these to the
suggestion or the choice of every reader.