94. The Beautiful vs. The Grotesque -- "The Sense of Beauty" by George Santayana, 1896

Selections

from

"The Sense

of Beauty:
Being
the Outline
of
Aesthetic Theory"
 
by
George Santayana,
1896,
 
Collier Books,
New York,
1961,
pages 173 -- 176.
 
 
HUMOR
 
A different mood
can give
a different
direction
to
the same processes.
 
The Sympathy
by which
we
reproduce
the feeling
of another,
is always
very much opposed
to
the Aesthetic Attitude
to which
the whole world
is
merely
a stimulus
to
our Sensibility.
 
In
the Tragic,
we
have seen how
the
Sympathetic Feeling,
by which
suffering
is
appreciated
and
shared,
has to be
overlaid
by
many incidental
Aesthetic Pleasures,
if
the resulting effect
is to be
on the whole
Good.
 
We
have also seen
how
the only way
in which
the Ridiculous
can be
kept within
the sphere
of
the Aesthetically Good
is
abstracting it
from
its relations,
and
treating it
as
an
independent and curious
stimulus;
we
should
stop laughing
and
begin to be
annoyed
if we tried
to make sense
out of
our Absurdity.
 
The less Sympathy
we have
with men
the more exquisite is
our Enjoyment
of their Folly:
Satirical delight
is
closely akin
to Cruelty.
 
Defect and mishap
stimulate
our fancy,
as
blood and tortures
excite in us
the passions
of
the beast of prey.
 
The more
this
Inhuman Attitude
yields to
Sympathy and Reason,
the less
are Folly and Error
capable
of amusing us.
 
It would
therefore
seem impossible
that
we should be
pleased
by
the foibles
or absurdities
of
those
we love.
 
And
in fact
we never enjoy
seeing
our own persons
in
a Satirical light,
or
anyone else
for whom
we really
feel affection.
 
Even
in Farces,
the
Hero and Heroine
are
seldom made
Ridiculous,
because
that would
jar upon
the Sympathy
with which
we
are expected
to regard them.
 
Nevertheless,
the essence
of what we call
Humor
is that
amusing weaknesses
should
be combined
with
an amicable Humanity.
 
Whether it
be
in the way
of ingenuity,
or oddity,
or drollery,
the Humorous person
must have
an
absurd side,
or
be placed in
an
absurd situation.
 
Yet this
Comic aspect,
at which
we
ought to wince,
seems to
endear the Character
all the more.
 
This is
a parallel case
to that
of Tragedy,
where
the depth
of the woe
we sympathize with
seems to
add
to
our satisfaction.
 
And
the explanation
of the paradox
is
the same.
 
We
do not enjoy
the expression
of Evil,
but only
the pleasant excitements
that
come with it;
namely,
the Physical Stimulus
and
the expression
of Good.
 
In Tragedy,
the misfortunes
help
to give
the impression
of Truth,
and
to bring out
the Noble qualities
of
the Hero,
but are
in themselves
depressing,
so much so
that
over-sensitive people
cannot enjoy
the Beauty
of the representation.
 
So also
in Humor,
the painful
suggestions
are
felt as such,
and
need to be
overbalanced
by
agreeable elements.
 
These come
from
both directions,
from
the Aesthetic
and
the Sympathetic
reaction.
 
On
the one hand,
there is
the Sensuous
and
merely Perceptive
Stimulation,
the Novelty,
the Movement,
the Vivacity
of the Spectacle.
 
On
the other hand,
there is
the Luxury
of
imaginative Sympathy,
the
mental
assimilation
of another
congenial experience,
the
expansion
into
another life.
 
The juxtaposition
of these
two Pleasures
produces
just that Tension
and Complication
in which
the Humorous
consists.
 
We
are satirical,
and
we
are friendly
at
the same time.
 
The consciousness
of the Friendship
gives
a regretful
and tender touch
to
the Satire,
and
the sting
of the Satire
makes
the friendship
a trifle
humble and sad.
 
Don Quixote
is mad;
he is
old,
useless,
and
ridiculous,
but
he is
the Soul of Honor,
and
in all his
laughable adventures
we follow him
like
the ghost
of
our better selves.
 
We enjoy
his discomfitures
too much
to wish
he had been
a perfect Amadis;
and
we have
besides
a shrewd suspicion
that he is
the only kind
of Amadis
there
can ever be
in this world.
 
At
the same time
it does us
good
to see
the courage
of his Idealism,
the ingenuity
of his Wit,
and
the simplicity
of
his Goodness.
 
But
how shall we
reconcile
our Sympathy
with his Dream
and
our perception
of its Absurdity?
 
The situation
is
contradictory.
 
We
are drawn to
some
different
point of view,
from which
the
Comedy
may
no longer seem
so amusing.
 
As Humor
becomes
deep
and
really
different
from
Satire,
it changes
into
Pathos,
and
passes out
of
the sphere
of
the Comic
altogether.
 
These
mis-chances
that were
to
amuse us
as scoffers
now
grieve us
as men,
and
the Value
of
the representation
depends on
the touches
of
Beauty
and
Seriousness
with which
it is
adorned.
 
 
THE GROTESQUE

Something

analogous
to Humor
can appear
in
plastic forms,
when
we call it
the Grotesque.
 
This is
an interesting
effect
produced by
such
a transformation
of
an Ideal Type
as
exaggerates
one of its elements
or
combines it
with
other Types.
 
The real
excellence
of this,
like that
of all Fiction,
consists
in re-creation;
in
the formation
of
a thing
which Nature
has not,
but
might
conceivably
have offered.
 
We call these
inventions
Comic and Grotesque
when
we are considering
their
divergence
from the Natural
rather than
their
inward possibility.
 
But
the latter
constitutes
their real charm;
and
the
more we study
and
develop them,
the better
we
understand it.
 
The incongruity
with
the Conventional Type
then
disappears,
and
what was
Impossible
and Ridiculous
at first
takes its
place
among
recognized Ideals.
 
The Centaur
and
the Satyr
are no longer
Grotesque;
the Type
is
accepted.
 
And
the Grotesqueness
of
an Individual
has essentially
the
same Nature.
 
If we
like
the
inward Harmony,
the
characteristic balance
of
his features,
we
are able
to disengage
this Individual
from
the Class
into which
we were trying
to
force him;
we
can forget
the expectation
which
he
was going
to
disappoint.
 
The Ugliness
then
disappears,
and
only
the reassertion
of the
Old Habit
and
Demand
can
make us
regard him
as
in
any way
extravagant.
 
What
appears
as
Grotesque
may be
intrinsically
inferior
or
superior
to
the Normal.
 
That is
a question
of its
abstract
material
and
Form.
 
But
until
the new object
impresses
its Form
on
our imagination,
so that we
can grasp
its Unity
and Proportion,
it
appears to us
as
a jumble
and
distortion
of
other Forms.
 
If this
confusion
is
absolute,
the object
is simply
null;
it does not
exist
Aesthetically,
except
by virtue
of materials.
 
But
if
the confusion
is
not absolute,
and
we have
an inkling
of the
Unity and Character
in the midst
of
the Strangeness
of
the Form,
then
we have
the Grotesque.
 
It is
the half-formed,
the perplexed,
and the
suggestively monstrous.
 
The analogy
to
the Comic
is very close,
as we can
readily conceive
that
it should be.
 
In
the Comic
we have
this same
juxtaposition
of
a New
and
an Old Idea,
and
if
the New
is not futile
and
really inconceivable,
it may
in time
establish itself
in
the Mind,
and
cease
to be
Ludicrous.
 
Good Wit
is
novel Truth,
as
the Good
Grotesque
is
novel Beauty.
 
But
there are
Natural conditions
of
organization,
and
we
must not
mistake
every mutilation
for
the creation
of
a new Form.
 
The tendency
of Nature
to
establish
well-marked Species
of animals
shows
what various
combinations
are
most stable
in
the face
of Physical forces,
and
there is
a fitness also
for survival
in the Mind,
which
is determined
by
the relation
of
any Form
to our
fixed method
of perception.

New things

are
therefore
generally
Bad
because,
as
has been
well said,
they are
incapable
of
becoming Old.
 
A thousand
Originalities
are
produced
by
defect of faculty,
for
one
that
is produced
by Genius.
 
For
in
the pursuit
of Beauty,
as
in that
of Truth,
an infinite number
of paths
lead
to
Failure,
and
only one
to
Success.
 
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