The Connexion Between Taste and Morals: Two lectures

by Mark Hopkins

All our investigations into nature show that man has no faculties to which there are not corresponding and adequate objects. As infinite as he is in reason, yet the works of God are not exhausted by the operations of that reason. No intellectual Alexander ever sat down and wept for the want of more worlds to conquer. As vast as is his imagination, the revelations of astronomy, as sober facts, go beyond any thing that the imagination had conceived. And is it so, that, in the region of taste alone, the faculties of man have no adequate object? But it is only when nature, like the Bible, is seen to be full of God, that she is clothed with her true sublimity. It is only when "the heavens declare the glory of God and the firmament showeth his handy work," that they correspond to the highest conceptions either of the taste or of the intellect. Man rests in the Infinite alone, and the universe without a God is not in harmony with his constitution, even when he is considered as endowed with taste only. But if our views on moral subjects thus modify the emotions of taste, it cannot be doubted that those emotions react upon our moral views, tending to elevate and purify them.

I remark again, that the emotions of taste are favorable to morals, because they are disinterested. As admiration becomes intense, men forget themselves, and, in proportion as they thus find enjoyment, they are prepared for that higher enjoyment which a disinterested performance of duty brings with it. Whenever we see excellence in another, we are bound to admire it without reference to sect or party; and admiration, thus bestowed, is almost always connected with a high moral character. The beauty who can truly forget herself in her admiration for another, deserves admiration for qualities far higher and nobler than beauty.

I only observe further, that a cultivated taste is favorable to morals, because the cultivation of one of our powers has a tendency to strengthen the rest.—This, I know, is disputed, and it is even supposed that the union of certain powers in any high degree is impossible. Thus, it is often supposed that a remarkable memory and a sound judgment do not go together; and it must be confessed that the memory may be so cultivated as not to strengthen the judgment. But when I speak of cultivating a faculty, I mean cultivating it on correct principles and with reference to the end for which it was given. Those who remember events as isolated, or only as they are connected by the relations of time and place, and who do not see and remember them as connected by the relations of cause and effect, means and end, premises and conclusion, do not, by such an exercise of the memory, strengthen the judgment, though they certainly show that it has great need of being strengthened. Of what possible use can it be, to the forming of a correct judgment on any point, for a good woman to remember the precise age of every child in the neighborhood? It is these walking chronicles, these living almanacs, who will tell you the weather for all time past, if not for all time to come, who get the credit of having great memories and little judgment. But such a memory is, to one cultivated on correct principles, only what a room full of minerals and birds and fish and insects and rubbish, promiscuously tumbled together, is to a well-arranged museum. Who does not know that experience is the best enlightener of the judgment?—And where does experience garner her stores but in the memory? It is obvious that he who has the best memory of past events, in their true connexions, will have the best possible materials for forming a judgment of the future. The same opposition is generally supposed to exist between the imagination and the judgment. But it occasionally happens that an individual, like Edmund Burke, unites the most gorgeous imagination with the profoundest judgment; and then it is seen that the analogies which the imagination suggests yield important lights to the judgment instead of misleading it. I know that the imagination, striking its roots into the hotbed of novel-reading, may overtop the judgment; but, judiciously cultivated, I contend that it is not unfavorable to the judgment. And if, in these cases, a judicious cultivation of one power tends to strengthen the other, much more will the cultivation of taste have a favorable tendency upon the moral nature, since these departments of the mind have never been supposed to be in opposition, but are, as we have seen, closely allied to each other.

But all this time it has probably been objected that, however plausible the reasoning may be on this subject, it is yet contrary to experience. If it were so, it might perhaps be said of it, as was said by Euler of a demonstrated property of the arch, "this is contrary to all experience, but is nevertheless true:"—it is so in the nature of things, but the materials are refractory. But let us see how far it is contrary to experience; or rather, whether we cannot, so far as it is thus contrary, satisfactorily account for it.

In order to this, we must make, as it seems to me, three important distinctions. And, first, we must distinguish between taste considered as a power of judging, and as a susceptibility to emotion. This distinction is often overlooked. Mr. Blair, for instance, defines taste to be, "the power of receiving pleasure or pain from the beauties or deformities of nature and of art;" in which, regard is had to the susceptibility only. But afterwards, when contrasting taste with genius, he says—"Taste is the power of judging, genius is the power of executing;" in which the susceptibility to emotion is left out of sight. Can I make this distinction obvious? When an unpractised person sees for the first time a grand historical picture, or reads a beautiful poem, he gives himself up to the emotion; he is absorbed; he takes no note of time; he forgets where he is, and neither knows nor cares why he is pleased. The eye drinks in beauty as the thirsty man the cold water, and it refreshes the soul. He sees the picture, or reads the poem, again and again, and at length sits down to give an account to a friend of that which had pleased him. Now, he wishes to state the reasons why he was pleased, and he begins to inquire what those qualities were which produced the effect. Here is the rudiment of philosophical criticism, and he goes on perhaps investigating, till he discovers those general principles of taste according to which the work was executed. As long, however, as his mind is thus occupied in analyzing, he feels no emotion of beauty or sublimity. But as this is an enticing species of logic, he may follow it till a work of art shall give him pleasure only by its conformity to certain principles, true or false, which he may have established for himself, and till he becomes a cold critic, or perhaps a reviewer by trade. He may become a mere teller in the bank of taste, to pronounce on what is genuine, and hand it over to others to be used and enjoyed. Now, a man who writes a skilful review of a work of genius, and tells us why we are or ought to be pleased, is supposed to be a man of taste; and the writing of the review is considered as an exercise of taste. This is true of taste considered as a power of judging, but not as a power of feeling. If it were so, the mass of men would be in a pitiable condition. God no more intended that the uninitiated should wait to be pleased with the beauty which they see, until its principles are analyzed, and they are told when and why they ought to be pleased, than He intended they should wait to be cheered and warmed by the rays of the sun, till they should see light decomposed into the seven colors of the prismatic image. But it is by cherishing and keeping alive these universal emotions, which belong to the race, and which find excitement everywhere, that I suppose there is a healthful effect produced on the moral character. The power of genuine philosophical criticism; the power of going back, if I may so express it, into the workshop of nature, and seeing how she mixes her colors, is a rare, a valuable and a dignified power; but it is still an exercise of the intellect, and I am not aware that it has any peculiarly favorable effect upon the moral character. Indeed, when literature and the fine arts become fashionable, and much the subject of conversation, there is a vast deal of this kind of criticism, which is fallen into from imitation and vanity, and which can have no good effect upon morals except as it supplies the place of scandal. It is not, then, in an egotistical and vain community, who read works of genius, and look at pictures, not to admire and enjoy them, but that they may themselves talk about them and be admired, that any good effect upon the moral character is to be expected from the prevalence of what they are pleased to call taste. How far this comes to be the case with communities in which taste is said to be prevalent, and morals are corrupt, I leave others to judge.

The second distinction which I would make, is that between the cultivation of a taste for the fine arts and for natural objects. This I consider a distinction of much importance on this subject; and I propose to give some reasons why the cultivation of the fine arts—as painting, sculpture, architecture, poetry—has less tendency than a taste for natural objects to improve the character. This I am bound to do; because it is well known that certain nations, as the Spartans and ancient Romans, considered a taste for the fine arts as having a tendency to corrupt morals; and some of the sterner moralists of modern times, especially religious moralists, have objected to it on the same ground. It must also be conceded that those nations, as the Greeks and Italians, among whom these arts have flourished most, have been exceedingly corrupt, and that that corruption has co-existed with an advanced state of the arts in question.

And, first, I remark, that a taste for the fine arts cannot be general in a community of any considerable extent. If we suppose such a taste, when formed, to have a tendency to improve the morals, yet how few, in a country like ours, have an opportunity to form it! The products of the arts are to be found, for the most part, only in cities; and of the inhabitants of cities, it is only those who have leisure and wealth, who are affected by them. It ought also to be observed that, as these arts do not come to perfection in the early stages of society, they cannot produce their effect till wealth and luxury have had time to work general corruption.

But I observe again that, as the power either of executing or of judging in these arts is confined to comparatively a few, it becomes a mark of distinction and a ground of ostentation, and thus there comes to be the appearance of more taste than there really is. The artist finds himself a candidate for fame and wealth through his skill, and hence his passions are aroused and his interests are involved. If successful, he is flattered, perhaps almost deified; if unsuccessful, he becomes irritable and sinks back on the proud consciousness of neglected merit. This peculiar position will account for the bad character of many artists. Those also who patronize the arts, as it is significantly termed, often do it from ostentation. What better resource has an ordinary person who has money, and who wishes to be distinguished in the fashionable world, than to become a patron of the fine arts? I knew a person who spent several thousand dollars for pictures, and who, to my certain knowledge, knew and cared nothing about them except as they affected her standing in the fashionable world. But of those who have a good degree of taste, there are few whose motives are not mixed. And then it is to be remembered, that a product of art may be viewed in many different aspects. It may be regarded as costing so much, as requiring such a frame, or to be placed in such a light, or as an ornamental piece of furniture, while there is but a single point of view in which it can be regarded as gratifying taste. The moment a picture comes to be considered as an ornament, or an article of furniture, you might as well have a looking-glass or a pier-table. It not unfrequently happens, that the owner of fine pictures thinks so much of them as ornamental or valuable, so much of their framing, or light, or preservation, that he becomes indifferent to them in the only point of view in which they are truly valuable.

But again, in order to see this point in its true light we must consider the peculiar rank which is held by the pleasures connected with the fine arts. These pleasures are addressed to the eye and to the ear, and hold a middle rank between the lower pleasures of sense on the one hand, and the higher enjoyments of the intellect and of the affections on the other; and may readily associate with, and promote either. This point is well stated by Lord Kames. It is observed by him, that "in touching, tasting, and smelling, we are sensible of the impression made upon the organ, and are led to place there the pleasant or painful feeling caused by that impression;" but that with respect to hearing and seeing, "we are insensible to the organic impression, and hence conceive the pleasures derived from these senses to be more refined and spiritual than those which seem to exist externally at the organ of sense, and which are conceived to be merely corporeal. These pleasures," says he, "being sweet and moderately exhilarating, are, in their tone, equally distant from the turbulence of passion and the languor of indolence, and by that tone are perfectly well qualified not only to revive the spirits when sunk by sensual gratification, but also to relax them when overstrained in any violent pursuit." "Organic pleasures," he observes again, "have naturally a short duration; when prolonged, they lose their relish; when indulged to excess, they beget satiety and disgust; and to restore a proper tone of mind, nothing can be more happily contrived than the exhilarating pleasures of the eye and ear." Now this is precisely the use, and all the use that many make of the fine arts, and I may add, to some extent of the beauties of nature too. How many wealthy sensualists are there in our cities who give an appearance of elevation and refinement to their low and selfish mode of life, by collecting about them specimens of the arts! These men may be best compared to that amphibious animal, the frog. They come up occasionally from that lower element in which they live, into a region of light and beauty, but no sooner are they a little refreshed than they plunge again into the mud of sensual gratification. It is men like these, who, when their capacity for the lower pleasures is exhausted, drive in their carriages about the cities of the old world (perhaps we are not yet sufficiently corrupt,) and set up to be virtuosi. It is easy to see how such a taste must bear upon morals.

But I remark once more, that the fine arts may be made to pander directly to vice. From the middle rank which the pleasures derived from them hold, they readily associate, as has been said, both with the higher and the lower. Thus, music may quicken the devotions of a seraph, and lend its strains to cheer the carousals of the bacchanal; and poetry, painting and sculpture, while they have power to elevate, and charm, and purify the mind, may be made direct stimulants to the vilest and lowest passions. It is indeed from this quarter that we are to look for danger from the prevalence of these arts. It was thus that they corrupted the ancient cities; and those who have seen the abominable statuary dug from the ruins of Herculaneum and Pompeii, do not wonder that they were buried under a sea of fire. The same process of corruption through these arts has gone to a fearful extent on the eastern continent, and has commenced in this country. Clothed in this garment of light, vice finds access where it otherwise could not. Under the pretence of promoting the fine arts, modesty is cast aside, and indecent pictures are exhibited, and respectable people go to see them. If I might utter a word of warning to the young, it would be to beware of vice dressed in the garments of taste. The beauties of nature are capable of no such perversion. All the associations connected with them tend to elevate and to purify the mind. No case can be adduced in which a taste for gardening or for natural objects has corrupted a people. While, therefore, I believe that the cultivation of the arts, in their genuine spirit of beauty and of purity, has a tendency to improve the character, it would appear that they are greatly liable to abuse, and that they have been extensively abused.