In the remoter past, the name Rose Hawthorne conjured up an unwritten chapter in The Angel and the Machine, the book that grew out of the doctoral dissertation I wrote on Nathaniel Hawthorne’s rational psychology during the winter and spring of 1978. Hawthorne was an acute observer and a man of exquisite sensibility whose life was dedicated to the pursuit of beauty in what he observed and what he created. I had to wait almost 50 years to finish the book I started in the 1970s because I didn’t know then that the artist could often portray what the philosopher cannot explain and could not know how that category of thought explicated Hawthorne’s life until I had written The Dangers of Beauty.