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diff --git a/26842.txt b/26842.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b12236d --- /dev/null +++ b/26842.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7787 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Sense of Beauty, by George Santayana + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Sense of Beauty + Being the Outlines of Aesthetic Theory + +Author: George Santayana + +Release Date: October 8, 2008 [EBook #26842] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SENSE OF BEAUTY *** + + + + +Produced by Ruth Hart + + + + +[Note: for this online edition I have moved the Table of Contents +to the beginning of the text and slightly modified it to conform +with the online format. I have also made one spelling change: +"ominiscient intelligence" to "omniscient intelligence".] + + + +THE SENSE OF BEAUTY + +BEING THE OUTLINES OF AESTHETIC THEORY + +by + +GEORGE SANTAYANA + + +CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS +NEW YORK CHICAGO BOSTON + + +COPYRIGHT, 1896, BY +CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS + + +Printed in the United States of America + + +CONTENTS + +Preface +Introduction -- The Methods of Aesthetics 1-13 + +Part I. -- The Nature of Beauty +Sec. 1. The philosophy of beauty is a theory of values 14 +Sec. 2. Preference is ultimately irrational 18 +Sec. 3. Contrast between moral and aesthetic values 28 +Sec. 4. Work and play 25 +Sec. 5. All values are in one sense aesthetic 28 +Sec. 6. Aesthetic consecration of general principles 31 +Sec. 7. Contrast of aesthetic and physical pleasures 35 +Sec. 8. The differentia of aesthetic pleasure not its disinterestedness 37 +Sec. 9. The differentia of aesthetic pleasure not its universality 40 +Sec. 10. The differential of aesthetic pleasure: its objectification 44 +Sec. 11. The definition of beauty 49 + +Part II. -- The Materials of Beauty +Sec. 12. All human functions may contribute to the sense of beauty 53 +Sec. 13. The influence of the passion of love 56 +Sec. 14. Social instincts and their aesthetic influence 62 +Sec. 15. The lower senses 65 +Sec. 16. Sound 68 +Sec. 17. Colour 72 +Sec. 18. Materials surveyed 76 + +Part III. -- Form +Sec. 19. There is a beauty of form 82 +Sec. 20. Physiology of the perception of form 85 +Sec. 21. Values of geometrical figures 88 +Sec. 22. Symmetry 91 +Sec. 23. Form the unity of a manifold 95 +Sec. 24. Multiplicity in uniformity 97 +Sec. 25. Example of the stars 100 +Sec. 26. Defects of pure multiplicity 106 +Sec. 27. Aesthetics of democracy 110 +Sec. 28. Values of types and values of examples 112 +Sec. 29. Origin of types 116 +Sec. 30. The average modified in the direction of pleasure 121 +Sec. 31. Are all things beautiful? 126 +Sec. 32. Effects of indeterminate form 131 +Sec. 33. Example of landscape 133 +Sec. 34. Extensions to objects usually not regarded aesthetically 138 +Sec. 35. Further dangers of indeterminateness 142 +Sec. 36. The illusion of infinite perfection 146 +Sec. 37. Organized nature the source of apperceptive forms 152 +Sec. 38. Utility the principle of organization in nature 155 +Sec. 39. The relation of utility to beauty 157 +Sec. 40. Utility the principle of organization in the arts 160 +Sec. 41. Form and adventitious ornament 163 +Sec. 42. Syntactical form 167 +Sec. 42. Literary form. The plot 171 +Sec. 44. Character as an aesthetic form 174 +Sec. 45. Ideal characters 176 +Sec. 46. The religious imagination 180 +Sec. 47. Preference is ultimately irrational 185 + +Part IV. -- Expression +Sec. 48. Expression defined 192 +Sec. 49. The associative process 198 +Sec. 50. Kinds of value in the second term 201 +Sec. 51. Aesthetic value in the second term 205 +Sec. 52. Practical value in the same 208 +Sec. 53. Cost as an element of effect 211 +Sec. 54. The expression of economy and fitness 214 +Sec. 55. The authority of morals over aesthetics 218 +Sec. 56. Negative values in the second term 221 +Sec. 57. Influence of the first term in the pleasing expression of evil 226 +Sec. 58. Mixture of other expressions, including that of truth 228 +Sec. 59. The liberation of self 233 +Sec. 60. The sublime independent of the expression of evil 239 +Sec. 61. The comic 245 +Sec. 62. Wit 250 +Sec. 63. Humour 253 +Sec. 64. The grotesque 256 +Sec. 65. The possibility of finite perfection 258 +Sec. 66. The stability of the ideal 263 + +Sec. 67. Conclusion 266-270 +Footnotes +Index 271-275 + + + +PREFACE + +This little work contains the chief ideas gathered together for a +course of lectures on the theory and history of aesthetics given at +Harvard College from 1892 to 1895. The only originality I can +claim is that which may result from the attempt to put together the +scattered commonplaces of criticism into a system, under the +inspiration of a naturalistic psychology. I have studied sincerity +rather than novelty, and if any subject, as for instance the +excellence of tragedy, is presented in a new light, the change +consists only in the stricter application to a complex subject of the +principles acknowledged to obtain in our simple judgments. My +effort throughout has been to recall those fundamental aesthetic +feelings the orderly extension of which yields sanity of judgment +and distinction of taste. + +The influences under which the book has been written are rather +too general and pervasive to admit of specification; yet the student +of philosophy will not fail to perceive how much I owe to writers, +both living and dead, to whom no honour could be added by my +acknowledgments. I have usually omitted any reference to them in +foot-notes or in the text, in order that the air of controversy might +be avoided, and the reader might be enabled to compare what is +said more directly with the reality of his own experience. + + G. S. + September, 1906. + + +INTRODUCTION + +The sense of beauty has a more important place in life than +aesthetic theory has ever taken in philosophy. The plastic arts, with +poetry and music, are the most conspicuous monuments of this +human interest, because they appeal only to contemplation, and yet +have attracted to their service, in all civilized ages, an amount of +effort, genius, and honour, little inferior to that given to industry, +war, or religion. The fine arts, however, where aesthetic feeling +appears almost pure, are by no means the only sphere in which +men show their susceptibility to beauty. In all products of human +industry we notice the keenness with which the eye is attracted to +the mere appearance of things: great sacrifices of time and labour +are made to it in the most vulgar manufactures; nor does man +select his dwelling, his clothes, or his companions without +reference to their effect on his aesthetic senses. Of late we have +even learned that the forms of many animals are due to the survival +by sexual selection of the colours and forms most attractive to the +eye. There must therefore be in our nature a very radical and +wide-spread tendency to observe beauty, and to value it. No account of +the principles of the mind can be at all adequate that passes over so +conspicuous a faculty. + +That aesthetic theory has received so little attention from the world +is not due to the unimportance of the subject of which it treats, but +rather to lack of an adequate motive for speculating upon it, and to +the small success of the occasional efforts to deal with it. Absolute +curiosity, and love of comprehension for its own sake, are not +passions we have much leisure to indulge: they require not only +freedom from affairs but, what is more rare, freedom from +prepossessions and from the hatred of all ideas that do not make +for the habitual goal of our thought. + +Now, what has chiefly maintained such speculation as the world +has seen has been either theological passion or practical use. All +we find, for example, written about beauty may be divided into +two groups: that group of writings in which philosophers have +interpreted aesthetic facts in the light of their metaphysical +principles, and made of their theory of taste a corollary or footnote +to their systems; and that group in which artists and critics have +ventured into philosophic ground, by generalizing somewhat the +maxims of the craft or the comments of the sensitive observer. A +treatment of the subject at once direct and theoretic has been very +rare: the problems of nature and morals have attracted the +reasoners, and the description and creation of beauty have +absorbed the artists; between the two reflection upon aesthetic +experience has remained abortive or incoherent. + +A circumstance that has also contributed to the absence or to the +failure of aesthetic speculation is the subjectivity of the +phenomenon with which it deals. Man has a prejudice against +himself: anything which is a product of his mind seems to him to +be unreal or comparatively insignificant. We are satisfied +only when we fancy ourselves surrounded by objects and laws +independent of our nature. The ancients long speculated about the +constitution of the universe before they became aware of that mind +which is the instrument of all speculation. The moderns, also, even +within the field of psychology, have studied first the function of +perception and the theory of knowledge, by which we seem to be +informed about external things; they have in comparison neglected +the exclusively subjective and human department of imagination +and emotion. We have still to recognize in practice the truth that +from these despised feelings of ours the great world of perception +derives all its value, if not also its existence. Things are interesting +because we care about them, and important because we need them. +Had our perceptions no connexion with our pleasures, we should +soon close our eyes on this world; if our intelligence were of no +service to our passions, we should come to doubt, in the lazy +freedom of reverie, whether two and two make four. + +Yet so strong is the popular sense of the unworthiness and +insignificance of things purely emotional, that those who have +taken moral problems to heart and felt their dignity have often +been led into attempts to discover some external right and beauty +of which, our moral and aesthetic feelings should be perceptions or +discoveries, just as our intellectual activity is, in men's opinion, a +perception or discovery of external fact. These philosophers seem +to feel that unless moral and aesthetic judgments are expressions of +objective truth, and not merely expressions of human nature, they +stand condemned of hopeless triviality. A judgment is not trivial, +however, because it rests on human feelings; on the contrary, +triviality consists in abstraction from human interests; only those +judgments and opinions are truly insignificant which wander +beyond the reach of verification, and have no function in the +ordering and enriching of life. + +Both ethics and aesthetics have suffered much from the prejudice +against the subjective. They have not suffered more because both +have a subject-matter which is partly objective. Ethics deals with +conduct as much as with emotion, and therefore considers the +causes of events and their consequences as well as our judgments +of their value. Esthetics also is apt to include the history and +philosophy of art, and to add much descriptive and critical matter +to the theory of our susceptibility to beauty. A certain confusion is +thereby introduced into these inquiries, but at the same time the +discussion is enlivened by excursions into neighbouring provinces, +perhaps more interesting to the general reader. + +We may, however, distinguish three distinct elements of ethics and +aesthetics, and three different ways of approaching the subject. The +first is the exercise of the moral or aesthetic faculty itself, the +actual pronouncing of judgment and giving of praise, blame, and +precept. This is not a matter of science but of character, enthusiasm, +niceness of perception, and fineness of emotion. It is aesthetic or +moral activity, while ethics and aesthetics, as sciences, are +intellectual activities, having that aesthetic or moral activity for +their subject-matter. + +The second method consists in the historical explanation of +conduct or of art as a part of anthropology, and seeks to discover +the conditions of various types of character, forms of polity, +conceptions of justice, and schools of criticism and of art. Of this +nature is a great deal of what has been written on aesthetics. The +philosophy of art has often proved a more tempting subject than +the psychology of taste, especially to minds which were not so +much fascinated by beauty itself as by the curious problem of the +artistic instinct in man and of the diversity of its manifestations in +history. + +The third method in ethics and aesthetics is psychological, as the +other two are respectively didactic and historical. It deals with +moral and aesthetic judgments as phenomena of mind and products +of mental evolution. The problem here is to understand the origin +and conditions of these feelings and their relation to the rest of our +economy. Such an inquiry, if pursued successfully, would yield an +understanding of the reason why we think anything right or +beautiful, wrong or ugly, it would thus reveal the roots of +conscience and taste in human nature and enable us to distinguish +transitory preferences and ideals, which rest on peculiar conditions, +from those which, springing from those elements of mind which all +men share, are comparatively permanent and universal. + +To this inquiry, as far as it concerns aesthetics, the following pages +are devoted. No attempt will be made either to impose particular +appreciations or to trace the history of art and criticism. The +discussion will be limited to the nature and elements of our +aesthetic judgments. It is a theoretical inquiry and has no directly +hortatory quality. Yet insight into the basis of our preferences, if it +could be gained, would not fail to have a good and purifying +influence upon them. It would show us the futility of a dogmatism +that would impose upon another man judgments and emotions for +which the needed soil is lacking in his constitution and experience; +and at the same time it would relieve us of any undue diffidence or +excessive tolerance towards aberrations of taste, when we know +what are the broader grounds of preference and the habits that +make for greater and more diversified aesthetic enjoyment. + +Therefore, although nothing has commonly been less attractive +than treatises on beauty or less a guide to taste than disquisitions +upon it, we may yet hope for some not merely theoretical gain +from these studies. They have remained so often without practical +influence because they have been pursued under unfavourable +conditions. The writers have generally been audacious metaphysicians +and somewhat incompetent critics; they have represented +general and obscure principles, suggested by other parts +of their philosophy, as the conditions of artistic excellence +and the essence of beauty. But if the inquiry is kept close to the +facts of feeling, we may hope that the resulting theory may have a +clarifying effect on the experience on which it is based. That is, +after all, the use of theory. If when a theory is bad it narrows our +capacity for observation and makes all appreciation vicarious and +formal, when it is good it reacts favourably upon our powers, +guides the attention to what is really capable of affording +entertainment, and increases, by force of new analogies, the range +of our interests. Speculation is an evil if it imposes a foreign +organization on our mental life; it is a good if it only brings to light, +and makes more perfect by training, the organization already +inherent in it. + +We shall therefore study human sensibility itself and our actual +feelings about beauty, and we shall look for no deeper, +unconscious causes of our aesthetic consciousness. Such value as +belongs to metaphysical derivations of the nature of the beautiful, +comes to them not because they explain our primary feelings, +which they cannot do, but because they express, and in fact +constitute, some of our later appreciations. There is no explanation, +for instance, in calling beauty an adumbration of divine attributes. +Such a relation, if it were actual, would not help us at all to +understand why the symbols of divinity pleased. But in certain +moments of contemplation, when much emotional experience lies +behind us, and we have reached very general ideas both of nature +and of life, our delight in any particular object may consist in +nothing but the thought that this object is a manifestation of +universal principles. The blue sky may come to please chiefly +because it seems the image of a serene conscience, or of the eternal +youth and purity of nature after a thousand partial corruptions. But +this expressiveness of the sky is due to certain qualities of the +sensation, which bind it to all things happy and pure, and, in a +mind in which the essence of purity and happiness is embodied in +an idea of God, bind it also to that idea. + +So it may happen that the most arbitrary and unreal theories, which +must be rejected as general explanations of aesthetic life, may be +reinstated as particular moments of it. Those intuitions which we +call Platonic are seldom scientific, they seldom explain the +phenomena or hit upon the actual law of things, but they are often +the highest expression of that activity which they fail to make +comprehensible. The adoring lover cannot understand the natural +history of love; for he is all in all at the last and supreme stage of +its development. Hence the world has always been puzzled in its +judgment of the Platonists; their theories are so extravagant, yet +their wisdom seems so great. Platonism is a very refined and +beautiful expression of our natural instincts, it embodies +conscience and utters our inmost hopes. Platonic philosophers have +therefore a natural authority, as standing on heights to which +the vulgar cannot attain, but to which they naturally and +half-consciously aspire. + +When a man tells you that beauty is the manifestation of God to +the senses, you wish you might understand him, you grope for a +deep truth in his obscurity, you honour him for his elevation of +mind, and your respect may even induce you to assent to what he +says as to an intelligible proposition. Your thought may in +consequence be dominated ever after by a verbal dogma, around +which all your sympathies and antipathies will quickly gather, and +the less you have penetrated the original sense of your creed, the +more absolutely will you believe it. You will have followed +Mephistopheles' advice: -- + + Im ganzen haltet euch an Worte, + So geht euch durch die sichere Pforte + Zum Tempel der Gewissheit ein. + +Yet reflection might have shown you that the word of the master +held no objective account of the nature and origin of beauty, but +was the vague expression of his highly complex emotions. + +It is one of the attributes of God, one of the perfections which we +contemplate in our idea of him, that there is no duality or +opposition between his will and his vision, between the impulses +of his nature and the events of his life. This is what we commonly +designate as omnipotence and creation. Now, in the contemplation +of beauty, our faculties of perception have the same perfection: it is +indeed from the experience of beauty and happiness, from the +occasional harmony between our nature and our environment, that +we draw our conception of the divine life. There is, then, a real +propriety in calling beauty a manifestation of God to the senses, +since, in the region of sense, the perception of beauty exemplifies +that adequacy and perfection which in general we objectify in an +idea of God. + +But the minds that dwell in the atmosphere of these analogies are +hardly those that will care to ask what are the conditions and the +varieties of this perfection of function, in other words, how it +comes about that we perceive beauty at all, or have any inkling of +divinity. Only the other philosophers, those that wallow in +Epicurus' sty, know anything about the latter question. But it is +easier to be impressed than to be instructed, and the public is very +ready to believe that where there is noble language not +without obscurity there must be profound knowledge. We should +distinguish, however, the two distinct demands in the case. One is +for comprehension; we look for the theory of a human function +which must cover all possible cases of its exercise, whether noble +or base. This the Platonists utterly fail to give us. The other +demand is for inspiration; we wish to be nourished by the maxims +and confessions of an exalted mind, in whom the aesthetic function +is pre-eminent. By responding to this demand the same thinkers +may win our admiration. + +To feel beauty is a better thing than to understand how we come to +feel it. To have imagination and taste, to love the best, to be carried +by the contemplation of nature to a vivid faith in the ideal, all this +is more, a great deal more, than any science can hope to be. The +poets and philosophers who express this aesthetic experience and +stimulate the same function in us by their example, do a greater +service to mankind and deserve higher honour than the discoverers +of historical truth. Reflection is indeed a part of life, but the last +part. Its specific value consists in the satisfaction of curiosity, in +the smoothing out and explanation of things: but the greatest +pleasure which we actually get from reflection is borrowed from +the experience on which we reflect. We do not often indulge in +retrospect for the sake of a scientific knowledge of human life, but +rather to revive the memories of what once was dear. And I should +have little hope of interesting the reader in the present analyses, did +I not rely on the attractions of a subject associated with so many of +his pleasures. + +But the recognition of the superiority of aesthetics in experience to +aesthetics in theory ought not to make us accept as an explanation +of aesthetic feeling what is in truth only an expression of it. When +Plato tells us of the eternal ideas in conformity to which all +excellence consists, he is making himself the spokesman of the +moral consciousness. Our conscience and taste establish these +ideals; to make a judgment is virtually to establish an ideal, and all +ideals are absolute and eternal for the judgment that involves them, +because in finding and declaring a thing good or beautiful, our +sentence is categorical, and the standard evoked by our judgment is +for that case intrinsic and ultimate. But at the next moment, when +the mind is on another footing, a new ideal is evoked, no less +absolute for the present judgment than the old ideal was for the +previous one. If we are then expressing our feeling and confessing +what happens to us when we judge, we shall be quite right in +saying that we have always an absolute ideal before us, and that +value lies in conformity with that ideal. So, also, if we try to define +that ideal, we shall hardly be able to say of it anything less noble +and more definite than that it is the embodiment of an infinite good. +For it is that incommunicable and illusive excellence that haunts +every beautiful thing, and + + like a star + Beacons from the abode where the eternal are. + +For the expression of this experience we should go to the poets, to +the more inspired critics, and best of all to the immortal parables of +Plato. But if what we desire is to increase our knowledge rather +than to cultivate our sensibility, we should do well to close all +those delightful books; for we shall not find any instruction there +upon the questions which most press upon us; namely, how an +ideal is formed in the mind, how a given object is compared with it, +what is the common element in all beautiful things, and what the +substance of the absolute ideal in which all ideals tend to be lost; +and, finally, how we come to be sensitive to beauty at all, or to +value it. These questions must be capable of answers, if any +science of human nature is really possible. -- So far, then, are we +from ignoring the insight of the Platonists, that we hope to explain +it, and in a sense to justify it, by showing that it is the natural and +sometimes the supreme expression of the common principles of +our nature. + + +PART I + +THE NATURE OF BEAUTY + +_The philosophy of beauty is a theory of values._ + +Sec. 1. It would be easy to find a definition of beauty that should give +in a few words a telling paraphrase of the word. We know on +excellent authority that beauty is truth, that it is the expression of +the ideal, the symbol of divine perfection, and the sensible +manifestation of the good. A litany of these titles of honour might +easily be compiled, and repeated in praise of our divinity. Such +phrases stimulate thought and give us a momentary pleasure, but +they hardly bring any permanent enlightenment. A definition that +should really define must be nothing less than the exposition of the +origin, place, and elements of beauty as an object of human +experience. We must learn from it, as far as possible, why, when, +and how beauty appears, what conditions an object must fulfil to +be beautiful, what elements of our nature make us sensible of +beauty, and what the relation is between the constitution of the +object and the excitement of our susceptibility. Nothing less will +really define beauty or make us understand what aesthetic +appreciation is. The definition of beauty in this sense will be the +task of this whole book, a task that can be only very imperfectly +accomplished within its limits. + +The historical titles of our subject may give us a hint towards the +beginning of such a definition. Many writers of the last century +called the philosophy of beauty _Criticism,_ and the word is still +retained as the title for the reasoned appreciation of works of art. +We could hardly speak, however, of delight in nature as criticism. +A sunset is not criticised; it is felt and enjoyed. The word +"criticism," used on such an occasion, would emphasize too much +the element of deliberate judgment and of comparison with +standards. Beauty, although often so described, is seldom so +perceived, and all the greatest excellences of nature and art are so +far from being approved of by a rule that they themselves furnish +the standard and ideal by which critics measure inferior effects. + +This age of science and of nomenclature has accordingly adopted a +more learned word, _Aesthetics,_ that is, the theory of perception +or of susceptibility. If criticism is too narrow a word, pointing +exclusively to our more artificial judgments, aesthetics seems to be +too broad and to include within its sphere all pleasures and pains, if +not all perceptions whatsoever. Kant used it, as we know, for his +theory of time and space as forms of all perception; and it has at +times been narrowed into an equivalent for the philosophy of art. + +If we combine, however, the etymological meaning of criticism +with that of aesthetics, we shall unite two essential qualities of the +theory of beauty. Criticism implies judgment, and aesthetics +perception. To get the common ground, that of perceptions which +are critical, or judgments which are perceptions, we must widen +our notion of deliberate criticism so as to include those judgments +of value which are instinctive and immediate, that is, to include +pleasures and pains; and at the same time we must narrow our +notion of aesthetics so as to exclude all perceptions which are not +appreciations, which do not find a value in their objects. We thus +reach the sphere of critical or appreciative perception, which is, +roughly speaking, what we mean to deal with. And retaining the +word "aesthetics," which is now current, we may therefore say that +aesthetics is concerned with the perception of values. The meaning +and conditions of value is, then, what we must first consider. + +Since the days of Descartes it has been a conception familiar to +philosophers that every visible event in nature might be explained +by previous visible events, and that all the motions, for instance, of +the tongue in speech, or of the hand in painting, might have merely +physical causes. If consciousness is thus accessory to life and not +essential to it, the race of man might have existed upon the earth +and acquired all the arts necessary for its subsistence without +possessing a single sensation, idea, or emotion. Natural selection +might have secured the survival of those automata which made +useful reactions upon their environment. An instinct of +self-preservation would have been developed, dangers would have been +shunned without being feared, and injuries revenged without being +felt. + +In such a world there might have come to be the most perfect +organization. There would have been what we should call the +expression of the deepest interests and the apparent pursuit of +conceived goods. For there would have been spontaneous and +ingrained tendencies to avoid certain contingencies and to produce +others; all the dumb show and evidence of thinking would have +been patent to the observer. Yet there would surely have been no +thinking, no expectation, and no conscious achievement in the +whole process. + +The onlooker might have feigned ends and objects of forethought, +as we do in the case of the water that seeks its own level, or in that +of the vacuum which nature abhors. But the particles of matter +would have remained unconscious of their collocation, and all +nature would have been insensible of their changing arrangement. +We only, the possible spectators of that process, by virtue of our +own interests and habits, could see any progress or culmination in +it. We should see culmination where the result attained satisfied +our practical or aesthetic demands, and progress wherever such a +satisfaction was approached. But apart from ourselves, and our +human bias, we can see in such a mechanical world no element of +value whatever. In removing consciousness, we have removed the +possibility of worth. + +But it is not only in the absence of all consciousness that value +would be removed from the world; by a less violent abstraction +from the totality of human experience, we might conceive beings +of a purely intellectual cast, minds in which the transformations of +nature were mirrored without any emotion. Every event would then +be noted, its relations would be observed, its recurrence might even +be expected; but all this would happen without a shadow of desire, +of pleasure, or of regret. No event would be repulsive, no situation +terrible. We might, in a word, have a world of idea without a world +of will. In this case, as completely as if consciousness were absent +altogether, all value and excellence would be gone. So that for the +existence of good in any form it is not merely consciousness but +emotional consciousness that is needed. Observation will not do, +appreciation is required. + +_Preference is ultimately irrational._ + +Sec. 2. We may therefore at once assert this axiom, important for all +moral philosophy and fatal to certain stubborn incoherences of +thought, that there is no value apart from some appreciation of it, +and no good apart from some preference of it before its absence or +its opposite. In appreciation, in preference, lies the root and +essence of all excellence. Or, as Spinoza clearly expresses it, we +desire nothing because it is good, but it is good only because we +desire it. + +It is true that in the absence of an instinctive reaction we can still +apply these epithets by an appeal to usage. We may agree that an +action is bad, or a building good, because we recognize in them a +character which we have learned to designate by that adjective; but +unless there is in us some trace of passionate reprobation or of +sensible delight, there is no moral or aesthetic judgment. It is all a +question of propriety of speech, and of the empty titles of things. +The verbal and mechanical proposition, that passes for judgment of +worth, is the great cloak of ineptitude in these matters. Insensibility +is very quick in the conventional use of words. If we appealed +more often to actual feeling, our judgments would be more diverse, +but they would be more legitimate and instructive. Verbal +judgments are often useful instruments of thought, but it is not by +them that worth can ultimately be determined. + +Values spring from the immediate and inexplicable reaction of +vital impulse, and from the irrational part of our nature. The +rational part is by its essence relative; it leads us from data to +conclusions, or from parts to wholes; it never furnishes the data +with which it works. If any preference or precept were declared to +be ultimate and primitive, it would thereby be declared to be +irrational, since mediation, inference, and synthesis are the essence +of rationality. The ideal of rationality is itself as arbitrary, as much +dependent on the needs of a finite organization, as any other ideal. +Only as ultimately securing tranquillity of mind, which the +philosopher instinctively pursues, has it for him any necessity. In +spite of the verbal propriety of saying that reason demands +rationality, what really demands rationality, what makes it a good +and indispensable thing and gives it all its authority, is not its own +nature, but our need of it both in safe and economical action and in +the pleasures of comprehension. + +It is evident that beauty is a species of value, and what we have +said of value in general applies to this particular kind. A first +approach to a definition of beauty has therefore been made by the +exclusion of all intellectual judgments, all judgments of matter of +fact or of relation. To substitute judgments of fact for judgments of +value, is a sign of a pedantic and borrowed criticism. If we +approach a work of art or nature scientifically, for the sake of its +historical connexions or proper classification, we do not approach +it aesthetically. The discovery of its date or of its author may be +otherwise interesting; it only remotely affects our aesthetic +appreciation by adding to the direct effect certain associations. If +the direct effect were absent, and the object in itself uninteresting, +the circumstances would be immaterial. Moliere's _Misanthrope_ +says to the court poet who commends his sonnet as written in a +quarter of an hour, + + Voyons, monsieur, le temps ne fait rien a l'affaire, + +and so we might say to the critic that sinks into the archaeologist, +show us the work, and let the date alone. + +In an opposite direction the same substitution of facts for values +makes its appearance, whenever the reproduction of fact is made +the sole standard of artistic excellence. Many half-trained +observers condemn the work of some naive or fanciful masters +with a sneer, because, as they truly say, it is out of drawing. The +implication is that to be correctly copied from a model is the +prerequisite of all beauty. Correctness is, indeed, an element of +effect and one which, in respect to familiar objects, is almost +indispensable, because its absence would cause a disappointment +and dissatisfaction incompatible with enjoyment. We learn to value +truth more and more as our love and knowledge of nature increase. +But fidelity is a merit only because it is in this way a factor in our +pleasure. It stands on a level with all other ingredients of effect. +When a man raises it to a solitary pre-eminence and becomes +incapable of appreciating anything else, he betrays the decay of +aesthetic capacity. The scientific habit in him inhibits the artistic. + +That facts have a value of their own, at once complicates and +explains this question. We are naturally pleased by every +perception, and recognition and surprise are particularly acute +sensations. When we see a striking truth in any imitation, we are +therefore delighted, and this kind of pleasure is very legitimate, +and enters into the best effects of all the representative arts. Truth +and realism are therefore aesthetically good, but they are not +all-sufficient, since the representation of everything is not equally +pleasing and effective. The fact that resemblance is a source of +satisfaction justifies the critic in demanding it, while the aesthetic +insufficiency of such veracity shows the different value of truth in +science and in art. Science is the response to the demand for +information, and in it we ask for the whole truth and nothing but +the truth. Art is the response to the demand for entertainment, for +the stimulation of our senses and imagination, and truth enters into +it only as it subserves these ends. + +Even the scientific value of truth is not, however, ultimate or +absolute. It rests partly on practical, partly on aesthetic interests. +As our ideas are gradually brought into conformity with the facts +by the painful process of selection, -- for intuition runs equally into +truth and into error, and can settle nothing if not controlled +by experience, -- we gain vastly in our command over our +environment. This is the fundamental value of natural science, and +the fruit it is yielding in our day. We have no better vision of +nature and life than some of our predecessors, but we have greater +material resources. To know the truth about the composition and +history of things is good for this reason. It is also good because of +the enlarged horizon it gives us, because the spectacle of nature is +a marvellous and fascinating one, full of a serious sadness and +large peace, which gives us back our birthright as children of the +planet and naturalizes us upon the earth. This is the poetic value of +the scientific _Weltanschauung._ From these two benefits, the +practical and the imaginative, all the value of truth is derived. + +Aesthetic and moral judgments are accordingly to be classed +together in contrast to judgments intellectual; they are both +judgments of value, while intellectual judgments are judgments of +fact. If the latter have any value, it is only derivative, and our +whole intellectual life has its only justification in its connexion +with our pleasures and pains. + +_Contrast between moral and aesthetic values._ + +Sec. 3. The relation between aesthetic and moral judgments, between +the spheres of the beautiful and the good, is close, but the +distinction between them is important. One factor of this +distinction is that while aesthetic judgments are mainly positive, +that is, perceptions of good, moral judgments are mainly and +fundamentally negative, or perceptions of evil. Another factor of +the distinction is that whereas, in the perception of beauty, our +judgment is necessarily intrinsic and based on the character of the +immediate experience, and never consciously on the idea of an +eventual utility in the object, judgments about moral worth, on the +contrary, are always based, when they are positive, upon the +consciousness of benefits probably involved. Both these +distinctions need some elucidation. + +Hedonistic ethics have always had to struggle against the moral +sense of mankind. Earnest minds, that feel the weight and dignity +of life, rebel against the assertion that the aim of right conduct is +enjoyment. Pleasure usually appears to them as a temptation, and +they sometimes go so far as to make avoidance of it a virtue. The +truth is that morality is not mainly concerned with the attainment +of pleasure; it is rather concerned, in all its deeper and more +authoritative maxims, with the prevention of suffering. There is +something artificial in the deliberate pursuit of pleasure; there is +something absurd in the obligation to enjoy oneself. We feel no +duty in that direction; we take to enjoyment naturally enough after +the work of life is done, and the freedom and spontaneity of our +pleasures is what is most essential to them. + +The sad business of life is rather to escape certain dreadful evils to +which our nature exposes us, -- death, hunger, disease, weariness, +isolation, and contempt. By the awful authority of these things, +which stand like spectres behind every moral injunction, +conscience in reality speaks, and a mind which they have duly +impressed cannot but feel, by contrast, the hopeless triviality of the +search for pleasure. It cannot but feel that a life abandoned to +amusement and to changing impulses must run unawares into fatal +dangers. The moment, however, that society emerges from the +early pressure of the environment and is tolerably secure against +primary evils, morality grows lax. The forms that life will farther +assume are not to be imposed by moral authority, but are +determined by the genius of the race, the opportunities of the +moment, and the tastes and resources of individual minds. The +reign of duty gives place to the reign of freedom, and the law and +the covenant to the dispensation of grace. + +The appreciation of beauty and its embodiment in the arts are +activities which belong to our holiday life, when we are redeemed +for the moment from the shadow of evil and the slavery to fear, +and are following the bent of our nature where it chooses to lead us. +The values, then, with which we here deal are positive; they were +negative in the sphere of morality. The ugly is hardly an exception, +because it is not the cause of any real pain. In itself it is rather a +source of amusement. If its suggestions are vitally repulsive, its +presence becomes a real evil towards which we assume a practical +and moral attitude. And, correspondingly, the pleasant is never, as +we hare seen, the object of a truly moral injunction. + +_Work and play._ + +Sec. 4. We have here, then, an important element of the distinction +between aesthetic and moral values. It is the same that has been +pointed to in the famous contrast between work and play. These +terms may be used in different senses and their importance in +moral classification differs with the meaning attached to them. We +may call everything play which is useless activity, exercise that +springs from the physiological impulse to discharge the energy +which the exigencies of life have not called out. Work will then be +all action that is necessary or useful for life. Evidently if work and +play are thus objectively distinguished as useful and useless action, +work is a eulogistic term and play a disparaging one. It would be +better for us that all our energy should be turned to account, that +none of it should be wasted in aimless motion. Play, in this sense, +is a sign of imperfect adaptation. It is proper to childhood, when +the body and mind are not yet fit to cope with the environment, but +it is unseemly in manhood and pitiable in old age, because it marks +an atrophy of human nature, and a failure to take hold of the +opportunities of life. + +Play is thus essentially frivolous. Some persons, understanding the +term in this sense, have felt an aversion, which every liberal mind +will share, to classing social pleasures, art, and religion under the +head of play, and by that epithet condemning them, as a certain +school seems to do, to gradual extinction as the race approaches +maturity. But if all the useless ornaments of our life are to be cut +off in the process of adaptation, evolution would impoverish +instead of enriching our nature. Perhaps that is the tendency of +evolution, and our barbarous ancestors amid their toils and wars, +with their flaming passions and mythologies, lived better lives than +are reserved to our well-adapted descendants. + +We may be allowed to hope, however, that some imagination may +survive parasitically even in the most serviceable brain. Whatever +course history may take, -- and we are not here concerned with +prophecy, -- the question of what is desirable is not affected. To +condemn spontaneous and delightful occupations because they are +useless for self-preservation shows an uncritical prizing of life +irrespective of its content. For such a system the worthiest function +of the universe should be to establish perpetual motion. +Uselessness is a fatal accusation to bring against any act which is +done for its presumed utility, but those which are done for their +own sake are their own justification. + +At the same time there is an undeniable propriety in calling all the +liberal and imaginative activities of man play, because they are +spontaneous, and not carried on under pressure of external +necessity or danger. Their utility for self-preservation may be very +indirect and accidental, but they are not worthless for that reason. +On the contrary, we may measure the degree of happiness and +civilization which any race has attained by the proportion of its +energy which is devoted to free and generous pursuits, to the +adornment of life and the culture of the imagination. For it is in the +spontaneous play of his faculties that man finds himself and his +happiness. Slavery is the most degrading condition of which he is +capable, and he is as often a slave to the niggardness of the earth +and the inclemency of heaven, as to a master or an institution. He +is a slave when all his energy is spent in avoiding suffering and +death, when all his action is imposed from without, and no breath +or strength is left him for free enjoyment. + +Work and play here take on a different meaning, and become +equivalent to servitude and freedom. The change consists in the +subjective point of view from which the distinction is now made. +We no longer mean by work all that is done usefully, but only what +is done unwillingly and by the spur of necessity. By play we are +designating, no longer what is done fruitlessly, but whatever is +done spontaneously and for its own sake, whether it have or not an +ulterior utility. Play, in this sense, may be our most useful +occupation. So far would a gradual adaptation to the environment +be from making this play obsolete, that it would tend to abolish +work, and to make play universal. For with the elimination of all +the conflicts and errors of instinct, the race would do +spontaneously whatever conduced to its welfare and we should live +safely and prosperously without external stimulus or restraint. + +_All values are in one sense aesthetic._ + +Sec. 5. In this second and subjective sense, then, work is the +disparaging term and play the eulogistic one. All who feel the +dignity and importance of the things of the imagination, need not +hesitate to adopt the classification which designates them as play. +We point out thereby, not that they have no value, but that their +value is intrinsic, that in them is one of the sources of all worth. +Evidently all values must be ultimately intrinsic. The useful is +good because of the excellence of its consequences; but these must +somewhere cease to be merely useful in their turn, or only +excellent as means; somewhere we must reach the good that is +good in itself and for its own sake, else the whole process is futile, +and the utility of our first object illusory. We here reach the second +factor in our distinction, between aesthetic and moral values, +which regards their immediacy. + +If we attempt to remove from life all its evils, as the popular +imagination has done at times, we shall find little but aesthetic +pleasures remaining to constitute unalloyed happiness. The +satisfaction of the passions and the appetites, in which we chiefly +place earthly happiness, themselves take on an aesthetic tinge +when we remove ideally the possibility of loss or variation. What +could the Olympians honour in one another or the seraphim +worship in God except the embodiment of eternal attributes, of +essences which, like beauty, make us happy only in contemplation? +The glory of heaven could not be otherwise symbolized than by +light and music. Even the knowledge of truth, which the most +sober theologians made the essence of the beatific vision, is an +aesthetic delight; for when the truth has no further practical utility, +it becomes a landscape. The delight of it is imaginative and the +value of it aesthetic. + +This reduction of all values to immediate appreciations, to +sensuous or vital activities, is so inevitable that it has struck even +the minds most courageously rationalistic. Only for them, instead +of leading to the liberation of aesthetic goods from practical +entanglements and their establishment as the only pure and +positive values in life, this analysis has led rather to the denial of +all pure and positive goods altogether. Such thinkers naturally +assume that moral values are intrinsic and supreme; and since these +moral values would not arise but for the existence or imminence of +physical evils, they embrace the paradox that without evil no good +whatever is conceivable. + +The harsh requirements of apologetics have no doubt helped them +to this position, from which one breath of spring or the sight of one +well-begotten creature should be enough to dislodge them. Their +ethical temper and the fetters of their imagination forbid them to +reconsider their original assumption and to conceive that morality +is a means and not an end; that it is the price of human +non-adaptation, and the consequence of the original sin of unfitness. It +is the compression of human conduct within the narrow limits of +the safe and possible. Remove danger, remove pain, remove the +occasion of pity, and the need of morality is gone. To say "thou +shalt not" would then be an impertinence. + +But this elimination of precept would not be a cessation of life. +The senses would still be open, the instincts would still operate, +and lead all creatures to the haunts and occupations that befitted +them. The variety of nature and the infinity of art, with the +companionship of our fellows, would fill the leisure of that ideal +existence. These are the elements of our positive happiness, the +things which, amid a thousand vexations and vanities, make the +clear profit of living. + +_Aesthetic consecration of general principles._ + +Sec. 6. Not only are the various satisfactions which morals are meant +to secure aesthetic in the last analysis, but when the conscience is +formed, and right principles acquire an immediate authority, our +attitude to these principles becomes aesthetic also. Honour, +truthfulness, and cleanliness are obvious examples. When the +absence of these virtues causes an instinctive disgust, as it does in +well-bred people, the reaction is essentially aesthetic, because it is +not based on reflection and benevolence, but on constitutional +sensitiveness. This aesthetic sensitiveness is, however, properly +enough called moral, because it is the effect of conscientious +training and is more powerful for good in society than laborious +virtue, because it is much more constant and catching. It is +Kalokagathia, the aesthetic demand for the morally good, and +perhaps the finest flower of human nature. + +But this tendency of representative principles to become +independent powers and acquire intrinsic value is sometimes +mischievous. It is the foundation of the conflicts between +sentiment and justice, between intuitive and utilitarian morals. +Every human reform is the reassertion of the primary interests of +man against the authority of general principles which have ceased +to represent those interests fairly, but which still obtain the +idolatrous veneration of mankind. Nor are chivalry and religion +alone liable to fall into this moral superstition. It arises wherever +an abstract good is substituted for its concrete equivalent. The +miser's fallacy is the typical case, and something very like it is the +ethical principle of half our respectable population. To the exercise +of certain useful habits men come to sacrifice the advantage which +was the original basis and justification of those habits. Minute +knowledge is pursued at the expense of largeness of mind, and +riches at the expense of comfort and freedom. + +This error is all the more specious when the derived aim has in +itself some aesthetic charm, such as belongs to the Stoic idea of +playing one's part in a vast drama of things, irrespective of any +advantage thereby accruing to any one; somewhat as the miser's +passion is rendered a little normal when his eye is fascinated not +merely by the figures of a bank account, but by the glitter of the +yellow gold. And the vanity of playing a tragic part and the glory +of conscious self-sacrifice have the same immediate fascination. +Many irrational maxims thus acquire a kind of nobility. An object +is chosen as the highest good which has not only a certain +representative value, but also an intrinsic one, -- which is not +merely a method for the realization of other values, but a value in +its own realization. + +Obedience to God is for the Christian, as conformity to the laws of +nature or reason is for the Stoic, an attitude which has a certain +emotional and passionate worth, apart from its original justification +by maxims of utility. This emotional and passionate force is the +essence of fanaticism, it makes imperatives categorical, and gives +them absolute sway over the conscience in spite of their +one-sidedness and their injustice to the manifold demands of human +nature. + +Obedience to God or reason can originally recommend itself to a +man only as the surest and ultimately least painful way of +balancing his aims and synthesizing his desires. So necessary is +this sanction even to the most impetuous natures, that no martyr +would go to the stake if he did not believe that the powers of nature, +in the day of judgment, would be on his side. But the human mind +is a turbulent commonwealth, and the laws that make for the +greatest good cannot be established in it without some partial +sacrifice, without the suppression of many particular impulses. +Hence the voice of reason or the command of God, which makes +for the maximum ultimate satisfaction, finds itself opposed by +sundry scattered and refractory forces, which are henceforth +denominated bad. The unreflective conscience, forgetting the +vicarious source of its own excellence, then assumes a solemn and +incomprehensible immediacy, as if its decrees were absolute and +intrinsically authoritative, not of to-day or yesterday, and no one +could tell whence they had arisen. Instinct can all the more easily +produce this mystification when it calls forth an imaginative +activity full of interest and eager passion. This effect is +conspicuous in the absolutist conscience, both devotional and +rationalistic, as also in the passion of love. For in all these a certain +individuality, definiteness, and exclusiveness is given to the +pursued object which is very favourable to zeal, and the heat of +passion melts together the various processes of volition into the +consciousness of one adorable influence. + +However deceptive these complications may prove to men of +action and eloquence, they ought not to impose on the critic of +human nature. Evidently what value general goods do not derive +from the particular satisfactions they stand for, they possess in +themselves as ideas pleasing and powerful over the imagination. +This intrinsic advantage of certain principles and methods is none +the less real for being in a sense aesthetic. Only a sordid +utilitarianism that subtracts the imagination from human nature, or +at least slurs over its immense contribution to our happiness, could +fail to give these principles the preference over others practically +as good. + +If it could be shown, for instance, that monarchy was as apt, in a +given case, to secure the public well-being as some other +form of government, monarchy should be preferred, and would +undoubtedly be established, on account of its imaginative and +dramatic superiority. But if, blinded by this somewhat ethereal +advantage, a party sacrificed to it important public interests, the +injustice would be manifest. In a doubtful case, a nation decides, +not without painful conflicts, how much it will sacrifice to its +sentimental needs. The important point is to remember that the +representative or practical value of a principle is one thing, and its +intrinsic or aesthetic value is another, and that the latter can be +justly counted only as an item in its favour to be weighed; against +possible external disadvantages. Whenever this comparison and +balancing of ultimate benefits of every kind is angrily dismissed in +favour of some absolute principle, laid down in contempt of human +misery and happiness, we have a personal and fantastic system of +ethics, without practical sanctions. It is an evidence that the +superstitious imagination has invaded the sober and practical +domain of morals. + +_Aesthetic and physical pleasure._ + +Sec. 7. We have now separated with some care intellectual and moral +judgments from the sphere of our subject, and found that we are to +deal only with perceptions of value, and with these only when they +are positive and immediate. But even with these distinctions the +most remarkable characteristic of the sense of beauty remains +undefined. All pleasures are intrinsic and positive values, but all +pleasures are not perceptions of beauty. Pleasure is indeed the +essence of that perception, but there is evidently in this particular +pleasure a complication which is not present in others and which is +the basis of the distinction made by consciousness and language +between it and the rest. It will be instructive to notice the degrees +of this difference. + +The bodily pleasures are those least resembling perceptions of +beauty. By bodily pleasures we mean, of course, more than +pleasures with a bodily seat; for that class would include them all, +as well as all forms and elements of consciousness. Aesthetic +pleasures have physical conditions, they depend on the activity of +the eye and the ear, of the memory and the other ideational +functions of the brain. But we do not connect those pleasures with +their seats except in physiological studies; the ideas with which +aesthetic pleasures are associated are not the ideas of their bodily +causes. The pleasures we call physical, and regard as low, on the +contrary, are those which call our attention to some part of our own +body, and which make no object so conspicuous to us as the organ +in which they arise. + +There is here, then, a very marked distinction between physical and +aesthetic pleasure; the organs of the latter must be transparent, they +must not intercept our attention, but carry it directly to some +external object. The greater dignity and range of aesthetic pleasure +is thus made very intelligible. The soul is glad, as it were, to forget +its connexion with the body and to fancy that it can travel over the +world with the liberty with which it changes the objects of its +thought. The mind passes from China to Peru without any +conscious change in the local tensions of the body. This illusion of +disembodiment is very exhilarating, while immersion in the flesh +and confinement to some organ gives a tone of grossness +and selfishness to our consciousness. The generally meaner +associations of physical pleasures also help to explain their +comparative crudity. + +_The differetia of aesthetic pleasure not its disinterestedness._ + +Sec. 8. The distinction between pleasure and the sense of beauty has +sometimes been said to consist in the unselfishness of aesthetic +satisfaction. In other pleasures, it is said, we gratify our senses and +passions; in the contemplation of beauty we are raised above +ourselves, the passions are silenced and we are happy in the +recognition of a good that we do not seek to possess. The painter +does not look at a spring of water with the eyes of a thirsty man, +nor at a beautiful woman with those of a satyr. The difference lies, +it is urged, in the impersonality of the enjoyment. But this +distinction is one of intensity and delicacy, not of nature, and it +seems satisfactory only to the least aesthetic minds.[1] + +In the second place, the supposed disinterestedness of aesthetic +delights is not truly fundamental. Appreciation of a picture is not +identical with the desire to buy it, but it is, or ought to be, closely +related and preliminary to that desire. The beauties of nature and of +the plastic arts are not consumed by being enjoyed; they retain all +the efficacy to impress a second beholder. But this circumstance is +accidental, and those aesthetic objects which depend upon change +and are exhausted in time, as are all performances, are things the +enjoyment of which is an object of rivalry and is coveted as much +as any other pleasure. And even plastic beauties can often not be +enjoyed except by a few, on account of the necessity of travel or +other difficulties of access, and then this aesthetic enjoyment is as +selfishly pursued as the rest. + +The truth which the theory is trying to state seems rather to be that +when we seek aesthetic pleasures we have no further pleasure in +mind; that we do not mix up the satisfactions of vanity and +proprietorship with the delight of contemplation. This is true, but it +is true at bottom of all pursuits and enjoyments. Every real +pleasure is in one sense disinterested. It is not sought with ulterior +motives, and what fills the mind is no calculation, but the image of +an object or event, suffused with emotion. A sophisticated +consciousness may often take the idea of self as the touchstone of +its inclinations; but this self, for the gratification and +aggrandizement of which a man may live, is itself only a complex +of aims and memories, which once had their direct objects, in +which he had taken a spontaneous and unselfish interest. The +gratifications which, merged together, make the selfishness are +each of them ingenuous, and no more selfish than the most +altruistic, impersonal emotion. The content of selfishness is a mass +of unselfishness. There is no reference to the nominal essence +called oneself either in one's appetites or in one's natural affections; +yet a man absorbed in his meat and drink, in his houses and lands, +in his children and dogs, is called selfish because these interests, +although natural and instinctive in him, are not shared by others. +The unselfish man is he whose nature has a more universal +direction, whose interests are more widely diffused. + +But as impersonal thoughts are such only in their object, not in +their subject or agents, since, all thoughts are the thoughts of +somebody: so also unselfish interests have to be somebody's +interests. If we were not interested in beauty, if it were of no +concern to our happiness whether things were beautiful or ugly, we +should manifest not the maximum, but the total absence of +aesthetic faculty. The disinterestedness of this pleasure is, therefore, +that of all primitive and intuitive satisfactions, which are in no way +conditioned by a reference to an artificial general concept, like that +of the self, all the potency of which must itself be derived from the +independent energy of its component elements. I care about myself +because "myself" is a name for the things I have at heart. To set up +the verbal figment of personality and make it an object of concern +apart from the interests which were its content and substance, turns +the moralist into a pedant, and ethics into a superstition. The self +which is the object of _amour propre_ is an idol of the tribe, and +needs to be disintegrated into the primitive objective interests that +underlie it before the cultus of it can be justified by reason. + +_The differentia of aesthetic pleasure not its universality._ + +Sec. 9. The supposed disinterestedness of our love of beauty passes +into another characteristic of it often regarded as essential, -- its +universality. The pleasures of the senses have, it is said, no +dogmatism in them; that anything gives me pleasure involves no +assertion about its capacity to give pleasure to another. But when I +judge a thing to be beautiful, my judgment means that the thing is +beautiful in itself, or (what is the same thing more critically +expressed) that it should seem so to everybody. The claim to +universality is, according to this doctrine, the essence of the +aesthetic; what makes the perception of beauty a judgment rather +than a sensation. All aesthetic precepts would be impossible, and +all criticism arbitrary and subjective, unless we admit a paradoxical +universality in our judgment, the philosophical implications of +which we may then go on to develope. But we are fortunately not +required to enter the labyrinth into which this method leads; there +is a much simpler and clearer way of studying such questions, +which is to challenge and analyze the assertion before us and seek +its basis in human nature. Before this is done, we should run the +risk of expanding a natural misconception or inaccuracy of thought +into an inveterate and pernicious prejudice by making it the centre +of an elaborate construction. + +That the claim of universality is such a natural inaccuracy will not +be hard to show. There is notoriously no great agreement upon +aesthetic matters; and such agreement as there is, is based upon +similarity of origin, nature, and circumstance among men, a +similarity which, where it exists, tends to bring about identity in all +judgments and feelings. It is unmeaning to say that what is +beautiful to one man _ought_ to be beautiful to another. If their +senses are the same, their associations and dispositions similar, +then the same thing will certainly be beautiful to both. If their +natures are different, the form which to one will be entrancing will +be to another even invisible, because his classifications and +discriminations in perception will be different, and he may see a +hideous detached fragment or a shapeless aggregate of things, in +what to another is a perfect whole -- so entirely are the unities of +function and use. It is absurd to say that what is invisible to a given +being _ought_ to seem beautiful to him. Evidently this obligation +of recognizing the same qualities is conditioned by the possession +of the same faculties. But no two men have exactly the same +faculties, nor can things have for any two exactly the same values. + +What is loosely expressed by saying that any one ought to see this +or that beauty is that he would see it if his disposition, training, or +attention were what our ideal demands for him; and our ideal of +what any one should be has complex but discoverable sources. We +take, for instance, a certain pleasure in having our own judgments +supported by those of others; we are intolerant, if not of the +existence of a nature different from our own, at least of +its expression in words and judgments. We are confirmed or +made happy in our doubtful opinions by seeing them accepted +universally. We are unable to find the basis of our taste in our own +experience and therefore refuse to look for it there. If we were sure +of our ground, we should be willing to acquiesce in the naturally +different feelings and ways of others, as a man who is conscious of +speaking his language with the accent of the capital confesses its +arbitrariness with gayety, and is pleased and interested in the +variations of it he observes in provincials; but the provincial is +always zealous to show that he has reason and ancient authority to +justify his oddities. So people who have no sensations, and do not +know why they judge, are always trying to show that they judge by +universal reason. + +Thus the frailty and superficiality of our own judgments cannot +brook contradiction. We abhor another man's doubt when we +cannot tell him why we ourselves believe. Our ideal of other men +tends therefore to include the agreement of their judgments with +our own; and although we might acknowledge the fatuity of this +demand in regard to natures very different from the human, we +may be unreasonable enough to require that all races should admire +the same style of architecture, and all ages the same poets. + +The great actual unity of human taste within the range of +conventional history helps the pretension. But in principle it is +untenable. Nothing has less to do with the real merit of a work of +imagination than the capacity of all men to appreciate it; the true +test is the degree and kind of satisfaction it can give to him who +appreciates it most. The symphony would lose nothing if half +mankind had always been deaf, as nine-tenths of them actually are +to the intricacies of its harmonies; but it would have lost much if +no Beethoven had existed. And more: incapacity to appreciate +certain types of beauty may be the condition _sine qua non_ for the +appreciation of another kind; the greatest capacity both for +enjoyment and creation is highly specialized and exclusive, and +hence the greatest ages of art have often been strangely intolerant. + +The invectives of one school against another, perverse as they are +philosophically, are artistically often signs of health, because they +indicate a vital appreciation of certain kinds of beauty, a love of +them that has grown into a jealous passion. The architects that have +pieced out the imperfections of ancient buildings with their own +thoughts, like Charles V. when he raised his massive palace beside +the Alhambra, may be condemned from a certain point of view. +They marred much by their interference; but they showed a +splendid confidence in their own intuitions, a proud assertion of +their own taste, which is the greatest evidence of aesthetic sincerity. +On the contrary, our own gropings, eclecticism, and archaeology +are the symptoms of impotence. If we were less learned and less +just, we might be more efficient. If our appreciation were less +general, it might be more real, and if we trained our imagination +into exclusiveness, it might attain to character. + +_The differentia of aesthetic pleasure: its objectification._ + +Sec. 10. There is, however, something more in the claim to +universality in aesthetic judgments than the desire to generalize our +own opinions. There is the expression of a curious but well-known +psychological phenomenon, viz., the transformation of an element +of sensation into the quality of a thing. If we say that other men +should see the beauties we see, it is because _we_ think those +beauties _are in the object,_ like its colour, proportion, or size. Our +judgment appears to us merely the perception and discovery of an +external existence, of the real excellence that is without. But this +notion is radically absurd and contradictory. Beauty, as we have +seen, is a value; it cannot be conceived as an independent existence +which affects our senses and which we consequently perceive. It +exists in perception, and cannot exist otherwise. A beautynot +perceived is a pleasure not felt, and a contradiction. But modern +philosophy has taught us to say the same thing of every element of +the perceived world; all are sensations; and their grouping into +objects imagined to be permanent and external is the work of +certain habits of our intelligence. We should be incapable of +surveying or retaining the diffused experiences of life, unless we +organized and classified them, and out of the chaos of impressions +framed the world of conventional and recognizable objects. + +How this is done is explained by the current theories of perception. +External objects usually affect various senses at once, the +impressions of which are thereby associated. Repeated experiences +of one object are also associated on account of their similarity; +hence a double tendency to merge and unify into a single percept, +to which a name is attached, the group of those memories and +reactions which in fact had one external thing for their cause. But +this percept, once formed, is clearly different from those particular +experiences out of which it grew. It is permanent, they are variable. +They are but partial views and glimpses of it. The constituted +notion therefore comes to be the reality, and the materials of it +merely the appearance. The distinction between substance and +quality, reality and appearance, matter and mind, has no other +origin. + +The objects thus conceived and distinguished from our ideas of +them, are at first compacted of all the impressions, feelings, and +memories, which offer themselves for association and fall within +the vortex of the amalgamating imagination. Every sensation we +get from a thing is originally treated as one of its qualities. +Experiment, however, and the practical need of a simpler +conception of the structure of objects lead us gradually to reduce +the qualities of the object to a minimum, and to regard most +perceptions as an effect of those few qualities upon us. These few +primary qualities, like extension which we persist in treating as +independently real and as the quality of a substance, are those +which suffice to explain the order of our experiences. All the rest, +like colour, are relegated to the subjective sphere, as merely effects +upon our minds, and apparent or secondary qualities of the object. + +But this distinction has only a practical justification. Convenience +and economy of thought alone determine what combination of our +sensations we shall continue to objectify and treat as the cause of +the rest. The right and tendency to be objective is equal in all, since +they are all prior to the artifice of thought by which we separate the +concept from its materials, the thing from our experiences. + +The qualities which we now conceive to belong to real objects are +for the moat part images of sight and touch. One of the first classes +of effects to be treated as secondary were naturally pleasures and +pains, since it could commonly conduce very little to intelligent +and successful action to conceive our pleasures and pains as +resident in objects. But emotions are essentially capable of +objectification, as well as impressions of sense; and one may well +believe that a primitive and inexperienced consciousness would +rather people the world with ghosts of its own terrors and passions +than with projections of those luminous and mathematical concepts +which as yet it could hardly have formed. + +This animistic and mythological habit of thought still holds its own +at the confines of knowledge, where mechanical explanations are +not found. In ourselves, where nearness makes observation +difficult, in the intricate chaos of animal and human life, we still +appeal to the efficacy of will and ideas, as also in the remote night +of cosmic and religious problems. But in all the intermediate realm +of vulgar day, where mechanical science has made progress, the +inclusion of emotional or passionate elements in the concept of the +reality would be now an extravagance. Here our idea of things is +composed exclusively of perceptual elements, of the ideas of form +and of motion. + +The beauty of objects, however, forms an exception to this rule. +Beauty is an emotional element, a pleasure of ours, which +nevertheless we regard as a quality of things. But we are now +prepared to understand the nature of this exception. It is the +survival of a tendency originally universal to make every effect of +a thing upon us a constituent of its conceived nature. The scientific +idea of a thing is a great abstraction from the mass of perceptions +and reactions which that thing produces the aesthetic idea is less +abstract, since it retains the emotional reaction, the pleasure of the +perception, as an integral part of the conceived thing. + +Nor is it hard to find the ground of this survival in the sense of +beauty of an objectification of feeling elsewhere extinct. Most of +the pleasures which objects cause are easily distinguished and +separated from the perception of the object: the object has to be +applied to a particular organ, like the palate, or swallowed like +wine, or used and operated upon in some way before the pleasure +arises. The cohesion is therefore slight between the pleasure and +the other associated elements of sense; the pleasure is separated in +time from the perception, or it is localized in a different organ, and +consequently is at once recognized as an effect and not as a quality +of the object. But when the process of perception itself is pleasant, +as it may easily be, when the intellectual operation, by which the +elements of sense are associated and projected, and the concept of +the form and substance of the thing produced, is naturally +delightful, then we have a pleasure intimately bound up in the +thing, inseparable from its character and constitution, the seat of +which in us is the same as the seat of the perception. We naturally +fail, under these circumstances, to separate the pleasure from the +other objectified feelings. It becomes, like them, a quality of the +object, which we distinguish from pleasures not so incorporated in +the perception of things, by giving it the name of beauty. + +_The definition of beauty._ + +Sec. 11. We have now reached our definition of beauty, which, in the +terms of our successive analysis and narrowing of the conception, +is value positive, intrinsic, and objectified. Or, in less technical +language, Beauty is pleasure regarded as the quality of a thing. + +This definition is intended to sum up a variety of distinctions and +identifications which should perhaps be here more explicitly set +down. Beauty is a value, that is, it is not a perception of a matter of +fact or of a relation: it is an emotion, an affection of our volitional +and appreciative nature. An object cannot be beautiful if it can give +pleasure to nobody: a beauty to which all men were forever +indifferent is a contradiction in terms. + +In the second place this value is positive, it is the sense of the +presence of something good, or (in the case of ugliness) of its +absence. It is never the perception of a positive evil, it is never a +negative value. That we are endowed with the sense of beauty is a +pure gain which brings no evil with it. When the ugly ceases to be +amusing or merely uninteresting and becomes disgusting, it +becomes indeed a positive evil: but a moral and practical, not an +aesthetic one. In aesthetics that saying is true -- often so +disingenuous in ethics -- that evil is nothing but the absence of +good: for even the tedium and vulgarity of an existence without +beauty is not itself ugly so much as lamentable and degrading. The +absence of aesthetic goods is a moral evil: the aesthetic evil is +merely relative, and means less of aesthetic good than was +expected at the place and time. No form in itself gives pain, +although some forms give pain by causing a shock of surprise even +when they are really beautiful: as if a mother found a fine bull pup +in her child's cradle, when her pain would not be aesthetic in its +nature. + +Further, this pleasure must not be in the consequence of the utility +of the object or event, but in its immediate perception; in other +words, beauty is an ultimate good, something that gives +satisfaction to a natural function, to some fundamental need or +capacity of our minds. Beauty is therefore a positive value that is +intrinsic; it is a pleasure. These two circumstances sufficiently +separate the sphere of aesthetics from that of ethics. Moral values +are generally negative, and always remote. Morality has to do with +the avoidance of evil and the pursuit of good: aesthetics only with +enjoyment. + +Finally, the pleasures of sense are distinguished from the +perception of beauty, as sensation in general is distinguished from +perception; by the objectification of the elements and their +appearance as qualities rather of things than of consciousness. The +passage from sensation to perception is gradual, and the path may +be sometimes retraced: so it is with beauty and the pleasures of +sensation. There is no sharp line between them, but it depends +upon the degree of objectivity my feeling has attained at the +moment whether I say "It pleases me," or "It is beautiful." If I am +self-conscious and critical, I shall probably use, one phrase; if I am +impulsive and susceptible, the other. The more remote, interwoven, +and inextricable the pleasure is, the more objective it will appear; +and the union of two pleasures often makes one beauty. In +Shakespeare's LIVth sonnet are these words: + + O how much more doth beauty beauteous seem + By that sweet ornament which truth doth give! + The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem + For that sweet odour which doth in it live. + The canker-blooms have full as deep a dye + As the perfumed tincture of the roses, + Hang on such thorns, and play as wantonly + When summer's breath their masked buds discloses. + But, for their beauty only is their show, + They live unwooed and unrespected fade; + Die to themselves. Sweet roses do not so: + Of their sweet deaths are sweetest odours made. + +One added ornament, we see, turns the deep dye, which was but +show and mere sensation before, into an element of beauty and +reality, and as truth is here the co-operation of perceptions, so +beauty is the co-operation of pleasures. If colour, form, and motion +are hardly beautiful without the sweetness of the odour, how much +more necessary would they be for the sweetness itself to become a +beauty! If we had the perfume in a flask, no one would think of +calling it beautiful: it would give us too detached and controllable +a sensation. There would be no object in which it could be easily +incorporated. But let it float from the garden, and it will add +another sensuous charm to objects simultaneously recognized, and +help to make them beautiful. Thus beauty is constituted by the +objectification of pleasure. It is pleasure objectified. + + +PART II + +THE MATERIALS OF BEAUTY + +_All human functions may contribute to the sense of beauty._ + +Sec. 12. Our task will now be to pass in review the various elements +of our consciousness, and see what each contributes to the beauty +of the world. We shall find that they do so whenever they are +inextricably associated with the objectifying activity of the +understanding. Whenever the golden thread of pleasure enters that +web of things which our intelligence is always busily spinning, it +lends to the visible world that mysterious and subtle charm which +we call beauty. + +There is no function of our nature which cannot contribute +something to this effect, but one function differs very much from +another in the amount and directness of its contribution. The +pleasures of the eye and ear, of the imagination and memory, are +the most easily objectified and merged in ideas; but it would betray +inexcusable haste and slight appreciation of the principle involved, +if we called them the only materials of beauty. Our effort will +rather be to discover its other sources, which have been more +generally ignored, and point out their importance. For the five +senses and the three powers of the soul, which play so large a part +in traditional psychology, are by no means the only sources or +factors of consciousness; they are more or less external divisions of +its content, and not even exhaustive of that. The nature and +changes of our life have deeper roots, and are controlled by less +obvious processes. + +The human body is a machine that holds together by virtue of +certain vital functions, on the cessation of which it is dissolved. +Some of these, like the circulation of the blood, the growth and +decay of the tissues, are at first sight unconscious. Yet any +important disturbance of these fundamental processes at once +produces great and painful changes in consciousness. Slight +alterations are not without their conscious echo: and the whole +temper and tone of our mind, the strength of our passions, the grip +and concatenation of our habits, our power of attention, and the +liveliness of our fancy and affections are due to the influence of +these vital forces. They do not, perhaps, constitute the whole basis +of any one idea or emotion: but they are the conditions of the +existence and character of all. + +Particularly important are they for the _value_ of our experience. +They constitute health, without which no pleasure can be pure. +They determine our impulses in leisure, and furnish that surplus +energy which we spend in play, in art, and in speculation. The +attraction of these pursuits, and the very existence of an aesthetic +sphere, is due to the efficiency and perfection of our vital processes. +The pleasures which they involve are not exclusively bound to any +particular object, and therefore do not account for the relative +beauty of things. They are loose and unlocalized, having no special +organ, or one which is internal and hidden within the body. They +therefore remain undiscriminated in consciousness, and can serve +to add interest to any object, or to cast a general glamour over the +world, very favourable to its interest and beauty. + +The aesthetic value of vital functions differs according to their +physiological concomitants: those that are favourable to ideation +are of course more apt to extend something of their intimate +warmth to the pleasures of contemplation, and thus to intensify the +sense of beauty and the interest of thought. Those, on the other +hand, that for physiological reasons tend to inhibit ideation, and to +drown the attention in dumb and unrepresentable feelings, are less +favourable to aesthetic activity. The double effect of drowsiness +and reverie will illustrate this difference. The heaviness of sleep +seems to fall first on the outer senses, and of course makes them +incapable of acute impressions; but if it goes no further, it leaves +the imagination all the freer, and by heightening the colours of the +fancy, often suggests and reveals beautiful images. There is a kind +of poetry and invention that comes only in such moments. In them +many lovely melodies must first have been heard, and centaurs and +angels originally imagined. + +If, however, the lethargy is more complete, or if the cause of it is +such that the imagination is retarded while the senses remain +awake, -- as is the case with an over-fed or over-exercised body, -- +we have a state of aesthetic insensibility. The exhilaration which +comes with pure and refreshing air has a marked influence on our +appreciations. To it is largely due the beauty of the morning, and +the entirely different charm it has from the evening. The opposite +state of all the functions here adds an opposite emotion to +externally similar scenes, making both infinitely but differently +beautiful. + +It would be curious and probably surprising to discover how much +the pleasure of breathing has to do with our highest and most +transcendental ideals. It is not merely a metaphor that makes us +couple airiness with exquisiteness and breathlessness with awe; it +is the actual recurrence of a sensation in the throat and lungs that +gives those impressions an immediate power, prior to all reflection +upon their significance. It is, therefore, to this vital sensation of +deep or arrested respiration that the impressiveness of those objects +is immediately due. + +_The influence of the passion of love._ + +Sec. 13. Half-way between vital and social functions, lies the sexual +instinct. If nature had solved the problem of reproduction without +the differentiation of sex, our emotional life would have been +radically different. So profound and, especially in woman, so +pervasive an influence does this function exert, that we should +betray an entirely unreal view of human nature if we did not +inquire into the relations of sex with our aesthetic susceptibility. +We must not expect, however, any great difference between man +and woman in the scope or objects of aesthetic interest: what is +important in emotional life is not which sex an animal has, but that +it has sex at all. For if we consider the difficult problem which +nature had to solve in sexual reproduction, and the nice adjustment +of instinct which it demands, we shall see that the reactions and +susceptibilities which must be implanted in the individual are for +the most part identical in both sexes, as the sexual organization is +itself fundamentally similar in both. Indeed, individuals of various +species and the whole animal kingdom have the same sexual +disposition, although, of course, the particular object destined to +call forth the complete sexual reaction, differs with every species, +and with each sex. + +If we were dealing with the philosophy of love, and not with that +of beauty, our problem would be to find out by what machinery +this fundamental susceptibility, common to all animals of both +sexes, is gradually directed to more and more definite objects: first, +to one species and one sex, and ultimately to one individual. It is +not enough that sexual organs should be differentiated: the +connexion must be established between them and the outer senses, +so that the animal may recognize and pursue the proper object. + +The case of lifelong fidelity to one mate -- perhaps even to an +unsatisfied and hopeless love -- is the maximum of differentiation, +which even overleaps the utility which gave it a foothold in nature, +and defeats its own object. For the differentiation of the instinct in +respect to sex, age, and species is obviously necessary to its +success as a device for reproduction. While this differentiation is +not complete, -- and it often is not, -- there is a great deal of +groping and waste; and the force and constancy of the instinct must +make up for its lack of precision. A great deal of vital energy is +thus absorbed by this ill-adjusted function. The most economical +arrangement which can be conceived, would be one by which only +the one female best fitted to bear offspring to a male should arouse +his desire, and only so many times as it was well she should grow +pregnant, thus leaving his energy and attention free at all other +times to exercise the other faculties of his nature. + +If this ideal had been reached, the instinct, like all those perfectly +adjusted, would tend to become unconscious; and we should miss +those secondary effects with which we are exclusively concerned +in aesthetics. For it is precisely from the waste, from the radiation +of the sexual passion, that I beauty borrows warmth. As a harp, +made to vibrate to the fingers, gives some music to every wind, so +the nature of man, necessarily susceptible to woman, becomes +simultaneously sensitive to other influences, and capable of +tenderness toward every object. The capacity to love gives our +contemplation that glow without which it might often fail to +manifest beauty; and the whole sentimental side of our aesthetic +sensibility -- without which it would be perceptive and +mathematical rather than aesthetic -- is due to our sexual +organization remotely stirred. + +The attraction of sex could not become efficient unless the senses +were first attracted. The eye must be fascinated and the ear +charmed by the object which nature intends should be pursued. +Both sexes for this reason develope secondary sexual characteristics; +and the sexual emotions are simultaneously extended to various +secondary objects. The colour, the grace, the form, which +become the stimuli of sexual passion, and the guides of +sexual selection, acquire, before they can fulfil that office, a +certain intrinsic charm. This charm is not only present for reasons +which, in an admissible sense, we may call teleological, on account, +that is, of its past utility in reproduction, but its intensity and power +are due to the simultaneous stirring of profound sexual impulses. +Not, of course, that any specifically sexual ideas are connected +with these feelings: such ideas are absent in a modest and +inexperienced mind even in the obviously sexual passions of love +and jealousy. + +These secondary objects of interest, which are some of the most +conspicuous elements of beauty, are to be called sexual for these +two reasons: because the contingencies of the sexual function hare +helped to establish them in our race, and because they owe their +fascination in a great measure to the participation of our sexual life +in the reaction which they cause. + +If any one were desirous to produce a being with a great +susceptibility to beauty, he could not invent an instrument better +designed for that object than sex. Individuals that need not unite +for the birth and rearing of each generation, might retain a savage +independence. For them it would not be necessary that any vision +should fascinate, or that any languor should soften, the prying +cruelty of the eye. But sex endows the individual with a dumb and +powerful instinct, which carries his body and soul continually +towards another; makes it one of the dearest employments of his +life to select and pursue a companion, and joins to possession the +keenest pleasure, to rivalry the fiercest rage, and to solitude an +eternal melancholy. + +What more could be needed to suffuse the world with the deepest +meaning and beauty? The attention is fixed upon a well-defined +object, and all the effects it produces in the mind are easily +regarded as powers or qualities of that object. But these effects are +here powerful and profound. The soul is stirred to its depths. Its +hidden treasures are brought to the surface of consciousness. The +imagination and the heart awake for the first time. All these new +values crystallize about the objects then offered to the mind. If the +fancy is occupied by the image of a single person, whose qualities +have had the power of precipitating this revolution, all the values +gather about that one image. The object becomes perfect, and we +are said to be in love.[2] If the stimulus does not appear as a +definite image, the values evoked are dispersed over the world, and +we are said to have become lovers of nature, and to have +discovered the beauty and meaning of things. + +To a certain extent this kind of interest will centre in the proper +object of sexual passion, and in the special characteristics of the +opposite sex; and we find accordingly that woman is the most +lovely object to man, and man, if female modesty would confess it, +the most interesting to woman. But the effects of so fundamental +and primitive a reaction are much more general. Sex is not the only +object of sexual passion. When love lacks its specific object, when +it does not yet understand itself, or has been sacrificed to some +other interest, we see the stifled fire bursting out in various +directions. One is religious devotion, another is zealous +philanthropy, a third is the fondling of pet animals, but not the least +fortunate is the love of nature, and of art; for nature also is often a +second mistress that consoles us for the loss of a first. Passion then +overflows and visibly floods those neighbouring regions which it +had always secretly watered. For the same nervous organization +which sex involves, with its necessarily wide branchings and +associations in the brain, must be partially stimulated by other +objects than its specific or ultimate one especially in man, who, +unlike some of the lower animals, has not his instincts clearly +distinct and intermittent, but always partially active, and never +active in isolation. We may say, then, that for man all nature is a +secondary object of sexual passion, and that to this fact the beauty +of nature is largely due. + +_Social instincts and their aesthetic influence._ + +Sec. 14. The function of reproduction carries with it not only direct +modifications of the body and mind, but a whole set of social +institutions, for the existence of which social instincts and habits +are necessary in man. These social feelings, the parental, the +patriotic, or the merely gregarious, are not of much direct value for +aesthetics, although, as is seen in the case of fashions, they are +important in determining the duration and prevalence of a taste +once formed. Indirectly they are of vast importance and play a +great role in arts like poetry, where the effect depends on what is +signified more than on what is offered to sense. Any appeal to a +human interest rebounds in favour of a work of art in which it is +successfully made. That interest, unaesthetic in itself, helps to fix +the attention and to furnish subject-matter and momentum to arts +and modes of appreciation which are aesthetic. Thus comprehension +of the passion of love is necessary to the appreciation of +numberless songs, plays, and novels, and not a few works of +musical and plastic art. + +The treatment of these matters must be postponed until we are +prepared to deal with expression -- the most complex element of +effect. It will suffice here to point out why social and gregarious +impulses, in the satisfaction of which happiness mainly resides, are +those in which beauty finds least support. This may help us to +understand better the relations between aesthetics and _hedonics,_ +and the nature of that objectification in which we have placed the +difference between beauty and pleasure. + +So long as happiness is conceived as a poet might conceive it, +namely, in its immediately sensuous and emotional factors, so long +as we live in the moment and make our happiness consist in the +simplest things, -- in breathing, seeing, hearing, loving, and +sleeping, -- our happiness has the same substance, the same +elements, as our aesthetic delight, for it is aesthetic delight that +makes our happiness. Yet poets and artists, with their immediate +and aesthetic joys, are not thought to be happy men; they +themselves are apt to be loud in their lamentations, and to regard +themselves as eminently and tragically unhappy. This arises from +the intensity and inconstancy of their emotions, from their +improvidence, and from the eccentricity of their social habits. +While among them the sensuous and vital functions have the upper +hand, the gregarious and social instincts are subordinated and often +deranged; and their unhappiness consists in the sense of their +unfitness to live in the world into which they are born. + +But man is pre-eminently a political animal, and social needs are +almost as fundamental in him as vital functions, and often more +conscious. Friendship, wealth, reputation, power, and influence, +when added to family life, constitute surely the main elements of +happiness. Now these are only very partially composed of definite +images of objects. The desire for them, the consciousness of their +absence or possession, comes upon us only when we reflect, when +we are planning, considering the future, gathering the words of +others, rehearsing their scorn or admiration for ourselves, +conceiving possible situations in which our virtue, our fame or +power would become conspicuous, comparing our lot with that of +others, and going through other discursive processes of thought. +Apprehension, doubt, isolation, are things which come upon us +keenly when we reflect upon our lives; they cannot easily become +qualities of any object. If by chance they can, they acquire a great +aesthetic value. For instance, "home," which in its social sense is a +concept of happiness, when it becomes materialized in a cottage +and a garden becomes an aesthetic concept, becomes a beautiful +thing. The happiness is objectified, and the object beautified. + +Social objects, however, are seldom thus aesthetic, because they +are not thus definitely imaginable. They are diffuse and abstract, +and verbal rather than sensuous in their materials. Therefore the +great emotions that go with them are not immediately transmutable +into beauty. If artists and poets are unhappy, it is after all because +happiness does not interest them. They cannot seriously pursue it, +because its components are not components of beauty, and being in +love with beauty, they neglect and despise those unaesthetic social +virtues in the operation of which happiness is found. On the other +hand those who pursue happiness conceived merely in the abstract +and conventional terms, as money, success, or respectability, often +miss that real and fundamental part of happiness which flows from +the senses and imagination. This element is what aesthetics +supplies to life; for beauty also can be a cause and a factor of +happiness. Yet the happiness of loving beauty is either too +sensuous to be stable, or else too ultimate, too sacramental, to be +accounted happiness by the worldly mind. + +_The lower senses._ + +Sec. 15. The senses of touch, taste, and smell, although capable no +doubt of a great development, have not served in man for the +purposes of intelligence so much as those of sight and hearing. It is +natural that as they remain normally in the background of +consciousness, and furnish the least part of our objectified ideas, +the pleasures connected with them should remain also detached, +and unused for the purpose of appreciation of nature. They have +been called the unaesthetic, as well as the lower, senses; but the +propriety of these epithets, which is undeniable, is due not to any +intrinsic sensuality or baseness of these senses, but to the function +which they happen to have in our experience. Smell and taste, like +hearing, have the great disadvantage of not being intrinsically +spatial: they are therefore not fitted to serve for the representation +of nature, which allows herself to be accurately conceived only in +spatial terms.[3] They have not reached, moreover, the same +organization as sounds, and therefore cannot furnish any play of +subjective sensation comparable to music in interest. + +The objectification of musical forms is due to their fixity and +complexity: like words, they are thought of as existing in a social +medium, and can be beautiful without being spatial. But tastes +have never been so accurately or universally classified and +distinguished; the instrument of sensation does not allow such nice +and stable discriminations as does the ear. The art of combining +dishes and wines, although one which everybody practises with +more or less skill and attention, deals with a material far too +unrepresentable to be called beautiful. The art remains in the +sphere of the pleasant, and is consequently regarded as servile, +rather than fine. + +Artists in life, if that expression may be used for those who have +beautified social and domestic existence, have appealed +continually to these lower senses. A fragrant garden, and savoury +meats, incense, and perfumes, soft stuffs, and delicious colours, +form our ideal of oriental luxuries, an ideal which appeals too +much to human nature ever to lose its charm. Yet our northern +poets have seldom attempted to arouse these images in their +sensuous intensity, without relieving them by some imaginative +touch. In Keats, for example, we find the following lines: -- + + And still she slept in azure-lidded sleep, + In blanched linen, smooth and lavendered, + While he from forth the closet brought a heap + Of candied apple, quince, and plum, and gourd, + With jellies soother than the creamy curd, + And lucent syrops tinct with cinnamon; + Manna and dates in argosy transferred + From Fez; and spiced dainties, every one + From silken Samarcand to cedared Lebanon. + +Even the most sensuous of English poets, in whom the love of +beauty is supreme, cannot keep long to the primal elements of +beauty; the higher flight is inevitable for him. And how much does +not the appeal to things in argosy transferred from Fez, reinforced +with the reference to Samarcand and especially to the authorized +beauties of the cedars of Lebanon, which even the Puritan may +sing without a blush, add to our wavering satisfaction and +reconcile our conscience to this unchristian indulgence of sense! + +But the time may be near when such scruples will be less common, +and our poetry, with our other arts, will dwell nearer to the +fountain-head of all inspiration. For if nothing not once in sense is +to be found in the intellect, much less is such a thing to be found in +the imagination. If the cedars of Lebanon did not spread a grateful +shade, or the winds rustle through the maze of their branches, if +Lebanon had never been beautiful to sense, it would not now be a +fit or poetic subject of allusion. And the word "Fez" would be +without imaginative value if no traveller had ever felt the +intoxication of the torrid sun, the languors of oriental luxury, or, +like the British soldier, cried amid the dreary moralities of his +native land: -- + + Take me somewhere east of Suez + Where the best is like the worst, + Where there ain't no ten commandments + And a man may raise a thirst. + +Nor would Samarcand be anything but for the mystery of the +desert and the picturesqueness of caravans, nor would an argosy be +poetic if the sea had no voices and no foam, the winds and oars no +resistance, and the rudder and taut sheets no pull. From these real +sensations imagination draws its life, and suggestion its power. +The sweep of the fancy is itself also agreeable; but the superiority +of the distant over the present is only due to the mass and variety +of the pleasures that can be suggested, compared with the poverty +of those that can at any time be felt. + +_Sound._ + +Sec. 16. Sound shares with the lower senses the disadvantage of +having no intrinsic spatial character; it, therefore, forms no part of +the properly abstracted external world, and the pleasures of the ear +cannot become, in the literal sense, qualities of _things._ But there +is in sounds such an exquisite and continuous gradation in pitch, +and such a measurable relation in length, that an object almost as +complex and describable as the visible one can be built out of +them. What gives spatial forms their value in description of +the environment is the ease with which discriminations and +comparisons can be made in spatial objects: they are measurable, +while unspatial sensations commonly are not. But sounds are also +measurable in their own category: they have comparable pitches +and durations, and definite and recognizable combinations of those +sensuous elements are as truly _objects_ as chairs and tables. Not +that a musical composition exists in any mystical way, as a portion +of the music of the spheres, which no one is hearing; but that, for a +critical philosophy, visible objects are also nothing but possibilities +of sensation. The real world is merely the shadow of that assurance +of eventual experience which accompanies sanity. This objectivity +can accrue to any mental figment that has enough cohesion, +content, and individuality to be describable and recognizable, and +these qualities belong no less to audible than to spatial ideas. + +There is, accordingly, some justification in Schopenhauer's +speculative assertion that music repeats the entire world of sense, +and is a parallel method of expression of the underlying substance, +or will. The world of sound is certainly capable of infinite variety +and, were our sense developed, of infinite extensions; and it has as +much as the world of matter the power to interest us and to stir our +emotions. It was therefore potentially as full of meaning. But it has +proved the less serviceable and constant apparition; and, therefore, +music, which builds with its materials, while the purest and most +impressive of the arts, is the least human and instructive of them. + +The pleasantness of sounds has a simple physical basis. All +sensations are pleasant only between certain limits of intensity; but +the ear can discriminate easily between noises, that in themselves +are uninteresting, if not annoying, and notes, which have an +unmistakable charm. A sound is a note if the pulsations of the air +by which it is produced recur at regular intervals. If there is no +regular recurrence of waves, it is a noise. The rapidity of these +regular beats determines the pitch of tones. That quality or +_timbre_ by which one sound is distinguished from another of the +same pitch and intensity is due to the different complications of +waves in the air; the ability to discriminate the various waves in the +vibrating air is, therefore, the condition of our finding music in it; +for every wave has its period, and what we call a noise is a +complication of notes too complex for our organs or our attention +to decipher. + +We find here, at the very threshold of our subject, a clear instance +of a conflict of principles which appears everywhere in aesthetics, +and is the source and explanation of many conflicts of taste. Since +a note is heard when a set of regular vibrations can be +discriminated in the chaos of sound, it appears that the perception +and value of this artistic element depends on abstraction, on the +omission from the field of attention, of all the elements which do +not conform to a simple law. This may be called the principle of +purity. But if it were, the only principle at work, there would be no +music more beautiful than the tone of a tuning-fork. Such sounds, +although delightful perhaps to a child, are soon tedious. The +principle of purity must make some compromise with another +principle, which we may call that of interest. The object must have +enough variety and expression to hold our attention for a while, +and to stir our nature widely. + +As we are more acutely sensitive to results or to processes, we find +the most agreeable effect nearer to one or to the other of these +extremes of a tedious beauty or of an unbeautiful expressiveness. +But these principles, as is clear, are not coordinate. The child who +enjoys his rattle or his trumpet has aesthetic enjoyment, of +however rude a kind; but the master of technique who should give +a performance wholly without sensuous charm would be a gymnast +and not a musician, and the author whose novels and poems should +be merely expressive, and interesting only by their meaning and +moral, would be a writer of history or philosophy, but not an artist. +The principle of purity is therefore essential to aesthetic effect, but +the principle of interest is subsidiary, and if appealed to alone +would fail to produce beauty. + +The distinction, however, is not absolute: for the simple sensation +is itself interesting, and the complication, if it is appreciable by +sense and does not require discursive thought to grasp it, is itself +beautiful. There may be a work of art in which the sensuous +materials are not pleasing, as a discourse without euphony, if the +structure and expression give delight; and there may be an +interesting object without perceived structure, like musical notes, +or the blue sky. Perfection would, of course, lie in the union of +elements all intrinsically beautiful, in forms also intrinsically so; +but where this is impossible, different natures prefer to sacrifice +one or the other advantage. + +_Colour._ + +Sec. 17. In the eye we have an organ so differentiated that it is +sensitive to a much more subtle influence than even that of air +waves. There seems to be, in the interstellar spaces, some +pervasive fluid, for the light of the remotest star is rapidly +conveyed to us, and we can hardly understand how this radiation of +light, which takes place beyond our atmosphere, could be realized +without some medium. This hypothetical medium we call the ether. +It is capable of very rapid vibrations, which are propagated in all +directions, like the waves of sound, only much more quickly. +Many common observations, such as the apparent interval between +lightning and thunder, make us aware of the quicker motion of +light. Now, since nature was filled with this responsive fluid, +which propagated to all distances vibrations originating at any +point, and moreover as these vibrations, when intercepted by a +solid body, were reflected wholly or in part, it obviously became +very advantageous to every animal to develope an organ sensitive +to these vibrations -- sensitive, that is, to light. For this would give +the mind instantaneous impressions dependent upon the presence +and nature of distant objects. + +To this circumstance we must attribute the primacy of sight in our +perception, a primacy that makes light the natural symbol of +knowledge. When the time came for our intelligence to take the +great metaphysical leap, and conceive its content as permanent and +independent, or, in other words, to imagine _things,_ the idea of +these _things_ had to be constructed out of the materials already +present to the mind. But the fittest material for such construction +was that furnished by the eye, since it is the eye that brings us into +widest relations with our actual environment, and gives us the +quickest warning of approaching impressions. Sight has a +prophetic function. We are less interested in it for itself than for the +suggestion it brings of what may follow after. Sight is a method of +presenting psychically what is practically absent; and as the +essence of the _thing_ is its existence in our absence, the _thing_ is +spontaneously conceived in terms of sight. + +Sight is, therefore, perception _par excellence,_ since we become +most easily aware of objects through visual agency and in visual +terms. Now, as the values of perception are those we call aesthetic, +and there could be no beauty if there was no conception of +independent objects, we may expect to find beauty derived mainly +from the pleasures of sight. And, in fact, form, which is almost a +synonym of beauty, is for us usually something visible: it is a +synthesis of the seen. But prior to the effect of form, which arises +in the constructive imagination, comes the effect of colour; this is +purely sensuous, and no better intrinsically than the effects of any +other sense: but being more involved in the perception of objects +than are the rest, it becomes more readily an element of beauty. + +The values of colours differ appreciably and have analogy to the +differing values of other sensations. As sweet or pungent smells, as +high and low notes, or major and minor chords, differ from each +other by virtue of their different stimulation of the senses, so also +red differs from green, and green from violet. There is a nervous +process for each, and consequently a specific value. This emotional +quality has affinity to the emotional quality of other sensations; we +need not be surprised that the high rate of vibration which yields a +sharp note to the ear should involve somewhat the same feeling +that is produced by the high rate of vibration which, to the eye, +yields a violet colour. These affinities escape many minds; but it is +conceivable that the sense of them should be improved by accident +or training. There are certain effects of colour which give all men +pleasure, and others which jar, almost like a musical discord. A +more general development of this sensibility would make possible +a new abstract art, an art that should deal with colours as music +does with sound. + +We have not studied these effects, however, with enough attention, +we have not allowed them to penetrate enough into the soul, to +think them very significant. The stimulation of fireworks, or of +kaleidoscopic effects, seems to us trivial. But everything which has +a varied content has a potentiality of form and also of meaning. +The form will be enjoyed as soon as attention accustoms us to +discriminate and recognize its variations; and meaning will accrue +to it, when the various emotional values of these forms ally the +new object to all other experiences which involve similar emotions, +and thus give it a sympathetic environment in the mind. The +colours of the sunset have a brilliancy that attracts attention, and a +softness and illusiveness that enchant the eye; while the many +associations of the evening and of heaven gather about this kindred +charm and deepen it. Thus the most sensuous of beauties can be +full of sentimental suggestion. In stained glass, also, we have an +example of masses of colour made to exert their powerful direct +influence, to intensify an emotion eventually to be attached to very +ideal objects; what is in itself a gorgeous and unmeaning ornament, +by its absolute impressiveness becomes a vivid symbol of those +other ultimates which have a similar power over the soul. + +_Materials surveyed._ + +Sec. 18. We have now gone over those organs of perception that give +us the materials out of which we construct objects, and mentioned +the most conspicuous pleasures which, as they arise from those +organs, are easily merged in the ideas furnished by the same. We +have also noticed that these ideas, conspicuous as they are in our +developed and operating consciousness, are not so much factors in +our thought, independent contributors to it, as they are +discriminations and excisions in its content, which, after they are +all made, leave still a background of vital feeling. For the outer +senses are but a portion of our sensorium, and the ideas of each, or +of all together, but a portion of our consciousness. + +The pleasures which accompany ideation we have also found to be +unitary and vital; only just as for practical purposes it is necessary +to abstract and discriminate the contribution of one sense from that +of another, and thus to become aware of particular and definable +impressions, so it is natural that the diffused emotional tone of the +body should also be divided, and a certain modicum of pleasure or +pain should be attributed to each idea. Our pleasures are thus +described as the pleasures of touch, taste, smell, hearing, and sight, +and may become elements of beauty at the same time as the ideas +to, which they are attached become elements of objects. There is, +however, a remainder of emotion as there is a remainder of +sensation; and the importance of this remainder -- of the continuum +in which lie all particular pleasures and pains -- was insisted upon +in the beginning. + +The beauty of the world, indeed, cannot be attributed wholly or +mainly to pleasures thus attached to abstracted sensations. It is +only the beauty of the materials of things which is drawn from the +pleasures of sensation. By far the most important effects are not +attributable to these materials, but to their arrangement and their +ideal relations. We have yet to study those processes of our mind +by which this arrangement and these relations are conceived; and +the pleasures which we can attach to these processes may then be +added to the pleasures attached to sense as further and more subtle +elements of beauty. + +But before passing to the consideration of this more intricate +subject, we may note that however subordinate the beauty may be +which a garment, a building, or a poem derives from its sensuous +material, yet the presence of this sensuous material is indispensable. +Form cannot be the form of nothing. If, then, in finding or creating +beauty, we ignore the materials of things, and attend only to their +form, we miss an ever-present opportunity to heighten our effects. +For whatever delight the form may bring, the material might have +given delight already, and so much would have been gained +towards the value of the total result. + +Sensuous beauty is not the greatest or most important element of +effect, but it is the most primitive and fundamental, and the most +universal. There is no effect of form which an effect of material +could not enhance, and this effect of material, underlying that of +form, raises the latter to a higher power and gives the beauty of the +object a certain poignancy, thoroughness, and infinity which it +otherwise would have lacked. The Parthenon not in marble, the +king's crown not of gold, and the stars not of fire, would be feeble +and prosaic things. The greater hold which material beauty has +upon the senses, stimulates us here, where the form is also sublime, +and lifts and intensifies our emotions. We need this stimulus if our +perceptions are to reach the highest pitch of strength and acuteness. +Nothing can be ravishing that is not beautiful pervasively. + +And another point. The wider diffusion of sensuous beauty makes +it as it were the poor man's good. Fewer factors are needed to +produce it and less training to appreciate it. The senses are +indispensable instruments of labour, developed by the necessities +of life; but their perfect development produces a harmony between +the inward structure and instinct of the organ and the outward +opportunities for its use; and this harmony is the source of +continual pleasures. In the sphere of sense, therefore, a certain +cultivation is inevitable in man; often greater, indeed, among +rude peoples, perhaps among animals, than among those whose +attention takes a wider sweep and whose ideas are more abstract. +Without requiring, therefore, that a man should rise above his +station, or develope capacities which his opportunities will seldom +employ, we may yet endow his life with aesthetic interest, if we +allow him the enjoyment of sensuous beauty. This enriches him +without adding to his labour, and flatters him without alienating +him from his world. + +Taste, when it is spontaneous, always begins with the senses. +Children and savages, as we are so often told, delight in bright and +variegated colours; the simplest people appreciate the neatness of +muslin curtains, shining varnish, and burnished pots. A rustic +garden is a shallow patchwork of the liveliest flowers, without that +reserve and repose which is given by spaces and masses. Noise and +vivacity is all that childish music contains, and primitive songs add +little more of form than what is required to compose a few +monotonous cadences. These limitations are not to be regretted; +they are a proof of sincerity. Such simplicity is not the absence of +taste, but the beginning of it. + +A people with genuine aesthetic perceptions creates traditional +forms and expresses the simple pathos of its life, in unchanging but +significant themes, repeated by generation after generation. When +sincerity is lost, and a snobbish ambition is substituted bad taste +comes in. The essence of it is a substitution of non-aesthetic for +aesthetic values. To love glass beads because they are beautiful is +barbarous, perhaps, but not vulgar; to love jewels only because +they are dear is vulgar, and to betray the motive by placing them +ineffectively is an offence against taste. The test is always the same: +Does the thing itself actually please? If it does, your taste is real; it +may be different from that of others, but is equally justified and +grounded in human nature. If it does not, your whole judgment is +spurious, and you are guilty, not of heresy, which in aesthetics is +orthodoxy itself, but of hypocrisy, which is a self-excommunication +from its sphere. + +Now, a great sign of this hypocrisy is insensibility to sensuous +beauty. When people show themselves indifferent to primary and +fundamental effects, when they are incapable of finding pictures +except in frames or beauties except in the great masters, we may +justly suspect that they are parrots, and that their verbal and +historical knowledge covers a natural lack of aesthetic sense. +Where, on the contrary, insensibility to higher forms of beauty +does not exclude a natural love of the lower, we have every reason +to be encouraged; there is a true and healthy taste, which only +needs experience to refine it. If a man demands light, sound, and +splendour, he proves that he has the aesthetic equilibrium; that +appearances as such interest him, and that he can pause in +perception to enjoy. We have but to vary his observation, to +enlarge his thought, to multiply his discriminations -- all of which +education can do -- and the same aesthetic habit will reveal to him +every shade of the fit and fair. Or if it should not, and the man, +although sensuously gifted, proved to be imaginatively dull, at +least he would not have failed to catch an intimate and wide-spread +element of effect. The beauty of material is thus the groundwork of +all higher beauty, both in the object, whose form and meaning have +to be lodged in something sensible, and in the mind, where +sensuous ideas, being the first to emerge, are the first that can +arouse delight. + + +PART III + +FORM + +_There is a beauty of form._ + +Sec. 19. The most remarkable and characteristic problem of aesthetics +is that of beauty of form. Where there is a sensuous delight, like +that of colour, and the impression of the object is in its elements +agreeable, we have to look no farther for an explanation of the +charm we feel. Where there is expression, and an object indifferent +to the senses is associated with other ideas which are interesting, +the problem, although complex and varied, is in principle +comparatively plain. But there is an intermediate effect which is +more mysterious, and more specifically an effect of beauty. It is +found where sensible elements, by themselves indifferent, are so +united as to please in combination. There is something unexpected +in this phenomenon, so much so that those who cannot conceive its +explanation often reassure themselves by denying its existence. To +reduce beauty of form, however, to beauty of elements would not +be easy, because the creation and variation of effect, by changing +the relation of the simplest lines, offers too easy an experiment in +refutation. And it would, moreover, follow to the comfort of the +vulgar that all marble houses are equally beautiful. + +To attribute beauty of form to expression is more plausible. If I +take the meaningless short lines in the figure and arrange them in +the given ways, intended to represent the human face, there appear +at once notably different aesthetic values. + +[Illustration of long and short lines] + +[Illustration of lines arranged into three facial profiles] + +Two of the forms are differently grotesque and one approximately +beautiful. Now these effects are due to the expression of the lines; +not only because they make one think of fair or ugly faces, but +because, it may be said, these faces would in reality be fair or ugly +according to their expression, according to the vital and moral +associations of the different types. + +Nevertheless, beauty of form cannot be reduced to expression +without denying the existence of immediate aesthetic values +altogether, and reducing them all to suggestions of moral good. For +if the object expressed by the form, and from which the form +derives its value, had itself beauty of form, we should not advance; +we must come somewhere to the point where the expression is of +something else than beauty; and this something else would of +course be some practical or moral good. Moralists are fond of such +an interpretation, and it is a very interesting one. It puts beauty in +the same relation to morals in which morals stand to pleasure and +pain; both would be intuitions, qualitatively new, but with the same +materials; they would be new perspectives of the same object. + +But this theory is actually inadmissible. Innumerable aesthetic +effects, indeed all specific and unmixed ones, are direct +transmutations of pleasures and pains; they express nothing +extrinsic to themselves, much less moral excellences. The detached +lines of our figure signify nothing, but they are not absolutely +uninteresting; the straight line is the simplest and not the least +beautiful of forms. To say that it owes its interest to the thought of +the economy of travelling over the shortest road, or of other +practical advantages, would betray a feeble hold on psychological +reality. The impression of a straight line differs in a certain almost +emotional way from that of a curve, as those of various curves do +from one another. The quality of the sensation is different, like that +of various colours or sounds. To attribute the character of these +forms to association would be like explaining sea-sickness as the +fear of shipwreck. There is a distinct quality and value, often a +singular beauty, in these simple lines that is intrinsic in the +perception of their form. + +It would be pedantic, perhaps, anywhere but in a treatise on +aesthetics, to deny to this quality the name of expression; we might +commonly say that the circle has one expression and the oval +another. But what does the circle express except circularity, or the +oval except the nature of the ellipse? Such expression _expresses_ +nothing; it is really impression. There may be analogy between it +and other impressions; we may admit that odours, colours, and +sounds correspond, and may mutually suggest one another; but this +analogy is a superadded charm felt by very sensitive natures, and +does not constitute the original value of the sensations. The +common emotional tinge is rather what enables them to suggest +one another, and what makes them comparable. Their expression, +such as it is, is therefore due to the accident that both feelings have +a kindred quality; and this quality has its effectiveness for sense +independently of the perception of its recurrence in a different +sphere. We shall accordingly take care to reserve the term +"expression" for the suggestion of some other and assignable +object, from which the expressive thing borrows an interest; and +we shall speak of the intrinsic quality of forms as their emotional +tinge or specific value. + +_Physiology of the perception of form._ + +Sec. 20. The charm of a line evidently consists in the relation of its +parts; in order to understand this interest in spatial relations, we +must inquire how they are perceived.[4] If the eye had its sensitive +surface, the retina, exposed directly to the light, we could never +have a perception of form any more than in the nose or ear, which +also perceive the object through media. When the perception is not +through a medium, but direct, as in the case of the skin, we might +get a notion of form, because each point of the object would excite +a single point in the skin, and as the sensations in different parts of +the skin differ in quality, a manifold of sense, in which +discrimination of parts would be involved, could be presented to +the mind. But when the perception is through a medium, a +difficulty arises. + +Any point, a, in the object will send a ray to every point, _a', b', +c',_ of the sensitive surface; every point of the retina will therefore +be similarly affected, since each will receive rays from every part +of the object. + +[Illustration of light rays] + +If all the rays from one point of the object, a, are to be concentrated +on a corresponding point of the retina, a which would then +become the exclusive representative of a, we must have one or +more refracting surfaces interposed, to gather the rays together. +The presence of the lens, with its various coatings, has made +representation of point by point possible for the eye. The absence +of such an instrument makes the same sort of representation +impossible to other senses, such as the nose, which does not smell +in one place the effluvia of one part of the environment and in +another place the effluvia of another, but smells indiscriminately +the combination of all. Eyes without lenses like those possessed by +some animals, undoubtedly give only a consciousness of diffused +light, without the possibility of boundaries or divisions in the field +of view. The abstraction of colour from form is therefore by no +means an artificial one, since, by a simplification of the organ of +sense, one may be perceived without the other. + +But even if the lens enables the eye to receive a distributed image +of the object, the manifold which consciousness would perceive +would not be necessarily a manifold of parts juxtaposed in space. +Bach point of the retina might send to the brain a detached +impression; these might be comparable, but not necessarily in their +spatial position. The ear sends to the brain such a manifold of +impressions (since the ear also has an apparatus by which various +external differences in rapidity of vibrations are distributed into +different parts of the organ). But this discriminated manifold is a +manifold of pitches, not of positions. How does it happen that the +manifold conveyed by the optic nerve appears in consciousness as +spatial, and that the relation between its elements is seen as a +relation of position? + +An answer to this question has been suggested by various +psychologists. The eye, by an instinctive movement, turns so as to +bring every impression upon that point of the retina, near its centre, +which has the acutest sensibility. A series of muscular sensations +therefore always follows upon the conspicuous excitement of any +outlying point. The object, as the eye brings it to the centre of +vision, excites a series of points upon the retina; and the local sign, +or peculiar quality of sensation, proper to each of these spots, is +associated with that series of muscular feelings involved in turning +the eyes. These feelings henceforth revive together; it is enough +that a point in the periphery of the retina should receive a ray, for +the mind to feel, together with that impression, the suggestion of a +motion, and of the line of points that lies between the excited point +and the centre of vision. A network of associations is thus formed, +whereby the sensation of each retinal point is connected with all +the others in a manner which is that of points in a plane. Every +visible point becomes thus a point in a field, and has a felt +radiation of lines of possible motion about it. Our notion of visual +space has this origin, since the manifold of retinal impressions is +distributed in a manner which serves as the type and exemplar of +what we mean by a surface. + +_Values of geometrical figures._ + +Sec. 21. The reader will perhaps pardon these details and the strain +they put on his attention, when he perceives how much they help +us to understand the value of forms. The sense, then, of the +position of any point consists in the tensions in the eye, that not +only tends to bring that point to the centre of vision, but feels the +suggestion of all the other points which are related to the given one +in the web of visual experience. The definition of space as the +possibility of motion is therefore an accurate and significant one, +since the most direct and native perception of space we can have is +the awakening of many tendencies to move our organs. + +For example, if a circle is presented, the eye will fall upon its +centre, as to the centre of gravity, as it were, of the balanced +attractions of all the points; and there will be, in that position, an +indifference and sameness of sensation, in whatever direction some +accident moves the eye, that accounts very well for the emotional +quality of the circle. It is a form which, although beautiful in its +purity and simplicity, and wonderful in its continuity, lacks any +stimulating quality, and is often ugly in the arts, especially when +found in vertical surfaces where it is not always seen in perspective. +For horizontal surfaces it is better because it is there always an +ellipse to vision, and the ellipse has a less dull and stupefying +effect. The eye can move easily, organize and subordinate its parts, +and its relations to the environment are not similar in all directions. +Small circles, like buttons, are not in the same danger of becoming +ugly, because the eye considers them as points, and they diversify +and help to divide surfaces, without appearing as surfaces +themselves. + +The straight line offers a curious object for analysis. It is not for +the eye a very easy form to grasp. We bend it or we leave it. +Unless it passes through the centre of vision, it is obviously a +tangent to the points which have analogous relations to that centre. +The local signs or tensions of the points in such a tangent vary in +an unseizable progression; there is violence in keeping to it, and +the effect is forced. This makes the dry and stiff quality of any long +straight line, which the skilful Greeks avoided by the curves of +their columns and entablatures, and the less economical barbarians +by a profusion of interruptions and ornaments. + +The straight line, when made the direct object of attention, is, of +course, followed by the eye and not seen by the outlying parts of +the retina in one eccentric position. The same explanation is good +for this more common case, since the consciousness that the eye +travels in a straight line consists in the surviving sense of the +previous position, and in the manner in which the tensions of these +various positions overlap. If the tensions change from moment to +moment entirely, we have a broken, a fragmentary effect, as that of +zigzag, where all is dropping and picking up again of associated +motions; in the straight line, much prolonged, we have a gradual +and inexorable rending of these tendencies to associated +movements. + +In the curves we call flowing and graceful, we have, on the +contrary, a more natural and rhythmical set of movements in the +optic muscles; and certain points in the various gyrations make +rhymes and assonances, as it were, to the eye that reaches them. +We find ourselves at every turn reawakening, with a variation, the +sense of the previous position. It is easy to understand by analogy +with the superficially observed conditions of pleasure, that such +rhythms and harmonies should be delightful. The deeper question +of the physical basis of pleasure we have not intended to discuss. +Suffice it that measure, in quantity, in intensity, and in time, must +involve that physiological process, whatever it may be, the +consciousness of which is pleasure. + +_Symmetry._ + +Sec. 22. An important exemplification of these physiological +principles is found in the charm of symmetry. When for any reason +the eye is to be habitually directed to a single point, as to the +opening of a gate or window, to an altar, a throne, a stage, or a +fireplace, there will be violence and distraction caused by the +tendency to look aside in the recurring necessity of looking +forward, if the object is not so arranged that the tensions of eye are +balanced, and the centre of gravity of vision lies in the point which +one is obliged to keep in sight. In all such objects we therefore +require bilateral symmetry. The necessity of vertical symmetry is +not felt because the eyes and head do not so readily survey objects +from top to bottom as from side to side. The inequality of the upper +and lower parts does not generate the same tendency to motion, the +same restlessness, as does the inequality of the right and left sides +of an object in front of us. The comfort and economy that comes +from muscular balance in the eye, is therefore in some cases the +source of the value of symmetry.[5] + +In other cases symmetry appeals to us through the charm of +recognition and rhythm. When the eye runs over a facade, and +finds the objects that attract it at equal intervals, an expectation, +like the anticipation of an inevitable note or requisite word, arises +in the mind, and its non-satisfaction involves a shock. This shock, +if caused by the emphatic emergence of an interesting object, gives +the effect of the picturesque; but when it comes with no +compensation, it gives us the feeling of ugliness and imperfection +-- the defect which symmetry avoids. This kind of symmetry is +accordingly in itself a negative merit, but often the condition of the +greatest of all merits, -- the permanent power to please. It +contributes to that completeness which delights without +stimulating, and to which our jaded senses return gladly, after all +sorts of extravagances, as to a kind of domestic peace. The +inwardness and solidity of this quiet beauty comes from the +intrinsic character of the pleasure which makes it up. It is no +adventitious charm; but the eye in its continual passage over the +object finds always the same response, the same adequacy; and the +very process of perception is made delightful by the object's fitness +to be perceived. The parts, thus coalescing, form a single object, +the unity and simplicity of which are based upon the rhythm and +correspondence of its elements. + +Symmetry is here what metaphysicians call a principle of +individuation. By the emphasis which it lays upon the recurring +elements, it cuts up the field into determinate units; all that lies +between the beats is one interval, one individual. If there were no +recurrent impressions, no corresponding points, the field of +perception would remain a fluid continuum, without defined and +recognizable divisions. The outlines of most things are +symmetrical because we choose what symmetrical lines we find to +be the boundaries of objects. Their symmetry is the condition of +their unity, and their unity of their individuality and separate +existence. + +Experience, to be sure, can teach us to regard unsymmetrical +objects as wholes, because their elements move and change +together in nature; but this is a principle of individuation, _a +posteriori,_ founded on the association of recognized elements. +These elements, to be recognized and seen to go together and form +one thing, must first be somehow discriminated; and the symmetry, +either of their parts, or of their position as wholes, may enable us +to fix their boundaries and to observe their number. The category +of unity, which we are so constantly imposing upon nature and its +parts, has symmetry, then, for one of its instruments, for one of its +bases of application. + +If symmetry, then, is a principle of individuation and helps us to +distinguish objects, we cannot wonder that it helps us to enjoy the +perception. For our intelligence loves to perceive; water is +not more grateful to a parched throat than a principle of +comprehension to a confused understanding. Symmetry clarifies, +and we all know that light is sweet. At the same time, we can see +why there are limits to the value of symmetry. In objects, for +instance, that are too small or too diffused for composition, +symmetry has no value. In an avenue symmetry is stately and +impressive, but in a large park, or in the plan of a city, or the side +wall of a gallery it produces monotony in the various views rather +than unity in any one of them. Greek temples, never being very +large, were symmetrical on all their facades; Gothic churches were +generally designed to be symmetrical only in the west front, and in +the transepts, while the side elevation as a whole was eccentric. +This was probably an accident, due to the demands of the interior +arrangement; but it was a fortunate one, as we may see by +contrasting its effect with that of our stations, exhibition buildings, +and other vast structures, where symmetry is generally introduced +even in the most extensive facades which, being too much +prolonged for their height, cannot be treated as units. The eye is +not able to take them in at a glance, and does not get the effect of +repose from the balance of the extremes, while the mechanical +sameness of the sections, surveyed in succession, makes the +impression of an unmeaning poverty of resource. + +Symmetry thus loses its value when it cannot, on account of the +size of the object, contribute to the unity of our perception. The +synthesis which it facilitates must be instantaneous. If the +comprehension by which we unify our object is discursive, as, for +instance, in conceiving the arrangement and numbering of the +streets of New York, or the plan of the Escurial, the advantage of +symmetry is an intellectual one; we can better imagine the relations +of the parts, and draw a map of the whole in the fancy; but there is +no advantage to direct perception, and therefore no added beauty. +Symmetry is superfluous in those objects. Similarly animal and +vegetable forms gain nothing by being symmetrically displayed, if +the sense of their life and motion is to be given. When, however, +these forms are used for mere decoration, not for the expression of +their own vitality, then symmetry is again required to accentuate +their unity and organization. This justifies the habit of +conventionalizing natural forms, and the tendency of some kinds of +hieratic art, like the Byzantine or Egyptian, to affect a rigid +symmetry of posture. We can thereby increase the unity and force +of the image without suggesting that individual life and mobility, +which would interfere with the religious function of the object, as +the symbol and embodiment of an impersonal faith. + +_Form the unity of a manifold._ + +Sec. 23. Symmetry is evidently a kind of unity in variety, where a +whole is determined by the rhythmic repetition of similars. We +have seen that it has a value where it is an aid to unification. Unity +would thus appear to be the virtue of forms; but a moment's +reflection will show us that unity cannot be absolute and be a form; +a form is an aggregation, it must have elements, and the manner in +which the elements are combined constitutes the character of the +form. A perfectly simple perception, in which there was no +consciousness of the distinction and relation of parts, would not be +a perception of form; it would be a sensation. Physiologically these +sensations may be aggregates and their values, as in the case of +musical tones, may differ according to the manner in which certain +elements, beats, vibrations, nervous processes, or what not, are +combined; but for consciousness the result is simple, and the value +is the pleasantness of a datum and not of a process. Form, therefore, +does not appeal to the unattentive; they get from objects only a +vague sensation which may in them awaken extrinsic associations; +they do not stop to survey the parts or to appreciate their relation, +and consequently are insensible to the various charms of various +unifications; they can find in objects only the value of material or +of function, not that of form. + +Beauty of form, however, is what specifically appeals to an +aesthetic nature; it is equally removed from the crudity of formless +stimulation and from the emotional looseness of reverie and +discursive thought. The indulgence in sentiment and suggestion, of +which our time is fond, to the sacrifice of formal beauty, marks an +absence of cultivation as real, if not as confessed, as that of the +barbarian who revels in gorgeous confusion. + +The synthesis, then, which constitutes form is an activity of the +mind; the unity arises consciously, and is an insight into the +relation of sensible elements separately perceived. It differs from +sensation in the consciousness of the synthesis, and from +expression in the homogeneity of the elements, and in their +common presence to sense. + +The variety of forms depends upon the character of the elements +and on the variety of possible methods of unification. The elements +may be all alike, and their only diversity be numerical. Their unity +will then be merely the sense of their uniformity.[6] Or they may +differ in kind, but so as to compel the mind to no particular order +in their unification. Or they may finally be so constituted that they +suggest inevitably the scheme of their unity; in this case there is +organization in the object, and the synthesis of its parts is one and +pre-determinate. We shall discuss these various forms in +succession, pointing out the effects proper to each. + +_Multiplicity in uniformity._ + +Sec. 24. The radical and typical case of the first kind of unity in +variety is found in the perception of extension itself. This +perception, if we look to its origin, may turn out to be primitive; no +doubt the feeling of "crude extensity" is an original sensation; +every inference, association, and distinction is a thing that looms +up suddenly before the mind, and the nature and actuality of which +is a datum of what -- to indicate its irresistible immediacy and +indescribability -- we may well call sense. Forms are seen, and if +we think of the origin of the perception, we may well call this +vision a sensation. The distinction between a sensation of form, +however, and one which is formless, regards the content and +character, not the genesis of the perception. A distinction and +association, or an inference, is a direct experience, a sensible fact; +but it is the experience of a process, of a motion between two terms, +and a consciousness of their coexistence and distinction; it is a +feeling of relation. Now the sense of space is a feeling of this kind; +the essence of it is the realization of a variety of directions and of +possible motions, by which the relation of point to point is vaguely +but inevitably given. The perception of extension is therefore a +perception of form, although of the most rudimentary kind. It is +merely _Auseinandersein,_ and we might call it the _materia +prima_ of form, were it not capable of existing without further +determination. For we can have the sense of space without the +sense of boundaries; indeed, this intuition is what tempts us to +declare space infinite. Space would have to consist of a finite +number of juxtaposed blocks, if our experience of extension +carried with it essentially the realization of limits. + +The aesthetic effect of extensiveness is also entirely different from +that of particular shapes. Some things appeal to us by their surfaces, +others by the lines that limit those surfaces. And this effect of +surface is not necessarily an effect of material or colour; the +evenness, monotony, and vastness of a great curtain of colour +produce an effect which is that of the extreme of uniformity in the +extreme of multiplicity; the eye wanders over a fluid infinity of +unrecognizable positions, and the sense of their numberlessness +and continuity is precisely the source of the emotion of extent. The +emotion is primary and has undoubtedly a physiological ground, +while the idea of size is secondary and involves associations and +inferences. A small photograph of St. Peter's gives the idea of size; +as does a distant view of the same object. But this is of course +dependent on our realization of the distance, or of the scale of the +representation. The value of size becomes immediate only when +we are at close quarters with the object; then the surfaces really +subtend a large angle in the field of vision, and the sense of +vastness establishes its standard, which can afterwards be applied +to other objects by analogy and contrast. There is also, to be sure, a +moral and practical import in the known size of objects, which, by +association, determines their dignity; but the pure sense of +extension, based upon the attack of the object upon the +apperceptive resources of the eye, is the truly aesthetic value which +it concerns us to point out here, as the most rudimentary example +of form. + +Although the effect of extension is not that of material, the two are +best seen in conjunction. Material must appear in some form; but +when its beauty is to be made prominent, it is well that this form +should attract attention as little as possible to itself. Now, of all +forms, absolute uniformity in extension is the simplest and most +allied to the material; it gives the latter only just enough form to +make it real and perceptible. Very rich and beautiful materials +therefore do well to assume this form. You will spoil the beauty +you have by superimposing another; as if you make a statue of +gold, or flute a jasper column, or bedeck a velvet cloak. The beauty +of stuffs appears when they are plain. Even stone gives its specific +quality best in great unbroken spaces of wall; the simplicity of the +form emphasizes the substance. And again, the effect of extensity +is never long satisfactory unless it is superinduced upon some +material beauty; the dignity of great hangings would suffer if they +were not of damask, but of cotton, and the vast smoothness of the +sky would grow oppressive if it were not of so tender a blue. + +_Example of the stars._ + +Sec. 25. Another beauty of the sky -- the stars -- offers so striking and +fascinating an illustration of the effect of multiplicity in uniformity, +that I am tempted to analyze it at some length. To most people, I +fancy, the stars are beautiful; but if you asked why, they would be +at a loss to reply, until they remembered what they had heard about +astronomy, and the great size and distance and possible habitation +of those orbs. The vague and illusive ideas thus aroused fall in so +well with the dumb emotion we were already feeling, that we +attribute this emotion to those ideas, and persuade ourselves that +the power of the starry heavens lies in the suggestion of +astronomical facts. + +The idea of the insignificance of our earth and of the +incomprehensible multiplicity of worlds is indeed immensely +impressive; it may even be intensely disagreeable. There is +something baffling about infinity; in its presence the sense of finite +humility can never wholly banish the rebellious suspicion that we +are being deluded. Our mathematical imagination is put on the rack +by an attempted conception that has all the anguish of a nightmare +and probably, could we but awake, all its laughable absurdity. But +the obsession of this dream is an intellectual puzzle, not an +aesthetic delight. It is not essential to our admiration. Before the +days of Kepler the heavens declared the glory of God; and we +needed no calculation of stellar distances, no fancies about a +plurality of worlds, no image of infinite spaces, to make the stars +sublime. + +Had we been taught to believe that the stars governed our fortunes, +and were we reminded of fate whenever we looked at them, we +should similarly tend to imagine that this belief was the source of +their sublimity; and, if the superstition were dispelled, we should +think the interest gone from the apparition. But experience would +soon undeceive us, and prove to us that the sensuous character of +the object was sublime in itself. Indeed, on account of that intrinsic +sublimity the sky can be fitly chosen as a symbol for a sublime +conception; the common quality in both makes each suggest the +other. For that reason, too, the parable of the natal stars governing +our lives is such a natural one to express our subjection to +circumstances, and can be transformed by the stupidity of disciples +into a literal tenet. In the same way, the kinship of the emotion +produced by the stars with the emotion proper to certain religious +moments makes the stars seem a religious object. They become, +like impressive music, a stimulus to worship. But fortunately there +are experiences which remain untouched by theory, and which +maintain the mutual intelligence of men through the estrangements +wrought by intellectual and religious systems. When the +superstructures crumble, the common foundation of human +sentience and imagination is exposed beneath. + +The intellectual suggestion of the infinity of nature can, moreover, +be awakened by other experiences which are by no means sublime. +A heap of sand will involve infinity as surely as a universe of suns +and planets. Any object is infinitely divisible and, when we press +the thought, can contain as many worlds with as many winged +monsters and ideal republics as can the satellites of Sirius. But the +infinitesimal does not move us aesthetically; it can only awaken an +amused curiosity. The difference cannot lie in the import of the +idea, which is objectively the same in both cases. It lies in the +different immediate effect of the crude images which give us the +type and meaning of each; the crude image that underlies the idea +of the infinitesimal is the dot, the poorest and most uninteresting of +impressions; while the crude image that underlies the idea of +infinity is space, multiplicity in uniformity, and this, as we have +seen, has a powerful effect on account of the breadth, volume, and +omnipresence of the stimulation. Every point in the retina is evenly +excited, and the local signs of all are simultaneously felt. This +equable tension, this balance and elasticity in the very absence of +fixity, give the vague but powerful feeling that we wish to describe. +Did not the infinite, by this initial assault upon our senses, awe us +and overwhelm us, as solemn music might, the idea of it would be +abstract and moral like that of the infinitesimal, and nothing but an +amusing curiosity. + +Nothing is objectively impressive; things are impressive only when +they succeed in touching the sensibility of the observer, by finding +the avenues to his brain and heart. The idea that the universe is a +multitude of minute spheres circling, like specks of dust, in a dark +and boundless void, might leave us cold and indifferent, if not +bored and depressed, were it not that we identify this hypothetical +scheme with the visible splendour, the poignant intensity, and the +baffling number of the stars. So far is the object from giving value +to the impression, that it is here, as it must always ultimately be, +the impression that gives value to the object. For all worth leads us +back to actual feeling somewhere, or else evaporates into nothing +-- into a word and a superstition. + +Now, the starry heavens are very happily designed to intensify the +sensations on which their beauties must rest. In the first place, the +continuum of space is broken into points, numerous enough to give +the utmost idea of multiplicity and yet so distinct and vivid that it +is impossible not to remain aware of their individuality. The +variety of local signs, without becoming organized into forms, +remains prominent and irreducible. This makes the object infinitely +more exciting than a plane surface would be. In the second place, +the sensuous contrast of the dark background, -- blacker the clearer +the night and the more stars we can see, -- with the palpitating fire +of the stars themselves, could not be exceeded by any possible +device. This material beauty adds incalculably, as we have already +pointed out, to the inwardness and sublimity of the effect. To +realize the great importance of these two elements, we need but to +conceive their absence, and observe the change in the dignity of +the result. + +Fancy a map of the heavens and every star plotted upon it, even +those invisible to the naked eye: why would this object, as full of +scientific suggestion surely as the reality, leave us so +comparatively cold? Quite indifferent it might not leave us, for I +have myself watched stellar photographs with almost inexhaustible +wonder. The sense of multiplicity is naturally in no way +diminished by the representation; but the poignancy of the +sensation, the life of the light, are gone; and with the dulled +impression the keenness of the emotion disappears. Or imagine the +stars, undiminished in number, without losing any of their +astronomical significance and divine immutability, marshalled in +geometrical patterns; say in a Latin cross, with the words _In hoc +signo vinces_ in a scroll around them. The beauty of the +illumination would be perhaps increased, and its import, practical, +religious, and cosmic, would surely be a little plainer; but where +would be the sublimity of the spectacle? Irretrievably lost: and lost +because the form of the object would no longer tantalize us with its +sheer multiplicity, and with the consequent overpowering sense of +suspense and awe. + +In a word, the infinity which moves us is the sense of multiplicity +in uniformity. Accordingly things which have enough multiplicity, +as the lights of a city seen across water, have an effect similar to +that of the stars, if less intense; whereas a star, if alone, because the +multiplicity is lacking, makes a wholly different impression. The +single star is tender, beautiful, and mild; we can compare it to the +humblest and sweetest of things: + + A violet by a mossy stone + Half hidden from the eye, + Fair as _a star when only one + Is shining in the sky._ + +It is, not only in fact but in nature, an attendant on the moon, +associated with the moon, if we may be so prosaic here, not only +by contiguity but also by similarity. + + Fairer than Phoebe's sapphire-regioned star + Or vesper, amorous glow-worm of the sky. + +The same poet can say elsewhere of a passionate lover: + + He arose + Ethereal, flushed, and like a throbbing star, + Amid the sapphire heaven's deep repose. + +How opposite is all this from the cold glitter, the cruel and +mysterious sublimity of the stars when they are many! With these +we have no Sapphic associations; they make us think rather of +Kant who could hit on nothing else to compare with his categorical +imperative, perhaps because he found in both the same baffling +incomprehensibility and the same fierce actuality. Such ultimate +feelings are sensations of physical tension. + +_Defects of pure multiplicity._ + +Sec. 26. This long analysis will be a sufficient illustration of the +power of multiplicity in uniformity; we may now proceed to point +out the limitations inherent in this form. The most obvious one is +that of monotony; a file of soldiers or an iron railing is impressive +in its way, but cannot long entertain us, nor hold us with that depth +of developing interest, with which we might study a crowd or a +forest of trees. + +The tendency of monotony is double, and in two directions +deadens our pleasure. When the repeated impressions are acute, +and cannot be forgotten in their endless repetition, their monotony +becomes painful. The constant appeal to the same sense, the +constant requirement of the same reaction, tires the system, and we +long for change as for a relief. If the repeated stimulations are not +very acute, we soon become unconscious of them; like the ticking +of the clock, they become merely a factor in our bodily one, a +cause, as the case may be, of a diffused pleasure or unrest; but they +cease to present a distinguishable object. + +The pleasures, therefore, which a kindly but monotonous +environment produces, often fail to make it beautiful, for the +simple reason that the environment is not perceived. Likewise the +hideousness of things to which we are accustomed -- the blemishes +of the landscape, the ugliness of our clothes or of our walls -- do +not oppress us, not so much because we do not see the ugliness as +because we overlook the things. The beauties or defects of +monotonous objects are easily lost, because the objects are +themselves intermittent in consciousness. But it is of some +practical importance to remark that this indifference of +monotonous values is more apparent than real. The particular +object ceases to be of consequence; but the congruity of its +structure and quality with our faculties of perception remains, and +its presence in our environment is still a constant source of vague +irritation and friction, or of subtle and pervasive delight. And this +value, although not associated with the image of the monotonous +object, lies there in our mind, like all the vital and systemic +feelings, ready to enhance the beauty of any object that arouses our +attention, and meantime adding to the health and freedom of our +life -- making whatever we do a little easier and pleasanter for us. +A grateful environment is a substitute for happiness. It can quicken +us from without as a fixed hope and affection, or the consciousness +of a right life, can quicken us from within. To humanize our +surroundings is, therefore, a task which should interest the +physicians both of soul and body. + +But the monotony of multiplicity is not merely intrinsic in the form; +what is perhaps even of greater consequence in the arts is the fact +that its capacity for association is restricted. What is in itself +uniform cannot have a great diversity of relations. Hence the +dryness, the crisp definiteness and hardness, of those products of +art which contain an endless repetition of the same elements. Their +affinities are necessarily few; they are not fit for many uses, nor +capable of expressing many ideas. The heroic couplet, now too +much derided, is a form of this kind. Its compactness and +inevitableness make it excellent for an epigram and adequate it for +a satire, but its perpetual snap and unvarying rhythm are thin for an +epic, and impossible for a song. The Greek colonnade, a form in +many ways analogous, has similar limitations. Beautiful with a +finished and restrained beauty, which our taste is hardly refined +enough to appreciate, it is incapable of development. The +experiments of Roman architecture sufficiently show it; the glory +of which is their Roman frame rather than their Hellenic ornament. + +When the Greeks themselves had to face the problem of larger and +more complex buildings, in the service of a supernatural and +hierarchical system, they transformed their architecture into what +we call Byzantine, and St. Sophia took the place of the Parthenon. +Here a vast vault was introduced, the colonnade disappeared, the +architrave was rounded into an arch from column to column, the +capitals of these were changed from concave to convex, and a +thousand other changes in structure and ornament introduced +flexibility and variety. Architecture could in this way, precisely +because more vague and barbarous, better adapt itself to the +conditions of the new epoch. Perfect taste is itself a limitation, not +because it intentionally excludes any excellence, but because it +impedes the wandering of the arts into those bypaths of caprice and +grotesqueness in which, although at the sacrifice of formal beauty, +interesting partial effects might still be discovered. And this +objection applies with double force to the first crystallizations of +taste, when tradition has carried us but a little way in the right +direction. The authorized effects are then very simple, and if we +allow no others, our art becomes wholly inadequate to the +functions ultimately imposed upon it. Primitive arts might furnish +examples, but the state of English poetry at the time of Queen +Anne is a sufficient illustration of this possibility. The French +classicism, of which, the English school was an echo, was more +vital and human, because it embodied a more native taste and a +wider training. + +_Aesthetics of democracy._ + +Sec. 27. It would be an error to suppose that aesthetic principles apply +only to our judgments of works of art or of those natural objects +which we attend to chiefly on account of their beauty. Every idea +which is formed in the human mind, every activity and emotion, +has some relation, direct or indirect, to pain and pleasure. If, as is +the case in all the more important instances, these fluid activities +and emotions precipitate, as it were, in their evanescence certain +psychical solids called ideas of things, then the concomitant +pleasures are incorporated more or less in those concrete ideas and +the things acquire an aesthetic colouring. And although this +aesthetic colouring may be the last quality we notice in objects of +practical interest, its influence upon us is none the less real, and +often accounts for a great deal in our moral and practical attitude. + +In the leading political and moral idea of our time, in the idea of +democracy, I think there is a strong aesthetic ingredient, and the +power of the idea of democracy over the imagination is an +illustration of that effect of multiplicity in uniformity which we +have been studying. Of course, nothing could be more absurd than +to suggest that the French Revolution, with its immense +implications, had an aesthetic preference for its basis; it sprang, as +we know, from the hatred of oppression, the rivalry of classes, and +the aspiration after a freer social and strictly moral organization. +But when these moral forces were suggesting and partly realizing +the democratic idea, this idea was necessarily vividly present to +men's thoughts; the picture of human life which it presented was +becoming familiar, and was being made the sanction and goal of +constant endeavour. Nothing so much enhances a good as to make +sacrifices for it. The consequence was that democracy, prized at +first as a means to happiness and as an instrument of good +government, was acquiring an intrinsic value; it was beginning to +seem good in itself, in fact, the only intrinsically right and perfect +arrangement. A utilitarian scheme was receiving an aesthetic +consecration. That which was happening to democracy had +happened before to the feudal and royalist systems; they too had +come to be prized in themselves, for the pleasure men took in +thinking of society organized in such an ancient, and thereby to +their fancy, appropriate and beautiful manner. The practical value +of the arrangement, on which, of course, it is entirely dependent for +its origin and authority, was forgotten, and men were ready to +sacrifice their welfare to their sense of propriety; that is, they +allowed an aesthetic good to outweigh a practical one. That seems +now a superstition, although, indeed, a very natural and even noble +one. Equally natural and noble, but no less superstitious, is our +own belief in the divine right of democracy. Its essential right is +something purely aesthetic. + +Such aesthetic love of uniformity, however, is usually disguised +under some moral label: we call it the lore of justice, perhaps +because we have not considered that the value of justice also, in so +far as it is not derivative and utilitarian, must be intrinsic, or, what +is practically the same thing, aesthetic. But occasionally the +beauties of democracy are presented to us undisguised. The +writings of Walt Whitman are a notable example. Never, perhaps, +has the charm of uniformity in multiplicity been felt so completely +and so exclusively. Everywhere it greets us with a passionate +preference; not flowers but leaves of grass, not music but +drum-taps, not composition but aggregation, not the hero but the average +man, not the crisis but the vulgarest moment; and by this resolute +marshalling of nullities, by this effort to show us everything as a +momentary pulsation of a liquid and structureless whole, he +profoundly stirs the imagination. We may wish to dislike this +power, but, I think, we must inwardly admire it. For whatever +practical dangers we may see in this terrible levelling, our aesthetic +faculty can condemn no actual effect; its privilege is to be pleased +by opposites, and to be capable of finding chaos sublime without +ceasing to make nature beautiful. + +_Values of types and values of examples._ + +Sec. 28. It is time we should return to the consideration of abstract +forms. Nearest in nature to the example of uniformity in +multiplicity, we found those objects, like a reversible pattern, that +having some variety of parts invite us to survey them in different +orders, and so bring into play in a marked manner the faculty of +apperception. + +There is in the senses, as we have seen, a certain form of +stimulation, a certain measure and rhythm of waves with which the +aesthetic value of the sensation is connected. So when, in the +perception of the object, a notable contribution is made by memory +and mental habit, the value of the perception will be due, not only +to the pleasantness of the external stimulus, but also to the +pleasantness of the apperceptive reaction; and the latter source of +value will be more important in proportion as the object perceived +is more dependent, for the form and meaning it presents, upon our +past experience and imaginative trend, and less on the structure of +the external object. + +Our apperception of form varies not only with our constitution, age, +and health, as does the appreciation of sensuous values, but also +with our education and genius. The more indeterminate the object, +the greater share must subjective forces have in determining our +perception; for, of course, every perception is in itself perfectly +specific, and can be called indefinite only in reference to an +abstract ideal which it is expected to approach. Every cloud has +just the outline it has, although we may call it vague, because we +cannot classify its form under any geometrical or animal species; it +would be first definitely a whale, and then would become +indefinite until we saw our way to calling it a camel. But while in +the intermediate stage, the cloud would be a form in the perception +of which there would be little apperceptive activity little reaction +from the store of our experience, little sense of form; its value +would be in its colour and transparency, and in the suggestion of +lightness and of complex but gentle movement. + +But the moment we said "Yes, very like a whale," a new kind of +value would appear; the cloud could now be beautiful or ugly, not +as a cloud merely, but as a whale. We do not speak now of the +associations of the idea, as with the sea, or fishermen's yarns; that +is an extrinsic matter of expression. We speak simply of the +intrinsic value of the form of the whale, of its lines, its movement, +its proportion. This is a more or less individual set of images which +are revived in the act of recognition; this revival constitutes the +recognition, and the beauty of the form is the pleasure of that +revival. A certain musical phrase, as it were, is played in the brain; +the awakening of that echo is the act of apperception and the +harmony of the present stimulation with the form of that phrase; +the power of this particular object to develope and intensify that +generic phrase in the direction of pleasure, is the test of the formal +beauty of this example. For these cerebral phrases have a certain +rhythm; this rhythm can, by the influence of the stimulus that now +reawakens it, be marred or enriched, be made more or less marked +and delicate; and as this conflict or reinforcement comes, the +object is ugly or beautiful in form. + +Such an aesthetic value is thus dependent on two things. The first +is the acquired character of the apperceptive form evoked; it may +be a cadenza or a trill, a major or a minor chord, a rose or a violet, +a goddess or a dairy-maid; and as one or another of these is +recognized, an aesthetic dignity and tone is given to the object. But +it will be noticed that in such mere recognition very little pleasure +is found, or, what is the same thing, different aesthetic types in the +abstract have little difference in intrinsic beauty. The great +difference lies in their affinities. What will decide us to like or not +to like the type of our apperception will be not so much what this +type is, as its fitness to the context of our mind. It is like a word in +a poem, more effective by its fitness than by its intrinsic beauty, +although that is requisite too. We can be shocked at an incongruity +of natures more than we can be pleased by the intrinsic beauty of +each nature apart, so long, that is, as they remain abstract natures, +objects recognized without being studied. The aesthetic dignity of +the form, then, tells us the kind of beauty we are to expect, affects +us by its welcome or unwelcome promise, but hardly gives us a +positive pleasure in the beauty itself. + +Now this is the first thing in the value of a form, the value of the +type as such; the second and more important element is the relation +of the particular impression to the form under which it is +apperceived. This determines the value of the object as an example +of its class. After our mind is pitched to the key and rhythm of a +certain idea, say of a queen, it remains for the impression to fulfil, +aggrandize, or enrich this form by a sympathetic embodiment of it. +Then we have a queen that is truly royal. But if instead there is +disappointment, if this particular queen is an ugly one, although +perhaps she might have pleased as a witch, this is because the +apperceptive form and the impression give a cerebral discord. The +object is unideal, that is, the novel, external element is +inharmonious with the revived and internal element by suggesting +which the object has been apperceived. + +_Origin of types._ + +Sec. 29. A most important thing, therefore, in the perception of form +is the formation of types in our mind, with reference to which +examples are to be judged. I say the formation of them, for we can +hardly consider the theory that they are eternal as a possible one in +psychology. The Platonic doctrine on that point is a striking +illustration of an equivocation we mentioned in the beginning;[7] +namely, that the import of an experience is regarded as a +manifestation of its cause -- the product of a faculty substituted for +the description of its function. Eternal types are the instrument of +aesthetic life, not its foundation. Take the aesthetic attitude, and +you have for the moment an eternal idea; an idea, I mean, that you +treat as an absolute standard, just as when you take the perceptive +attitude you have an external object which you treat as an absolute +existence. But the aesthetic, like the perceptive faculty, can be +made an object of study in turn, and its theory can be sought; and +then the eternal idea, like the external object, is seen to be a +product of human nature, a symbol of experience, and an +instrument of thought. + +The question whether there are not, in external nature or in the +mind of God, objects and eternal types, is indeed not settled, it is +not even touched by this inquiry; but it is indirectly shown to be +futile, because such transcendent realities, if they exist, can have +nothing to do with our ideas of them. The Platonic idea of a tree +may exist; how should I deny it? How should I deny that I might +some day find myself outside the sky gazing at it, and feeling that I, +with my mental vision, am beholding the plenitude of arboreal +beauty, perceived in this world only as a vague essence haunting +the multiplicity of finite trees? But what can that have to do with +my actual sense of what a tree should be? Shall we take the +Platonic myth literally, and say the idea is a memory of the tree I +have already seen in heaven? How else establish any relation +between that eternal object and the type in my mind? But why, in +that case, this infinite variability of ideal trees? Was the Tree +Beautiful an oak, or a cedar, an English or an American elm? My +actual types are finite and mutually exclusive; that heavenly type +must be one and infinite. The problem is hopeless. + +Very simple, on the other hand, is the explanation of the existence +of that type as a residuum of experience. Our idea of an individual +thing is a compound and residuum of our several experiences of it; +and in the same manner our idea of a class is a compound and +residuum of our ideas of the particulars that compose it. Particular +impressions have, by virtue of their intrinsic similarity or of the +identity of their relations, a tendency to be merged and identified, +so that many individual perceptions leave but a single blurred +memory that stands for them all, because it combines their several +associations. Similarly, when various objects have many common +characteristics, the mind is incapable of keeping them apart. It +cannot hold clearly so great a multitude of distinctions and +relations as would be involved in naming and conceiving +separately each grain of sand, or drop of water, each fly or horse or +man that we have ever seen. The mass of our experience has +therefore to be classified, if it is to be available at all. Instead of a +distinct image to represent each of our original impressions, we +have a general resultant -- a composite photograph -- of those +impressions. + +This resultant image is the idea of the class. It often has very few, +if any, of the sensible properties of the particulars that underlie it, +often an artificial symbol -- the sound of a word -- is the only +element, present to all the instances, which the generic image +clearly contains. For, of course, the reason why a name can +represent a class of objects is that the name is the most +conspicuous element of identity in the various experiences of +objects in that class. We have seen many horses, but if we are not +lovers of the animal, nor particularly keen observers, very likely +we retain no clear image of all that mass of impressions except the +reverberation of the sound "horse," which really or mentally has +accompanied all those impressions. This sound, therefore, is the +content of our general idea, and to it cling all the associations +which constitute our sense of what the word means. But a person +with a memory predominantly visual would probably add to this +remembered sound a more or less detailed image of the animal; +some particular horse in some particular attitude might possibly be +recalled, but more probably some imaginative construction, +some dream image, would accompany the sound. An image which +reproduced no particular horse exactly, but which was a +spontaneous fiction of the fancy, would serve, by virtue of its felt +relations, the same purpose as the sound itself. Such a spontaneous +image would be, of course, variable. In fact, no image can, strictly +speaking, ever recur. But these percepts, as they are called, +springing up in the mind like flowers from the buried seeds of past +experience, would inherit all the powers of suggestion which are +required by any instrument of classification. + +These powers of suggestion have probably a cerebral basis. The +new percept -- the generic idea -- repeats to a great extent, both in +nature and localization, the excitement constituting the various +original impressions; as the percept reproduces more or less of +these it will be a more or less full and impartial representative of +them. Not all the suggestions of a word or image are equally ripe. +A generic idea or type usually presents to us a very inadequate and +biassed view of the field it means to cover. As we reflect and seek +to correct this inadequacy, the percept changes on our hands. The +very consciousness that other individuals and other qualities fall +under our concept, changes this concept, as a psychological +presence, and alters its distinctness and extent. When I remember, +to use a classical example, that the triangle is not isosceles, nor +scalene, nor rectangular, but each and all of those, I reduce my +percept to the word and its definition, with perhaps a sense of the +general motion of the hand and eye by which we trace a three-cornered +figure. + +Since the production of a general idea is thus a matter of subjective +bias, we cannot expect that a type should be the exact average of +the examples from which it is drawn. In a rough way, it is the +average; a fact that in itself is the strongest of arguments against +the independence or priority of the general idea. The beautiful +horse, the beautiful speech, the beautiful face, is always a medium +between the extremes which our experience has offered. It is +enough that a given characteristic should be generally present in +our experience, for it to become an indispensable element of the +ideal. There is nothing in itself beautiful or necessary in the shape +of the human ear, or in the presence of nails on the fingers and toes; +but the ideal of man, which the preposterous conceit of our +judgment makes us set up as divine and eternal, requires these +precise details; without them the human form would be repulsively +ugly. + +It often happens that the accidents of experience make us in this +way introduce into the ideal, elements which, if they could be +excluded without disgusting us, would make possible satisfactions +greater than those we can now enjoy. Thus the taste formed by one +school of art may condemn the greater beauties created by another. +In morals we have the same phenomenon. A barbarous ideal of life +requires tasks and dangers incompatible with happiness; a rude and +oppressed conscience is incapable of regarding as good a state +which excludes its own acrid satisfactions. So, too, a fanatical +imagination cannot regard God as just unless he is represented as +infinitely cruel. The purpose of education is, of course, to free us +from these prejudices, and to develope our ideals in the direction of +the greatest possible good. Evidently the ideal has been formed by +the habit of perception; it is, in a rough way, that average form +which we expect and most readily apperceive. The propriety and +necessity of it is entirely relative to our experience and faculty of +apperception. The shock of surprise, the incongruity with the +formed percept, is the essence and measure of ugliness. + +_The average modified in the direction of pleasure._ + +Sec. 30. Nevertheless we do not form aesthetic ideals any more than +other general types, entirely without bias. We have already +observed that a percept seldom gives an impartial compound of the +objects of which it is the generic image. This partiality is due to a +variety of circumstances. One is the unequal accuracy of our +observation. If some interest directs our attention to a particular +quality of objects, that quality will be prominent in our percept; it +may even be the only content clearly given in our general idea; and +any object, however similar in other respects to those of the given +class, will at once be distinguished as belonging to a different +species if it lacks that characteristic on which our attention is +particularly fixed. Our percepts are thus habitually biassed in the +direction of practical interest, if practical interest does not indeed +entirely govern their formation. In the same manner, our aesthetic +ideals are biassed in the direction of aesthetic interest. Not all parts +of an object are equally congruous with our perceptive faculty; not +all elements are noted with the same pleasure. Those, therefore, +which are agreeable are chiefly dwelt upon by the lover of beauty, +and his percept will give an average of things with a great +emphasis laid on that part of them which is beautiful. The ideal +will thus deviate from the average in the direction of the observer's +pleasure. + +For this reason the world is so much more beautiful to a poet or an +artist than to an ordinary man. Each object, as his aesthetic sense is +developed, is perhaps less beautiful than to the uncritical eye; his +taste becomes difficult, and only the very best gives him unalloyed +satisfaction. But while each work of nature and art is thus +apparently blighted by his greater demands and keener susceptibility, +the world itself, and the various natures it contains, are +to him unspeakably beautiful. The more blemishes he can see +in men, the more excellence he sees in man, and the more bitterly +he laments the fate of each particular soul, the more reverence and +love he has for the soul in its ideal essence. Criticism and +idealization involve each other. The habit of looking for beauty in +everything makes us notice the shortcomings of things; our sense, +hungry for complete satisfaction, misses the perfection it demands. +But this demand for perfection becomes at the same time the +nucleus of our observation; from every side a quick affinity draws +what is beautiful together and stores it in the mind, giving body +there to the blind yearnings of our nature. Many imperfect things +crystallize into a single perfection. The mind is thus peopled by +general ideas in which beauty is the chief quality; and these ideas +are at the same time the types of things. The type is still a natural +resultant of particular impressions; but the formation of it has been +guided by a deep subjective bias in favour of what has delighted +the eye. + +This theory can be easily tested by asking whether, in the case +where the ideal differs from the average form of objects, this +variation is not due to the intrinsic pleasantness or impressiveness +of the quality exaggerated. For instance, in the human form, the +ideal differs immensely from the average. In many respects the +extreme or something near it is the most beautiful. Xenophon +describes the women of Armenia as kalai kai megalai, and we +should still speak of one as fair and tall and of another as fair but +little. Size is therefore, even where least requisite, a thing in which +the ideal exceeds the average. And the reason -- apart from +associations of strength -- is that unusual size makes things +conspicuous. The first prerequisite of effect is impression, and size +helps that; therefore in the aesthetic ideal the average will be +modified by being enlarged, because that is a change in the +direction of our pleasure, and size will be an element of beauty.[8] + +Similarly the eyes, in themselves beautiful, will be enlarged also; +and generally whatever makes by its sensuous quality, by its +abstract form, or by its expression, a particular appeal to our +attention and contribution to our delight, will count for more in the +ideal type than its frequency would warrant. The generic image has +been constructed under the influence of a selective attention, bent +upon aesthetic worth. + +To praise any object for approaching the ideal of its kind is +therefore only a roundabout way of specifying its intrinsic merit +and expressing its direct effect on our sensibility. If in referring to +the ideal we were not thus analyzing the real, the ideal would be an +irrelevant and unmeaning thing. We know what the ideal is +because we observe what pleases us in the reality. If we allow the +general notion to tyrannize at all over the particular impression and +to blind us to new and unclassified beauties which the latter may +contain, we are simply substituting words for feelings, and making +a verbal classification pass for an aesthetic judgment. Then the +sense of beauty is gone to seed. Ideals have their uses, but their +authority is wholly representative. They stand for specific +satisfactions, or else they stand for nothing at all. + +In fact, the whole machinery of our intelligence, our general ideas +and laws, fixed and external objects, principles, persons, and gods, +are so many symbolic, algebraic expressions. They stand for +experience; experience which we are incapable of retaining and +surveying in its multitudinous immediacy. We should flounder +hopelessly, like the animals, did we not keep ourselves afloat and +direct our course by these intellectual devices. Theory helps us to +bear our ignorance of fact. + +The same thing happens, in a way, in other fields. Our armies +are devices necessitated by our weakness; our property an +encumbrance required by our need. If our situation were not +precarious, these great engines of death and life would not be +invented. And our intelligence is such another weapon against fate. +We need not lament the fact, since, after all, to build these various +structures is, up to a certain point, the natural function of human +nature. The trouble is not that the products are always subjective, +but that they are sometimes unfit and torment the spirit which they +exercise. The pathetic part of our situation appears only when we +so attach ourselves to those necessary but imperfect fictions, as to +reject the facts from which they spring and of which they seek to +be prophetic. We are then guilty of that substitution of means for +ends, which is called idolatry in religion, absurdity in logic, and +folly in morals. In aesthetics the thing has no name, but is +nevertheless very common; for it is found whenever we speak of +what ought to please, rather than of what actually pleases. + +_Are all things beautiful?_ + +Sec. 31. These principles lead to an intelligible answer to a question +which is not uninteresting in itself and crucial in a system of +aesthetics. Are all things beautiful? Are all types equally beautiful +when we abstract from our practical prejudices? If the reader has +given his assent to the foregoing propositions, he will easily see +that, in one sense, we must declare that no object is essentially ugly. +If impressions are painful, they are objectified with difficulty; the +perception of a thing is therefore, under normal circumstances, +when the senses are not fatigued, rather agreeable than +disagreeable. And when the frequent perception of a class of +objects has given rise to an apperceptive norm, and we have an +ideal of the species, the recognition and exemplification of that +norm will give pleasure, in proportion to the degree of interest +and accuracy with which we have made our observations. The +naturalist accordingly sees beauties to which the academic artist is +blind, and each new environment must open to us, if we allow it to +educate our perception, a new wealth of beautiful forms. + +But we are not for this reason obliged to assert that all gradations +of beauty and dignity are a matter of personal and accidental bias. +The mystics who declare that to God there is no distinction in the +value of things, and that only our human prejudice makes us prefer +a rose to an oyster, or a lion to a monkey, have, of course, a reason +for what they say. If we could strip ourselves of our human nature, +we should undoubtedly find ourselves incapable of making these +distinctions, as well as of thinking, perceiving, or willing in any +way which is now possible to us. But how things would appear to +us if we were not human is, to a man, a question of no importance. +Even, the mystic to whom the definite constitution of his own mind +is so hateful, can only paralyze without transcending his faculties. +A passionate negation, the motive of which, although morbid, is in +spite of itself perfectly human, absorbs all his energies, and his +ultimate triumph is to attain the absoluteness of indifference. + +What is true of mysticism in general, is true also of its +manifestation in aesthetics. If we could so transform our taste as to +find beauty everywhere, because, perhaps, the ultimate nature of +things is as truly exemplified in one thing as in another, we should, +in fact, have abolished taste altogether. For the ascending series of +aesthetic satisfactions we should have substituted a monotonous +judgment of identity. If things are beautiful not by virtue of their +differences but by virtue of an identical something which they +equally contain, then there could be no discrimination in beauty. +Like substance, beauty would be everywhere one and the same, +and any tendency to prefer one thing to another would be a proof +of finitude and illusion. When we try to make our judgments +absolute, what we do is to surrender our natural standards and +categories, and slip into another genus, until we lose ourselves in +the satisfying vagueness of mere being. + +Relativity to our partial nature is therefore essential to all our +definite thoughts, judgments, and feelings. And when once the +human bias is admitted as a legitimate, because for us a necessary, +basis of preference, the whole wealth of nature is at once organized +by that standard into a hierarchy of values. Everything is beautiful +because everything is capable in some degree of interesting and +charming our attention; but things differ immensely in this +capacity to please us in the contemplation of them, and therefore +they differ immensely in beauty. Could our nature be fixed and +determined once for all in every particular, the scale of aesthetic +values would become certain. We should not dispute about tastes, +no longer because a common principle of preference could not be +discovered, but rather because any disagreement would then be +impossible. + +As a matter of fact, however, human nature is a vague abstraction; +that which is common to all men is the least part of their natural +endowment. Aesthetic capacity is accordingly very unevenly +distributed; and the world of beauty is much vaster and more +complex to one man than to another. So long, indeed, as the +distinction is merely one of development, so that we recognize in +the greatest connoisseur only the refinement of the judgments of +the rudest peasant, our aesthetic principle has not changed; we +might say that, in so far, we had a common standard more or less +widely applied. We might say so, because that standard would be +an implication of a common nature more or less fully developed. + +But men do not differ only in the degree of their susceptibility, +they differ also in its direction. Human nature branches into +opposed and incompatible characters. And taste follows this +bifurcation. We cannot, except whimsically, say that a taste for +music is higher or lower than a taste for sculpture. A man might be +a musician and a sculptor by turns; that would only involve a +perfectly conceivable enlargement in human genius. But the union +thus effected would be an accumulation of gifts in the observer, not +a combination of beauties in the object. The excellence of +sculpture and that of music would remain entirely independent and +heterogeneous. Such divergences are like those of the outer senses +to which these arts appeal. Sound and colour have analogies only +in their lowest depth, as vibrations and excitement; as they grow +specific and objective, they diverge; and although the same +consciousness perceives them, it perceives them as unrelated and +uncombinable objects. + +The ideal enlargement of human capacity, therefore, has no +tendency to constitute a single standard of beauty. These standards +remain the expression of diverse habits of sense and imagination. +The man who combines the greatest range with the greatest +endowment in each particular, will, of course, be the critic most +generally respected. He will express the feelings of the greater +number of men. The advantage of scope in criticism lies not in the +improvement of our sense in each particular field; here the artist +will detect the amateur's shortcomings. But no man is a specialist +with his whole soul. Some latent capacity he has for other +perceptions; and it is for the awakening of these, and their +marshalling before him, that the student of each kind of beauty +turns to the lover of them all. + +The temptation, therefore, to say that all things are really equally +beautiful arises from an imperfect analysis, by which the +operations of the aesthetic consciousness are only partially +disintegrated. The dependence of the _degrees_ of beauty upon +our nature is perceived, while the dependence of its _essence_ +upon our nature is still ignored. All things are not equally beautiful +because the subjective bias that discriminates between them is the +cause of their being beautiful at all. The principle of personal +preference is the same as that of human taste; real and objective +beauty, in contrast to a vagary of individuals, means only an +affinity to a more prevalent and lasting susceptibility, a +response toa more general and fundamental demand. And the keener +discrimination, by which the distance between beautiful and ugly +things is increased, far from being a loss of aesthetic insight, is a +development of that faculty by the exercise of which beauty comes +into the world. + +_Effects of indeterminate organization._ + +Sec. 32. It is the free exercise of the activity of apperception that gives +so peculiar an interest to indeterminate objects, to the vague, the +incoherent, the suggestive, the variously interpretable. The more +this effect is appealed to, the greater wealth of thought is presumed +in the observer, and the less mastery is displayed by the artist. A +poor and literal mind cannot enjoy the opportunity for reverie and +construction given by the stimulus of indeterminate objects; it +lacks the requisite resources. It is nonplussed and annoyed, and +turns away to simpler and more transparent things with a feeling of +helplessness often turning into contempt. And, on the other hand, +the artist who is not artist enough, who has too many irrepressible +talents and too little technical skill, is sure to float in the region of +the indeterminate. He sketches and never paints; he hints and never +expresses; he stimulates and never informs. This is the method of +the individuals and of the nations that have more genius than art. + +The consciousness that accompanies this characteristic is the sense +of profundity, of mighty significance. And this feeling is not +necessarily an illusion. The nature of our materials -- be they +words, colours, or plastic matter -- imposes a limit and bias upon +our expression. The reality of experience can never be quite +rendered through these media. The greatest mastery of technique +will therefore come short of perfect adequacy and exhaustiveness; +there must always remain a penumbra and fringe of suggestion if +the most explicit representation is to communicate a truth. When +there is real profundity, -- when the living core of things is most +firmly grasped, -- there will accordingly be a felt inadequacy of +expression, and an appeal to the observer to piece out our +imperfections with his thoughts. But this should come only after +the resources of a patient and well-learned art have been exhausted; +else what is felt as depth is really confusion and incompetence. The +simplest thing becomes unutterable, if we have forgotten how to +speak. And a habitual indulgence in the inarticulate is a sure sign +of the philosopher who has not learned to think, the poet who has +not learned to write, the painter who has not learned to paint, and +the impression that has not learned to express itself -- all of which +are compatible with an immensity of genius in the inexpressible +soul. + +Our age is given to this sort of self-indulgence, and on both the +grounds mentioned. Our public, without being really trained, -- for +we appeal to too large a public to require training in it, -- is well +informed and eagerly responsive to everything; it is ready to work +pretty hard, and do its share towards its own profit and +entertainment. It becomes a point of pride with it to understand and +appreciate everything. And our art, in its turn, does not overlook +this opportunity. It becomes disorganized, sporadic, whimsical, +and experimental. The crudity we are too distracted to refine, we +accept as originality, and the vagueness we are too pretentious to +make accurate, we pass off as sublimity. This is the secret of +making great works on novel principles, and of writing hard books +easily. + +_Example of landscape._ + +Sec. 33. An extraordinary taste for landscape compensates us for this +ignorance of what is best and most finished in the arts. The natural +landscape is an indeterminate object; it almost always contains +enough diversity to allow the eye a great liberty in selecting, +emphasizing, and grouping its elements, and it is furthermore rich +in suggestion and in vague emotional stimulus. A landscape to be +seen has to be composed, and to be loved has to be moralized. That +is the reason why rude or vulgar people are indifferent to their +natural surroundings. It does not occur to them that the work-a-day +world is capable of aesthetic contemplation. Only on holidays, +when they add to themselves and their belongings some unusual +ornament, do they stop to watch the effect. The far more beautiful +daily aspects of their environment escape them altogether. When, +however, we learn to apperceive; when we grow fond of tracing +lines and developing vistas; when, above all, the subtler influences +of places on our mental tone are transmuted into an expressiveness +in those places, and they are furthermore poetized by our +day-dreams, and turned by our instant fancy into so many hints of a +fairyland of happy living and vague adventure, -- then we feel that +the landscape is beautiful. The forest, the fields, all wild or rural +scenes, are then full of companionship and entertainment. + +This is a beauty dependent on reverie, fancy, and objectified +emotion. The promiscuous natural landscape cannot be enjoyed in +any other way. It has no real unity, and therefore requires to have +some form or other supplied by the fancy; which can be the more +readily done, in that the possible forms are many, and the constant +changes in the object offer varying suggestions to the eye. In fact, +psychologically speaking, there is no such thing as a landscape; +what we call such is an infinity of different scraps and glimpses +given in succession. Even a painted landscape, although it tends to +select and emphasize some parts of the field, is composed by +adding together a multitude of views. When this painting is +observed in its turn, it is surveyed as a real landscape would be, +and apperceived partially and piecemeal; although, of course, it +offers much less wealth of material than its living original, and is +therefore vastly inferior. + +Only the extreme of what is called impressionism tries to give +upon canvas one absolute momentary view; the result is that when +the beholder has himself actually been struck by that aspect, the +picture has an extraordinary force and emotional value -- like the +vivid power of recalling the past possessed by smells. But, on the +other hand, such a work is empty and trivial in the extreme; it is +the photograph of a detached impression, not followed, as it would +be in nature, by many variations of itself. An object so unusual is +often unrecognizable, if the vision thus unnaturally isolated has +never happened to come vividly into our own experience. The +opposite school -- what might be called _discursive_ landscape +painting -- collects so many glimpses and gives so fully the sum of +our positive observations of a particular scene, that its work is sure +to be perfectly intelligible and plain. If it seems unreal and +uninteresting, that is because it is formless, like the collective +object it represents, while it lacks that sensuous intensity and +movement which might have made the reality stimulating. + +The landscape contains, of course, innumerable things which have +determinate forms; but if the attention is directed specifically to +them, we have no longer what, by a curious limitation of the word, +is called the love of nature. Not very long ago it was usual for +painters of landscapes to introduce figures, buildings, or ruins to +add some human association to the beauty of the place. Or, if +wildness and desolation were to be pictured, at least one weary +wayfarer must be seen sitting upon a broken column. He might +wear a toga and then be Marius among the ruins of Carthage. The +landscape without figures would have seemed meaningless; the +spectator would have sat in suspense awaiting something, as at +the theatre when the curtain rises on an empty stage. The +indeterminateness of the suggestions of an unhumanized scene was +then felt as a defect; now we feel it rather as an exaltation. We +need to be free; our emotion suffices us; we do not ask for a +description of the object which interests us as a part of ourselves. +We should blush to say so simple and obvious a thing as that to us +"the mountains are a feeling"; nor should we think of apologizing +for our romanticism as Byron did: + + I love not man the less but nature more + From these our interviews, in which I steal, + From all I may be, or have been before, + To mingle with the universe, and feel + What I can ne'er express. + +This ability to rest in nature unadorned and to find entertainment in +her aspects, is, of course, a great gain. Aesthetic education consists +in training ourselves to see the maximum of beauty. To see it in the +physical world, which must continually be about us, is a great +progress toward that marriage of the imagination with the reality +which is the goal of contemplation. + +While we gain this mastery of the formless, however, we should +not lose the more necessary capacity of seeing form in those things +which happen to have it. In respect to most of those things which +are determinate as well as natural, we are usually in that state of +aesthetic unconsciousness which the peasant is in in respect to the +landscape. We treat human life and its environment with the same +utilitarian eye with which he regards the field and mountain. That +is beautiful which is expressive of convenience and wealth; the rest +is indifferent. If we mean by love of nature aesthetic delight in the +world in which we casually live (and what can be more _natural_ +than man and all his arts?), we may say that the absolute love of +_nature_ hardly exists among us. What we love is the stimulation +of our own personal emotions and dreams; and landscape appeals +to us, as music does to those who have no sense for musical form. + +There would seem to be no truth in the saying that the ancients +loved nature less than we. They loved landscape less -- less, at +least, in proportion to their love of the definite things it contained. +The vague and changing effects of the atmosphere, the masses of +mountains, the infinite and living complexity of forests, did not +fascinate them. They had not that preponderant taste for the +indeterminate that makes the landscape a favourite subject of +contemplation. But love of nature, and comprehension of her, they +had in a most eminent degree; in fact, they actually made explicit +that objectification of our own soul in her, which for the romantic +poet remains a mere vague and shifting suggestion. What are the +celestial gods, the nymphs, the fauns, the dryads, but the definite +apperceptions of that haunting spirit which we think we see in the +sky, the mountains, and the woods? We may think that our vague +intuition grasps the truth of what their childish imagination turned +into a fable. But our belief, if it is one, is just as fabulous, just as +much a projection of human nature into material things; and if we +renounce all positive conception of quasi-mental principles in +nature, and reduce our moralizing of her to a poetic expression of +our own sensations, then can we say that our verbal and illusive +images are comparable as representations of the life of nature to +the precision, variety, humour, and beauty of the Greek mythology? + +_Extensions to objects usually not regarded authentically._ + +Sec. 34. It may not be superfluous to mention here certain analogous +fields where the human mind gives a series of unstable forms to +objects in themselves indeterminate.[9] History, philosophy, +natural as well as moral, and religion are evidently such fields. All +theory is a subjective form given to an indeterminate material. The +material is experience; and although each part of experience is, of +course, perfectly definite in itself, and just that experience which it +is, yet the recollection and relating together of the successive +experiences is a function of the theoretical faculty. The systematic +relations of things in time and space, and their dependence upon +one another, are the work of our imagination. Theory can therefore +never have the kind of truth which belongs to experience; as +Hobbes has it, no discourse whatsoever can end in absolute +knowledge of fact. + +It is conceivable that two different theories should be equally true +in respect to the same facts. All that is required is that they should +be equally complete schemes for the relation and prediction of the +realities they deal with. The choice between them would be an +arbitrary one, determined by personal bias, for the object being +indeterminate, its elements can be apperceived as forming all kinds +of unities. A theory is a form of apperception, and in applying it to +the facts, although our first concern is naturally the adequacy of +our instrument of comprehension, we are also influenced, more +than we think, by the ease and pleasure with which we think in its +terms, that is, by its beauty. + +The case of two alternative theories of nature, both exhaustive and +adequate, may seem somewhat imaginary. The human mind is, +indeed, not rich and indeterminate enough to drive, as the saying is, +many horses abreast; it wishes to have one general scheme of +conception only, under which it strives to bring everything. Yet the +philosophers, who are the scouts of common sense, have come in +sight of this possibility of a variety of methods of dealing with the +same facts. As at the basis of evolution generally there are many +variations, only some of which remain fixed, so at the origin of +conception there are many schemes; these are simultaneously +developed, and at most stages of thought divide the intelligence +among themselves. So much is thought of on one principle -- say +mechanically -- and so much on another -- say teleologically. In +those minds only that have a speculative turn, that is, in whom the +desire for unity of comprehension outruns practical exigencies, +does the conflict become intolerable. In them one or another of +these theories tends to swallow all experience, but is commonly +incapable of doing so. + +The final victory of a single philosophy is not yet won, because +none as yet has proved adequate to all experience. If ever unity +should be attained, our unanimity would not indicate that, as the +popular fancy conceives it, the truth had been discovered; it would +only indicate that the human mind had found a definitive way of +classifying its experience. Very likely, if man still retained his +inveterate habit of hypostatizing his ideas, that definitive scheme +would be regarded as a representation of the objective relations of +things; but no proof that it was so would ever be found, nor even +any hint that there were external objects, not to speak of relations +between them. As the objects are hypostatized percepts, so the +relations are hypostatized processes of the human understanding. + +To have reached a final philosophy would be only to have +formulated the typical and satisfying form of human apperception; +the view would remain a theory, an instrument of comprehension +and survey fitted to the human eye; it would be for ever utterly +heterogeneous from fact, utterly unrepresentative of any of those +experiences which it would artificially connect and weave into a +pattern. Mythology and theology are the most striking illustrations +of this human method of incorporating much diffuse experience +into graphic and picturesque ideas; but steady reflection will hardly +allow us to see anything else in the theories of science and +philosophy. These, too, are creatures of our intelligence, and have +their only being in the movement of our thought, as they have their +only justification in their fitness to our experience. + +Long before we can attain, however, the ideal unification of +experience under one theory, the various fields of thought demand +provisional surveys; we are obliged to reflect on life in a variety of +detached and unrelated acts, since neither can the whole material +of life be ever given while we still live, nor can that which is given +be impartially retained in the human memory. When omniscience +was denied us, we were endowed with versatility. The picturesqueness +of human thought may console us for its imperfection. + +History, for instance, which passes for the account of facts, is in +reality a collection of apperceptions of an indeterminate material; +for even the material of history is not fact, but consists of +memories and words subject to ever-varying interpretation. No +historian can be without bias, because the bias defines the history. +The memory in the first place is selective; official and other +records are selective, and often intentionally partial. Monuments +and ruins remain by chance. And when the historian has set +himself to study these few relics of the past, the work of his own +intelligence begins. He must have some guiding interest. A history +is not an indiscriminate register of every known event; a file of +newspapers is not an inspiration of Clio. A history is a view of the +fortunes of some institution or person; it traces the development of +some interest. This interest furnishes the standard by which the +facts are selected, and their importance gauged. Then, after the +facts are thus chosen, marshalled, and emphasized, comes the +indication of causes and relations; and in this part of his work the +historian plunges avowedly into speculation, and becomes a +philosophical poet. Everything will then depend on his genius, on +his principles, on his passions, -- in a word, on his apperceptive +forms. And the value of history is similar to that of poetry, and +varies with the beauty, power, and adequacy of the form in which +the indeterminate material of human life is presented. + +_Further dangers of indeterminateness._ + +Sec. 35. The fondness of a race or epoch for any kind of effect is a +natural expression of temperament and circumstances, and cannot +be blamed or easily corrected. At the same time we may stop to +consider some of the disadvantages of a taste for the indeterminate. +We shall be registering a truth and at the same time, perhaps, +giving some encouragement to that rebellion which we may +inwardly feel against this too prevalent manner. The indeterminate +is by its nature ambiguous; it is therefore obscure and uncertain in +its effect, and if used, as in many arts it often is, to convey a +meaning, must fail to do so unequivocally. Where a meaning is not +to be conveyed, as in landscape, architecture, or music, the +illusiveness of the form is not so objectionable: although in all +these objects the tendency to observe forms and to demand them is +a sign of increasing appreciation. The ignorant fail to see the forms +of music, architecture, and landscape, and therefore are insensible +to relative rank and technical values in these spheres; they regard +the objects only as so many stimuli to emotion, as soothing or +enlivening influences. But the sensuous and associative values of +these things -- especially of music -- are so great, that even without +an appreciation of form considerable beauty may be found in them. + +In literature, however, where the sensuous value of the words is +comparatively small, indeterminateness of form is fatal to beauty, +and, if extreme, even to expressiveness. For meaning is conveyed +by the _form_ and order of words, not by the words themselves, +and no precision of meaning can be reached without precision of +style. Therefore no respectable writer is voluntarily obscure in the +structure of his phrases -- that is an abuse reserved for the clowns +of literary fashion. But a book is a larger sentence, and if it is +formless it fails to mean anything, for the same reason that an +unformed collection of words means nothing. The chapters and +verses may have said something, as loose words may have a +known sense and a tone; but the book will have brought no +message. + +In fact, the absence of form in composition has two stages: that in +which, as in the works of Emerson, significant fragments are +collected, and no system, no total thought, constructed out of them; +and secondly, that in which, as in the writings of the Symbolists of +our time, all the significance is kept back in the individual words, +or even in the syllables that compose them. This mosaic of +word-values has, indeed, a possibility of effect, for the absence of form +does not destroy materials, but, as we have observed, rather allows +the attention to remain fixed upon them; and for this reason +absence of sense is a means of accentuating beauty of sound and +verbal suggestion. But this example shows how the tendency to +neglect structure in literature is a tendency to surrender the use of +language as an instrument of thought The descent is easy from +ambiguity to meaninglessness. + +The indeterminate in form is also indeterminate in value. It needs +completion by the mind of the observer and as this completion +differs, the value of the result must vary. An indeterminate object +is therefore beautiful to him who can make it so, and ugly to him +who cannot. It appeals to a few and to them diversely. In fact, the +observer's own mind is the storehouse from which the beautiful +form has to be drawn. If the form is not there, it cannot be applied +to the half-finished object; it is like asking a man without skill to +complete another man's composition. The indeterminate object +therefore requires an active and well-equipped mind, and is +otherwise without value. + +It is furthermore unprofitable even to the mind which takes it up; it +stimulates that mind to action, but it presents it with no new object. +We can respond only with those forms of apperception which we +already are accustomed to. A formless object cannot _inform_ the +mind, cannot mould it to a new habit. That happens only when the +data, by their clear determination, compel the eye and imagination +to follow new paths and see new relations. Then we are introduced +to a new beauty, and enriched to that extent. But the indeterminate, +like music to the sentimental, is a vague stimulus. It calls forth at +random such ideas and memories as may lie to hand, stirring the +mind, but leaving it undisciplined and unacquainted with any new +object. This stirring, like that of the pool of Bethesda, may indeed +have its virtue. A creative mind, already rich in experience and +observation, may, under the influence of such a stimulus, dart into +a new thought, and give birth to that with which it is already +pregnant; but the fertilizing seed came from elsewhere, from study +and admiration of those definite forms which nature contains, or +which art, in imitation of nature, has conceived and brought to +perfection. + +_Illusion of infinite perfection._ + +Sec. 36. The great advantage, then, of indeterminate organization is +that it cultivates that spontaneity, intelligence, and imagination +without which many important objects would remain unintelligible, +and because unintelligible, uninteresting. The beauty of landscape, +the forms of religion and science, the types of human nature itself, +are due to this apperceptive gift. Without it we should have a chaos; +but its patient and ever-fresh activity carves out of the fluid +material a great variety of forms. An object which stimulates us to +this activity, therefore, seems often to be more sublime and +beautiful than one which presents to us a single unchanging form, +however perfect. There seems to be a life and infinity in +the incomplete, which the determinate excludes by its own +completeness and petrifaction. And yet the effort in this very +activity is to reach determination; we can only see beauty in so far +as we introduce form. The instability of the form can be no +advantage to a work of art; the determinate keeps constantly what +the indeterminate reaches only in those moments in which the +observer's imagination is especially propitious. If we feel a certain +disappointment in the monotonous limits of a definite form and its +eternal, unsympathizing message, might we not feel much more +the melancholy transiency of those glimpses of beauty which elude +us in the indeterminate? Might not the torment and uncertainty of +this contemplation, with the self-consciousness it probably +involves, more easily tire us than the quiet companionship of a +constant object? May we not prefer the unchangeable to the +irrecoverable? + +We may; and the preference is one which we should all more +clearly feel, were it not for an illusion, proper to the romantic +temperament, which lends a mysterious charm to things which are +indefinite and indefinable. It is the suggestion of infinite perfection. +In reality, perfection is a synonym of finitude. Neither in nature +nor in the fancy can anything be perfect except by realizing a +definite type, which excludes all variation, and contrasts sharply +with every other possibility of being. There is no perfection apart +from a form of apperception or type; and there are as many kinds +of perfection as there are types or forms of apperception latent in +the mind. + +Now these various perfections are mutually exclusive. Only in a +kind of aesthetic orgy -- in the madness of an intoxicated +imagination -- can we confuse them. As the Roman emperor +wished that the Roman people had but a single neck, to murder +them at one blow, so we may sometimes wish that all beauties had +but one form, that we might behold them together. But in the +nature of things beauties are incompatible. The spring cannot +coexist with the autumn, nor day with night; what is beautiful in a +child is hideous in a man, and _vice versa;_ every age, +every country, each sex, has a peculiar beauty, finite and +incommunicable; the better it is attained the more completely it +excludes every other. The same is evidently true of schools of art, +of styles and languages, and of every effect whatsoever. It exists +by its finitude and is great in proportion to its determination. + +But there is a loose and somewhat helpless state of mind in which +while we are incapable of realizing any particular thought or vision +in its perfect clearness and absolute beauty, we nevertheless feel its +haunting presence in the background of consciousness. And one +reason why the idea cannot emerge from that obscurity is that it is +not alone in the brain; a thousand other ideals, a thousand other +plastic tendencies of thought, simmer there in confusion; and if any +definite image is presented in response to that vague agitation of +our soul, we feel its inadequacy to our need in spite of, or perhaps +on account of, its own particular perfection. We then say that the +classic does not satisfy us, and that the "Grecian cloys us with his +perfectness." We are not capable of that concentrated and serious +attention to one thing at a time which would enable us to sink into +its being, and enjoy the intrinsic harmonies of its form, and the +bliss of its immanent particular heaven; we flounder in the vague, +but at the same time we are full of yearnings, of half-thoughts and +semi-visions, and the upward tendency and exaltation of our mood +is emphatic and overpowering in proportion to our incapacity to +think, speak, or imagine. + +The sum of our incoherences has, however, an imposing volume +and even, perhaps, a vague, general direction. We feel ourselves +laden with an infinite burden; and what delights us most and seems +to us to come nearest to the ideal is not what embodies any one +possible form, but that which, by embodying none, suggests many, +and stirs the mass of our inarticulate imagination with a pervasive +thrill. Each thing, without being a beauty in itself, by stimulating +our indeterminate emotion, seems to be a hint and expression of +infinite beauty. That infinite perfection which cannot be realized, +because it is self-contradictory, may be thus suggested, and on +account of this suggestion an indeterminate effect may be regarded +as higher, more significant, and more beautiful than any +determinate one. + +The illusion, however, is obvious. The infinite perfection +suggested is an absurdity. What exists is a vague emotion, the +objects of which, if they could emerge from the chaos of a +confused imagination, would turn out to be a multitude of +differently beautiful determinate things. This emotion of infinite +perfection is the _materia prima -- rudis indigestaque moles --_ out +of which attention, inspiration, and art can bring forth an infinity of +particular perfections. Every aesthetic success, whether in +contemplation or production, is the birth of one of these +possibilities with which the sense of infinite perfection is pregnant. +A work of art or an act of observation which remains indeterminate +is, therefore, a failure, however much it may stir our emotion. It is +a failure for two reasons. In the first place this emotion is seldom +wholly pleasant; it is disquieting and perplexing; it brings a desire +rather than a satisfaction. And in the second place, the emotion, not +being embodied, fails to constitute the beauty of anything; and +what we have is merely a sentiment, a consciousness that values +are or might be there, but a failure to extricate those values, or to +make them explicit and recognizable in an appropriate object. + +These gropings after beauty have their worth as signs of aesthetic +vitality and intimations of future possible accomplishment; but in +themselves they are abortive, and mark the impotence of the +imagination. Sentimentalism in the observer and romanticism in +the artist are examples of this aesthetic incapacity. Whenever +beauty is really seen and loved, it has a definite embodiment: the +eye has precision, the work has style, and the object has perfection. +The kind of perfection may indeed be new; and if the discovery of +new perfections is to be called romanticism, then romanticism is +the beginning of all aesthetic life. But if by romanticism we mean +indulgence in confused suggestion and in the exhibition of turgid +force, then there is evidently need of education, of attentive labour, +to disentangle the beauties so vaguely felt, and give each its +adequate embodiment. The breadth of our inspiration need not be +lost in this process of clarification, for there is no limit to the +number and variety of forms which the world may be made to wear; +only, if it is to be appreciated as beautiful and not merely felt as +unutterable, it must be seen as a kingdom of forms. Thus the works +of Shakespeare give us a great variety, with a frequent marvellous +precision of characterization, and the forms of his art are definite +although its scope is great. + +But by a curious anomaly, we are often expected to see the greatest +expressiveness in what remains indeterminate, and in reality +expresses nothing. As we have already observed, the sense of +profundity and significance is a very detachable emotion; it can +accompany a confused jumble of promptings quite as easily as it +can a thorough comprehension of reality. The illusion of infinite +perfection is peculiarly apt to produce this sensation. That illusion +arises by the simultaneous awakening of many incipient thoughts +and dim ideas; it stirs the depths of the mind as a wind stirs the +thickets of a forest; and the unusual consciousness of the life and +longing of the soul, brought by that gust of feeling, makes us +recognize in the object a singular power, a mysterious meaning. + +But the feeling of significance signifies little. All we have in this +case is a potentiality of imagination; and only when this +potentiality begins to be realized in definite ideas, does a real +meaning, or any object which that meaning can mean, arise in the +mind. The highest aesthetic good is not that vague potentiality, nor +that contradictory, infinite perfection so strongly desired; it is the +greatest number and variety of finite perfections. To learn to see in +nature and to enshrine in the arts the typical forms of things; to +study and recognize their variations; to domesticate the +imagination in the world, so that everywhere beauty can be seen, +and a hint found for artistic creation, -- that is the goal of +contemplation. Progress lies in the direction of discrimination and +precision, not in that of formless emotion and reverie. + +_Organized nature the source of apperceptive forms; example of +sculpture._ + +Sec. 37. The form of the material world is in one sense always +perfectly definite, since the particles that compose it are at each +moment in a given relative position; but a world that had no other +form than that of such a constellation of atoms would remain +chaotic to our perception, because we should not be able to survey +it as a whole, or to keep our attention suspended evenly over its +innumerable parts. According to evolutionary theory, mechanical +necessity has, however, brought about a distribution and +aggregation of elements such as, for our purposes, constitutes +individual things. Certain systems of atoms move together as units; +and these organisms reproduce themselves and recur so often in +our environment, that our senses become accustomed to view their +parts together. Their form becomes a natural and recognizable one. +An order and sequence is established in our imagination by virtue +of the order and sequence in which the corresponding impressions +have come to our senses. We can remember, reproduce, and in +reproducing vary, by kaleidoscopic tricks of the fancy, the forms in +which our perceptions have come. + +The mechanical organization of external nature is thus the source +of apperceptive forms in the mind. Did not sensation, by a constant +repetition of certain sequences, and a recurring exactitude of +mathematical relations, keep our fancy clear and fresh, we should +fall into an imaginative lethargy. Idealization would degenerate +into indistinctness, and, by the dulling of our memory, we should +dream a world daily more poor and vague. + +This process is periodically observable in the history of the arts. +The way in which the human figure, for instance, is depicted, is an +indication of the way in which it is apperceived. The arts give back +only so much of nature as the human eye has been able to master. +The most primitive stage of drawing and sculpture presents man +with his arms and legs, his ten fingers and ten toes, branching out +into mid-air; the apperception of the body has been evidently +practical and successive, and the artist sets down what he knows +rather than any of the particular perceptions that conveyed that +knowledge. Those perceptions are merged and lost in the haste to +reach the practically useful concept of the object. By a naive +expression of the same principle, we find in some Assyrian +drawings the eye seen from the front introduced into a face seen in +profile, each element being represented in that form in which it +was most easily observed and remembered. The development of +Greek sculpture furnishes a good example of the gradual +penetration of nature into the mind, of the slowly enriched +apperception of the object. The quasi-Egyptian stiffness melts +away, first from the bodies of the minor figures, afterwards of +those of the gods, and finally the face is varied, and the hieratic +smile almost disappears.[10] + +But this progress has a near limit; once the most beautiful and +inclusive apperception reached, once the best form caught at its +best moment, the artist seems to have nothing more to do. To +reproduce the imperfections of individuals seems wrong, when +beauty, after all, is the thing desired. And the ideal, as caught by +the master's inspiration, is more beautiful than anything his pupils +can find for themselves in nature. From its summit, the art +therefore declines in one of two directions. It either becomes +academic, forsakes the study of nature, and degenerates into empty +convention, or else it becomes ignoble, forsakes beauty, and sinks +into a tasteless and unimaginative technique. The latter was the +course of sculpture in ancient times, the former, with moments of +reawakening, has been its dreadful fate among the moderns. + +This reawakening has come whenever there has been a return to +nature, for a new form of apperception and a new ideal. Of this +return there is continual need in all the arts; without it our +apperceptions grow thin and worn, and subject to the sway of +tradition and fashion. We continue to judge about beauty, but we +give up looking for it. The remedy is to go back to the reality, to +study it patiently, to allow new aspects of it to work upon the mind, +sink into it, and beget there an imaginative offspring after their +own kind. Then a new art can appear, which, having the same +origin in admiration for nature which the old art had, may hope to +attain the same excellence in a new direction. + +In fact, one of the dangers to which a modern artist is exposed is +the seduction of his predecessors. The gropings of our muse, the +distracted experiments of our architecture, often arise from the +attraction of some historical school; we cannot work out our own +style because we are hampered by the beauties of so many others. +The result is an eclecticism, which, in spite of its great historical +and psychological interest, is without aesthetic unity or permanent +power to please. Thus the study of many schools of art may +become an obstacle to proficiency in any. + +_Utility the principle of organization in nature._ + +Sec. 38. Utility (or, as it is now called, adaptation, and natural +selection) organizes the material world into definite species and +individuals. Only certain aggregations of matter are in equilibrium +with the prevailing forces of the environment. Gravity, for instance, +is in itself a chaotic force; it pulls all particles indiscriminately +together without reference to the wholes into which the human eye +may have grouped them. But the result is not chaos, because matter +arranged in some ways is welded together by the very tendency +which disintegrates it when arranged in other forms. These forms, +selected by their congruity with gravity, are therefore fixed in +nature, and become types. Thus the weight of the stones keeps the +pyramid standing: here a certain shape has become a guarantee of +permanence in the presence of a force in itself mechanical and +undiscriminating. It is the utility of the pyramidal form -- its fitness +to stand -- that has made it a type in building. The Egyptians +merely repeated a process that they might have observed going on +of itself in nature, who builds a pyramid in every hill, not indeed +because she wishes to, or because pyramids are in any way an +object of her action, but because she has no force which can easily +dislodge matter that finds itself in that shape. + +Such an accidental stability of structure is, in this moving world, a +sufficient principle of permanence and individuality. The same +mechanical principles, in more complex applications, insure the +persistence of animal forms and prevent any permanent deviation +from them. What is called the principle of self-preservation, and +the final causes and substantial forms of the Aristotelian +philosophy, are descriptions of the result of this operation. The +tendency of everything to maintain and propagate its nature is +simply the inertia of a stable juxtaposition of elements, which are +not enough disturbed by ordinary accidents to lose their +equilibrium; while the incidence of a too great disturbance causes +that disruption we call death, or that variation of type, which, on +account of its incapacity to establish itself permanently, we call +abnormal. + +Nature thus organizes herself into recognizable species; and the +aesthetic eye, studying her forms, tends, as we have already shown, +to bring the type within even narrower limits than do the external +exigencies of life. + +_The relation of utility to beauty._ + +Sec. 39. This natural harmony between utility and beauty, when its +origin is not understood, is of course the subject of much perplexed +and perplexing theory. Sometimes we are told that utility is itself +the essence of beauty, that is, that our consciousness of the +practical advantages of certain forms is the ground of our aesthetic +admiration of them. The horse's legs are said to be beautiful +because they are fit to run, the eye because it is made to see, the +house because it is convenient to live in. An amusing application -- +which might pass for a _reductio ad absurdum,_ -- of this dense +theory is put by Xenophon into the mouth of Socrates. Comparing +himself with a youth present at the same banquet, who was about +to receive the prize of beauty, Socrates declares himself more +beautiful and more worthy of the crown. For utility makes beauty, +and eyes bulging out from the head like his are the most +advantageous for seeing; nostrils wide and open to the air, like his, +most appropriate for smell; and a mouth large and voluminous, like +his, best fitted for both eating and kissing.[11] + +Now since these things are, in fact, hideous, the theory that shows +they _ought to be_ beautiful, is vain and ridiculous. But that +theory contains this truth: that had the utility of Socratic features +been so great that men of all other type must have perished, +Socrates would have been beautiful. He would have represented +the human type. The eye would have been then accustomed to that +form, the imagination would have taken it as the basis of its +refinements, and accentuated its naturally effective points. The +beautiful does not depend on the useful; it is constituted by the +imagination in ignorance and contempt of practical advantage; but +it is not independent of the necessary, for the necessary must also +be the habitual and consequently the basis of the type, and of all its +imaginative variations. + +There are, moreover, at a late and derivative stage in our aesthetic +judgment, certain cases in which the knowledge of fitness and +utility enters into our sense of beauty. But it does so very indirectly, +rather by convincing us that we should tolerate what practical +conditions have imposed on an artist, by arousing admiration of his +ingenuity, or by suggesting the interesting things themselves with +which the object is known to be connected. Thus a cottage-chimney, +stout and tall, with the smoke floating from it, pleases because +we fancy it to mean a hearth, a rustic meal, and a comfortable +family. But that is all extraneous association. The most +ordinary way in which utility affects us is negatively; if we +know a thing to be useless and fictitious, the uncomfortable +haunting sense of waste and trickery prevents all enjoyment, and +therefore banishes beauty. But this is also an adventitious +complication. The intrinsic value of a form is in no way affected by it. + +Opposed to this utilitarian theory stands the metaphysical one that +would make the beauty or intrinsic rightness of things the source of +their efficiency and of their power to survive. Taken literally, as it +is generally meant, this idea must, from our point of view, appear +preposterous. Beauty and rightness are relative to our judgment +and emotion; they in no sense exist in nature or preside over her. +She everywhere appears to move by mechanical law. The types of +things exist by what, in relation to our approbation, is mere chance, +and it is our faculties that must adapt themselves to our +environment and not our environment to our faculties. Such is the +naturalistic point of view which we have adopted. + +To say, however, that beauty is in some sense the ground of +practical fitness, need not seem to us wholly unmeaning. The fault +of the Platonists who say things of this sort is seldom that of +emptiness. They have an intuition; they have sometimes a strong +sense of the facts of consciousness. But they turn their discoveries +into so many revelations, and the veil of the infinite and absolute +soon covers their little light of specific truth. Sometimes, after +patient digging, the student comes upon the treasure of some +simple fact, some common experience, beneath all their mystery +and unction. And so it may be in this case. If we make allowances +for the tendency to express experience in allegory and myth, we +shall see that the idea of beauty and rationality presiding over +nature and guiding her, as it were, for their own greater glory, is a +projection and a writing large of a psychological principle. + +The mind that perceives nature is the same that understands and +enjoys her; indeed, these three functions are really elements of one +process. There is therefore in the mere perceptibility of a thing a +certain prophecy of its beauty; if it were not on the road to beauty, +if it had no approach to fitness to our faculties of perception, the +object would remain eternally unperceived. The sense, therefore, +that the whole world is made to be food for the soul; that beauty is +not only its own, but all things' excuse for being; that universal +aspiration towards perfection is the key and secret of the world, -- +that sense is the poetical reverberation of a psychological fact -- of +the fact that our mind is an organism tending to unity, to +unconsciousness of what is refractory to its action, and to +assimilation and sympathetic transformation of what is kept within +its sphere. The idea that nature could be governed by an aspiration +towards beauty is, therefore, to be rejected as a confusion, but at +the same time we must confess that this confusion is founded on a +consciousness of the subjective relation between the perceptibility, +rationality, and beauty of things. + +_Utility the principle of organization in the arts._ + +Sec. 40. This subjective relation is, however, exceedingly loose. Most +things that are perceivable are not perceived so distinctly as to be +intelligible, nor so delightfully as to be beautiful. If our eye had +infinite penetration, or our imagination infinite elasticity, this +would not be the case; to see would then be to understand and to +enjoy. As it is, the degree of determination needed for perception is +much less than that needed for comprehension or ideality. Hence +there is room for hypothesis and for art. As hypothesis organizes +experiences imaginatively in ways in which observation has not +been able to do, so art organizes objects in ways to which nature, +perhaps, has never condescended. + +The chief thing which the imitative arts add to nature is +permanence, the lack of which is the saddest defect of many +natural beauties. The forces which determine natural forms, +therefore, determine also the forms of the imitative arts. But the +non-imitative arts supply organisms different in kind from those +which nature affords. If we seek the principle by which these +objects are organized, we shall generally find that it is likewise +utility. Architecture, for instance, has all its forms suggested by +practical demands. Use requires our buildings to assume certain +determinate forms; the mechanical properties of our materials, the +exigency of shelter, light, accessibility, economy, and convenience, +dictate the arrangements of our buildings. + +Houses and temples have an evolution like that of animals and +plants. Various forms arise by mechanical necessity, like the cave, +or the shelter of overhanging boughs. These are perpetuated by a +selection in which the needs and pleasures of man are the +environment to which the structure must be adapted. Determinate +forms thus establish themselves, and the eye becomes accustomed +to them. The line of use, by habit of apperception, becomes the line +of beauty. A striking example may be found in the pediment of the +Greek temple and the gable of the northern house. The exigencies +of climate determine these forms differently, but the eye in each +case accepts what utility imposes. We admire height in one and +breadth in the other, and we soon find the steep pediment heavy +and the low gable awkward and mean. + +It would be an error, however, to conclude that habit alone +establishes the right proportion in these various types of building. +We have the same intrinsic elements to consider as in natural +forms. That is, besides the unity of type and correspondence of +parts which custom establishes, there are certain appeals to more +fundamental susceptibilities of the human eye and imagination. +There is, for instance, the value of abstract form, determined by the +pleasantness and harmony of implicated retinal or muscular +tensions. Different structures contain or suggest more or less of +this kind of beauty, and in that proportion may be called +intrinsically better or worse. Thus artificial forms may be arranged +in a hierarchy like natural ones, by reference to the absolute values +of their contours and masses. Herein lies the superiority of a Greek +to a Chinese vase, or of Gothic to Saracenic construction. Thus +although every useful form is capable of proportion and beauty, +when once its type is established, we cannot say that this beauty is +always potentially equal; and an iron bridge, for instance, although +it certainly possesses and daily acquires aesthetic interest, will +probably never, on the average, equal a bridge of stone. + +_Form and adventitious ornament._ + +Sec. 41. Beauty of form is the last to be found or admired in artificial +as in natural objects. Time is needed to establish it, and training +and nicety of perception to enjoy it. Motion or colour is what first +interests a child in toys, as in animals; and the barbarian artist +decorates long before he designs. The cave and wigwam are +daubed with paint, or hung with trophies, before any pleasure is +taken in their shape; and the appeal to the detached senses, and to +associations of wealth and luxury, precedes by far the appeal to the +perceptive harmonies of form. In music we observe the same +gradation; first, we appreciate its sensuous and sentimental value; +only with education can we enjoy its form. The plastic arts begin, +therefore, with adventitious ornament and with symbolism. The +aesthetic pleasure is in the richness of the material, the profusion of +the ornament, the significance of the shape -- in everything, rather +than in the shape itself. + +We have accordingly, in works of art two independent sources of +effect. The first is the useful form, which generates the type, and +ultimately the beauty of form, when the type has been idealized by +emphasizing its intrinsically pleasing traits. The second is the +beauty of ornament, which comes from the excitement of the +senses, or of the imagination, by colour, or by profusion or +delicacy of detail. Historically, the latter is first developed, and +applied to a form as yet merely useful. But the very presence of +ornament attracts contemplation; the attention lavished on the +object helps to fix its form in the mind, and to make us +discriminate the less from the more graceful. The two kinds of +beauty are then felt, and, yielding to that tendency to unity which +the mind always betrays, we begin to subordinate and organize +these two excellences. The ornament is distributed so as to +emphasize the aesthetic essence of the form; to idealize it even +more, by adding adventitious interests harmoniously to the +intrinsic interest of the lines of structure. + +There is here a great field, of course, for variety of combination +and compromise. Some artists are fascinated by the decoration, and +think of the structure merely as the background on which it can be +most advantageously displayed. Others, of more austere taste, +allow ornament only to emphasize the main lines of the design, or +to conceal such inharmonious elements as nature or utility may +prevent them from eliminating.[12] We may thus oscillate between +decorative and structural motives, and only in one point, for each +style, can we find the ideal equilibrium, in which the greatest +strength and lucidity is combined with the greatest splendour. + +A less subtle, but still very effective, combination is that hit upon +by many oriental and Gothic architects, and found, also, by +accident perhaps, in many buildings of the plateresque style; the +ornament and structure are both presented with extreme emphasis, +but locally divided; a vast rough wall, for instance, represents the +one, and a profusion of mad ornament huddled around a central +door or window represents the other. + +Gothic architecture offers us in the pinnacle and flying buttress a +striking example of the adoption of a mechanical feature, and its +transformation into an element of beauty. Nothing could at first +sight be more hopeless than the external half-arch propping the +side of a pier, or the chimney-like weight of stones pressing it +down from above; but a courageous acceptance of these necessities, +and a submissive study of their form, revealed a new and strange +effect: the bewildering and stimulating intricacy of masses +suspended in mid-air; the profusion of line, variety of surface, and +picturesqueness of light and shade. It needed but a little applied +ornament judiciously distributed; a moulding in the arches; a florid +canopy and statue amid the buttresses; a few grinning monsters +leaning out of unexpected nooks; a leafy budding of the topmost +pinnacles; a piercing here and there of some little gallery, parapet, +or turret into lacework against the sky -- and the building became a +poem, an inexhaustible emotion. Add some passing cloud casting +its moving shadow over the pile, add the circling of birds about the +towers, and you have an unforgettable type of beauty; not perhaps +the noblest, sanest, or most enduring, but one for the existence of +which the imagination is richer, and the world more interesting. + +In this manner we accept the forms imposed upon us by utility, and +train ourselves to apperceive their potential beauty. Familiarity +breeds contempt only when it breeds inattention. When the mind is +absorbed and dominated by its perceptions, it incorporates into +them more and more of its own functional values, and makes them +ultimately beautiful and expressive. Thus no language can be ugly +to those who speak it well, no religion unmeaning to those who +have learned to pour their life into its moulds. + +Of course these forms vary in intrinsic excellence; they are by their +specific character more or less fit and facile for the average mind. +But the man and the age are rare who can choose their own path; +we have generally only a choice between going ahead in the +direction already chosen, or halting and blocking the path for +others. The only kind of reform usually possible is reform from +within; a more intimate study and more intelligent use of the +traditional forms. Disaster follows rebellion against tradition or +against utility, which are the basis and root of our taste and +progress. But, within the given school, and as exponents of its +spirit, we can adapt and perfect our works, if haply we are better +inspired than our predecessors. For the better we know a given +thing, and the more we perceive its strong and weak points, the +more capable we are of idealizing it. + +_Form in words._ + +Sec. 42. The main effect of language consists in its meaning, in the +ideas which it expresses. But no expression is possible without a +presentation, and this presentation must have a form. This form of +the instrument of expression is itself an element of effect, although +in practical life we may overlook it in our haste to attend to the +meaning it conveys. It is, moreover, a condition of the kind of +expression possible, and often determines the manner in which the +object suggested shall be apperceived. No word has the exact value +of any other in the same or in another language.[13] But the +intrinsic effect of language does not stop there. The single word is +but a stage in the series of formations which constitute language, +and which preserve for men the fruit of their experience, distilled +and concentrated into a symbol. + +This formation begins with the elementary sounds themselves, +which have to be discriminated and combined to make recognizable +symbols. The evolution of these symbols goes on spontaneously, +suggested by our tendency to utter all manner of sounds, +and preserved by the ease with which the ear discriminates +these sounds when made. Speech would be an absolute and +unrelated art, like music, were it not controlled by utility. The +sounds have indeed no resemblance to the objects they symbolize; +but before the system of sounds can represent the system of objects, +there has to be a correspondence in the groupings of both. The +structure of language, unlike that of music, thus becomes a mirror +of the structure of the world as presented to the intelligence. + +Grammar, philosophically studied, is akin to the deepest +metaphysics, because in revealing the constitution of speech, it +reveals the constitution of thought, and the hierarchy of those +categories by which we conceive the world. It is by virtue of this +parallel development that language has its function of expressing +experience with exactness, and the poet -- to whom language is an +instrument of art -- has to employ it also with a constant reference +to meaning and veracity; that is, he must be a master of experience +before he can become a true master of words. Nevertheless, +language is primarily a sort of music, and the beautiful effects +which it produces are due to its own structure, giving, as it +crystallizes in a new fashion, an unforeseen form to experience. + +Poets may be divided into two classes: the musicians and the +psychologists. The first are masters of significant language +as harmony; they know what notes to sound together and in +succession; they can produce, by the marshalling of sounds and +images, by the fugue of passion and the snap of wit, a thousand +brilliant effects out of old materials. The Ciceronian orator, the +epigrammatic, lyric, and elegiac poets, give examples of this art. +The psychologists, on the other hand, gain their effect not by the +intrinsic mastery of language, but by the closer adaptation of it to +things. The dramatic poets naturally furnish an illustration. + +But however transparent we may wish to make our language, +however little we may call for its intrinsic effects, and direct our +attention exclusively to its expressiveness, we cannot avoid the +limitations of our particular medium. The character of the tongue a +man speaks, and the degree of his skill in speaking it, must always +count enormously in the aesthetic value of his compositions; no +skill in observation, no depth of thought or feeling, but is spoiled +by a bad style and enhanced by a good one. The diversities of +tongues and their irreducible aesthetic values, begins with the very +sound of the letters, with the mode of utterance, and the +characteristic inflections of the voice; notice, for instance, the +effect of the French of these lines of Alfred de Musset, + + Jamais deux yeux plus doux n'ont du ciel le plus pur + Sonde la profondeur et reflechi l'azur. + +and compare with its flute-like and treble quality the breadth, depth, +and volume of the German in this inimitable stanza of Goethe's: + + Ueber alien Gipfeln + Ist Ruh, + In allen Wipfeln + Spuerest du + Kaum einen Hauch; + Die Voegelein schweigen im Walde. + Warte nur, balde + Ruhest du auch. + +Even if the same tune could be played on both these vocal +instruments, the difference in their _timbre_ would make the value +of the melody entirely distinct in each case. + +_Syntactical form._ + +Sec. 43. The known impossibility of adequate translation appears here +at the basis of language. The other diversities are superadded upon +this diversity of sound. The syntax is the next source of effect. +What could be better than Homer, or what worse than almost any +translation of him? And this holds even of languages so closely +allied as the Indo-European, which, after all, have certain +correspondences of syntax and inflection. If there could be a +language with other parts of speech than ours, -- a language +without nouns, for instance, -- how would that grasp of experience, +that picture of the world, which all our literature contains, be +reproduced in it? Whatever beauties that language might be +susceptible of, none of the effects produced on us, I will not say by +poets, but even by nature itself, could be expressed in it. + +Nor is such a language inconceivable. Instead of summarizing all +our experiences of a thing by one word, its name, we should have +to recall by appropriate adjectives the various sensations we had +received from it; the objects we think of would be disintegrated, or, +rather, would never have been unified. For "sun," they would say +"high, yellow, dazzling, round, slowly moving," and the +enumeration of these qualities (as we call them), without any +suggestion of a unity at their source, might give a more vivid, and +profound, if more cumbrous, representation of the facts. But how +could the machinery of such an imagination be capable of +repeating the effects of ours, when the objects to us most obvious +and real would be to those minds utterly indescribable? + +The same diversity appears in the languages we ordinarily know, +only in a lesser degree. The presence or absence of case-endings in +nouns and adjectives, their difference of gender, the richness of +inflections in the verbs, the frequency of particles and conjunctions, +-- all these characteristics make one language differ from another +entirely in genius and capacity of expression. Greek is probably the +best of all languages in melody, richness, elasticity, and simplicity; +so much so, that in spite of its complex inflections, when once a +vocabulary is acquired, it is more easy and natural for a modern +than his ancestral Latin itself. Latin is the stiffer tongue; it is by +nature at once laconic and grandiloquent, and the exceptional +condensation and transposition of which it is capable make its +effects entirely foreign to a modern, scarcely inflected, tongue. +Take, for instance, these lines of Horace: + + me tabula sacer + votiva paries indicat uvida + suspendisse potenti + vestimenta maris deo, + +or these of Lucretius: + + Jauaque caput quassans grandis suspirat arator + Crebrius incassum magnum cecidisse laborem. + +What conglomerate plebeian speech of our time could utter the +stately grandeur of these Lucretian words, every one of which is +noble, and wears the toga? + +As a substitute for the inimitable interpenetration of the words in +the Horatian strophe, we might have the external links of rhyme; +and it seems, in fact, to be a justification of rhyme, that besides +contributing something to melody and to the distribution of parts, it +gives an artificial relationship to the phrases between which it +obtains, which, but for it, would run away from one another in a +rapid and irrevocable flux. In such a form as the sonnet, for +instance, we have, by dint of assonance, a real unity forced upon +the thought; for a sonnet in which the thought is not distributed +appropriately to the structure of the verse, has no excuse for being +a sonnet. By virtue of this interrelation of parts, the sonnet, the +_non plus ultra_ of rhyme, is the most classic of modern poetical +forms: much more classic in spirit than blank verse, which lacks +almost entirely the power of synthesizing the phrase, and making +the unexpected seem the inevitable. + +This beauty given to the ancients by the syntax of their language, +the moderns can only attain by the combination of their rhymes. It +is a bad substitute perhaps, but better than the total absence of form, +favoured by the atomic character of our words, and the flat +juxtaposition of our clauses. The art which was capable of making +a gem of every prose sentence, -- the art which, carried, perhaps, to, +a pitch at which it became too conscious, made the phrases of +Tacitus a series of cameos, -- that art is inapplicable to our looser +medium; we cannot give clay the finish and nicety of marble. Our +poetry and speech in general, therefore, start out upon a lower level; +the same effort will not, with this instrument, attain the same +beauty. If equal beauty is ever attained, it comes from the wealth of +suggestion, or the refinement of sentiment. The art of words +remains hopelessly inferior. And what best proves this, is that +when, as in our time, a reawakening of the love of beauty has +prompted a refinement of our poetical language, we pass so soon +into extravagance, obscurity, and affectation. Our modern +languages are not susceptible of great formal beauty. + +_Literary form. The plot._ + +Sec. 44. The forms of composition in verse and prose which are +practised in each language are further organizations of words, and +have formal values. The most exacting of these forms and that +which has been carried to the greatest perfection is the drama; but +it belongs to rhetoric and poetics to investigate the nature of these +effects, and we have here sufficiently indicated the principle which +underlies them. The plot, which Aristotle makes, and very justly, +the most important element in the effect of a drama, is the formal +element of the drama as such: the ethos and sentiments are the +expression, and the versification, music, and stage settings are the +materials. It is in harmony with the romantic tendency of modern +times that modern dramatists -- Shakespeare as well as Moliere, +Calderon, and the rest -- excel in ethos rather than in plot; for it is +the evident characteristic of modern genius to study and enjoy +expression, -- the suggestion of the not-given, -- rather than form, +the harmony of the given. + +Ethos is interesting mainly for the personal observations which it +summarizes and reveals, or for the appeal to one's own actual or +imaginative experience; it is portrait-painting, and enshrines +something we love independently of the charm which at this +moment and in this place it exercises over us. It appeals to our +affections; it does not form them. But the plot is the synthesis of +actions, and is a reproduction of those experiences from which our +notion of men and things is originally derived; for character can +never be observed in the world except as manifested in action. + +Indeed, it would be more fundamentally accurate to say that a +character is a symbol and mental abbreviation for a peculiar set of +acts, than to say that acts are a manifestation of character. For the +acts are the data, and the character the inferred principle, and a +principle, in spite of its name, is never more than a description _a +posteriori,_ and a summary of what is subsumed under it. The plot, +moreover, is what gives individuality to the play, and exercises +invention; it is, as Aristotle again says, the most difficult portion of +dramatic art, and that for which practice and training are most +indispensable. And this plot, giving by its nature a certain picture +of human experience, involves and suggests the ethos of its actors. + +What the great characterizes, like Shakespeare, do, is simply to +elaborate and develope (perhaps far beyond the necessities of the +plot) the suggestion of human individuality which that plot +contains. It is as if, having drawn from daily observation some +knowledge of the tempers of our friends, we represented them +saying and doing all manner of ultra-characteristic things, and in +an occasional soliloquy laying bare, even more clearly than by any +possible action, that character which their observed behaviour had +led us to impute to them. This is an ingenious and fascinating +invention, and delights us with the clear discovery of a hidden +personality; but the serious and equable development of a plot has +a more stable worth in its greater similarity to life, which allows us +to see other men's minds through the medium of events, and not +events through the medium of other men's minds. + +_Character as an aesthetic form._ + +Sec. 45. We have just come upon one of the unities most coveted in +our literature, and most valued by us when attained, -- the portrait, +the individuality, the character. The construction of a plot we call +invention, but that of a character we dignify with the name of +creation. It may therefore not be amiss, in finishing our discussion +of form, to devote a few pages to the psychology of character-drawing. +How does the unity we call a character arise, how is it described, and +what is the basis of its effect? + +We may set it down at once as evident that we have here a case of +the type: the similarities of various persons are amalgamated, their +differences cancelled, and in the resulting percept those traits +emphasized which have particularly pleased or interested us. This, +in the abstract, may serve for a description of the origin of an idea +of character quite as well as of an idea of physical form. But the +different nature of the material -- the fact that a character is not a +presentation to sense, but a rationalistic synthesis of successive +acts and feelings, not combinable into any image -- makes such a +description much more unsatisfying in this case than in that +of material forms. We cannot understand exactly how these +summations and cancellings take place when we are not dealing +with a visible object. And we may even feel that there is a +wholeness and inwardness about the development of certain ideal +characters, that makes such a treatment of them fundamentally +false and artificial. The subjective element, the spontaneous +expression of our own passion and will, here counts for so much, +that the creation of an ideal character becomes a new and peculiar +problem. + +There is, however, a way of conceiving and delineating character +which still bears a close resemblance to the process by which the +imagination produces the type of any physical species. We may +gather, for instance, about the nucleus of a word, designating some +human condition or occupation, a number of detached observations. +We may keep a note-book in our memory, or even in our pocket, +with studious observations of the language, manners, dress, gesture, +and history of the people _we_ meet, classifying our statistics +under such heads as innkeepers, soldiers, housemaids, governesses, +adventuresses, Germans, Frenchmen, Italians, Americans, actors, +priests, and professors. And then, when occasion offers, to describe, +or to put into a book or a play, any one of these types, all we have +to do is to look over our notes, to select according to the needs of +the moment, and if we are skilful in reproduction, to obtain by that +means a life-like image of the sort of person we wish to represent. + +This process, which novelists and playwrights may go through +deliberately, we all carry on involuntarily. At every moment +experience is leaving in our minds some trait, some expression, +some image, which will remain there attached to the name of a +person, a class, or a nationality. Our likes and dislikes, our +summary judgments on whole categories of men, are nothing but +the distinct survival of some such impression. These traits have +vivacity. If the picture they draw is one-sided and inadequate, the +sensation they recall may be vivid, and suggestive of many other +aspects of the thing. Thus the epithets in Homer, although they are +often far from describing the essence of the object -- glankopis Athena +enkeides Achaioi -- seem to recall a sensation, and to give +vitality to the narrative. By bringing you, through one sense, into +the presence of the object, they give you that same hint of further +discovery, that same expectation of experience, which we have at +the sight of whatever we call real. + +The graphic power of this method of observation and aggregation +of characteristic traits is thus seen to be great. But it is not by this +method that the most famous or most living characters have been +conceived. This method gives the average, or at most the salient, +points of the type, but the great characters of poetry -- a Hamlet, a +Don Quixote, an Achilles -- are no averages, they are not even a +collection of salient traits common to certain classes of men. They +seem to be persons; that is, their actions and words seem to spring +from the inward nature of an individual soul. Goethe is reported to +have said that he conceived the character of his Gretchen entirely +without observation of originals. And, indeed, he would probably +not have found any. His creation rather is the original to which we +may occasionally think we see some likeness in real maidens. It is +the fiction here that is the standard of naturalness. And on this, as +on so many occasions, we may repeat the saying that poetry is +truer than history. Perhaps no actual maid ever spoke and acted so +naturally as this imaginary one. + +If we think there is any paradox in these assertions, we should +reflect that the standard of naturalness, individuality, and truth is in +us. A real person seems to us to have character and consistency +when his behaviour is such as to impress a definite and simple +image upon our mind. In themselves, if we could count all their +undiscovered springs of action, all men have character and +consistency alike: all are equally fit to be types. But their +characters are not equally intelligible to us, their behaviour is not +equally deducible, and their motives not equally appreciable. +Those who appeal most to us, either in themselves or by the +emphasis they borrow from their similarity to other individuals, are +those we remember and regard as the centres around which +variations oscillate. These men are natural: all others are more or +less eccentric. + +_Ideal characters._ + +Sec. 46. The standard of naturalness being thus subjective, and +determined by the laws of our imagination, we can understand why +a spontaneous creation of the mind can be more striking and living +than any reality, or any abstraction from realities. The artist can +invent a form which, by its adaptation to the imagination, lodges +there, and becomes a point of reference for all observations, and a +standard of naturalness and beauty. A type may be introduced to +the mind suddenly, by the chance presentation of a form that by its +intrinsic impressiveness and imaginative coherence, acquires that +pre-eminence which custom, or the mutual reinforcement of +converging experiences, ordinarily gives to empirical percepts. + +This method of originating types is what we ordinarily describe as +artistic creation. The name indicates the suddenness, originality, +and individuality of the conception thus attained. What we call +idealization is often a case of it. In idealization proper, however, +what happens is the elimination of individual eccentricities; the +result is abstract, and consequently meagre. This meagreness is +often felt to be a greater disadvantage than the accidental and +picturesque imperfection of real individuals, and the artist +therefore turns to the brute fact, and studies and reproduces that +with indiscriminate attention, rather than lose strength and +individuality in the presentation of an insipid type. He seems +forced to a choice between an abstract beauty and an unlovely +example. + +But the great and masterful presentations of the ideal are somehow +neither the one nor the other. They present ideal beauty with just +that definiteness with which nature herself sometimes presents it. +When we come in a crowd upon an incomparably beautiful face, +we know it immediately as an embodiment of the ideal; while it +contains the type, -- for if it did not we should find it monstrous +and grotesque, -- it clothes that type in a peculiar splendour of +form, colour, and expression. It has an individuality. And just so +the imaginary figures of poetry and plastic art may have an +individuality given them by the happy affinities of their elements +in the imagination. They are not idealizations, they are +spontaneous variations, which can arise in the mind quite as easily +as in the world. They spring up in + + The wreathed trellis of a working brain; + . . . With all the gardener fancy e'er could feign + Who, breeding flowers, will never breed the same. + +Imagination, in a word, generates as well as abstracts; it observes, +combines, and cancels; but it also dreams. Spontaneous syntheses +arise in it which are not mathematical averages of the images it +receives from sense; they are effects of diffused excitements left in +the brain by sensations. These excitements vary constantly in their +various renewals, and occasionally take such a form that the soul is +surprised by the inward vision of an unexampled beauty. If this +inward vision is clear and steady, we have an aesthetic inspiration, +a vocation to create; and if we can also command the technique of +an appropriate art, we shall hasten to embody that inspiration, and +realize an ideal. This ideal will be gradually recognized as +supremely beautiful for the same reason that the object, had it been +presented in the real world, would have been recognized as +supremely beautiful; because while embodying a known type of +form, -- being, that is, a proper man, animal, or vegetable, -- it +possessed in an extraordinary degree those direct charms which +most subjugate our attention. + +Imaginary forms then differ in dignity and beauty not according to +their closeness to fact or type in nature, but according to the ease +with which the normal imagination reproduces the synthesis they +contain. To add wings to a man has always been a natural fancy; +because man can easily imagine himself to fly, and the idea is +delightful to him. The winged man is therefore a form generally +recognized as beautiful; although it can happen, as it did to +Michael Angelo, that our appreciation of the actual form of the +human body should be too keen and overmastering to allow us to +relish even so charming and imaginative an extravagance. The +centaur is another beautiful monster. The imagination can easily +follow the synthesis of the dream in which horse and man melted +into one, and first gave the glorious suggestion of their united +vitality. + +The same condition determines the worth of imaginary +personalities. From the gods to the characters of comedy, all are, in +proportion to their beauty, natural and exhilarating expressions of +possible human activity. We sometimes remould visible forms into +imaginary creatures; but our originality in this respect is meagre +compared with the profusion of images of action which arise in us, +both asleep and awake; we constantly dream of new situations, +extravagant adventures, and exaggerated passions. Even our +soberer thoughts are very much given to following the possible +fortunes of some enterprise, and foretasting the satisfactions of +love and ambition. The mind is therefore particularly sensitive to +pictures of action and character; we are easily induced to follow +the fortunes of any hero, and share his sentiments. + +Our will, as Descartes said in a different context, is infinite, while +our intelligence is finite; we follow experience pretty closely in our +ideas of things, and even the furniture of fairyland bears a sad +resemblance to that of earth; but there is no limit to the elasticity of +our passion; and we love to fancy ourselves kings and beggars, +saints and villains, young and old, happy and unhappy. There +seems to be a boundless capacity of development in each of us, +which the circumstances of life determine to a narrow channel; and +we like to revenge ourselves in our reveries for this imputed +limitation, by classifying ourselves with all that we are not, but +might so easily have been. We are full of sympathy for every +manifestation of life, however unusual; and even the conception of +infinite knowledge and happiness -- than which nothing could be +more removed from our condition or more unrealizable to our +fancy -- remains eternally interesting to us. + +The poet, therefore, who wishes to delineate a character need not +keep a note-book. There is a quicker road to the heart -- if he has +the gift to find it. Probably his readers will not themselves have +kept note-books, and his elaborate observations will only be +effective when he describes something which they also happen to +have noticed. The typical characters describable by the empirical +method are therefore few: the miser, the lover, the old nurse, the +ingenue, and the other types of traditional comedy. Any greater +specification would appeal only to a small audience for a short +time, because the characteristics depicted would no longer exist to +be recognized. But whatever experience a poet's hearers may have +had, they are men. They will have certain imaginative capacities to +conceive and admire those forms of character and action which, +although never actually found, are felt by each man to express +what he himself might and would have been, had circumstances +been more favourable. + +The poet has only to study himself, and the art of expressing his +own ideals, to find that he has expressed those of other people. He +has but to enact in himself the part of each of his personages, and if +he possesses that pliability and that definiteness of imagination +which together make genius, he may express for his fellows those +inward tendencies which in them have remained painfully dumb. +He will be hailed as master of the human soul. He may know +nothing of men, he may have almost no experience; but his +creations will pass for models of naturalness, and for types of +humanity. Their names will be in every one's mouth, and the lives +of many generations will be enriched by the vision, one might +almost say by the friendship, of these imaginary beings. They have +individuality without having reality, because individuality is a +thing acquired in the mind by the congeries of its impressions. +They have power, also, because that depends on the appropriateness +of a stimulus to touch the springs of reaction in the soul. +And they of course have beauty, because in them is embodied +the greatest of our imaginative delights, -- that of giving body to +our latent capacities, and of wandering, without the strain and +contradiction of actual existence, into all forms of possible being. + +_The religious imagination._ + +Sec. 47. The greatest of these creations hare not been the work of any +one man. They have been the slow product of the pious and poetic +imagination. Starting from some personification of nature or some +memory of a great man, the popular and priestly tradition has +refined and developed the ideal; it has made it an expression of +men's aspiration and a counterpart of their need. The devotion of +each tribe, shrine, and psalmist has added some attribute to the god +or some parable to his legend; and thus, around the kernel of some +original divine function, the imagination of a people has gathered +every possible expression of it, creating a complete and beautiful +personality, with its history, its character, and its gifts. No poet has +ever equalled the perfection or significance of these religious +creations. The greatest characters of fiction are uninteresting and +unreal compared with the conceptions of the gods; so much so that +men have believed that their gods have objective reality. + +The forms men see in dreams might have been a reason for +believing in vague and disquieting ghosts; but the belief in +individual and well-defined divinities, with which the visions of +the dreams might be identified, is obviously due to the intrinsic +coherence and impressiveness of the conception of those deities. +The visions would never have suggested the legend and attributes +of the god; but when the figure of the god was once imaginatively +conceived, and his name and aspect fixed in the imagination, it +would be easy to recognize him in any hallucination, or to interpret +any event as due to his power. These manifestations, which +constitute the evidence of his actual existence, can be regarded as +manifestations of him, rather than of a vague, unknown power, +only when the imagination already possesses a vivid picture of him, +and of his appropriate functions. This picture is the work of a +spontaneous fancy. + +No doubt, when the belief is once specified, and the special and +intelligible god is distinguished in the night and horror of the +all-pervading natural power, the belief in his reality helps to +concentrate our attention on his nature, and thus to develope and +enrich our idea. The belief in the reality of an ideal personality +brings about its further idealization. Had it ever occurred to any +Greek seer to attribute events to the influence of Achilles, or to +offer sacrifices to him in the heat of the enthusiasm kindled by the +thought of his beauty and virtue, the legend of Achilles, now +become a god, would have grown and deepened; it would have +been moralized like the legend of Hercules, or naturalized like that +of Persephone, and what is now but a poetic character of +extraordinary force and sublimity would have become the adored +patron of generation after generation, and a manifestation of the +divine man. + +Achilles would then have been as significant and unforgettable a +figure as Apollo or his sister, as Zeus, Athena, and the other +greater gods. If ever, while that phase of religion lasted, his +character had been obscured and his features dimmed, he would +have been recreated by every new votary: poets would never have +tired of singing his praises, or sculptors of rendering his form. +When, after the hero had been the centre and subject of so much +imaginative labour, the belief in his reality lapsed, to be transferred +to some other conception of cosmic power, he would have +remained an ideal of poetry and art, and a formative influence of +all cultivated minds. This he is still, like all the great creations of +avowed fiction, but he would have been immensely more so, had +belief in his reality kept the creative imagination continuously +intent upon his nature. + +The reader can hardly fail to see that all this applies with equal +force to the Christian conception of the sacred personalities. Christ, +the Virgin Mary, and the saints may have been exactly what our +imagination pictures them to be; that is entirely possible; nor can I +see that it is impossible that the conceptions of other religions +might themselves have actual counterparts somewhere in the +universe. That is a question of faith and empirical evidence with +which we are not here concerned. But however descriptive of truth +our conceptions may be, they have evidently grown up in our +minds by an inward process of development. The materials of +history and tradition have been melted and recast by the devout +imagination into those figures in the presence of which our piety +lives. + +That is the reason why the reconstructed logical gods of the +metaphysicians are always an offence and a mockery to the +religious consciousness. There is here, too, a bare possibility that +some one of these absolutes may be a representation of the truth; +but the method by which this representation is acquired is violent +and artificial; while the traditional conception of God is the +spontaneous embodiment of passionate contemplation and long +experience. + +As the God of religion differs from that of metaphysics, so does +the Christ of tradition differ from that of our critical historians. +Even if we took the literal narrative of the Gospels and accepted it +as all we could know of Christ, without allowing ourselves any +imaginative interpretation of the central figure, we should get an +ideal of him, I will not say very different from that of St. Francis or +St. Theresa, but even from that of the English, prayer-book. The +Christ men have loved and adored is an ideal of their own hearts, +the construction of an ever-present personality, living and +intimately understood, out of the fragments of story and doctrine +connected with a name. This subjective image has inspired all the +prayers, all the conversions, all the penances, charities, and +sacrifices, as well as half the art of the Christian world. + +The Virgin Mary, whose legend is so meagre, but whose power +over the Catholic imagination is so great, is an even clearer +illustration of this inward building up of an ideal form. Everything +is here spontaneous sympathetic expansion of two given events: +the incarnation and the crucifixion. The figure of the Virgin, found +in these mighty scenes, is gradually clarified and developed, until +we come to the thought on the one hand of her freedom from +original sin, and on the other to that of her universal maternity. We +thus attain the conception of one of the noblest of conceivable +roles and of one of the most beautiful of characters. It is a pity that +a foolish iconoclasm should so long have deprived the Protestant +mind of the contemplation of this ideal. + +Perhaps it is a sign of the average imaginative dulness or fatigue of +certain races and epochs that they so readily abandon these +supreme creations. For, if we are hopeful, why should we not +believe that the best we can fancy is also the truest; and if we are +distrustful in general of our prophetic gifts, why should we cling +only to the most mean and formless of our illusions? From the +beginning to the end of our perceptive and imaginative activity, we +are synthesizing the material of experience into unities the +independent reality of which is beyond proof, nay, beyond the +possibility of a shadow of evidence. And yet the life of intelligence, +like the joy of contemplation, lies entirely in the formation and +inter-relation of these unities. This activity yields us all the objects +with which we can deal, and endows them with the finer and more +intimate part of their beauty. The most perfect of these forms, +judged by its affinity to our powers and its stability in the presence +of our experience, is the one with which we should be content; no +other kind of veracity could add to its value. + +The greatest feats of synthesis which the human mind has yet +accomplished will, indeed, be probably surpassed and all ideals yet +formed be superseded, because they were not based upon enough +experience, or did not fit that experience with adequate precision. +It is also possible that changes in the character of the facts, or in +the powers of intelligence, should necessitate a continual +reconstruction of our world. But unless human nature suffers an +inconceivable change, the chief intellectual and aesthetic value of +our ideas will always come from the creative action of the +imagination. + + +PART IV + +EXPRESSION + +_Expression defined._ + +Sec. 48. We have found in the beauty of material and form the +objectification of certain pleasures connected with the process of +direct perception, with the formation, in the one case of a sensation, +or quality, in the other of a synthesis of sensations or qualities. But +the human consciousness is not a perfectly clear mirror, with +distinct boundaries and clear-cut images, determinate in number +and exhaustively perceived. Our ideas half emerge for a moment +from the dim continuum of vital feeling and diffused sense, and are +hardly fixed before they are changed and transformed, by the +shifting of attention and the perception of new relations, into ideas +of really different objects. This fluidity of the mind would make +reflection impossible, did we not fix in words and other symbols +certain abstract contents; we thus become capable of recognizing +in one perception the repetition of another, and of recognizing in +certain recurrences of impressions a persistent object. This +discrimination and classification of the contents of consciousness +is the work of perception and understanding, and the pleasures that +accompany these activities make the beauty of the sensible world. + +But our hold upon our thoughts extends even further. We not only +construct visible unities and recognizable types, but remain aware +of their affinities to what is not at the time perceived; that is, we +find in them a certain tendency and quality, not original to them, a +meaning and a tone, which upon investigation we shall see to have +been the proper characteristics of other objects and feelings, +associated with them once in our experience. The hushed +reverberations of these associated feelings continue in the brain, +and by modifying our present reaction, colour the image upon +which our attention is fixed. The quality thus acquired by objects +through association is what we call their expression. Whereas in +form or material there is one object with its emotional effect, in +expression there are two, and the emotional effect belongs to the +character of the second or suggested one. Expression may thus +make beautiful by suggestion things in themselves indifferent, or it +may come to heighten the beauty which they already possess. + +Expression is not always distinguishable in consciousness +from the value of material or form, because we do not always +have a distinguishable memory of the related idea which the +expressiveness implies. When we have such a memory, as at +the sight of some once frequented garden, we clearly and +spontaneously attribute our emotion to the memory and not to the +present fact which it beautifies. The revival of a pleasure and its +embodiment in a present object which in itself might have been +indifferent, is here patent and acknowledged. + +The distinctness of the analysis may indeed be so great as to +prevent the synthesis; we may so entirely pass to the suggested +object, that our pleasure will be embodied in the memory of that, +while the suggestive sensation will be overlooked, and the +expressiveness of the present object will fail to make it beautiful. +Thus the mementos of a lost friend do not become beautiful by +virtue of the sentimental associations which may make them +precious. The value is confined to the images of the memory; they +are too clear to let any of that value escape and diffuse itself over +the rest of our consciousness, and beautify the objects which we +actually behold. We say explicitly: I value this trifle for its +associations. And so long as this division continues, the worth of +the thing is not for us aesthetic. + +But a little dimming of our memory will often make it so. Let the +images of the past fade, let them remain simply as a halo and +suggestion of happiness hanging about a scene; then this scene, +however empty and uninteresting in itself, will have a deep and +intimate charm; we shall be pleased by its very vulgarity. We shall +not confess so readily that we value the place for its associations; +we shall rather say: I am fond of this landscape; it has for me an +ineffable attraction. The treasures of the memory have been melted +and dissolved, and are now gilding the object that supplants them; +they are giving this object expression. + +Expression then differs from material or formal value only as habit +differs from instinct -- in its origin. Physiologically, they are both +pleasurable radiations of a given stimulus; mentally, they are both +values incorporated in an object. But an observer, looking at the +mind historically, sees in the one case the survival of an experience, +in the other the reaction of an innate disposition. This experience, +moreover, is generally rememberable, and then the extrinsic source +of the charm which expression gives becomes evident even to the +consciousness in which it arises. A word, for instance, is often +beautiful simply by virtue of its meaning and associations; but +sometimes this expressive beauty is added to a musical quality in +the world itself. In all expression we may thus distinguish two +terms: the first is the object actually presented, the word, the image, +the expressive thing; the second is the object suggested, the further +thought, emotion, or image evoked, the thing expressed. + +These lie together in the mind, and their union constitutes +expression. If the value lies wholly in the first term, we have no +beauty of expression. The decorative inscriptions in Saracenic +monuments can have no beauty of expression for one who does not +read Arabic; their charm is wholly one of material and form. Or if +they have any expression, it is by virtue of such thoughts as they +might suggest, as, for instance, of the piety and oriental +sententiousness of the builders and of the aloofness from us of all +their world. And even these suggestions, being a wandering of our +fancy rather than a study of the object, would fail to arouse a +pleasure which would be incorporated in the present image. The +scroll would remain without expression, although its presence +might have suggested to us interesting visions of other things. The +two terms would be too independent, and the intrinsic values of +each would remain distinct from that of the other. There would be +no visible expressiveness, although there might have been +discursive suggestions. + +Indeed, if expression were constituted by the external relation of +object with object, everything would be expressive equally, +indeterminately, and universally. The flower in the crannied wall +would express the same thing as the bust of Caesar or the _Critique +of Pure Reason._ What constitutes the individual expressiveness of +these things is the circle of thoughts allied to each in a given mind; +my words, for instance, express the thoughts which they actually +arouse in the reader; they may express more to one man than to +another, and to me they may have expressed more or less than to +yon. My thoughts remain unexpressed, if my words do not arouse +them in you, and very likely your greater wisdom will find in what +I say the manifestation of a thousand principles of which I never +dreamed. Expression depends upon the union of two terms, one of +which must be furnished by the imagination; and a mind cannot +furnish what it does not possess. The expressiveness of everything +accordingly increases with the intelligence of the observer. + +But for expression to be an element of beauty, it must, of course, +fulfil another condition. I may see the relations of an object, I may +understand it perfectly, and may nevertheless regard it with entire +indifference. If the pleasure fails, the very substance and +protoplasm of beauty is wanting. Nor, as we have seen, is even the +pleasure enough; for I may receive a letter full of the most joyous +news, but neither the paper, nor the writing, nor the style, need +seem beautiful to me. Not until I confound the impressions, and +suffuse the symbols themselves with the emotions they arouse, and +find joy and sweetness in the very words I hear, will the +expressiveness constitute a beauty; as when they sing, _Gloria in +excelsis Deo_. + +The value of the second term must be incorporated in the first; for +the beauty of expression is as inherent in the object as that of +material or form, only it accrues to that object not from the bare act +of perception, but from the association with it of further processes, +due to the existence of former impressions. We may conveniently +use the word "expressiveness" to mean all the capacity of +suggestion possessed by a thing, and the word "expression" for the +aesthetic modification which that expressiveness may cause in it. +Expressiveness is thus the power given by experience to any image +to call up others in the mind; and this expressiveness becomes an +aesthetic value, that is, becomes expression, when the value +involved in the associations thus awakened are incorporated in the +present object. + +_The associative process._ + +Sec. 49. The purest case in which, an expressive value could arise +might seem to be that in which both terms were indifferent in +themselves, and what pleased was the activity of relating them. We +have such a phenomenon in mathematics, and in any riddle, puzzle, +or play with symbols. But such pleasures fall without the aesthetic +field in the absence of any objectification; they are pleasures of +exercise, and the objects involved are not regarded as the +substances in which those values inhere. We think of more or less +interesting problems or calculations, but it never occurs to the +mathematician to establish a hierarchy of forms according to their +beauty. Only by a metaphor could he say that (a + b)2 = a2 + 2ab + +b2 was a more beautiful formula than 2 + 2 = 4. Yet in proportion +as such conceptions become definite and objective in the mind, +they approach aesthetic values, and the use of aesthetic epithets in +describing them becomes more constant and literal. + +The beauties of abstract music are but one step beyond such +mathematical relations -- they are those relations presented in a +sensible form, and constituting an imaginable object. But, as we +see clearly in this last case, when the relation and not the terms +constitute the object, we have, if there is beauty at all, a beauty of +form, not of expression; for the more mathematical the charm of +music is the more form and the less expression do we see in it. In +fact, the sense of relation is here the essence of the object itself, +and the activity of passing from term to term, far from taking us +beyond our presentation to something extrinsic, constitutes that +presentation. The pleasure of this relational activity is therefore the +pleasure of conceiving a determined form, and nothing could be +more thoroughly a formal beauty. + +And we may here insist upon a point of fundamental importance; +namely, that the process of association enters consciousness as +directly, and produces as simple a sensation, as any process in any +organ. The pleasures and pains of cerebration, the delight and the +fatigue of it, are felt exactly like bodily impressions; they have the +same directness, although not the same localization. Their seat is +not open to our daily observation, and therefore we leave them +disembodied, and fancy they are peculiarly spiritual and intimate to +the soul. Or we try to think that they flow by some logical +necessity from the essences of objects simultaneously in our mind. +We involve ourselves in endless perplexities in trying to deduce +excellence and beauty, unity and necessity, from the describable +qualities of things; we repeat the rationalistic fiction of turning the +notions which we abstract from the observation of facts into the +powers that give those facts character and being. + +We have, for instance, in the presence of two images a sense of +their incongruity; and we say that the character of the images +causes this emotion; whereas in dreams we constantly have the +most rapid transformations and patent contradictions without any +sense of incongruity at all; because the brain is dozing and the +necessary shock and mental inhibition is avoided. Add this +stimulation, and the incongruity returns. Had such a shock never +been felt, we should not know what incongruity meant; no more +than without eyes we should know the meaning of blue or yellow. + +In saying this, we are not really leaning upon physiological theory. +The appeal to our knowledge of the brain facilitates the conception +of the immediacy of our feelings of relation; but that immediacy +would be apparent to a sharp introspection. We do not need to +think of the eye or skin to feel that light and heat are ultimate data; +no more do we need to think of cerebral excitements to see that +right and left, before and after, good and bad, one and two, like and +unlike, are irreducible feelings. The categories are senses without +organs, or with organs unknown. Just as the discrimination of our +feelings of colour and sound might never have been distinct and +constant, had we not come upon the organs that seem to convey +and control them; so perhaps our classification of our inner +sensations will never be settled until their respective organs are +discovered; for psychology has always been physiological, without +knowing it. But this truth remains -- quite apart from physical +conceptions, not to speak of metaphysical materialism -- that +whatever the historical conditions of any state of mind may be said +to be, it exists, when it does exist, immediately and absolutely; +each of its distinguishable parts might conceivably have been +absent from it; and its character, as well as its existence, is a mere +datum of sense. + +The pleasure that belongs to the consciousness of relations is +therefore as immediate as any other; indeed, our emotional +consciousness is always single, but we treat it as a resultant of +many and even of conflicting feelings because we look at it +historically with a view to comprehending it, and distribute it into +as many factors as we find objects or causes to which to attribute it. +The pleasure of association is an immediate feeling, which we +account for by its relation to a feeling in the past, or to cerebral +structure modified by a former experience; just as memory itself, +which we explain by a reference to the past, is a peculiar +complication of present consciousness. + +_Kinds of value in the second term._ + +Sec. 50. These reflections may make less surprising to us what is the +most striking fact about the philosophy of expression; namely, that +the value acquired by the expressive thing is often of an entirely +different kind from that which the thing expressed possesses. The +expression of physical pleasure, of passion, or even of pain, may +constitute beauty and please the beholder. Thus the value of the +second term may be physical, or practical, or even negative; and it +may be transmuted, as it passes to the first term, into a value at +once positive and aesthetic. The transformation of practical values +into aesthetic has often been noted, and has even led to the theory +that beauty is utility seen at arm's length; a premonition of pleasure +and prosperity, much as smell is a premonition of taste. The +transformation of negative values into positive has naturally +attracted even more attention, and given rise to various theories of +the comic, tragic, and sublime. For these three species of aesthetic +good seem to please us by the suggestion of evil; and the problem +arises how a mind can be made happier by having suggestions of +unhappiness stirred within it; an unhappiness it cannot understand +without in some degree sharing in it. We must now turn to the +analysis of this question. + +The expressiveness of a smile is not discovered exactly through +association of images. The child smiles (without knowing it) when +he feels pleasure; and the nurse smiles back; his own pleasure is +associated with her conduct, and her smile is therefore expressive +of pleasure. The fact of his pleasure at her smile is the ground of +his instinctive belief in her pleasure in it. For this reason the +circumstances expressive of happiness are not those that are +favourable to it in reality, but those that are congruous with it in +idea. The green of spring, the bloom of youth, the variability of +childhood, the splendour of wealth and beauty, all these are +symbols of happiness, not because they have been known to +accompany it in fact, -- for they do not, any more than their +opposites, -- but because they produce an image and echo of it in +us aesthetically. We believe those things to be happy which it +makes us happy to think of or to see; the belief in the blessedness +of the supreme being itself has no other foundation. Our joy in the +thought of omniscience makes us attribute joy to the possession of +it, which it would in fact perhaps be very far from involving or +even allowing. + +The expressiveness of forms has a value as a sign of the life that +actually inhabits those forms only when they resemble our own +body; it is then probable that similar conditions of body involve, in +them and in us, similar emotions; and we should not long continue +to regard as the expression of pleasure an attitude that we know, by +experience in our own person, to accompany pain. Children, +indeed, may innocently torture animals, not having enough sense +of analogy to be stopped by the painful suggestions of their +writhings; and, although in a rough way we soon correct these +crying misinterpretations by a better classification of experience, +we nevertheless remain essentially subject to the same error. We +cannot escape it, because the method which involves it is the only +one that justifies belief in objective consciousness at all. Analogy +of bodies helps us to distribute and classify the life we conceive +about us; but what leads us to conceive it is the direct association +of our own feeling with images of things, an association which +precedes any clear representation of our own gestures and attitude. +I know that smiles mean pleasure before I have caught myself +smiling in the glass; they mean pleasure because they give it. + +Since these aesthetic effects include some of the most moving and +profound beauties, philosophers have not been slow to turn the +unanalyzed paradox of their formation into a principle, and to +explain by it the presence and necessity of evil. As in the tragic and +the sublime, they have thought, the sufferings and dangers to +which a hero is exposed seem to add to his virtue and dignity, and +to our sacred joy in the contemplation of him, so the sundry evils +of life may be elements in the transcendent glory of the whole. +And once fired by this thought, those who pretend to justify the +ways of God to man have, naturally, not stopped to consider +whether so edifying a phenomenon was not a hasty illusion. They +have, indeed, detested any attempt to explain it rationally, as +tending to obscure one of the moral laws of the universe. In +venturing, therefore, to repeat such an attempt, we should not be +too sanguine of success; for we have to encounter not only the +intrinsic difficulties of the problem, but also a wide-spread and +arrogant metaphysical prejudice. + +For the sake of greater clearness we may begin by classifying the +values that can enter into expression; we shall then be better able to +judge by what combinations of them various well-known effects +and emotions are produced. The intrinsic value of the first term can +be entirely neglected, since it does not contribute to expression. It +does, however, contribute greatly to the beauty of the expressive +object. The first term is the source of stimulation, and the +acuteness and pleasantness of this determine to a great extent the +character and sweep of the associations that will be aroused. Very +often the pleasantness of the medium will counterbalance the +disagreeableness of the import, and expressions, in themselves +hideous or inappropriate, may be excused for the sake of the object +that conveys them. A beautiful voice will redeem a vulgar song, a +beautiful colour and texture an unmeaning composition. Beauty in +the first term -- beauty of sound, rhythm, and image -- will make +any thought whatever poetic, while no thought whatever can be so +without that immediate beauty of presentation.[14] + +_Aesthetic value in the second term._ + +Sec. 51. That the noble associations of any object should embellish +that object is very comprehensible. Homer furnishes us with a +good illustration of the constant employment of this effect. The +first term, one need hardly say, leaves with him little to be desired. +The verse is beautiful. Sounds, images, and composition conspire +to stimulate and delight. This immediate beauty is sometimes used +to clothe things terrible and sad; there is no dearth of the tragic in +Homer. But the tendency of his poetry is nevertheless to fill the +outskirts of our consciousness with the trooping images of things +no less fair and noble than the verse itself. The heroes are virtuous. +There is none of importance who is not admirable in his way. The +palaces, the arms, the horses, the sacrifices, are always excellent. +The women are always stately and beautiful. The ancestry and the +history of every one are honourable and good. The whole Homeric +world is clean, clear, beautiful, and providential, and no small part +of the perennial charm of the poet is that he thus immerses us in an +atmosphere of beauty; a beauty not concentrated and reserved for +some extraordinary sentiment, action, or person, but permeating +the whole and colouring the common world of soldiers and sailors, +war and craft, with a marvellous freshness and inward glow. There +is nothing in the associations of life in this world or in another to +contradict or disturb our delight. All is beautiful, and beautiful +through and through. + +Something of this quality meets us in all simple and idyllic +compositions. There is, for instance, a popular demand that stories +and comedies should "end well." The hero and heroine must be +young and handsome; unless they die, -- which is another matter, -- +they must not in the end be poor. The landscape in the play must +be beautiful; the dresses pretty; the plot without serious mishap. A +pervasive presentation of pleasure must give warmth and ideality +to the whole. In the proprieties of social life we find the same +principle; we study to make our surroundings, manner, and +conversation suggest nothing but what is pleasing. We hide the +ugly and disagreeable portion of our lives, and do not allow the +least hint of it to come to light upon festive and public occasions. +Whenever, in a word, a thoroughly pleasing effect is found, it is +found by the expression, as well as presentation, of what is in itself +pleasing -- and when this effect is to be produced artificially, we +attain it by the suppression of all expression that is not suggestive +of something good. + +If our consciousness were exclusively aesthetic, this kind of +expression would be the only one allowed in art or prized in nature. +We should avoid as a shock or an insipidity, the suggestion of +anything not intrinsically beautiful. As there would be no values +not aesthetic, our pleasure could never be heightened by any other +kind of interest. But as contemplation is actually a luxury in our +lives, and things interest us chiefly on passionate and practical +grounds, the accumulation of values too exclusively aesthetic +produces in our minds an effect of closeness and artificiality. So +selective a diet cloys, and our palate, accustomed to much daily +vinegar and salt, is surfeited by such unmixed sweet. + +Instead we prefer to see through the medium of art -- through the +beautiful first term of our expression -- the miscellaneous world +which is so well known to us -- perhaps so dear, and at any rate so +inevitable, an object. We are more thankful for this presentation, of +the unlovely truth in a lovely form, than for the like presentation of +an abstract beauty; what is lost in the purity of the pleasure is +gained in the stimulation of our attention, and in the relief of +viewing with aesthetic detachment the same things that in practical +life hold tyrannous dominion over our souls. The beauty that is +associated only with other beauty is therefore a sort of aesthetic +dainty; it leads the fancy through a fairyland of lovely forms, +where we must forget the common objects of our interest. The +charm of such an idealization is undeniable; but the other +important elements of our memory and will cannot long be +banished. Thoughts of labour, ambition, lust, anger, confusion, +sorrow, and death must needs mix with our contemplation and lend +their various expressions to the objects with which in experience +they are so closely allied. Hence the incorporation in the beautiful +of values of other sorts, and the comparative rareness in nature or +art of expressions the second term of which has only aesthetic +value. + +_Practical value in the same._ + +Sec. 52. More important and frequent is the case of the expression of +utility. This is found whenever the second term is the idea of +something of practical advantage to us, the premonition of which +brings satisfaction; and this satisfaction prompts an approval of the +presented object. The tone of our consciousness is raised by the +foretaste of a success; and this heightened pleasure is objectified in +the present image, since the associated image to which the +satisfaction properly belongs often fails to become distinct. We do +not conceive clearly what this practical advantage will be; but the +vague sense that an advantage is there, that something desirable +has been done, accompanies the presentation, and gives it +expression. + +The case that most resembles that of which we have been just +speaking, is perhaps that in which the second term is a piece of +interesting information, a theory, or other intellectual datum. Our +interest in facts and theories, when not aesthetic, is of course +practical; it consists in their connexion with our interests, and in +the service they can render us in the execution of our designs. +Intellectual values are utilitarian in their origin but aesthetic in +their form, since the advantage of knowledge is often lost sight of, +and ideas are prized for their own sake. Curiosity can become a +disinterested passion, and yield intimate and immediate satisfaction +like any other impulse. + +When we have before us, for instance, a fine map, in which the line +of coast, now rocky, now sandy, is clearly indicated, together with +the windings of the rivers, the elevations of the land, and the +distribution of the population, we have the simultaneous +suggestion of so many facts, the sense of mastery over so much +reality, that we gaze at it with delight, and need no practical motive +to keep us studying it, perhaps for hours together. A map is not +naturally thought of as an aesthetic object; it is too exclusively +expressive. The first term is passed over as a mere symbol, and the +mind is filled either with imaginations of the landscape the country +would really offer, or with thoughts about its history and +inhabitants. These circumstances prevent the ready objectification +of our pleasure in the map itself. And yet, let the tints of it be a +little subtle, let the lines be a little delicate, and the masses of land +and sea somewhat balanced, and we really have a beautiful thing; a +thing the charm of which consists almost entirely in its meaning, +but which nevertheless pleases us in the same way as a picture or a +graphic symbol might please. Give the symbol a little intrinsic +worth of form, line, and colour, and it attracts like a magnet all the +values of the things it is known to symbolize. It becomes beautiful +in its expressiveness. + +Hardly different from this example is that of travel or of reading; +for in these employments we get many aesthetic pleasures, the +origin of which is in the satisfaction of curiosity and intelligence. +When we say admiringly of anything that it is characteristic, that it +embodies a whole period or a whole man, we are absorbed by the +pleasant sense that it offers innumerable avenues of approach to +interesting and important things. The less we are able to specify +what these are, the more beautiful will the object be that expresses +them. For if we could specify them, the felt value would +disintegrate, and distribute itself among the ideas of the suggested +things, leaving the expressive object bare of all interest, like the +letters of a printed page. + +The courtiers of Philip the Second probably did not regard his +rooms at the Escurial as particularly interesting, but simply as +small, ugly, and damp. The character which we find in them and +which makes us regard them as eminently expressive of whatever +was sinister in the man, probably did not strike them. They knew +the king, and had before them words, gestures, and acts enough in +which to read his character. But all these living facts are wanting to +our experience; and it is the suggestion of them in their +unrealizable vagueness that fills the apartments of the monarch +with such pungent expression. It is not otherwise with all emphatic +expressiveness -- moonlight and castle moats, minarets and +cypresses, camels filing through the desert -- such images get their +character from the strong but misty atmosphere of sentiment and +adventure which clings about them. The profit of travel, and the +extraordinary charm of all visible relics of antiquity, consists in the +acquisition of images in which to focus a mass of discursive +knowledge, not otherwise felt together. Such images are concrete +symbols of much latent experience, and the deep roots of +association give them the same hold upon our attention which +might be secured by a fortunate form or splendid material. + +_Cost as an element of effect._ + +Sec. 53. There is one consideration which often adds much to the +interest with which we view an object, but which we might be +virtuously inclined not to admit among aesthetic values. I mean +cost. Cost is practical value expressed in abstract terms, and from +the price of anything we can often infer what relation it has to the +desires and efforts of mankind. There is no reason why cost, or the +circumstances which are its basis, should not, like other practical +values, heighten the tone of consciousness, and add to the pleasure +with which we view an object. In fact, such is our daily experience; +for great as is the sensuous beauty of gems, their rarity and price +adds an expression of distinction to them, which they would never +have if they were cheap. + +The circumstance that makes the appreciation of cost often +unaesthetic is the abstractness of that quality. The price of an +object is an algebraic symbol, it is a conventional term, invented to +facilitate our operations, which remains arid and unmeaning if we +stop with it and forget to translate it again at the end into its +concrete equivalent. The commercial mind dwells in that +intermediate limbo of symbolized values; the calculator's senses +are muffled by his intellect and by his habit of abbreviated thinking. +His mental process is a reckoning that loses sight of its original +values, and is over without reaching any concrete image. Therefore +the knowledge of cost, when expressed in terms of money, is +incapable of contributing to aesthetic effect, but the reason is not +so much that the suggested value is not aesthetic, as that no real +value is suggested at all. No object of any kind is presented to the +mind by the numerical expression. If we reinterpret our price, +however, and translate it back into the facts which constitute it, +into the materials employed, their original place and quality, and +the labour and art which transformed them into the present thing, +then we add to the aesthetic value of the object, by the expression +which we find in it, not of its price in money, but of its human cost. +We have now the consciousness of the real values which it +represents, and these values, sympathetically present to the fancy, +increase our present interest and admiration. + +I believe economists count among the elements of the value of an +object the rarity of its material, the labour of its manufacture, and +the distance from which it is brought. Now all these qualities, if +attended to in themselves, appeal greatly to the imagination. We +have a natural interest in what is rare and affects us with unusual +sensations. What comes from a far country carries our thoughts +there, and gains by the wealth and picturesqueness of its +associations. And that on which human labour has been spent, +especially if it was a labour of love, and is apparent in the product, +has one of the deepest possible claims to admiration. So that the +standard of cost, the most vulgar of all standards, is such only +when it remains empty and abstract. Let the thoughts wander back +and consider the elements of value, and our appreciation, from +being verbal and commercial, becomes poetic and real. + +We have in this one more example of the manner in which +practical values, when suggested by and incorporated in any object, +contribute to its beauty. Our sense of what lies behind, unlovely +though that background may be, gives interest and poignancy to +that which is present; our attention and wonder are engaged, and a +new meaning and importance is added to such intrinsic beauty as +the presentation may possess. + +_The expression of economy and fitness._ + +Sec. 54. The same principle explains the effect of evident cleanliness, +security, economy, and comfort. This Dutch charm hardly needs +explanation; we are conscious of the domesticity and neatness +which pleases us in it. There are few things more utterly +discomforting to our minds than waste: it is a sort of pungent +extract and quintessence of folly. The visible manifestation of it is +therefore very offensive; and that of its absence very reassuring. +The force of our approval of practical fitness and economy in +things rises into an appreciation that is half-aesthetic, and which +becomes wholly so when the fit form becomes fixed in a type, to +the lines of which we are accustomed; so that the practical +necessity of the form is heightened and concentrated into the +aesthetic propriety of it. + +The much-praised expression of function and truth in architectural +works reduces itself to this principle. The useful contrivance at +first appeals to our practical approval; while we admire its +ingenuity, we cannot fail to become gradually accustomed to its +presence, and to register with attentive pleasure the relation of its +parts. Utility, as we have pointed out in its place, is thus the +guiding principle in the determination of forms. + +The recurring observation of the utility, economy, and fitness of +the traditional arrangement in buildings or other products of art, +re-enforces this formal expectation with a reflective approval. We are +accustomed, for instance, to sloping roofs; the fact that they were +necessary has made them familiar, and the fact that they are +familiar has made them objects of study and of artistic enjoyment. +If at any moment, however, the notion of condemning them passes +through the mind, -- if we have visions of the balustrade against +the sky, -- we revert to our homely image with kindly loyalty, +when we remember the long months of rain and snow, and the +comfortless leaks to be avoided. The thought of a glaring, practical +unfitness is enough to spoil our pleasure in any form, however +beautiful intrinsically, while the sense of practical fitness is enough +to reconcile us to the most awkward and rude contrivances. + +This principle is, indeed, not a fundamental, but an auxiliary one; +the expression of utility modifies effect, but does not constitute it. +There would be a kind of superstitious haste in the notion that what +is convenient and economical is necessarily and by miracle +beautiful. The uses and habits of one place and society require +works which are or may easily become intrinsically beautiful; the +uses and habits of another make these beautiful works impossible. +The beauty has a material and formal basis that we have already +studied; no fitness of design will make a building of ten equal +storeys as beautiful as a pavilion or a finely proportioned tower; no +utility will make a steamboat as beautiful as a sailing vessel. But +the forms once established, with their various intrinsic characters, +the fitness we know to exist in them will lend them some added +charm, or their unfitness will disquiet us, and haunt us like a +conscientious qualm. The other interests of our lives here mingle +with the purely aesthetic, to enrich or to embitter it. + +If Sybaris is so sad a name to the memory -- and who is without +some Sybaris of his own? -- if the image of it is so tormenting and +in the end so disgusting, this is not because we no longer think its +marbles bright, its fountains cool, its athletes strong, or its roses +fragrant; but because, mingled with all these supreme beauties, +there is the ubiquitous shade of Nemesis, the sense of a vacant will +and a suicidal inhumanity. The intolerableness of this moral +condition poisons the beauty which continues to be felt. If this +beauty did not exist, and was not still desired, the tragedy would +disappear and Jehovah would be deprived of the worth of his +victim. The sternness of moral forces lies precisely in this, that the +sacrifices morality imposes upon us are real, that the things it +renders impossible are still precious. + +We are accustomed to think of prudence as estranging us only +from low and ignoble things; we forget that utility and the need of +system in our lives is a bar also to the free flights of the spirit. The +highest instincts tend to disorganization as much as the lowest, +since order and benefit is what practical morality everywhere +insists upon, while sanctity and genius are as rebellious as vice. +The constant demands of the heart and the belly can allow man +only an incidental indulgence in the pleasures of the eye and the +understanding. For this reason, utility keeps close watch over +beauty, lest in her wilfulness and riot she should offend against our +practical needs and ultimate happiness. And when the conscience +is keen, this vigilance of the practical imagination over the +speculative ceases to appear as an eventual and external check. The +least suspicion of luxury, waste, impurity, or cruelty is then a +signal for alarm and insurrection. That which emits this _sapor +hoereticus_ becomes so initially horrible, that naturally no beauty +can ever be discovered in it; the senses and imagination are in that +case inhibited by the conscience. + +For this reason, the doctrine that beauty is essentially nothing but +the expression of moral or practical good appeals to persons of +predominant moral sensitiveness, not only because they wish it +were the truth, but because it largely describes the experience of +their own minds, somewhat warped in this particular. It will further +be observed that the moralists are much more able to condemn +than to appreciate the effects of the arts. Their taste is delicate +without being keen, for the principle on which they judge is one +which really operates to control and extend aesthetic effects; it is a +source of expression and of certain _nuances_ of satisfaction; but it +is foreign to the stronger and more primitive aesthetic values to +which the same persons are comparatively blind. + +_The authority of morals over aesthetics._ + +Sec. 55. The extent to which aesthetic goods should be sacrificed is, +of course, a moral question; for the function of practical reason is +to compare, combine, and harmonize all our interests, with a view +to attaining the greatest satisfactions of which our nature is capable. +We must expect, therefore, that virtue should place the same +restraint upon all our passions -- not from superstitious aversion to +any one need, but from an equal concern for them all. The +consideration to be given to our aesthetic pleasures will depend +upon their greater or less influence upon our happiness; and as this +influence varies in different ages and countries, and with different +individuals, it will be right to let aesthetic demands count for more +or for less in the organization of life. + +We may, indeed, according to our personal sympathies, prefer one +type of creature to another. We may love the martial, or the angelic, +or the political temperament. We may delight to find in others that +balance of susceptibilities and enthusiasms which we feel in our +own breast. But no moral precept can require one species or +individual to change its nature in order to resemble another, since +such a requirement can have no power or authority over those on +whom we would impose it. All that morality can require is the +inward harmony of each life: and if we still abhor the thought of a +possible being who should be happy without love, or knowledge, +or beauty, the aversion we feel is not moral but instinctive, not +rational but human. What revolts us is not the want of excellence +in that other creature, but his want of affinity to ourselves. Could +we survey the whole universe, we might indeed assign to each +species a moral dignity proportionate to its general beneficence +and inward wealth; but such an absolute standard, if it exists, is +incommunicable to us; and we are reduced to judging of the +excellence of every nature by its relation to the human. + +All these matters, however, belong to the sphere of ethics, nor +should we give them here even a passing notice, but for the +influence which moral ideas exert over aesthetic judgments. Our +sense of practical benefit not only determines the moral value of +beauty, but sometimes even its existence as an aesthetic good. +Especially in the right _selection_ of effects, these considerations +have weight. Forms in themselves pleasing may become disagreeable +when the practical interests then uppermost in the mind +cannot, without violence, yield a place to them. Thus too +much eloquence in a diplomatic document, or in a familiar letter, +or in a prayer, is an offence not only against practical sense, but +also against taste. The occasion has tuned us to a certain key of +sentiment, and deprived us of the power to respond to other stimuli. + +If things of moment are before us, we cannot stop to play with +symbols and figures of speech. We cannot attend to them with +pleasure, and therefore they lose the beauty they might elsewhere +have had. They are offensive, not in themselves, -- for nothing is +intrinsically ugly, -- but by virtue of our present demand for +something different. A prison as gay as a bazaar, a church as dumb +as a prison, offend by their failure to support by their aesthetic +quality the moral emotion with, which we approach them. The arts +must study their occasions; they must stand modestly aside until +they can slip in fitly into the interstices of life. This is the +consequence of the superficial stratum on which they flourish; +their roots, as we have seen, are not deep in the world, and they +appear only as unstable, superadded activities, employments of our +freedom, after the work of life is done and the terror of it is allayed. +They must, therefore, fit their forms, like parasites, to the stouter +growths to which they cling. + +Herein lies the greatest difficulty and nicety of art. It must not only +create things abstractly beautiful, but it must conciliate all the +competitors these may have to the attention of the world, and must +know how to insinuate their charms among the objects of our +passion. But this subserviency and enforced humility of beauty is +not without its virtue and reward. If the aesthetic habit lie under the +necessity of respecting and observing our passions, it possesses the +privilege of soothing our griefs. There is no situation so terrible +that it may not be relieved by the momentary pause of the mind to +contemplate it aesthetically. + +Grief itself becomes in this way not wholly pain; a sweetness is +added to it by our reflection. The saddest scenes may lose their +bitterness in their beauty. This ministration makes, as it were, the +piety of the Muses, who succour their mother, Life, and repay her +for their nurture by the comfort of their continual presence. The +aesthetic world is limited in its scope; it must submit to the control +of the organizing reason, and not trespass upon more useful and +holy ground. The garden must not encroach upon the corn-fields; +but the eye of the gardener may transform the corn-fields +themselves by dint of loving observation into a garden of a soberer +kind. By finding grandeur in our disasters, and merriment in our +mishaps, the aesthetic sense thus mollifies both, and consoles us +for the frequent impossibility of a serious and perfect beauty. + +_Negative values in the second term._ + +Sec. 56. All subjects, even the most repellent, when the +circumstances of life thrust them before us, can thus be observed +with curiosity and treated with art. The calling forth of these +aesthetic functions softens the violence of our sympathetic reaction. +If death, for instance, did not exist and did not thrust itself upon +our thoughts with painful importunity, art would never have been +called upon to soften and dignify it, by presenting it in beautiful +forms and surrounding it with consoling associations. Art does not +seek out the pathetic, the tragic, and the absurd; it is life that has +imposed them upon our attention, and enlisted art in their service, +to make the contemplation of them, since it is inevitable, at least as +tolerable as possible. + +The agreeableness of the presentation is thus mixed with the horror +of the thing; and the result is that while we are saddened by the +truth we are delighted by the vehicle that conveys it to us. The +mixture of these emotions constitutes the peculiar flavour and +poignancy of pathos. But because unlovely objects and feelings are +often so familiar as to be indifferent or so momentous as to be +alone in the mind, we are led into the confusion of supposing that +beauty depends upon them for its aesthetic value; whereas the truth +is that only by the addition of positive beauties can these evil +experiences be made agreeable to contemplation. + +There is, in reality, no such paradox in the tragic, comic, and +sublime, as has been sometimes supposed. We are not pleased by +virtue of the suggested evils, but in spite of them; and if ever the +charm of the beautiful presentation sinks so low, or the vividness +of the represented evil rises so high, that the balance is in favour of +pain, at that very moment the whole object becomes horrible, +passes out of the domain of art, and can be justified only by its +scientific or moral uses. As an aesthetic value it is destroyed; it +ceases to be a benefit; and the author of it, if he were not made +harmless by the neglect that must soon overtake him, would have +to be punished as a malefactor who adds to the burden of mortal +life. For the sad, the ridiculous, the grotesque, and the terrible, +unless they become aesthetic goods, remain moral evils. + +We have, therefore, to study the various aesthetic, intellectual, and +moral compensations by which the mind can be brought to +contemplate with pleasure a thing which, if experienced alone, +would be the cause of pain. There is, to be sure, a way of avoiding +this inquiry. We might assert that since all moderate excitement is +pleasant, there is nothing strange in the fact that the representation +of evil should please; for the experience is evil by virtue of the +pain it gives; but it gives pain only when felt with great intensity. +Observed from afar, it is a pleasing impression; it is vivid enough +to interest, but not acute enough to wound. This simple explanation +is possible in all those cases where aesthetic effect is gained by the +inhibition of sympathy. + +The term "evil" is often a conventional epithet; a conflagration +may be called an evil, because it usually involves loss and +suffering; but if, without caring for a loss and suffering we do not +share, we are delighted by the blaze, and still say that what pleases +us is an evil, we are using this word as a conventional appellation, +not as the mark of a felt value. We are not pleased by an evil; we +are pleased by a vivid and exciting sensation, which is a good, but +which has for objective cause an event which may indeed be an +evil to others, but about the consequences of which we are not +thinking at all. There is, in this sense, nothing in all nature, perhaps, +which is not an evil; nothing which is not unfavourable to some +interest, and does not involve some infinitesimal or ultimate +suffering in the universe of life. + +But when we are ignorant or thoughtless, this suffering is to us as +if it did not exist. The pleasures of drinking and walking are not +tragic to us, because we may be poisoning some bacillus or +crushing some worm. To an omniscient intelligence such acts may +be tragic by virtue of the insight into their relations to conflicting +impulses; but unless these impulses are present to the same mind, +there is no consciousness of tragedy. The child that, without +understanding of the calamity, should watch a shipwreck from the +shore, would hare a simple emotion of pleasure as from a jumping +jack; what passes for tragic interest is often nothing but this. If he +understood the event, but was entirely without sympathy, he would +have the aesthetic emotion of the careless tyrant, to whom the +notion of suffering is no hindrance to the enjoyment of the lyre. If +the temper of his tyranny were purposely cruel, he might add to +that aesthetic delight the luxury of _Schadenfreude;_ but the +pathos and horror of the sight could only appeal to a man who +realized and shared the sufferings he beheld. + +A great deal of brutal tragedy has been endured in the world +because the rudeness of the representation, or of the public, or of +both, did not allow a really sympathetic reaction to arise. We all +smile when Punch beats Judy in the puppet show. The treatment +and not the subject is what makes a tragedy. A parody of _Hamlet_ +or of _King Lear_ would not be a tragedy; and these tragedies +themselves are not wholly such, but by the strain of wit and +nonsense they contain are, as it were, occasional parodies on +themselves. By treating a tragic subject bombastically or satirically +we can turn it into an amusement for the public; they will not feel +the griefs which we have been careful to harden them against by +arousing in them contrary emotions. A work, nominally a work of +art, may also appeal to non-aesthetic feelings by its political bias, +brutality, or obscenity. But if an effect of true pathos is sought, the +sympathy of the observer must be aroused; we must awaken in him +the emotion we describe. The intensity of the impression must not +be so slight that its painful quality is not felt; for it is this very +sense of pain, mingling with the aesthetic excitement of the +spectacle, that gives it a tragic or pathetic colouring. + +We cannot therefore rest in the assertion that the slighter degree of +excitement is pleasant, when a greater degree of the same would be +disagreeable; for that principle does not express the essence of the +matter, which is that we must be aware of the evil, and conscious +of it as such, absorbed more or less in the experience of the +sufferer, and consequently suffering ourselves, before we can +experience the essence of tragic emotion. This emotion must +therefore be complex; it must contain an element of pain +overbalanced by an element of pleasure; in our delight there must +be a distinguishable touch of shrinking and sorrow; for it is this +conflict and rending of our will, this fascination by what is +intrinsically terrible or sad, that gives these turbid feelings their +depth and pungency. + +_Influence of the first term in the pleasing expression of self._ + +Sec. 57. A striking proof of the compound nature of tragic effects can +be given by a simple experiment. Remove from any drama -- say +from _Othello_ -- the charm of the medium of presentation; reduce +the tragedy to a mere account of the facts and of the words spoken, +such as our newspapers almost daily contain; and the tragic dignity +and beauty is entirely lost. Nothing remains but a disheartening +item of human folly, which may still excite curiosity, but which +will rather defile than purify the mind that considers it. A French +poet has said: + + Il n'est de vulgaire chagrin + Qua celui d'une ame vulgaire. + +The counterpart of this maxim is equally true. There is no noble +sorrow except in a noble mind, because what is noble is the +reaction upon the sorrow, the attitude of the man in its presence, +the language in which he clothes it, the associations with which he +surrounds it, and the fine affections and impulses which shine +through it. Only by suffusing some sinister experience with this +moral light, as a poet may do who carries that light within him, can +we raise misfortune into tragedy and make it better for us to +remember our lives than to forget them. + +There are times, although rare, when men are noble in the very +moment of passion: when that passion is not unqualified, but +already mastered by reflection and levelled with truth. Then the +experience is itself the tragedy, and no poet is needed to make it +beautiful in representation, since the sufferer has been an artist +himself, and has moulded what he has endured. But usually these +two stages have to be successive: first we suffer, afterwards we +sing. An interval is necessary to make feeling presentable, and +subjugate it to that form in which alone it is beautiful. + +This form appeals to us in itself, and without its aid no +subject-matter could become an aesthetic object. The more terrible the +experience described, the more powerful must the art be which is +to transform it. For this reason prose and literalness are more +tolerable in comedy than in tragedy; any violent passion, any +overwhelming pain, if it is not to make us think of a demonstration +in pathology, and bring back the smell of ether, must be rendered +in the most exalted style. Metre, rhyme, melody, the widest nights +of allusion, the highest reaches of fancy, are there in place. For +these enable the mind swept by the deepest cosmic harmonies, to +endure and absorb the shrill notes which would be intolerable in a +poorer setting. + +The sensuous harmony of words, and still more the effects of +rhythm, are indispensable at this height of emotion. Evolutionists +have said that violent emotion naturally expresses itself in rhythm. +That is hardly an empirical observation, nor can the expressiveness +of rhythms be made definite enough to bear specific association +with complex feelings. But the suspension and rush of sound and +movement have in themselves a strong effect; we cannot undergo +them without profound excitement; and this, like martial music, +nerves us to courage and, by a sort of intoxication, bears us along +amid scenes which might otherwise be sickening. The vile effect of +literal and disjointed renderings of suffering, whether in writing or +acting, proves how necessary is the musical quality to tragedy -- a +fact Aristotle long ago set forth. The afflatus of rhythm, even if it +be the pomp of the Alexandrine, sublimates the passion, and +clarifies its mutterings into poetry. This breadth and rationality are +necessary to art, which is not skill merely, but skill in the service +of beauty. + +_Mixture of other expressions, including that of truth._ + +Sec. 58. To the value of these sensuous and formal elements must be +added the continual suggestion of beautiful and happy things, +which no tragedy is sombre enough to exclude. Even if we do not +go so far as to intersperse comic scenes and phrases into a pathetic +subject, -- a rude device, since the comic passages themselves need +that purifying which they are meant to effect, -- we must at least +relieve our theme with pleasing associations. For this reason we +have palaces for our scene, rank, beauty, and virtue in our heroes, +nobility in their passions and in their fate, and altogether a sort of +glorification of life without which tragedy would lose both in depth +of pathos -- since things so precious are destroyed -- and in +subtlety of charm, since things so precious are manifested. + +Indeed, one of the chief charms that tragedies have is the +suggestion of what they might have been if they had not been +tragedies. The happiness which glimmers through them, the hopes, +loves, and ambitions of which it is made, these things fascinate us, +and win our sympathy; so that we are all the more willing to suffer +with our heroes, even if we are at the same time all the more +sensitive to their suffering. Too wicked a character or too +unrelieved a situation revolts us for this reason. We do not find +enough expression of good to make us endure the expression of the +evil. + +A curious exception to this rule, which, however, admirably +illustrates the fundamental principle of it, is where by the diversity +of evils represented the mind is relieved from painful absorption in +any of them. There is a scene in _King Lear,_ where the horror of +the storm is made to brood over at least four miseries, that of the +king, of the fool, of Edgar in his real person, and of Edgar in his +assumed character. The vividness of each of these portrayals, with +its different note of pathos, keeps the mind detached and free, +forces it to compare and reflect, and thereby to universalize the +spectacle. Yet even here, the beautiful effect is not secured without +some touches of good. How much is not gained by the dumb +fidelity of the fool, and by the sublime humanity of Lear, when he +says, "Art cold? There is a part of me is sorry for thee yet." + +Yet all these compensations would probably be unavailing but for +another which the saddest things often have, -- the compensation +of being true. Our practical and intellectual nature is deeply +interested in truth. What describes fact appeals to us for that reason; +it has an inalienable interest. However unpleasant truth may prove, +we long to know it, partly perhaps because experience has shown +us the prudence of this kind of intellectual courage, and chiefly +because the consciousness of ignorance and the dread of the +unknown is more tormenting than any possible discovery. A +primitive instinct makes us turn the eyes full on any object that +appears in the dim borderland of our field of vision -- and this all +the more quickly, the more terrible that object threatens to be. + +This physical thirst for seeing has its intellectual extension. We +covet truth, and to attain it, amid all accidents, is a supreme +satisfaction. Now this satisfaction the representation of evil can +also afford. Whether we hear the account of some personal +accident, or listen to the symbolic representation of the inherent +tragedy of life, we crave the same knowledge; the desire for truth +makes us welcome eagerly whatever comes in its name. To be sure, +the relief of such instruction does not of itself constitute an +aesthetic pleasure: the other conditions of beauty remain to be +fulfilled. But the satisfaction of so imperious an intellectual instinct +insures our willing attention to the tragic object, and strengthens +the hold which any beauties it may possess will take upon us. An +intellectual value stands ready to be transmuted into an aesthetic +one, if once its discursiveness is lost, and it is left hanging about +the object as a vague sense of dignity and meaning. + +To this must be added the specific pleasure of recognition, one of +the keenest we have, and the sentimental one of nursing our own +griefs and dignifying them by assimilation to a less inglorious +representation of them. Here we have truth on a small scale; +conformity in the fiction to incidents of our personal experience. +Such correspondences are the basis of much popular appreciation +of trivial and undigested works that appeal to some momentary +phase of life or feeling, and disappear with it. They have the value +of personal stimulants only; they never achieve beauty. Like the +souvenirs of last season's gayeties, or the diary of an early love, +they are often hideous in themselves in proportion as they are +redolent with personal associations. But however hopelessly mere +history or confession may fail to constitute a work of art, a work of +art that has an historical warrant, either literal or symbolical, gains +the support of that vivid interest we have in facts. And many +tragedies and farces, that to a mind without experience of this +sublunary world might seem monstrous and disgusting fictions, +may come to be forgiven and even perhaps preferred over all else, +when they are found to be a sketch from life. + +Truth is thus the excuse which ugliness has for being. Many people, +in whom the pursuit of knowledge and the indulgence in sentiment +have left no room for the cultivation of the aesthetic sense, look in +art rather for this expression of fact or of passion than for the +revelation of beauty. They accordingly produce and admire works +without intrinsic value. They employ the procedure of the fine arts +without an eye to what can give pleasure in the effect. They invoke +rather the _a priori_ interest which men are expected to have in the +subject-matter, or in the theories and moral implied in the +presentation of it. Instead of using the allurements of art to inspire +wisdom, they require an appreciation of wisdom to make us endure +their lack of art. + +Of course, the instruments of the arts are public property and any +one is free to turn them to new uses. It would be an interesting +development of civilization if they should now be employed only +as methods of recording scientific ideas and personal confessions. +But the experiment has not succeeded and can hardly succeed. +There are other simpler, clearer, and more satisfying ways of +expounding truth. A man who is really a student of history or +philosophy will never rest with the vague and partial oracles of +poetry, not to speak of the inarticulate suggestions of the plastic +arts. He will at once make for the principles which art cannot +express, even if it can embody them, and when those principles are +attained, the works of art, if they had no other value than that of +suggesting them, will lapse from his mind. Forms will give place +to formulas as hieroglyphics have given place to the letters of the +alphabet. + +If, on the other hand, the primary interest is really in beauty, and +only the confusion of a moral revolution has obscured for a while +the vision of the ideal, then as the mind regains its mastery over the +world, and digests its new experience, the imagination will again +be liberated, and create its forms by its inward affinities, leaving +all the weary burden, archaeological, psychological, and ethical, to +those whose business is not to delight. But the sudden inundation +of science and sentiment which has made the mind of the +nineteenth century so confused, by overloading us with materials +and breaking up our habits of apperception and our ideals, has led +to an exclusive sense of the value of expressiveness, until this has +been almost identified with beauty. This exaggeration can best +prove how the expression of truth may enter into the play of +aesthetic forces, and give a value to representations which, but for +it, would be repulsive. + +_The liberation of self._ + +Sec. 59. Hitherto we have been considering those elements of a +pathetic presentation which may mitigate our sympathetic emotion, +and make it on the whole agreeable. These consist in the intrinsic +beauties of the medium of presentation, and in the concomitant +manifestation of various goods, notably of truth. The mixture of +these values is perhaps all we have in mildly pathetic works, in the +presence of which we are tolerably aware of a sort of balance and +compensation of emotions. The sorrow and the beauty, the +hopelessness and the consolation, mingle and merge into a kind of +joy which has its poignancy, indeed, but which is far too passive +and penitential to contain the louder and sublimer of our tragic +moods. In these there is a wholeness, a strength, and a rapture, +which still demands an explanation. + +Where this explanation is to be found may be guessed from the +following circumstance. The pathetic is a quality of the object, at +once lovable and sad, which we accept and allow to flow in upon +the soul; but the heroic is an attitude of the will, by which the +voices of the outer world are silenced, and a moral energy, flowing +from within, is made to triumph over them. If we fail, therefore, to +discover, by analysis of the object, anything which could make it +sublime, we must not be surprised at our failure. We must +remember that the object is always but a portion of our +consciousness: that portion which has enough coherence and +articulation to be recognized as permanent and projected into the +outer world. But consciousness remains one, in spite of this +diversification of its content, and the object is not really +independent, but is in constant relation to the rest of the mind, in +the midst of which it swims like a bubble on a dark surface of +water. + +The aesthetic effect of objects is always due to the total emotional +value of the consciousness in which they exist. We merely attribute +this value to the object by a projection which is the ground of the +apparent objectivity of beauty. Sometimes this value may be +inherent in the process by which the object itself is perceived; then +we have sensuous and formal beauty; sometimes the value may be +due to the incipient formation of other ideas, which the perception +of this object evokes; then we have beauty of expression. But +among the ideas with which every object has relation there is one +vaguest, most comprehensive, and most powerful one, namely, the +idea of self. The impulses, memories, principles, and energies +which we designate by that word baffle enumeration; indeed, they +constantly fade and change into one another; and whether the self +is anything, everything, or nothing depends on the aspect of it +which we momentarily fix, and especially on the definite object +with which we contrast it. + +Now, it is the essential privilege of beauty to so synthesize and +bring to a focus the various impulses of the self, so to suspend +them to a single image, that a great peace falls upon that perturbed +kingdom. In the experience of these momentary harmonies we +have the basis of the enjoyment of beauty, and of all its mystical +meanings. But there are always two methods of securing harmony: +one is to unify all the given elements, and another is to reject and +expunge all the elements that refuse to be unified. Unity by +inclusion gives us the beautiful; unity by exclusion, opposition, +and isolation gives us the sublime. Both are pleasures: but the +pleasure of the one is warm, passive, and pervasive; that of the +other cold, imperious, and keen. The one identifies us with the +world, the other raises us above it. + +There can be no difficulty in understanding how the expression of +evil in the object may be the occasion of this heroic reaction of the +soul. In the first place, the evil may be felt; but at the same time the +sense that, great as it may be in itself, it cannot touch us, may +stimulate extraordinarily the consciousness of our own wholeness. +This is the sublimity which Lucretius calls "sweet" in the famous +lines in which he so justly analyzes it. We are not pleased because +another suffers an evil, but because, seeing it is an evil, we see at +the same time our own immunity from it. We might soften the +picture a little, and perhaps make the principle even clearer by so +doing. The shipwreck observed from the shore does not leave us +wholly unmoved; we suffer, also, and if possible, would help. So, +too, the spectacle of the erring world must sadden the philosopher +even in the Acropolis of his wisdom; he would, if it might be, +descend from his meditation and teach. But those movements of +sympathy are quickly inhibited by despair of success; impossibility +of action is a great condition of the sublime. If we could count the +stars, we should not weep before them. While we think we can +change the drama of history, and of our own lives, we are not awed +by our destiny. But when the evil is irreparable, when our life is +lived, a strong spirit has the sublime resource of standing at bay +and of surveying almost from the other world the vicissitudes of +this. + +The more intimate to himself the tragedy he is able to look back +upon with calmness, the more sublime that calmness is, and the +more divine the ecstasy in which he achieves it. For the more of +the accidental vesture of life we are able to strip ourselves of, the +more naked and simple is the surviving spirit; the more complete +its superiority and unity, and, consequently, the more unqualified +its joy. There remains little in us, then, but that intellectual essence, +which several great philosophers have called eternal and identified +with the Divinity. + +A single illustration may help to fix these principles in the mind. +When Othello has discovered his fatal error, and is resolved to take +his own life, he stops his groaning, and addresses the ambassadors +of Venice thus: + + Speak of me as I am: nothing extenuate, + Nor set down aught in malice: then, must you speak + Of one that loved, not wisely, but too well; + Of one not easily jealous, but, being wrought, + Perplexed in the extreme; of one whose hand, + Like the base Indian, threw a pearl away + Richer than all his tribe; of one whose subdued eyes, + Albeit unused to the melting mood, + Drop tears as fast as the Arabian trees + Their medicinal gum. Set you down this: + And say, besides, that in Aleppo once + When a malignant and a turbaned Turk + Beat a Venetian, and traduced the state, + I took by the throat the circumcised dog, + And smote him, thus. + +There is a kind of criticism that would see in all these allusions, +figures of speech, and wandering reflections, an unnatural +rendering of suicide. The man, we might be told, should have +muttered a few broken phrases, and killed himself without this +pomp of declamation, like the jealous husbands in the daily papers. +But the conventions of the tragic stage are more favourable to +psychological truth than the conventions of real life. If we may +trust the imagination (and in imagination lies, as we have seen, the +test of propriety), this is what Othello would have felt. If he had +not expressed it, his dumbness would have been due to external +hindrances, not to the failure in his mind of just such complex and +rhetorical thoughts as the poet has put into his mouth. The height +of passion is naturally complex and rhetorical. Love makes us +poets, and the approach of death should make us philosophers. +When a man knows that his life is over, he can look back upon it +from a universal standpoint. He has nothing more to live for, but if +the energy of his mind remains unimpaired, he will still wish to +live, and, being cut off from his personal ambitions, he will impute +to himself a kind of vicarious immortality by identifying himself +with what is eternal. He speaks of himself as he is, or rather as he +was. He sums himself up, and points to his achievement. This I +have been, says he, this I have done. + +This comprehensive and impartial view, this synthesis and +objectification of experience, constitutes the liberation of the soul +and the essence of sublimity. That the hero attains it at the end +consoles us, as it consoles him, for his hideous misfortunes. Our +pity and terror are indeed purged; we go away knowing that, +however tangled the net may be in which we feel ourselves caught, +there is liberation beyond, and an ultimate peace. + +_The sublime independent of the expression of evil._ + +Sec. 60. So natural is the relation between the vivid conception of +great evils, and that self-assertion of the soul which gives the +emotion of the sublime, that the sublime is often thought to depend +upon the terror which these conceived evils inspire. To be sure, +that terror would have to be inhibited and subdued, otherwise we +should have a passion too acute to be incorporated in any object; +the sublime would not appear as an aesthetic quality in things, but +remain merely an emotional state in the subject. But this subdued +and objectified terror is what is commonly regarded as the essence +of the sublime, and so great an authority as Aristotle would seem +to countenance some such definition. The usual cause of the +sublime is here confused, however, with the sublime itself. The +suggestion of terror makes us withdraw into ourselves: there with +the supervening consciousness of safety or indifference comes a +rebound, and we have that emotion of detachment and liberation in +which the sublime really consists. + +Thoughts and actions are properly sublime, and visible things only +by analogy and suggestion when they induce a certain moral +emotion; whereas beauty belongs properly to sensible things, and +can be predicated of moral facts only by a figure of rhetoric. What +we objectify in beauty is a sensation. What we objectify in the +sublime is an act. This act is necessarily pleasant, for if it were not +the sublime would be a bad quality and one we should rather never +encounter in the world. The glorious joy of self-assertion in the +face of an uncontrollable world is indeed so deep and entire, that it +furnishes just that transcendent element of worth for which we +were looking when we tried to understand how the expression of +pain could sometimes please. It can please, not in itself, but +because it is balanced and annulled by positive pleasures, +especially by this final and victorious one of detachment. If the +expression of evil seems necessary to the sublime, it is so only as a +condition of this moral reaction. + +We are commonly too much engrossed in objects and too little +centred in ourselves and our inalienable will, to see the sublimity +of a pleasing prospect. We are then enticed and flattered, +and won over to a commerce with these external goods, and +the consummation of our happiness would lie in the perfect +comprehension and enjoyment of their nature. This is the office of +art and of love; and its partial fulfilment is seen in every perception +of beauty. But when we are checked in this sympathetic endeavour +after unity and comprehension; when we come upon a great evil or +an irreconcilable power, we are driven to seek our happiness by the +shorter and heroic road; then we recognize the hopeless +foreignness of what lies before us, and stiffen ourselves against it. +We thus for the first time reach the sense of our possible separation +from our world, and of our abstract stability; and with this comes +the sublime. + +But although experience of evil is the commonest approach to this +attitude of mind, and we commonly become philosophers only +after despairing of instinctive happiness, yet there is nothing +impossible in the attainment of detachment by other channels. The +immense is sublime as well as the terrible; and mere infinity of the +object, like its hostile nature, can have the effect of making the +mind recoil upon itself. Infinity, like hostility, removes us from +things, and makes us conscious of our independence. The +simultaneous view of many things, innumerable attractions felt +together, produce equilibrium and indifference, as effectually as +the exclusion of all. If we may call the liberation of the self by the +consciousness of evil in the world, the Stoic sublime, we may +assert that there is also an Epicurean sublime, which consists in +liberation by equipoise. Any wide survey is sublime in that fashion. +Each detail may be beautiful. We may even be ready with a +passionate response to its appeal. We may think we covet every +sort of pleasure, and lean to every kind of vigorous, impulsive life. +But let an infinite panorama be suddenly unfolded; the will is +instantly paralyzed, and the heart choked. It is impossible to desire +everything at once, and when all is offered and approved, it is +impossible to choose everything. In this suspense, the mind soars +into a kind of heaven, benevolent but unmoved. + +This is the attitude of all minds to which breadth of interest or +length of years has brought balance and dignity. The sacerdotal +quality of old age comes from this same sympathy in disinterestedness. +Old men full of hurry and passion appear as fools, because +we understand that their experience has not left enough +mark upon their brain to qualify with the memory of other +goods any object that may be now presented. We cannot venerate +any one in whom appreciation is not divorced from desire. And +this elevation and detachment of the heart need not follow upon +any great disappointment; it is finest and sweetest where it is the +gradual fruit of many affections now merged and mellowed into a +natural piety. Indeed, we are able to frame our idea of the Deity on +no other model. + +When the pantheists try to conceive all the parts of nature as +forming a single being, which shall contain them all and yet have +absolute unity, they find themselves soon denying the existence of +the world they are trying to deify; for nature, reduced to the unity it +would assume in an omniscient mind, is no longer nature, but +something simple and impossible, the exact opposite of the real +world. Such an opposition would constitute the liberation of the +divine mind from nature, and its existence as a self-conscious +individual. The effort after comprehensiveness of view reduces +things to unity, but this unity stands out in opposition to the +manifold phenomena which it transcends, and rejects as unreal. + +Now this destruction of nature, which the metaphysicians since +Parmenides have so often repeated (nature nevertheless surviving +still), is but a theoretical counterpart and hypostasis of what +happens in every man's conscience when the comprehensiveness of +his experience lifts him into thought, into abstraction. The sense of +the sublime is essentially mystical: it is the transcending of distinct +perception in favour of a feeling of unity and volume. So in the +moral sphere, we have the mutual cancelling of the passions in the +breast that includes them all, and their final subsidence beneath the +glance that comprehends them. This is the Epicurean approach to +detachment and perfection; it leads by systematic acceptance of +instinct to the same goal which the stoic and the ascetic reach by +systematic rejection of instinct. It is thus possible to be moved to +that self-enfranchisement which constitutes the sublime, even +when the object contains no expression of evil. + +This conclusion supports that part of our definition of beauty +which declares that the values beauty contains are all positive; a +definition which we should have had to change if we had found +that the sublime depended upon the suggestion of evil for its effect. +But the sublime is not the ugly, as some descriptions of it might +lead us to suppose; it is the supremely, the intoxicatingly beautiful. +It is the pleasure of contemplation reaching such an intensity that it +begins to lose its objectivity, and to declare itself, what it always +fundamentally was, an inward passion of the soul. For while in the +beautiful we find the perfection of life by sinking into the object, in +the sublime we find a purer and more inalienable perfection by +defying the object altogether. The surprised enlargement of vision, +the sudden escape from our ordinary interests and the identification +of ourselves with something permanent and superhuman, something +much more abstract and inalienable than our changing personality, +all this carries us away from the blurred objects before us, +and raises us into a sort of ecstasy. + +In the trite examples of the sublime, where we speak of the vast +mass, strength, and durability of objects, or of their sinister aspect, +as if we were moved by them on account of our own danger, we +seem to miss the point. For the suggestion of our own danger +would produce a touch of fear; it would be a practical passion, or if +it could by chance be objectified enough to become aesthetic, it +would merely make the object hateful and repulsive, like a +mangled corpse. The object is sublime when we forget our danger, +when we escape from ourselves altogether, and live as it were in +the object itself, energizing in imitation of its movement, and +saying, "Be thou me, impetuous one!" This passage into the object, +to live its life, is indeed a characteristic of all perfect contemplation. +But when in thus translating ourselves we rise and play a higher +personage, feeling the exhilaration of a life freer and wilder than +our own, then the experience is one of sublimity. The emotion +comes not from the situation we observe, but from the powers we +conceive; we fail to sympathize with the struggling sailors because +we sympathize too much with the wind and waves. And this +mystical cruelty can extend even to ourselves; we can so feel the +fascination of the cosmic forces that engulf us as to take a fierce +joy in the thought of our own destruction. We can identify +ourselves with the abstractest essence of reality, and, raised to that +height, despise the human accidents of our own nature. Lord, we +say, though thou slay me, yet will I trust in thee. The sense of +suffering disappears in the sense of life and the imagination +overwhelms the understanding. + +_The comic._ + +Sec. 61. Something analogous takes place in the other spheres where +an aesthetic value seems to arise out of suggestions of evil, in the +comic, namely, and the grotesque. But here the translation of our +sympathies is partial, and we are carried away from ourselves only +to become smaller. The larger humanity, which cannot be absorbed, +remains ready to contradict the absurdity of our fiction. The +excellence of comedy lies in the invitation to wander along some +by-path of the fancy, among scenes not essentially impossible, but +not to be actually enacted by us on account of the fixed +circumstances of our lives. If the picture is agreeable, we allow +ourselves to dream it true. We forget its relations; we forbid the +eye to wander beyond the frame of the stage, or the conventions of +the fiction. We indulge an illusion which deepens our sense of the +essential pleasantness of things. + +So far, there is nothing in comedy that is not delightful, except, +perhaps, the moment when it is over. But fiction, like all error or +abstraction, is necessarily unstable; and the awakening is not +always reserved for the disheartening moment at the end. +Everywhere, when we are dealing with pretension or mistake, we +come upon sudden and vivid contradictions; changes of view, +transformations of apperception which are extremely stimulating to +the imagination. We have spoken of one of these: when the sudden +dissolution of our common habits of thought lifts us into a mystical +contemplation, filled with the sense of the sublime; when the +transformation is back to common sense and reality, and away +from some fiction, we have a very different emotion. We feel +cheated, relieved, abashed, or amused, in proportion as our +sympathy attaches more to the point of view surrendered or to that +attained. + +The disintegration of mental forms and their redintegration is the +life of the imagination. It is a spiritual process of birth and death, +nutrition and generation. The strongest emotions accompany these +changes, and vary infinitely with their variations. All the qualities +of discourse, wit, eloquence, cogency, absurdity, are feelings +incidental to this process, and involved in the juxtapositions, +tensions, and resolutions of our ideas. Doubtless the last +explanation of these things would be cerebral; but we are as yet +confined to verbal descriptions and classifications of them, which +are always more or less arbitrary. + +The most conspicuous headings under which comic effects are +gathered are perhaps incongruity and degradation. But clearly it +cannot be the logical essence of incongruity or degradation that +constitutes the comic; for then contradiction and deterioration +would always amuse. Amusement is a much more directly physical +thing. We may be amused without any idea at all, as when we are +tickled, or laugh in sympathy with others by a contagious imitation +of their gestures. We may be amused by the mere repetition of a +thing at first not amusing. There must therefore be some nervous +excitement on which the feeling of amusement directly depends, +although this excitement may most often coincide with a sudden +transition to an incongruous or meaner image. Nor can we suppose +that particular ideational excitement to be entirely dissimilar to all +others; wit is often hardly distinguishable from brilliancy, as +humour from pathos. We must, therefore, be satisfied with saying +vaguely that the process of ideation involves various feelings of +movement and relation, -- feelings capable of infinite gradation +and complexity, and ranging from sublimity to tedium and from +pathos to uncontrollable merriment. + +Certain crude and obvious cases of the comic seem to consist of +little more than a shock of surprise: a pun is a sort of jack-in-the-box, +popping from nowhere into our plodding thoughts. The liveliness +of the interruption, and its futility, often please; _dulce est +desipere in loco;_ and yet those who must endure the society of +inveterate jokers know how intolerable this sort of scintillation can +become. There is something inherently vulgar about it; perhaps +because our train of thought cannot be very entertaining in itself +when we are so glad to break in upon it with irrelevant nullities. +The same undertone of disgust mingles with other amusing +surprises, as when a dignified personage slips and falls, or some +disguise is thrown off, or those things are mentioned and described +which convention ignores. The novelty and the freedom please, yet +the shock often outlasts the pleasure, and we have cause to wish +we had been stimulated by something which did not involve this +degradation. So, also, the impossibility in plausibility which tickles +the fancy in Irish bulls, and in wild exaggerations, leaves an +uncomfortable impression, a certain aftertaste of foolishness. + +The reason will be apparent if we stop to analyze the situation. We +have a prosaic background of common sense and every-day reality; +upon this background an unexpected idea suddenly impinges. But +the thing is a futility. The comic accident falsifies the nature before +us, starts a wrong analogy in the mind, a suggestion that cannot be +carried out. In a word, we are in the presence of an absurdity; and +man, being a rational animal, can like absurdity no better than he +can like hunger or cold. A pinch of either may not be so bad, and +he will endure it merrily enough if you repay him with abundance +of warm victuals; so, too, he will play with all kinds of nonsense +for the sake of laughter and good fellowship and the tickling of his +fancy with a sort of caricature of thought. But the qualm remains, +and the pleasure is never perfect. The same exhilaration might +have come without the falsification, just as repose follows more +swiftly after pleasant than after painful exertions. + +Fun is a good thing, but only when it spoils nothing better. The +best place for absurdity is in the midst of what is already absurd -- +then we have the play of fancy without the sense of ineptitude. +Things amuse us in the mouth of a fool that would not amuse us in +that of a gentleman; a fact which shows how little incongruity and +degradation have to do with our pleasure in the comic. In fact, +there is a kind of congruity and method even in fooling. The +incongruous and the degraded displease us even there, as by their +nature they must at all times. The shock which they bring may +sometimes be the occasion of a subsequent pleasure, by attracting +our attention, or by stimulating passions, such as scorn, or cruelty, +or self-satisfaction (for there is a good deal of malice in our love of +fun); but the incongruity and degradation, as such, always remain +unpleasant. The pleasure comes from the inward rationality and +movement of the fiction, not from its inconsistency with anything +else. There are a great many topsy-turvy worlds possible to our +fancy, into which we like to drop at times. We enjoy the +stimulation and the shaking up of our wits. It is like getting into a +new posture, or hearing a new song. + +Nonsense is good only because common sense is so limited. For +reason, after all, is one convention picked out of a thousand. We +love expansion, not disorder, and when we attain freedom without +incongruity we have a much greater and a much purer delight. The +excellence of wit can dispense with absurdity. For on the same +prosaic background of common sense, a novelty might have +appeared that was not absurd, that stimulated the attention quite as +much as the ridiculous, without so baffling the intelligence. This +purer and more thoroughly delightful amusement comes from what +we call wit. + +_Wit._ + +Sec. 62. Wit also depends upon transformation and substitution of +ideas. It has been said to consist in quick association by similarity. +The substitution must here be valid, however, and the similarity +real, though unforeseen. Unexpected justness makes wit, as sudden +incongruity makes pleasant foolishness. It is characteristic of wit to +penetrate into hidden depths of things, to pick out there some +telling circumstance or relation, by noting which the whole object +appears in a new and clearer light. Wit often seems malicious +because analysis in discovering common traits and universal +principles assimilates things at the poles of being; it can apply to +cookery the formulas of theology, and find in the human heart a +case of the fulcrum and lever. We commonly keep the departments +of experience distinct; we think that different principles hold in +each and that the dignity of spirit is inconsistent with the +explanation of it by physical analogy, and the meanness of matter +unworthy of being an illustration of moral truths. Love must not be +classed under physical cravings, nor faith under hypnotization. +When, therefore, an original mind overleaps these boundaries, and +recasts its categories, mixing up our old classifications, we feel that +the values of things are also confused. But these depended upon a +deeper relation, upon their response to human needs and +aspirations. All that can be changed by the exercise of intelligence +is our sense of the unity and homogeneity of the world. We may +come to hold an object of thought in less isolated respect, and +another in less hasty derision; but the pleasures we derive from all, +or our total happiness and wonder, will hardly be diminished. For +this reason the malicious or destructive character of intelligence +must not be regarded as fundamental. Wit belittles one thing and +dignifies another; and its comparisons are as often flattering as +ironical. + +The same process of mind that we observed in wit gives rise to +those effects we call charming, brilliant, or inspired. When +Shakespeare says, + + Come and kiss me, _sweet and twenty,_ + Youth's a stuff will not endure, + +the fancy of the phrase consists in a happy substitution, a merry +way of saying something both true and tender. And where could +we find a more exquisite charm? So, to take a weightier example, +when St. Augustine is made to say that pagan virtues were +_splendid vices,_ we have -- at least if we catch the full meaning -- +a pungent assimilation of contrary things, by force of a powerful +principle; a triumph of theory, the boldness of which can only be +matched by its consistency. In fact, a phrase could not be more +brilliant, or better condense one theology and two civilizations. +The Latin mind is particularly capable of this sort of excellence. +Tacitus alone could furnish a hundred examples. It goes with the +power of satirical and bitter eloquence, a sort of scornful rudeness +of intelligence, that makes for the core of a passion or of a +character, and affixes to it a more or less scandalous label. For in +our analytical zeal it is often possible to condense and abstract too +much. Reality is more fluid and elusive than reason, and has, as it +were, more dimensions than are known even to the latest geometry. +Hence the understanding, when not suffused with some glow of +sympathetic emotion or some touch of mysticism, gives but a dry, +crude image of the world. The quality of wit inspires more +admiration than confidence. It is a merit we should miss little in +any one we love. + +The same principle, however, can have more sentimental +embodiments. When our substitutions are brought on by the +excitement of generous emotion, we call wit inspiration. There is +the same finding of new analogies, and likening of disparate things; +there is the same transformation of our apperception. But the +brilliancy is here not only penetrating, but also exalting. For +instance: + + Peace, peace, he is not dead, he doth not sleep, + He hath awakened from the dream of life: + 'Tis we that wrapped in stormy visions keep + With phantoms an unprofitable strife. + +There is here paradox, and paradox justified by reflection. The poet +analyzes, and analyzes without reserve. The dream, the storm, the +phantoms, and the unprofitableness could easily make a satirical +picture. But the mood is transmuted; the mind takes an upward +flight, with a sense of liberation from the convention it dissolves, +and of freer motion in the vagueness beyond. The disintegration of +our ideal here leads to mysticism, and because of this effort +towards transcendence, the brilliancy becomes sublime. + +_Humour._ + +Sec. 63. 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 +any one 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 humour 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 humour, 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 honour, 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 humour +becomes deep and really different from satire, it changes into +pathos, and passes out of the sphere of the comic altogether. The +mischances 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._ + +Sec. 64. Something analogous to humour 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 develope +them, the better we understand it. The incongruity with the +conventional type than 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. + +_The possibility of finite perfection._ + +Sec. 65. If these observations have any accuracy, they confirm this +important truth, -- that no aesthetic value is really founded on the +experience or the suggestion of evil. This conclusion will doubtless +seem the more interesting if we think of its possible extension to +the field of ethics and of the implied vindication of the ideal of +moral perfection as something essentially definable and attainable. +But without insisting on an analogy to ethics, which might be +misleading, we may hasten to state the principle which emerges +from our analysis of expression. Expressiveness may be found in +any one thing that suggests another, or draws from association with +that other any of its emotional colouring. There may, therefore, of +course, be an expressiveness of evil; but this expressiveness will +not have any aesthetic value. The description or suggestion of +suffering may have a worth as science or discipline, but can never +in itself enhance any beauty. Tragedy and comedy please in spite +of this expressiveness and not by virtue of it; and except for the +pleasures they give, they have no place among the fine arts. Nor +have they, in such a case, any place in human life at all; unless they +are instruments of some practical purpose and serve to preach a +moral, or achieve a bad notoriety. For ugly things can attract +attention, although they cannot keep it; and the scandal of a new +horror may secure a certain vulgar admiration which follows +whatever is momentarily conspicuous, and which is attained even +by crime. Such admiration, however, has nothing aesthetic about it, +and is only made possible by the bluntness of our sense of beauty. + +The effect of the pathetic and comic is therefore never pure; since +the expression of some evil is mixed up with those elements by +which the whole appeals to us. These elements we have seen to be +the truth of the presentation, which involves the pleasures of +recognition and comprehension, the beauty of the medium, and the +concomitant expression of things intrinsically good. To these +sources all the aesthetic value of comic and tragic is due; and the +sympathetic emotion which arises from the spectacle of evil must +never be allowed to overpower these pleasures of contemplation, +else the entire object becomes distasteful and loses its excuse for +being. Too exclusive a relish for the comic and pathetic is +accordingly a sign of bad taste and of comparative insensibility to +beauty. + +This situation has generally been appreciated in the practice of the +arts, where effect is perpetually studied; but the greatest care has +not always succeeded in avoiding the dangers of the pathetic, and +history is full of failures due to bombast, caricature, and +unmitigated horror. In all these the effort to be expressive has +transgressed the conditions of pleasing effect. For the creative and +imitative impulse is indiscriminate. It does not consider the +eventual beauty of the effect, but only the blind instinct of +self-expression. Hence an untrained and not naturally sensitive mind +cannot distinguish or produce anything good. This critical +incapacity has always been a cause of failure and a just ground for +ridicule; but it remained for some thinkers of our time -- a time of +little art and much undisciplined production -- to erect this abuse +into a principle and declare that the essence of beauty is to express +the artist and not to delight the world. But the conditions of effect, +and the possibility of pleasing, are the only criterion of what is +capable and worthy of expression. Art exists and has value by its +adaptation to these universal conditions of beauty. + +Nothing but the good of life enters into the texture of the beautiful. +What charms us in the comic, what stirs us in the sublime and +touches us in the pathetic, is a glimpse of some good; imperfection +has value only as an incipient perfection. Could the labours and +sufferings of life be reduced, and a better harmony between man +and nature be established, nothing would be lost to the arts; for the +pure and ultimate value of the comic is discovery, of the pathetic, +love, of the sublime, exaltation; and these would still subsist. +Indeed, they would all be increased; and it has ever been, +accordingly, in the happiest and most prosperous moments of +humanity, when the mind and the world were knit into a brief +embrace, that natural beauty has been best perceived, and art has +won its triumphs. But it sometimes happens, in moments less +propitious, that the soul is subdued to what it works in, and loses +its power of idealization and hope. By a pathetic and superstitious +self-depreciation, we then punish ourselves for the imperfection of +nature. Awed by the magnitude of a reality that we can no longer +conceive as free from evil, we try to assert that its evil also is a +good; and we poison the very essence of the good to make its +extension universal. We confuse the causal connexion of those +things in nature which we call good or evil by an adventitious +denomination with the logical opposition between good and evil +themselves; because one generation makes room for another, we +say death is necessary to life; and because the causes of sorrow and +joy are so mingled in this world, we cannot conceive how, in a +better world, they might be disentangled. + +This incapacity of the imagination to reconstruct the conditions of +life and build the frame of things nearer to the heart's desire is +dangerous to a steady loyalty to what is noble and fine. We +surrender ourselves to a kind of miscellaneous appreciation, +without standard or goal; and calling every vexatious apparition by +the name of beauty, we become incapable of discriminating its +excellence or feeling its value. We need to clarify our ideals, and +enliven our vision of perfection. No atheism is so terrible as the +absence of an ultimate ideal, nor could any failure of power be +more contrary to human nature than the failure of moral +imagination, or more incompatible with healthy life. For we have +faculties, and habits, and impulses. These are the basis of our +demands. And these demands, although variable, constitute an +ever-present intrinsic standard of value by which we feel and judge. +The ideal is immanent in them; for the ideal means that +environment in which our faculties would find their freest +employment, and their most congenial world. Perfection would be +nothing but life under those conditions. Accordingly our +consciousness of the ideal becomes distinct in proportion as we +advance in virtue and in proportion to the vigour and definiteness +with which our faculties work. When the vital harmony is +complete, when the _act_ is _pure,_ faith in perfection passes into +vision. That man is unhappy indeed, who in all his life has had no +glimpse of perfection, who in the ecstasy of love, or in the delight +of contemplation, has never been able to say: It is attained. Such +moments of inspiration are the source of the arts, which have no +higher function than to renew them. + +A work of art is indeed a monument to such a moment, the +memorial to such a vision; and its charm varies with its power of +recalling us from the distractions of common life to the joy of a +more natural and perfect activity. + +_The stability of the ideal._ + +Sec. 66. The perfection thus revealed is relative to our nature and +faculties; if it were not, it could have no value for us. It is revealed +to us in brief moments, but it is not for that reason an unstable or +fantastic thing. Human attention inevitably flickers; we survey +things in succession, and our acts of synthesis and our realization +of fact are only occasional. This is the tenure of all our possessions; +we are not uninterruptedly conscious of ourselves, our physical +environment, our ruling passions, or our deepest conviction. What +wonder, then, that we are not constantly conscious of that +perfection which is the implicit ideal of all our preferences and +desires? We view it only in parts, as passion or perception +successively directs our attention to its various elements. Some of +us never try to conceive it in its totality. Yet our whole life is an act +of worship to this unknown divinity; every heartfelt prayer is +offered before one or another of its images. + +This ideal of perfection varies, indeed, but only with the variations +of our nature of which it is the counterpart and entelechy. There is +perhaps no more frivolous notion than that to which Schopenhauer +has given a new currency, that a good, once attained, loses all its +value. The instability of our attention, the need of rest and repair in +our organs, makes a round of objects necessary to our minds; but +we turn from a beautiful thing, as from a truth or a friend, only to +return incessantly, and with increasing appreciation. Nor do we +lose all the benefit of our achievements in the intervals between +our vivid realizations of what we have gained. The tone of the +mind is permanently raised; and we live with that general sense of +steadfastness and resource which is perhaps the kernel of +happiness. Knowledge, affection, religion, and beauty are not less +constant influences in a man's life because his consciousness of +them is intermittent. Even when absent, they fill the chambers of +the mind with a kind of fragrance. They have a continual efficacy, +as well as a perennial worth. + +There are, indeed, other objects of desire that if attained leave +nothing but restlessness and dissatisfaction behind them. These are +the objects pursued by fools. That such objects ever attract us is a +proof of the disorganization of our nature, which drives us in +contrary directions and is at war with itself. If we had attained +anything like steadiness of thought or fixity of character, if we +knew ourselves, we should know also our inalienable satisfactions. +To say that all goods become worthless in possession is either a +piece of superficial satire that intentionally denies the normal in +order to make the abnormal seem more shocking, or else it is a +confession of frivolity, a confession that, as an idiot never learns to +distinguish reality amid the phantasms of his brain, so we have +never learned to distinguish true goods amid our extravagances of +whim and passion. That true goods exist is nevertheless a fact of +moral experience. "A thing of beauty is a joy for ever"; a great +affection, a clear thought, a profound and well-tried faith, are +eternal possessions. And this is not merely a fact, to be asserted +upon the authority of those who know it by experience. It is a +psychological necessity. While we retain the same senses, we must +get the same impressions from the same objects; while we keep our +instincts and passions, we must pursue the same goods; while we +hare the same powers of imagination, we must experience the same +delight in their exercise. Age brings about, of course, variation in +all these particulars, and the susceptibility of two individuals is +never exactly similar. But the eventual decay of our personal +energies does not destroy the natural value of objects, so long as +the same will embodies itself in other minds, and human nature +subsists in the world. The sun is not now unreal because each one +of us in succession, and all of us in the end, must close our eyes +upon it; and yet the sun exists for us only because we perceive it. +The ideal has the same conditions of being, but has this advantage +over the sun, that we cannot know if its light is ever destined to fail +us. + +There is then a broad foundation of identity in our nature, by virtue +of which we live in a common world, and have an art and a +religion in common. That the ideal should be constant within these +limits is as inevitable as that it should vary beyond them. And so +long as we exist and recognize ourselves individually as persons or +collectively as human, we must recognize also our immanent ideal, +the realization of which would constitute perfection for us. That +ideal cannot be destroyed except in proportion as we ourselves +perish. An absolute perfection, independent of human nature and +its variations, may interest the metaphysician; but the artist and the +man will be satisfied with a perfection that is inseparable from the +consciousness of mankind, since it is at once the natural vision of +the imagination, and the rational goal of the will. + +_Conclusion._ + +Sec. 67. We have now studied the sense of beauty in what seem to be +its fundamental manifestations, and in some of the more striking +complications which it undergoes. In surveying so broad a field we +stand in need of some classification and subdivision; and we have +chosen the familiar one of matter, form, and expression, as least +likely to lead us into needless artificiality. But artificiality there +must always be in the discursive description of anything given in +consciousness. Psychology attempts what is perhaps impossible, +namely, the anatomy of life. Mind is a fluid; the lights and +shadows that flicker through it have no real boundaries, and no +possibility of permanence. Our whole classification of mental facts +is borrowed from the physical conditions or expressions of them. +The very senses are distinguished because of the readiness with +which we can isolate their outer organs. Ideas can be identified +only by identifying their objects. Feelings are recognized by their +outer expression, and when we try to recall an emotion, we must +do so by recalling the circumstances in which it occurred. + +In distinguishing, then, in our sense of beauty, an appreciation of +sensible material, one of abstract form, and another of associated +values, we have been merely following the established method of +psychology, the only one by which it is possible to analyze the +mind. We have distinguished the elements of the object, and +treated the feeling as if it were composed of corresponding parts. +The worlds of nature and fancy, which are the object of aesthetic +feeling, can be divided into parts in space and time. We can then +distinguish the material of things from the various forms it may +successively assume; we can distinguish, also, the earlier and the +later impressions made by the same object; and we can ascertain +the coexistence of one impression with another, or with the +memory of others. But aesthetic feeling itself has no parts, and this +physiology of its causes is not a description of its proper nature. + +Beauty as we feel it is something indescribable: what it is or what +it means can never be said. By appealing to experiment and +memory we can show that this feeling varies as certain things vary +in the objective conditions; that it varies with the frequency, for +instance, with which a form has been presented, or with the +associates which that form has had in the past. This will justify a +description of the feeling as composed of the various contributions +of these objects. But the feeling itself knows nothing of +composition nor contributions. It is an affection of the soul, a +consciousness of joy and security, a pang, a dream, a pure pleasure. +It suffuses an object without telling why; nor has it any need to ask +the question. It justifies itself and the vision it gilds; nor is there +any meaning in seeking for a cause of it, in this inward sense. +Beauty exists for the same reason that the object which is beautiful +exists, or the world in which that object lies, or we that look upon +both. It is an experience: there is nothing more to say about it. +Indeed, if we look at things teleologically, and as they ultimately +justify themselves to the heart, beauty is of all things what least +calls for explanation. For matter and space and time and principles +of reason and of evolution, all are ultimately brute, unaccountable +data. We may describe what actually is, but it might have been +otherwise, and the mystery of its being is as baffling and dark as +ever. + +But we, -- the minds that ask all questions and judge of the validity +of all answers, -- we are not ourselves independent of this world in +which we live. We sprang from it, and our relations in it determine +all our instincts and satisfactions. This final questioning and sense +of mystery is an unsatisfied craving which nature has her way of +stilling. Now we only ask for reasons when we are surprised. If we +had no expectations we should have no surprises. And what gives +us expectation is the spontaneous direction of our thought, +determined by the structure of our brain and the effects of our +experience. If our spontaneous thoughts came to run in harmony +with the course of nature, if our expectations were then continually +fulfilled, the sense of mystery would vanish. We should be +incapable of asking why the world existed or had such a nature, +just as we are now little inclined to ask why anything is right, but +mightily disinclined to give up asking why anything is wrong. + +This satisfaction of our reason, due to the harmony between our +nature and our experience, is partially realized already. The sense +of beauty is its realization. When our senses and imagination find +what they crave, when the world so shapes itself or so moulds the +mind that the correspondence between them is perfect, then +perception is pleasure, and existence needs no apology. The duality +which is the condition of conflict disappears. There is no inward +standard different from the outward fact with which that outward +fact may be compared. A unification of this kind is the goal of our +intelligence and of our affection, quite as much as of our aesthetic +sense; but we have in those departments fewer examples of success. +In the heat of speculation or of love there may come moments of +equal perfection, but they are unstable. The reason and the heart +remain deeply unsatisfied. But the eye finds in nature, and in some +supreme achievements of art, constant and fuller satisfaction. For +the eye is quick, and seems to have been more docile to the +education of life than the heart or the reason of man, and able +sooner to adapt itself to the reality. Beauty therefore seems to be +the clearest manifestation of perfection, and the best evidence of its +possibility. If perfection is, as it should be, the ultimate +justification of being, we may understand the ground of the moral +dignity of beauty. Beauty is a pledge of the possible conformity +between the soul and nature, and consequently a ground of faith in +the supremacy of the good. + + +FOOTNOTES + +1 Schopenhauer, indeed, who makes much of it, was a good critic, +but his psychology suffered much from the pessimistic generalities +of his system. It concerned him to show that the will was bad, and, +as he felt beauty to be a good if not a holy thing, he hastened to +convince himself that it came from the suppression of the will. But +even in his system this suppression is only relative. The desire of +individual objects, indeed, is absent in the perception of beauty, +but there is still present that initial love of the general type and +principles of things which is the first illusion of the absolute, and +drives it on to the fatal experiment of creation. So that, apart from +Schopenhauer's mythology, we have even in him the recognition +that beauty gives satisfaction to some dim and underlying demand +of our nature, just as particular objects give more special and +momentary pleasures to our individualized wills. His psychology +was, however, far too vague and general to undertake an analysis +of those mysterious feelings. + +2 Cf. Stendhal, _De L'Amour, passim._ + +3 This is not the place to enter into a discussion of the +metaphysical value of the idea of space. Suffice it to point out that +in human experience serviceable knowledge of our environment is +to be had only in spatial symbols, and, for whatever reason or +accident, this is the language which the mind must speak if it is to +advance in clearness and efficiency. + +4 The discussion is limited in this chapter to visible form, audible +form is probably capable of a parallel treatment, but requires +studies too technical for this place. + +5 The relation to stability also makes us sensitive to certain kinds +of symmetry; but this is an adventitious consideration with which +we are not concerned. + +6 Cf. Fechner, _Vorschule der Aesthetik,_ Erster Theil, S. 73, a +passage by which the following classification of forms was first +suggested. + +7 See Introduction, p. 12. + +8 The contention of Burke that the beautiful is small is due to an +arbitrary definition. By beautiful he means pretty and charming; +agreeable as opposed to impressive. He only exaggerates the then +usual opposition of the beautiful to the sublime. + +9 When we speak of things definite in themselves, we of course +mean things made definite by some human act of definition. The +senses are instruments that define and differentiate sensation; and +the result of one operation is that definite object upon which the +next operation is performed. The memory, for example, classifies +in time what the senses may have classified in space. We are +nowhere concerned with objects other than objects of human +experience, and the epithets, definite and indefinite, refer +necessarily to their relation to our various categories of perception +and comprehension. + +10 In the Aegina marbles the wounded and dying warriors still +wear this Buddha-like expression: their bodies, although +conventional, show a great progress in observation, compared with +the impossible Athena in the centre with her sacred feet in +Egyptian profile and her owl-like visage. + +11 Symposium of Xenophon, V. + +12 It is a superstition to suppose that a refined taste would +necessarily find the actual and useful to be the perfect; to conceal +structure is as legitimate as to emphasize it, and for the name +reason. We emphasize in the direction of abstract beauty, in the +direction of absolute pleasure; and we conceal or eliminate in the +same direction. The most exquisite Greek taste, for instance, +preferred to drape the lower part of the female figure, as in the +Venus of Milo; also in men to shave the hair of the face and body, +in order to maintain the purity and strength of the lines. In the one +case we conceal structure, in the other we reveal it, modifying +nature into greater sympathy with our faculties of perception. For, +after all, it must be remembered that beauty, or pleasure to be +given to the eye, is not a guiding principle in the world of nature or +in that of the practical arts. The beauty is in nature a result of the +functional adaptation of our senses and imagination to the +mechanical products of our environment. This adaptation is never +complete, and there is, accordingly, room for the fine arts, in which +beauty is a result of the intentional adaptation of mechanical forms +to the functions which our senses and imagination already have +acquired. This watchful subservience to our aesthetic demands is +the essence of fine art. Nature is the basis, but man is the goal. + +13 Not only are words untranslatable when the exact object has no +name in another language, as "home" or "mon ami," but even when +the object is the same, the attitude toward it, incorporated in one +word, cannot be rendered by another. Thus, to my sense, "bread" is +as inadequate a translation of the human intensity of the Spanish +"pan" as "Dios" is of the awful mystery of the English "God." This +latter word does not designate an object at all, but a sentiment, a +psychosis, not to say a whole chapter of religious history. English +is remarkable for the intensity and variety of the colour of its +words. No language, I believe, has so many words specifically +poetic. + +14 Curiously enough, common speech here reverses our use of +terms, because it looks at the matter from the practical instead of +from the aesthetic point of view, regarding (very unpsychologically) +the thought as the source of the image, not the image as the +source of the thought. People call the words the expression +of the thought: whereas for the observer, the hearer (and generally +for the speaker, too), the words are the datum and the thought is +their expressiveness -- that which they suggest. + + +INDEX + +Achilles, 179, 187. +Aesthetic feeling, its importance, 1. + speculation, causes of its neglect, 2. + theory, its uses, 6, 7. +Aesthetics, Use of the word, 15. +Angels, 55, 182. +Apperception, 96 _et seq._ +Arabic inscriptions as ornament, 195. +Architecture, Effects of Gothic, 165, 166. + governed by use, 161, 162. +Aristotelian forms, 156. +Aristotle, 174, 175, 288. +Associative process, 198 _et seq._ +Augustine, Saint, quoted, 252. + + +Beauty a value, 14 _et seq._ + as felt is indescribable, 267, 268. + a justification of things, 268, 269. + defined, 49 _et seq._ + verbal definitions quoted, 14. +Beethoven, 43. +Breathing related to the sense of beauty, 56. +Burke, 124, note. +Byron, quoted, 136. +Byzantine architecture, 108, 109. + +Calderon, 174. +Centaurs, 183, 256. +Character as an aesthetic form, 176 _et seq._ +Characters, Ideal, 180 _et seq._ +Charles V.'s palace at the Alhambra, 44. +Christ, the various ideas of his nature, 189. +Circle, its aesthetic quality, 89. +Classicism, French and English, 109. +Colonnades, 108. +Colour, 72 _et seq._ + its analogy to other sensations, 74, 75. + possibility of an abstract art of colour, 75. +Comic, The, 245 _et seq._ +Conscience, its representative character, 33, 34. +Cost as an element of effect, 211 _et seq._ +Couplet, The, 108. +Criticism, Use of the word, 15. + +Definite and indefinite, meaning of the terms, 138, note. +Degradation not what pleases in the comic, 247 _et seq._ +Democracy, aesthetics of it, 109 +Descartes, 16, 183. +Disinterestedness not the differentia of aesthetic pleasure, + 37 _et seq._ +Don Quixote, 179, 255. + +Economy and fitness, 214 _et seq._ +Emerson, 144. +Epicurean esthetics, 10, 11. + sublime, The, 241, 243. +Escurial, The, 95, 210. +Ethos, 174, 175. +Evil, life without it aesthetic, 29, 30. + in the second term of expression, 221 _et seq._ + conventional use of the word, 223. + an occasion of the sublime, 235 _et seq._ + excluded from the beautiful, 260, 261. +Evolution, its possible tendency to eliminate imagination, 26 +Exclusiveness a sign of aesthetic vigour, 44. +Experience superior to theory in aesthetics, 11, 12. +Expression defined, 192 _et seq._ + of feeling in another, 202, 203. + of practical values, 208 _et seq._ +Expressiveness, Use of the word, 197. + +Fechner, 97. +Form, There is a beauty of, 82 _et seq._ + the unity of a manifold, 95 _et seq._ +Functions of the mind may all contribute to the sense of beauty, + 53 _et seq._ + +Geometrical figures, 88 _et seq._ +God, the idea of him in tradition and in metaphysics, 188, 189. +Gods, development of their ideal characters, 185 _et seq._ +Goethe, 9, 170, 179. +Grammar, its analogy to metaphysics, 169. +Gretchen, 179. +Grotesque, The, 256 _et seq._ + +Hamlet, 179. +Happiness and aesthetic interest, 63, 65. +Health a condition of aesthetic life, 54. +Hedonism opposed by the moral sense, 23, 24. +History an imaginative thing, 141, 142. +Home as a social and as an aesthetic idea, 64. +Homer, 171. + his aesthetic quality, 205, 206. + his epithets, 179. +Horace, quoted, 172. +Humour, 253 _et seq._ + +Ideals are modified averages, 121 _et seq._ + immanent in human nature, 262. + stable, 263 _et seq._ +Imagination has a universal creative function, 190, 191. + and sense alternately active, 55, 56. +Impression distinguished from expression, 84, 85. +Impressionism in painting, 134, 136. +incongruity not what pleases in the comic, 247 _et seq._ +Indeterminate organizational _et seq._ +Infinite beauty, the idea impossible, 148 _et seq._ +Inspiration, 252, 253. + +Kalokagathia, 31. +Kant, 105. +Keats, quoted, 67, 105, 181, 264. +King Lear, 229. +Kipling, R., quoted, 68. + +Landscape, 133 _et seq._ + with figures, 135, 136. +Liberation of self, 233 _et seq._ +Love, influence of the passion, 56 _et seq._ +Lowell, J. R., quoted, 148. +Lower senses, 65 _et seq._ +Lucretius, quoted, 172. + on the sublime, 236. + +Maps, 209, 210. +Material beauty most easily appreciated, 78 _et seq._ + its effect the fundamental one, 78. +Materials of beauty surveyed, 76 _et seq._ +Methods in aesthetics, 5. +Michael Angelo, 182. +Miser's fallacy, its parallel in morals and aesthetics, 31, 32. +Modern languages inferior to the ancient, 173, 174. +Moliere, 174; quoted, 20. +Monarchy, its imaginative value, 34, 35. +Moral and aesthetic values, 23 _et seq._ + the authority of morals over aesthetics, 218 _et seq._ +Morality and utility jealous of art, 216, 217. +Multiplicity in uniformity, 97 _et seq._ + its defects, 106 _et seq._ +Musset, Alfred de, quoted, 170, 226. +Mysticism in aesthetics, 126 _et seq._ + +Naturalism, the ground of its value, 21. +Nature, its organization the source of apperceptive forms, + 152 _et seq._ + the love of it among the ancients, 137, 138. +New York, the plan of the streets, 95. +Nouns, idea of a language without them, 171. + +Objectification the differentia of aesthetic pleasure, 44 _et seq._ +Ornament and form, 63 _et seq._ +Othello, 237. +Ovid, quoted, 149. + +Pantheism, its contradictions, 242, 243. +Perception, the psychological theory of it, 45 _et seq._ +Perfection, illusion of infinite, 146 _et seq._ + possibility of finite, 258 _et seq._ +Physical pleasure distinguished from aesthetic, 35 _et seq._ +Physiology of the perception of form, 85 _et seq._ +Picturesqueness contrasted with symmetry, 92. +Platonic ideas useless in explaining types, 117, 118. +Platonic intuitions, their nature and value, 8 _et seq._ +Platonists, 159. +Plot, The, 174 _et seq._ +Preference ultimately irrational, 18 _et seq._ + necessary to value, 17, 18. +Principles consecrated aesthetically, 31 _et seq._ +Purity, The aesthetic principle of, 70 _et seq._ + +Rationality, the source of its value, 19, 20. +Religious characters, their truth, 188. + imagination, 185 _et seq._ +Rhyme, 173, 174. +Romanticism, 150. + +Schopenhauer, 263. + criticised, 37, + note, on music, 69. +Scientific attitude in criticism opposed to the aesthetic, 20, 21. +Sculpture, its development, 153, 154. +Self not a primary object of interest, 39, 40. +Sensuous beauty of fundamental importance, 80, 81. +Sex, its relation to aesthetic life, 56 _et seq._ +Shakespeare, 151, 174, 175; + quoted, 51, 114, 229, 237, 251. +Shelley quoted, 12, 244, 253. +Sight, its primacy in perception, 73, 74. +Size related to beauty, 123, 124. +Sky, The, its expressiveness, 8. +Social interests and their aesthetic influence, 62 _et seq._ +Socrates, his utilitarian aesthetics, 157. +Sonnet, The, 173. +Sound, 68 _et seq._ +Space, its metaphysical value, 66, note. +Stars, the effect analyzed, 100 _et seq._ +Stendhal, 61. +Stoic Sublime, The, 241. +Straight lines, 89, 90. +Subjectivity of aesthetic values, 3,4. +Sublime, The, its independence of the expression of evil, + 239 _et seq._ +Sublimity, 233 _et seq._ +Sybaris, 216. +Symbolists, 144. +Symmetry, 91 _et seq._ + a principle of individuation, 93. + limits of its application, 95. +Syntactical form, 171 _et seq._ + +Tacitus, 173, 252. +Terms, the first and second terms in expression defined, 195. + influence of the first term in the pleasing expression of evil, + 226 _et seq._ +Theory a method of apperception, 138 _et seq._ +Tragedy mitigated by beauty of form and the expression of good, + 228, 229. + mitigated by the diversity of evils, 229. + mixed with comedy, 224, 225, 228. + consists in treatment not in subject, 224. +Translation necessarily inadequate, 168. +Truth, grounds of its value, 22, 23. +Truth, mixture of the expression of truth with that of evil, + 228 _et seq._ +Types, their origin, 116 _et seq._ + their value and that of examples, 112 _et seq._ + +Ugly, The, not a cause of pain, 25. +Universality not the differentia of aesthetic pleasure, 40 _et seq._ +Utility the principle of organization in nature, 155 _et seq._ + its relation to beauty, 157 _et seq._ + the principle of organization in the arts, 160 _et seq._ + +Value, aesthetic value in the second term of expression, 205 _et +seq._ + all in one sense aesthetic, 28 _et seq._ + physical, practical, and negative transformed into aesthetic, + 201 _et seq._ +Venus of Milo, 165, note. +Virgin Mary, The, 189, 190. + +Whitman, 112. +Wit, 250 _et seq._ +Words, 167 _et seq._ +Wordsworth quoted, 105. +Work and play, 25 _et seq._ + +Xenophon quoted, 123. + his _Symposium,_ 157. + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Sense of Beauty, by George Santayana + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SENSE OF BEAUTY *** + +***** This file should be named 26842.txt or 26842.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/6/8/4/26842/ + +Produced by Ruth Hart + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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