But though I may thus dispose of the general objection from the co-existence in many cases of refinement in the arts and corrupt morals, yet this, I think, will not fully meet the objection which first arose in the minds of some, from those numerous individual instances in which men have been eminent for taste and genius, and at the same time corrupt. What, you have been ready to say, do you make of such a case as that of Byron? Now I would here make an inquiry, how far, and in what sense, those productions of genius which have a corrupt tendency are really consistent with good taste. Take the Don Juan of Byron for instance. To say nothing of principle, such a work certainly is not compatible with a correct moral taste. That it is in some sense, however, a work of taste, cannot be denied; but it seems to me to be only as a splendid palace, built in a low and fetid morass, is a work of taste. The palace may be beautiful, but it was in bad taste to set it there. Particular rooms may be elegantly furnished, but still there comes up from the surrounding marsh a pestilential miasm, and it may be said of the atmosphere around it, as was said of that around New Orleans a few autumns since, that "all is beauty and all is death." So far therefore as these works have a corrupt tendency, they cannot be said to be in the highest sense consistent with good taste. But still it is said that corrupt men have produced works of the highest genius and of the best taste that have had no such tendency. This is granted, but it is to be accounted for from the fact that men of genius are often men of strong passions and of wayward and unbalanced minds, and from the peculiar temptations in which, as I have already said, they are placed. Taste seems to me to be, to such men, what the music of David was to Saul,—it charms away the evil spirit, but it is only for a time.
But we now pass to the third distinction which was to be made, and that is, between a true taste for natural objects and the fine arts, and what is called taste in the world of fashion. The point of distinction to which I would draw your attention is well stated by Stewart. "It is obvious," says he, "that the circumstances which please in the objects of taste are of two kinds: first, those which are fitted to please by nature, or by associations which all mankind are led to form by their common condition; and secondly, those which please in consequence of associations arising from local and accidental circumstances. Hence there are two kinds of taste; the one enabling us to judge of those beauties which have a foundation in the human constitution; the other, of such objects as derive their principal recommendation from the influence of fashion. These two kinds of taste are not always united in the same person; indeed, I am inclined to think that they are united but rarely. The perfection of the one depends much on the degree in which we are able to free the mind from the influence of casual associations; that of the other, on the contrary, depends on a faculty of association which enables us to fall in at once with all the turns of the fashion, and, as Shakspeare expresses it, to catch the tune of the times." Association is the sole foundation of the value which we put upon some articles, and of the beauty which we find in others. Thus, a lock of hair, valueless in itself, may, from associations connected with it, have a value which money cannot measure; and articles of dress, which would otherwise be to us indifferent, or odious, become beautiful by their association with those persons whom we have been accustomed to consider as models of elegance. It is indeed astonishing what an effect this principle will have upon our feelings; and from looking too exclusively at facts connected with it, some have been led to doubt whether there is any such thing as a permanent principle of taste. It would really seem, that, within the bounds of comfort and decency, both of which are often outraged by fashion, one mode of dress may come to be as becoming as another. The wigs, the knee-buckles, the small-clothes, the long-skirts and cocked-hats of our grandfathers, were as becoming then, as is now the dress of the present day. Says Sir Joshua Reynolds, "If an European, when he has cut off his beard, and put false hair on his head, or bound up his own natural hair in regular hard knots, as unlike nature as he can possibly make it, and after having rendered them immovable by the help of the fat of hogs, has covered the whole with flour, laid on by a machine with the utmost regularity; if, when thus attired, he issues forth and meets a Cherokee Indian, who has bestowed as much time at his toilet, and laid on, with equal care and attention, his yellow and red ochre on particular parts of his forehead or cheeks, as he judges most becoming; whoever of these two despises the other for his attention to the fashion of his country; whichever feels himself provoked to laugh, is the barbarian." Good taste with respect to the fashions, then, would seem to consist, not in following them, or in paying them attention, except so far as to avoid attracting notice in any way by dress; for it is a strong indication, when a person seeks notice from that, that there is about him little else that is worthy of notice. The foundation of taste in the fashions, however, being what I have now stated, it is obvious that a quick perception of their ever-varying changes and a ready and careful accommodation to them, can belong, whether in man or woman, only to a mind essentially frivolous; and that such a taste, if not absolutely incompatible with a perception of all that is permanently grand and beautiful in the works of God, is yet seldom connected with it. Such a taste must, of course, rather injure than promote good morals.
I have now considered taste as exercised indifferently upon any objects within its appropriate province. It still remains that I should say something, which I propose to do in another Lecture, on Moral Taste, or on taste having moral actions for its object.
It was observed on a former occasion, that material objects produce their effect upon taste chiefly as signs; but it is the opinion of Mr. Alison, of Mr. Jeffries, and others of high authority on this point, that it is solely as signs—solely as suggesting intellectual and moral qualities—that they have an effect. It is quite evident that mere matter in a chaotic state, or in any state which is not either produced by mind or such as mind would produce, cannot be beautiful; and hence it is said that it can be beautiful only as a means of indicating qualities that do not belong to itself.
The great difficulty which this theory has to encounter arises from the apparent instantaneousness with which the emotion seems to arise when a beautiful object is presented. But this is not a conclusive objection, because emotions which can arise only from association seem to come in the same way. How instantaneous, for instance, are the emotions that throng up when he who has been long on a foreign shore sees, for the first time, the stars and stripes of his country's flag as it enters the port where he is;—and yet, these emotions can be awakened by it only as a link of association with scenes that are past, or as a sign of his country's presence and protection. I have heard the rainbow adduced as an instance of an object which produces the emotion of beauty without a reference to any thing beyond itself. But what was the impression made by it more than two thousand years ago, upon the mind of one who had no theory to maintain?—"Look upon the rainbow," says he, "and praise Him that made it: very beautiful it is in the brightness thereof. It compasseth the heavens about with a glorious circle, and the hands of the Most High have bended it." How apparently instantaneous, yet how different, are our emotions when looking at the cheek flushed by the bloom of health, or suffused by the blush of shame, or reddened by anger, or wearing that hectic flush which is the flag of distress held out by nature when she is sinking in consumption!—And yet no one can doubt, if these indications were reversed, that the emotions would be reversed also. It is conceded by all, that it is the expression, the indication of mental and moral qualities, that gives its highest beauty to the human countenance. There are no features which may not be so lighted up with noble or tender emotion as to be beautiful. But is there, it will be asked, no beauty in any combination of features, or of matter, except as connected with expression? I am inclined to think there is what may be called an instinctive beauty on the perception of certain colors and forms; but it is of little value compared with that of which a rational and reflective being can give an account to himself. Even this, however, presupposes the action of mind upon matter, though that action is not recognized by us as the cause of our emotion. It is therefore still true that, as the beauty of the early morning is produced solely by a reflexion from the sun while he is still below the horizon, so the beauty of matter is wholly a reflexion from that great central orb of mind which has never yet beamed upon the eye of man in its direct effulgence—that, to him who views it aright, the beauty of this world is but the morning twilight of heaven.
But, however this question may be decided, the fact that it can be made a question at all, shows how largely moral ideas and emotions enter into the province of taste, and the intimate connexion there is between taste and morals. What is called moral taste is, in fact, discriminated from taste in general, only as it has the moral actions of free and intelligent agents for its object. When we look at a moral action, there is a plain difference between our perception of it as right, and our perception of it as beautiful. In one case there arises the feeling of approbation, in the other of admiration, which are entirely distinct, and may exist in very different proportions.
It is, indeed, not always easy to distinguish the point at which approbation and admiration run into each other; and in treating of this subject, I shall first say a few words of that border-ground between taste and morals where the dividing line seems to be unsettled. Where, for example, shall we place that feeling which we have in view of the manner of doing a thing, in distinction from the thing done? Is that feeling merely the result of taste, or are there mingled with it some elements of moral approbation or disapprobation? Where will you place a mean action in distinction from a dishonest one? I have heard it disputed whether neatness is a virtue, a matter of moral obligation, or merely a requisition of taste. Is a man under moral obligation to be neat in his person? It is along this dividing line that all those actions lie which relate to the proprieties and courtesies of life—all those smaller attentions to the convenience and comfort of others, and that delicate regard to their feelings, which have been designated by the French as the smaller morals.