OF UNITY, OR THE TYPE OF THE DIVINE COMPREHENSIVENESS.
Sec. 1. The general conception of divine Unity.
"All things," says Hooker, "(God only excepted,) besides the nature
which they have in themselves, receive externally some perfection from
other things." Hence the appearance of separation or isolation in
anything, and of self-dependence, is an appearance of imperfection: and
all appearances of connection and brotherhood are pleasant and right,
both as significative of perfection in the things united, and as typical
of that Unity which we attribute to God, and of which our true
conception is rightly explained and limited by Dr. Brown in his XCII.
lecture; that Unity which consists not in his own singleness or
separation, but in the necessity of his inherence in all things that be,
without which no creature of any kind could hold existence for a moment.
Which necessity of Divine essence I think it better to speak of as
comprehensiveness, than as unity, because unity is often understood in
the sense of oneness or singleness, instead of universality, whereas the
only Unity which by any means can become grateful or an object of hope
to men, and whose types therefore in material things can be beautiful,
is that on which turned the last words and prayer of Christ before his
crossing of the Kidron brook. "Neither pray I for these alone, but for
them also which shall believe on me through their word. That they all
may be one, as thou, Father, art in me, and I in thee."
Sec. 2. The glory of all things is their Unity.
And so there is not any matter, nor any spirit, nor any creature, but it
is capable of an unity of some kind with other creatures, and in that
unity is its perfection and theirs, and a pleasure also for the
beholding of all other creatures that can behold. So the unity of
spirits is partly in their sympathy, and partly in their giving and
taking, and always in their love; and these are their delight and their
strength, for their strength is in their co-working and army fellowship,
and their delight is in the giving and receiving of alternate and
perpetual currents of good, their inseparable dependency on each other's
being, and their essential and perfect depending on their Creator's: and
so the unity of earthly creatures is their power and their peace, not
like the dead and cold peace of undisturbed stones and solitary
mountains, but the living peace of trust, and the living power of
support, of hands that hold each other and are still: and so the unity
of matter is, in its noblest form, the organization of it which builds
it up into temples for the spirit, and in its lower form, the sweet and
strange affinity, which gives to it the glory of its orderly elements,
and the fair variety of change and assimilation that turns the dust into
the crystal, and separates the waters that be above the firmament from
the waters that be beneath, and in its lowest form; it is the working
and walking and clinging together that gives their power to the winds,
and its syllables and soundings to the air, and their weight to the
waves, and their burning to the sunbeams, and their stability to the
mountains, and to every creature whatsoever operation is for its glory
and for others good.
Now of that which is thus necessary to the perfection of all things, all
appearance, sign, type, or suggestion must be beautiful, in whatever
matter it may appear. And so to the perfection of beauty in lines, or
colors, or forms, or masses, or multitudes, the appearance of some
species of unity is in the most determined sense of the word essential.
Sec. 3. The several kinds of unity. Subjectional. Original. Of sequence,
and of membership.
But of the appearances of unity, as of unity itself, there are several
kinds which it will be found hereafter convenient to consider
separately. Thus there is the unity of different and separate things,
subjected to one and the same influence, which may be called
subjectional unity, and this is the unity of the clouds, as they are
driven by the parallel winds, or as they are ordered by the electric
currents, and this the unity of the sea waves, and this of the bending
and undulation of the forest masses, and in creatures capable of will it
is the unity of will or of inspiration. And there is unity of origin,
which we may call original unity, which is of things arising from one
spring and source, and speaking always of this their brotherhood, and
this in matter is the unity of the branches of the trees, and of the
petals and starry rays of flowers, and of the beams of light, and in
spiritual creatures it is their filial relation to Him from whom they
have their being. And there is unity of sequence, which is that of
things that form links in chains, and steps in ascent, and stages in
journeys, and this, in matter, is the unity of communicable forces in
their continuance from one thing to another, and it is the passing
upwards and downwards of beneficent effects among all things, and it is
the melody of sounds, and the beauty of continuous lines, and the
orderly succession of motions and times. And in spiritual creatures it
is their own constant building up by true knowledge and continuous
reasoning to higher perfection, and the singleness and
straight-forwardness of their tendencies to more complete communion with
God. And there is the unity of membership, which we may call essential
unity, which is the unity of things separately imperfect into a perfect
whole, and this is the great unity of which other unities are but parts
and means, it is in matter the harmony of sounds and consistency of
bodies, and among spiritual creatures, their love and happiness and very
life in God.
Sec. 4. Unity of membership. How secured.
Now of the nature of this last kind of unity, the most important whether
in moral or in those material things with which we are at present
concerned, there is this necessary to be observed, that it cannot exist
between things similar to each other. Two or more equal and like things
cannot be members one of another, nor can they form one, or a whole
thing. Two they must remain, both in nature and in our conception, so
long as they remain alike, unless they are united by a third different
from both. Thus the arms, which are like each other, remain two arms in
our conception. They could not be united by a third arm, they must be
united by something which is not an arm, and which, imperfect without
them as they without it, shall form one perfect body; nor is unity even
thus accomplished, without a difference and opposition of direction in
the setting on of the like members. Therefore among all things which are
to have unity of membership one with another, there must be difference
or variety; and though it is possible that many like things may be made
members of one body, yet it is remarkable that this structure appears
characteristic of the lower creatures, rather than the higher, as the
many legs of the caterpillar, and the many arms and suckers of the
radiata, and that, as we rise in order of being, the number of similar
members becomes less, and their structure commonly seems based on the
principle of the unity of two things by a third, as Plato has it in the
Timaeus, Sec. II.
Sec. 5. Variety. Why required.
Hence, out of the necessity of unity, arises that of variety, a
necessity often more vividly, though never so deeply felt, because lying
at the surfaces of things, and assisted by an influential principle of
our nature, the love of change, and the power of contrast. But it is a
mistake which has led to many unfortunate results, in matters respecting
art, to insist on any inherent agreeableness of variety, without
reference to a farther end. For it is not even true that variety as
such, and in its highest degree, is beautiful. A patched garment of many
colors is by no means so agreeable as one of a single and continuous
hue; the splendid colors of many birds are eminently painful from their
violent separation and inordinate variety, while the pure and colorless
swan is, under certain circumstances, the most beautiful of all
feathered creatures.[14] A forest of all manner of trees is poor, if not
disagreeable in effect,[15] a mass of one species of tree is sublime. It
is therefore only harmonious and chordal variety, that variety which is
necessary to secure and extend unity, (for the greater the number of
objects, which by their differences become members of one another, the
more extended and sublime is their unity,) which is rightly agreeable,
and so I name not variety as essential to beauty, because it is only so
in a secondary and casual sense.[16]
Sec. 6. Change, and its influence on beauty.
Sec. 7. The love of change. How morbid and evil.
Of the love of change as a principle of human nature, and the
pleasantness of variety resulting from it, something has already been
said, (Ch. IV. Sec. 4,) only as there I was opposing the idea that our
being familiar with objects was the cause of our delight in them, so
here, I have to oppose the contrary position, that their strangeness is
the cause of it. For neither familiarity nor strangeness have more
operation on, or connection with, impressions of one sense than of
another, and they have less power over the impressions of sense
generally, than over the intellect in its joyful accepting of fresh
knowledge, and dull contemplation of that it has long possessed. Only in
their operation on the senses they act contrarily at different times, as
for instance the newness of a dress or of some kind of unaccustomed food
may make it for a time delightful, but as the novelty passes away, so
also may the delight, yielding to disgust or indifference, which in
their turn, as custom begins to operate, may pass into affection and
craving, and that which was first a luxury, and then a matter of
indifference, becomes a necessity:[17] whereas in subjects of the
intellect, the chief delight they convey is dependent upon their being
newly and vividly comprehended, and as they become subjects of
contemplation they lose their value, and become tasteless and
unregarded, except as instruments for the reaching of others, only that
though they sink down into the shadowy, effectless, heap of things
indifferent, which we pack, and crush down, and stand upon, to reach
things new, they sparkle afresh at intervals as we stir them by throwing
a new stone into the heap, and letting the newly admitted lights play
upon them. And both in subjects of the intellect and the senses it is to
be remembered, that the love of change is a weakness and imperfection of
our nature, and implies in it the state of probation, and that it is to
teach us that things about us here are not meant for our continual
possession or satisfaction, that ever such passion of change was put in
us as that "custom lies upon us with a weight, heavy as frost, and deep
almost as life," and only such weak back and baby grasp given to our
intellect as that "the best things we do are painful, and the exercise
of them grievous, being continued without intermission, so as in those
very actions whereby we are especially perfected in this life we are not
able to persist." And so it will be found that they are the
weakest-minded and the hardest-hearted men that most love variety and
change, for the weakest-minded are those who both wonder most at things
new, and digest worst things old, in so far that everything they have
lies rusty, and loses lustre for want of use; neither do they make any
stir among their possessions, nor look over them to see what may be made
of them, nor keep any great store, nor are householders with storehouses
of things new and old, but they catch at the new-fashioned garments, and
let the moth and thief look after the rest; and the hardest-hearted men
are those that least feel the endearing and binding power of custom, and
hold on by no cords of affection to any shore, but drive with the waves
that cast up mire and dirt. And certainly it is not to be held that the
perception of beauty and desire of it, are greatest in the hardest heart
and weakest brain; but the love of variety is so, and therefore variety
can be no cause of the beautiful, except, as I have said, when it is
necessary for the perception of unity, neither is there any better test
of that which is indeed beautiful than its surviving or annihilating the
love of change; and this is a test which the best judges of art have
need frequently to use; and the wisest of them will use it always, for
there is much in art that surprises by its brilliancy, or attracts by
its singularity, that can hardly but by course of time, though assuredly
it will by course of time, be winnowed away from the right and real
beauty whose retentive power is forever on the increase, a bread of the
soul for which the hunger is continual.
Sec. 8. The conducting of variety towards unity of subjection.
Receiving, therefore, variety only as that which accomplishes unity, or
makes it perceived, its operation is found to be very precious, both in
that which I have called unity of subjection, and unity of sequence, as
well as in unity of membership; for although things in all respects the
same may, indeed, be subjected to one influence, yet the power of the
influence, and their obedience to it, is best seen by varied operation
of it on their individual differences, as in clouds and waves there is a
glorious unity of rolling, wrought out by the wild and wonderful
differences of their absolute forms, which, if taken away, would leave
in them only multitudinous and petty repetition, instead of the majestic
oneness of shared passion. And so in the waves and clouds of human
multitude when they are filled with one thought, as we find frequently
in the works of the early Italian men of earnest purpose, who despising,
or happily ignorant of, the sophistications of theories, and the
proprieties of composition, indicated by perfect similarity of action
and gesture on the one hand, and by the infinite and truthful variation
of expression on the other, the most sublime strength because the most
absorbing unity, of multitudinous passion that ever human heart
conceived. Hence, in the cloister of St. Mark's, the intense, fixed,
statue-like silence of ineffable adoration upon the spirits in prison at
the feet of Christ, side by side, the hands lifted, and the knees bowed,
and the lips trembling together;[18] and in St. Domenico of Fiesole,[19]
that whirlwind rush of the Angels and the redeemed souls round about him
at his resurrection, so that we hear the blast of the horizontal
trumpets mixed with the dying clangor of their ingathered wings. The
same great feeling occurs throughout the works of the serious men,
though most intensely in Angelico, and it is well to compare with it the
vileness and falseness of all that succeeded, when men had begun to
bring to the cross foot their systems instead of their sorrow. Take as
the most marked and degraded instance, perhaps, to be anywhere found,
Bronzino's treatment of the same subject (Christ visiting the spirits in
prison,) in the picture now in the Tuscan room of the Uffizii, which,
vile as it is in color, vacant in invention, void in light and shade, a
heap of cumbrous nothingnesses, and sickening offensivenesses, is of all
its voids most void in this, that the academy models therein huddled
together at the bottom, show not so much unity or community of attention
to the academy model with the flag in its hand above, as a street crowd
would be to a fresh-staged charlatan. Some _point_ to the God who has
burst the gates of death, as if the rest were incapable of
distinguishing him for themselves, and others turn their backs upon him,
to show their unagitated faces to the spectator.
Sec. 9. And towards unity of sequence.
In unity of sequence, the effect of variety is best exemplified by the
melodies of music, wherein by the differences of the notes, they are
connected with each other in certain pleasant relations. This connection
taking place in quantities is proportion, respecting which certain
general principles must be noted, as the subject is one open to many
errors, and obscurely treated of by writers on art.
Sec. 10. The nature of proportion. 1st, of apparent proportion.
Proportion is of two distinct kinds. Apparent: when it takes place
between qualities for the sake of connection only, without any ultimate
object or casual necessity; and constructive: when it has reference to
some function to be discharged by the quantities, depending on their
proportion. From the confusion of these two kinds of proportion have
arisen the greater part of the erroneous conceptions of the influence of
either.
Apparent proportion, or the sensible relation of quantities, is one of
the most important means of obtaining unity between things which
otherwise must have remained distinct in similarity, and as it may
consist with every other kind of unity, and persist when every other
means of it fails, it may be considered as lying at the root of most of
our impressions of the beautiful. There is no sense of rightness, or
wrongness connected with it, no sense of utility, propriety, or
expediency. These ideas enter only where the proportion of quantities
has reference to some function to be performed by them. It cannot be
asserted that it is right or that it is wrong that A should be to B, as
B to C; unless A, B, and C have some desirable operation dependent on
that relation. But nevertheless it may be highly agreeable to the eye
that A, B, and C, if visible things, should have visible connection of
ratio, even though nothing be accomplished by such connection. On the
other hand, constructive proportion, or the adaptation of quantities to
functions, is agreeable not to the eye, but to the mind, which is
cognizant of the function to be performed. Thus the pleasantness or
rightness of the proportions of a column depends not on the mere
relation of diameter and height, (which is not proportion at all, for
proportion is between three terms at least,) but on three other involved
terms, the strength of materials, the weight to be borne, and the scale
of the building. The proportions of a wooden column are wrong in a stone
one, and of a small building wrong in a large one,[20] and this owing
solely to mechanical considerations, which have no more to do with
ideas of beauty, than the relation between the arms of a lever, adapted
to the raising of a given weight; and yet it is highly agreeable to
perceive that such constructive proportion has been duly observed, as
it is agreeable to see that anything is fit for its purpose or for ours,
and also that it has been the result of intelligence in the workman of
it, so that we sometimes feel a pleasure in apparent non-adaptation, if
it be a sign of ingenuity; as in the unnatural and seemingly impossible
lightness of Gothic spires and roofs.
Now, the errors against which I would caution the reader in this matter
are three. The first, is the overlooking or denial of the power of
apparent proportion, of which power neither Burke nor any other writer
whose works I have met with, take cognizance. The second, is the
attribution of _beauty_ to the appearances of constructive proportion.
The third, the denial with Burke of _any_ value or agreeableness in
constructive proportion.
Sec. 11. The value of apparent proportion in curvature.
Now, the full proof of the influence of apparent proportion, I must
reserve for illustration by diagram; one or two instances however may be
given at present for the better understanding of its nature.
We have already asserted that all curves are more beautiful than right
lines. All curves, however, are not equally beautiful, and their
differences of beauty depend on the different proportions borne to each
other by those infinitely small right lines of which they may be
conceived as composed.
When these lines are equal and contain equal angles, there can be no
connection or unity of sequence in them. The resulting curve, the
circle, is therefore the least beautiful of all curves.
When the lines bear to each other some certain proportion; or when, the
lines remaining equal, the angles vary; or when by any means whatsoever,
and in whatever complicated modes, such differences as shall imply
connection are established between the infinitely small segments, the
resulting curves become beautiful. The simplest of the beautiful curves
are the conic, and the various spirals; but it is as rash as it is
difficult to endeavor to trace any ground of superiority or inferiority
among the infinite numbers of the higher curves. I believe that almost
all are beautiful in their own nature, and that their comparative beauty
depends on the constant quantities involved in their equations. Of this
point I shall speak hereafter at greater length.
Sec. 12. How by nature obtained.
The universal forces of nature, and the individual energies of the
matter submitted to them, are so appointed and balanced, that they are
continually bringing out curves of this kind in all visible forms, and
that circular lines become nearly impossible under any circumstances.
The gradual acceleration, for instance, of velocity, in streams that
descend from hill-sides, as it gradually increases their power of
erosion increases in the same gradual degree the rate of curvature in
the descent of the slope, until at a certain degree of steepness this
descent meets, and is concealed by the right line of the detritus. The
junction of this right line with the plain is again modified by the
farther bounding of the larger blocks, and by the successively
diminishing proportion of landslips caused by erosion at the bottom, so
that the whole line of the hill is one of curvature, first, gradually
increasing in rapidity to the maximum steepness of which the particular
rock is capable, and then decreasing in a decreasing ratio, until it
arrives at the plain level. This type of form, modified of course more
or less by the original boldness of the mountain, and dependent both on
its age, its constituent rock, and the circumstances of its exposure, is
yet in its general formula applicable to all. So the curves of all
things in motion, and of all organic forms, most rudely and simply in
the shell spirals, and in their most complicated development in the
muscular lines of the higher animals.
This influence of apparent proportion, a proportion, be it observed,
which has no reference to ultimate ends, but which is itself, seemingly,
the end and object of operation in many of the forces of nature, is
therefore at the root of all our delight in any beautiful form
whatsoever. For no form can be beautiful which is not composed of curves
whose unity is secured by relations of this kind.
Sec. 13. Apparent proportion in melodies of line.
Not only however in curvature, but in all associations of lines
whatsoever, it is desirable that there should be reciprocal relation,
and the eye is unhappy without perception of it. It is utterly vain to
endeavor to reduce this proportion to finite rules, for it is as various
as musical melody, and the laws to which it is subject are of the same
general kind, so that the determination of right or wrong proportion is
as much a matter of feeling and experience as the appreciation of good
musical composition; not but that there is a science of both, and
principles which may not be infringed, but that within these limits the
liberty of invention is infinite, and the degrees of excellence infinite
also, whence the curious error of Burke in imagining that because he
could not fix upon some one given proportion of lines as better than any
other, therefore proportion had no value nor influence at all, which is
the same as to conclude that there is no such thing as melody in music,
because there are melodies more than one.
Sec. 14. Error of Burke in this matter.
The argument of Burke on this subject is summed up in the following
words:--"Examine the head of a beautiful horse, find what proportion
that bears to his body and to his limbs, and what relations these have
to each other, and when you have settled these proportions, as a
standard of beauty, then take a dog or cat, or any other animal, and
examine how far the same proportions between their heads and their
necks, between those and the body, and so on, are found to hold; I think
we may safely say, that they differ in every species, yet that there are
individuals found in a great many species, so differing, that have a
very striking beauty. Now if it be allowed that very different, and even
contrary forms and dispositions, are consistent with beauty, it amounts,
I believe, to a concession, that no certain measures operating from a
natural principle are necessary to produce it, at least so far as the
brute species is concerned."
In this argument there are three very palpable fallacies: the first is
the rough application of measurement to the heads, necks, and limbs,
without observing the subtile differences of proportion and position of
parts in the members themselves, for it would be strange if the
different adjustment of the ears and brow in the dog and horse, did not
require a harmonizing difference of adjustment in the head and neck. The
second fallacy is that above specified, the supposition that proportion
cannot be beautiful if susceptible of variation, whereas the whole
meaning of the term has reference to the adjustment and functional
correspondence of infinitely variable quantities. And the third error is
the oversight of the very important fact, that, although "different and
even contrary forms and dispositions are consistent with beauty," they
are by no means consistent with equal _degrees_ of beauty, so that,
while we find in all the presence of such proportion and harmony of
form, as gifts them with positive agreeableness consistent with the
station and dignity of each, we perceive, also, such superiority of
proportion in some (as the horse, eagle, lion, and man for instance) as
may best be in harmony with the nobler functions and more exalted powers
of the animals.
Sec. 15. Constructive proportion. Its influence in plants.
And this allowed superiority of some animal forms to others is, in
itself argument against the second error above named, that of
attributing the sensation of beauty to the perception of expedient or
constructive proportion. For everything that God has made is equally
well constructed with reference to its intended functions. But all
things are not equally beautiful. The megatherium is absolutely as well
proportioned, with the view of adaptation of parts to purposes, as the
horse or the swan; but by no means so handsome as either. The fact is,
that the perception of expediency of proportion can but rarely affect
our estimates of beauty, for it implies a knowledge which we very rarely
and imperfectly possess, and the want of which we tacitly acknowledge.
Let us consider that instance of the proportion of the stalk of a plant
to its head, given by Burke. In order to judge of the expediency of this
proportion, we must know, First, the scale of the plant (for the smaller
the scale, the longer the stem may safely be). Secondly, the toughness
of the materials of the stem and the mode of their mechanical structure.
Thirdly, the specific gravity of the head. Fourthly, the position of the
head which the nature of fructification requires. Fifthly, the accidents
and influences to which the situation for which the plant was created is
exposed. Until we know all this, we cannot say that proportion or
disproportion exists, and because we cannot know all this, the idea of
expedient proportion enters but slightly into our impression of
vegetable beauty, but rather, since the existence of the plant proves
that these proportions have been observed, and we know that nothing but
our own ignorance prevents us from perceiving them, we take the
proportion on credit, and are delighted by the variety of results which
the Divine intelligence has attained in the various involutions of these
quantities, and perhaps most when, to outward appearance, such
proportions have been violated; more by the slenderness of the campanula
than the security of the pine.
Sec. 16. And animals.
What is obscure in plants, is utterly incomprehensible in animals, owing
to the greater number of means employed and functions performed. To
judge of expedient proportion in them, we must know all that each member
has to do, all its bones, all its muscles, and the amount of nervous
energy communicable to them; and yet, forasmuch as we have more
experience and instinctive sense of the strength of muscles than of
wood, and more practical knowledge of the use of a head or a foot than
of a flower or a stem, we are much more likely to presume upon our
judgment respecting proportions here, we are very apt to assert that the
plesiosaurus and camelopard have necks too long, that the turnspit has
legs too short, and the elephant a body too ponderous.
But the painfulness arising from the idea of this being the case is
occasioned partly by our sympathy with the animal, partly by our false
apprehension of incompletion in the Divine work,[21] nor in either case
has it any connection with impressions of that typical beauty of which
we are at present speaking; though some, perhaps, with that vital beauty
which will hereafter come under discussion.
Sec. 17. Summary.
I wish therefore the reader to hold, respecting proportion generally.
First, That apparent proportion, or the melodious connection of
quantities, is a cause of unity, and therefore one of the sources of all
beautiful form. Secondly, That constructive proportion is agreeable to
the mind when it is known or supposed, and that its seeming absence is
painful in a like degree, but that this pleasure and pain have nothing
in common with those dependent on ideas of beauty.
Farther illustrations of the value of unity I shall reserve for our
detailed examination, as the bringing them forward here would interfere
with the general idea of the subject-matter of the theoretic faculty
which I wish succinctly to convey.
FOOTNOTES
[14] Compare Chap. ix. Sec. 5, note.
[15] Spenser's various forest is the Forest of Error.
[16] It must be matter of no small wonderment to practical men to
observe how grossly the nature and connection of unity and variety
have been misunderstood and misstated, by those writers upon taste,
who have been guided by no experience of art; most singularly
perhaps by Mr. Alison, who, confounding unity with uniformity, and
leading his readers through thirty pages of discussion respecting
uniformity and variety, the intelligibility of which is not by any
means increased by his supposing uniformity to be capable of
existence in single things; at last substitutes for these two terms,
sufficiently contradictory already, those of similarity and
dissimilarity, the reconciliation of which opposites in one thing we
must, I believe, leave Mr. Alison to accomplish.
[17] [Greek: Kai to tauta prattein pollakis hedy;--to gar synethes
hedy en; kai to metaballein hedy; eis physin gar gignetai
metaballein.]--Arist. Rhet. I. II. 20.
[18] Fra Angelico's fresco, in a cell of the upper cloister. He
treated the subject frequently. Another characteristic example
occurs in the Vita di Christo of the Academy, a series now
unfortunately destroyed by the picture cleaners. Simon Memmi in
Santa Maria Novella (Chapelle des Espagnols) has given another very
beautiful instance. In Giotto the principle is universal, though his
multitudes are somewhat more dramatically and powerfully varied in
gesture than Angelico's. In Mino da Fiesole's altar-piece in the
church of St. Ambrogiot at Florence, close by Cosimo Rosselli's
fresco, there is a beautiful example in marble.
[19] The Predella of the picture behind the altar.
[20] It seems never to have been rightly understood, even by the
more intelligent among our architects, that proportion is in any way
connected with positive size; it seems to be held among them that a
small building may be expanded to a large one merely by
proportionally expanding all its parts: and that the harmony will be
equally agreeable on whatever scale it be rendered. Now this is true
of apparent proportion, but utterly false of constructive; and, as
much of the value of architectural proportion is constructive, the
error is often productive of the most painful results. It may be
best illustrated by observing the conditions of proportion in
animals. Many persons have thoughtlessly claimed admiration for the
strength--supposed gigantic--of insects and smaller animals; because
capable of lifting weights, leaping distances, and surmounting
obstacles, of proportion apparently overwhelming. Thus the Formica
Herculanea will lift in its mouth, and brandish like a baton, sticks
thicker than itself and six times its length, all the while
scrambling over crags of about the proportionate height of the
Cliffs of Dover, three or four in a minute. There is nothing
extraordinary in this, nor any exertion of strength necessarily
greater than human, in proportion to the size of the body. For it is
evident that if the size and strength of any creature be expanded or
diminished in proportion to each other, the distance through which
it can leap, the time it can maintain exertion, or any other third
term resultant, remains constant; that is, diminish weight of powder
and of ball proportionately, and the distance carried is constant or
nearly so. Thus, a grasshopper, a man, and a giant 100 feet high,
supposing their muscular strength equally proportioned to their
size, can or could all leap, not proportionate distance, but the
same or nearly the same distance--say, four feet the grasshopper, or
forty-eight times his length; six feet the man or his length
exactly; ten feet the giant or the tenth of his length. Hence all
small animals can, _coeteris paribus_, perform feats of strength
and agility, exactly so much greater than those to be executed by
large ones, as the animals themselves are smaller; and to enable an
elephant to leap like a grasshopper, he must be endowed with
strength a million times greater in _proportion_ to his size. Now
the consequence of this general mechanical law is, that as we
increase the scale of animals, their means of power, whether muscles
of motion or bones of support, must be increased in a more than
proportionate degree, or they become utterly unwieldy, and incapable
of motion;--and there is a limit to this increase of strength. If
the elephant had legs as long as a spider's, no combination of
animal matter that could be hide-bound would have strength enough to
move them: to support the megatherium, we must have a humerus a foot
in diameter, though perhaps not more than two feet long, and that in
a vertical position under him, while the gnat can hang on the window
frame, and poise himself to sting, in the middle of crooked stilts
like threads; stretched out to ten times the breadth of his body on
each side. Increase the size of the megatherium a little more, and
no phosphate of lime will bear him; he would crush his own legs to
powder. (Compare Sir Charles Bell, "Bridgewater Treatise on the
Hand," p. 296, and the note.) Hence there is not only a limit to the
size of animals, in the conditions of matter, but to their activity
also, the largest being always least capable of exertion; and this
would be the case to a far greater extent, but that nature
beneficently alters her proportions as she increases her scale;
giving, as we have seen, long legs and enormous wings to the smaller
tribes, and short and thick proportion to the larger. So in
vegetables--compare the stalk of an ear of oat, and the trunk of a
pine, the mechanical relations being in both the same. So also in
waves, of which the large never can be mere exaggerations of the
small, but have different slopes and curvatures: so in mountains and
all things else, necessarily, and from ordinary mechanical laws.
Whence in architecture, according to the scale of the building, its
proportions must be altered; and I have no hesitation in calling
that unmeaning exaggeration of parts in St. Peter's, of flutings,
volutes, friezes, etc., in the proportions of a smaller building, a
vulgar blunder, and one that destroys all the majesty that the
building ought to have had--and still more I should so call all
imitations and adaptations of large buildings on a small scale. The
true test of right proportion is that it shall itself inform us of
the scale of the building, and be such that even in a drawing it
shall instantly induce the conception of the actual size, or size
intended. I know not what Fuseli means by that aphorism of his:--
"Disproportion of parts is the element of hugeness--proportion, of
grandeur. All Gothic styles of Architecture are huge. The Greek
alone is grand." When a building _is_ vast, it ought to look so; and
the proportion is right which exhibits its vastness. Nature loses no
size by her proportion; her buttressed mountains have more of Gothic
than of Greek in them.
[21] For the just and severe reproof of which, compare Sir Charles
Bell, (on the hand,) pp. 31, 32.