Beauty: Illustrated Chiefly by an Analysis and Classificatin of Beauty in Woman

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.