Chapter XVI: Appendix: to Chap. IX

_Concerning the works of nature._

In natural objects, whether we regard their internal or external structure, beauty and design are equally conspicuous. We shall begin with the outside of nature, as what first presents itself.

The figure of an organic body, is generally regular. The trunk of a tree, its branches, and their ramifications, are nearly round, and form a series regularly decreasing from the trunk to the smallest fibre. Uniformity is no where more remarkable than in the leaves, which, in the same species, have all the same colour, size, and shape. The seeds and fruits are all regular figures, approaching for the most part to the globular form. Hence a plant, especially of the larger kind, with its trunk, branches, foliage, and fruit, is a delightful object.

In an animal, the trunk, which is much larger than the other parts, occupies a chief place. Its shape, like that of the stem of plants, is nearly round; a figure which of all is the most agreeable. Its two sides are precisely similar. Several of the under parts go off in pairs; and the two individuals of each pair are accurately uniform. The single parts are placed in the middle. The limbs, bearing a certain proportion to the trunk, serve to support it, and to give it a proper elevation. Upon one extremity are disposed the neck and head, in the direction of the trunk. The head being the chief part, possesses with great propriety the chief place. Hence, the beauty of the whole figure, is the result of many equal and proportional parts orderly disposed; and the smallest variation in number, equality, proportion, or order, never fails to produce a perception of ugliness and deformity.

Nature in no particular seems more profuse of ornament, than in the beautiful colouring of her works. The flowers of plants, the furs of beasts, and the feathers of birds, vie with each other in the beauty of their colours, which in lustre as well as in harmony are beyond the power of imitation. Of all natural appearances, the colouring of the human face is the most exquisite. It is the strongest instance of the ineffable art of nature, in adapting and proportioning its colours to the magnitude, figure, and position, of the parts. In a word, colour seems to live in nature only, and to languish under the finest touches of art.

When we examine the internal structure of a plant or animal, a wonderful subtility of mechanism is displayed. Man, in his mechanical operations, is confined to the surface of bodies. But the operations of nature are exerted through the whole substance, so as to reach even the elementary parts. Thus the body of an animal, and of a plant, are composed of certain great vessels; these of smaller; and these again of still smaller, without end so far we can discover. This power of diffusing mechanism through the most intimate parts, is peculiar to nature; and distinguishes her operations, most remarkably, from every work of art. Such texture, continued from the grosser parts to the most minute, preserves all along the strictest regularity. The fibres of plants are a bundle of cylindric canals, lying in the same direction, and parallel or nearly parallel to each other. In some instances, a most accurate arrangement of parts is discovered, as in onions, formed of concentric coats one within another to the very centre. An animal body is still more admirable, in the disposition of its internal parts, and in their order and symmetry. There is not a bone, a muscle, a blood-vessel, a nerve, that hath not one corresponding to it on the opposite side of the animal; and the same order is carried through the most minute parts. The lungs are composed of two parts, which are disposed upon the sides of the thorax; and the kidneys, in a lower situation, have a position not less orderly. As to the parts that are single, the heart is advantageously situated nigh the middle. The liver, stomach, and spleen, are disposed in the upper region of the abdomen, about the same height: the bladder is placed in the middle of the body; as well as the intestinal canal, which fills the whole cavity by its convolutions.

The mechanical power of nature, not confined to small bodies, reacheth equally those of the greatest size; witness the bodies that compose the solar system, which, however large, are weighed, measured, and subjected to certain laws, with the utmost accuracy. Their places around the sun, with their distances, are determined by a precise rule, corresponding to their quantities of matter. The superior dignity of the central body, in respect of its bulk and lucid appearance, is suited to the place it occupies. The globular figure of these bodies, is not only in itself beautiful, but is above all others fitted for regular motion. Each planet revolves about its own axis in a given time; and each moves round the sun, in an orbit nearly circular, and in a time proportioned to its distance. Their velocities, directed by an established law, are perpetually changing by regular accelerations and retardations. In fine, the great variety of regular appearances, joined with the beauty of the system itself, cannot fail to produce the highest delight in every person who can taste design, power, or beauty.

Nature hath a wonderful power of connecting systems with each other, and of propagating that connection through all her works. Thus the constituent parts of a plant, the roots, the stem, the branches, the leaves, the fruit, are really different systems, united by a mutual dependence on each other. Thus in an animal, the lymphatic and lacteal ducts, the blood-vessels and nerves, the muscles and glands, the bones and cartilages, the membranes and viscera, with the other organs, form distinct systems, which are united into one whole. There are, at the same time, other connections less intimate. Thus every plant is joined to the earth by its roots; it requires rain and dews to furnish it with juices; and it requires heat to preserve these juices in fluidity and motion. Thus every animal, by its gravity, is connected with the earth, with the element in which it breathes, and with the sun, by deriving from it cherishing and enlivening heat. The earth furnisheth aliment to plants, these to animals, and these again to other animals, in a long train of dependence. That the earth is part of a greater system, comprehending many bodies mutually attracting each other, and gravitating all toward one common centre, is now thoroughly explored. Such a regular and uniform series of connections, propagated through so great a number of beings and through such wide spaces, is wonderful: and our wonder must increase, when we observe this connection propagated from the minutest atoms to bodies of the most enormous size, and widely diffused, so as that we can neither perceive its beginning nor its end. That it doth not terminate within our own planetary system, is certain. The connection is diffused over spaces still more remote, where new bodies and systems rise to our view, without end. All space is filled with the works of God, which, being the operation of one hand, are formed by one plan, to answer one great end.

But the most wonderful connection of all, though not the most conspicuous, is that of our internal frame with the works of nature. Man is obviously fitted for contemplating these works, because in this contemplation he has great delight. The works of nature are remarkable in their uniformity not less than in their variety; and the mind of man is fitted to receive pleasure equally from both. Uniformity and variety are interwoven in the works of nature with surprising art. Variety, however great, is never without some degree of uniformity; nor the greatest uniformity, without some degree of variety. There is great variety in the same plant, by the different appearances of its stem, branches, leaves, blossoms, fruit, size, and colour; and yet when we trace this variety through different plants, especially of the same kind, there is discovered a surprising uniformity. Again, where nature seems to have intended the most exact uniformity, as among individuals of the same kind, there still appears a diversity, which serves readily to distinguish one individual from another. It is indeed admirable, that the human visage, in which uniformity is so prevalent, should yet be so marked as to leave no room for mistaking one person for another. The difference, though clearly perceived, is often so minute as to go beyond the reach of description. A correspondence so perfect betwixt the human mind and the works of nature, is extremely remarkable. The opposition betwixt variety and uniformity is so great, that one would not readily imagine they could both be relished by the same palate; at least not in the same object, nor at the same time. It is however true, that the pleasures they afford, being happily adjusted to each other, and readily mixing in intimate union, are frequently produced in perfection by the same individual object. Nay further, in the objects that touch us the most, uniformity and variety are constantly combined; witness natural objects, where this combination is always found in perfection. It is for that reason, that natural objects readily form themselves into groups, and are agreeable in whatever manner combined: a wood with its trees, shrubs, and herbs, is agreeable: the music of birds, the lowing of cattle, and the murmuring of a brook, are in conjunction delightful; though they strike the ear without modulation or harmony. In short, nothing can be more happily accommodated to the inward constitution of man, than that mixture of uniformity with variety which the eye discovers in natural objects. And accordingly, the mind is never more highly gratified than in contemplating a natural landscape.

End of the FIRST VOLUME.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] See the Appendix, § 13.

[2] Du Bos judiciously observes, that silence doth not tend to calm an agitated mind; but that soft and slow music hath a fine effect.

[3] A taste for natural objects is born with us in perfection. To relish a fine countenance, a rich landscape, or a vivid colour, culture is unnecessary. The observation holds equally in natural sounds, such as the singing of birds, or the murmuring of a brook. Nature here, the artificer of the object as well as of the percipient, hath suited them to each other with great accuracy. But of a poem, a cantata, a picture, and other artificial productions, a true relish is not commonly attained without study and practice.

[4] “Though logic may subsist without rhetoric or poetry, yet so necessary to these last is a sound and correct logic, that without it they are no better than warbling trifles.” Hermes, p. 6.

[5] Genius is allied to a warm and inflammable constitution, delicacy of taste to calmness and sedateness. Hence it is common to find genius in one who is a prey to every passion; which can scarce happen with respect to delicacy of taste. Upon a man possessed of this blessing, the moral duties, as well as the fine arts, make a deep impression, so as to counterbalance every irregular desire. And even supposing a strong temptation, it can take no fast hold of a calm and sedate temper.

[6] For how should this be done? What object is it that we are to call up? If this question can be answered, the object is already in the mind, and there is no occasion to exert the power. If the question cannot be answered, I next demand, how it is possible that a voluntary power can be exerted without any view of an object to exert it upon? We cannot form a conception of such a thing. This argument appears to me satisfactory: if it need confirmation, I urge experience. Whoever makes a trial will find, that objects are linked together in the mind, forming a connected chain; and that we have not the command of any object independent of the chain.

[7] A train of perceptions or ideas, with respect to its uniformity and variety, is handled afterward, chap. 9.

[8] Lib. 2. ode 13.

[9] Lin. 231.

[10] Lin. 136.

[11] Lin. 475.

[12] Lib. 4. lin. 173.

[13] Part 1. sect. 4.

[14] Introduction.

[15] Introduction.

[16] In tracing our emotions and passions to their origin, it once was my opinion, that qualities and actions are the primary causes of emotions; and that these emotions are afterward expanded upon the being to which these qualities and actions belong. But I have discovered that opinion to be erroneous. An attribute is not, even in imagination, separable from the being to which it belongs; and for that reason, cannot of itself be the cause of any emotion. We have, it is true, no knowledge of any being or substance but by means of its attributes; and therefore no being can be agreeable to us otherwise than by their means. But still, when an emotion is raised, it is the being itself, as we apprehend the matter, which raises the emotion; and it raises it by means of one or other of its attributes. If it be urged, That we can in idea abstract a quality from the thing to which it belongs; it might be answered, That an abstract idea, which serves excellently the purposes of reasoning, is too faint and too much strained to produce any sort of emotion. But it is sufficient for the present purpose to answer, That the eye never abstracts. By this organ we perceive things as they really exist, and never perceive a quality as separated from the subject. Hence it must be evident, that emotions are raised, not by qualities abstractly considered, but by the substance or body so and so qualified. Thus a spreading oak raises a pleasant emotion, by means of its colour, figure, umbrage, _&c._ It is not the colour strictly speaking that produces the emotion, but the tree as coloured: it is not the figure abstractly considered that produces the emotion, but the tree considered as of a certain figure. And hence by the way it appears, that the beauty of such an object is complex, resolvable into several beauties more simple.

[17] When this analysis of human nature is considered, not one article of which can with any shadow of truth be controverted, I cannot help being surprised at the blindness of some philosophers, who, by dark and confused notions, are led to deny all motives to action but what arise from self-love. Man, for ought appears, might possibly have been so framed, as to be susceptible of no passions but what have self for their object. But man thus framed, would be ill fitted for society. Much better is the matter ordered, by enduing him with passions directed entirely to the good of others, as well as with passions directed entirely to his own good.

[18] See Essays upon morality and natural religion, part 1. essay 2. ch. 4.

[19] Such proneness has the mind to this communication of properties, that we often find properties ascribed to a related object, of which naturally it is not susceptible. Sir Richard Greenville in a single ship being surprised by the Spanish fleet, was advised to retire. He utterly refused to turn from the enemy; declaring, “he would rather die, than dishonour himself, his country, and her Majesty’s ship.” _Hakluyt, vol. 2. part 2. p. 169._ To aid the communication of properties in such instances, there always must be a momentary personification. A ship must be imagined a sensible being, to make it susceptible of honour or dishonour. In the battle of Mantinea, Epaminondas being mortally wounded, was carried to his tent in a manner dead. Recovering his senses, the first thing he inquired about was his shield; which being brought, he kissed it as the companion of his valour and glory. It must be remarked, that among the Greeks and Romans it was deemed infamous for a soldier to return from battle without his shield.

[20] See chap. 1.

[21] See Essays on morality and natural religion, part 1. ess. 2. ch. 5.

[22] Lib. 7. cap. 36.

[23] Aulus Gellius, lib. 5. cap. 14.

[24] Brasidas being surprised by the bite of a mouse he had catched, let it slip out of his fingers. “No creature (says he) is so contemptible, but what may provide for its own safety, if it have courage to defend itself.”

_Plutarch. Apothegmata._

[25] Spectator, Nº 439.

[26] Part 1. sect. 1. of the present chapter.

[27] At quæ Polycleto defuerunt, Phidiæ atque Alcameni dantur. Phidias tamen diis quam hominibus efficiendis melior artifex traditur: in ebore vero longe citra æmulum, vel si nihil nisi Minervam Athenis, aut Olympium in Elide Jovem fecisset, cujus pulchritudo adjecisse aliquid etiam receptæ religioni videtur; adeo majestas operis Deum æquavit.

_Quintilian, lib. 12. cap. 10. § 1._

[28] See part 7. of this chapter.

[29] See the place above cited.

[30] Essays on the principles of morality and natural religion, part 1. ess. 2. chap. 1.

[31] See the introduction.

[32] See this point explained afterwards, chap. 9.

[33] See the appendix, containing definitions and explanation of terms, sect. 33.

[34] Chap. 6.

[35] See chap. 14.

[36] It is easier to conceive the manner of coexistence of similar emotions, than to describe it. They cannot be said to mix or incorporate like concordant sounds. Their union is rather of agreement or concord; and therefore I have chosen the words in the text, not as sufficient to express clearly the manner of their coexistence, but only as less liable to exception than any other I can find.

[37] Chap. 18. sect. 3.

[38] Chap. of epic and dramatic compositions.

[39] See part 2. of the present chapter, toward the close.

[40] Canto 20. st. 97.

[41] Chap. 1.

[42] See part 1. sect. 1. of the present chapter.

[43] Herodotus, book 7.

[44] Act 2. sc. 6.

[45] Act 3. sc. 8.

[46] Part 1. of this chapter, sect. 3.

[47] Aristotle, poet. cap. 18. § 3. says, that anger raiseth in the spectator a similar emotion of anger.

[48] See Historical law-tracts, tract 1.

[49] Part 5. of the present chapter.

[50] Chap. 2. part. 1. sect. 1. first note.

[51] Chap. 2. part 1. sect. 4.

[52] See the appendix, containing definitions and explanation of terms.

[53] See chap. 2. part 1. sect. 1.

[54] Longinus observes, that nature inclines us to admire, not a small rivulet, however clear and transparent, but the Nile, the Ister, the Rhine, or still more the ocean. The sight of a small fire produceth no emotion; but we are struck with the boiling furnaces of Ætna, pouring out whole rivers of liquid flame. _Treatise of the Sublime, chap. 29._

[55] Kempfer’s history of Japan, b. 5. ch. 2.

[56] Longinus gives a pretty good description of the sublime, though not entirely just in every one of the circumstances, “That the mind is elevated by it, and so sensibly affected as to swell in transport and inward pride, as if what is only heard or read, were its own invention.” But he adheres not to this description. In his 6th chapter he justly observes, that many passions have nothing of the grand, such as grief, fear, pity, which depress the mind instead of raising it. And yet in chapter 8th, he mentions Sappho’s ode upon love as sublime. Beautiful it is undoubtedly, but it cannot be sublime, because it really depresses the mind instead of raising it. His translator Boileau is not more successful in his instances. In his 10th reflection he cites a passage from Demosthenes and another from Herodotus as sublime, which are not so.

[57] Kempfer’s history of Japan.

[58] _Spectator_, Nº 42

[59] It is justly observed by Addison, that perhaps a man would have been more astonished with the majestic air that appeared in one of Lysippus’s statues of Alexander, though no bigger than the life, than he might have been with Mount Athos, had it been cut into the figure of the hero, according to the proposal of Phidias, with a river in one hand and a city in the other. _Spectator_, Nº 415.

[60] Honestum per se esse expetendum indicant pueri, in quibus, ut in speculis, natura cernitur. Quanta studia decertantium sunt! Quanta ipsa certamina! Ut illi efferuntur lætitia, cum vicerunt! Ut pudet victos! Ut se accusari nolunt! Ut cupiunt laudari! Quos illi labores non perferunt, ut æqualium principes sint! _Cicero de finibus._

[61] Spectator, Nº 415.

[62] Chap. 8. of the Sublime.

[63] Lib. 3. beginning at line 567.

[64] _High_, in the old Scotch language, is pronounced _hee_.

[65] Herodotus, book 7.

[66] Chap. 30.

[67] Boileau and Huet.

[68] L’art poet. chant 1. l. 68.

[69] See chap. 4.

[70] See chap. 9.

[71] Chap. 1.

[72] Chap. 15.

[73] See chap. 1.

[74] See chap. 2. part 1. sect. 2.

[75] See chap. 4.

[76] Essays on the principles of morality and natural religion part 2. ess. 6.

[77] Hence the Latin names for surprise, _torpor_, _animo stupor_.

[78] See chap. 6.

[79] Coke upon Littleton, p. 71.

[80] Practical writers upon the fine arts will attempt any thing, being blind both to the difficulty and danger. De Piles, accounting why contrast is agreeable, says, “That it is a sort of war which puts the opposite parties in motion.” Thus, to account for an effect of which there is no doubt, any cause, however foolish, is made welcome.

[81] Chap. 2. part 5.

[82] The examples above given are of subjects that can be brought to an end or conclusion. But the same uneasiness is perceptible with respect to subjects that admit not any conclusion; witness a series that has no end, commonly called _an infinite series_. The mind running along such a series, begins soon to feel an uneasiness, which becomes more and more sensible in continuing its progress.

An unbounded prospect doth not long continue agreeable. We soon feel a slight uneasiness, which increases with the time we bestow upon the object. In order to find the cause of this uneasiness, we first take under consideration an avenue without a terminating object. Can a prospect without any termination be compared to an infinite series? There is one striking difference, that with respect to the eye no prospect can be unbounded. The quickest eye commands but a certain length of space; and there it is bounded, however obscurely. But the mind perceives things as they exist; and the line is carried on in idea without end. In that respect an unbounded prospect is similar to an infinite series. In fact, the uneasiness of an unbounded prospect differs very little in its feeling from that of an infinite series; and therefore we may reasonably conclude that both proceed from the same cause.

We next consider a prospect unbounded every way, as for example, a great plain, or the ocean, viewed from an eminence. We feel here an uneasiness occasioned by the want of an end or termination, precisely as in the other cases. A prospect unbounded every way is indeed so far singular, as at first to be more pleasant than a prospect that is unbounded in one direction only, and afterward to be more painful. But these circumstances are easily explained without breaking in upon the general theory. The pleasure we feel at first is a strong emotion of grandeur, arising from the immense extension of the object. And to increase the pain we feel afterward for the want of a termination, there concurs a pain of a different kind, occasioned by stretching the eye to comprehend so great a prospect; a pain that gradually increases with the repeated efforts we make to grasp the whole.

It is the same principle, if I mistake not, which operates imperceptibly with respect to quantity and number. Another’s property indented into my field gives me uneasiness; and I am eager to make the purchase, not for profit, but in order to square my field. Xerxes and his army in their passage to Greece were sumptuously entertained by Pythius the Lydian. Xerxes getting a particular account of his riches, recompensed him with 7000 Darics, which he wanted to complete the sum of four millions.

[83] Aristotle, poet. cap. 17.

[84] Spectator, Nº 265.

[85] Lib. 1. § 28.

[86] Act 4. sc. 2.

[87] See chap. 2. part 4.

[88] Chap. 2. part 4.

[89] Æn. lib. 5.

[90] Iliad, book 23. l. 879.

[91] Chap. 1.

[92] Locke, book 2. chap. 14.

[93] See chap. 1.

[94] See chap. 1.

[95] This chapter was composed in the year 1753.

[96] Chap. 1.

End of Project Gutenberg's Elements of Criticism, Volume I., by Henry Home