FITNESS NOT THE CAUSE OF BEAUTY.
It is said that the idea of utility, or of a part's being well adapted
to answer its end, is the cause of beauty, or indeed beauty itself. If
it were not for this opinion, it had been impossible for the doctrine of
proportion to have held its ground very long; the world would be soon
weary of hearing of measures which related to nothing, either of a
natural principle, or of a fitness to answer some end; the idea which
mankind most commonly conceive of proportion, is the suitableness of
means to certain ends, and, where this is not the question, very seldom
trouble themselves about the effect of different measures of things.
Therefore it was necessary for this theory to insist that not only
artificial, but natural objects took their beauty from the fitness of
the parts for their several purposes. But in framing this theory, I am
apprehensive that experience was not sufficiently consulted. For, on
that principle, the wedge-like 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. The great bag hanging to the bill of a pelican, a
thing highly useful to this animal, would be likewise as beautiful in
our eyes. The hedge-hog, so well secured against all assaults by his
prickly hide, and the porcupine with his missile quills, would be then
considered as creatures of no small elegance. There are few animals
whose parts are better contrived than those of a monkey: he has the
hands of a man, joined to the springy limbs of a beast; he is admirably
calculated for running, leaping, grappling, and climbing; and yet there
are few animals which seem to have less beauty in the eyes of all
mankind. I need say little on the trunk of the elephant, of such various
usefulness, and which is so far from contributing to his beauty. How
well fitted is the wolf for running and leaping! how admirably is the
lion armed for battle! but will any one therefore call the elephant, the
wolf, and the lion, beautiful animals? I believe nobody will think the
form of a man's leg so well adapted to running, as those of a horse, a
dog, a deer, and several other creatures; at least they have not that
appearance: yet, I believe, a well-fashioned human leg will be allowed
to far exceed all these in beauty. If the fitness of parts was what
constituted the loveliness of their form, the actual employment of them
would undoubtedly much augment it; but this, though it is sometimes so
upon another principle, is far from being always the case. A bird on the
wing is not so beautiful as when it is perched; nay, there are several
of the domestic fowls which are seldom seen to fly, and which are
nothing the less beautiful on that account; yet birds are so extremely
different in their form from the beast and human kinds, that you cannot,
on the principle of fitness, allow them anything agreeable, but in
consideration of their parts being designed for quite other purposes. I
never in my life chanced to see a peacock fly; and yet before, very long
before I considered any aptitude in his form for the aërial life, I was
struck with the extreme beauty which raises that bird above many of the
best flying fowls in the world; though, for anything I saw, his way of
living was much like that of the swine, which fed in the farm-yard along
with him. The same may be said of cocks, hens, and the like; they are of
the flying kind in figure; in their manner of moving not very different
from men and beasts. To leave these foreign examples; if beauty in our
own species was annexed to use, men would be much more lovely than
women; and strength and agility would be considered as the only
beauties. But to call strength by the name of beauty, to have but one
denomination for the qualities of a Venus and Hercules, so totally
different in almost all respects, is surely a strange confusion of
ideas, or abuse of words. The cause of this confusion, I imagine,
proceeds from our frequently perceiving the parts of the human and other
animal bodies to be at once very beautiful, and very well adapted to
their purposes; and we are deceived by a sophism, which makes us take
that for a cause which is only a concomitant: this is the sophism of the
fly; who imagined he raised a great dust, because he stood upon the
chariot that really raised it. The stomach, the lungs, the liver, as
well as other parts, are incomparably well adapted to their purposes;
yet they are far from having any beauty. Again, many things are very
beautiful, in which it is impossible to discern any idea of use. And 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. What idea of use is it that flowers
excite, the most beautiful part of the vegetable world? It is true that
the infinitely wise and good Creator has, of his bounty, frequently
joined beauty to those things which he has made useful to us; but this
does not prove that an idea of use and beauty are the same thing, or
that they are any way dependent on each other.