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BEAUTY. | ||
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A NOBLER want of man is served by nature, namely, the love of | ||
Beauty. | ||
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The ancient Greeks called the world _kosmos_, beauty. Such is the | ||
constitution of all things, or such the plastic power of the human eye, | ||
that the primary forms, as the sky, the mountain, the tree, the animal, | ||
give us a delight _in and for themselves_; a pleasure arising from | ||
outline, color, motion, and grouping. This seems partly owing to the | ||
eye itself. The eye is the best of artists. By the mutual action of its | ||
structure and of the laws of light, perspective is produced, which | ||
integrates every mass of objects, of what character soever, into a | ||
well colored and shaded globe, so that where the particular objects | ||
are mean and unaffecting, the landscape which they compose, is | ||
round and symmetrical. And as the eye is the best composer, so light | ||
is the first of painters. There is no object so foul that intense light | ||
will not make beautiful. And the stimulus it affords to the sense, and | ||
a sort of infinitude which it hath, like space and time, make all | ||
matter gay. Even the corpse has its own beauty. But besides this | ||
general grace diffused over nature, almost all the individual forms | ||
are agreeable to the eye, as is proved by our endless imitations of | ||
some of them, as the acorn, the grape, the pine-cone, the wheat-ear, | ||
the egg, the wings and forms of most birds, the lion's claw, the | ||
serpent, the butterfly, sea-shells, flames, clouds, buds, leaves, and | ||
the forms of many trees, as the palm. | ||
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For better consideration, we may distribute the aspects of Beauty in | ||
a threefold manner. | ||
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1. First, the simple perception of natural forms is a delight. The | ||
influence of the forms and actions in nature, is so needful to man, | ||
that, in its lowest functions, it seems to lie on the confines of | ||
commodity and beauty. To the body and mind which have been | ||
cramped by noxious work or company, nature is medicinal and | ||
restores their tone. The tradesman, the attorney comes out of the din | ||
and craft of the street, and sees the sky and the woods, and is a man | ||
again. In their eternal calm, he finds himself. The health of the eye | ||
seems to demand a horizon. We are never tired, so long as we can | ||
see far enough. | ||
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But in other hours, Nature satisfies by its loveliness, and without any | ||
mixture of corporeal benefit. I see the spectacle of morning from the | ||
hill-top over against my house, from day-break to sun-rise, with | ||
emotions which an angel might share. The long slender bars of | ||
cloud float like fishes in the sea of crimson light. From the earth, as | ||
a shore, I look out into that silent sea. I seem to partake its rapid | ||
transformations: the active enchantment reaches my dust, and I | ||
dilate and conspire with the morning wind. How does Nature deify | ||
us with a few and cheap elements! Give me health and a day, and I | ||
will make the pomp of emperors ridiculous. The dawn is my Assyria; | ||
the sun-set and moon-rise my Paphos, and unimaginable realms of | ||
faerie; broad noon shall be my England of the senses and the | ||
understanding; the night shall be my Germany of mystic philosophy | ||
and dreams. | ||
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Not less excellent, except for our less susceptibility in the afternoon, | ||
was the charm, last evening, of a January sunset. The western clouds | ||
divided and subdivided themselves into pink flakes modulated with | ||
tints of unspeakable softness; and the air had so much life and | ||
sweetness, that it was a pain to come within doors. What was it that | ||
nature would say? Was there no meaning in the live repose of the | ||
valley behind the mill, and which Homer or Shakspeare could not | ||
reform for me in words? The leafless trees become spires of flame in | ||
the sunset, with the blue east for their back-ground, and the stars of | ||
the dead calices of flowers, and every withered stem and stubble | ||
rimed with frost, contribute something to the mute music. | ||
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The inhabitants of cities suppose that the country landscape is | ||
pleasant only half the year. I please myself with the graces of the | ||
winter scenery, and believe that we are as much touched by it as by | ||
the genial influences of summer. To the attentive eye, each moment | ||
of the year has its own beauty, and in the same field, it beholds, | ||
every hour, a picture which was never seen before, and which shall | ||
never be seen again. The heavens change every moment, and reflect | ||
their glory or gloom on the plains beneath. The state of the crop in | ||
the surrounding farms alters the expression of the earth from week | ||
to week. The succession of native plants in the pastures and | ||
roadsides, which makes the silent clock by which time tells the | ||
summer hours, will make even the divisions of the day sensible to a | ||
keen observer. The tribes of birds and insects, like the plants | ||
punctual to their time, follow each other, and the year has room for | ||
all. By water-courses, the variety is greater. In July, the blue | ||
pontederia or pickerel-weed blooms in large beds in the shallow | ||
parts of our pleasant river, and swarms with yellow butterflies in | ||
continual motion. Art cannot rival this pomp of purple and gold. | ||
Indeed the river is a perpetual gala, and boasts each month a new | ||
ornament. | ||
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But this beauty of Nature which is seen and felt as beauty, is the | ||
least part. The shows of day, the dewy morning, the rainbow, | ||
mountains, orchards in blossom, stars, moonlight, shadows in still | ||
water, and the like, if too eagerly hunted, become shows merely, and | ||
mock us with their unreality. Go out of the house to see the moon, | ||
and 't is mere tinsel; it will not please as when its light shines upon | ||
your necessary journey. The beauty that shimmers in the yellow | ||
afternoons of October, who ever could clutch it? Go forth to find it, | ||
and it is gone: 't is only a mirage as you look from the windows of | ||
diligence. | ||
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2. The presence of a higher, namely, of the spiritual element is | ||
essential to its perfection. The high and divine beauty which can be | ||
loved without effeminacy, is that which is found in combination | ||
with the human will. Beauty is the mark God sets upon virtue. Every | ||
natural action is graceful. Every heroic act is also decent, and causes | ||
the place and the bystanders to shine. We are taught by great actions | ||
that the universe is the property of every individual in it. Every | ||
rational creature has all nature for his dowry and estate. It is his, if | ||
he will. He may divest himself of it; he may creep into a corner, and | ||
abdicate his kingdom, as most men do, but he is entitled to the world | ||
by his constitution. In proportion to the energy of his thought and | ||
will, he takes up the world into himself. "All those things for which | ||
men plough, build, or sail, obey virtue;" said Sallust. "The winds | ||
and waves," said Gibbon, "are always on the side of the ablest | ||
navigators." So are the sun and moon and all the stars of heaven. | ||
When a noble act is done,--perchance in a scene of great natural | ||
beauty; when Leonidas and his three hundred martyrs consume one | ||
day in dying, and the sun and moon come each and look at them | ||
once in the steep defile of Thermopylae; when Arnold Winkelried, | ||
in the high Alps, under the shadow of the avalanche, gathers in his | ||
side a sheaf of Austrian spears to break the line for his comrades; are | ||
not these heroes entitled to add the beauty of the scene to the beauty | ||
of the deed? When the bark of Columbus nears the shore of | ||
America;--before it, the beach lined with savages, fleeing out of all | ||
their huts of cane; the sea behind; and the purple mountains of the | ||
Indian Archipelago around, can we separate the man from the living | ||
picture? Does not the New World clothe his form with her | ||
palm-groves and savannahs as fit drapery? Ever does natural beauty steal | ||
in like air, and envelope great actions. When Sir Harry Vane was | ||
dragged up the Tower-hill, sitting on a sled, to suffer death, as the | ||
champion of the English laws, one of the multitude cried out to him, | ||
"You never sate on so glorious a seat." Charles II., to intimidate the | ||
citizens of London, caused the patriot Lord Russel to be drawn in an | ||
open coach, through the principal streets of the city, on his way to | ||
the scaffold. "But," his biographer says, "the multitude imagined | ||
they saw liberty and virtue sitting by his side." In private places, | ||
among sordid objects, an act of truth or heroism seems at once to | ||
draw to itself the sky as its temple, the sun as its candle. Nature | ||
stretcheth out her arms to embrace man, only let his thoughts be of | ||
equal greatness. Willingly does she follow his steps with the rose | ||
and the violet, and bend her lines of grandeur and grace to the | ||
decoration of her darling child. Only let his thoughts be of equal | ||
scope, and the frame will suit the picture. A virtuous man is in | ||
unison with her works, and makes the central figure of the visible | ||
sphere. Homer, Pindar, Socrates, Phocion, associate themselves fitly | ||
in our memory with the geography and climate of Greece. The | ||
visible heavens and earth sympathize with Jesus. And in common | ||
life, whosoever has seen a person of powerful character and happy | ||
genius, will have remarked how easily he took all things along with | ||
him,--the persons, the opinions, and the day, and nature became | ||
ancillary to a man. | ||
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3. There is still another aspect under which the beauty of the world | ||
may be viewed, namely, as it becomes an object of the intellect. | ||
Beside the relation of things to virtue, they have a relation to thought. | ||
The intellect searches out the absolute order of things as they stand | ||
in the mind of God, and without the colors of affection. The | ||
intellectual and the active powers seem to succeed each other, and | ||
the exclusive activity of the one, generates the exclusive activity of | ||
the other. There is something unfriendly in each to the other, but | ||
they are like the alternate periods of feeding and working in animals; | ||
each prepares and will be followed by the other. Therefore does | ||
beauty, which, in relation to actions, as we have seen, comes | ||
unsought, and comes because it is unsought, remain for the | ||
apprehension and pursuit of the intellect; and then again, in its turn, | ||
of the active power. Nothing divine dies. All good is eternally | ||
reproductive. The beauty of nature reforms itself in the mind, and | ||
not for barren contemplation, but for new creation. | ||
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All men are in some degree impressed by the face of the world; | ||
some men even to delight. This love of beauty is Taste. Others have | ||
the same love in such excess, that, not content with admiring, they | ||
seek to embody it in new forms. The creation of beauty is Art. | ||
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The production of a work of art throws a light upon the mystery of | ||
humanity. A work of art is an abstract or epitome of the world. It is | ||
the result or expression of nature, in miniature. For, although the | ||
works of nature are innumerable and all different, the result or the | ||
expression of them all is similar and single. Nature is a sea of forms | ||
radically alike and even unique. A leaf, a sun-beam, a landscape, the | ||
ocean, make an analogous impression on the mind. What is common | ||
to them all,--that perfectness and harmony, is beauty. The standard | ||
of beauty is the entire circuit of natural forms,--the totality of nature; | ||
which the Italians expressed by defining beauty "il piu nell' uno." | ||
Nothing is quite beautiful alone: nothing but is beautiful in the | ||
whole. A single object is only so far beautiful as it suggests this | ||
universal grace. The poet, the painter, the sculptor, the musician, the | ||
architect, seek each to concentrate this radiance of the world on one | ||
point, and each in his several work to satisfy the love of beauty | ||
which stimulates him to produce. Thus is Art, a nature passed | ||
through the alembic of man. Thus in art, does nature work through | ||
the will of a man filled with the beauty of her first works. | ||
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The world thus exists to the soul to satisfy the desire of beauty. This | ||
element I call an ultimate end. No reason can be asked or given why | ||
the soul seeks beauty. Beauty, in its largest and profoundest sense, is | ||
one expression for the universe. God is the all-fair. Truth, and | ||
goodness, and beauty, are but different faces of the same All. But | ||
beauty in nature is not ultimate. It is the herald of inward and eternal | ||
beauty, and is not alone a solid and satisfactory good. It must stand | ||
as a part, and not as yet the last or highest expression of the final | ||
cause of Nature. |
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COMMODITY. | ||
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WHOEVER considers the final cause of the world, will discern a | ||
multitude of uses that result. They all admit of being thrown into one | ||
of the following classes; Commodity; Beauty; Language; and | ||
Discipline. | ||
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Under the general name of Commodity, I rank all those advantages | ||
which our senses owe to nature. This, of course, is a benefit which is | ||
temporary and mediate, not ultimate, like its service to the soul. Yet | ||
although low, it is perfect in its kind, and is the only use of nature | ||
which all men apprehend. The misery of man appears like childish | ||
petulance, when we explore the steady and prodigal provision that | ||
has been made for his support and delight on this green ball which | ||
floats him through the heavens. What angels invented these splendid | ||
ornaments, these rich conveniences, this ocean of air above, this | ||
ocean of water beneath, this firmament of earth between? this zodiac | ||
of lights, this tent of dropping clouds, this striped coat of climates, | ||
this fourfold year? Beasts, fire, water, stones, and corn serve him. | ||
The field is at once his floor, his work-yard, his play-ground, his | ||
garden, and his bed. | ||
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"More servants wait on man | ||
Than he'll take notice of."-- | ||
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Nature, in its ministry to man, is not only the material, but is also the | ||
process and the result. All the parts incessantly work into each | ||
other's hands for the profit of man. The wind sows the seed; the sun | ||
evaporates the sea; the wind blows the vapor to the field; the ice, on | ||
the other side of the planet, condenses rain on this; the rain feeds the | ||
plant; the plant feeds the animal; and thus the endless circulations of | ||
the divine charity nourish man. | ||
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The useful arts are reproductions or new combinations by the wit of | ||
man, of the same natural benefactors. He no longer waits for | ||
favoring gales, but by means of steam, he realizes the fable of | ||
Aeolus's bag, and carries the two and thirty winds in the boiler of his | ||
boat. To diminish friction, he paves the road with iron bars, | ||
and, mounting a coach with a ship-load of men, animals, and | ||
merchandise behind him, he darts through the country, from town to | ||
town, like an eagle or a swallow through the air. By the aggregate of | ||
these aids, how is the face of the world changed, from the era of | ||
Noah to that of Napoleon! The private poor man hath cities, ships, | ||
canals, bridges, built for him. He goes to the post-office, and the | ||
human race run on his errands; to the book-shop, and the human | ||
race read and write of all that happens, for him; to the court-house, | ||
and nations repair his wrongs. He sets his house upon the road, and | ||
the human race go forth every morning, and shovel out the snow, | ||
and cut a path for him. | ||
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But there is no need of specifying particulars in this class of uses. | ||
The catalogue is endless, and the examples so obvious, that I shall | ||
leave them to the reader's reflection, with the general remark, that | ||
this mercenary benefit is one which has respect to a farther good. A | ||
man is fed, not that he may be fed, but that he may work. |
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