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GERMAN PHILOSOPHICAL CLASSICS
FOR
ENGLISH READERS AND STUDENTS,
EDITED BY
GEORGE S. MORRIS.
EIFGEL’S AESTEIETICS.
G|RIGGS' S
PHILOSOPHICAL CLASSICS.
UNDER THE EDITORIAL SUPERVISION OF PROF. G. S. MORRIS.
DEVOTED TO A CRITICAL EXPOSITION OF THE MASTER-
PIECES OF GERMAN THOUGHT.
KANT'S CRITIQUE OF PURE REASON. By GEORGE S.
MORRIs, Ph.D., late of the University of Michigan, . $1.25
SCHELLING'S TRANSCENDENTAL IDEALISM. By JoBN
WATson, LL.D., Professor of Philosophy, Queen's Univer-
sity, Kingston, Canada. e tº a s e º º $1.25
FICHTE'S SCIENCE OF KNOWLEDGE. By C. C. EveRETT,
D.D., Professor of Theology in Harvard University, . $125
HEGEL’S AESTHETICS. By J. S. KEDNEY., S.T.D., Professor
.* in the Seabury Divinity School, Faribault, Minn., . $1.25
KANT'S ETHICS. By President NOAH PORTER, D.D., LL.D., $1.25
HEGEL’S PHILOSOPHY OF THE STATE AND OF HIS-
TORY. By GEORGE S. MORRIs, Ph.D., late of the Univer- .
sity of Michigan, o tº gº $1.25
LEIBNIZ'S NEW ESSAYS CONCERNING THE HUMAN
UNIDERSTANDING. By JOHN DEwBY, Ph.D., of the Uni-
versity of Michigan, . . . ſº e Q . . $1.25
HEGEL’S LOGIC. A Book on the Genesis of the Categories
of the Mind. By WILLIAM T. HARRIS, LL.D., U. S. Com-
missioner of Education, e is & e • ſº º $1.50
These excellent books, as remarkable for ability as for clearness,
will do much to clear the way and make the mastery of the German
Systems a comparatively easy task.-New York. Eacaminer.
One of the most valuable literary enterprises of the day.
Each volume is a condensed presentation made by an author
who combines thorough philosophical study with literary talent,
and who has made a specialty of the philosopher whose work is
interpreted.—Boston Traveler. -
This Series of Philosophical Classics, edited by Prof. George S.
Morris, of Michigan, and published in the enterprising city of Chi-
cago, deserves to be much better known than it has hitherto been
to students of German Philosophy on this side of the Atlantic.
The exposition of the works taken in hand is full and minute.—
Mind, London, England. -
HEGELS ASTHETICS.
4x202
A CRITICAL EXPOSITION.
By JOHN STEINFORT KEDNEY, S.T.D.
PROFESSOR OF DIVINITY IN THE SEABURY DIVINITY SCHOOL,
FARIBAULT, MINNESOTA; -
AUTHOR OF “THE BEAUTIFUL AND THE SUBLIME.”
THIRD EDITION.
C HIO A G O :
SCOTT, FORESMAN AND COMPANY.
1897. - % -
:
G
3.
5
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2.
AT
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CopyRIGHT, 1885,
By S. C. GRIGGS AND COMPANY.
PRESS OF
THE HENRY O. SHEPARD CO.,
CHICAGO. .
:
t
B REFA C E.
HE AEsthetics of Hegel is a voluminous treatise,
and more easy of comprehension than any
other of his works. Its appearance began a new era
in Art criticism, and it has been the mine from which
many subsequent writers have drawn their treasures.
To read it intelligently will open new vistas and
make possible new enjoyment for any cultured reader.
The object of the present book is, without transfer-
ring its multitudinous details, or giving what can be
readily found elsewhere, to reproduce its essential
thought, especially from the philosophic standpoint.
Some endeavor to master the key, viz., Hegel's phi-
losophy of the Idea, is needful for its complete appli-
cation in following his treatment of the several
Arts.
The work is divided into three parts. The first,
which gives the fundamental philosophy of the
whole, is here reproduced faithfully, though in a con-
densed form, with criticisms of the present author
interspersed. Of the second part, which traces the
logical and historical development of the Art-im-
pulse, there is an excellent translation easily accessi-
ble.* I have thought it best, therefore, to substitute,
* The Philosophy of Art; being the second part of Hegel's
AEsthetik. By Wm. M. Bryant. New York: D. Appleton and Co.
W
vi - PREFACE.
here, an original disquisition, in language approach-
ing nearer the vernacular, and with more immediate
regard to present AEsthetic problems; yet following
also the pathway marked out by Hegel, and giving
the substance of his thought. Of the third part,
which is larger than both the others combined, being
the treatment of all the Arts in detail, I have
given all the important definitions and fundamental
ideas, omitting, as was needful, the minute illustra-
tions of the same, and the properly technical part,
which, too, can be found elsewhere.
As I would not have my own thought mistaken
for Hegel's, I have taken the liberty, wherever there
are critical remarks of my own interposed, not
obviously such from the text, or entirely original
passages, to enclose them in brackets, thus: [ ]
- J. STEINFORT KEDNEY.
November, 1884.
CONTENTS.
PART, I.
THE PHILOSOPHIC BASIS.
CHAPTER I.
THE MEANING AND PURPOSE OF ART.
1 Art not a mere recreation, nor a means of moral
instruction . . . . . . . . . . 1
It can be scientifically treated, but worthily and
satisfactorily, only by the a priori method .
Critique of the assertion that it is superior to
Nature . . . . . . . . . . 8
w"The sensible element in a work of Art . . 11
vThe same in the Artist . 13
Art not the imitation of Nature . . . . 15
Critique of the assertion that there is no crite-
rion by which to judge of the degree of.
Beauty in natural objects . . . . . . 16
Art not simply a means of improving manners 19
Its true mission to discover and represent the
Ideal . . . . . . . . º 20
The Kantian AEsthetic, and its signification 22
Critique to claim that the Beautiful in Nature
should be first exhaustively treated, before
inquiring into the Beautiful in Art . . . 25
Wii
viii CoNTENTS.
CHAPTER II.
BEAUTY IN ITS ABSTRACT II).E.A.
Definition of the primitive idea (Begriff), and
of the true Idea (Idee) . . . . . . .
The Beautiful the sensible manifestation of the
Sã, Iſle , • & © tº e - © e º 0.
Stages in the evolution of the Idea, in the inor-
ganic world, and in the ascending series of
organisms . . . . . . . . o
Critique to show that the grades of admitted
Beauty do not accurately follow this evolu-
tion . . . . . . . . . . . .
Enumeration of facts concerning the Beautiful
in Nature . . • *
Critique of Hegel's Philosophy of the Idea . .
CHAPTER III.
BEAUTY IN THE CONCRETE.
Regularity, symmetry, conformity to law, and
harmony, constituents of the Beautiful in its
lowest forms e O e º e º Q
Imperfection of all natural Beauty discussed
at length, in order to show the need of the
Ideal. • e º º e º º º º e
Critique of the above, and further explication of
the Philosophy of the Idea tº e
Ground of the disagreement in subjective judg-
26
27
29
32
33
33
39
42
46
ments of the Beautiful in Nature, and in
Art . . . . . . . . . . . .
52
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER IV.
the IDEAL IN ART.
Art discards in Nature whatever is not suitable
for its purpose, and thereby finds a higher
truth . . . . . .
The Divine in its free serenity one result of its
scrutiny and discovery . . . .
The Ideal as given in the human form not ab-
stract, but requires particularization .
CHAPTER W.
THE REALIZATION OF THE IDEAL.
The particularization of the Divine in the Greek
divinities, and in heroic men . . . . .
Hence the need of the heroic age as the scene
for the representations of the Ideal
Modern civilized life not so suitable . . .
The various situations proper for artistic treat-
ment • - - - - - - - -
What is represented in. High Art is the eternal
powers of the universe which furnish the
motives for human action, and which in
themselves are good e
Pure evil inadmissible in Art . . . . .
The Divine should be represented not as aloof
from, but as intimate with, men and human
affairs . . . e Q &
Distinction of Passion and Pathos º
The characters in Art must not be mere ab-
stractions . . . . . . . . .
53
55
57
60
63
65
66
<º.
68
69
71
74
* CONTENTS.
The external element in works of Art must con-
form to the requirements of Beauty .
The external element in Art may be either an
internal bond, as in Lyric Poetry, or, if object-
ive, must have close and immediate relation
with man, as in the heroic age . . . .
CHAPTER WI.
ART IN RELATION TO THE PUBLIC.
V Contrast of the subjective mode of treatment
which adapts itself to present comprehension,
with the objective mode which aims only to be
faithful to the historic requirements, to show
that a union of the two is needful .
Some anachronisms are thus allowable . . .
CHAPTER VII.
THE ARTIST.
Definition of the artistic Imagination as needed
to constitute genius in Art . . . .
Critique of the same, to discover the distinction
between genius and talent . . . . .
Definition of Inspiration . . . . . . .
Artistic work may be spontaneous, or may have
a fixed theme given beforehand
Originality showing itself in manner and in
style . . . . . . . . . .
80
85
91
96
. 100
104
108
... 109
. 111
CONTENTS. * xvii
CHAPTER VIII.
EPIC POETRY.
Its basis is some independent and complete fact.
Epigrams, etc., have the Epic character . . 276
The true Epos is an action developed completely,
and in a calm and leisurely manner . . .
The heroic age only is well suited for it . . 279
The Idyll and the Romance have the Epic char-
acter . . . . . . 281
CHAPTER IX.
LYRIC POETRY.
This is distinguished by its subjectivity . . 282
It belongs to a more advanced stage of society
than the Epic . . . . . . . . . 283
It is more dependent than any other form on the
peculiarities of time, place, people, history,
etc. . . . . . . . . . . . . 285
CHAPTER X.
DRAMATIC POETRY.
The Drama has its interest from the collisions
occurring between its characters . . . . 287
Hence its subject must not be a physical, but a
moral action . . . . . . . . . 288
Its diction need not be purely natural . . . 289
In the Greek Dramas, the principal characters
represent legitimate principles, and are in
themselves good. But in the concrete their
judgments may disagree, hence collisions . 290
xviii contRNTs.
Here we find anticipated the results of Ethical
inquiry . . . . . . . . . . . 291
In the dénouement, these differences are harmon-
ized. Eternal justice destroys in the Tragedy
what was maintaining itself, mistakenly,
against it. In the Comedy, the different sub-
jectivities fall back again upon their own
serene independence . . . . . . . 292
Different epochs or peoples are more or less
favorable for Dramatic Poetry . . . . 294
Signification of the Chorus, in the Greek Dramas 295
In the dénouement of ancient Tragedy the moral
mind is left satisfied o . 297
In Modern Tragedy this is only partially
accomplished . . . . . . . . 298
Excellence of Shakespeare's characters . . . 299
Conclusion . . . . . . . . . . . 301
CONTENTS. xi
PART II.
THE ART-IMPULSE IN ITS DEVELOPMENT.
CHAPTER I.
CLASSIFICATIONS.
Different aims of disquisitions on Art . . . 114
The subjective or changeable element in Art-
appreciation should be distinguished from the
objective or universal one . . . . . . 115
Different classifications of the Arts, (1) according
to the material elements of the same . . . . 119
(2) Hegel's Classification into Symbolic, Classic
and Romantic Arts is the true dialectic order,
and in some sense the chronological one . . 122
CHAPTER II.
THE SYMBOLIC PERIOD.
Analysis of the early Philosophic and Religious
consciousness, which from its vagueness finds
itself obliged to use Symbols in its Artistic
Representations . . . . . . . . 126
CHAPTER III.
THE CLASSIC PERIOD.
A clearer human consciousness brings about the
Classic period, and the perfection of its
Artistic work . . . . . . . . . 132
The idea of the divine becomes representable in
the human form . . . . . . . . 136
Xll 4 *
CONTENTS.
But the elements of the Classic Ideal are found
to be self-destructive; and Art, notwithstand-
ing its triumph, cannot linger in this period .
Unconscious purity of the true AEsthetic instinct
*
CHAPTER IV.
THE ROMANTIC PERIOD.
This is brought about by a radical change in
human consciousness . . . . . . .
The pure principle of subjectivity sets the ex-
ternal world, and even itself, in a different
relation, makes it independent, and returns to
it with dominating power; which makes pos-
sible a larger and freer treatment of the same
Different aims for Romantic Art . . . .
CHAPTER W.
THE TEMPORAL AND ETERNAL IDEALS.
Extended examination of two pictures, Correg-
gio's St. Sebastian and Raphael's Madonna di
San Sisto, in order to discover the Ideals on
which their differing Beauty depends
Claim that thus is furnished a Higher Criticism
than that which judges the worth of a work
of Art by any lower criterion . . . .
Dependence of Art Criticism on Philosophy. In-
adequacy of the scheme of Materialistic Evolu-
tion to account for appreciation of Beauty in
the highest grade . . . . . . .
137
142
145
146
149
. 152
. 160
. 163
CONTENTS. xiii
CHAPTER WI.
THE SUBLIME AND THE PATHETIC IN ART.
Resumé of the explanation of the Romantic Ideal
in order to discover the place for the Pathetic
and the Sublime . . . . . . . . 170
Romantic Art may aim, (1) to give the highest
ideal Beauty in Symbol; (2) to deal with nature
and human life according to subjective caprice,
or (3) to exhibit the characteristics of the
conflict of the real and the ideal in the
transit. This last the region of the Pathetic
and the Sublime . . tº 173
Distinction of the Pathos in Classic and Romantic
Art . © e º O & © • 177
Adaptation of the different Arts to represent
the Sublime and the Pathetic . . . . . 180
PART III.
THE SYSTEM OF THE DIFFERENT ARTS.
CHAPTER I.
STYLES; CLASSIFICATION.
The Styles, severe, ideal and graceful . . . 182
Rejection of previous modes of classification, and
adoption of his own, as alone philosophic,
which obliges treatment in the following
order . . . . . . . . . . . 185
Critique of the definition of Poetry, which makes
it independent of Sound . . . . . 187
xiv CQNTENTS.
CHAPTER II.
ARCHITECTURE.
It becomes an Art when the Useful is tran-
scended, and the Beautiful is sought; and its
earliest efforts, when more than imitations,
are Symbolic. Enumeration of monuments
of this order, viz.: Architecture purely inde-
pendent . . . . . . . . . . . 190
When dependent, or subordinate to purpose, we
have Classic Architecture. The character-
istics of the same, as in the Greek temple . 195
Romantic Architecture combines the two, as in
the Gothic cathedral . . . . . . . 198
CHAPTER III.
- SCULPTURE.
Wherein superior and wherein inferior to the
other Arts . . . . . . . . . . 201
The human body, being a higher stage in the
development of the Idea than what has gone
before, and revealing true spirituality, con-
stitutes the Ideal of Sculpture . . . . 204
Critique of Hegel's Anthropology . . . . 207 -
Sculpture disregards physiognomy . . . . 208
The perception of the Plastic Ideal of its Sculp-
ture necessary to the right understanding of
all Greek Art . . . . . . . . . 209
Various characteristics and excellences of Greek
Sculpture. Its treatment of the eye, the
mouth, and the attitude . . . . . . . 210
CONTENTS. XV
The nude and the draped. Windication of the
latter . . . . . . . . . . . 214
Historic Development of Sculpture. Modern
Sculpture . . . . . . . . . . 217
CHAPTER IV.
THE ROMANTIC ARTS.
Philosophic résumé of the development of the
Art-impulse in order to show that Painting,
Music and Poetry belong to its higher stage . 222
CHAPTER W.
PAINTING.
Comparison with the other Arts, and why
Romantic Art, inferior in Sculpture, is su-
perior in Painting . . . . . . . . 228
The physical element of this Art space in two
dimensions, or more properly, Light . . 231
Subjects proper for this Art different from those
of Sculpture . . . . . . . . . 234
On the one hand, the Divine, religious love . 235
On the other hand, Nature and the Beautiful,
though transitory, in human affairs . . . 238
Modes of conception, composition and character-
ization . . . . . . 239
CHAPTER WI.
MUSIC,
Its element, movement, time, sound . . . . 245
Analogies with the other Arts . . . . . 247
xvi CONTENTS.
Its mode of conception different, since it aims
to give, not precise thought, but sentiment
As under mathematical laws it is the most
closely bound of all the Arts; yet otherwise
the freest . . . . . . . . . .
Psychological needs of measure, cadence and
rhythm . . . .
Harmony and Melody. The latter shows its
freedom . . . . . . . . . . .
Music as accompaniment, and pure Music . .
Benefit of a determined theme, both in composi-
. 251
254
255
257
258
tion and appreciation . . . . . 260
Musical execution, faithful or free . . . . 262
CHAPTER VII.
POETRY.
Its superiority to the other Arts . . . . . 263
The poetic mode of conception, and critique of
the same . . . . . .
Poetry more ancient than fashioned prose .
This Art favored more or less, and determined
by different epochs and nationalities .
The unity of a poetic work requires perfection
in the individual parts as well as in the
. 264
. 267
. 269
totality . . . . . . . . . . . . 270
History and Oratory, when and how poetic . . 271
Distinctive character of poetic genius . . . 272
Difference in the prosaic and poetic modes of
conceiving the same object or event. Com-
parisons e - e • © * © º e sº º
. 273
HIEGEL’S AESTEIETICS.
P A RT I.
THE PHILOSOPHIC BASIS.
CHAPTER I.
THE MEANING AND PURPOSE OF ART.
STHETIC has for its object the vast empire
of the Beautiful, and hence includes the phi-
losophy of Art in general, and of each Fine-Art in
particular. This last is Hegel's topic ; and some
may think the attention he bestows upon the prelimi-
nary inquiry to be insufficient; for in the order of
thought, an analysis of the emotions of the Beautiful
and the Sublime, and the establishment of the objec-
tivity of Beauty, should precede any philosophy of Art,
since the artistic impulse itself presupposes Beauty
and the delight in it, and any imperfection here may
affect the whole subsequent treatment. What atten-
tion Hegel does bestow upon these fundamental
questions will be exhibited farther on. But Art
being his topic, he proceeds, at the start, to vindicate
his treatment of it, and asks the question whether
it can be treated scientifically. Without doubt, he
1
2 HEGEL’S AESTHETICS.
`J
~. . .
***:
º
f
•
- 1
says, it embellishes our existence and charms our
leisure, but it seems foreign to the serious end of
human life. Is it anything more than a recreation
for the mind, and a luxury which may be indulged
in so far as to prejudice the true interests of active
life? Those who defend it contend that it does afford,
even in the practical and moral life, more benefit
than detriment. Some have given it an immediately
serious and moral purpose, and made it a mediating
principle between the reason and sensibility, between
inclination and duty, having for its mission to con-
ciliate the elements which contend in the human
soul. But reason and duty have nothing to gain by
this attempt after conciliation. Moral obligation is
simple, direct and pure, needs no external aid, and
by such conciliation loses its purity and its force.
Nor is Art any object for science, properly speaking.
It cannot be submitted to its rigorous methods. It
addresses the sensibility and the imagination, and
not the reflective faculty. The enjoyment of it is
not increased by analyzing that enjoyment. That
which delights us in it is the character of freedom
manifest in its creations. We love to escape for the
moment from the yoke of laws, to quit the realm of
abstract ideas, and inhabit a region more serene and
full of life. Science would lose its labor did it
undertake to embrace in its formulas the infinite
multitude of actual and possible artistic represen-
tations. The world of science is the world of regu-
larity and necessity: the world of imagination is the
world of the irregular and the arbitrary. The crea-
THE MEANING AND PURPOSE of ARt. 3
tive imagination is freer and richer than nature
itself.
[There is room for question whether nature, as the
domain of Science, is rightly regarded as necessary
and not free. Its laws, or ascertained modes, are
reducible to unity; and science shows us nature in
movement. That the essential principle of its unity,
and of its movement and progress, is not necessity,
but freedom, is indicated, by Æsthetic itself, so far as
it is a philosophy. Physical beauty could have no
explanation were not the principle of freedom dis-
coverable in mature. If so, it cannot rightly be said
that the creative imagination is freer and richer
than nature. All possible artistic activity cannot
rival the superabundance of ideas in concrete nature,
whose multitudinous implications science itself is
revealing. Philosophy, too, may come to regard
nature as fluent and not fixed, and that it is always
what it is by virtue of its relation to the spiritual
subject. The question, in final terms, is, whether
freedom is simply an appearance thrown up in the
stern onward march of necessary physical develop-
ment, or whether any necessity is other than the
orderliness of the free spirit of the universe, limit-
ing its play and discovering its modes in order to be
comprehensible to finite minds, yet here and there
showing that it is not herein exhausted, but has an
infinite world of possibilities in reserve.
It is not to be understood by this that the ordinary
scientific regard of nature is Hegel's view, which
appears quite other in his Natur-philosophie ; but
4 IIEGEL's AESTHETICS.
that he seems, for his present purpose, to have been
led to an acquiescence in phrase with the mechanical
view of many scientists, by the immediate need to
vindicate for Art a freer and higher movement than
nature's own. In this present work he has not
clearly applied his own philosophy of nature to the
explanation of natural Beauty.]
'If Art be regarded simply as an ornament, or a
means of enjoyment, it is so far enslaved to subjec-
tive whims. It is only when freed from external
constraint that it becomes truth itself and can give
the fullest satisfaction. Its high destination is to
express the profoundest interests of human nature,
and the most comprehensive truths of the spirit. It
is in their works of Art that the peoples have de-
posited their most intimate ideas and their richest
intuitions. Their Art often furnishes the key to
unlock the secrets of their wisdom and the mysteries
of their religion. As to the reproach that Art pro-
duces its effect by appearance and illusion, it is
pointless, since nature itself is but appearance, and
human actions likewise; yet it is from these that we
A judge of the verity of things. It is precisely the
action and development of the universal force, which
shows itself in nature and in humanity, that is the
|
i
object of the representations of Art. This, indeed, is
to be found in the real world, but confounded with
: the chaos of particular interests and transitory cir-
| cumstances, and mingled with arbitrary human voli-
|
tions. Art undertakes to disengage the truth from
these illusory forms of the gross and imperfect world,
THE MEANING AND PURPOSE OF ART. 5
in order to clothe it in a form more elevated and
pure, created by the mind itself. Thus its forms
may enclose more of truth than the phenomenal ex-
istences of the real world. But, if we give to Art a
rank so elevated, we must not forget that it is not,
either by its content or its form, the highest mani-
festation, the last and absolute expression, by which
the True is revealed to the mind. Since it is obliged
to clothe its conceptions in sensible form, its circle is
limited; it can attain only a certain degree of truth.
Without doubt it is the destiny even of truth to be
developed under a sensible form, and thereby it fur-
nishes Art with its purest type, as in the representa-
tion of the Greek divinities. But there is a still
profounder manner of comprehending truth, where
it escapes all alliance with the sensible, as no longer
competent to contain it or express it. It is thus that
Christianity has conceived it; and it is thus that the
modern philosophic mind has transcended the mode
which Art employs to represent the Absolute. In our
day, thought has overflowed the Fine Arts. In our
judgments and our acts we are governed by abstract
principles and general rules, and the artist himself
cannot escape their influence. He can no longer
abstract himself from the world in which he lives,
and create a solitude which permits him to resusci-
tate Art in its primitive simplicity. Thus Art, with
its high destination, is something belonging to the
past. It has measurably lost for us its truth and its
life. We consider it in a manner too speculative to
allow it to exercise that influence upon manners that
6 . HEGEL’s AESTHETICS.
it did in other times. We reason upon our impres-
sions and enjoyments, and works of Art become more
and more matters for criticism. g
Here and elsewhere Hegel shows himself some- .
what despondent about the future of Art. Some-
thing will be said upon this very interesting question
in what follows.
But while Art and Science are different modes of
dealing with the True, and Art refuses to be the
object of science, yet it can be scientifically treated,
for it has its own conditions and its rules, which can
be formulated; and it has a history, showing that its
development has followed necessary laws.
In this inquiry two methods can be followed, quite
distinct: the one, the empirical and historic method,
preceded by the study of the productions of Art in
their chronological order ; the other, altogether
rational and a priori, starting immediately with the
general idea of the Beautiful, and the abstract phi-
losophy of the same.
The first of these methods exacts an intimate
knowledge of the products of Art, both ancient and
modern; of manners and institutions; and a very
delicate judgment and lively imagination are re-
Quired to compare objects so separate in time and
distance. But by this method certain general con-
ceptions have been formed and coördinated, furnish-
ing, thus, principles of criticism, and, considered ex-
ternally, theories about the Arts. But these, though
instructive in details, rest upon too narrow a basis.
The range of works whence these general rules are
THE MEANING AND PURPOSE OF ART. 7
drawn by Aristotle, Horace, and Longinus, is too
limited, and the theories lack fixed principles serving
as guides for the examination. The field is left open
for disputes that there seems no way of settling. To
find permanent satisfaction for the mind, the ques-
tion must be examined more deeply, to find, if possi-
ble, what Art is in itself, and what is the law of its
history.
The second method may be said to have been
founded by Plato, in his endeavor to find by pure
thinking the idea of the Beautiful, as of the True
and the Good. But the Platonic abstraction is not
sufficient to satisfy our modern philosophic needs.
We must attempt to reunite, in the idea of the
Beautiful, its metaphysical generality and its par-
ticular concrete side, and to show, that from its
very essence it did and must develop itself ob-
jectively, in a series of successive historic forms,
agreeing with the necessary order of thought. Art,
being then the outcome of an anterior principle, no
other than Beauty in itself, what is this in its essen-
tial nature? [And here, when we expectantly ask for
a reply to this question, we are told by Hegel that it
is a task not to be undertaken here, but which be-
longs to the encyclopedic exposition of philosophy
entire. This question does indeed belong to the
ultimate constructive philosophy, but some result
must have been reached as the starting-point of
the present inquiry. The hiatus is painful, and for
the present is leaped over; though, later on, our
author returns with some attempts to bridge it.]
8 - HEGEL's AESTHETICS.
Art, as the product of the creative activity of man,
cannot be taught except in its technical rules, for its
interior and living part is the result of the spon-
taneous activity of the genius of the artist. The
mind draws from its own abysses the rich treasure of
ideas and of forms. But we cannot say that the
artist, because he finds himself in a unique condition
of the soul, that is to say, Inspiration—is not self-
conscious in what he does, for whatever be the gifts
of nature, reflection and experience are needed for
their development.
The opinion has been uttered that the works of
Art are inferior to the works of Nature, because the
works of man are inanimate, while these are organ-
ized and living; because in Art the life is only upon
the surface, while the substance is only wood, stone,
words, etc. But indeed this dead stuff is not the
material with which Art deals. What it creates
upon or within it belongs to the domain of the
spirit, and is living as it is. And in a circumstance,
a character, or the development of an action, what
interests us Art seizes hold of and makes to reissue
in a manner more living, purer and clearer than we
find it in the objects of nature or the facts of real
life; and this is why the creations of Art are higher
than those of Nature. No real existence expresses
the ideal as Art does. Thus the human mind is able
to give to that which it draws out of itself a perpe-
tuity that the perishable existences of nature do not
possess. - .
[This is true, but there are qualifications which
THE MEANING AND PURPOSE OF ART. 9
limit the comprehension of these utterances. Man,
by observation, finds out Nature's ideal, what she
would be at, but rarely or never perfectly expresses,
in this world of contradiction, where the physical
elements are hostile and where the moral conflict
rages; but this ideal may remain a purely subjective
impression, and, though never made real in a work of
Art, be truer than when objectified in the imperfect
work of the artist. In giving the perfection of form,
Art_exceeds. Nature, and gives us the more perfect
tree or the more beautiful body than the real world
ever supplies, and thus perpetuates Nature's ideal.
In the mystery of color, in its subtle gradations and
harmonies, in the minglings of light and shadow,
Nature does exhibit her ideal in symbol, and in a
perfection that Art never can reach. It is evanescent
indeed, and may expire within the hour or the day;
but pictures, too, are destroyed, and duration has
only relative significance. And surely the beauty of
color sometimes realized in human flesh, Art strug-
gles in vain to express. Even the luminous hair
eludes it. In the moral realm, too, actual life gives
us the heroic, the pathetic, the sacrificial as con-
cretely, as touchingly as Art ever does. If Jesus
Christ be regarded as natural (which he may be on
the human side), and as something objected really
to human observation, we have the ideal of human
moral perfection before which Art falters, and is
wise in abandoning the endeavor to represent it;
yet the beauty and the power of this character may
be felt, and even this face, perhaps, be imagined
--~"
10 - HEGEL's AESTHETICS.
more truly by the devout and humble soul than the
work of the artist, unless he, too, be devout and
humble, can give it.] -
But what need has man to produce works of Art?
Is this need accidental? Is it a caprice, or a phan-
tasy? Is it not, rather, a fundamental impulse of
our nature? The principle whence Art derives its
origin is that in virtue of which man is a being who
thinks, who has consciousness of himself; that is,
who not only exists, but exists for himself. To be
in himself, and for himself, to be doubled upon him-
self, to take himself as object for his proper thought,
and by that to develop himself as a reflecting activ-
ity, is what distinguishes man, is what constitutes
a spirit. But this knowledge of himself man obtains
in two ways, one theoretical, one practical,— one
by science, the other by action;–by science when
he knows in himself the development of his proper
nature, or recognizes without himself that which
constitutes the essence or reason of things;– by
practical activity when an impulse moves him to de-
velop himself exteriorly, to manifest himself in that
which environs him, and, also, to recognize himself
in his works. This need to impress himself upon
surrounding objects takes different forms until it
arrives at that mode of manifesting himself in ex-
termal things which constitutes Art. Thus Art finds
in the nature of man itself its own necessary origin.
-What is its special and distinctive character, as
contradistinguished from that of politics, religion,
or science, will be shown hereafter. **
THE MEANING AND PURPOSE OF ART. 11
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The notion is inadequate that the purpose of Art
is merely to excite the sensation of pleasure. Those
systems which content themselves with the analysis
of impressions and emotions, and go no further, are
insufficient, since they furnish no fixed standard, no
criterion of excellence. Nothing is more obscure
than sensibility, since it admits of only arbitrary
and artificial classifications. It admits as causes
elements utterly opposed. Its form can, it is true,
correspond to the diversity of objects, and one may
distinguish the sentiments of the sublime, the moral,
and the religious. But if the object is thus regarded
as only a modification of the subject, its essential
and proper character cannot be ascertained. To find
this is the work of reflection and philosophy. Under
this mode of studying Art may be included the en-
deavors to improve the taste simply by quickening
through use its appreciative power, which may be
done and the ground of the appreciation be un-
known, and, after all, the highest reflective gratifi-
cation be missed. This so-called fine taste halts be-,
fore the greatest works of Art, and usually occupies
itself with its inferior attainments. What, then, is
the part of the sensible in Art, and its true func-
tion?
Here is to be distinguished the sensible element
in the object, the work of Art, and the same element
in the subject, the artist, as a constituent of his tal-
ent or genius. Although the object is addressed to
the sense immediately, yet mediately and ultimately
it is addressed to the mind, and intended to reach
12 HEGEL’s AESTHETICS.
our spiritual being. The most elementary relation
of the sensible with the spiritual in man is that of
simple perception, not requiring thus far any act of .
thought, although the mind bears its spontaneous
part in the act of perception. The effort, though
voluntary, yet so habitual as to seem spontaneous,
to appropriate these objects, constitutes desire. As
yet the objects are considered as particulars, and the
attempt is not yet made to embrace them in their
generality. Desire craves the reality, not the ap-
pearance. Hence it does not leave the objects in
their independent and free existence. It satisfies
itself in utilizing or destroying them. Neither is
the subject himself free, for there is no obedience
to the monitions of the intelligent will. He is still
dependent upon the external world, since the satis-
faction of his desire is dependent upon external
conditions. . - .
It is not thus that man comports himself before a
work of Art. He allows it to subsist in itself, inde-
pendent, although it exists for the sense. It is not
necessary that it should be real and living. Indeed,
it ought not to be such, since it is destined to satisfy
the interests of the mind, which exclude all desire.
Another relation with the mind of man which
external objects present is, that they address the
speculative needs of the understanding, that is, can
be thought, instead of being perceived and desired.
In this exercise the mind has no interest to further,
but to know the objects as they are in general, to
penetrate to their idea. This interest does not con-
THE MEANING AND PURPOSE OF ART. 13
cern their individual existence, and hence allows it
to remain undisturbed. But it is in satisfying this
speculative need that science has its end, whose
function is to disengage the law of being, to convert
the concrete into the abstract; while Art, on the
contrary, does not abandon the individual form as
perceived by the senses, and makes no effort to gen-
eralize. It results from this that, in a work of Art,
the sensible need only be given as an appearance of
the sensible. What the mind seeks in it is not the
material reality, the object of desire, nor the idea in
its generality, but a still sensible object, though dis-
engaged from the scaffolding of its materiality.
Thus its object is something between the sensible
and the rational. It is something ideal which ap-
pears as if it were material. Art, then, while it
addresses the senses, creates in design a world of
shadows, of phantoms, of fictitious representations;
and one cannot on that account accuse it of impo-
tence, as incapable of producing anything other than
forms devoid of all reality. For these appearances
Art does not admit for their own sake, but to satisfy
one of the most elevated needs of the spirit, since
they do possess the power to make the human heart
to vibrate in its profoundest depths.
How, next, is the sensible element to be distin-
guished in the artist, as well as in his work? Here
the principle is the same. The mind is in play, and
not coldly intellectual, but warmly emotional. It is
not a mere skill, directed by approved rules, or the
facility acquired by habit. It is not even a mode of
14 HEGEL's AESTHETICS.
production like that of the Savant, who deserts the
sensible in order to reach the pure conception, but
the elements of intelligence and sensibility are com-
bined, and fused together in the creative activity
of the artist. Since it is the mind which creates, it
has consciousness of itself and its own development;
but it must represent the idea which constitutes the
essence of its work under a sensible form. It fol-
lows from this that the imagination has one side by
which it is a gift of nature, an innate and determined
talent [the ability more or less completely to pene-
trate, to flash through, to illumine, possess and
assimilate the sensible object in every part, to find
in it, for the time being, the determined form of its
own life]. We speak, indeed, of innate scientific
talents, but these are, rather, a general facility of
abstraction, and the energy to linger meditatively
about a fixed topic; and this ability may be in-
creased by use, or even acquired [while imagina-
tion, in the sense above, is entirely native, and
exists at the highest at the very start]. But it
is not imagination only which is sufficient to consti-
tute genius. [It is the servant, and sometimes the
master, of the creative impulse, but not that impulse
or power itself. When thus native, it may be, but
is not always, accompanied by native and special
ability to deal with the required technique, and
moral energy may be lacking to sustain it; or the
narrow range of its experience and the paucity of its
ideas may impoverish it. But when the imaginative
temperament has an inborn propulsion toward any
THE MEANING AND PURPOSE OF ART. 15
Y.
form of the Beautiful, it is generally accompanied
by facility to deal with the special material of the
Art it finds itself most at home in, which shows itself
as a strong and positive taste.] -
There is an opinion which insists that the design
of Art is the imitation of nature. This amounts to
saying that what exists in nature man makes a
second time as well as the means at hand allow.
But one may say that this repetition is useless and
lost labor, since what is offered to us in a picture we
may behold just as well in our gardens or in our
houses; and besides, this superfluous painstaking
convicts man of vanity and folly, for only one sense
is duped by the imperfect illusions which Art pre-
sents. In place of the real and living it puts an
hypocritical deception of reality and of life. Instead
of praising successes of this kind we ought rather to
blame those who can produce only results so mani-
festly inferior to those of nature. One may, indeed,
find pleasure in looking upon a fair imitation of
what exists already, but the pleasure is less than
that derived from the contemplation of the original,
indeed colder, the more perfect the imitation. There
have been portraits of which it may be said that they
were disgusting in their resemblance. The chant of
the nightingale, as Kant observes, imitated by man,
displeases us, or at least lowers the quality of our
pleasure, as soon as we perceive that it is a man who
produces the imitation. It is neither a work of
nature nor a work of art. A true creation
gives a far higher delight. In this sense the
16 - HEGEL’s AESTHETICS.
\
least invention in the mechanic arts is more noble
than anything which is a mere imitation. As
the principle of imitation is purely external and
superficial, it cannot, as such, go beyond mere faith-
fulness. And to say that it selects the beautiful
from among the ugly objects of nature is to intro-
duce a distinction that does not exist, since there is
no criterion which can decide upon the choice of
objects as beautiful among the infinite forms of
nature. It is the individual taste which alone
remains the judge, taste without fixed rules, and
which varies among individuals, peoples, degrees of
civilization, and circumstances.
[The present author objects strongly to this dictum
of Hegel, that there is no criterion by which to
decide upon the degree of beauty in the objects of
nature, and no windication of a higher and purer
taste. It looks like an abandonment of any endeavor
to disentangle and abstract the individual and idio-
syncratic element (which has no firm basis, and may
undergo change, or disappear) from the entire sub-
jective impression, in order to leave for examination
and analysis the permanent and unchanging element,
which has a true basis, and which, though still sub-
jective, has, as founded on absolute truth, and as part
of the ultimate and ideal constitution of the universe,
true objectivity. An attempt to do this very thing
will be found in the second part of this work. Just
here it may be said, that it is a legitimate endeavor
in the artist to find in nature the truly beautiful, to
rid it of the surrounding contradictions, or to
p"
l
THE MEANING AND PURPOSE OF ART. 17
enhance it by the skillful use of the same. The dis-
covery of this is the discovery of the ideal, not in its
abstract but in its concrete and living form; and
hereby Art may divine what nature is essentially, in
its primitive idea and its ultimate realization, and
meanwhile avail itself of the flashes which it rays
out in the process of its development. Nature is
color as well as form, and it is more than either in
the combination of the two, since thereby it comes
to have spiritual expression, and in its infinite
change hints of its own freedom. To detect this,
and fix it, whether in the landscape, or in the human
form or face, or in human action, some may call
imitation, though of a higher kind than to seize and
reproduce the mere prosaic aspect.] -
This principle of imitation cannot even apply to all
the arts. If it can seemingly justify itself in sculp-
ture and painting, what does it mean in architecture,
or in any poetry other than mere description? This
is mere suggestion, not imitation. -
Yet imitation, while not alone constituting a work
of Art, still lies at the base of all art-compositions,
since their aim is to represent ideas in natural forms.
So the artist cannot know too much of nature, and
should be able to reproduce her in her most delicate
and various effects. And it is well to recall the
artist from his bizarre aims and effects to the posi-
tive, living and regular forms of nature; but after
all, the natural, being the exterior and material side
of things, ought not to be given as the essence of Art.
What, then, is the internal element, the fundamental
2
18 HEGEL’S AESTHETICS.
**
something, which Art ought to represent, and where-
fore this representation? -
We encounter here the opinion which assigns, as
the end of Art, to put before our eyes the whole that
human nature encloses, and by that to move our
sensibility and exalt our imagination,--to realize the
saying, “humani nihil d me alienum puto "– that
is, to watch for all the potencies which slumber
within the human soul, to reveal to consciousness
whatever is most profound and mysterious in the
heart and the thought of man, with all the con-
trasts, oppositions and contradictions of his nature,
his grandeurs and his miseries, his pains and his
sufferings, all his sentiments and all his passions,
and thus to widen out and complete the circle of our
experience, so that man may have lived his life en-
tire; and that Art obtains this result by the illusion
which replaces for us the reality.
But it is easy to see that this principle does not
determine the true end of Art; for it leaves it com-
pletely indifferent what shall be the idea which is
the object of the representation. Art can, indeed,
furnish a form to everything, can reclothe objects
the most dissimilar. It expresses indistinctly the
good, the evil, the beautiful, the ugly, the noble,
the hideous, the vile and contemptible. In this
relation it is with Art as with reasoning. It can be
employed to express everything and adorn every-
thing. More than that, in exalting our imagination
and exciting our enthusiasm for things contrary to
each other, it may make more striking their opposi-
THE MEANING AND PURPOSE of ART. 19
tion. It makes us share the delirium of the Bac-
chantes, or the indifference of the Sophists,
But this definition, too, is unsatisfactory. Reason
searches for a general principle which rules, or
should rule, this multiplicity of forms. The ques-
tion still remains, how can these so diverse elements
be harmonized and lead toward a common end? -
There is still another manner of conceiving Art
and its destination, that which regards its mission
to be, to soften human manners. But how has Art
this virtue? Grossness or violence of character con-
sists in the tyrannical domination of particular pro-
pensities of the sensible nature, destroying even the
will to conquer or escape them. Now, Art softens
this uncultured rudeness and tempers this violence
by giving to man a vision of himself. In this simple
picture there is a power to calm and a liberating in-
fluence. He sees himself thus objectified, and sees
himself dispassionately, and this disposes him to
reflect and to discover higher possibilities for him-
self. This gives to Art a properly moral end. But,
indeed, if this be the end of Art, to improve the be-
havior as a means toward moral improvement, it may
be said that all this can be better done otherwise.
If Art teaches, it is indirectly, and in a supplemen-
tary manner. The sensible form which is essential
to a work of Art is thus only an accessory. The
abstract idea, which in the strictly moral relation is
influential upon the will, is given by Art in concrete
and sensible form. This form is surplusage if its
mission is only to teach, and all the delight we receive
20 HEGEL's AESTHETICs.
from Art representations might as well be missed.
There may be in any pure work of Art a moral idea
possible to be disengaged, but this depends upon the
skill of him who knows how to elicit it. We have
even heard defended those artistic representations
which do anything but soften manners, under the
pretext that we ought to know what is bad in order
to act morally. On the other side it has been said
that the representations of the Magdalen, the beau-
tiful sinner, have led more than one soul to sin, since
Art has shown how very beautiful a thing penitence
can be made to appear, provided one has not been
tempted to accomplish the preliminary condition.
Hegel contends, at greater length than we can
reproduce here, that Art must not be regarded simply
as a means toward a moral end, and that we must
regard it as having its end in itself. -
[There is room here, however, for still deeper
thought, to reach entire satisfaction. In one sense
all things are means to an end, in the Divine intent,
— nature, thought, science, philosophy, art, religion.
That end is human perfection; and by this is meant
not only moral, but intellectual and physical perfec-
tion; and this also implies perfection in the environ-
ment, which is ever in correspondence with man's
spiritual condition and stage of development. This
entire synthesis can alone satisfy the demands of
AEsthetic, as a philosophy. Moral science presents
its aspect of the idea in the shape of obligation, and
this is justified by the reason, which is content with
nothing less than this concord of wills and subordi-
THE MEANING AND PURPOSE OF ART. 21
nation to the Divine will, the source of all existence
and the solitary force of the universe. *
AEsthetic proper presents the same idea, in con-
crete shape, as addressed to the imagination, and
thus the end is reached, not by reflection, clarifying
the ideal end of our activity, but by spontaneous
emotion, by intuition, in which is implicit, however,
the same satisfaction to the reason. The Beautiful
| is the idea of perfection concreted, or symbolized, (in
which case the symbols are more than symbols, are
essential elements of the perfect idea,) and may be
displayed either in the physical or the moral world.
Thus the root of the Good and the Beautiful is the
same, and their end is the same; and moral goodness
in its perfection, in its attainment of free sponta-
neity, becomes an element of the perfect Beauty.
The mission of Art is to gather the scattered threads
of this Beauty as it exists in symbol in nature, or in
reality in human action, or uniting the two in the
human face and form into an unique presentation,
thus to fix for imagination the transitory beauty
thrown out in the development of the universe: or it
is to exhibit some phase of the contradiction and the
conflict in the passage from the actual to the realiza-
tion of the ideal; that is, to exhibit the sublime or
the pathetic to the aspiring and struggling soul of
man, who is never unmoved thereby. In all this Art
may be said to have its end in itself. It is not to
show the obligation to reach moral perfection, and
inspire reverence for the guiding law, but to show
the beauty of perfection and accomplish the perfect
22 HEGEL's AESTHETICS.
repose and satisfaction of the reason; hence, mys-
teriously, and truly, even though transiently, to
draw the soul toward it, by its own fascination, or
as that which is akin is consciously drawn toward
that from which it departed, and to which it is
struggling or has the impulse to return.
It is only the penetrating movement of human
imagination, as it exists in high grade in the artist-
poet, which can find all the beauty, or be fully sensi-
ble of the contradiction which constitutes the sub-
lime, whether it be in mature or in humanity. To
present these for the imaginative appropriation of
his fellows, profoundly, or even superficially, if still
suggestively, is the impulse of the artist, and is the
end of Art.
These thoughts will be further explicated and
illustrated in the second part of this work.]
In order to bring out his own idea more clearly,
Hegel now refers to the Kantian AEsthetic, according
to which the Beautiful awakens a pleasure which is
disinterested, which seems general and necessary,
without awakening the consciousness of an abstract
idea, as matter for reflection, notwithstanding that
it contains within itself the relation of conformity
to an end. That which we find to be true in this
is, the indissoluble unity of that which is supposed
to be separate in our consciousness. In the Beauti-
ful, the general and the particular, the end and
the means, the idea and the object, penetrate each
other completely. Here that which can be consid-
ered as the accidental form is so intimately tied to
THE MEANING AND PURPOSE OF ART. 23
the general that it is identified with it. Thus, in
Art, the Beautiful presents the thought, as it were,
incarnate. On the one side the matter, the nature,
the sensible, as possessing in themselves measure, de-
sign and harmony, are lifted to the dignity of spirit,
and participate in its generality. Thought not only
abandons its hostility to nature, but smiles within
it. Sensation and enjoyment are justified and sancti-
fied in this unity of nature and freedom. Neverthe-
less, this conciliation, which seems perfect, still pos-
sesses a subjective character. It cannot constitute
the true Absolute. The principle being, however,
the harmonious unity of the two terms, the idea and
the form, there follow these conditions: :
1. The idea must be such as can be represented,
otherwise there is an imperfect connection between
the two terms. 2. The idea should not be a pure
abstraction, which is saying that the mind itself is of
a concrete nature. The God of the Jews and the
Turks is an abstract Deity, and therefore cannot be
represented by Art. The God of the Christians is a
concrete God, a veritable spirit whose concrete nature
is expressed by the trinity of persons in unity. 3. If
the idea should be concrete, the form should be
also. Their union is possible only under such condi-
tions. It is in consequence of this that they are
made one for the other, as the body or physical soul
and the spiritual soul in humanity. It results from
this that the form is essential to the idea, such a
form for such an idea, and that in their meeting
there is nothing of the accidental. The concrete idea
24 HEGEL's ASTHETICS.
contains in itself the guide to the form of its exter-
mal manifestation. Hence, the excellence and per-
fection of a work of Art will depend upon the degree
of the intimate penetration, and upon the unity in
which the idea and the form seem made for each
other. The highest verity in Art consists in that the
spirit has arrived at the mode of existence which suits
best the essential idea of the spirit itself. Such is the
principle which rules even the divisions of the science
of Art; for the spirit, in attaining the true idea of
its absolute essence, ought to run through a gradual
series of internal developments which have their
principle in the same idea, and to make for these
changes a corresponding succession of forms, bound
together among themselves by the same laws, and by
means of which the spirit, regarded as artist, gives
the knowledge of itself. This development of the
spirit in the sphere of Art presents in its turn two
different aspects: first, as a general development,
in which the successive phases of universal thought
manifest themselves in the world of Art; and second-
ly, this internal development must realize itself in
sensible forms of a different nature. These particu-
lar modes of representation introduce into Art a
totality of essential differences which constitute the
particular Arts. Upon these principles the science
of Art contains three fundamental *A. viz.:
(1) The first part has for its object the general
idea of the Beautiful, or the Ideal, considered suc-
cessively in its relation with nature, and in its rela-
tion with the proper productions of Art. (2) The
THE MEANING AND PURPOSE of ART. 25
second part traces the essential differences embraced
in the idea of Art in general, and the progressive
series of forms under which it has been historically
developed. (3) The third part embraces the entirety
of the particular forms in which may be clothed the
Beautiful, when it passes into sensible realization;
that is to say, the system of the Arts considered in
their special forms.
[It is apparent in what precedes that both Kant
and Hegel, when they think of the Beautiful, have
in mind the productions of Art, and only reluctantly
i allow place to the Beautiful in nature, as though
Art almost monopolized the Beautiful, and in it
alone Beauty, the highest and purest, was to be found.
I consider it a defect, in this treatment, that the
Beautiful in nature and in human action should not
have been first exhaustively considered, since it is
out of this and the emotions thence arising that the
art-impulse itself springs. Windication of this criti-
cism will be found interspersed, as there is occasion,
in what follows.]
CHAPTER II.
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BEAUTY IN ITS ABSTRACT IDEA.
EGEL, as we have asserted, shuns an exhaust-
ive analysis of the emotion of the Beautiful,
and thus fails to connect it satisfactorily with Beauty
as objective, which he allows. It is to be regretted
that he did not permit his mind to wander in this
direction, and state here in clear terms his concep-
tion of Beauty as it appears to men at first hand.
Thus he remarks: “It has never entered into the
mind of any one to develop the point of view of the
Beautiful in the objects of nature; to give an exposi-
tion of these sorts of beauties. We feel ourselves
upon too shifting a ground, in a field vague and
indeterminate. A criterion is wanting.” Assuredly
this looks like a declination to justify a true taste for
Beauty in general, making it purely subjective, want-
ing in an objective criterion, and having no sure
means of rectification, while contending that this
can be done for works of Art. In exhibiting what
he makes out the Beautiful in nature to be, we shall
see that he declines the fundamental question.
With Hegel, the Beautiful is the Idea, but the
Idea under a particular form. To define its essen-
tial nature he distinguishes between the primitive
idea (Begriff) and the veritable idea (Idee). By the
BEAUTY IN ITS ABSTRACT IDEA. 27
first seems to be meant the idea in its more subjective
character, before purified by elimination, and become
accurately representative of the object, or identified
with it, when it becomes the veritable idea, which
alone has true objectivity. Thus it becomes, at
length, the harmoniously completed object in the
totality of its immanent relations. The true idea
(Idee) is concealed beneath the shifting forms of the
primitive idea (Begriff), and becomes clearer with
the progress of development. Thus, in a sense, it is
identical with truth, or is an element of the True.
Yet there is a difference between the True and the
Beautiful [which must depend upon the subjective
relation]. The true is the Idea (Idee) when it is
considered in itself, in its general principle, and
when it is thought as such. For it is not under its
sensible form that it exists for the reason, but in its
general and universal character. When the True
appears immediately to the mind in its exterior
reality, and the idea rests confounded and identified
with its external appearance, then the idea is not
solely the True, but the Beautiful. The Beautiful,
* ---
---- "T"
the Idea. The two elements of idea and form are,
in the Beautiful, inseparable. Thus, from the view-
point of reasoning and abstraction, it cannot be com-
prehended. Reasoning never seizes but one of its
elements. It rests in the finite, the exclusive, and
the false. The Beautiful, on the contrary, is in
itself infinite and free. This infinity and freedom
may be found at the same time in the subject and in
28 HEGEL's AESTHETICS.
the object, under both the theoretical and practical
points of view. The object, in its theoretical or .
speculative connection, is free, since it is not con-
sidered as a simple existence, which as such has its
subjective idea (its raison d'être) out of itself, is dis-
persed and lost in the multitude of exterior connec-
tions. The beautiful object displays its proper idea
realized in its proper existence, and that interior
unity which constitutes its life. By that the object
has excluded its direction to the external, is free from
all dependence upon that which is not itself. It has
quitted its finite and limited character to become
infinite and free. On the other hand, the Ego, in its
connection with the object, ceases equally to be a
simple abstraction, a subject which perceives and
observes sensible phenomena, and generalizes them.
It becomes itself concrete in such object, identifies
itself with the unity of the idea and its reality. Thus
the relation of the subject to the object is not one of
desire, to possess or to make use of the object, but
rests in pure contemplation. Through imagination
has come to pass a calm and peaceful identity of sub-
ject and object, of the soul and the beautiful thing.
[In criticism of the above we may remark, that
any object is what it is through relations not solely
immanent, but also transcendent, and therefore the
rounded completeness, which entitles it to be called
“infinite ” in Hegel's use of the word, is imparted
to it by a synthetic procedure, by the activity of the
mind itself. We do not see but that any or every
object involving this unity of idea and reality may
BEAUTY IN ITS ABSTRACT IDEA. 29
be equally entitled to the epithets “infinite” and
“free.” If by this word “Idea” be meant some
determination of the veritable Idea (Idee) in the pro-
cess of its development and purification, it may be
questioned whether the degree of Beauty accurately
follows this process, and whether the degree of inten-
sity in the emotion is proportioned to this evolution
N of the Idea, and its acquisition of freedom. I hold
it to be a clearer and truer explanation of the Beau-
tiful to say that it consists in the coalescence,
through imagination, of the freedom of the subject
with the freedom of nature and of spirit — a union
of the derived with the absolute spontaneity. The
difficulty in Hegel's exposition will be more apparent
when we note his treatment of the Beautiful in
Nature.]
In the world of nature the primitive Idea (Be-
griff) passes through divers phases before becoming
the true Idea. At first it is so confounded with the
object as perceived by the senses that it hardly
appears; the unity is not seized. Without soul or
life it is completely absorbed by the materiality.
The inorganic bodies, considered in themselves, ex-
hibit but a group of mechanical and physical prop-
erties, which are found equally in any detached
particle of the same. That mutual interdependence
which is the characteristic of an organic body does
not exist. There is no principle which unites the
diverse elements. The diversity is a simple plural-
ity, and the unity resides in the similarity of prop-
erties. Such is the first mode of the existence of the
30 HEGEL’s AESTHETICS.
Idea. In the higher orders of natural existence
the elements of the Idea are liberated in the sense
that they obtain an existence separable for thought
and a distinct function,- as in our planetary system,
where the particular bodies preserve each its proper
existence, and are coördinated in one system. The
Idea, however, has not reached its completeness, and
cannot stop in any such unity as this, for we do not
yet see that the idea of the same would be lost if
any one orb were missed from the system. The Idea
does not attain its ultimate and true existence except
when all the parts and elements are so united that
the whole represents all the interior reciprocal rela-
tions, when each element loses its particular exist-
ence and is what it is by virtue of the sum of rela-
tions. This ideal unity constitutes the organism,
and thus only in life does the Idea find its realiza-
tion. .
Thus in life, in the life of organized beings only,
have we found the Beautiful in nature, according to
Hegel. However, because of its sensible and alto-
gether external character, the Beautiful in nature
is not beautiful for itself. It is beautiful only for
another than itself, for us, for an intelligence which
seizes and contemplates it. If, then, we would know
why life appears beautiful in nature, and consider
it, first, under the point-of-view of activity, what
first strikes our eyes is its spontaneous and voluntary
movement. In the animal this seems arbitrary,
capricious, accidental, determined by external soli-
citations, or internal proclivities, not, as in human
BEAUTY IN ITS ABSTRACT IDEA. 31
movements, according to law and measure, as in
music and the dance. Hegel notes but little the
beauty and fascination of animal movements, empha-
sizes only their spontaneity, leaves the charm and
definition of grace unexplained. What he regards
as the chief constituent of the beauty of animals is
the external form. This, in its totality, is composed
of divers particular forms, colors, movements, etc.
In order that all these may appear as constituting a
living organism, they ought to show that this has not
its true existence in their multiplicity, but in their
accord, their harmony. But this unity ought not
to present itself simply as a relation of conformity
between means and ends; rather, each part preserves
its distinct existence, each organ its proper form, not
absolutely determined by that of another; yet an
interior harmony in this independence is apparent to
our senses. If it were not thus apparent, it would
exist only for the reason, and thus would not respond
to the requirement of the Beautiful, which demands
that the Idea be manifested in the sensible reality.
It appears in the individual as the principle which
binds together the members, which is the substratum
of the living thing. According to this, wherever
there is this unity and interdependence, this perfect
harmony, where the form and the matter are mar-
ried or identical, there is the presence of the Beauti-
ful. The form inhabits the matter, and constitutes
its veritable essence, the internal force which disposes
and organizes the parts. Even in inorganic nature,
where we admire the regular forms of the crystal,
32 HEGEL's ASTHETICS.
we do not regard these as produced by a foreign and
merely mechanical activity, but by an internal and
free force which resides in the mineral itself, and
belongs to its inner nature. A similar activity ap-
pears, still more concrete and developed, in the living
animal.
[But at once the question will occur to the reader,
how, then, can we account for the different degrees of
beauty in living animals, or for the fact that we
regard some of them as ugly, in which, however,
there appears all harmony of parts, and needful
adaptation for fulfilment of function? Hegel remarks
that the slowly and painfully moving animal dis-
pleases us, as wanting in that facility and freedom of
movement which belongs to a higher order of life.
But in the common estimation, not the most active
animals are regarded as most beautiful, even in the
beauty of form. Grace as well as life is needful for
beauty of movement, and grace is left unexplained.
Nor is any attempt made to explain the beauty of
color, which is relegated to the category of the
simply agreeable.] -
In dealing with the beauty of landscape, which all
feel, and many so keenly, he remarks that here we
no longer find an organic disposition of parts, as
determined by the idea which animates it and gives
it life; but we have under our eyes a rich multi-
plicity of objects, organized and unorganized, forming
a totality,+the contours of mountains, the sinuous
course of rivers, groups of trees and of buildings,
roads, vessels, the sea and the sky, valleys and preci-
BEAUTY IN ITS APSTRACT II).E.A. 33
pices. At the same time there appears a connection
in this diversity, a unity entirely external, which
interests us by its agreeable or imposing character.
[Here we have a simple statement of the fact, and
no attempt to explain the beauty, except as supposed
to reside solely in the unity.] But nature, besides,
presents a character altogether special in its ability
to excite the sentiments of the Soul by the sympa-
thetic influence which it exercises upon us. Such is
the effect produced by the silence of the night, the
calm of the valley, or the winding of the brook, the
sublime aspect of the vast or tempestuous ocean, the
imposing and mute grandeur of the starry heavens.
The aesthetic quality of all these things does not
belong to the objects, taken in themselves. The
secret is to be found in the sentiments of the human
soul which they awaken. Thus, likewise, we call an
animal beautiful because it expresses a character
similar to the qualities of the human soul, courage,
force, cunning, kindness. [All which will be gen-
erally doubted, for not every animal characteristic or
propensity which has its congener in human disposi-
tions is regarded as beautiful. Again, Hegel has
simply stated a fact, and how these exhibitions of na-
ture are felt to be, and why they are thought to be,
beautiful or sublime is entirely unexplained. The
feeling precedes the judgment and requires analysis.
His thought seems to identify too intimately the
Beautiful and the True. With him, the richer, fuller,
completer the idea, the more of beauty. Vegetable
existence, as such, is more beautiful than inorganic;
3
34 HEGEL’s AESTHETICS.
animal existence, a higher idea, more beautiful; man,
in his idea, more beautiful still. This is a shifting
of the received meaning of the word to suit his phi-
losophy. We fail here to see how and why in organic
existence one thing is regarded as more beautiful
than another, which may display its idea quite as per-
fectly, and on the same plane; and on the higher
plane of the spiritual, beauty of soul, or the beauty
of human society, exists only in imperfection, in
transition. Its idea is discoverable, and the partial
realizations have their charm, and are entitled to the
epithet. But closer examination of the concrete
reveals rather the contradictory, the struggling, the
sublime. Indeed, in his treatment thus far, the Beau-
tiful and the Sublime are not distinguished. He has
driven all these subtle facts into the mould of his
philosophy; which need not be discarded, but only
to have this hiatus filled and to be readjusted to suit
the requirements of the problem. Everything, with
him, is the Idea. This wonderful principle, the
determining and life principle of all existence, that
of which the universe is the outcome, infinite because
independent and absolutely free, displays itself in
various manifestations, in higher and higher grades
of existence, revealing at each mount more and more
of itself, intimating and prophesying at each step
new and higher possibilities. We have here, indeed,
an objective philosophy which seeks to free itself
from all subjective aberrance. It means that, could
the perfect mind regard the process of the universe
as it is in itself, it would be beguiled into no wrong
BEAUTY IN ITS ABSTRACT IDEA. 35
judgments, betrayed into no inconsistencies; it would
know and feel that in each higher grade of existence
there was more of beauty, as more of truth. If so,
then our judgments of difference in degrees of beauty.
in objects on the same plane or grade of existence
are unfounded, and arise from the limitations of
our minds. * -
But all this implies that the development of nature
as well as of humanity has been orderly and harmo-
nious. If so, there have been no contradictions in
either; or the seeming contradictions are parts of
the necessary process ; or the contradictions of
nature are purely physical conflicts, and have no
necessary correspondence with those of human life.
If difficulties to be overcome arise before man, in the
onward march of humanity, they are only to be
regarded as stimulus to give him spiritual strength.
In all this, the intensest and most real of all contra-
dictions, the moral one, the contradiction of sin, is
not enough emphasized, and that thence comes dis-
turbance or hindrance to man's orderly development.
Even though the consequences of human action, the
material content, be caught up into the stream of
Providence, and made to subserve the Divine pur-
pose by wise or inscrutable adaptation, the moral
form, the contradiction in the realm of spirit, may
yet remain, or grow more intense.
If nature's development is only orderly and beau-
tiful she is thus severed from any intimate moral
connection with man, and the connection of man's
own physical being with his moral being seems not
36 HEGEL's AESTHETICS.
essential, but only arbitrary. If man is a part of
nature, in one aspect of his being identified with
her, she, too, must be identified with him, must
reflect and be correspondent to his moral being, its
conflicts, its fluctuations, and its changes. If the
physical universe is to be explained from the spirit-
ual, and not the reverse, her development must fol-
low his, her contradictions must be correspondent to
his, grow out of them, and hence symbolize them to
his imagination; and she can be sublime as well as
beautiful, though perfect Beauty be the ideal end
for him and her.
Nature is not, then, always and everywhere beauti-
ful, and her beauty admits of degrees of more or
less as truly as man's actual nearness to the ideal of
moral perfection admits of degrees of more or less.
Normally, nature's development might display, in
the hierarchy of ideas, a succession of the more and
more beautiful; but her development is abnormal,
and is interfered with by the negations which make .
possible the sublime. Man's own sublime moral
victories make possible his intellectual triumphs, and
reach even Nature herself, making her more pliant
and subservient, and hinting of his ultimate and
complete domination. And his Art, too, notwith-
standing its periods of stagnation or retrogression,
will be competent to express him to the last, if not
in every form, yet in some of its forms, in a perfec-
tion yet to be reached. .
The tendency of Hegel's philosophy, so far as
given in the present work, is to exalt thought and
B15AUTY IN ITS AlbSTRACT IDEA. 3?
§
underrate feeling, which may be said without under-
valuing the achievements in the realm of thought
made once for all by it. The universe with him is a
rational process, the outcome of pure spirit. In his
AEsthetic not enough is made of that which is essen-
tial to pure spirit, the principle of love. • The ideal
life seems to be pure intellectual contemplation,
and emotion seems something secondary and hardly
essential.
But indeed our concrete human life and aspira-
tion demand more than this. Beauty, as Truth grows
clearer and brighter, brings purer, sweeter, warmer,
more exquisite feeling. No imaginative endeavor,
no process of abstraction, can sever feeling from
thought. We must not seek to banish it from our
philosophically constructed universe. Thought and
feeling are not contradictories or aliens, opposite
poles, one of which must weaken as the other
strengthens; one of which must die when the other
becomes perfect. Rather, they are essential charac-
teristics of all concrete and possible existence. Feel-
ing is before thought, and thought is for feeling,
rather than feeling for thought. When feeling is
made the object of thought, it has itself stimulated
that thought; indeed it has originated all thought,
for, in the development of the human subject, feeling
is first and thought is but its determination from
without, and its clarification.
In the First Principle, which as a concrete one
must have immanent relations, Love is the prius, as
the very definition of Life. Life could never have
38 HEGEL's AFSTHETICS.
existed on our planet unless the principle of the
universe were loving. The Divine omnipresence
means not only that thought (which is conscious-
ness) is everywhere, but that delight and joy are
everywhere, and that the Divine displeasure, too, as
the necessary attitude of love toward its own contra-
diction, is to be found. All pain and hate are but
love turned upon itself, and introducing contradic-
tion, and so nothing comes of hate and pain but
narrowness and poverty of being. -
Elsewhere, indeed, in Hegel's works, in his Philoso-
phy of Religion, due prominence is given to the view
that in the Absolute the process by which the Trinity
is Trinity is no less the process, and so the very sub-
stance of Love as of Thought. But this is not availed
of in his AEsthetic, as it might have been, to explain
the problem of Beauty and Sublimity at first hand,
in nature and in human life.]
CHAPTER III.
BEAUTY IN THE CONCRETE.
UT let us see whether in Hegel's further analy-
sis is any explanation of the grades of Beauty
in concrete objects. He says, the beauty of form in
nature shows itself successively as regularity, sym-
metry, conformity to law, and harmony.
Regularity is the equality or repetition of a unique
and unchanging shape. On account of its abstract
simplicity this unity is the farthest removed from
the highest and true unity. Straight lines are reg-
ular, but no repetition of them, unless in a symmet-
rical figure, would constitute Beauty. Why, when
they do constitute a symmetrical figure, as the cube,
there is a faint intimation of beauty, is unexplained.
Hegel simply notes the fact. In the ascending scale
of being, the crystal, the plant, the animal, symmetry
becomes less essential, or rather is subordinated to
qualities still higher. The next of these is, con-
formity to law. Here, while there is less repetition
of an identical form, or a combination of the equal
and unequal uniformly alternate, there is yet an in-
timate accord of the essentially different elements.
Thus in the transition from the straight line to the
curve, and from the circle to the ellipse and the pa-
rabola, mere regularity is less and less apparent, and
39
40 HEGEL's AESTHETICS.
conformity to and evidence of the inner law become
more and more apparent. [But why the pleasure in
the curve is enhanced as we mount is not explained,
except that the idea becomes more recondite and intel-
lectual. Hegel cannot but acknowledge the superior
beauty of the spiral, in which conformity to its law
is just discoverable, but I cannot say whether he
would, or would not, the still greater beauty of a
system of curves whose law is utterly undiscovera-
ble. If he would, this would seem to be a contra-
diction of his rule. Surely the law of the curves of
the human body, too, is undiscovered by the aesthetic
sense, and only yields to prolonged scientific in-
quiries. The solution of the sense of beauty here
is, that the ideal physical freedom is appropriating
by imagination its congener or symbol. It is eman-
cipation from physical constraint in the degree sug-
gested by the idea of the object. It involves an
acknowledgment of the verity of the Divine idea
of man, that the physical aspect and relations of
his concrete being should be at the service of the
spiritual, as the universe itself, the ever-developing
glory, is to the Divine spirit. All the recognitions
of natural beauty before and hereafter alluded to
may be explained by the same principle.] --
A still higher element is harmony. This is such
a connection between the divers elements forming a
totality, that their differences, which are differences
of quality, have their principle in the essence of the
thing itself. This connection, which includes that of
conformity to law, and leaves behind it mere equal-
REAUTY IN THE CONCRETE. 41
ity or alternative repetition, is such that the differ-
ences between the elements appear not solely as dif-
ferences and oppositions, but as forming a unity, all
the terms of which are in interior accord. Their
opposition is destroyed by the manifestation of their
reciprocal agreement. The pleasure in harmony con-
sists in its shunning differences too rude and opposi-
tions too startling, for the accord must be still more
apparent than the differences, and never, or but
momentarily, be lost sight of. But even harmony is
not the free subjectivity which constitutes the essence
of the Idea and of the soul. For in this is something
more and higher than mere reciprocity and the
accord of elements. There is the negation of their
differences, which thus produces a spiritual unity.
Harmony in music does not go so far, even, as mel-
ody, which possesses a subjectivity more free and
living. -
[To this we may add that the comparative delight
in harmony and melody does not measure the beauty,
for the sensuous agreeableness, in respect of their
susceptibility for which persons are so differently
constituted, must be taken into account. In feeling
this the soul is passive, while in apprehending beauty
it is active. But in abstracting from this the pure
beauty of the two, it will be found that for ordinary
souls the pleasure in simple melody is greater, for its
beauty is still physical; while in harmony a moral
accord may be symbolized, and thus a higher beauty
be felt, and felt in an increasing degree as the subject
soul advances in the moral life. Thus in harmony
42 . HEGEL's AESTHETICS.
we may have several melodies, and hence a more
intricate organism; no impairment of freedom, but
freedom finding itself enriched and its joy re-
doubled.] .
The beauty of matter considered in itself, after
abstraction of the form, consists in its unity and
identity with itself, i.e. its purity. [This should
mean purity of color, for mere homogeneity of
chemical constituents arouses no feeling and does not
constitute Beauty. Thus pure color Hegel declares
to be more agreeable than that which is the result of
mixture. Possibly more agreeable, but, in the com-
mon judgment, less beautiful; for surely there is an
intenser feeling of the Beautiful in subtle gradations
of color, which are the result of mixture, than in any
homogeneous mass. There is no attempt to account
for these degrees of Beauty.
Hegel is evidently anxious to have done with this
part of his subject-matter, and to reach his proper
topic, the Beautiful in Art. Before dismissing
nature, which gives us the first form of the TBeau-
tiful, he examines at length why it is necessarily
imperfect, in order that we may comprehend the
necessity and the essence of the Ideal.' I give the
outcome in what follows.] -
In the individuals which nature shows us, we see
the Ideal passing into real existence, but still it
is fettered by the bonds of the external world, by its
dependence upon circumstances, in a word, by the
finitude which characterizes all phenomenal mani-
festation. The real world presents itself as a system
BEAUTY IN THE CONCRETE. 43
of necessary relations between individuals or forces,
which have the appearance of existing for themselves,
but are nevertheless employed as means in the
service of ends foreign to themselves; or themselves
have need of something foreign to serve as means to
themselves. Thus there is the possibility of chance
or caprice as well as of necessity or want. It is not
under such a set of conditions that the individual
can develop himself freely. Thus the animal as an
individual belongs to a particular element, the air,
the water, the earth, which determines its kind of
life, its nourishment, its entire mode of existence.
It is in perpetual dependence upon nature and
external circumstances. Under the dominion of all
these forces, it is liable, when they become too severe
for it, to lose the plenitude of its forms, and the
flower of its beauty. Even the human body, though
in a degree less, is submitted to a similar dependence
upon external objects. But it is especially in the
midst of interests which belong to the world of spirit
that this dependence is manifest. Without speaking
of the contradiction between the ends of the material
life, and the more elevated designs of the spirit, the
individual, to preserve himself, is obliged to yield
himself in a thousand ways, to be simply means to
the ends of others, and reciprocally to reduce others
to the condition of simple instruments for his proper
interests. The individual, in the prosaic world of
daily occurrences, does not develop himself as a com-
plete being, intelligible in itself, and never receiving
from another the reason for its activity. In the im-
44 HEGEL's AESTHETICS.
portant situations where men unite and form great
assemblies there breaks forth the diversity and the
opposition of their proclivities and their interests.
Compared as to the general design, the individual
efforts which tend toward it amount but to a frac-
tional portion. The leaders themselves, who rule
the situation, do not escape the embarrassment of the
circumstances. Under all these relations the indi-
vidual cannot preserve in this sphere the appearance
of a free force developing itself without hindrance in
the fullness of its life, which is what constitutes its
Beauty. Every individual belonging to the real
world of nature or of spirit lacks absolute freedom,
because it is limited, or, rather, particularized in its
existence. Each individual being of living nature
belongs to a determined species, fixed, whose limits it
cannot pass. By this same its type is given. It is
enclosed within a circle that cannot be broken
through. Without doubt the spirit may find the
complete idea of its life realized in the organism
which belongs to it; and compared with man, the
animals, especially the inferior kinds, must seem but
poor and miserable existences. But the human body
itself presents, with regard to its beauty, a progres-
sion of forms correspondent to the diversity of races.
After these differences come the hereditary qualities
of the family, the peculiarities which belong to the
occupation of life, the varieties of temperament, the
originalities and singularities of character; and
afterward, the habitual passions, the interests to the
pursuit of which man devotes himself, the revolu-
BEAUTY IN THE CONCRETE. 45
tions which occur in his morality and general
conduct;-all these exhibit themselves in the external
form, and engrave themselves in traits profound
and ineffaceable upon the physiognomy; even so far,
at times, as to disfigure and efface the general type.
In this respect there is nothing in the world more
beautiful than young children, because in them all
these peculiarities slumber yet, and exist only in
germ. Every passion is as yet chained within their
breasts. Of all the interests, so numerous, which
agitate the human heart, no one as yet has engraved
its furrow and marked its fatal sign upon the mobile
face. But at this age of innocence, although in the
vivacity of the child everything is announced as
possible, one does not recognize in it any of the pro-
found characteristics of the spiritual soul, which
beholds itself forced to fall back upon itself, and to
pursue, in its development, the elevated ends which
belong to its essential nature. *
All these imperfections can be comprised in a one-
word description, the Finite. Animal life and human
life cannot realize the Idea under its perfect form,
equivalent to the Idea itself.
Such is the principle for which the spiritual soul,
failing to find in the sphere of reality, and amid its
bounding circumstances, the vision and the delight of
its freedom, is forced to seek satisfaction in a more
, l elevated region. This region is that of Art, and its
reality is the Ideal.
The necessity of the Beautiful in Art derives,
then, from the imperfections of the real. The mis-
46 HEGEL’S AESTHETICS.
sion of Art is to represent, under sensible forms, the
free development of life, and especially of spirit; in
; one word, to make the external appearance corre-
spond to the Idea. Thus only does it come to pass
that the True is disentangled from accidental and
transitory circumstances, and escapes from the law
which condemns it to run through the series of finite
things. It is then that it arrives at such exterior
manifestation, which allows no more to be seen the
needs of the prosaic world of nature; that it arrives
at a representation worthy of itself, which offers us
the spectacle of a free force, relying only upon itself,
having in itself its proper destination, and not receiv-
ing its determinations from any alien source.
[In this first part of Hegel's treatise (which occu-
pies but a small portion of the entire work), which
treats of the Idea of the Beautiful in general, and
of the Beautiful in nature, we have kept more closely
than elsewhere to his text, giving at times a free
translation, and condensing where possible, aiming
to give the essential thought; because here is the
foundation of the whole work. These are the prin-
ciples which enable us to understand all that follows,
and which vindicate its truth. If all this be admitted,
we know what Art is, and what is its mission, and
have a criterion by which to judge its productions.
Here let us pause to make a critical survey of
what goes before, to see if it can be maintained
without qualification; premising, however, that even
if one should modify Hegel's theory of the Beautiful,
there is yet, in the work, ample compensation for the '
BEAUTY IN THE CONCRETE. 47
most thoughtful, and abundant instruction and enter-
tainment for the ordinary reader.
The key to the understanding of the whole is to
be had by comprehending the precise signification
which he gives to the word “Idea.”
Plato's ideas are something quite other, the arche-
types or patterns in the Divine mind, therefore pre-
existent to their concretion, or perfect or imperfect
realization. If any philosophy refuses to acknowl-
edge this prečxistence, it still finds the idea, or
schema, realized in the concrete object; and it is thus
separable for thought.
Plato's thought may be made to coalesce with
Hegel's, if these “ideas” are considered as determina-
tions of the absolute Idea in its progressive evolution,
never, in the process, perfectly realized, owing to the
principle of contradiction which has entered the
universe.
Hegel's Idea is the absolute Spirit, self-determined,
therefore free; independent, therefore infinite; self-
consistent, therefore necessary; not the absolute
; Spirit regarded as the sum of its immanent rela-
"tions, in its inexhaustibility, as having its ground
in itself, and therefore under no necessity for trans-
cendent objectification, but the Spirit regarded as
revealing itself, only known by such revelation com-
ing to expression in an hierarchy of forms. It is the
efficient force of the universe, not a blind force (for
neither nature nor any abstract thinking can show
us any such), and therefore intelligence and will;
realizing more and more of its essentiality in the
48 HEGEL's AESTHETICS.
inorganic, vegetable, animal, human worlds. Hegel
knows no absolute Spirit but as thus self-revealed,
makes this transcendent objectification a part of the
essence of the Divine Being, and thus breaks with
the biblical idea which holds to no necessity of self-
revelation, but regards creation as a free act, and the
universe as the outcome of the Divine glory, synthe-
sized by a loving will. In other words, in the former
, notion freedom is still a metaphysical necessity; in .
the latter, freedom in its perfection is a moral neces-
sity.
Thus the absolute Beauty would be the perfect
revelation in concrete forms to intelligences (who,
too, are the outcome of the Divine glory, when the
loving will has informed it), of the Divine Being in
essence and perfection, of the Trinity in unity,+ if
that were possible. The abstracted essence regarded
by the cold reason is the absolute Truth; that
essence shown to our mixed natures in the matériel
supplied by the Divine glory thus informed by love
and wisdom, and breaking into forms which do not
all conceal but manifest its freedom, is Beauty.
According to Hegel, the grades and degrees of
Beauty in the outer world, as perceived by us, are
dependent upon the less or more of the Idea exhibited
in them. All men, therefore, should be more beautiful
than animals, all animals than vegetable life, and
vegetable life than inorganic existence. But as even
human life, in its individual or social aspect, fails to
reveal the Idea perfectly, being full of contradictions
and inharmonies, therefore man, who aspires after
IBEAUTY IN THE CONCRETE. 49
the perfect, and will be content with nothing less
than the highest, eliminates all imperfection from
the Idea as he finds it reflected in his own mind, and
betakes himself to Art.
The common judgment is not wholly convinced by
this, and may insist upon its (partiál, at least) quali-
fication. If one admits any distinction between the
Beautiful and the agreeable, and we would define the
former, we must abstract the latter, if possible, from
the total subjective impression. In such a separation
in thought we find that in the latter the subject is
passive (so is the sensory constructed), while in the
former he is active. The soul goes out and coalesces
with the object, so that the object becomes the form
of its life for the time being. In this activity, then,
busy with the symbols of its own longed-for freedom,
is the essence and the secret of the emotion of the
Beautiful; and the characteristic, whether in nature
or in Art, so detected, is objective Beauty. Thus it
would appear that the more of the Idea to be re-
vealed, the keener and stronger imaginative activity
required, the more delight in such activity, the
intenser the emotion, the more or higher objective
Beauty. Were nature and human life developing
themselves normally, spontaneously, without cata-
clysms or contradictions, in a harmonious onward and
upward evolution, we should always have only pure
Beauty. But as this is not the case, and the de-
structive modes of physical force exist, and moral
evil obtrudes itself, and hinders and undoes the work
of good, therefore is freedom concealed, and beauty

4
50 HEGEL's AESTHETICS.
disguised and hidden, both in nature and in man,
and must be detected and drawn out by an imagina-
tive process. It exists side by side with the ugly and
the wicked. Exaggerations and conflicts exist in the
material world, and in the psychical and social, and
so there comes to exist the Sublime: and we may see
that Art occupies itself as much with the Sublime
and the Pathetic as with the properly Beautiful, and
has achieved in it some of its greatest triumphs.
If Beauty be the revelation of the free spirit, in
whatever realm, then what appears as the Beautiful
i in nature, in any form, must possess it, as well as
the Beautiful in Art. It cannot be, then, that in all
respects Art is superior to nature, and reveals more
of the Idea. If the Beautiful is the free, then nature
must be free, and what are called the laws of nature
are not metaphysical necessities, but simply the free
manifestation and the limitations of the absolute
Spirit to meet the needs and adapt itself to the com-
prehension and appreciation of the created and lim-
ited intelligence. If there are beauties in nature
greater in their kind than Art can attain to, then, in
this respect, nature is higher than Art; and the
absolute Spirit accomplishes more in dealing with its
own glory direct than when it works through the
mediation of the human imaginative soul. And this
seems to be true in all that pertains to light and
color, as purely such, in which Art never shows us
perfect work, though in form it seems to have divined
what nature intends, the idea with which she began,
and the reality that she will end with, and in this
13EAUTY IN THE CONCRETE. 51
respect Art may be said to be superior to nature.
This triumph of Art has its analogue in Ethic, where
human scrutiny finds in man's moral nature an out-
line of his ideal origin and his actual end.
In reply to the saying that Art is the work of
man, nature the work of God, Hegel says that God
reveals himself in man, and therefore the best of
man's works are the best of God's. This is true, but
God's revelation of himself in man receives a sub-
jective bias or coloring from the self-determining
being, and therefore his works may misrepresent
God, and be false. But indeed man's best works,—
the holy life, the sublime strength, the patient
endurance, when they are objects for the subjective
appreciation, do show the best of God, rather than
nature. Art does not reach this height, and mere
genius cannot realize these in Art with perfect
understanding and self-consistency. No mere ar-
tistic work could draw such a character as Jesus
Christ, and there is more in the saint than in any
picture of him, in colors or in words.
There are passages in Hegel which seem to show
his recognition of the truth that the emotion of the
Beautiful is the coalescence of the subjective soul
with the objective soul of the universe; as when he
- says, of the subject, “It becomes itself concrete in the
object because it takes knowledge of the unity of the
Idea and its reality'; but it is doubtful whether this
thought, in his mind, had any other application than
to the work of Art. Wherever this concretion occurs
it is by an imaginative activity, and Beauty is dis-
52 BEGEL’s AESTHETICS.
covered and felt only where freedom is discovered
and felt by the free soul. The mistakes and dis-
agreements in subjective and individual judgments
arise from not spontaneously or reflectively elimi-
nating the other elements of the complex conscious-
ness and leaving behind the pure elements of the
Beautiful. When Hegel speaks of the Beautiful in
nature it seems doubtful whether he has made this
analysis and elimination. He seems to have retained
the element of the agreeable, as when he speaks of
the beauty of a mere mass of color. If there then
be too low an appreciation of the Beautiful in
nature, and hence too high an exaltation of the
Beautiful in Art, these oversights will show them-
selves in his treatment of the same; and it may be
that the conclusion is too hastily reached that nature
cannot satisfy, and that Art must, seeing that in
modern experience Art can be turned from as cor-
rupting, and nature be resorted to as a refuge which
“never does betray the heart that loves her.”]
CHAPTER IV.
THE IDEAL IN ART.
E reach, now, Hegel's proper topic, the Beau-
tiful, or (which is the same with him), the
Ideal in Art. -
By the Ideal seems to be meant the Idea as so far
forth manifested, some stage in its evolution seized
in its unity. This, however, is always hinting of
something beyond, and to fix in enduring form this
Ideal is the mission of Art.
For example: in the human body the Idea appears
under the form of the reciprocity of the organs.
It manifests in each member but one particular
activity and one partial movement. But it may be
said that in the eye the soul concentrates its entire
self, and that it is not solely by the eye that it sees,
but also that by the eye it is seen. And Art may be .
represented in a similar manner, since it has for its
end to render the form by which it would represent
the Idea similar throughout its whole extent to the
eye which is the seat of the soul, and renders the
mind visible. But what is this soul which is thus
capable of shining through all the parts of the form?
Certainly we do not find it in inorganic nature, or
even in animated natures. In these everything is
finished, bounded, deprived of knowledge of itself
53 -
54 HEGEL's ASTHETICS.
and of freedom. It is in the development and life
of the spirit only that can be found the free
infinity which consists in its resting upon itself, in its
ability to return to itself in any and every manifes-
tation. In this only is true freedom, and until this
is acquired it must exist but as a limited force — a
character arrested in its development. Here we have
only a form devoid of true spirituality. To commu-
nicate to this finite and changing reality a true inde-
pendence and substantiality, to represent it in its
conformity to the Idea, is the mission of Art. Truth
in Art, then, does not consist in mere fidelity in the
imitation of nature. The real has been soiled by its
mixture with the accidental, and Art must eliminate
this defilement, and restore the contemplated object
to its harmony with its veritable Idea. Thus it flat-
ters nature, as they say painters do in their portraits.
And this, by the way, the portrait-painter ought to
do; he must disregard the insignificant and changing
accidents of the figure in order to seize and represent
the essential and permanent traits of the playsiog-
nomy, which are the expression of the original soul of
the subject; for it is exclusively the property of the
Ideal to put in harmony the exterior form with the
soul. But this spiritualization of the exterior reality
does not go so far as to present the generic under its
abstract form. It stops at the intermediate point,
where the form purely sensible and the pure spirit
find themselves in accord. The Ideal, then, is the
reality withdrawn from the domain of the particular
and the accidental, yet so that the spiritual principle
THE IDEAL IN ART. - 55
appears still as a living individuality. Schiller, in a
piece of verse entitled “The Ideal and Life,” opposes
to the real world, to its sorrows and its conflicts, the
silent and calm beauty of the “Sojourn of the
Shades.” This empire of shadows is the Ideal. The
spirits which belong there are dead to the real life,
detached from the needs of natural existence, deliv-
ered from all the bondage to external things, from all
the reverses and distractions inseparable from devel-
opment in the sphere of the finite. The culminating
point and essential trait of the Ideal is this calm,
full of serenity, this unchanging happiness. Every
ideal existence in Art appears to us as a kind of
happy divinity. Schiller's word is, “The Serious is
the property of Life; Serenity belongs to Art.” Yet
the Serious is not wanting from the Ideal, but pre-
cisely in the Serious serenity still rests as the funda-
mental character. This might of the individuality,
this triumph of liberty concentrated in itself, is what
we particularly recognize in antique Art; and this
is the case not only where the personage preserves
his calmness, as exempt from assault, but even where
the subject has been struck by one of those terrible
blows which shatter the entire existence. Thus, we
behold the tragic heroes succumb to destiny, but the
Soul retires back upon itself, and finds itself in all
its independence, when it says, It ought to be thus.
The man prostrated by destiny can lose his life, but
not his liberty. In Romantic Art, it is true, the
interior lacerations and the discords of the powers
of the soul are pressed much farther. In it the
56 HEGEL's AESTHETICS.
oppositions are, in general, more profound. Never-
theless, although grief penetrates deeper into the
soul than with the ancients, there is still represented
a joy in sacrifice, a blessedness in suffering, a delight
in grief, a happiness even in the martyrs. This
expression in Romantic Art has been called Laugh-
ter amid tears. Tears belong to sorrow, laughter to
serenity; and laughter amid tears betokens the inde-
pendence of the free soul amid suffering. Simple
lamentation, abandonment to tears, is displeasing.
To show the soul strong even in weeping is what
Art rightly deals with. And there is a laughter un-
worthy of Art, that which flatters its own vanity at
the sight of another's discomforts and miseries. How
differently we are affected by the laughter of the
gods in Homer, which wells out of their unalterable
felicity, which expresses their self-command and
Serenity, and is not a complete abandonment!
In discussing the question whether Art should
represent objects such as they are, or should glorify
and transfigure nature, Hegel makes these points.
The Ideal can be presented in something purely
exterior and formal. The topic may be completely
indifferent, or borrowed from common life, some-
thing that offers us but a passing interest. It is in
this that Dutch painting has produced effects so vari-
ous, in representing the fugitive situations of human
life. In their handling, these situations present
something more than the prosaic reality. It is a
sort of mockery — an irony by which the soul enjoys
the real world and its external forms. And Art may
THE IDEAL IN ART. 57
*
lift even insignificant objects to the form of their
ideality, and fix for duration that which in nature is
transitory—a smile which is effaced on the instant;
a ray of light which disappears; the fugitive traits of
the soul in common life. All the circumstances
which flit by and are forgotten Art lifts into reality,
and in this respect surpasses nature. A still higher
interest is created when Art so represents these com-
mon things as to widen their significance, to render
them members in an ideal unity. The Artist does.
not take, as to forms and modes of expression, all
that he finds in nature, and because he finds it there;
but if he would produce the truly poetic, he seizes
only the true traits, conformed to the idea of the
thing. When he would represent the human form,
he does not proceed as is done in the restoration of
old pictures, where they represent faithfully in the
places newly painted all the marks and corrugations
caused by the drying of the pigments and the warnish.
In the painting of portraits there is no attempt to
represent the network of the skin, or the marrings
it may have received from accident. Without doubt,
the muscles and the veins ought to be expressed, but
not marked with the same details and the same pre-
cision as in nature; for in all this the spirit goes
for little; but it is the expression which the soul has
that is the essential thing in the human form. Thus,
Homer's characterization does not busy itself with
things too small. The portrait of Achilles stops with
his principal traits.
Is there, then, any opposition between the Ideal
58 HEGEL's ASTHETICs.
and the natural, if the natural can become the form
of the spiritual, if nature in being idealized becomes
spiritualized? There are those who contend that the
natural forms in which the spirit appears, without
having been worked over by Art, are so beautiful,
and so perfect in themselves, that there is no ideal
beauty which can be thus distinguished from the
real: while others take ground precisely opposite.
As to this, it may be said that the forms under
which the spirit appears in the real world are
already only symbolic. All real as they are, they
are still ideal, and to be distinguished from nature
as such, which represents nothing of the spiritual.
[Is not this division of nature into the Ideal and
the Non-ideal something arbitrary, and is not the
seeming distinction owing to the limitation of our
faculties? Either all things are moving harmoni-
ously to a beautiful and consoling end, could we
only perceive it; or nature shows us both freedom
and struggle, the Beautiful and the Sublime, and
is everywhere symbolic. This difficulty could have
been overcome, had there been in Hegel's treatise a
fuller treatment of the Sublime.]
But Art can hardly find in the real world models
sufficiently expressive to meet all its requirements.
This is a mere question of fact and experience. But
however beautiful the natural face or form may be,
every artist whose aims are high finds himself
obliged to idealize. Something more than physical
beauty is required. The living individuality of the
subject must demand, in each case, a unique syn-
TEIE IDEAL IN ART. - 59
thesis. The Greek divinities are not mere repeti-
tions of each other. To give the relations of the
subject to his entire living environment, in which
consists his individuality, the artist must penetrate
beyond the mere outward appearance.
In this part of the book occurs an interesting
digression to show that drapery may receive and
partake of, enhance, or conceal the spiritual expres-
sion, which I will condense.
Both the ancient and the modern dress have for
their object to cover the body; but the clothing
represented in antique Art is a surface without
determined form; or if there is a peculiar shape, it
is only as having need to be attached somewhere, as,
for example, to the shoulders. In all the rest of its
extent it falls simple and free, abandoned to its
proper weight, or harmonizing with the positions,
the carriage or the movements of the body. Thus,
from this capacity to take all forms without pos-
sessing any in itself, it is eminently fitted to become
the movable expression of the soul, which manifests
itself and acts through the body. It is in this that
consists the Ideal in drapery. -
In our modern habiliments, on the contrary, the
entire stuff is fashioned once for all, measured, cut
and fitted to the shapes of the body, so that littlé
or nothing of it is left to float or fall freely. The
structure of the limbs compels the vestment to a
certain regularity, but it is always a bad imitation
of the human body, without counting that it varies
with the fashions and the caprice of the time,
CHAPTER W.
THE REALIZATION OF THE IDEAL
|UT now occurs the further question, how can
the Ideal, in passing into the exterior and
finite realm, preserve its proper nature; and how
can the external world, on its side, receive into
itself the ideal principle which constitutes Art?
The Divine is the center of the representations of
Art; but, considered in itself, in its absolute unity,
it escapes sense and imagination. It is therefore
that it is forbidden to Jews and Mahometans to offer
to the eyes any sensible image of the Divinity.
Here every career is closed for Art, since it has
essentially the need of concrete and living forms.
Lyric poetry only, in its soaring upward, can cele-
brate the Divine potence and sovereignty. But
man knows the Divine Being only in his transcen-
dent relations, and these are determinations. If
imagination can represent anything of these attri-
butes by sensible images, it becomes thereby a pro-
per subject for Art.
In the evolution of the idea of the Divine we find
that, historically, it divided and scattered itself into
a multitude of gods, who could enjoy an independent
and free existence, as in the Greek Polytheism; and
even from the Christian point of view God appears,
60
THE REALIZATION OF THE IDEAL. 61
in opposition to his purely abstract spiritual unity,
under the appearance of a true man. And besides,
the Divine principle can manifest and realize itself
under a determined form as residing in the depth of
the human soul, present in the heart of man, and
acting by his will; and then, in this sphere, men
filled with the Divine spirit, holy martyrs, saints,
and personages of exalted virtue, become also
proper subjects for Art. The Divine principle
shows itself, also, in the forms of human actiyity,
in the endeavors to realize the moral and social
ideal, and all the display of action and passion
exhibited in this endeavor Art may represent.
[Here the Ideal shows itself as struggling with
the real, overcoming its hardness and difficulty.
This is the region of the Sublime. Yet the objective
aim of the Ideal is to cease to be sublime, to trans-
mute combative strength into the strength of spon-
taneity, to lose itself in the higher form of the
Beautiful, which is in its perfection a still purer
form of the Ideal.]
The highest form for Art, then, shows itself when
the divinities of the old Polytheism, or when Christ,
the apostles, saints, or virtuous men, are represented
in that state of calmness and blessedness, and of
profound satisfaction, where all that belongs to the
terrestrial life, its needs, its bonds, and its opposi-
tions, affect them not. In this sense, Painting and
Sculpture, principally, have discovered the ideal
forms to represent the gods in their proper indivi-
duality, or Christ as the Redeemer of the world, and
62 HEGEL's AESTEIETICS.
the apostles and Saints as isolated personages. The
absolute Truth appears here as having retired into
itself, as not allowing itself to be fettered by any
bonds of the finite. This eternal, unalterable calm,
or this powerful repose, as it is represented, for
instance, in Hercules, constitutes, under a deter-
mined form, the Ideal as such. And even when the
gods are represented in their activity, they need not
however, descend from the dignity of their immu-
table character, and their inviolable majesty; for
Jupiter, Juno, Apollo, Mars, although determined
forces, are yet firm and unagitated at the base, pre-
serving their independence even when their activity
is outwardly exercised.
In a degree less elevated, and in the circle of
terrestrial and human life, the Ideal manifests itself
as determined, when one of the eternal principles
which fill the heart of man possesses the force to
rule all the inferior impulses of the same. Thus
sensibility and activity, notwithstanding their par-
ticular and finite character, are lifted above the re-
gion of the accidental. That which is called the
noble, the excellent, the perfect in human character,
is nothing else, in effect, than the veritable essence of
spirit, the moral and Divine principle which manifests
itself in man. But since this is a world of opposition
and confusion, the Universal Spirit, if it is to reveal
its activity in highest form, must pass out from its
repose, and show itself in the midst of, and as con-
trasted with, this discord and strife. What, then, in
THE REALIZATION OF THE IDEAL. 63
this world, which serves as the theater of its develop-
ment, will best serve the purpose of the Ideal?
As defined thus far the Ideal appears as a free
potency which relies only upon itself. The world,
to receive it into its bosom and permit it to develop
itself, should present the image of independent exis-
tence and freedom. If the ideal existence is to ap-
pear, then, under the form of a visible and immediate
reality, which form is determined by the onward
march of the world, it must necessarily be associated
with the accidental, or what appears to ordinary ob-
servation as such. The laws and customs of the
political state, and of social life, are regulated in a
mode independent of the individual will, and these
constitute a barrier which caprice finds itself obliged
to respect, or submit to, or overcome. If Art would
free itself from the restraint thus imposed, it must
fall back upon a more primitive condition of things,
in which the power is not thus abstract and diffused,
but resides still in individuals, who from the innate
force of their character dominate the social state in
which they live. Such a social condition is found in
what is called the heroic age. There we encounter
the indissoluble alliance of the two elements which
compose the Ideal,—the general and the particular
reunited and concentrated in strong individualities.
The true hero is not he who exhibits the virtus of
the Romans, which consists in sacrifice to the state,
but he who is capable of the Öpet) of the Greeks,
ho draws from himself, from his free spontaneity,
his personal sentiments, the principle of his

64 HEGEL’s AESTHETICS.
actions. Right and order do not govern them, but
emanate from them. Such is the idea the ancients
had of Hercules; and the heroes of Homer, though
they have a common chief, do not submit to his
authority from obligation, but freely. Nothing can
be less like a monarch than Agamemnon. The
heroic character does not hesitate to accept the con-
sequences of its actions. Even when, as with GEdi-
pus, the crime is involuntary, the culpability is
accepted and punished. He does not throw off his
faults upon another. This would be to confess weak-
ness. Nor does he, to escape responsibility, with-
draw himself from ties which bind him to the moral
world. The son regards himself as responsible for
the fault of his ancestor. Thus we see, easily, how
the ideal existences of Art have been so constantly
chosen from the mythologic ages. If the existing
age is chosen as the scene, the poet's work, if at all
idealized, wears the appearance of artificiality and
premeditation. And not only is that condition of
things suitable for the Ideal confined to certain de-
termined epochs, but Art also prefers for its person-
ages a particular rank, that of Princes; and this not
from any fondness for aristocracy, but on account of
the perfect liberty of will and action which obtains
in such rank. In the ancient Tragedy we find the
Chorus, which is something deprived of all individ-
uality, and representing the totality of the senti-
ments, ideas and passions of the epoch, and forming
a sort of plane upon which moves the action. Upo
this base are lifted the individual characters,

THE REALIZATION OF THE IDEAL. 65
personages who play an active rôle, who are the
chiefs of the people, or members of royal families.
The figures borrowed from the lower ranks, in what-
soever activity they share, appear to us unfree, re-
strained and hindered. An external necessity weighs
upon them. Behind them is the invincible force of
the civil order, against which they can do nothing,
and they are submitted to the will of powerful men
whose caprice is authorized by the laws. The con-
ditions and the characters taken from this sphere
are, in general, more proper for Comedy. The per-
sonages of Shakespeare, it is true, do not always
belong to the condition of Princes, and many of
them are taken from the historic epochs, but they
are placed in the midst of the civil wars, where the
bonds of the social order are relaxed or broken, and
the laws are without force; and in this environment
they find the liberty and independence needed in the
personages of Art. -
Thus the sphere of action for the purposes of Art
is limited. Our modern social life is quite unsuit-
able. Nevertheless, we see, as in the youthful pro-
ductions of Goethe and Schiller, the endeavor to
find in the bosom of modern society the independ-
ence so almost entirely lost; but their only resort for
such an end is in representing a revolt from the
social order, as in Charles Moor and Wallenstein.
But the moment that the legal status, in its prosaic
form, is resumed, the adventurous liberty of the
chivalrous personages finds itself out of place, and if
it attempts from individual authority to redress the
5
66 HEGEL’S AESTHETICS.
wrongs, it becomes ridiculous, as in Don Quixote.
Nevertheless, even in the heroic age the special
situation suitable for Art must be sought out. The
different Arts here are placed in unequal conditions.
Sculpture is very limited in its range compared with
painting, poetry, or music. There are three essen-
tial moments in the development of the situation.
1. The absence of situation, i.e., opposed to a deter-
mined situation; as when all relation to anything
exterior is wanting, and the subject is shut up in his
own unity, as in the ancient sculptures in the
temples. Egyptian sculpture, and the most ancient
Greek, furnish us the model for this absence of situa-
tion. And in Christian Art, God the Father and
Jesus Christ are represented often in the same
manner. So, too, the portraits of later time.
2. The situation deprived of all serious character.
Here it has moved away from its silent repose; the
image of supreme felicity has quitted that state of
inflexibility which announces an independent potency
concentered in itself. What characterizes this situa-
tion is, that it has no results; there is no opposition,
and hence no reaction. But, in its innocence, it
finds itself unembarrassed and ready for action. Art
makes use of this when it indicates some particular
end, some action in relation to external objects, yet
which still expresses the internal liberty of the sub-
ject, whose serene felicity remains untroubled. Such
is the situation of the Belvedere Apollo. The god,
after having slain with his arrows the serpent Python,
advances in all his nobility and grandeur, expressing
THE REALIZATION OF THE II) FAL. 6?
the sentiment of his victory by the disdain which
escapes from his lips. Of this kind is that of Venus
often, or of Cupid, Bacchus, the fauns and satyrs.
Similarly, it is this sort of situation which is adapted
to the purposes of lyric poetry. A particular senti-
ment can constitute such, and may be felt poetically,
and placed in relation with external circumstances,
soliciting the poet to clothe what he experiences,
and what is pressing upon his imagination, in an
artistic form. -
3. But the importance of situations can only com-
mence when there is an opposition between different
principles, that which constitutes a collision. A
collision has its origin in some violation which can-
not subsist as such, and which ought to disappear.
It is some change deranging the existing condition,
where, without it, harmony would reign, and which
calls for a new change. It is not yet an action, but,
nevertheless, may be the result of an anterior action,
as in the ancient Trilogies. These collisions have
need of a dénouement, which shall succeed the strife
of opposing powers. Such situations are availed of
chiefly by Dramatic Art. Sculpture gives only the
completed action, and painting one moment of action.
In dramatic poetry we have the whole development,
the discord, and the re-established harmony. These
situations, however, present a difficulty, and thus
afford the conditions for a triumph. The beauty of the
Ideal is in its unalterable unity, in its.absolute calm
and perfection. But the collision destroys this har-
mony, and throws the ideal into dissonance. The
68 HEGEL's ESTHETICs.
problem of Art is, in this strife, not to allow the free
beauty to perish, and yet to develop the opposition
in such wise that the harmony shall reappear at the
dénouement. How far this dissonance may be carried
will be determined by the requirements of each par-
ticular Art. That representation which is addressed
immediately to the mind can endure these heart-
rending scenes better than that which addresses the
senses. Here poetry has greatly the advantage over
painting, and still more over sculpture. It is shock-
ing in this last Art to maintain the hideous for
itself, if there is any means to neutralize the effect.
How this is neutralized in the case of the Laocoön
will appear later on. -
Even as to the actions themselves rendered neces-
sary by the collision, there is for Art but a limited
number. It can only run through the necessary
circle traced for it by the Idea. In this respect there
are three principal points to consider: (1) The
general potencies which constitute the basis and the
end of Art; (2) the development of these powers in
the persons of the individuals placed upon the scene;
and (3) when these two points of view unite to form
what we call character.
These general, universal and eternal potencies
constitute the spiritual in man. They are the essen-
tial impulses and needs of the human soul, which has
to develop itself individually and socially. They are
not God himself, but the children of the absolute
Idea, whence they derive the force which makes them
prevail in the world. Since they are determined
THE REALIZATION OF THE IDEAL. 69
they cannot but come in collision, but in spite of this
opposition they, each of them, enclose in themselves
Something essentially true. The grand motive prin-
ciples in Art are the principles of religion and
morality; of the family, the state, the Church; of
glory, friendship, etc.; and particularly in Romantic
Art, of honor and love. These principles differ, with-
out doubt, in the degree of their moral worth, but
all participate in rationality. There are, indeed, other
potencies which are opposed to these legitimate ones,
the potencies of evil or the negative principle; but
that which is purely negative cannot appear in the
ideal representation of action as the essential cause
of the reaction. The end of evil is something null,
and the contradiction of this, as an originating prin-
ciple, does not allow of a beauty pure in its form.
Cruelty, wretchedness, violence, are allowable in a
‘representation only when they are alleviated by the
grandeur of the character, and the end he has in
view. Perversity, envy, baseness, are only repul-
sive. The devil himself is a bad asthetic figure
with which Art has nothing to do, for he is deceit
itself, and thus a personage highly prosaic. The great
poets and artists of antiquity never present us the
spectacle of pure wickedness. *
[Art can only make wicked characters interesting
by letting be seen in them the evidence or the possi-
bility of something good, thus an inward collision.
Pure evil is empty, solitary, refusing all fellowship.
Milton's Satan has noble traits. There is a back-
ground of good in Iago. He is not without the
70 HEGEL's AESTHETICS.
craving for sympathy. Even Mephistopheles desires
fellowship in his negative attitude, and in his very
enjoyment of others' misfortunes betrays a profound
sympathy with them.]
Action, then, can only represent the Ideal as found
in the legitimate and true potencies which govern
the world. These should not appear, however, in
their abstract character, but clothed in the form of
individualities. But this ought not to be carried so
far as to convert these into mere arbitrary creations
of the imagination, and make of them existences
having no conscience of their individuality, for then
these general potencies fall into the labyrinth of
finite things. The Greek divinities, no matter in
what activities they are engaged, still maintain a
reserve of calm. They never go so far as to con-
center upon any one fixed end all their energy of
passion and perseverance of character, nor so far as
to be overwhelmed in defeat. They interpose here
and there in human affairs, embracing some particu-
lar cause. They allow the action to complete itself,
and retire again to enjoy their felicity upon the
summits of Olympus. - *
In modern Art there is also to be seen the con-
ception of these potencies, determined yet general.
However, these are, for the most part, pale and cold
allegories of hate, envy, ambition, faith, hope, love,
etc., personifications in which we have no belief. In
a true work of Art we are truly interested when the
sentiments of the human heart show themselves in a
concrete and living manner. These abstractions
THE REALIZATION OF THE IDEAL. 71
have no reality in themselves. Even the angels have
no independent existence, as have Mars or Apollo.”
The imagination represents them, it is true, but only
as ministers of the Divine potency, which dissemi-
nates itself throughout these subordinate instru-
mentalities. In Art they are these, or they identify
themselves completely with human affairs.
While it concerns itself only with the higher
potencies which appear under the form Divine, Art
can easily maintain itself under the conditions of
the Ideal, but as soon as the action commences, a
difficulty arises. Although these potencies give the
impulse to the action, this is still human action. We
have here two terms to conciliate. On the one side
these potencies, in their independent and abstract
existence; on the other, the human individualities,
who have not only to act, but to deliberate and
resolve. Though these eternal powers, which govern
the world, are immanent in the soul of man, and
constitute the essence of his character, they appear
outside the subject and in relations external to him.
If they are represented as independent, irresistible
powers, entirely external, all is prosaic. The god
orders, the man can but obey, and the heroic charac-
ter disappears. The greatest poets have not escaped
entirely this fault, as in the dénouement of the
Philoctetus of Sophocles, or where, in the Iliad,
Mercury conducts Priam to the feet of Achilles, and
* Hegel does not seem to have studied carefully Milton's Paradise
Lost, or he would have noted his attempt to make angelic characters
concrete and living.
#2 HEGEL's AESTHETICs.
elsewhere. The Epos may have larger liberty in this
matter than the Drama, but the poet should ever use
it with extreme caution, for this situation has the
absurd consequence that the poet's heroes are no
heroes. -
In the true poetic conformity to the Ideal, the
identity of gods and men should be perceived and
maintained. That which is attributed to the gods
ought, at the same time, to appear to emanate from
the intimate nature of the individual, so that the
superior powers which dominate the action, though
personified and individualized, yet show themselves
present in the mind of the man, and as constituting
his character. The heart of man reveals itself in
his gods, who are general forms, personifications of
the grand motives which solicit him and govern him
in the depths of his soul: as when we hear said by the
ancients that Venus and Love have subjected the
heart of some one to their empire. Love is, indeed,
a potency exterior to man, but is also a passion which
belongs to man himself. The Eumenides are aveng-
ing furies which pursue, externally, the murderer,
but they are also the internal fury which inhabits
the guilty heart. In Homer, the action of the gods
is so contrived as to seem to come at the same time
from within and from without, as when Achilles, in
the heat of the dispute with Agamemnon, would
draw his sword against him, Minerva advances
behind him and, visible only to the hero, seizes him by
his sunny locks. Juno, who was interested equally
in both, had sent her, and her coming seems entirely
THE REALIZATION OF THE IDEAL. 73
independent of the feeling which Achilles is experi-
encing at the moment. But it is easy to be seen, on
the other hand, that Minerva, who thus suddenly is
present, is only that same Second and prudential
thought which arrests the fury of the young warrior
in an internal manner, and that the entire scene is a
process in the heart of Achilles.
Christian subjects are, in this respect, less happy
than those of antique Art. In the sacred legends of
Christendom, the apparition of Christ, or the Saint,
is furnished, it is true, by the current belief, and
may be adequately treated in accordance with this
canon of criticism; but, besides this, we see intro-
duced a crowd of fantastic beings, sorcerers, spectres,
etc., powers strange to man, having no correspond-
ence in his nature, and that he, without power to
resist their enchantments, is perpetually their dupe
and their sport. They are only absurd conceptions,
which have no right to enter a representation that
has a high poetic aim. The artist should never for-
get that his characters, to awaken the highest dra-
matic interest, should never lose their freedom, and
the independence of their determinations. Shake-
speare is not at fault in this respect. The witches
in Macbeth appear, indeed, as powers who decide in
advance the destiny of the prince, but that which
they predict is but the most secret and personal
desire of his own heart, which is thus, by the poet,
objectified. The apparition of the ghost in Hamlet,
considered solely as a form of presentiment in Ham-
74 HEGEL's AESTHETICs.
let himself, has still more beauty and a profounder
truth.
We should distinguish, for the heroic character,
between passion and pathos. Passion always brings
with it the notion of something passive, hence low
and contemptible. We exact that a man, to win our
respect, must not allow himself to be driven by his
passions. Pathos, on the contrary, excludes all
motion of the interested or the blameworthy. The
sacred love of Antigone for her brother is an exam-
ple of pathos, in the Greek signification of the term.
It is conceived as a power of the soul, essentially
good and just, and which implies the eternal princi-
ples of reason and free will. So Orestes does not
kill his mother by one of those movements of the
soul which we denominate a passion, but the pathos
which drives him to this action is a motive not less
clear than legitimate. We cannot, however, attribute
pathos to the gods. If they descend into human
quarrels and combats, there is either, as we have
said before, nothing profoundly serious in their par-
ticipation, or else these combats are to be taken in an
allegorical sense, as a general war among the gods
themselves. Pathos, them, should be presented only
as a motive in the actions of men. But thus it
belongs to the true domain of Art. It strikes a
chord existing in the heart of every man, and he
responds with sympathy, more or less. And all the
exterior surroundings, the apparatus of forms bor-
rowed from nature, should correspond, and be used
as accessory means to sustain the pathetic principle.
THE REALIZATION OF THE IDEAL. 75
,”
Thus nature may be employed as essentially symbolic.
Landscape, for example, though a kind of Art inferior
in kind to historic painting, may be made to echo
the common sentiment, and to produce a pathetic
impression.
Pathos, in its living activity, is character. This
unites in itself all the moments spoken of hitherto,
and may be considered under three different aspects:
(1) As an individual embracing a totality of quali-
ties, which constitutes richness of character. (2)
This totality ought to appear under a particular
form. The character should be determined. (3)
Character, as being a unity, is thus the outgrowth
of, if not identical with, the particular idea or schema
of the personality. Limits not to be transcended and
fixity are the consequence.
The heart of man is something grand and vast.
In his consciousness he carries many sides; indeed,
all the powers which form the circle of divinities.
Thus, as the Greek mind developed, and they knew
more of man, their gods multiplied, and at the same
time became more fragmentary, less distinct, and
deprived of individual freedom. Character in Art
may derive from the same fecundity. If a nature
is represented as complete and personal, yet absorbed
in a sole passion, it appears either feeble or perverse.
In Homer, for instance, Achilles is the youngest
hero, but his juvenile force lacks none of the human
qualities, and this rich multiplicity is developed in
situations the most diverse. He loves his mother
Thetis. He weeps over the robbery of Briseis. His
76 HEGEL’s AESTHETICS.
!
wounded honor drags him into a quarrel with Aga-
memnon. He is the faithful friend of Patroclus; —
and yet a young man impetuous and fiery, swift in
the race, brave, yet full of respect for old age. It is
the same with the other Homeric characters. Each
of them is entirely complete, a world in itself, each
a living humanity, and not a kind of allegorical ab-
straction of some particular trait. Such a multi-
plicity can alone give vitality to a character, but all
these elements should appear reunited, and related
so as to form one sole subject, and not a mere disin-
tegrated crowd of diverse tendencies. The charac-
ter should penetrate all the various traits of the
human heart, show itself there, but not exhaust
itself in any particular trait, preserve in this group
of interests, motives, qualities, an idiosyncratic per-
sonality, never inconsistent with itself. For this
complete characterization epic poetry is the fittest.
2. But Art is not confined to thus representing
the character in the totality of its elements. Since
it is concerned here with the Ideal in its determina-
tion, the character may be, also, particular; that is,
some particular sentiment may form the predomi-
nant trait. Dramatic poetry, especially, exacts this
particularity. The whole potentialities need not to
be developed, as they may be in the Epos, but may
remain implicit. Dramatic interest requires that the
personage shall have some fixed purpose to which
relate all his resolutions and actions. If, however,
this simplicity be carried so far as to give us a void
in the individual, in order to leave room for nothing
THE REALIZATION OF THE IDEAL. 77
more than the abstract form of some sentiment, as
love, honor, etc., then all vitality, all personality is
lost. The representation becomes cold, dry, and
poor. Some principal element ought, rather, to ap-
pear as dominant, but at the same time not to ex-
clude the fecundity of life. The field should be left
so free, that the individual may show himself in sit-
uations numerous enough to develop or, at least,
furnish a hint of the potentialities of a cultivated
nature, one constructed on a scale grand enough to
be interesting. The personages of Sophocles present
this lofty vitality, notwithstanding the simplicity of
the sentiment which is made predominantly actuating.
One might compare them, in the perfection of their
plastic beauty, to the creations of Sculpture. For
Sculpture can likewise, while preserving its unique
character, express its thought in a multiplicity of
elements. In opposition to the principal passion
which exhibits itself as the chief point of interest, it
represents, it is true, all the internal forces in their
repose; but this unalterable unity need not be bound-
ed by the one simple passion in question. It allows
to be seen, in its beauty, the possibility of the display
of other proclivities. In painting, poetry and music
it is still more needful that this interior multiplicity
should be represented, or implied. Thus, in Romeo
and Juliet, love is their predominant passion, but they
develop in the divers situations in which they are
placed, and in their connections with the other per-
sonages of the drama, a crowd of other qualities which
reveal the depth and richness of their characters.
78 HEGEL’S ASTHETICS.
But these are still penetrated and unified by one sole
sentiment, by the force of the love which has taken
possession of them, and which appears as a limitless
sea, so that Juliet can say,+“The more I give, the
more I possess.” To the reasoning faculty such a
diversity, notwithstanding the domination of a unique
element, may appear an inconsequence. It may
ask,+ how can Achilles, who shows so tender a heart
to a father and a friend, have such a cruel thirst for
vengeance as to drag the body of Hector around
the walls of Troy? But in the regard of reason
itself, which seizes things in their complete nature,
this inconsequence is the consequent and the true
itself; for this man is precisely so made that this
very contradiction arises from the synthesis of his
traits. -
But the character should, none the less, identify
with its proper personality the particular idea which
it represents. This one sentiment should draw all
other traits to itself, and tinge them with its own
coloring. If there is any incoherence, the multi-
plicity of traits loses all meaning. To accomplish
this self-consistent and sustained unity is the pre-
rogative and the triumph of Art.
Some productions of modern times sin against this
principle. In the “Cid” of Corneille we find in in-
dividuals simply an internal combat in which pas-
sage is made arbitrarily from one sentiment to an-
other, with no effort to make them consist with each
other.
3. But inasmuch as this character, all complete in
THE REALIZATION OF THE IDEAL. 79
himself, is to enter into external relations, what pos-
sibilities and what limits do the laws of Art require
for this? On all sides the Ideal comes in contact
with the common reality, with all the prose of life.
If one should adopt, on this subject, the nebulous
conception of the Ideal held by some in modern
times, one might think that Art ought to rupture all
connection with the world of the relative and the
finite, under the pretext that what belongs to the
external reality is something completely indifferent,
and in its opposition to the internal world, some-
thing low and trivial. In this sense Art should be
regarded as a spiritual power which lifts us above
the needs of life, and liberates us from all depend-
ence. But to attain such an end as this, one must
retire into the internal world of conscience, and there,
in an absolute inaction, full of himself, and of his
own lofty wisdom, turn his regard unceasingly toward
the heavens, and affect, or attempt to despise, terres-
trial things. But the Ideal cannot rest in a sphere
so vague. Its central essence is activity. Man is a
living being, rich and interesting only in the num-
ber and variety of his active relations. Art must
seize this activity, not in a general manner, but ex-
hibit it so determined as to bring about a reaction.
To explicate the manner in which it should deal
with this necessity, we have these three different
points of view: (1) the abstract form of the exter-
nal reality; (2) the accord of the Ideal in its con-
crete existence with this external reality, and (3)
80 HEGEL's AESTHETICS.
the external form of the Ideal in its relations with
the public. .
1. A work of art represents the Ideal by a deter-
mined situation, a particular action, and in an indi-
vidual character, and all addressed to the senses.
Thus is created a new world, the world of Art. As
thus to be externally represented, it finds itself under
the same laws which are detected in the Beautiful in
nature, e. g., regularity, symmetry, and conformity
to law. Regularity and symmetry, in their abstract
character, however, contrast with the vitality which
lifts itself in its perfect freedom above the necessity
of such symmetry. In music, for instance, regularity
is concealed, or sunk to become the basis of the whole.
In architecture, it and symmetry become the essen-
tial aims. The edifice does not claim to be complete
in itself. It exists for another than itself, for whom
it serves as a dwelling or an ornament, whether man
or the statue of the god. It ought not, then, to monop-
olize all the attention upon itself, and its regularity
and symmetry are aids to the mind to comprehend
its design and meaning. (There is no question here
about the symbolic forms with which architects may
ornament their edifices.) It is the same in the Art
of Landscape; for in gardens, as in edifices, man is
the principal thing. So, too, regularity and sym-
metry may find place in painting, in the manner of
grouping the figures; but in this Art, life and mind
may penetrate still more profoundly the exterior
manifestation, and as this Art advances, it is less
bound by these laws. In Music and Poetry, again,
THE REALIZATION OF THE IDEAL. 81
regularity and symmetry resume, their importance.
The physiological limitations of sound furnish a
bound which cannot be passed. Things contiguous
in space can all be seen in the same glance of the
eye; but in time the existing moment expires upon
its successor. The regularity of measure has for its
end to give some fixity for the imagination to these
temporal moments. There is in measure a magic
power from which we can so little defend ourselves,
that often, without knowing it, we mark the cadence.
Indeed, this return of the same intervals after a
fixed rule is not merely something that belongs to
sounds and their duration in themselves. Simple
Sound, and Time in itself, are indifferent to this
regular mode of division and repetition. Measure
appears, then, as a pure creation of the spirit. It
awakens the consciousness and the immediate certi-
tude of something essentially subjective, of our iden-
tity and our interior unity, which reveal themselves
to us in all variety and multiplicity of phenomena.
Measure finds thus an echo in the depth of the soul.
Nevertheless, it is not as the expression of the spirit
that sounds, in this relation, move us so profoundly,
nor is it only as simple sounds. It is rather this
abstract unity imparted by imagination that responds
to the unity of the subject himself.
The same principle applies to the measure of the
verse, and the rhyme, in Poetry. Regularity and
symmetry are here the law which presides at the
arrangement of the words, and this external form
is absolutely necessary. Indeed, the sensible ele-
82 HEGEL’S AESTHETICS.
ment here finds and claims its proper sphere and
function, and shows itself to be something quite
other than the expression of common sentiments, for
which the duration of sounds is something indiffer-
ent or arbitrary.
Regularity and symmetry belong solely to the
category of quantity. That which does not belong
to this has no need of these laws and restraints.
Harmony, for instance, does not belong to quantity.
It has its principle in the differences which belong
essentially to quality. These differences, instead of
maintaining their opposition toward each other,
ought to form an accord among themselves. In
music, the relation between the tonic, the mediant,
and the dominant is not purely a relation of quan-
tity. The difference resides essentially in the sounds
themselves, which nevertheless harmonize together
without allowing their determined character to be
exhibited in the form of a sharp contrast and dis-
agreeable opposition. On the contrary, the disso-
nances have to be reconciled. The same is true in
the harmony of colors. Art requires that in a pic-
ture they shall not be associated in the form of a
mere motley, nor so combined that their opposition
is effaced. They ought to be so conciliated that the
entire expression should reveal an accord full of
unity. Thus is harmony capable of expressing the
Ideal in a form still more spiritual.
2. The accord of the concrete Ideal with the ex-
ternal reality (man with nature) may be considered
under three different points of view. First, it may
THE REALIZATION OF THE IDEAL. 83
appear simply as an internal relation, a hidden bond
uniting man with his environment. Secondly, it
may appear as emanating from the human activity,
and as produced by it. Lastly, the world created by
the spirit of man may constitute in its turn a com-
plete system which, in its real existence, shall form
a totality of external objects with which the indi-
viduals who move upon this theater should be in
harmony. -
(1.) The environment of the ideal person does not
appear here as the creation of the human spirit, but
only as external nature. Physical nature shows us a
form determined in all its relations. These, its rights,
should mot be contemned in a work of Art, but should
be given with scrupulous fidelity; which can be done
without disregarding the difference between the real
and the ideal. In general, the great masters thus
represent nature. Homer, though he gives us noth-
ing representing modern descriptions of nature, does
make of the Scamander, or the Simois, of the shores
and the gulfs of the sea, pictures so exact that this
same country has been in our day recognized as
geographically similar to that in his description.
The particular Arts are, of course, here bound by
the capabilities of the material with which they deal.
Sculpture, on account of the repose and less richly
determined character of its figures, cannot here at-
tain the same degree of particularization with the
other Arts. The environing nature can only be
given in the drapery, the ornaments of the hair, the
arms, the support, etc.
84 HEGEL's ASTHETICs.
Lyric Poetry, opposed in this respect to Sculpture,
represents only the interior sentiments of the soul.
When, then, it would employ the images of external
nature, it has no need to make an exact and detailed
description. The Epos, on the contrary, recounting
positive facts, the places where they have occurred,
and the manner of their doing, is, of all kinds of
Poetry, most obliged to make precise descriptions of
the localities of its scenes. Likewise Painting, evi-
dently, can go farther than all the other Arts in this
particularization.
However, this external fidelity ought not to be
carried, in any Art, so far as to reproduce the prose
of nature, or lose itself in a mere servile imitation.
It is still less permitted to the artist to make it his
chief object, and to subordinate to it the personages
and the circumstances of the action. The exterior,
here, should appear only in its harmony with the
interior element, and not as an independent exis-
tence. [Against this canon many modern landscapes
sin; in which intensest human action is subordinated
intentionally to the impression given to the sur-
rounding nature. If the interest intended is in the
human activity, the environment should not be over-
whelming, but only used to harmonize with the ac-
tion and heighten the human interest. If the land-
scape is the chief thing, the figures in it should be
small, and placed mainly in passive rather than in
active attitudes, or, at any rate, as drawn by the pre-
dominant nature into a kind of physical accord.]
An exquisite adjustment of the two elements is
THE REAf.IZATION OF THE IDEAL. .85
here required, and is possible, for which no rules can
be given, but which, when existing, is readily recog-
nized. The Arab makes but one with the nature
which environs him, with his skies, his stars, his
burning deserts, his camels, and his horse. There
is no home for him but in this climate, under this
Sll Iſl. *
(2.) But the environing nature can also be given as
the result of human activity and intelligence. Man
may humanize much that environs him. He may show
that whatever exists on the planet was made for him,
and is incapable, in the face of him, of preserving an
existence entirely independent. Man is, indeed, de-
pendent upon nature, but this dependence, this limi-
tation of freedom, is incompatible with the Ideal.
To be the object of the representations of Art, man
ought to be freed from this bondage. This concili-
ation can be made in two ways. Nature can be
shown as in peace with man, his friend, and herself
furnishing liberally whatever he demands, and in-
stead of arresting or hindering him, as everywhere
forestalling his wishes. Or, Man may be repre-
sented as procuring by his own proper activity what-
ever he needs, as appropriating nature for his de-
signs, as smoothing away her obstacles by his genius
and skill, and thus as transforming the external
world and making it suitable to his requirements.
The conciliation is most perfect when the industry
of man is seconded by nature, and in place of a con-
flict which makes prominent the dependence of both,
both present the spectacle of a happy accord. From
86 HEGEL's ASTHETICS.
this point of view misery and want ought to be ban-
ished from the domain of Art, without, however,
effacing completely the necessities of human life, for
these are the conditions of finite existence, and Art
cannot escape from the finite. Her task is solely to
efface the contradiction in idea, to conciliate the phy-
sically evil with the true and the good. Man gives
to the gods themselves his clothing and his arms.
He represents, them as submitted to the needs of ter-
restrial existence, and as not disdaining to satisfy
them. This principle, profoundly apprehended, pre-
sents two distinct points of view.
First,--The objects of nature can be employed to
satisfy a need purely contemplative. The ornaments
of the human person, or the magnificence which may
be made to surround him, find here their place. He
lets it be seen, then, that all which nature furnishes
as most precious and beautiful, most capable of
arresting regard, gold, precious stones, ivory, rich
vestments, have nothing interesting in themselves,
but draw their value from something that he loves
and reverences. He chooses for this effect, princi-
pally, that which already possesses in itself an exter-
. nal beauty,+ colors brilliant and pure, the polished
and resplendent surface of metals, fine woods, mar-
ble, etc. The temples of the gods and the palaces
of monarchs everywhere illustrate this pomp and
splendor. The peoples delight to behold in their
divinities the spectacle of their own riches; they
love to contemplate the magnificence which sur-
rounds their princes, because it is their own, and
THE REALIZATION OF THE IDEAL. 87
they have but lent it. One might, indeed, complain
of this sort of costly play on moral grounds. All
this, it may be said, might have been given to the
poor. In times of great need it has been often so
given. Art is very costly. How much wealth is
paying no money interest in the great galleries!
But, after all that might be said of this kind, it is
to be remembered that the moral and the pathetic
only produce their effect upon man when he is re-
minded of the miseries and necessities of life, the
very things which it is required that Art should
withdraw from his consideration. The glory of a
people is to be had precisely at this price, that it has
consecrated its treasures to a species of delights
which are lifted above the sphere of need, and claim
for themselves a noble prodigality.
Secondly,– Besides this ornamental function, the
external things are used by man for practical ends.
This is the prose of existence. How far, then, may
this be represented conformably to the exigencies
of Art? The most natural and simple manner by
which art has sought to escape this class of physical
needs is the conception of the age of gold, or the
idyllic state. Here nature supplies man's wants with-
out giving him pain, or requiring labor; and he, on
his side, contents himself with what she supplies. All
the passions which are born of ambition and avarice,
and which degrade a more advanced social state,
are now slumbering and silent. At first glance such
a situation has an ideal color, and certain limited
ranges of Art may be content with it; but on closer
88 HEGEL's ASTHETICs.
survey such an existence seems a little wearisome.
Man cannot rest in this narrow and poor field for
his capacities. He is born for work, and whatever
be the end toward which any natural impulse may
propel him, he ought to seek to gain it by his own
free activity solely. Thus man's physical needs
may claim a larger sphere than the Idyll allows.
They may be used to exhibit his internal force,
and his highest faculties. Nevertheless, the har-
mony of the external and the internal must not be
sacrificed. There is nothing more repulsive in Art
than to show physical need carried to its utmost
extremity. Dante, for instance, speaking of the
death of Ugolino from the torments of hunger, de-
scribes it in two thrilling strokes, while Gersten-
berg, in his tragedy of the same name, enlarges and
revels in all the possibilities of horrid description.
Our highly complicated social state is very unsuit-
able for the realization of the Ideal. The state, the
party, is everything, the individual is little or
nothing. The existing condition must be broken up
ere there is room for the display of the heroic.
Something between the idyllic state and that of ad-
vanced civilization is most suitable for the purposes
of Art. In such epochs man is not reduced to the
poverty of interests and intellectual enjoyments
which characterizes the world of the Idyll. He is
moved by passions more profound, he pursues ends
more elevated, yet the objects which touch him, and
serve for his needs, are his own proper work. His
nourishment is simple, and thus less prosaic (milk,
THE REALIZATION OF THE IDEAL. 89
honey, wine, etc.); while such beverages as tea, coffee
and liquors remind us of the complicated processes
needful to bring them to our lips. The heroes them-
selves slay the animal, and cook it, which is to serve
for their feast. They break the horse which they
are to mount. They themselves make all the arms
and implements they use, or, at least, know how
they should be made. Thus man recognizes in all
which serves for his use his own proper creations.
Yet this productive activity, which gives to material
objects a form appropriate to his needs, need not
appear as a painful effort, but rather as an easy and
agreeable labor, which encounters no obstacle, and
which failure never disheartens. In Homer we find
just such a state of things. The scepter of Agamem-
mon is a staff which his ancestor had cut and trans-
mitted to his descendants. Ulysses had fashioned
with his own hands his nuptial couch, and if the
arms of Achilles are not of his own workmanship,
yet the numerous and complicated details of their
fabrication had been laid out beforehand for Vulcan
to execute. We see everywhere the freshness and
joy of a novel possession, the fruit of one's own
proper skill. Thus all these material objects are
lifted above the level of common things, and are
penetrated by spirituality.
(3.) But there is still another order of external
realities which environ the individual, and with
which he is obliged to live in intimate relation;
those, namely, which constitute the moral world,—
religion, laws, manners, mode of social organization,
90 HEGEL’s AESTHETICS.
the state, the family, public and private life; for the
ideal character must not be represented as satisfying
physical needs solely, but in the pursuit of the
proper interests of the world of spirit, by which he
is closely bound. How Art may keep itself in har-
monious accord, here, will be considered in another
part of this work.
CHAPTER WI.
ART IN RELATION TO THE PUBLIC.
OWEVER harmonious and complete a work
of Art may be in itself, it does not exist for
itself, but for the public which contemplates and
enjoys it. The actors in a drama do not speak
solely to themselves, but also to the spectators whom
they seek to inform. And in a work of Art of any
kind there is between it and the man in face of it a
kind of dialogue. Doubtless, the true Ideal, dealing
with universal passion, is intelligible to all the
world; but nevertheless the exterior setting in a
work of Art must be so treated as to be intelligible
to its particular audience. Artists almost always
borrow their subjects from the past, finding in that
the great advantage of addressing themselves to
memory, which furnishes matter in that character of
generality of which Art has need. But the artist
still belongs to his own time, of which he shares the
ideas and the manners. The exterior forms of a
past civilization, from which he has borrowed his
matter, may be treated objectively, that is, in strict
conformity to what they were in themselves, in his-
toric reality; or subjectively, that is, adapted to the
intellectual culture, the manners, and the whole spirit
of the epoch in which the work of Art is produced,
91
92 HEGEL's AESTHETICS.
These two principles carried out exclusively, conduct
to two extremes equally false. In the conciliation
of the two, only, is to be found the true mode of
artistic representation. - -
The subjective mode, when exclusive, takes away
from the past its real and original form, and in the
stead substitutes the present manner of conceiving,
reserving only the nomenclature of the past. This
fault may arise from ignorance of the past, or doubt-
fulness, in the artist, of his own correct knowledge
of it, or inability to perceive the inconsistency. The
highest degree of this kind of nåiveté is to be found
in the works of Hans Sachs, who makes of our Lord,
of God the Father, of Adam and Eve, and the patri-
archs, very fresh and lively portraits, but they are
still only in the guise of the burgesses of Nuremberg.
God the Father instructs the children of Adam after
the manner of a modern schoolmaster.
This mode of dealing with the subject may come
not only from ignorance, but from a cause precisely
opposite,_ from the conceit, which over-refined yet
not profound culture produces, of the supreme excel-
lence of the present mode of thinking and speaking;
a kind of fault much to be found among the French.
Everything but the contemporary style is thought to
be in bad taste and barbarous. Hence the classic
French authors have felt or affected disgust for all
alien literature, and have only with difficulty famil-
iarized themselves with Shakespeare. In order to
make his dramas acceptable to the French public,
they had to be retrenched and corrected to be adapted
ART IN RELATION TO THE PUBLIC. 93
to this taste. And in Voltaire we find heroes of the
Chinese, Americans, Greeks or Romans, all speak-
ing like French courtiers. Achilles, in Racine's
Iphigenia in Aulis, talks and acts like a French
prince. He has nothing of Achilles but the name.
And history has often been written in France, not
so much for historic truthfulness in itself, as in the
interest of the existing situation, to give a lesson to
the rulers, or to satirize the government.*
In the objective mode, on the contrary, the effort
is to revive the past, to preserve as much as possible
its original and local character by reproducing all its
details. The Germans have been partial to this
mode, and have traced with great exactness the
usages of different ages and peoples. They have
had the necessary patience to identify themselves,
through careful study, with the modes of thinking
and feeling of other nations, and have found interest
in noting minute facts. But in Art, this mode, if
exclusive, gives us only the form, and leaves out of
view the soul of the whole, as well as disregards the
degree of intellectual culture and the special feeling
of the immediate spectators. How, then, may both
these requirements be put in satisfactory accord, and
the work be both objective and subjective?
The historic exactitude ought to be the subordi-
nate element, and so dealt with as to adapt the whole
performance to all times, and many kinds and degrees
of culture. Yet this, too, has its limitation, and if
* Certainly, during the last two decades French literature and
Art have largely emancipated themselves from this narrowness.
94 HEGEL’S AESTHETICS.
carried too far, and adapted to too ordinary capacity,
the work will become prosaic. The past may be so
studied as to bring out its deeper characteristics,
which find sympathy with the more limited and highly
cultured audience. Thus, since the study of ancient
literature, Art and religion form the basis of our
modern education, already at school we become ac-
quainted with the Greek divinities, and the fabled
heroes, and principal historic figures, and we can
share the ideas and interests of these, at least in
imagination. And in the religious conceptions of
all peoples there is something common, which we can
detect and feel. But the determined element in these
religious conceptions is something that has become
foreign to our modern consciousness. We have no
interest in invocations to Jupiter, or in oracles and
visions. And the past, in history, does not interest
us as such. To become ours it must connect itself
somehow with our own time, so that we can regard
the present as its continuation, and the whole course
of events as an unbroken chain. In the poem of
the Niebelungen we are on the soil of our common
country, but the characters are so out of all connec-
tion with our actual civilization, that even with the
greatest erudition we do not recognize ourselves
therein any more than we do in the poems of Homer.
Works of Art should not be composed to furnish
objects requiring erudition. They ought to be imme-
diately comprehended and enjoyed, without all this
apparel of knowledges more or less strange. Art is
not destined for a little privileged circle of Savants,
ART IN RELATION TO THE PUBLIC. 95
but for the entire people, for the common heart, or
at least for ordinary culture. We should feel our-
selves at home in it, and not in a strange and unin-
telligible world. Subjects, then, borrowed from the
past ought to be treated in harmony with the ideas
of the present. All national subjects with which
we have not yet lost our sympathy may be so treated.
The Indian Epics, the Songs of Homer, the Dramatic
Poetry of the Greeks, the Cid of the Spaniards, the
Jerusalem Delivered of Tasso, the Lusiad of Camoens,
the historic plays of Shakespeare, and Voltaire's
Henriade, were such. But Art may go beyond these,
since the nations communicate with each other, and
as time goes on are more and more closely tied.
But if the poet will bring far-off ages into our
presence, the historic side should be subordinated to
the fundamental idea, and appear in itself only
accessory, as simply destined to express the common
human nature.
The thing to be attained is to make the idea im-
mediately comprehensible, so that any people may
recognize it with equal ease. It is in this spirit of
nationality that Shakespeare has given to the many
foreign subjects of which he has treated the impress
of the English character, while at the same time
preserving the historic traits of the other peoples.
The Greek tragedians had in their minds the time
in which they lived and the city to which they
belonged. The GEdipus Tyrannus is an Athenian
tragedy, and the Eumenides of Æschylus had a
national interest.
96 HEGEL’S AESTHETICS.
The Greek Mythology, notwithstanding the con-
stant use of it, has never, since the renaissance of
letters, been able to seem natural. It seems almost
absurd that a modern sculptor should give us a
statue of Venus, or a poet a poem in her honor.
To be interesting to the common heart, the artist
must use this far-off material only as the framework
or outline of his pictures, and his aim should be to
put the fundamental idea in harmony with the spirit
of the age and the genius of his nation. But the
necessity of doing this does not impose upon the
different Arts precisely the same conditions. Lyric
Poetry, for instance, may dispense most easily with
the historic accessories, because its principal aim is
to express the movements. of the soul. The Epos, on
the other hand, is that sort which requires the most
ample reproduction of the same. Here the historic
particulars themselves, if they can be clearly re-
counted, interest us most vividly. But this external
element is a dangerous rock for Dramatic Poetry;
and for the purposes of representation in the theatre
it is often necessary to retrench and modify, for the
people will not endeavor to understand what is out
of their sympathy. - -
In this necessity to adapt the past to contemporary
needs is the excuse for what is called anachronism.
But this need not go beyond the mere external cir-
cumstances. When Falstaff speaks of pistols, that is
indifferent. The fault would be more grave if Or-
pheus should be representéd with a violin in his
hand. Such an instrument, whose modern invention
ART IN RELATION TO THE PUBLIC. 97
is known to all, transported into the mythologic
ages, offers a contradiction which displeases. [The
trumpets and the violins which Fra Angelico, Peru-
gino and Raphael put into the hands of their angels,
etc., have their justification only when regarded as
symbols, where all,— the wings, and even the bodies
and drapery, are symbolic. The later taste has
declined such things as now of doubtful interest.] An
anachronism more important exists where the per-
Sonages are made to express sentiments and ideas,
and commit deeds, that were plainly impossible at
the epoch when they flourished. It is contended that
this is a sin against the natural; but the exactions
of the natural cannot be carried through thus abso-
lutely, or, if so, bring about false consequences; for
the artist may give us a true delineation of charac-
ter without preserving all the details of familiar
life. He need not be untrue to the essential pas-
sions of the human heart on account of such anach-
ronism. At the epoch of the Trojan war, the forms
of thinking were very different from those we find
at the time the Iliad was written. The people in
general, and the chiefs of the ancient royal families
of Greece, did not speak as do the personages of
AEschylus, and still less did they approach the beauty
of the characters we so much admire in Sophocles.
Thus to violate the laws of the natural is a necessary
anachronism in Art. But these alterations present
quite another character when the religious and moral
conceptions of a civilization more advanced are in-
troduced into an epoch, or among a people where the
7
98 HEGEL's AESTHETICS.
ideas are entirely different, or in contradiction to
them. To give an example: this profound return of
the conscience upon itself which precedes the moral
determination, or remorse with its tortures, belongs
to the moral culture of modern times. The heroic
character is ignorant of such experiences. It does
not recall to brood over and torture itself about an
action irrevocably accomplished. Orestes has no re-
morse for having killed his mother. The avenging
furies of the action itself pursue him, it is true, but
the Eumenides are represented as general powers.
We do not recognize in them those internal serpents
which devour the heart of the culpable. If the art-
ist has detected the essential spirit of the age with
which he deals, he will not misrepresent it by this
kind of anachronism. If this essential characteristic
is given in a suitable framework, a particular sub-
ject well developed, his production will have true
objectivity whether the external particularities are
historically exact or not. Then a work of Art speaks
to our inmost soul, confounds itself with us, and
becomes our own. It will have beauty, though the
form be borrowed from ages long gone, when its
basis is human nature itself. This is the invariable
and permanent element. The historic element is
the perishable one. The Psalms of David, which
ring the changes in the human heart, or the pro-
found grief of the prophets, have for us to-day the
same truth, and an interest always present, though
Babylon and Zion exist no longer.
CHAPTER VII.
THE ARTIST.
EGEL next considers the function and the
activity of the Artist: 1, to fix the true
notion of his genius and of his inspiration ; 2, to
examine his creative activity on its objective side ;
3, to derive from the conciliation of these two the
character of true originality.
The question of genius must be treated in a special
manner, seeing that it is an expression not confined
to the artist, but employed concerning great captains,
and rulers, and the masters of science. Here the
question is as to the nature of imagination. By this
term is not meant merely the representative power
to recall the images of things or acts which have
been passively perceived; it is rather an active and
creative power. This power to create presupposes a
natural gift, a sharpened sense in perceiving the
reality of things under its diverse forms, an atten-
tion which, without cessation, watches everything
that strikes the eyes and the ears, engraves upon the
memory the images of things, and preserves them in
all their variety and unchanging accuracy. The
artist, then, must not confine himself to the color-
less region of the pure ideal, but go out of himself
to find and fasten manifold relations to the real
99
100 IIEGEL's AESTHETICS.
world. Any defect in his work which shows him to
have dwelt in the region of abstractions only, and
that his gaze has been wholly introverted, arouses
suspicion. It is from the inexhaustible treasures of
living nature that the artist should draw the matter
of his creations. It is not with Art as with phi-
losophy. It is not the pure thought, but the external
form of the real which furnishes the element of
production. The artist ought, then, to have lived
in this element. It is needful that he should have
seen much, have heard much, and remembered much
(for, in general, great intelligences have almost
always possessed fine memories); in short, all that
interests man should remain engraven on the soul of
the poet. A profound mind extends its curiosity to
an infinite number of objects. Goethe, for example,
commenced thus, and during his whole life never
ceased to widen the circle of his observations. This
natural gift, this capacity to interest one's self in
everything, to seize the particular element of objects
and their real forms, as well as the ability to retain
all that one has observed, is the prime condition of
artistic genius. To a sufficient knowledge of the
forms of the external world should be joined that
of the inner nature of man, of the passions which
agitate his heart, and all the designs which his
will sets for his activity. And besides this double
knowledge, he should know how the spiritual prin-
ciple expresses itself in the sensible reality and the
external world. ;
But all this does not define the function of imagi-
THE ARTIST. 101
nation. In order that a work of Art may be truly
ideal, it is not sufficient that the spirit, such as we
find it immediately in ourselves, should reveal itself
in a visible reality. It is the universal spirit, the
absolute truth, the rational principle of things which
ought to appear in the representation. But this
idea, which is thus the basis, the underlying soul of
the particular subject which the artist has chosen,
should not only be present in his thought, moving
and inspiring it, but he ought to have meditated it
in all its depth and extent, for without such reflec-
tion man does not succeed in knowing rightly that
which is within himself. We cannot but conclude
that in all the great compositions of Art the subject
has been maturely studied in all its aspects, and long
and profoundly meditated. From a feeble imagina-
tion no powerful work can ever spring. It is not
necessary, then, that the artist should be a philoso-
pher, and if he thinks in the philosophic manner, he
produces a work precisely opposed to the work of
Art, as to the form under which the Idea should
appear; for the function of imagination is to reveal
to our mind the essence of things, not as a principle
or general conception, but in a concrete form, and in
an individual reality. Consequently, whatever be
living and fermenting in the soul, he must still rep-
resent it by the images and sensible appearances
which he has gathered, while-at the same time he
is such a master in the use of these, as by them to
express the truth that is in him in a perfect manner.
In this intellectual work, which consists in welding
102 HEGEL's AESTHETICs.
and confounding together the rational element and
the sensible form, the artist has need both of fine
sensibilities and watchful thought. It is, then, a
gross error to believe that poems like those of Homer
have been formed, like a dream, during the poet's
sleep. It is ridiculous to think that the true artist
does not know what he is about.
The artist must not only have penetrated to the
essence of external things, and identified them with
himself, but must also have lived in and noted by
the same imaginative process all the impulses and
aims and activities of the human soul. He should
have lived much before he is fit to reveal the
mysteries of life. However genius may show itself
in its effervescence in youth, as with Schiller and
Goethe, it is only in mature age that a work of Art
in its true perfection can be produced. This pro-
ductive imagination, by which the artist represents
an idea under a sensible form in a work of his own
personal creation, is what is called genius, talent,
etc.; but for genius is required not only the abstract
capacity for producing, but the necessary energy to
design and execute, [i.e., something more than sensi-
bility and intellect are needed; strength of the will,
also, stimulated by the attractiveness of the end.
One may feel exquisitely, and think deeply and
wisely, even poetically, yet have no impulse to pro-
duce, and we should not be authorized to assert
genius in such a case.] The difference of disposition
or character here is a profoundly subjective one, and
has its own explanation, [perhaps, in the case of
THE ARTIST. 103
strength of will, largely a physical or physiological
one]. It is not the distinction of genius and talent,
but irrespective of that. These are not identical, so
that much talent may be said to constitute genius,
but are in reality different ways of regarding things,
though both are needful to constitute the perfect
artist. For, since Art reveals conceptions in differ-
ent forms, each particular Art requires its own par-
ticular talent. One may have the poetic conception,
yet fail in adequately realizing it; and one may have
much talent, yet his conceptions be but prosaic.
Simple talent, confined to any narrow specialty, pro-
duces only the results of skillful execution.
Some say that both talent and genius are innate.
This is both true and false; for man, as such, is also
born for religion, for reflection, for science; he can
elevate himself to the idea of God, and reach a for-
mulated knowledge of things. For this end he needs
only to have been formed by education and study.
But it is otherwise for Art. This requires a dispo-
sition entirely special, in which one element, which
comes only by nature, plays an essential part. He
has to elaborate his thought not only in his intelli-
gence, but his imagination must be at the same time
in play, and he has to express his idea by some one
of the various materials borrowed from the sensible
world. This element, which comes from nature,
cannot be sought and obtained. Men are very
skillful to detect the difference between the easy
attainments of special talent and the labored result
of work dominated by reflection and experiment.
104 - HEGEL's AESTHETICS.
Thus on this side may genius and talent be said to
be innate.
[With regard to the long and interesting disqui-
sition above, I may remark that Hegel's treatment
of imagination hardly amounts to a satisfactory
definition. It is a synthetic, rather than an analytic,
procedure. He has given this name to a congeries
of qualities and modes of activity. If the human
mind is a unit, and what we call its faculties are but
its activity in special relations, and for particular
ends, then we need to define more carefully the
inward procedure deserving the name of imagina-
tion. Hegel has had in mind, not the pure activity,
but the sum of special powers needed for the crea-
tive work of the artist. An attempt at a more dis-
criminating definition will be found elsewhere in
this book, and in a measure in what follows. And
with regard to the difference between genius and
talent, we do not find, either, an entirely satisfactory
distinction. Perhaps variant opinions arise only
from different uses of the words. An unusual
ability to draw correctly from nature one may call
talent, and another genius. There may be some fine
talent wanting in the painter, as in the sense of color
in its purity and harmony, and consequent failure to
deal so with it as to produce any high excellence,
yet his ability to delineate may be so marked, and
his conceptions so original, that we should hesitate
on this account to deny genius. Would the posses-
sion of all the talents constitute genius; or does any
special ability, when coming naturally and working
THE ARTIST. 105
spontaneously, and seeming to have no difficulties to
overcome, deserve the name; and do we give the
other appellation rightly when there is any sign of
labor, or any evidence that the skill has been ac-
quired by experiment and reflection? Or, is the
difference more radical, and does it refer to the whole
mode of conception? -
Perhaps one may find the solution of this problem
by disregarding the words, for the moment, and
noting the facts only, the results of observation and
introspection. There are undoubtedly special abili-
ties, innate or easily acquired and improved, which
are not always found together. There is also the
native impulse, and corresponding yet variant ability
to struggle after and to seize the essential unity of
things, and of the movements in the universe, to co-
ordinate them into an harmonious whole. But this
latter process may be one of pure thinking, and
therefore still cold; or it may be accompanied by
feeling so intense as to crave and seek sympathy not
only with the informing soul of the universe, but
with its reflected intelligence, with men; and in the
latter case, particularly, be impelled to expression.
The former is the philosophic attitude, the latter the
poetic one. Each coördinates and is satisfied only
with self-consistency and harmony. But the phi-
losopher deals with the abstract ideas of things, and
works for the pure intellect; though, being human,
he cannot rid himself entirely of teleological rela-
tions. The poet, on the other hand, feels, through
his very vividness of imagination, his union with
106 HEGEL's AESTHETICS.
mankind more acutely, and regards them as enjoy-
ing or suffering, and aspiring, as well as thinking
entities, and deals, therefore, with concrete realities.
For him the physical and social worlds claim atten-
tion and prominence, and are found full of adapta-
tion to express, and color, and warm his conception
of the profound and ideal harmony of the universe.
This sense of the eternal beauty may be more or
less keen and abiding, the craving for expression
exist in various degrees, but the presence of it is a
unique gift, and constitutes the poet, in any of the
Arts; while the possession of the special abilities
needed for expression, more or less in number and
degree, will determine his relative rank and merit
as an artist.
For the wise use of language it would seem best,
therefore, to confine the word genius to mean this
unifying, coördinating impulse, when carried to such
expression and production as to be recognized and
felt, whether poetic or philosophic; and to confine
the word talent to mean the various capacities needed
for the particular modes of expression to which also
nature gives the impulse. Talent, then, may be in-
nate, may be educated, may even be acquired with
more or less difficulty. But it is doubtful whether
the common usage of the terms will ever be entirely
and accurately corrected, and made precise in this
particular.] - -
The different Arts have a close connection with
the national genius, as music with the Italians,
sculpture and the most perfect form of the poem
THE ARTIST. 107
with the Greeks, etc. Thus there is a facility of
production and a technical skill which are inherited,
and encouraged by the environment, though high ex-
cellence in any Art is only attained by study and pro-
longed application, which are required even for lofty
genius, in order to smooth away the difficulties and
produce perfect work. The born artist, however,
vanquishes these more easily, since he has a natural
inclination and an immediate need to give form to
what he has experienced, and to everything in which
his imagination has been busy; and that mode of
expression which is most easy to him is the one he
selects to express his thought. A musician cannot
but manifest what moves him so deeply in melodious
sounds and subtle harmonies. The painter so feels
the beauty of form and the charm of color, that no
other vehicle would content him so adequately. The
poet chooses that vehicle of presentation,-words,
the most perfect symbols of thought,- which makes
his meaning known most quickly and perfectly. This
gift of expression does not possess the artist solely as
a faculty purely speculative, to imagine, and to feel,
but also as a practical disposition, as a natural talent
of execution. These two things always go together
in the great artist. That which lives in his imagi-
nation comes likewise in some way through his fin-
gers as naturally as it comes to us to speak what
is in our mind, or as our sentiments appear imme-
diately upon our countenance, attitudes, or gestures.
Thus genius finds out how to render easy the exter-
108 HEGEL’S AESTHETICS.
mal part the technical execution, and how to domi-
nate materials to all appearance poor and rebellious.
That condition of soul in which the artist finds
himself when his imagination is in play, and when
he is realizing his conceptions, is what is commonly
called inspiration. Opinions as to the origin of this
state of mind are very diverse. - -
And, first,- as genius in general results from the
close union of two elements, one which exalts the
mind, the other which belongs to nature; so it has been
thought that inspiration likewise can be produced
by sensible excitation; but, indeed, it is not a simple
result of the warming of the blood. Life in the
rural regions does not make one poetic. The great-
est genius can issue forth to breathe the fresh air of
the morning, or stretch himself at his ease upon the
lawn, without on that account feeling any sweet in-
spiration insinuate itself into his soul. On the other
hand, it can still less be evoked by reflection. He who
proposes in advance to be inspired to make a poem
or picture, or melody, without already having in
himself the principle of a living excitement, and who
is obliged to seek here and there for a subject, the
need of which alone shall determine his choice, not-
withstanding all his possible talent, will never be
able to bring to the birth a beautiful conception and
produce a work of Art which shall endure. To em-
ploy such means proves only that no true interest
has stood ready to seize the soul and captivate the
THE ARTIST. 109
imagination of this artist. The true inspiration is
kindled, almost in spite of himself, by a determined
subject, and the inner state of consciousness it cre-
ates is continued during the entire combined work
of mental activity and material execution.
The Artist may be self-determined and find his
subject in himself—as when he sings, as the bird
does, of his own inward joy. The instinct to express
his delight, the harmony of the inner life and the
outer existence, which he feels though he does not
think, moves him to go beyond himself to catch
others with sympathy. [In all which is displayed the
law of the ideal universe, that joy is not to be mo-
nopolized, but is a common possession; and thus the
outcome of morality itself is fore-betokened in the
song of the bird, and the naïve utterance of the
poet.]
On the other side, however, the greatest works of
Art have been composed on the occasion of a circum-
stance entirely exterior. Most of the Odes of Pindar
were produced to order, and so with edifices and ,
pictures. Many and many a time has the subject
been furnished for the artist, who has then endeav-
ored to inspire himself with it as best he could.
[Doubtless many a one has failed to do it, and pro-
duced only technical work, or the artist has tried
again and again to find inspiration in the topic, and
at last has so thrown his imagination into it that it
has burst into a blaze.] According to the largeness
of his nature will the artist find ready interest in
the multitudinous occasions to employ his artistic
110 HEGEL’S ASTHETICS.
activity, which others pass by with indifference. This
ample nature, added to the impulse to express him-
self, and the needed energy to make the expression
perfect, constitute in full what is meant by artistic
inspiration. And if the artist is thus to appro-
priate his subject and be identified with it, he ought
to be able to forget his proper individuality and in-
cidental peculiarities and absorb himself altogether
in it. If the artist poses with haughtiness and lets
be seen his own self-regard instead of being himself
solely the organ of the living and developing idea,
this is an unsound inspiration. The subjective ele-
ment is too prominent. When of a high order, or per-
fectly pure, inspiration has objectivity. By this term
here, we mean the character which a work of Art
presents when its subject is conformed to the reality,
and thus is presented to us in traits easily recog-
nizable, yet not in its prosaic form, but as displaying
its ideal element, its essential rationality.
The artist may, however, seize his subject in his
inmost soul, yet so closely that it loses the possibility
of development, or he lacks the power to develop it.
The idea is not made completely apparent. We see
that he thinks and feels, yet not clearly what he
thinks and feels. This has often been the case in
popular poems, when Art had not yet reached that
degree of development where the animating thought
could be made easily visible and transparent. The
heart, as it were, driven back upon itself and op-
pressed by what it experiences, in order to render
itself intelligible to another heart, offers a reflection
THE ARTIST. 111
of itself in a crowd of exterior symbols which, though
very expressive, can never but lightly graze our sen-
sibility. In high Art the thought does not utter
itself thus incoherently, or give but a feeble echo of
what is within. Thought, however profound it may
be, may still freely be developed even in the most
brilliant forms and in expressions whose richness
equals their harmony.
In the true objectivity, then, nothing essential to
the subject must be allowed to remain in the con-
sciousness of the artist undeveloped. The soul of
the idea should be entirely manifested, the particu-
lar form which represents it should be perfectly exe-
cuted, and itself be penetrated and informed every-
where by the living idea. That which is the most
elevated and excellent in itself is not the mysterious
residuum, not something inexpressible, so that one
still suspects that the poet retains something, and
has not put his full feeling into his work. The
works of the artist are the best part of himself.
That which exists in his soul as mere potency or
suggestion has no reality. It is not his till he has
expressed it, and is more completely his, the more
perfect the expression. It is in the forge of his own
burning imagination that the conception has been
formed and moulded and made alive. Thus there is
identity of the true objectivity with the absolute sub-
jectivity of the artist. In this union is originality.
This characteristic shows itself in manner and in
style. Mere manner, as an individual peculiarity,
is not originality, yet originality has its own man-
112 HEGEL's AESTHETICS.
ner. Manner is partly native, partly accidental,
partly the result of culture. It does not grow out
of the subject treated, but is entirely individual. It
may be carried to such a point as to be in direct
opposition to the true principle of the Ideal, for Art
seeks to deprive its subject of everything simply acci-
dental, and to efface in the work all personal pecu-
liarities. If it appear, it should appear only in the
external part of the work. It is principally in paint-
ing and music that it is detected, because in these
arts the external element possesses the widest func-
tion. Certain peculiarities adopted by an artist, and
followed by his pupils, and become habitual, constitute
his manner. It may easily degenerate into a sort of
routine, and a process of mechanical fabrication de-
prived of life, when the inspiration is no longer felt.
The true manner must appear as something larger.
When the artist loses himself in the subject, rather
than when the subject is drawn along the narrow
grooves of his idiosyncrasy, we shall still recognize
something his own, but it will be only in passing,
or as the result of critical scrutiny.
Style is something to be distinguished from manner.
The French proverb is, “Style is the man himself.”
[It is the man himself in the entirety of his character,
intellectual and moral. When closely scrutinized,
it reveals the whole mode of thinking and feeling,
and the schema of the man, which cannot be over-
passed. It changes only with the development of the
entire character, intellectual and moral. Style can-
not be defined, other than as the man himself is
THE ARTIST. 113
exhaustively studied and defined.] When the artist
can possess completely his ideal subject, when it is
run smoothly and perfectly into the mould of his
mind, then his style is only another name for his
originality, and is objectivity itself. To go out of
the natural development of his subject in his mind,
and seek for bizarre and startling effects, as in the
straining after the humorous, is to reach an unsound
originality. Even Jean Paul Richter, notwithstanding
the subtlety of his thought, and the beauty of his
imagery, condescends to produce his effects by this
kind of treatment of matters which have no discover-
able connection between them, where the combina-
tions are only factitious. True originality does not
wander hither and thither in search of fragments to
be readjusted and tied together, but leaves the sub-
ject to grow within the mind, with all its parts so
unified as to produce one sole impression.
As true freedom, in thinking and acting, allows to
reign in itself the power which constitutes the
universe, so that between this and the individual
thought and will is no contradiction, but the har-
mony and identity of the two; so the true originality
in Art absorbs all accidental particularity, and only
when not betrayed elsewhither by caprice can the
artist be filled with his subject, lose himself in it,
and in producing “a thing of beauty,” an immortal
work, reveal his true self. Thus to have no manner
is the sole great manner, and it is in this sense only
that Homer, Sophocles, Raphael, or Shakespeare,
ought to be called original geniuses.
PART II.
THE ART-IMPULSE IN ITS DEVELOPMENT.
CHAPTER I.
CLASSIFICATIONS OF THE ARTS.
DISQUISITION on Art may subserve several
purposes. 1. It may point out and explain the
excellencies in particular works, and thus, enlarg-
ing the knowledge of its readers, help the apprecia-
tion and increase their enjoyment. This cataloguing,
and recording subjective impressions, is all that is
ordinarily attempted. 2. It may distinguish kinds
of excellence, and therefore kinds of enjoyment, in
themselves not measuring the degree of gratification;
thereby improving the taste, and enabling a more
intelligent and critical estimate of worth. Thus
will emerge several standards for comparison, and
the possibility of several kinds of criticism will be
displayed, the Higher, and the Lower, this last,
again, susceptible of subdivisions. 3. It may en-
deavor to justify its distinction of higher and lower.
by a psychological analysis, by separating for thought
the purely subjective or individualistic element in
Art-appreciation from the objective or universal. 4.
It may endeavor to search out the origin of the Art-
114
CLASSIFICATIONS OF THE ARTS. 115
impulse itself, and the law of the mental evolution
which has governed its history. This will require
an investigation into the meaning of Beauty, and
an inquiry into the conditions for, and an analysis of,
its emotion; which is a problem belonging to the
Highest Philosophy. -
A complete treatise on Art might consider these
questions in the order I have given them, or in the
reverse order. This would be a question of methods,
which may be inaccurately, but still intelligibly,
characterized as the a priori and a posteriori methods.
The former, as we have seen, is Hegel's method,
which necessarily brings to the forefront the most
difficult part of the whole inquiry, that after the
philosophic basis. Possibly this may have had the
effect of deterring some readers from going farther
on till they should have reached the more intelligible
and richly compensating parts of this profound and
comprehensive treatise.
While all persons who occupy their attention with
the productions of Art confess that they receive some
gratification, yet this differs so much in degree or in
kind, that at first it seems an almost hopeless task
to endeavor to correct one impression by another, or
to lay down any rules which will bring them to an
agreement. Yet the fact that opinions and tastes do
change encourages men to endeavor to convince one
another, and to grope together after the receding
phantom, the absolute and irreversible judgment.
The main difficulty here lies in the almost inextricable
combination of the objective and the subjective ele-
*.
116 HEGEL's AESTHETICs.
ments in all appreciation. The latter is variable, as
human character is variable; and the question might
be debated, and it might be argued that the subjec-
tive element should be entirely eliminated in the
endeavor to appreciate or criticise any work of Art,
that this man's education, or that man's prejudices,
or another's temperament, or another's natural pow-
ers, have nothing to do with the absolute worth of
the thing contemplated. But such an endeavor, to
eliminate the subjective element, would be, after all,
chimerical, for the work of Art, whatever be its objec-
tive ground, exists only for the subjective impres-
sion; and, if it have manysidedness or complexity,
must be able to appeal in various degrees to many
idiosyncrasies.
To determine the liberty or the range of the sub-
jective element in Art appreciation and criticism is
a delicate and difficult problem. To find what is
fixed and common in all subjectivity, and which,
therefore, is identified with the objective, and to dis-
tinguish it from the variable and the particular, is,
then, one task which any Philosophy of Art must
set itself. While such an endeavor confines itself to
philosophical language, its terms are necessarily ab-
stract, and it becomes difficult for the ordinary mind.
to fix or prolong its attention. Instead, therefore,
of this severe method purely, I propose to call in the
aid of another, and by an examination of one or two
particular works, at the proper time, to bring to view
the distinctions to be made between the objective and
the subjective elements in all Art-appreciation, as
CLASSIFICATIONS OF THE ARTS. 11?
severally indicating the Higher and the Lower Criti-
cism. But we have a considerable ground to go
over, by way of prelude, ere the problem can be fully
and clearly displayed.
ART is, subjectively considered, the endeavor to
ake real, and apprehensible for human conscious-
mess, in the combined relations of sense, understand-
ing and imagination, and in existing material fur-
nished by the physical world for sight or sound, or
as symbolſan ideal of Beauty or Sublimity; or, in
Hegel's language.]the “Idea” itself in. Some stage
of the process of iº
The definition is not exhaustive. A definition
rarely is. The endeavor to crowd too much into too
few words does not clarify thought; and the expla-
nation and amplification of the definition is usually
a synthetic procedure.
The distinction between the Artist and the Arti-
ficer cannot, in the concrete, be sharply marked,—
seeing that the artist, in dealing with his material,
and as master of his technique, has to be something
of an artificer, and that there are widely variant
degrees of such mastery; this furnishing a standard
by which some almost exclusively judge of the rela-
tive merits of works of Art. This may be called the
Lower Criticism, or rather the lowest, seeing that
there are still intermediate criteria between this and
that of the Higher Criticism. The artificer, too, if
more than the mere mechanic, is something of an
artist, and works not without spontaneous guidance
from his instinct of beauty. Wherever beauty is felt,

118 HEGEL's AESTHETICs.
there is the existence of the Ideal,— often, however,
in outline so faint and obscure that it could hardly
be said to be presence. And this Ideal clarifies itself
and displays its inner content by degrees, till the faint
outline becomes the fuller picture. Thus the grada-
tion from the artificer to the artist does not allow
even a perfect abstraction for thought. Nor can we
fix with entire accuracy the time and manner and
conditions when the artist becomes creative. Here,
too, the steps are gradual and insensible between,
on the one hand, the successful attempt to discover,
or descrial of Nature's ideal in small things, and the
fixation of it in artistic material,— and, on the other,
the penetration to the profounder secrets of Nature
and humanity, and the exhibition of some novel and
seemingly original synthesis. (An absolutely new idea
is not possible for the human mind. It is only dis-
covered, and is already existent. Yet Nature reveals
her perfect idea by glimpses and seeming frag-
ments, Ha little here and a little there, showing
what she would be at, and provoking the mind of
man by her suggestions to activity, sometimes mock-
ing him with his inability to exhibit her thought,
and sometimes stimulating him by permitting his
triumph, and intoxicating him with the belief that
he has transcended her accomplishment. She hides,
and allows him to grope for and to find the perfect
form, and supplies him with facilities to exhibit it;
yet laughs him to scorn when she riots in her brill-
iancies of color, or bathes herself in the mystery of
growing or subsiding light. Thus it may always be
CLASSIFICATIONS OF THE ARTs. 119
disputed how far this or that artist is a creator; nor
is it an inquiry worth expending much thought or
many words upon. -
The Arts, par éminence, are, Architecture, Sculp-
ture, Painting, Poetry, and Music. By courtesy,
and even in justice, other modes and results of
imaginative activity may be called Arts, Land-
scape, Histrionics, Literature, and Oratory; seeing
that each of these displays close resemblances to the
manner of mental movement in the undoubted Arts,
and has analogy in its material with some one or
more of them. This, then, too, is a question not
worth disputing about. The psychological distinc-
tions are not, in the concrete, sharply marked, but
fade insensibly the one into the other. And, as
before, it may be argued whether whatever is never
separated, or separable in the concrete, can ever
become matter for perfect abstraction for thought.
The belief that it can be, and the habit growing
therefrom, is, possibly, one of the subtlest and most
ineradicable of the delusions of the human mind.
Each one of the indubitable Arts deals with special
material. What this is, while briefly noticed now,
will be considered more at length when each one
comes to be examined in particular; and a rough or
hasty distinction or definition will not suffice, will be
very apt to mislead, and vitiate the truth of deduc-
tions from it.
These Arts admit of several kinds of classification.
The most obvious one is, those which address sense,
understanding and imagination through the eye, and
120 HEGEL's AESTHETICs.
those which reach them through the ear. Here,
Architecture, Sculpture and Painting belong to one
class, and Poetry and Music to the other. Another
very obvious one depends upon the material used in
the artistic endeavor to display the ideal. In
Architecture and Sculpture it is solid matter, admit-
ting of form only. Hence these are called the
Plastic Arts, and they become impure arts, and trench
upon the province of Painting when heed is paid to
color. This is the monopoly of one Art, the won-
drous capabilities of light; and by it form is not
displayed, as in Sculpture, to be verified by touch,
but only suggested by this same subtle management
of color.
With music the material dealt with is not sound
merely, as is commonly said, but agreeable sound.
If sound had not had sensuous sweetness, and the
pleasure in it a physiological basis and explanation,
there had never been an Art of Music. Sound which
is not agreeable is, however, capable of imaginative
treatment, but the contradiction here between the
sensuous and the spiritual is so sharp, that, except
when used as a foil for sweet sounds, it symbolizes
rather the breaking up of the essential constitution
of things, and kills the activity of imagination, which
revels only in freedom and delight. -
Poetry deals with two kinds of material,—first,
with the represented image, or event, or utterance,
or the thoughts recalled in memory; recombining
these in fancy, and unifying and enlivening the
synthesis by imagination; suggesting all this by the
CLASSIFICATIONS OF THE ARTS. 121
symbolism of words, which thus are the bond and
relation of the common understanding of author and
auditor. But Poetry deals likewise with sound, and
is ruled also by the unique charm which sound may
have for the ear, quite distinct from the charm of
agreeable sound in music, having the characteristics
of rhythm, assonance, harmony, proportion, and a
certain sweetness, giving a vibration probably quite
distinct from the musical vibration ; so that one
may have the poètic ear in perfection, yet be almost
destitute of the musical ear (as was the case with
Samuel Taylor Coleridge); or may have a morbidly
sensitive musical ear, yet be almost utterly inappre-
ciative of the sweetness of verse (as is the case with
many musicians and lovers of music). Indeed, the
poetic ear is a much rarer gift than the other. Thus
Poetry, like Painting, can give a sensuous as well as
an intellectual pleasure, more charming than what-
ever sensuous pleasure may be still derivable from
Sculpture and Architecture, and often more exquisite
than any intellectual delight, because more mysteri-
ous still, more direct, with fewer links between to
be traced out by the understanding, hence purer and
simpler.
The Arts have also been classified chronologically,
but merely by the distinction between ancient and
modern Art, with no endeavor to establish any radical
distinction; lumping together things as diverse as
Greek Statuary, Egyptian Architecture, and Hebrew
Poetry.
Hegel seems to have been the first to accomplish
122 IIEGEL's ASTHETICS.
a true objective classification, and to mark by appro-
priate epithets the Stadia through which Art has
moved in the evolution of the human mind. These
he characterizes as the Symbolic, Classic, and Roman-
tic periods. That there has been such an evolution
is evident, but that it has been identically the same
among all peoples cannot be made out. Hence the
history of Art in each country having Art at all
is susceptible of distinct treatment. Nor has the
development of the artistic mind proceeded every-
where with equal speed, and hence cannot be adjusted
to any exact chronology. But independent of all
conditions of time and place and peculiar circum-
stance, it has had a history, and, allowing for
variety of fluctuation, an inevitable and unchange-
able one. How far this may be thought out, and
regarded as the result of a primal force belonging
to the human soul itself, and a natural uncoiling of
the imprisoned spring, Spirit enmeshed in Nature;
or whether it may not be found necessary to postu-
late an impetus from without, is an interesting, COIl-
stantly recurring and radical problem which must
be disposed of in an exhaustive Philosophy of
History.
The idea of this evolution, and its necessary mo-
ments, were seized by Hegel; and it is not too much
to say that, with this distinction made clear, Art
appreciation and criticism have become a new thing,
and Art has been brought back in thought to its
ecessary connection with Philosophy and Religion.
(m. then, by a process mainly a priori, but avail-
CLASSIFICATIONS OF THE ARTS, 123
ing itself of hints, and verifying itself a posteriori,
the history of the human mind, so far as it was
necessary to understand the Arts, has been unrav-
}}
( These words, Symbolic, Classic, Romantic, will be
found very convenient to characterize stages of the
evolution separable in thought. In the concrete they
have never been perfectly separated, but run into
each other, as we shall see) Truth and History give
us nowhere distinctions utterly sharp, no chasms.
Anything seemingly new on the one side of any
alleged gulf will be found to have its roots far back
in the other. Even spirit and matter do not give us
an unbridgeable chasm, seeing that each is what it
is for us by virtue of its relation to the human mind,
and cannot be thought except in terms and under
conditions supplied by the structure of that mind;
nor can the mind itself be thought and understood
but by virtue of its relation to either realm. If it
ever seems to be thinking pure spirit it must be of
spirit barren of content, and therefore equivalent to
naught; or it must be of spirit wealthy in ideas, -and
all these ideas, for their existence and completeness,
are under obligation to the actual material universe,
which therefore has supplied the organs of spirit,
whereby intercourse and connection have been ren-
dered possible, and the absolute intent of the whole
has been displayed,— the commonwealth, with its
infinitely varied ethical, intellectual and physical
relations. In all the philosophies and sciences truth
has been obscured instead of being clarified by car-
124 HEGEL's AESTHETICS. *
rying abstraction into the concrete, by regarding
that which was seemingly separable in thought as
possibly separable in fact; and also by forgetting that
everything is in movement, and only to be explained
as a process, a perpetual becoming, never fixed,
always fluent, even when seeming cyclical, display-
ing an order, a progress, an idea, even in the cyclical
movement. Every generation of oaks, or of eagles,
has been a slight change and modification of the
generation which went before. -
These words, Symbolic, Classic, and Romantic, are
very useful, but must not be taken as a consecutive
movement that is absolutely necessary; for some-
times and somewhere there seems to be a reversal of
this order, an instance of which is furnished by the
Hebrew people, whose Art never dwelt in the classic
stadium.
The endeavor to characterize the several Arts as
in themselves belonging to one mood of mind, one
stage of the evolution more than another, is of
doubtful value, but worthy of consideration. In
characterizing, for instance, Architecture as a purely
Symbolic Art, as Hegel does, it will be found that
the word “Symbolic" has to be used in a sense some-
what different from that it bears as belonging to all
early Art, Sculpture as well. And the fundamental
ideas which account for Greek Sculpture are trace-
able in Oriental Poetry, and in Christian Painting.
And Poetry, in its marvelous flexibility and power
of adaptation, has coursed through all the artistic
history of every people, whether in the Symbolic,
CLASSIFICATIONS OF THE ARTS. 125
Classic, or later periods. If the products of the first
stirrings of the artistic impulse be called “Sym-
bolic,” this characteristic must be capable of detection
and, verification in its Poetry, as well as in its Archi-
tecture and its Sculpture, seeing that the origin of
these endeavors to carry out the “play-impulse"
could not have been far apart in time.
CHAPTER II.
THE SYMBOLIC PERIOT3,
HAT which distinguishes the Symbolic period
may be reached by reflecting upon what seems
likely to have been the history of the human mind,
if regarded as discovering itself to be enveloped in
Nature, and a part of Nature; what must have been
the nāive procedure by which its conceptions were
born, progressed, and at length became distinct.
This is so far, of course, a speculative endeavor,
yet one which may have its historic verification.
But the whole procedure suggests, if not requires,
another and profounder inquiry, itself both specula-
tive and historic, into which Hegel does not enter,
and which, therefore, lies apart from the purpose
of this treatise, but which may be indicated, viz:
whether language, itself Symbolic, and by which man
thinks, can be explained as having a purely natural
origin; or whether history and psychological analysis
conduct us back to the presupposition of impact
from without, therefore, a supernatural origin; in
which latter case, it would follow that the Art-
impulse itself must have been involved in or made
possible by the primal impetus, and thus that it
underwent degradation and concealment in large
portions of the human race, as it may be undergoing
126
THE SYMBOLIC PERIOD. 127
still; while for others it has been rescued and set
forward in the way of advance by special protection,
and the supply of unique conditions for education
and development. But, abandoning this inquiry, let
us see what would be the natural evolution of human
intelligence, after a certain stage in the life of
reflection had been reached.
The human being, then, finds himself a body in a
world of sight and sound and touch; a feeble and
minute fragment in the midst of forces overwhelm-
ing, and gigantic masses, and unbounded space. He
does not know himself yet as a free spirit having any
ideal independence of nature. He knows the world
about him only as a vast and bewildering riddle
whose secret he cannot penetrate. The instinct to
unify, derived from his own unity as a self, prompts
him to seek the center and bond of all phenomena,
to find a cohering thread to make them intelligible;
in short, a First Principle. He experiments in
thought, and locates it, now here and now there.
The law by which one tentative solution is reached
at one time and place, and another at another place
or time, is too subtle to be discoverable, and much
disparity is likely to exist, though some obvious sug-
gested solutions are likely to be most frequent. It is
the sky, or the sun, or fire, or water, or something
else. In a little while the solution is discarded for
another, or a rival springs beside it. Yet nothing
is quite adequate. The mind in its fertility makes
a new synthesis, and imparts to the natural object or
aggregate of objects something from itself, and thus
128 - HEGEL's AESTHETICS.
creates, and a new idea seems to be awaiting seizure,
which has no exact outward representation or image.
The idea itself is vague and fluctuating, and can only
fix itself and clarify itself by finding some outward
expression. That which exists as a waning and
brightening, dissipating and combining object for
thought, must float into the sky of imagination in
order to acquire shape. The vague idea must seek
to express itself by Symbol, and as the Symbol itself
cannot transcend the idea, it must, after a time,
exhibit its own inadequacy, and start the mind on a
new enterprise after a new, solution.
Thus we have one side bf the explanation of the
appearance of Art, and the reason why it is mainly
at first Symbolic, at least when it attempts to go
beyond the mere imitation of natural objects. There
is another side to the explanation, quite as or more
essential, to which I shall presently advert. Under
the conditions, however, which I have been describ-
ing, we should look to see figures, or structures, or
combinations of words marking the Stadium the
mind had reached in its attempt after a solution;
and the early Art of every people is therefore an
indication of its idiosyncrasy in the life of reflection,
which itself may have been determined by external
influences, social, geographical, climatic or otherwise.
But the love of the Beautiful, or the capacity to
find it and appreciate it, is innate in human nature.
It originates in the soul's instinct of its origin and
its end. It is inchoate knowledge of self—of self
as member in a vast organism, and as including a
THE SYMBOLIG PERIOD. 129
whole system of relations. Hence the Soul, in its
history, begins at once to be at home in, to enjoy, the
Beautiful, whether in motion, or sight, or sound.
This is a glimpse or suggestion of its true and
intended life, that which calls forth its profoundest
sympathy. What Schiller calls “the play-impulse"
stirs the soul, and it soon exhibits its preference of
one object or movement over another for some other
reason than its physical utility. The rudest orna-
mentation in the savage is something different in
kind from the propensity of the bird to deck its
habitat. It is just the difference between the beau-
tiful and the agreeable. The latter has a physical
and physiological explanation, the former a spiritual
one as well.
These two propensities combining- that to sym-
bolize his half-formed and unclear conception, and
that to make what he does create correspond to the
requirements of his instinct of the Beautiful,-com-
bining in different ways, and in various proportions
in individuals and peoples, will produce the first
objects of Art, which are thus most likely to be sym-
bolic, and to continue to be so, till the idea and the
object find identity, or seeming identity; or until the
obscure conception becomes clear, and can have its
adequate mode of expression.
The idols of the Hindus, their early Vedic hymns,
the architecture and the statues of the Egyptians,
show thus the human mind laboring after the solu-
tion of the enigmas of life. This characteristic so far
predominates in the stupendous productions of Egyp-
9
130 HEGEL’S AESTHETICS.
tian Art as to overwhelm or crowd out the Beauti-
ful; yet they are not entirely devoid of it. Repose,
symmetry, sometimes grace, and the loveliness of
color are apparent. And in the poetry of the Ori-
entals the play-impulse, the evident enjoyment of
Beauty in nature and man and human life, is still
more apparent, though still in conjunction with the
symbolism. The episodes in the Mahabarata are very
beautiful, and in a kind appealing to the most mod-
ern sympathies. For the sublime in very ancient
Art we must look rather to the Hebrew poetry, which
cannot be at all explained, as all other ancient Art
may be with comparative success; which, indeed,
for its explanation seems to require the presupposi-
tion of some of the solutions of the Romantic period
itself, and should be made a matter of entirely dis-
tjnct inquiry. s -
What characterizes the Symbolic period is, that
the spiritual is weighed down by the corporeal and
the material, struggles to be free, cannot think itself
aloof from the physical, is enmeshed in it, and par-
takes of its bewildering incomprehensibility. When
it loosens itself, or thinks it has loosened itself, we
have the dawn of another period, reaching its full
significance as the Classic period.) While spirit is
lost in matter, it follows the lead" of the material,
fashions the human frame itself (itself the symbol of
the spiritual soul) after the prevailing expression
given by external nature, while in Classic Art the
mode is precisely the reverse. The Egyptian archi-
tect or sculptor gives to his structures or his fig-
THE SYMBOLIC PERIOD. 131
ures the weight, the fixedness and repose of the
mountain; while the Greek Temple has an airy
grace, and seems to rest lightly upon the earth, yet
shows no propensity to desert the earth; looks
almost as though it might float over the earth as the
nautilus sails over the očean; and the Greek God
seems scarcely to touch it, or so lightly, while yet
free of it, as to show that in imagination the soul
has burst its bonds, and knows of an Olympic realm
finer and more fluent than the grosser element upon
hich men have been used to tread.
It is evident that the symbolic tendency can never
be entirely transcended as long as there are enigmas
to be solved; and hence there is symbolism abun-
dant in modern poetry and º though the demon
of Realism seems to have tried to capture the other
three arts. / But when a solution of the enigma is
reached which gives satisfaction for any period, then
it is evident the artistic impulse will stir more freely
and powerfully; and thus liberated from trammels
and impediments, while undisturbed, will produce
abundantly from the well of measureless content
within º) Thus we have before us the Classic
Period, its swfft progress to its culmination, its won-
derful and abounding richness, its rapid decline, and
the arrival of the long interval when it can only
imitate itself, when whatever is true in it will not
die, and whatever is false will still find copyists.
CHAPTER III.
THE CLASSIC PERIOD.
HILE these words, Symbolic, Classic and Ro-
mantic, distinguish a certain order in the
attainment of clear conceptions, both logical and
chronological, the proportion which these periods
bear to each other will vary with peoples, as with
individuals, seeing that nations are born and become
autonomic at variant stages of this development, and
that the tendencies of one period, inherited, will pro-
long themselves in the one which follows, nor ever
be entirely extinguished. Hence, even in Classic
Art, the characteristics of which sever it very cleanly
from what went before and came after, there is not
an entire abandonment of the symbolic endeavor;
and there is to be found even a mute prophecy of
the Romantic stage and the presence of questions
which in the pure Classic are, or should be, hushed.
Nor, everywhere, did the several Arts come to
being in any order indicated by this mental evolu-
tion. Accident, that is, no clearly discoverable law,
must have determined whether the first form of Art
among any people was Architecture, Sculpture, or
Poetry. Probably it was not Painting, and beyond
question it was not Music. Nevertheless, it may be
admitted that the symbolic mode of thought is pre-
- 132 -
THE CLASSIC PERIod. 133
dominant in Architecture, the Classic in Sculpture,
and the Romantic in Painting, and any or all in
Poetry and Music, according to the idiosyncrasy of
the Artist; though I regard these distinctions as of
little worth, as sometimes misleading rather, since
they may take the form of premature solutions, and
furnish temptations to rest and avoid further anal-
ysis.
But the first phases of the career of the human
mind, in its journey after satisfactory conceptions,
may be conveniently characterized as the Symbolic
period. These problems recurred, and are traceable
in the early history of all peoples. What is the
Highest? is the perpetual question. It is Light,
or the Light-Bearer, or the Ambient Expanse. It is
physical Power, rending as the lightning, or shatter-
ing as the earthquake; or some Quality,+solidity,
firmness, unchangeableness, or other abstraction
reached by thought. Or it is the mystical principle
of Life. This, that, or the other solution is ventured
upon, hinted at, or symbolized, according to the
variant preference of the Art-impulse to express
itself in words or things. It is the evidence of a
wondrous instinct in the soul of man, and shows
what far-reaching capabilities were wrapped up in
his mind, awakening out of chaos, that he should
thus, with toil, have purified his own conceptions,
and marched on steadily to results so astonishing,
and be moving on still in a limitless endeavor.
Whether in this impulse he did not receive an exter-
nal and quickening impulse at the start, and has not
134 HEGEL's AESTHETICS.
had since another quickening impulse, is, as I have
said, a fair question for historic and philosophic
inquiry, but one I do not intend to deal with now.
In the history of one people there was a great
leap forward out of the darkness of the Symbolic
period into clearer light. He who was groping
after something upon which his mind could rest
with more satisfaction reaches the discovery that
what he is seeking for lies at his feet; or rather,
within himself, -that he himself is the Highest, or
akin to the Highest, and, therefore, that the Highest
must be judged after him as its congener; that the
free spirit, lord of itself even as determined, is a
conception which the mind in its utmost aspiration
cannot transcend, and which tempts him with entic-
ing fascination to fix it for his contemplation. In
imagination, if no otherwise, he can withdraw him-
self measurably from this oppressive weight of
nature, and control her forces in some realm, lim-
ited, indeed, but sufficient, and to an extent that
will admit the consciousness of secure independence
and perfect, powerful serenity. Thus Greek Art
gives us the Greek god. But knowing himself as
an individual related to other individuals, and
indebted to them for his development, he does not
reach the conception of spirit absolutely free, but as
limited by other spirits; and, since his divinities
would be poor and barren things but for the nu-
merous and various relations existing between them-
selves and the realms beneath them, the whole is
figured as an Olympus, with select inhabitants, and
THE CLASSIC PERIOD. 135
a Pantheon, gradually growing cumbrous with its
own weight. In the higher circle each god seems
independent, though limited in function, and does
not trench upon the function of any other; or if he
does at length, it is to imperil the safety of the
whole. Thus one Dynasty after another occupied
the Olympus, till at length the whole broke to
pieces and disappeared like a moving cloud. But
while it lasted it so satisfied the instinct for beauty,
that the Greek is beguiled into resting in it for
a time, and puts aside the troublesome search after
a First Principle, or figures it as a Fate, obscurely
lying beneath. But the human mind never rests,
the inquiry stirs again, the Philosophic period gets
beyond its dawn, and the ideal of Classic Art must
of necessity begin to be suspected as no longer
an adequate and satisfying solution of the riddle of
existence. That its period was of necessity short-
lived may be otherwise seen by reflecting that to
represent these divinities as taking sides and con-
flicting with each other on account of their interest
in the affairs of men, is a contradiction to be recon-
ciled, and therefore an impairment of their beauty
and sufficiency for the aesthetic sense, that is sure to
be discovered at length, and is a token of the ap-
proaching decadence. But while the Classic period
was at its high noon the results were wonderful. It
reached its highest accomplishment in the Art of
Sculpture, to which Architecture was subservient.
To fix this idea of the Highest for apprehension, the
Artist, knowing the human spirit only as the human
136 HEGEL's AESTHETICS.
face and form, studies them, seizes the secret of their
beauty and their grace, and is enabled to give, in
expression of countenance, in the repose or suggested
motion of body, this ideal aloofness and spiritual
serenity and untroubled sense of power. The suc-
cess is so marked that it seems perfect. Given the
thought, and we cannot criticise the finest realiza-
tions of it in the Greek statues. The idea and the
form are not merely married, they are identical.
Neither has any existence apart from the other.
The material shape is sure to display it as the result
of a purely mechanical process, ruled by the shaping
skill after the pattern of the ideal form. The Artist
might or might not be his own Artificer; yet, to be
a fine artificer was itself a rare gift.
It is probably true that the Greeks received their
divinities by tradition from the Orient; but what
has been there vague and obscurely symbolic, be-
comes in their mind clear and fixed, crystallizes
into perfect shape as an ideal. You can see the dis-
tinct thought, the symmetrical and well-rounded con-
ception in the Greek statues, while in the Egyptian
it is imperfect, suggestive, mystic, bewildering. This
illumination of the ideal in the Greek mind was
owing to the precise apprehension of itself as spirit,
now lifted up for its own admiration as a seemingly
perfect thing. The mists which have beclouded the
human self-consciousness have subsided and left it
in the sunshine, and the Artist now hastens to fix it
for contemplation, not waiting to give prolonged
scrutiny to discover whether this ideal have not
THE CLASSIC PERIOD. 137
destructive force within itself, which will by-and-by
cause it to dissipate, or only be recalled in memory
as an exquisite dream, as a lovely and seducing
phantom, born out of, but not the true image, after
all, of the human spirit.
What is observable here is, that the Greeks ideal-
ized the human spirit, and its possibilities as sug-
gested to them, converting it into a god, and its
classified modes into a pantheon of gods, rather than
a hierarchy, for a hierarchy would have implied too
great a limitation of freedom. The Dii Majores are
each independent in his sphere. No one is a servant.
Even the lesser divinities have a realm of their own,
in which they are unmolested, not by virtue of any
command from Jupiter, but according to the rule of
Fate, the immutable and absolute constitution of the
universe. In the seeming exceptions to this, as in
s' the case of Mercury, or Hebe, or otherwhere, their
function is represented as spontaneity, and not as
servitude; or, if otherwise, so far as these were con-
tradictions in the system, they were really disinte-
grating forces, which, with others, brought about its
destruction. -
Another thing to be noticed is, that all the doings
of gods, as well as of men, are accomplished under
the conditions of the actual physical universe. This
still preserves itself unchanged. The gods do not
unmake the light or the thunder, do not spiritual-
ize or transcend in conception the world. The
physical forces are surmounted to some extent, but
exist still in their own independence apart from any
138 HEGEL's AESTHETICs.
connection they may have with spirit. At the bot-
tom, underneath all these divinities, far down in the
ultimate obscure, lies Fate, and sleeps or stirs, and
all, gods and men, are subject to her, and must
change or disappear when she stirs hostilely. We can
comprehend the Greek ideal, then, rightly only by
remembering that the physical universe is not mas-
tered or transcended in their thought, that it abides
still in its secure foundations; and that all possible
changes are conditioned by its permanence in its
present form. This free spirit, them, is not really
free.
Besides, these gods, after all, in their seeming
independence, are limited by the existence of men.
They cannot get rid of them, but are troubled by
them. They have to annul their doings. They
cannot get rid of nature. They are troubled by it,
and have to annul its disorders and perturbations.
Hence, while all order is represented as presided
over by the gods, disorder exists still, rooted in the
physical forces, and the gods cannot annihilate it.
Disorder exists among men, nay, even among the
divinities themselves, anthropomorphized as they are,
and Jupiter has to interfere to settle their quarrels.
This slight and scanty allegiance to a principle of
justice is the only trace of any ethic in the Greek
mythology. In their freedom the gods condescend
to human vices. Disorder is the only fault, for that
is destructive. We have human nature figured as
perfect with the moral characteristic left out,
modes of the imaginative soul of man represented
THE CLASSIC PERIOD. 139
in marble. The idea was, the human face and form
as modified by this interior impulse. It is the beauty
of self-will and caprice, and, after all, individualistic.
The moment they should be figured as in conflict
with each other beauty would disappear, and the
conflict could not have any sublimity, for it would
have no moral meaning. Hence the Greek sculptors
never represented, any conflict between their gods,
though they are thought to sweep the human ones
aside when they become too troublesome or offend
their self-regard.
This freedom of the gods, existing under these
limitations of nature and humanity, is thus only
seeming freedom after all. The Greek mind must,
sooner or later, detect the inconsistency, and discover
this ideal of the divine to be unsatisfying, to be one
which man himself can transcend; and these divini-
ties must begin to melt away, and at length disap-
pear, when thought shall have filtered from the
philosophic mind down into the lower strata, or
linger only as beautiful memories, so beautiful as to
be fondly recalled and reproduced till the end of
time, but never, surely, again, with the intense
absorbing delight of those who fancied they had
reached the ultimate of human endeavor or imagi-
native longing. It may be doubted whether ever
again such enthusiasm for Art will exist as did in
the days of Phidias and Praxiteles, or (as a case
somewhat parallel) as did in the palmy days of
Christian art, the days of Raphael and Correggio.
Such a dream, such a period of forgetfulness as was
140 HEGEL's AESTHETICS.
the Classic period, must have its awakening. Such
an eddy, curving and circling with such exquisite
grace, away from the stern, sweeping current of
human thought and progress, must, sooner or later,
be caught and obliterated by the impetuous force.
The soul, with its infinite potentialities, must plunge
into the torrents, till it catch a glimpse of the calm
and limitless and shining sea beyond; and, measuring
the strength and the skill needed to evade or conquer
the breakers and the whirlpools, reconcile itself to
that conflict and endeavor.
The ideal of Classic Art is not the ultimate and
true ideal for humanity. It is not perfect, after all,
except as we consent to an abstraction. Its one
thought, which marks a brief resting-place in the
history of the human intellect, is indeed perfectly
represented, and we cannot admire these works too
much as astonishing achievements, or enjoy with
any misgivings their exquisite charm. They will
repay all the study given to them, and furnish help
to see that there are higher beauties and greater
achievements still possible for man's creative spirit.
They illustrate, too, that the progress of human Art
has not been uniformly forward; that it has had its
retrogressions, its intervals of failure and seeming
waste, but really of Secret preparation for new
advance.
It is to be noticed that in all stages of the develop-
ment of Art there is the instinct of merely physical
beauty; notably in Greek Art, and at certain periods
in the career of Romantic Art, and even during the
THE CLASSIC PERIOD. 141
reign of Symbolic Art. The Song of Songs, and
the episodes in the Mahabarata, sprang out of this
kindling of the poetic mind. For, were it not for
this instinct, the Art-impulse would not exist. There-
fore, to express delight in beauty, perhaps poetry
was the readiest mode of expression. The earliest
sculpture or painting may have been mere imitation
of the natural object, and have had a teleological
aim, while the rhythm in sound or symmetry in archi-
tecture show already a detection of some one element
of the Beautiful. This instinct soon led to the dis-
covery of what was the most beautiful thing that
the creative principle had made, the human face and
form. And this, idealized as we have seen, became
the god, and connected itself thus with religious
rites and the temples for worship. This, probably,
was the reason why Sculpture rather than Painting
was adopted, and possibly, also, because mastery of
its technique, the needed mechanical ingenuity, was
more readily attained. The material conditions for
such high excellence in the sister art were not yet
fully supplied.
So far, then, as beauty in humanity is dependent
upon form, upon lines and curves, the Greeks seem
to have carried their Art as near perfection as possi-
ble, and have not been equalled in this respect by the
Romantic Artists. In giving expression to the face
and figure, according to the requirements of their
ideal, they were equally successful. They had not
yet reached the thoughts which made possible expres-
142 HEGEL’S AESTHETICS.
sion of a higher beauty; yet even this, in a negative
way, they divined. -
It is a remarkable illustration of the depth in
human nature of the instinct of the Beautiful, that
with naïve unconsciousness the Greek sculptor should
rarely or never have done violence to the instinct of
moral Beauty. He did not intend to make his gods
or men moral in our sense, but he avoided all con-
tradiction to the requirements of the moral. His
nude statues are pure. A lascivious expression never
marks any one of his divinities. Even the Baccha-
mals are devoid of impurity or moral ugliness. As it
is true that physical beauty itself has at the root the
same explanation as moral beauty, the two being
different elements of one synthesis, diverse aspects
and relations of the same idealized concrete, any
contradiction here would have violated the require-
ments of physical beauty itself.”
* “Wherever there is contest, as between artistic and moral beauty,
unless the moral side prevail, all is lost. Let any sculptor hew us out
the most ravishing combination of tender curves and spheric softness
that ever stood for woman, yet if the lip have a certain fullness that
hints of the flesh, if the brow be insincere, if, in the minutest particular,
the physical beauty suggest a moral ugliness, that sculptor, unless he
be portraying moral ugliness for a moral purpose, may as well give
over his marble for paving-stones. Time, whose judgments are inex-
orably moral, will not accept his work. For, indeed, we may say that he
who has not yet perceived how artistic beauty and moral beauty are
convergent lines, which run back into a common ideal origin, and who,
therefore, is not afire with moral beauty just as with artistic beauty;
that he, in short, who has not come to that stage of quiet and eternal
frenzy in which the beauty of holiness and the holiness of beauty
mean one thing, burn as one fire, shine as one light, within him, is not
yet the great Artist.”—From the last lecture of the late Sidney Lanier,
delivered before the Johns Hopkins University in April, 1881.
THE CLASSIC PERIOD. 143
It was reserved for the Romans, the imitators, to
sensualize the Art of Painting, and for Artists of the
Romantic period, for Christian Artists, to pro-
duce a sensual Venus, to give us an Io, or Danae, or
Leda, or Semele; and even in statuary the purity of
the Greek nude figure has rarely been perfectly
attained.
When the aesthetic sense is deep enough, it is an
unconscious moral sense, and keeps men pure, and the
moral sense in its perfection becomes the aesthetic.
The two disagree only in their imperfection, as mat-
ter for abstraction; and can be thought apart only
in consequence of their imperfection. *
But in all Greek Art there is little or no evidence
of any detection of the positive side of the ulti-
mate Beauty. Moral ugliness was shunned, but the
finer spiritual traits could not be given, for the
thoughts which they expressed did not yet exist for the
Greeks. Indeed, the whole range of thought was far
narrower than was possible in the Romantic period.
These lofty divinities, these high gods, after all, are
narrower creations than man himself. They cannot
enter into some of the moods of the human spirit.
They are always serious, if not covertly mournful.
They never smile, for to smile would be to confess
to incongruity and contradiction, and the humorous
and ridiculous belong to the same category of exis-
tence with the pathetic and the sublime. These
divinities never appeal to the profoundest human sym-
pathies. They never suffer, they never die. Hence
they are never loved, but only admired, envied and
144 HEGEL's AESTHETICs.
feared. Only a select mortal now and them is lifted
up by them. Their immortal serenity in the midst
of human agonies and unrest, of this everlasting
struggle of man, and nature, too, is itself the in-
tensest of contradictions. What gods are these that
have no pity? For a little while during their trium-
phant period the Greeks forgot that these gods must
die if they would keep hold of the human heart, and
be able to rise again carrying the human race with
them to the passionless heaven.
The modern Artist who attempts to revive the
feeling which characterized Classic Art is galvanizing
a corpse, and the toilsome attempts to reach in kind
the excellence of these works results in conspicuous
failure. Our modern sculptors mistake their mis-
sion in carving anew the Greek divinities. Michael
Angelo, with the wisdom of true greatness, never.
attempted to rival the antique. What is any mod-
ern Venus beside the Medicean, or the goddess figure
found at Melos?
CHAPTER IV.
THE ROMANTIC PERIOD.
YHE fault in Classic Art, whence came its ruin,
is, as we have seen, that it stopped short at an
impossible ideal, with a momentary and seducing
phase in the evolution of the human spirit, beguiling
the Greek Artist to linger in a delicious reverie,
that must, when it has rounded itself into rainbow
beauty, vanish, like the evanescent and hollow orb
that reflects the colors of the sky. He was asleep
and wrapped in the lovely visions of the Enchanted
Ground, as though there were no cavernous depths
and fearful declivities, no river of death beyond.
In Hegel's language, in Classic Art spirit seizes
itself, but it is in an incomplete form. It is not as
disengaged yet from the outer world, but as identical
with it. It can rule to some extent, but avoids con-
flict with its forces, submits to them still and thinks
it has found harmony and content in the coalescence.
Not till it can disengage itself utterly from the world
can it feel its own completeness and sufficiency, and,
being its own master, spring forth in a new attempt
to become the master of the world. To find at length
that it is self-determining, that it is a synthesis the
law of whose being is in itself, that the concrete spirit
differs no whit in essential characteristics and in its
10 145
146 - . HEGEL’S AESTHETICS.
immanent relations from the Absolute Spirit, being
its reflection still, and that though shattered and dis-
torted there is nothing lost, but that the whole can be
restored to harmonious adjustment, and become the
perfect image; to know one's self, thus, as in idea like
God, and kindred to him in the very finest and highest
capacities of the Divine; and not merely to imagine
as gods men magnified after the longings of one's
own unreal and broken self; this ideal self-knowledge
is what is meant by spirit's becoming possessed of itself.
To know one's self this in idea is one thing; to know
one's self this in reality is another. This idea has
the evidence of its truth, has its justification in the
requirements of the ultimate beauty, which alone is
satisfying, and can lay the reason to rest. But be-
tween the actuality and the realized idea there is a
dark and fearful passage-way, and no otherwise than
by threading it can the chasm between the imagina-
tion of it and the reality of it be left behind. And
the passage does not lie along the lofty bridge of pure
thought. That, indeed, spans it, but it will not sus-
tain the wayfarer. Rather it lies along the lowly
pathway of practice, where alone the foothold is firm.
. It was the discovery of this interval which awoke the
human mind at length out of its dream to what must
characterize the true ideal, which only can have
realization.
The clearer apprehension of the deranged ethical
relation, becoming at length a full conviction of the
contradiction of sin, and that perfection has its cen-
ter and its key in love, and not in power or knowl-
THE ROMANTIC PERIOD. 14?
edge merely,– this opened a new vista before the
human mind, of which Socrates and Plato and Aris-
totle had caught a glimpse, and into which, at
length, as Christians think, flashed light from above,
so that the permanent illumination disclosed both
the difficult pathway and, in the distance, a new and
higher and eternal beauty.
In other language, it was the concrete exhibition
of ideal human holiness in Jesus Christ which gave
men the deeper sense of sin, taught them their im-
perfections and the conditions for the ultimate well.
being; which clarified and corrected their concep-
tion of the Highest, which caused a new ideal of
their own possible attainment to shine gloriously
out of the mists, and gave them an undoubting
assurance that the ultimate of human thought had
been reached, and the riddle of existence solved.
When captivated by this thought, very naturally
man becomes comparatively indifferent to the unsat-
isfying world, as a something which he has tran-
scended in thought, and which is to be transcended
in fact. The tyranny of nature, the forces and the
magnitudes which have so oppressed him, he can afford
now to spurn. He looks forward to the time when
he shall command these forces, or dispense with
them. The world is no more his master. It retires
away from him. It becomes a something he can deal
with without fear. It becomes plastic in his hands.
He is independent of it, and may fashion it at his
caprice after the forms of his own spirit. He bathes
everything in it in the depths of his own infinite
148 HEGEL's ASTHETICs.
subjectivity, or he uses it to picture or suggest im-
ages of the ultimate perfection. He deals with
nature as a spirit free from it, yet not only not dis-
daining to use it, but, as finding in it material to
enrich his own being, recognizing for himself a new
necessity to use it, the necessity of perfect freedom, .
the vindication of his infinite caprice. All this is, or
makes possible, Romantic Art.
Thus the law which Art follows is furnished by
the prevalent conception of the universe, and as this
must have its center or unifying Principle, it is
based upon a Philosophy, and when Philosophy finds,
as it must, intelligence and will in its First Prin-
ciple, it becomes a Religion, and thus Art has always
expressed the religious belief of the time. These
periods, then, severally called Symbolic, Classic and
Romantic, are distinguished; first, as the rude en-
deavor to find an adequate conception; second, as the
seeming attainment of it; and, third, as the rectifi.
cation of the idea and the discovery of the process
to be passed through before realization.
The very interesting question would now arise,
What is the future of Art? Is there a new stadium
probable, or even possible? Or can men only go on
reproducing and recombining in various incongru-
ous mixtures the old material? From what has
been said already, it is evident that the answer to
this inquiry must depend upon our ability to fore-
cast the philosophic history of the human race, or
rather the form of its religious belief; for Philos-
ophy becomes Religion whenever it comes to be
THE ROMANTIC PERIOD. 149
*
warmed by emotion, and ethical and practical issues
display themselves, necessitating choice between in-
dulgence and sacrifice. This inquiry is one which
has never yet been very deeply groped into.
One aim, then, for Romantic Art will be to pre-
sent, in forms for the imagination, features of the ulti-
mate ideal of the harmonized universe; in which case
it can hardly miss being symbolic again, and — find-
ing its own tentatives inadequate — thus resembling
the mental movement belonging to the early periods
of Symbolic Art. But otherwise, and chiefly, it will
occupy itself with the infinitely varied characteristics
of the interval. In dealing thus with such wanton
freedom with the material furnished by the world,
many novel attitudes of the human spirit will arise,
many curious psychological phenomena will appear,
not possible in the older time. The ideas of honor,
fidelity, chivalry, love, humor, are all something new.
It would be interesting to reproduce the subtle anal-
ysis and the detection of the peculiarity of each of
these, which Hegel gives, but for this we have not
space, for it is a disquisition of length, and that
could not well be abridged. But we see thus how
large has become the field for the Protean spirit of
man; how numerous the capabilities of the new Art
in comparison with all that went before! A new
Architecture is invented; Sculpture takes a new
phase so far as it is Romantic; Painting enlarges its
scope with bewildering fertility. Music is created,
and is bringing us new surprises still; and Poetry
rises and sinks, ranges, becomes greater and smaller,
150 HEGEL's AESTHETICS.
sublime or petty, and follows with its charm-giving,
as the most flexible of the Arts should, all the sinuos-
ities of the universe which the fluent spirit per-
meates.
CHAPTER W.
THE TEMPORAL AND THE ETERNAL IDEALS.
EMARKS pretending to give the relative worth
of works of Art are generally only subjective,
and are liable to be abandoned, or changed, or even
contradicted by the same subject as new light comes,
or the point of view is shifted. But men love to
utter these opinions, for they are expressive of their
own delight, and they hope thereby to win sharers of
it, and to induce others to look more narrowly at the
objects of their partiality. Hence, it may be that
the critique upon which I shall now enter may not
be devoid of bias from subjective impressions; but
I propose now to return to the purpose which I indi-
cated before, to bring up for close and thoughtful
examination one or two particular works of Art,
in order to show what I have meant in speaking of
the Higher and the Lower Criticism, and what is
the limit of subjectivity in Art-appreciation, and
hence what has true objectivity. Incidentally it will
also appear that in Romantic Art the Classic mode of
dealing with its material has not been entirely aban-
doned; but is traceable in much of it, though still
modified by the new conceptions.
Let us, then, bring before us, in memory and
- - 151 .
152 HEGEL's AESTHETICs.
imagination, two well known pictures, which used to
hang side by side in the old gallery at Dresden,_
Raphael's Madonna di San Sisto and Correggio's
Madonna of the St. Sebastian, either of which gives .
delight of some kind, and in some degree, to those
regarding it. ,
The face of either virgin is beautiful, of Cor-
regio's sweet, human, maternal, and shows the soul
dwelling with tender complacency upon the thought
of the beautiful child she holds, and that he is an
object of interest or worship to the beholders;– of
Raphael's, also human and maternal, but the human
rapt into the Divine; and thereby her maternity is
lifted into a higher region, and fused by a loftier and
intenser emotion still. Thus a different ideal of
womanhood and its relations was, for the nonce, in
the mind of either artist. There are many Madon-
nas in which the religious element is wanting, which
never carry the thoughts away from the earth into
the heights or the depths; but in each of these
pictures there is aim after expression of religious
emotion, which must be dependent upon religious
thought, and I think that, in each of these, the per-
ception of the Artist is given at the very highest of
his religious attainment; for the Madonnas in Cor-
reggio's Notte, and the St. Jerome, and the Madonna
Scodella, the three most beautiful ones beside, are, in
my impression, still more distinctively human than
the one in the St. Sebastian; and I suppose there is
no question that in the faces in the Sistine Madonna
Raphael reached his highest religious attainment in
TEMPORAf, Ani) ETERNAL IDEALS. 153
his art. But these opinions will not affect the truth
of what I have to say.
Confining the attention to the faces of the virgins
alone, some gazers will prefer that in one picture,
some that in the other. Why should they do so? It
cannot be that the degree of their pleasure will
depend upon the kind of their pleasure. One may
say that this sweet, maternal face in the St. Sebastian
is the one with which he is most at home, which is
linked with more numerous and delightful associa-
tions. It reminds him of his own wife, or his own
mother, of his own child, of the loving looks which
have often given birth to his own raptures. The dear-
est thing he knows on the earth is human love, and
he accepts the suggestiveness of this countenance as
leading to the most attractive images and the most
exquisite feelings. With the expression of the other
face he is not so familiar. He sees that it is reli-
gious, acknowledges that it is lofty, appreciates the
beauty of contour, and whatever loveliness of color
his memory or fancy can supply. But the expres-
sion beckons him away, and he cannot follow, or he
fears to follow. It deals with thoughts with which
he is not familiar, whose associations are bewilder-
ing, whose suggestions are too profound, and to dwell
upon which for too long time would make him
uneasy. And so he turns to the tender human face
in the other picture as the one contenting him most.
It gives him a more prolonged satisfaction, and his
delight in it is more peaceful and untroubled than
in the other. And yet, when momentarily wrapped
154 HEGEL's AESTHETICs.
in uneasy admiration of the other, he may have sus-
pected that its associations were higher in kind; and
that his gratification, too, was a more powerful
straining of the imaginative spirit; and, because
more powerful, then requiring more effort of the will
to sustain the tension; and thus is explained why he
must soon relapse away and into a lower range of
thought and imaginative activity. What, then, is
the secret of the attractiveness, what is the charac-
teristic of the beauty in the one case and in the
other?
We presuppose that in either face are all the con-
ditions of physical beauty,+the faultless contour, the
rounded cheek, the aspiring arch of the brow, the
tender droop of lash and lid, the glorious waving
hair. Criticism will hardly care to deal with these,
or institute any comparisons. There is a greater dif-
ference in the mysterious flesh; chiefly, however,
because while one picture is comparatively opaque,
the other is luminous, and has its own seducing
charm of light, beguiling the observer to linger the
longer with it, though he may believe it to be of a
lower excellence. But all gazers soon look beyond
the beauty of form and of color, and of the subtle
gradation of light, and find, with more or less pene-
trating vision, the beauty of Soul. On what, then,
does this beauty depend? and why and how is that
in one different from that in the other? Which is
the Highest? How are to be distinguished the ideas
from which the beauty of each has its distinctive
charm?
TEMPORAL AND ETERNAL IDEALS. 155
In the one, Correggio's, we have human love, ten-
derness beyond the power of words to express, for
the lovely and mysterious child, gratitude implied
rather than expressed for the gift of that child, sym-
pathy, too, for the human ones before whom she
holds up the infant, and desire for their recognition.
It is maternal love in acknowledged subordination
to the Divine love, yet retaining its full conscious-
ness as human, and overflowing the bounds of the
maternal relation to take in and claim fellowship
with the representatives of the whole body of the
redeemed.
In the other éase we have human love still, but
forgetting itself in a more elevated consciousness, L-
the consciousness of the Supreme Object of worship.
She is thinking of the God-like rather than of the
human in her child. He is mysteriously above her,
even when the object of her care. It is not the rela-
tion which human ones bear to each other, but that
which all bear to the Source of life which has now
condescended and come near in the person of this
child. We do not stop to criticise the painter's ideal
in the face of the child. Of this much might be said.
But in the mother the consciousness of maternity is
in abeyance, swallowed up in other thoughts. The
human love yields to the adoring love; and, in the
painter's thought, the adoring love itself has assimi-
lated itself to the object of its adoration, and the
Virgin claims adoration for herself as the bearer of
this veiled Omnipotence, where yet the Omnipotence
is not concealed.
156 HEGEL's AESTHETICS.
In the first picture what is suggested by, or rather
implied in, the expression, and in the whole treat-
ment, is the perfect human earthly state, the loving
commonwealth, where tender ties unite all together,
where no discord disturbs the accord, where there is
no conflict nor clashing, where even activity has
ceased and the need of it is forgotten, where all are
melted together by the exquisite emotion which
seems so simple and pure, as though all time were
ended there and transmuted into eternity, a never-
ending present; yet, because the human conscious-
ness is never still, but always breathing and pulsat-
ing, always enlarging and enriching itself, there are
suggestions of other emotions, currents of feeling
leading off everywhither, and thus preserving the
whole consciousness from sameness and weariness.
But the ideal is still a human one, still bounded by
this actual world, and its requirements, and its pos-
sibilities. The deep questions of whence and whither
are only faintly suggested, if suggested at all. The
future is lost in the present. Existence is fixed at
its sweetest point. It is very beautiful. It is per-
fect of its kind. What is so beautiful as love?
What is so perfect as love? This, even the common
soul recognizes, is the quintessence of life, that which
determines the worth of everything else, that to
which everything else is sought only as a means,
that which the soul feels and acknowledges by its
in most instinct to be very near the secret and the
explanation of all existence.
The Virgin's face suggests all this. It depends
TEMPORAL AND ETERNAL IDEALS. 157
upon this ideal for its spiritual beauty and its attrac-
tiveness. It is because the human heart welcomes
such a state of things as of all things the dearest
and most desirable, this freedom to dwell forever
in this the most blissful of all emotions, tender,
human love, forgetting, for the time being, whether
it is the supreme emotion or not, refraining to doubt
whether it is eternal after all, or to ask what may
be the conditions for its eternity. •
Can we imagine the spectator's eye, which has
thus been rapt into sympathy with the sweet,
womanly face in the St. Sebastian, to turn from it
to the other picture, it would be likely to become
troubled, to sink from its dream, at the suggestion
of these latter questions. For this relation of tender
love between mother and child and other sympathiz-
ing ones, exists in a world apart, and the rest of the
universe is forgotten. There are other relations and
other facts, which, if allowed to enter the mind, will
trouble it. Such a state of things is only a dream
after all, dissipated at the first contact with the real.
It will not bear any scrutiny to discover whether it
have the conditions of perpetuity. A work of Art
to have beauty of the highest kind must be universal
in its suggestiveness. All possibilities must be im-
plicit there, in such a manner that the key to arrange
them is not unperceived. What is wanting, after
all, in this picture, is the suggestion of the ultimate
beauty of a perfected universe. It seizes but a frag-
ment of that universe, and at some antecedent point
gives us a miniature heaven, but one that must break
158 HEGEL’S ASTHETICS.
up and vanish before the stern conflict that is to
usher in the ultimate and everlasting one. The soul
of man must leave this exquisite and rosy calm to
plunge into the sublime and stormy belts that have
to be passed through ere the illimitable vistas of the
final heavens open their lucid depths and disclose
their shadowless magnificence.
Ere one can lapse from the ideal state upon which
is dependent the beauty of the St. Sebastian, and
reach the ideal state upon which depends the beauty
of the Madonna di San Sisto, imagination must
transport him through this intervening process. In
the first picture we have the dearest and loveliest
of human relations consecrated by contact with what
is Divine. In the second picture we have the Divine
relation itself, showing itself under the limitations
of the human. That God is to be worshiped not
merely as the benevolent and condescending One, but
as the just and omnipotent One, who may rightly be
feared, who is of necessity severe to whatever is alien
to his own holy love; that he can be worshipped
rightly by human ones, only as they acknowledge
their need to share the consequences of this severity,+
these are the thoughts which underlie this ideal, and
whose traces linger in the faces of this picture. Here
we have the beauty which implies the need of recon-
ciliation, and reconciliation accomplished. All this
may be read in these countenances taken as a group.
In the face of the child we have the infant Son of
Man, Him who is to judge the world. He looks
into infinity, and his mother's look follows his. The
TEMPORAL AND ETERNAL IDEALs. 159
feeling his look gives is not unmixed with terror,
and she, too, catches faintly the same celestial and
lofty frown. The impulse of the beholder, after
regarding either face, is to cast down one's eyes.
Each dwells in a region we have not yet reached, and
to share and make part of the beauty of which we
are not yet prepared. In this transcendent realm
the ideal relation between all-human souls can only
be had when each soul is in true relation to God.
This, then, is the highest and most beautiful state,
beyond which there is nothing which Art can aim to
show. The Madonna di San Sisto belongs entirely
to Romantic Art, utterly and cleanly separated from
the essential characteristics of the Classic ideal; which
cannot be said of the St. Sebastian.
The subordinate features of both pictures are in
entire accord with the dominant ideal as expressed
in the chief figures. The human faces catch, in
milder form, the same expression with that of the
Virgin and the Child; in the one, sweet, human ten-
derness, forgetful of any possible disaster; in the
other, Divine tenderness, not unmixed with severity,
and with no oversight of the conflict impending.
The same is true of the angelic faces. In Raphael's
picture they are cherubs,-children, but still spirits
of wisdom, beautiful, but yet very serious and pow-
erful, looking as though they might be the instru-
ments of the Divine severity still, even though rapt
in present adoration. In Correggio's picture they
are bright-eyed, sportive, in keeping with the soft
and delicious feeling that pervades the whole;— a
160 HEGEL's AESTHETICS.
setting of various beauty around the perfect gem
of Virgin and Child. They show the insouciance
and the playfulness into which human love, in its
supreme content with itself, is always prompted to
break. Some of the angelic figures are maturer
than others, linked in closer sympathy to the mother,
as others are to the child; and all, in their outlines,
and suggested motions, full to the finger-tips with
exquisite tender grace. Either painter seems to
have worked after the true idea of angelic existence,
if anything distinct from human,—of a spirit bound
by no limitations of matter, but finding all its
resources flexible and fluent to enable him to express
to human ones his mission of immediate sympathy
or activity. The idea seems to be that a pure and
holy spirit, out of his own intrinsic potence and
energy, has the power, at will, to effloresce into a
form related to the material world, such as may
express himself and his mission to senses prepared
to meet him.
Thus, then, we may examine these two pictures to
discover the ideal perfection which was in the Artist's
mind, and the display of which constitutes their charm
to the beholder. To find what this is in any work
of Art, and thus to what grade of beauty it belongs,
is what I mean by the Higher Criticism. The critic
may thus prefer one work of Art to another, and be
able to vindicate his preference by giving its ground,
yet acknowledge that in other respects it is inferior
to that other. If the inferiority is marked, it will,
So far, diminish or impair any delight in it and
TEMPORAL AND ETERNAL IDEALS. 161
#
bring down the general estimate. Its defects may
be so disturbing as to lower its absolute worth, even
though its ideal aim be high. The Artist has lacked
invention, or technical skill, or something, so that
he has not been able to harmonize the elements of
his work, or subtly to adjust into perfect keeping
the various excellent attainments according to the
grades of their dignity. Critics here show their
subjective partiality, and he is an inferior one who
judges only from the technical excellence; and he is
an imperfect one who leaves it out of view. The
passion for physical beauty is so strong with some
men, the delight in it so intense, that they labor
under a bias and become almost incapable of the
Higher Criticism. The charm of color, especially
in the intricate infinities of human flesh, is so mys-
terious and fascinating that some almost measure a
painter's merit by his success in dealing with it.
Such an observer is ready, perhaps, to claim for it a
higher excellence than any beauty of form. The
latter he can follow and understand, or at least its
meaning can be pointed out and made intelligible;
but the former, he may think, is elusive, and a Divine
secret, suggestive of subtle harmonies in the physi-
cal universe, and of the ultimate Transfiguration.
The fact that man is the only animal that has flesh
in its display of the infinities of color, may suggest
that he alone is part of that glorified universe, and
that other animals belong to this, which is perisha-
ble. No loveliness of color, even of the humming-
birds or the birds of Paradise, is living, is glowing
11 -
162. . . . . HEGEL's ABSTHETICS.
with its own life, but shines with the lustre of light
reflected, and its charm is from without, and not
from within. * * *
Any picture, or statue, or poem, or musical compo-
sition, or even many buildings, may be thus critically
examined, and be found to give some hints of the
permanent ideal of the artist and its implications;
though, undoubtedly, a wrong judgment might be
easily reached and rested in, from attention too super-
ficial, or to too few of his productions. When this is
discovered, to judge of the absolute worth of his work,
according as it depends for its excellence upon this
ideal as permanent or transitory, is what I mean by
the Higher Criticism; higher because more immedi-
ately derived from a philosophy: from which it would
follow that only he can be the perfect critic who, in
addition to other gifts and acquisitions, has the philo-
sophic mind. This is required to judge of the ele-
vation, the truth and the richness of the ideal. The
perfect critic, indeed, will not be regardless of any
lower excellencies or defects. And that critic, or
that observer, is to be pitied who has no eye or ear
for some of these, who has a poor appreciation of
the beauty of color, or of form, or of the melody of
verse; or who cannot admire the skill of the artist
in inventing situations, or triumphing over difficul-
ties. The comparative value which the observer will
set upon this, that, or the other excellence is a part
of his subjectivity. This is the variable element,
and here is where argument should never enter,
and enters in vain. He whose ear is defective, and
TEMPORAL AIND ETERNAL IDEALS. 163
unable to enjoy the rhythm and cadences, the mel-
ody and harmonies of fine verse, can never be con-
vinced that a poem with these characteristics may
deserve to be ranked higher than another, whose
meaning is more lofty, or whose imagery is more
striking. A true criticism will abandon the attempt,
therefore, to fix accurately the relative worth of a
work of art in comparison with another, and will
occupy itself, rather, with the endeavor to discover
its absolute worth; that is, its worth relative to the
highest note of excellence in every one of the par-
ticulars as to which it can be judged,—such as tech-
nical skill, mastery of the capabilities of form or
color, or of sound, liveliness of fancy, or inventiveness,
the ability to penetrate deeply into character, or to
display the whole truth, whether of man, or tree, or
mountain. All this may be successfully and admi-
rably done, and the attempt be still to be made, the
highest critical aim of all,—the discovery of the
ideal aspect of the universe, which explains the deep-
est meaning of the artistic work, and may, perhaps,
determine its duration in the fond admiration of
human kind. - -
Hidden in the mind of every man is his Philoso-
phy, - which may or may not be also his Religion. A
skillful Socratic questioning could elicit it even from
the answers of the rudest mind. Most men are un-
aware that they have it, though they think by it and
act upon it. Educated men are often at pains to
conceal it. The artist of high quality is usually one
who cannot conceal it, whose irrepressible impulse is
164 BEGEL's AESTHETICS.
to tell it, to tell it even when he disguises it. These
Poets, whether painters, sculptors, architects, musi-
cal creators, or artificers of verse, tell us more of
their souls and their inner secrets than any other
men. He who ventures upon an ambitious work of
Art challenges all other men to find out that upon
which his heart is fixed, if they can. This is the
profoundest distinction between the poetic and the
prosaic way of thinking, that the former seeks to
retire to the center in order to contemplate and
feel the harmony of the whole; while the latter finds
its uneasy realm in the changes and perturbations
which rush over the surface. -
All appreciation or criticism is liable' to be con-
torted, if an artificial and untrue philosophy happens
to have been admitted into the mind. The materi-
alistic Pantheist, for illustration, has endeavored to
put away from himself the power to value and enjoy
the highest excellence, the most perfect beauty of
any work of Art. He should, consistently, judge it
by the standard of a lower ideal. And if so, the
question arises, whether there are any permanent
and common elements in all subjective impressions,
which are not idiosyncratic, and which, therefore, as
unchangeable, are a part of the true objective.
Some attention to this problem I now give.
If Beauty, though relative to a percipient, is a
mode of the Divine activity, an element in the
Divine consciousness, and is therefore rooted in the
essential and immutable constitution of things, the
perception of it cannot be put away by any theory;
TEMPORAL AND ETERNAL IDEALS. 165
and the materialistic Pantheist, in spite of his disa-
vowal, may still retain the ability to enjoy the high-
est beauty in nature or of a work of Art; though, as
a result of the habit of mind induced by his theory,
he may have impaired his gratification. The con-
sistent evolutionist would account for the alleged
pleasure by declaring it to be an inherited preju-
dice, or a manufactured delusion. Such his system
ought to regard it. This work of Art cannot legiti-
mately have any such Beauty as is claimed for it,
or inspire any such lofty emotion. There is no
such state of things possible as that which is said
to explain its Beauty and the emotion. Thus it
would appear that man has transcended in his
thought the possibilities of existence, and elicited
from and for his imaginary structure an emotion
which has no justification. But “facts are stubborn
things.” Whatever comes to pass must have its
explanation in its antecedents. And here is this
emotion. Whence came it? How has man — evolved
from beneath and the product of the lower forces —
become able to transcend himself, to reach forward
into the remote, to make gratification in the unreal
and impossible as indubitable and as intense as in
the real? If it be said that all this power was
... wrapped up and concealed in the lower forces
which have brought him on thus far, -as the
power coiled up in the spring, slowly uurolling itself,
3 * cannot be measured merely by the eye, which observes
3; the almost insensible motion,-then it may be replied,
ºf if so, how do we know that we have reached the
166 HEGEL's ASTHETICs.
limit of the unrolling, and that the ultimate state
of things may not be the very one which this highest
beauty presupposes, and upon which alone its emo-
tion is legitimated?
This apprehension of the highest beauty, even in
the consciousness of the materialistic Evolutionist,
cannot, then, be thought away successfully. It can-
not be undermined and made to dissipate by any
disproof of the truth of the instinctive vaticination
upon which it depends. There is a hollowness about
the mockery that mocks it that will make that mock-
ery collapse in suicide. This philosopher cannot
account for it upon his theory, and it returns again
and again to trouble him.
If, then, this emotion of the highest beauty cannot
be exterminated even by him who willfully attempts
to do it, and if it exist in various degrees of intensity
in those who make no such attempt, faint indeed
often, but still traceable,_then, surely, we have
reached something permanent, fixed, unchangeable, z
an unalterable element in human subjectivity, which
must itself, then, be a part of the objective reality.
It becomes, then, a matter of induction and testi-
mony whether these are facts indeed. The univer-
sality of the Art-impulse, and of the enjoyment which
comes from it, in all races, presupposes an apprecia-
tion of the element of the Beautiful in all existence,
even though very crude and with no discriminating
ability. The fact that this appreciation can be edu-
cated and carried to the ultimate, and exists in its
natural náiveté, irrespective of all conscious adoption
TEMPORAL AND ETERNAL IDEALS. 167
of any philosophic scheme, would seem to establish,
almost beyond denial, that the highest form of it
has valid objective ground, and is as legitimate as
any lower form.
My thesis, then, is this: Whatever in the emotion
of the Beautiful can only be explained from the
ideal of the ultimate perfection, which is the normal
and essential constitution of the universe, is the com-
mon element in all subjectivity, and thus a part of
the true objective. This element is, therefore, invari-
able and ineradicable, though admitting of degrees
of vividness in consciousness, and we can erect its
requirements into a standard by which to ascertain
the absolute value of a work of Art.
Whatever Beauty is of a lower kind, true, indu-
bitable, but dependent upon an ideal state of things
that is transient, and which accounts for the emotion
of lower grade, appeals to what is idiosyncratic in
subjectivity, and is therefore dependent for its degree,
though not for its existence, upon the modes of
human character and the predominant tastes in the
conventional life.
What I mean may, perhaps, be made apparent by
thinking that possibly there may be some men so
imbruted, so destitute of human tenderness, as that
the ideal upon which the beauty of expression in the
St. Sebastian depends has no attraction for them,
and does not strike an answering chord; but that
there is no man of ordinary culture who would not
be seized by the expression in the Madonna di San
Sisto, because of this element of severity, which
168 - IIEGEL's AESTHETICS.
\
marks that the ultimate Beauty is not yet reached,
or at least that, in the attempt to portray it or to
hint of it, it must still bear the mark of its antece-
dent history. Whatever thus in human emotion is
necessary to seize any constituent of the ultimate
Beauty is common in all subjectivity. And that
emotion is subjective purely, and variable, which is
relative to any state of things stopping short of the
ultimate perfection. To judge by the standard of
the former is, then, a more philosophic effort, which,
therefore, I call the Higher Criticism. -
Subordinate inquiries might now be entered into
to determine what are the essential elements of the
ultimate perfection; whether, in the synthesis which
makes up complete and harmonized existence, the
permanent elements of its physical aspect can be
dispensed with; whether, for iHustration, color does
not belong to the permanent, the etermity-form, rather
than to the transient, the time-form; whether melo-
dious and harmonized sound does not likewise ;
whether shape itself is not as permanent as space,
etc. But I pretermit these inquiries, merely observ-
ing that he is rash who thinks that much cannot
be said for the affirmative alternative of all these
propositions. '
CHAPTER WI.
THE SUBLIME AND THE PATHETIC IN ART.
NINCE I have contrasted the beauty which depends
upon the attractiveness of a state of things that
is transitory with that which depends upon the ulti-
mate reality, which is permanent, what of the region
between the two? What of the passage from one to
the other? That there has been or is to be a transi-
tion is implied, I have said, in Raphael's picture.
The beauty of Correggio's, notwithstanding all its
fascination, is of that which has to break up. It is
a momentary and delusive calm, which has to change
into the storm ere the final peace. Here, now, in
this mid-region are to be found many of the chief
works of Romantic Art. This is the region of the
Sublime and the Pathetic. That the distinction
between Classic and Romantic Art cannot be sharply
carried into the concrete, that the two are not cleanly
separable in fact and in time as they may be in
thought, is shown by the fact that the Pathetic and
the Sublime are to be found in Greek and Roman
Art. They break through the Classic ideal, for they
are founded in the existing human nature, belong
to matters of which men cannot long remain in
ignorance. Hence we have the Niobe and the
Laocoön, as well as the Antinous, or the Medicean
169
170 HEGEL's ASTHETICs.
Venus; but the Pathetic in these is still distinguish-
able from that in Romantic Art, as I shall notice
presently. And in Greek and Roman Poetry the
Classic ideal is constantly transcended; for the freer
spirit, with its wider range, of the Poet-proper must
bring itself face to face with these facts and prob-
lems, and give us the Sublime and the Pathetic
still, though in such forms as show that they have
sprung from the Classic ideal and its suppositions,
rather than that they are moving into the Romantic
ideal with its presuppositions.
Let me, then, endeavor to distinguish the emotions
and characteristics of the Sublime and the Pathetic,
which are near akin, in Romantic Art, in order to
discover what common element of all subjectivity is
to be found even here, and thus bring such works
within the range of the Higher Criticism. Much of
the interest of these works will be purely contingent,
indeed, and must be judged by a lower standard.
But is there anything in the Sublime, as such, that
can belong to the ultimate perfection? It would
seem that the Pathetic is, indeed, alien; yet even
this may show itself in a work of the highest order,
as legitimately as the element of severity may show
itself in Raphael's Madonna. To determine the true
meaning of the Sublime and the Pathetic, we must
first recover some of our threads of thought.
The movement in the history of the human mind
which made Romantic Art possible may be charac-
terized as the undeifying of nature. In the early
periods nature weighed down the spirit, was too vast
SUBLIME AND PATHETIC IN ART. 171
for it, before the spirit had discovered its dignity
and its freedom. Hence it could only endeavor to
express in symbol the vague and overpowering
thought which oppressed it. In the Classic period
there is a momentary equilibrium. The spirit ac-
cepts nature as a fixed fact, finds respects of identity
and coalescence, discovers that it is itself the choicest
form of existence, finds in nature the capacity for
the expression of its highest thought of itself, forgets
everything else, every possibility of change, and rests
content for a brief period in its vision of Beauty.
But as the human soul enlarges, expands and
deepens, it finds at length that nature is plastic only
in one respect, and only for a moment; that she still
presents contradictions which spirit cannot triumph
over; yet, recognizing its own superior dignity, and
that the actual relation is a reversal of the ideal
one, abandons nature, and withdraws within itself in
its own sufficiency and ideal completeness. Nature
is set away, - made aloof, - gifted with an inde-
pendence; yet is discovered to be itself in movement,
in a state of transition, and therefore possible to be
moulded by spirit after its own caprice. The spirit
retires from nature, refuses allegiance, and returns
to it as ideally its master. The world becomes in
its thought a world of accident, and human impulses
themselves seemingly accidental,— free and not de-
liberate, or deliberate only according to subjective
caprice. Thus nature, regarded as alien, becomes
pliant, and may be dealt with in an entirely unre-
strained manner.
172 HEGEL's AESTHETICS.
This accounts for the free handling which the
world receives at the hands of the Romantic Poets
and Painters, for the representation of wild adven-
ture, for the temporary phase of chivalry, for the
Realistic treatment of Dutch and Flemish and much
of modern Art, for the attempts to fix nature in her
transient aspects, as in landscape pictures, and human
life in its transient modes, for the evanescent beauty
caught by the canvas, or the verse, and for the de-
lectable incongruities of humorous works. This is
the secret of genre paintings, and of nine-tenths of
the verse now for many years so prolifically written.
The mind no more loses confidence in its right and
its ability to deal with nature thus freely, because it
possesses the conviction, or the suspicion, that changes
must be made in itself before any changes can be
made in nature. Its own struggles and aspirations
after ethical perfection are set forth in Art, and by
symbols, — symbols more adequate than those in
ancient Art, because expressing clearer ideas. Hence
Poetry finds expression of the soul's ideal virtues
and excellencies and moral beauties in nature, which
becomes symbolic after a new manner: and thus is
displayed a mode of dealing with imagery quite dis-
tinct from anything in very ancient Art. I doubt
whether there is an image in Homer where nature
is used to symbolize the peculiar graces of the soul
for which Modern Poetry has found analogies so
plentiful. -
Hence Music has so wondrously enlarged its scope
to express the new modes of spirit; and thus we
SUBLIME AND PATHETIC, IN ART. 173
may see, perhaps, that Music and Poetry, if not
Painting likewise, can always adjust themselves to
any possible novel modes of spirit; for spirit, thus
far, has shown nothing cyclical in its development,
but a steady, onward movement. Hence, too, the
doubt whether Sculpture, as a pure Art, has not
exhausted itself, and can have no future but to
reproduce the past, or to borrow the intent of Paint-
ing, beside which it must always acknowledge its
comparative inadequacy to suggest action and subtle
and varied expression. Hence, too, the doubt whether
Architecture has any future. One is indeed puzzled
to imagine how it can have anything new before it,
anything but varied phases and combinations of the
old ideas. One is tempted to hold the same opinion
about Painting, since it is so hard to conjecture any-
thing new for it, any new faith or mode of symboli-
zation, and seeing the rudderless efforts of modern
painters. But I do not share this doubt, but think,
rather, that Painting, too, may be included, as well
as Poetry and Music, in the prediction of a new
future for Art, though that be very dimly seen as
yet, and no one has been able to give a very confident
report. I cannot think of a more interesting specu-
lation than one that would give us a hope in this
respect sufficient to awaken our enthusiasm.
Romantic Art may, then, have three or four dis-
tinct aims: First, to express the vision of the ulti-
mate perfection in symbol, by the human counte-
nance, or by nature, in her suggestions of form or
glories of color; secondly, to deal with nature and
174 HEGEL's ASTHETICs.
human life as material to be worked up accord-
ing to subjective caprice, and in this effort two
diverging tendencies display themselves—Pure Real-
ism, which deals with the transient or accidental,
and the Ideal treatment, which in its freedom of
range may bring back and borrow the Classic Ideal,
or clarify the Romantic, or mingle the two; and
thirdly, to exhibit the characteristics of the tran-
sit, the contradiction and the conflict. This is the
region of the Pathetic and the Sublime, and a field
quite inexhaustible, and where, perhaps, the interest
in Romantic Art culminates. And here it dawns
upon us that Painting may still find a field. The
clearness with which the conditions of this conflict
are seen and its truth displayed will determine the
absolute worth of such artistic aims in the estimate
of the Higher Criticism. But we have still to be
busy in endeavoring to fix the true notion, for Art,
of the Pathetic and the Sublime.
Man is represented as having reached the com-
pleter understanding of himself and the world he
lives in, and the discovery that all ideals hitherto
realized were of something transitory; that even the
one arrested for devotion that seemed to have com-
pleteness and to be for the imagination satisfactory
has contradictions within itself that will shatter and
destroy it. The subtle sympathy and connection
between the physical disorders of the universe and
the moral disorders of humanity, which was now and
then, even in the early periods, suspected, comes to
have assurance at length; till the conviction is
SUBLIME AND PATHETIC IN ART. 175
reached and the truth felt, if not understood and
expressed, that violation of moral law is the source
of all disorder; that sin is the fundamental contra-
diction; that the ultimate condition, which alone can
be satisfying to the aesthetic sense, must be one in
which all the aspects of being are set in their proper
relation, in which the synthesis is remade, wrong
relations reversed, and a perfect correspondence
brought about between the ethical, intellectual and
physical elements which, in all concrete existence,
can never be separated. Captivated by this ideal of
the ultimate Beauty, the human mind becomes more
and more painfully sensible of the shortcoming of the
Real, of its contrast with the Ideal. The mind of the
born Artist, then, may dwell mainly upon the fas-
cinating vision of the ultimate glory, to comprehend
which taxes to the utmost all the intellect, to figure
which stimulates to the uttermost the imagination,
and in his works he may give hints or glimpses of it,
momentary or more or less prolonged, endeavoring
to describe it or to symbolize it in some way; or he
may occupy himself with the details of the inter-
val, of the stormy passage to the ultimate perfec-
tion, and present situations which appeal to the
sympathies and are pathetic, or which task the im-
agination to fill or reproduce them, and which are
therefore sublime; or, feeling inadequate to endeavors
so high, may absorb himself in the present reality,
dealing with the material of the world according to
his fancy, fixing men or nature in some moment of
temporary interest, some vanishing phase of the pas-
176 HEGEL's ASTHETICs.
sage and the conflict that conceals, rather than
brings to light, the contradiction. Thus, instead of
Tragedy we have Comedy; instead of historic we
have genre pictures; instead of aiming after such
true pathos as Sculpture is still competent to express,
we have the modern realistic groups, perpetuating
transitory and worthless situations in figures which
lack all the charm that Painting or Poetry might
give. A disquisition is needed to examine the capa-
bilities of Landscape Painting to meet the require-
ments of the Higher Criticism, which I am loth to
omit, but must. As for the figure Painters in these
days, they seem in a state of bewilderment, and the
whole Art to have no definite aims. They are becom-
ing aware of their inability to reproduce or rival the
classic or mediaeval excellence, and it is an acknowl-
edged instance of bad taste or misdirected power to
attempt a Madonna. Religious pictures, for the
most part, seem anachronisms; and there is an air
of unreality, of unfaith, about them. Our Painters
rarely even attempt the Pathetic and the Sublime,
though here would seem to be an inviting field in
which they might succeed. They toil in the search
after out-of-the-way situations, which have little
worth, appeal to no deep sympathies, belong to the
superficial side of life. The prevalent taste is to
treat groups of figures of men and animals simply
as studies of picturesque arrangement and brilliant
effects of color, or of dignified attitudes and grace-
ful motions, and the skill in this particular is some-
thing wonderful. All which is pleasing, but which
SUBLIME AND PATHETIC IN ART. 177
we contemplate with a sigh that the Art of Painting
has not yet found any new lofty aim.
The conclusion is this:—if in an artistic perform-
ance anything is borrowed from the ideal of the
ultimate perfection, it may be, if adequately ren-
dered, said to belong to High Art. If it deals with
what has no permanence, or intrinsic worth, it is
low in its aim, and can only be rescued from speedy
neglect by its success in dealing with the mystery
of Color or of Sound, or appealing to some transient
sympathy.
If it aim after the Sublime or the Pathetic, its
success may bring it into the category of High Art,
while its failure will sink it in absolute worth below
the successes of the Realist.
Classic Art did not shun the Pathetic. Even in
Sculpture, which generally avoided it, we have the
Niobe, or the Laocoön, which, however, according to
our definition, some might think to be works not
Classic, but remembrances, or anticipations of the
Romantic modes of thought. But, indeed, these
have the distinctive pathos belonging to the Classic
period. In the Greek Tragedies we have similar
pathos. What characterizes these is the display of a
situation implying the rigidity of the decrees of
Fate, the mournfulness of the compelled destiny of
humanity. This, requiring in the auditor or witness
an imaginative reproduction, appeals to his sympa-
thies, gives him delight, not from satisfaction with
178 HEGEL's AESTHETICS.
the situation, but from his own mental activity, and
possibly from the consciousness of his own immu-
nity. What is noticeable in the Greek Pathos is,
that there is no consolation for it; no hope held out,
no suggestion that the sad situation has an inner
bright side, that it is remedial, and has atoning
worth; no consecration of human suffering as a
means of purification; no bit of blue sky piercing the
murky clouds and beckoning into the infinite; while
in the Christian Pathetic there is often a delicious
pleasure, and one is reconciled to the pain, even in
the imagination of it, and would be content to endure
the same, from love, or in the way of penance. It
is not all sad. The suffering is often only joy. This
discovery and this feeling are uniquely Christian.
Pain is borne cheerfully, not for one's own sake
merely, but for others' as well. . It is felt by a sub-
lime instinct to be vicarious. The pain sought and
borne by the Hindoo devotee has been purely indi-
vidualistic. Even the disciple of Buddha, though
moved by sympathy to relieve and diminish suffer-
ing, has his end in himself, and not in the totality.
There is many a so-called Christian martyr who has
been so from Oriental, or Pagan, rather than on
purely Christian grounds. - *
In the Romantic period, when the Pathetic is
attempted, this will be the ground of distinction.
The Pathos, after all, may be only Greek or Oriental,
either the mournfulness of submission to the inevit-
able, or the fainter admiration of stoical endurance.
If, however, the vicarious characteristic is suggested
SUBLIME AND PATHETIC IN ART. 179
or implied, so as to be recognized, the Pathetic is
then lifted up into the region of the Sublime, and
becomes High Art. In the Classic Pathos, that which
lies out of sight, concealed, is the inexorable Fate.
In Christian Pathos, that which is below, but not
entirely hidden, is the absolute Justice, which will
openly, at length, reverse all wrongs, and meanwhile
catch up their results into the current of its Provi-
dence, as masteringly as all results of good, making
them remedial and purifying. This hopefulness is
never lost sight of in the Shakespearean Tragedies.
The sky is left clear after the storm. A brighter
day than the past will dawn, now that this gloom
has come to its end. -
The Pathetic, I have said, may become the Sub-
lime. This is the case when it shows us heroism,
unusual spiritual strength to act or endure, taxing
the imagination to measure it. But the Sublime is
not necessarily the Pathetic. If it be merely physi-
cal size, or strength, or persistence of will to contend
with or vanquish difficulties, and have no moral mean-
ing, it will have no absolute worth as an element
of the ultimate Ideal, or as an essential moment of
the successful transit. Size and strength are only
relative, and have no absolute standard to measure
degrees of much or little. The living beetle may be
strong, and the dying elephant weak, though the
convulsive struggles of the beast might crush a
thousand of the insects. Pompeii was full of great
buildings, but the lava from the small mountain
overwhelmed them all. As soon as imagination is
180 HEGEL's AESTHETICS.
adequate to fill the required strength or size, it
ceases to be a sublime effort. But if there is moral
heroism to be contemplated, imagination always falls
short, and hence its effort is always an emotion of
the Sublime. Strength of will, even in the cause of
evil, may be sublime, for this exhaustless potence is
similar to the same in the holy struggles; yet one
has no faith in its permanence, and admiration of it
is sapped by this doubt, since it has no valid objective
ground. But the abstract spiritual strength entitles
it to belong to High Art. It is this, then, which
brings about the approval of the Higher Criticism,
such strength suggested as is needed to carry this
heroism beyond its own necessity,+ to turn sacrifice
into spontaneity, to give it thus a leading toward
the ultimate Beauty, upon whose bosom it will
expire. Works that are sublime according to this
high standard are rare enough. - -
Architecture, of course, is never pathetic. Its
ordinary aim is to be beautiful, yet it may be said
to have sublime characteristics, in the mysterious
and bewildering aspiration of the Gothic, or in the
repose and suggested infinity of the Egyptian, or
even in the ambient sweep of the interior of the
dome. In all these cases imagination is somewhat
baffled, and its tension is the emotion of the Sub-
lime. -
Sculpture rarely aims to be pathetic. The Pietà
is, rather, beautiful and touching. When it does,
as in the Niobe, or Laocoön, or Dying Gaul, it takes -
very strong hold of Christian sympathy. It rarely,
Stſ.B.LIME AND PATHETIC fin ART. 181
also, aims to be sublime, though the unmeasurable
strength of the Farnese Hercules, the powerful re-
pose in the head of Jupiter, the Moses of Michael
Angelo, a true human king, and his mystic figures
in the Medicean chapel,- all have sublime character-
istics; yet in none of these sculptures have we the
highest form of the Sublime, the spiritual strength
beyond ordinary human reach, which immolates
itself in loving sacrifice for the whole.
But in Painting we have every variety of the
Pathetic and the Sublime. So, too, in Poetry. Nor
is Music incapable of it, for it can utter the secret
murmurs of feeling which accompany any of the
currents of thought. Illustrations from Poetry or
Painting would be so numerous that it would be
mere cataloguing to speak of them, and nothing
would be gained for thought thereby; while an
elaborate study and analysis of various sublime pic-
tures, or poems, or dramas, would justify us in
giving the estimate of highest worth to such as
depict most truly the terrors and the strength shown
in this vivid strife. -
There are aims in the Tragic Drama higher than
have yet been attempted, successes possible greater
than have yet been accomplished; but mankind will
not see them till a greater even than Shakespeare is
born.
PART III.
THE SYSTEM OF THE DIFFERENT ARTS.
CHAPTER I.
STYLES; CLASSIFICATION.
HE third part of Hegel's work, which is by far
the most voluminous, give us his system of the
particular Arts, and the treatment of each in detail.
Here, too, we find a progression, as we have found it
for Art in general, in the historic development.
Each Art has had its commencement, its growth, its
perfection and degradation. - *
The general characteristics of all the Arts have
been designated as styles, and been called the severe,
the ideal and the graceful. No Art is characterized
by simplicity in its commencement. This is a result.
One must have triumphed over antecedent difficul-
ties. The Artist must, as the result of repeated
trials, have learned how to hide all the previous
preparations and anterior scaffoldings, so that the
free beauty may appear clearly in one burst. It is
here as with the manners of a well-cultured man,
who in all that he says and does shows himself sim-
ple, free and natural. These are qualities which he
seems to possess as a gift of nature, but which in
182
STYLES; CLASSIFICATION. 183
him, however, are the fruit of perfect culture. Thus,
logically and historically, Art in its commence-
ments appears unnatural, coarse, minute in acces-
sories, making painful effort over vestments and
ornaments. In Poetry, the first efforts are simple
recitations, theogonies, in which are fermenting
abstract thoughts badly expressed. In Sculpture,
the expression of the early figures is stolid, or of
an exaggerated vitality. The external circumstances,
on the contrary—the clothing, arms and ornaments—
are worked with more care, yet the folds of the
drapery are stiff and detached, and do not adjust
themselves to the positions of the body, as we see in
the early images of the Virgin and the Saints. There
cannot properly be said to be style till this early
stage is passed. When we find the Beautiful indeed,
which may be though the work be still rugged and
rude, its first form is that of a high simplicity. The
Artist has found the essential element and absorbs
himself in it, disdaining grace and minuter beautiful
adjustments. The severe style contents itself with
the general and grand impression. Whatever is acci-
dental is banished, in order that mere caprice may
not seem to have introduced it. ,
In the second place we find the ideal style, holding
a middle place between the severe and the wantonly
graceful. Its character is the highest vitality com-
bined with a calm and beautiful grandeur, as we see
in Homer, or in the works of Phidias. Here the life
is visible everywhere. There is nothing insignificant,
nothing which is not expressive, yet the unity is not
184 HEGEL's AESTHETICS.
concealed. It is the expression of one idea, of one
individuality, of one sole action. Yet we find the
breath of grace spread over the entire work; the
artist has yielded to the impulse which the severe
style has repressed, and endeavors to enrich the
gratification of the spectator. But grace, in the
ideal style, still appears as a sort of condescension.
The work does not need it. The essential idea is
sufficient, and shows that it can exist without these
exterior charms, which are benignantly superadded.
But when the balance is lost, and the artist loses
himself in these graceful accessories, we have another
style. It is apparent now that he depends upon this
gratification for the success of his work. The Apollo
Belvidere may be said to mark the transition from
the high ideal to the gracious style. Virgil and
Horace thus elaborate their style, in which we
descry that their purpose is to give pleasure, and
the pains they take to do it. In Architecture, Sculp-
ture and Painting, the graceful style is not content
with simple and grand masses, but covers them up
with multitudinous details. We may include under
this head what may be called the style for effect,
which employs the severe, the shocking, the colossal
(as we often find in Michael Angelo), and striking
contrasts, as means of expression. This style mani-
fests a dominant tendency in Art to turn toward the
public. It clamors for attention. The two qualities—
the calm, self-sufficient independence, and the com-
plaisance to offer one's self to the regard of the
spectator—ought to be combined in a perfect equilib-
STYLES; CLASSIFICATION. 185
rium. If Art, in the style severe, is entirely self-
inclosed, without showing anything to attract the
spectator, it is cold. If it makes too many advances,
it pleases indeed, but the impression is not produced
by the fundamental idea or its representation. We
do not think of the subject itself, but of the Artist,
of his knowledge or skill. The French, particularly,
have been noted for this style, which flatters the
spectator, and seeks above everything else to produce
an impression. The Germans, on the other hand,
have attached themselves too exclusively to the severe
style. Satisfied with the depth and the truth of the
idea, they have taken too little pains to make it
attractive, to commend it to the general mind.
Hegel next gives his classification of the Arts, and
rejects the common one,—viz: (1) Arts of Design,
which represent their ideas by visible forms and
colors; (2) Art Musical, which employs sound; (3)
Poetry, which employs sound simply as a symbol,
and by its means addresses the mind,- as merely
external and superficial, and not drawn at all from
the nature of the thing itself. For Art has for its
object the representation of the Ideal. But the
Ideal is the Absolute itself, and the Absolute is
Spirit. The Arts, then, should be classified accord-
ing to the manner by which they are more or less
capable of expressing it. This gradation assigns to
the Arts their place and rank according to the degree
of their spirituality, and this will be found to cor-
186 HEGEL's ASTHETICs.
respond more or less accurately with their historic
progress, which was treated in the second part.
Architecture first; for Art commences with this,
and that from its very nature; for Art, in its origin,
not finding any suitable element or form at hand to
express the spiritual struggling within the soul, in
its first experiments contents itself with a merely
external bond between the idea and the mode of
representation. The rough materials at hand can
at least express the inner craving for regularity and
symmetry; and thus we have a mere gleam of the
Spiritual, and Beauty in its lowest form.
Next comes Sculpture. Here the Spiritual indi-
viduality finds its perfect form and symbol in the
corporeal appearance. It is a great advance from
Architecture; not, like that, showing its limitation
by physical conditions, but seeming aloof and free
from them. It can express the idea of Divine ex-
istence, in its independence and calm majesty, inac-
cessible to the troubles and agitations of the active
life, to its conflicts and sufferings.
Next come the Arts which represent the soul in
its interior or subjective concentration. Of these
Painting is the first, which reduces the physical form
to be only the expression of the internal element.
It does not employ heavy matter as it exists in its
three dimensions, but only extent of surface, repre-
senting objects in relation to each other by the
illusion of color. In Architecture and Sculpture
the forms are rendered visible by the external light,
while in Painting the material draws from itself its
STYLES; CLASSIFICATION. 187
degrees of light, and their relations to each other,
and all the phases of Spiritual existence, Divine and
human, come within its sphere. -
Music is the precise opposite to Painting. Its
proper element is the soul itself, the sentiment invisi-
ble, or without form, which cannot manifest itself
in its reality, but solely by an external phenomenon,
which disappears rapidly, and is constantly effaced.
And lastly comes Poetry, the true Art of the
Spirit, for all that passes within the soul of man
speech only can express. Thus Poetry is necessarily
the richest of the Arts. Its domain is unlimited.
But while it gains in the range of ideas, it loses on
the sensible side. Its physical element is only sym-
bolic, and does not preserve its worth as a physical
object. For in it sound does not, as in Music, pre-
serve its worth in itself, in such wise that it is one
function of the Art to fashion this sound. In Poetry
sound ought to be penetrated by the idea, filled with -
the determined thought which it expresses, and ap-
pear as the simple sign of what it contains.
[The present author cannot but regard this defini-
tion of the material of Poetry as defective. Poetry
is not independent of sound. The first poems were
composed to be recited and heard, and not to be
read. And nearly every poet, from Homer down-
ward, has had regard to the sensuous charm of his
poem when made audible. The art is not perfect
when the informing idea is not married to harmo-
nized sweetness and expressiveness of Sound. These
are to Poetry what purity and harmony of color and
188 HEGEL's AESTHETICS.
the subtle gradations of light and shadow are to
Painting. To enjoy the sweetness of verse, as to
produce it, is as much a natural gift, and one im-
possible to acquire, as is the musical ear itself. The
marriage of idea and form is not perfect when the
verse is rough and disdainful of the possibilities of
sound. It is possible to be so enraptured by the
charm of melodious verse as to be unmindful at
times of the thought. The thought is temporarily lost
in the form, only to emerge again illumined by the
light of the form. Nor is this an illustration of the
distinction which Hegel has made above between
the ideal and the graceful styles, and an abandon-
ment to a mere accessory. That may be true when
the thought is poor and is interspersed through the
glitter of words; but the profoundest thought only
reaches perfect expression when it can give also this
sensuous delight. For the physical element of the
ultimate perfection is as essential to its beauty as
its purely spiritual quality. The beauty of har-
monized sweet sounds, in speech as in music, like
pure and harmoniously related colors, is mysterious
and subtly suggestive. It is the warmer side of all
concrete life, of that synthesis of body, thought and
feeling which makes up all actual existence, and of
which no element can be entirely abstracted in
human consciousness.] -
As to the modes of representation, Poetry can
take those of all the arts. In the Epic it gives to its
content the form of objectivity—not, indeed, as in the
arts of design, presenting it directly to the sight, but
STYLES; CLASSIFICATION. 189
giving its world as seized by imagination under an
objective form, which is represented as such to the
imagination regarding. But it is also a subjective
discourse; it is the soul expressing outwardly what
it feels within, as in Lyric Poetry: and thirdly,
Poetry is developed within the limits of a complete
action, which, represented objectively, manifests, at
the same time, the interior sentiments which the
spectacle offered to our regard incloses, and thus
may be married to music, gestures, etc. This is
Dramatic Art, in which man entire is represented,
and, in a visible spectacle, a work of art produced
by man. These five Arts form a determinate system.
Besides these, there are others, so called: Land-
scape, Histrionics, the Dance, etc. But these we can
afford to disregard as something mixed and amphibi-
ous. We confine ourselves to those allowing room for
fundamental distinctions, with which alone Philoso-
phy is concerned.
CHAPTER II.
ARCHITECTURE.
Aºi. the actual history of the Arts may
be different among different peoples, still Archi-
tecture may be said to be historically as well as log-
ically the first. If we inquire after its commence-
ment, we find the hut or cabin as the habitation of
man, and the temple as the inclosure consecrated to
the worship of the divinity, or in which his adorers
assemble. Such constructions are but simple means
which suppose an external end. Thus at first is
given a need whose satisfaction has nothing in com-
mon with the fine arts. In like wise man loves to
sing and to dance, and has need to communicate his
thought by language, but these are not Music and
Poetry. If we perceive any tendency to beautiful
form, we have the monition of Art, but not yet its
distinct existence. When anything is sought and
given as an end in itself, we have that which has
become worthy of the name. Here the idea of the
thing itself gives rise to the form, and we find that
Architecture, from the nature of its material, at
first expresses thought in purely symbolic form. But
it may go beyond this, as it does when it supplies
the environment suitable to the image of the god
which it proposes to enshrine, or to man with his
sº 190 -
ARCHITECTURE. 191
various and complicated needs. Thus fettered, how-
ever, it loses the independence of purely symbolic
architecture; or, lastly, the two may be united.
Thus we have (1) Symbolic Architecture, properly
speaking, or independent; (2) Classic Architecture,
which furnishes an inorganic apparel for the image
created by the sculptor; and (3) Romantic Archi-
tecture, in which, although the houses, churches, pal-
aces are but habitations or places of reunion required
for human needs, yet, as related but indirectly to
this end, they elevate themselves into a sort of inde-
pendence, and may be said to exist only for them-
selves. Thus, while Architecture in its fundamental
character is always the art eminently symbolic, it is
nevertheless susceptible of this division.
1. Architecture Independent or Symbolic.—Monu-
‘ments of this order are, nevertheless, original con-
ceptions and universal thoughts. But at first these
conceptions are obscure and undetermined. In labor-
ing to express these, man uses the material at hand
to express dimly and suggestively his thought. He
has not yet found a perfect form, and so has to be
content to express his religious or his intellectual
needs in these symbols. But as reflection and ex-
periment proceed, these symbolic representations
become more and more particular, and exhibit the
transition to the Art of Sculpture. And when this
has become an independent art, then Architecture
finds another end, to furnish an habitation for the
divinity or a place of gathering for the people, and
this is the transition to Classic Architecture. Among
192 HEGEL's AESTHETICS.
the illustrations of Symbolic Architecture may be
reckoned the Tower of Babel, the symbol of the dis-
solution of the primitive society, the family and
patriarchal one, and the formation of a newer and
waster one, uniting men by some social or religious
tie. Here we have the symbol of the State or the
Church. Among the monuments which hold the
mid-place between Architecture and Sculpture may
be named the Obelisks, whose form is not borrowed
from living nature, but is entirely regular. Their
destination is not to serve as dwellings or temples.
They offer an aspect free and independent, and draw
their symbolic significance from the rays of the sun,
to whose divinity, according to Pliny, they were con-
secrated. In the monuments of Persia, too, we find
represented rays of fire escaping from the columns.
Also, in the same rank may be named the Memnons,
which, by their grandeur and massive aspect, seem
like architectonic forms rather than those of sculp-
ture, especially when the columnar figures were
ranged in rows. The same is true of the Sphynxes,
which existed in great numbers in Egypt, which also
were placed in file to form avenues, that gave them
a character perfectly architectonic. The inclosures
of the Egyptian temples were open constructions,
without roofs or gates, without alleys around the
walls or the galleries, were merely forests of col-
umns, embracing a vast extent. These numberless
objects exist, then, simply for the effect they may
produce, without serving either as dwellings for the
divinity or places for the prayers of his worship-
ARCHITECTURE. 193
pers. They might be regarded as books, revealing
their meaning, not by their external configuration,
but by the characters and images engraved upon
their surfaces. But their number and regularity
suffice to preserve their architectural character.
The Symbolic or independent is the fundamental
character of Egyptian architecture. Here the human
soul has not yet possessed itself or its tendencies,
has not become an object for itself. It makes an
effort, it seeks, it aspires, it produces incessantly
without being able to satisfy itself fully, and is
therefore without relaxation or repose. For it is
only in a representation conformed to the spirit,
that the spirit, having reached its complete develop-
ment, can find satisfaction, and thenceforward know
how to limit itself in its creations. A Symbolic
work of Art, on the contrary, remains more or less
indefinite. To Egyptian architecture belong, also,
the Labyrinths. These are alley-ways of columns
winding around and through each other and among
the walls, the pathways being intermingled in an
enigmatic manner. Their purpose is not the puerile
problem, to find the way of exit, but to furnish an
instructive promenade in the midst of Symbolic
enigmas, for the roads should represent, in their
turnings, the march of the celestial orbs. They are
constructed partly above and partly below the
ground, and, outside the pathways, are a prodigious
number of halls and chambers whose walls are cov-
ered with hieroglyphics. These works, however,
approach the type of the house, as displaying a
13
194, HEGEL’S ASTHETICS.
further purpose in the subterranean parts, which
are intended to be the tombs of the founders and of
the sacred crocodiles. We find in them the transi-
tion where the Symbolic commences to approach to
the Classic architecture. In India, in upper Egypt,
in Nubia, and in the mountains of Judea, we find
also these subterranean structures. These caverns
were often merely places of refuge, but in India, as
in Egypt, they were a kind of cathedral meant to
inspire a religious surprise, and offer subjects for
contemplation. In the caverns of Mithra we find
these subterranean windings, representing not only
the courses of the stars, but also, in symbols, the
stages through which the soul should pass in its
purification. But this transition, of which we speak,
is most marked in the Egyptian tombs. In Egypt
first the immortality of the individual soul becomes
a received and powerfully motive article of belief.
Hence the care to preserve the body in its individu-
ality, as essential to the complete humanity, and to
furnish a shrine worthy of the dignity it has acquired
in social life. The most eminent examples of these
were the Pyramids. While these have a purpose,
yet not as in the dwelling does the rectangular
form prevail, but the structure rests upon itself from
base to summit. Its unity is so apparent as to cast
out of thought all detail. Thus it seems to have its
end in itself. -
2. We reach now Architecture properly so-called,
that is to say, subordinated to a positive end. The
mere mechanic production of the useful and conven-
ARCHITECTURE. 195
ient dwelling is not Art. It is , only when some
result is reached by it, intended for the imagination,
some result of beauty, that we have Art. To adapt
this to the exterior needs of use and convenience is
the task of the Architect. This result he reaches
first, without abandoning the useful in any way, yet
by transcending the simplicity which use requires,
by substituting the curved often for the straight
line, by arrangements of symmetry, by approaching
organic and living forms in the structure itself, and in
the ornaments, and even by regarding the sweetness
and harmony of the constituent colors. This union
of the two purposes is best illustrated by the history
of the improvement and perfection of the column.
This is intended essentially for support. A bastard
column which does not support is a lie. But the
column may be so treated as to make the force
required to support be, for the eye, reduced to a
minimum. (The triumphal columns, as those of
Trajan, and the column in the Place Vendôme, are
simply pedestals for a statue, and are besides clothed
with bas-reliefs in honor of the hero.) Architecture
may use the human form as well as other organic
forms. Hence we find among the Greeks the Caria-
tides. But these can only be employed of small
dimensions; when otherwise, they offer the character
of oppression, and their costume is that of slaves
condemned to carry heavy burdens. The most nat-
ural organic form for sustentation is that of the tree,
where the trunk carries its massive, various and
beautiful burden, yet so as to give the impression of
196 HEGEL's AESTHETfGs.
ease and lightness. The Egyptians made use of this
form, but not very successfully. All is of a mathe-
matically regular form, hence constrained and not
free. These columns resemble rather what are called
arabesques. These in their idea belong to the tran-
sition from the forms of organic nature to the severely
regular forms. They are neither one thing nor the
other, these impossible trees, plants, leaves, flowers,
animals, and hence their use has been often criti-
cised. Raphael, we know, made abundant use of his
skill in treating arabesques. But, on the other
hand, it is contended that this infidelity to nature is
permissible for the art of Architecture, for it is only
by allowing latitude here, that the living forms can be
made supplementary to the chief aim of the architect,
and enrich and enhance the beauty of the main
design. In the column, however, we see united the
two ends. The beautiful column borrows a form
from mature, and gives it a regular and geomet-
rical configuration, and so presses it into the service of
the useful. Here, now, Architecture occupies its true
place and becomes a high art. It transforms the
useful into the beautiful. Since it cannot represent
spirit and thought in their true reality, it can still
so fashion the dull matter as to offer a simple reflec-
tion of the same.
It belongs to Classic Architecture, that its regu-
lating principle comes from without, imposes its con-
ditions and determines its fundamental form, and it
is not permitted that the materials used nor any fan-
tasy in ornamentation shall be independent, and for
ARCHITECTURE. 19%
itself alone, as may be the case in Symbolic or Ro-
mantic Architecture. Accessory circumstances, too,
must determine it, the climate, the location, the sur-
rounding landscape; and, to observe all these condi-
tions, and be conformed to its purpose, yet to pro-
duce a work, all of whose parts shall converge in a
true unity,+ this is the problem whose perfect solu-
tion ought to reveal the taste and talent of the
Architect. Among the Greeks this end is only im-
perfectly reached in the open constructions, the col-
onnades and stairways; or among the Romans in their
private dwellings, public baths, theaters, circuses,
aqueducts and fountains. In such edifices, where
utility remains as the prominent character, beauty
has no place but as ornament. The end is only
reached in the religious sphere, in the temple, which
serves as the shrine for a divine object, that has
already been fashioned, the statue of the god. Yet
notwithstanding these limitations, this Architecture
to us now appears more free than the symbolic struct-
ures of the anterior period. It is in one sense more
free than Sculpture, which is forced to adopt the
human form, such as it offers itself, and to preserve
its essential proportions, while Classic Architecture
may invent its own plan and general configuration,
after an end entirely intellectual. However, its
domain remains limited, and a treatise on Classic
Architecture, on account of the mathematical rigor
of its form, is something generally abstract and of
inevitable dryness. On this account it has been
called by Frederick Schlegel frozen music.
198 HEGEL's AESTHETICS.
The analysis of the Grecian temple, which here
follows, is very thorough and interesting, but as the
same is to be found substantially in any work on
Grecian Architecture, it is omitted, though reluc-
tantly; and also the distinctions between the differ-
ent orders, and the briefer notice of the Roman
Architecture.
3. Next we consider the Gothic or Romantic Archi-
tecture. While the characteristic of this order is
that it unites the two ends of the Symbolic and the
Classic, i.e., of the independent and the dependent,
it is by no means a fusion of the two forms, the
Oriental and the Greek. But still more than even
in the Greek temple, the useful purpose, the house,
furnishes the fundamental type, while at the same
time effacing as much as possible the simple utility.
The building is reared independent of this end, free
for itself and beautiful. This triumph over the
merely useful requirement is its first characteristic.
Secondly, we find that here the largest diversity and
multiplicity have a free field, without dissipating the
unique effect in simple details. The eye finds a
similar satisfaction in the minuter parts, which are
repetitions of the fundamental idea, to that awak-
ened by the entire structure. Just as the Christian
spirit withdraws itself into its own interior, so the
Christian church is an inclosure, shut in on all sides,
where the faithful may reunite and refresh them-
selves inwardly. But, as the Christian soul lifts
itself above earthly surroundings, and becomes free.
of their determination, so its architecture displays
sº ARCHITECTURE. 199
this same determination toward the infinite. This
is in great contrast to the open and severe expression
of the Greek temple, which, in its superficial extent
and its openness, courts the external, for the cathe-
dral lifts itself as high as possible in its impulse
toward the infinite. This same forgetfulness of the
external world, of the agitations and interests of the
earthly life, ought to be produced also in all its sub- .
ordinate parts. We have no more the open porticos
and the galleries inviting approach. A place for
them is reserved, but with quite another significa-
tion, in the interior of the edifice. The light of the
sun is intercepted, or its rays reach the interior sub-
dued by pictures in colored glass. To the beholder
is not offered external mature, but a world made for
him alone, appropriate for meditation, for the inter-
view of the soul with God and with itself.
The artistic methods and mechanical means by
which these ends are reached are treated of at length.
The result is, where attained, that in this interior is
place found for all the people, and all the interests of
life, so various, which touch upon the religious rela-
tion, find something harmonious and suggestive.
There is no division of benches and seats firmly fixed
within this vast space. Each one comes and goes
tranquilly, finds a temporary and movable seat, or
prays upon his knees and moves away. All religious
acts are going on at once. But all this variety and
change does not disturb the effect of the vast extent
and height. Nothing fills it completely. Every-
thing passes rapidly. The momentary fact is not
200 HEGEL's AESTHETICS.
visible but in its rapid instability. Above all still
rears itself the immensity whose aspiration nothing
can disturb.
Externally, as within, the most profuse ornamen-
tation need not interfere with the simple and entire
expression. When it does, Art has fallen from its
pure and lofty purpose. But within this limit orna-
mentation is not only permissible but required in
this architecture. For the Christian soul, in enter-
ing into its new world, may still repeople it and fill
it with symbols appropriate to the new thoughts,
beliefs and hopes.
Landscape gardening unites the picturesque with
the architectural element. A garden ought to be an
agreeable inclosure, and nothing more, and should
not aim at the loftier purposes of the high arts. It
is a landscape, made not by pigments, but by the
forms and colors of nature. Its forms may be
irregular, as in Nature, or regular, as in Architec-
ture, in which case it is an out-door suite of apart-
ments, and taste is not violated in either plan. Gar-
dens may afford locations for edifices, beautiful in
themselves, and nooks very suitable and undisturbed
for statues, though when these are multiplied so as
to make of the garden a mere out-door gallery, the
taste is bad, for statuary reaches its highest expres-
sion in the seclusion of the interior. -
CHAPTER III.
SCULPTURE.
RCHITECTURE can only offer to the regard a
vague and imperfect symbol of the spirit
itself. Subjected to the laws of weight and of inert
matter, it vainly endeavors to create a clear and
adequate expression for thought. Art, then, in aban-
doning the inorganic kingdom, passes to another,
where appears with life and mind a higher truth.
But the first step which it takes in this new realm
is not yet the veritable return of the spirit upon itself:
the reflected consciousness which it takes of its inti-
mate nature, that which renders necessary a mode
of manifestation purely immaterial, and which is
reached in a greater degree by Poetry and Music,
and even by Painting itself. The spirit at first
seizes that only which it can express by the corporeal
existence, viz., that aspect of the spiritual individu-
ality which can be fixed in the solid matter when
made immediately objective to our vision.
Sculpture is distinguished from Architecture in
that it does not make use of the inorganic material
as something foreign to the spirit, so as to make of
it a simple apparel appropriate to its use. It rep-
resents, on the contrary, the spiritual being himself,
having in himself his proper end, free and independ-
201
202 HEGEL's ASTHETIcs.
ent, and that in a corporeal form which is essentially
fitted to his individuality. At the same time it offers
to our eyes the two terms body and spirit, as forming
one only and the same whole, inseparable. Notwith-
standing this freedom from the limitations of Archi-
tecture, the image fashioned by Sculpture remains in
essential connection with the objects which surround
it. One cannot make a statue, a group, still less a
bas-relief, without taking into consideration the place
it is to occupy, and this requirement should be borne
in mind in the primal conception.
If we compare Sculpture with Poetry and Painting,
it appears at first thought that since it offers to view
the human form, as animated by the soul within, it
possesses the manner of expressing the spiritual
principle most conformable to nature. Painting,
instead of the three dimensions of space, employs
only the surface, and Poetry expresses still less the
corporeal, of which it transmits the notion only by
artificial signs. But it is because of this simple nat-
uralness that the mere corporeal form does not
respond to the true nature of the spirit. This only
reveals itself entirely by action and by speech.
Poetry, with all its descriptive power, cannot give
the perfection and beauty of the human face and
form with precision, nor create so deep an impres-
sion of its beauty as can the plastic arts; but what
it cannot, the imagination can supply, and thus it
can stimulate as can no other art, and by represent-
ing man in speech and action, it can enhance and
kindle and make living the imagined beauty.
SCULPTURE. 203
Painting, too, has advantage over Sculpture, in
this respect. By its use of color, of light and shade,
the content of the soul can be given with greater
exactitude, and its profounder and varied expression
reached. But then one may ask, why may not Sculp-
ture avail itself of these facilities, and make use of
color, at least, if it cannot of light and shadow 2
The response is easy. The form which Sculpture
represents is, it is true, but an abstracted aspect of
the real living human body. But this is not an
imperfection; it is but the bound which Art has
imposed upon itself to remain a pure art, and to
reach the highest possible excellence of its kind.
Sculpture abandons color to Painting, for it cannot
rival it. The pure abstract form is its aim. To add
the seduction of color withdraws the attention from
this, which shows best in its isolation, and only in
the white light subdued of its glare. The perfect
quietude of the soul, in the entire equilibrium of its
internal impulses, Sculpture can give, or the modifi-
cation of the same by some internal suggestion of
action not yet carried to concrete reality. The colli-
sions, the interior states of the soul, which Painting
can better express, it cannot successfully portray, for
it cannot give the eye in which all soul expression is
concentered.
These limitations were generally observed by the
genius of the Greek Sculptors. At first, indeed, they
used colors, but soon abandoned them. By degrees,
as was to be expected, they reached the perfection
which we acknowledge and so much admire, We
204 HEGEL's AESTHETICs.
can hardly say that the use of gold and ivory was the
employment of color. These combinations exhibit
that Sculpture did not confine itself to the abstract
simplicity of a perfectly pure art, but made conces-
sions to a lower taste, and offered works not for their
beauty merely, but that the people might enjoy the
spectacle of their own wealth and power.
[We may add here that the highest taste may be
somewhat doubtful of the effect even of the Athené
of the Parthenon upon other than Greek eyes, work
of Phidias though it was. The modern reproduc-
tions of the same have never awakened any enthu-
siasm.]
Sculpture forms the center of the classic Ideal.
In order to know how it attains and realizes this, we
have to notice (1) its principle (2), its ideal, and (3)
the materials it employs, as well as its various modes
of representation and the principal epochs of its
historic development. - -
And first, as to its principle. Sculpture, con-
sidered in general, realizes this prodigy—that the
spirit incarnates itself in matter, and so fashions it
as to become present in it, and to recognize in it its
own perfect image. What are the modes of the
spirit susceptible of being thus represented? And
how can the forms of extension be so used as to pro-
duce this effect?
The object of this Art is the spiritual individuality
in its essence, in its general, universal, eternal char-
acter, lifted above inclinations, and caprices, and all
transitory impressions, Hence the suggestion of
SCULPTURE. 205
these last should be excluded from its representa-
tions. The spiritual, in its perfect and absolute
independence, this existence of the spirit, not par-
ticularized, unalterable, is what we name the Divine,
in opposition to the finite existence, which is devel-
oped in the midst of the accidents and hazards of the
world of diversity, of contradiction, of variety and
movement. Sculpture, in this relation, ought to
represent the Divine in itself, in its infinite calm,
and its sublimity, eternal, immovable, without sub-
jective personality, without discord of action or
situation. And when it passes to a more precise
determination, to something human in form and
character, it ought to admit here only the fixed and
inevitable, and not the accidental or transitory, for
the objective spirituality does not descend to this
changing and fugitive particularity.
But from the very nature of the Art, its funda-
mental idea is not the spiritual as such, that is to
say, the soul folded back upon and absorbed in itself,
but the spiritual as taking consciousness of itself in
another self, i.e., the body. It must, therefore, limit
itself to whatever only of the objective essence of
the spirit can be perfectly expressed by the external
form, otherwise it chooses an idea which its material
cannot properly represent. In Classic Architecture
the house is the fundamental type, the anatomical
skeleton, had in advance, to which Art is to give
form. So Sculpture finds its fundamental type in
the human body. But the house is the production
206 HEGEL's ASTHETICs.
of man, while the body is the product of nature; so
the type is given, and not invented.
In nature, particularly in the animal kingdom,
the ascending series of forms belongs to the parallel
series of moments or developments of the Idea.
This is what was indicated in the first part of this
treatise, in the chapter on the Beautiful in Nature.
It belongs to Philosophy to explain this mutual
correspondence of the Idea and the corporeal form;
thus to exhibit what are the particular sides of the
soul itself which are realized in the form of the
body, and the structure of the different organs. But
the human form is not solely the body of the animal
soul, but of the spiritual soul, or what we call the
spirit. We must not confound the soul and the
spirit. The soul is but the living principle which
animates the body, the spirit is that which has con-
science of itself, which has the reflected knowl-
edge of its own intimate nature, of its sentiments
and thoughts, of the ends to which it aspires. With
this enormous difference between the animal life and
the spiritual life, it may appear strange that the
human body should show such an analogy with the
animal form. It is that the spirit is, in man, at
once both spirit and soul, since it is living. As such
it ought to be clothed in a form which responds to
the animal organism; but also, because of its superi-
ority, it fashions a body for itself, in which appear
the ideas and sentiments proper to it. Thus the
human body is not simply a physical being. It
manifests likewise the sensible and natural existence
SCULPTURE. 207
of the spirit. It follows, that as a more elevated
object it ought to be distinguished as expressing
more even than its animal form, even the ideas and
sentiments of a superior order.
[We may remark in passing, as an interesting
point, that while this Anthropology is not exhaustive
as such, and therefore may not be perfectly clear,
yet here Hegel seems to reject the common notion
of the Trichotomy, which regards body, soul and
spirit as distinct entities, each having completeness
in itself- a strangely inconsistent and untenable
notion, seeing that we know nothing of any animal
body and animal soul distinct from each other; and,
seeing that in the human soul are all animal charac-
teristics, with spiritual ones superadded, as by a sort
of higher irradiation. Observation here confirms
Hegel's psychology. Each new grade of being car-
ries up with it what belongs to the regions below.
That the new element is implicit in the old is the mod-
ern philosophy of development, which is, so far in
its history, a priori only, seeing that in the animal
merely is no evidence of spirituality, and that while
there may be a hint or mute prophecy of a higher
mode of existence, observation never has detected,
and probably never will detect, the transition. Sci-
ence by its a posteriori methods can never establish
a theory of development. Its evidence is a priori,
and conducts us to the acknowledgment of the unity of
the absolute and underlying principle of all existence,
whose essence must include the highest, not only
whatever has yet been concreted, but the highest
208 HEGEL's AESTHETICS.
idea of possible concretion. Philosophy and Science
really are not moving apart in our day, and should
be infinitely patient with each other. Neither can
do without the method of the other.]
But to return to our proper subject. The human
form as the expression of the spirit is given to the
artist. He finds it not merely in the abstract or
general, but in particular, individualized in such or
such types, as serving to express one or another trait
or sentinent.
The correspondence between the body and the spir-
itual soul, of which the Art of Sculpture avails itself,
must not be confounded with that noted in physi-
ognomy. The point of view is more limited, being the
harmonious and necessary accord of the forms whence
results the Beautiful, and excludes most of the par-
ticularities to which the physiognomist attaches im-
portance. Sculpture should represent, mainly, the
fixed, general, regular, inevitable in the human form,
yet so individualized as not to appear only the
abstract idea of it, but as revealing some special
mode, or synthesis of modes, of the spirit. What-
ever is so individual as to drown out the idea of
the universal must be excluded. Thus, too, the
merely transitory expressions of the physiognomy,
the fugitive glances, smiles, etc., must be interdicted,
or allowed to belong only to the lowest or bastard
grade of Sculpture. As High Art it should confine
itself to permanent traits, and fix them in the coun-
tenance and attitude of the body, to put thus the
SCULPTURE. 209
two terms in perfect harmony, the general and the
individual. -
The first consequence drawn from these considera-
tions is, that Sculpture, more than all the other arts,
is affected by the Ideal. The clarity of the object
which the mind conceives, and the perfect appropri-
ation of the form to the idea, make it more than a
symbolic art. Yet, on the other hand, it must never
reach that degree of subjectivity when, the soul being
entirely absorbed into itself, the external form be-
comes indifferent. The forms of the personages of
Sculpture ought to spring from the imagination of
the artist pure of all alien alliance, disengaged from
all moral or physical accidentality. No predilection
for particularities of passion or pleasure ought to
betray it. On the contrary, it should seize that sort of
individuality which inclines to the universal, and
may be married to it. Sculpture ought to do as the
gods do in their eternal domain, who create after
the eternal ideas and leave to the creature the task
to achieve his liberty and his personality in the real
world. The theologians distinguish between what
God does and what man accomplishes in his presump-
tion and by his arbitrary will. The plastic ideal is
above such questions. It occupies the middle ground
between the divine felicity, and the free necessity
where neither the abstraction of generality nor the
arbitrariness of particularity has any more worth
and significance. ...”
This sense of the true plastic character, of the
union of the human and the divine, was attained
14
210 HEGEL's AESTHETICS.
almost only in Greece. However one may study its
poets and Orators, its historians or philosophers, one
has not seized the central point unless one brings as
the key to the explanation this point of view of the
art of Sculpture. It is from this that we must con-
sider not only the epic and dramatic heroes, but also
the statesmen and philosophers. These all had, in
the best days of Greece, this same plastic character,
general and individual at once. They lift themselves
grand and free upon the base of their strong and
substantial individuality, create themselves from
themselves, make of themselves what they wish to
be. No one of these heroes, or thinkers, or artists,
seems any less by comparison with others, so complete
and statuesque is his character.
The general character of the ideal form in Sculp-
ture is next illustrated at length. Essential to the
production of the wonderful vitality and liberty of the
Greek statues was the knowledge, care and industry
displayed in the workmanship of the particular parts.
These artists had so studied the human organization
as to be able to take possession of it, whether in
movement or repose, and express the same with per-
fect fidelity. Without doubt, the eye, when it con-
siders these works, cannot at once clearly recognize
the crowd of details which appear only when they
are brought out in a certain manner, by a strong
opposition of light and shadow, or which are detected
only by the touch; yet though these delicate shades
and minute excellencies are not discerned at once,
the general impression is not lost or impaired. The
SCULPTURE. * 211
spectator has but to shift his position and he begins
to perceive the subordinate beauties, the multitude
of thoughts. It is this perfect keeping which pro-
duces the impression of organic fluidity of all the
members. This breathing of animation, this soul
in the material forms, proves that each part, though
perfectly represented in itself, yet through the rich-
ness and the facility of these transitions rests in a
permanent dependence not only with its neighbor
but with the whole. The statue thus is animated at
each point, yet the smallest details are conformed to
the end; each has its distinct signification, yet founds
itself upon, or grows out of, the entirety. Whatever
may be the fidelity with which the forms are ex-
pressed, in the details and in the totality, Sculpture
does not go so far as to copy Nature in itself, for it
has to do only with the ideal form. Therefore it
abandons what is purely physical, i.e., that which is
simply affected by the natural functions. Nor can
it trouble itself with exterior accessories. In the
head-dress, for example, it follows no fashion, but
gives it in that arrangement which is severely beau-
tiful. And since its function is to express the spirit-
ual under the form of the corporeal, the corporeal
form must not hide the spiritual, and, in its softness
and voluptuousness, give another kind of gratifica-
tion. Mere physical beauty is not the end, for this
is only an exaggeration of one side of the Ideal,
which overshadows the others.
The artistic methods and mechanical means by
which all these excellent results are attained are
212 IIEGEL's AESTHETICs.
treated of at length, and in a very interesting man-
ner. Here and there occurs a remark, which, in
this condensed reproduction, we are loth to spare,
e.g., - the regard of the eye is wanting to the ideal
form of Sculpture. In the early stages of the art,
indeed, the eyes were colored, and, sometimes, ivory
was used for them, adjusted to the remainder of the
statue. But such practices were peculiar to the
commencements of the art, or came from religious
traditions, or were exceptions. For, after all, color
only does not give to the eye that concentrated
look in which alone is perfect expression. In the
truly classic busts the pupil of the eye is lacking,
or, if it is marked by a conical depression, it is
merely to indicate its place, and not to rely upon
it for any expression of the soul. One may think
that it may have cost much to the artist thus to
sacrifice the eye, in which we find so much, of the
inner soul of man. But the Sculptor, recognizing
his as a pure Art, does not find it a sacrifice. It is
not the inner depths of the soul, nor its outflow upon
the exterior world, both of which expressions find
their central point in the eye, but it is the form of
the human body in its totality, in which at all points
the soul is manifested, that is the ideal of Sculpture.
And since, after all, the eye possesses not its expres-
siveness in itself alone, but from the positions and
lines of the rest of the face, and of the entire body,
the modification of these, to suit the intended expres-
sion of the eye, would be an accidental particularity
which Sculpture ought to reject. Such was the fine
SCULPTURE. - 213
instinct of the great Greek Sculptors, that they firmly
maintained these limits and this circumscription of
their Art, and rested severely faithful to this abstrac-
tion. There are instances in ancient Sculpture
where the eye does appear directed to a certain point,
as in the statue of the Faun contemplating the
young Bacchus,” but it is the smile accompanying
the mere inclination of the head which gives the
expression. In the treatment of the mouth, the
merely animal form, which indicates the physical
cravings, is so spiritualized as to leave out of view
all physical needs. But the lips need not be always
firmly shut, which is rather the indication of some in-
ner resolve or determined action. In the palmy period
of the Art, the custom was rather to leave the mouth
a little open, without, however, allowing the teeth to
be seen; for, in the state of free concentration, the
mouth naturally is slightly open. As to the position
of the body, the erect attitude is needful for spirit-
uality, yet not from its mere erectness, which may
have no meaning. There must be the absence of
constraint, and some indication of the spiritual
interior given in the attitude. The expression of
movement is foreign to Sculpture as a pure art. To
offer for regard the divine nature in the calm of its
felicity, sufficient for itself, exempt from combats, is
its principal task. This excludes the multiplicity of
movements. But this is not to say that Sculpture,
to maintain the severity of its principle, must ex-
clude all the attitudes of movement. But the parti-
*The same is true of the Hermes recently unearthed at Olympia.
214 HEGEL's AESTHETICs.
cular situation which may be thus expressed ought
not to be determined to the point where it troubles
or destroys the harmonious fullness which is essential
to the idea, by drawing the personage into strife or
collisions, or engaging him in details. It must con-
fine itself to a simple determination, isolated, not too
serious, or, at least, a mode of activity careless and
serene, and whose inner calm has not been infringed
by the movement indicated. As before said, the
Apollo Belvidere stops just at the boundary of the
permissible in this respect.
If, then, the naked form, the beauty of the body
penetrated by spirit, is what best suits the ideal of
Sculpture, it might be thought that drapery is only
an obstacle. But while acknowledging that for sen-
sible beauty preference may be accorded to the nude.
yet let it be borne in mind that physical beauty in
itself is not the supreme beauty of Sculpture. The
Greeks did not make any mistake when they repre-
sented the most of their statues of men as nude, and
of women as clothed. In their nude statues they
would not maim the human form, and have rejected
that shame which will not allow to be seen what is
simply corporeal in man. This did not arise from
any forgetfulness of the moral sentiment, but from
indifference to desires purely sensible, and from their
instinct for Beauty. But this absence of all cover-
ing cannot be admitted in an absolute manner. Many
parts of the body are only capable of a simply phys-
ical beauty. For the expression of the spiritual, the
nudity of these is unessential, and it is conformable
SCULPTUIRE. 215
to morality to hide certain parts of the body, when
the design is mainly to represent the spiritual prin-
ciple. Art may cover the superfluous organs not
needful for this. It is not true, then, that nudity in
Sculpture gives a more elevated sentiment of the
Beautiful, or indicates greater purity or innocence
of manners. The Greeks exhibited in this a sense
more just, more spiritual. As to the principle of
drapery, the kind most advantageous for artistic
execution is that which hides as little as possible
the shape and attitude of the limbs. In this respect
our modern dress is entirely unsuitable for Art.
The beautiful organic undulations of the frame are
completely lost in it. It becomes, then, a grave
Question what to do in the case of the statue portraits
of modern times and of our own day. It seems to
be an anachronism and a superficial exigency when
the heroes of our own day are represented in the
ideal habiliment, since their heroism is of a deter-
minate mature, and often indicated by their dress.
This denotes, indeed, a zeal for the Beautiful in Art,
but a zeal badly expended. The ancients exhibited
a thoughtful intelligence in all that they accom-
plished. That which had in itself the ideal charac-
ter they represented as such. They would not bor-
row for anything other than it the ideal form. When
the entire person of the individual is not ideal, the
habiliment ought not to be so. But modern clothing
presents great difficulties for the Sculptor, because it
is so variable and subject to the prevalent fashion; for
the philosophic sense of fashion is the right which
216 HEGEL's AESTHETICS.
it exercises in that which is transitory to renew it
without cessation. But in these changes what pleases
us in one decade becomes ridiculous in the next.
Hence, in statues there ought to be preserved only
those peculiarities of dress which express the specific
character of the epoch, and bear the impress of a
durable type; but it is safest to find a middle way,
and if possible to make the mode conform to the
rules of simple beauty,+often a hard task, indeed.
This difficulty is not experienced in simple busts, and,
of course, may be avoided in the statues of men far
removed from us in time. -
But, besides the dress, there are other distinctive
peculiarities which mark the individuality of per-
sonages. The beauty of the Ideal nowhere follows
an abstract rule; but while essentially determined
lends itself to particularities of all kinds, and thus
may be added to the productions of Sculpture a
living reality and a distinct physiognomy. Thus,
while preserving many things in common as to their
ideality, these productions are still separated for ap-
preciation, but not by traits too rigorously marked.
The illustrations of these fine distinctions in the
figures of the Greek divinities, which again are to
be found elsewhere, though very interesting, we are
obliged to omit; as also the discussion of the differ-
ent materials used in Greek Sculpture, iron, mar-
ble, etc.
The power to express plastic individuality,+
whose expression is entirely produced by the form
alone, without resort to color, was innate with the
SCULPTURE. 21?
Greeks, and has never elsewhere been equalled. It
had its principle in their religion itself. A spiritual
religion can content itself with interior contempla-
tion, and any works of Sculpture be regarded merely
a luxury and superfluity; while a religion addressed
to the senses, as that of the Greeks, is under neces-
sity to produce images, and the view of such was
for the people but part of their religion itself. No
otherwise can we account for the incredible quan-
tity of sculptures, these forests of statues, to be found
in every town of Greece.
As before a distinction was made between Archi-
tecture independent and subordinate, so here the
like distinction is introduced between Sculpture inde-
pendent and subordinate, or such as serves for archi-
tectural ornamentation. Of the first kind are the
isolated statues, and of the second the groups and
reliefs.
The true distinction of the Statue, properly speak-
ing, is to be a sacred image in the interior of a
temple, where the whole environment belongs to it.
If, then, such statues indicate the commencement or
the end of an action, the divine repose must still
not be destroyed or impaired. Of such sort are the
Venus de Medicis and the Apollo Belvedere. These
two were once thought the supereminent works of
this Art, but modern criticism has somewhat reduced
their relative excellency, and they are thought of as
belonging to an epoch when the polish of execution
and the aim after the gracious and agreeable had
impaired the severe requirements of the Ideal.
218 HEGEL's AESTHETICS.
Nevertheless, since the gods are not abstractions, the
profound seriousness which is the base of their
character may still admit the reflection of the real
life, and of the finite existence. And we admire
justly many sculptures where some charming modi-
fication of the face or form, otherwise transitory, is
fixed and preserved by the Sculptor. Still more
marked is this interest in the transitory in the
isolated groups, as in the Castor and Pollux [and, we
may add, in the Venus of Melos, if that be justly
regarded as one of a pair]. When the Greeks would
represent more complicated groups, it is never as
independent in themselves, but as superadditions to
Architecture. The image of the god within the
temple is lifted up calm and majestic, while the front
of the edifice is adorned with groups representing
the special actions of the god, and which, therefore,
can be executed as displaying a more animated
vitality. Such was the famous group of the Niobe
and her children. Here the grouping was ruled by
the space intended to be filled. The Laocoön has
furnished a perplexing problem to determine its
origin and its destiny, whether it originated in the
passage in Virgil or was derived from it, etc. We
may justify, perhaps, its seeming violation of the
law before given by noticing that notwithstanding
the great suffering expressed with such truth, not-
withstanding the convulsive shrivelling of the mem-
bers and the tension of all the muscles, the nobleness
and the beauty of the figures are still preserved, and
that there is no grimace, even in the slightest degree,
SCULPTURE. 219
no contortion nor dislocation. But the work belongs
to a later age, which had passed by the aim after
simple beauty and vitality, and affected the knowl-
edge of the structure of the muscles and of the
muscular forms of the human body, and sought to
please by the charm and refinements of execution.
The ancient relief, whether high or low, does not
go so far as painting in marking perspective by differ-
ent planes; consequently it prefers figures in profile,
placing them side by side upon the same surface.
Hence, complex actions cannot be well represented,
but such rather as are presented upon the same
line — military processions, etc.
Finally, it is to be noticed that Sculpture has had
an historic development. It gives us the most per-
fect expression of the Classic ideal, but it had an
antecedent and a subsequent history. In the Egyp-
tian Sculpture, notwithstanding the skill in execu-
tion, there is an absence of all internal and creative
freedom, while in Greek Sculpture this is so perfect
and powerful that the idea of the religious tradition
is transformed into an individual and visible figure.
The Egyptian gods are of a stationary and mono-
tonous type. The Sculptors were fettered by and
not allowed to transcend the prescriptions of the
priests; hence there was no progress, no improve-
ment. The artists themselves were not such from
deliberate choice and native power, but were a caste
in themselves. The son succeeded the father and
followed his methods. The free movement of genius
was impossible under such conditions. They were
220 HEGEL's AESTHETICS.
workmen, for the most part, following a routine,
anxious more for their salaries than for the perfec-
tion of their Art. The marked peculiarities of
Egyptian Art are described by Winckelmann, and the
sum of the whole critique is, that their works were
devoid of all expression and spirituality. Animality
was predominant, and hence, in the figures of ani-
mals, there is a display of more intelligence and an
agreeable diversity. While to the human form these
sculptors could give the true outline and its just
proportions, they failed to express life by it. The
idea itself is not perfectly seized, and hence does not
find its adequate form. What is within the counte-
nance of a work of this kind is an impenetrable
mystery. Contrast the Isis holding Horus upon her
knees, with the Christian representation of the Virgin
and the Child. Of the Egyptian work, it has been
said, “Here is neither mother nor child.” There is
not a trace of love, nothing that indicates a smile,
or a possible kiss. This is neither goddess nor
mother. It is only the sensible sign which is capable
of no affection nor passion. It is not even the true
representation of a real action, still less of a natural
sentiment. -
In the Roman Art we find the beginning of the
destruction of the Classic Sculpture. The predilec-
tion for the Ideal grows less, the fondness for the
mere portrait greater. However, with less purity
of aim and originality of conception, the Roman
Sculpture, in the circle proper to it, maintains an
SCULPTURE. 221
elevated rank inferior to the Greek only in these
higher excellences.
As for Christian Sculpture (in what is peculiar to
it, and is not a mere reproduction of the ancient
works, and a borrowing of their ideas), its principle of
conception is such as forbids the production of such
perfect works as the Greek. All Romantic Art, as
we have seen in the second part, addresses itself to
the soul retired from the external world into itself,
to the spiritual subjectivity concentered in itself.
[But this, when it goes out from itself again, tran-
scends in its aspiration the Classic ideal. It is occu-
pied with the transit toward a higher perfection,
and hence its Art may give us the Sublime and the
Pathetic, rather than the Beautiful; or the latter, if .
sought, may be given by symbol rather than in the
perfect marriage of idea and form. As its aims,
though less pure, are higher, some may think it (as
in the case of Michael Angelo) grander in its failure
than Greek Art in its success.] But Romantic Art
finds Sculpture inadequate to express the complexity
of its thought, containing so many new elements, and
hence Painting is more adapted to its needs. Thus
there is justice in characterizing Sculpture as par
éminence the Classic Art, and Painting the Romantic
Art.
CHAPTER IV.
THE ROMANTIC ARTS.
HATEVER be their history and order of
appearance, Hegel contends that Painting,
Music and Poetry illustrate, as do not Architecture
and Sculpture, the idea of Romantic Art. His expo-
sition of this theme is quite abstruse, and to com-
prehend it it is needful to recall the thought con-
tained in his Introduction. The condensed result of
his exposition is about as follows:
In the evolution of Art, which grows in depth and
compass with the human mind, we find, as has been
already noticed, an increasing subjectivity, i.e., the
spirit comes to comprehend and be fully conscious
of itself in its freedom and independence. Its first
tendency, having reached this stage of its develop-
ment, is to abandon the external world in order to
rest upon itself and live internally; thus it ceases to
regard itself as in indissoluble union with the body.
The result is the separation of the principles which
in the objective unity of Sculpture, in its adytum
of repose and independence, are content with each
other, and fused together. But now if these two
sides, which Greek Sculpture had for the first time
known how to unite, become separate, then the spirit,
recoiling upon itself, not only becomes detached
222
THE ROMANTIC ARTS. 223.
from the world of nature in general, and even of all
that in the soul relates to the body, but its substan-
tial and objective nature itself is separated from the
living and subjective individuality as such, so that
all these movements, thus far fused together and
forming a unity, detach themselves the one from the
other, and become free. Art, then, ought likewise
to deal with them in this freedom.
We have, then, on the one side, the world Divine,—
God in spirit and truth, the Absolute, knowing
Himself as infinite, personal, and free Spirit, such,
at least, as Art can conceive and realize; and on the
other, the world temporal and human,— the human
personality distinct from the Divine Spirit, develop-
ing itself in its proper independence, with all the
particularities of the individual life, the richness of
the passions and the sentiments which the human
heart incloses, a new sphere equally accessible to
Art.
The point where these two sides reunite is the
principle of subjectivity which is common to them.
The Absolute, in consequence, appears rather as a
living and real subject, and so far, at the same time,
human,—in the garb of a finite personality, truly
spiritual, in which resides and lives the Divine
Spirit. So the new unity thus obtained does not
bear any more the character of that sensible and
immediate unity which Sculpture represents. It is
a conciliation between the two sides which cannot
be perfectly manifested but in the interior and ideal
world of the soul.
224 HEGEL's AESTHETICS.
As to the external side of the representation, it is
equally independent in its particularity, and it
acquires a right to this independence, since the prin-
ciple of subjectivity does not permit this immediate
accord, this perfect fusion of idea and form, which
we see in Sculpture. Indeed, subjectivity is precisely
the spirit existing for itself, having abandoned the
real world in order to live in the world of the ideal.
Though it manifests itself in the external form, it is
still in such a manner as to show that this is but
the external manifestation of a subject that exists
entirely independent, and for itself. The solid bond,
which in the Classic Sculpture united the corporeal
and the spiritual, is not so far broken that there is
an entire absence of relation; but it is in such wise
relaxed and enfeebled that the two terms, though
one may not be without the other, preserve in this
eorrespondence their freedom face to face with each
other; or, when a more intimate union has place,
the spirituality is the central and luminous point.
Hence the particular objects of external nature may
be so dealt with as to show their participation of
spirit. Thus the principle of subjectivity brings with
it the necessity to abandon the natural union of the
spirit with the corporeal form, and also opens a free
career to the representation of the multitude of
things. And this is not all. A new and original
principle ought to assert itself likewise in the sen-
sible material which Art is to use. Thus far, this
has been the heavy matter itself in its three dimen-
sions, as well as in the abstraction of its possible
THE ROMANTIC ARTS. 225
form. Now, if the subjective principle, the soul
retired within itself, is to manifest itself in this
material element, it ought, on one side, to reject
space in the entirety of its dimensions, and to trans-
form its real existence into its opposite, into an
appearance created by the spirit; and on the other
side it ought to bring this appearance to view in all
its particularity. Art may move without restraint
in this region of the visible and the sensible, for the
spirit in its freedom has returned with dominating
power to the external, and it may legitimately seek
to give as much as possible of the appearance of
objective nature, and in such particularities as are
not possible for the Art of Sculpture. It is the
province of the first of the Romantic Arts, of Paint-
ing, to represent man and nature without the sen-
sible and abstract materiality of Sculpture.
But this extended and visible appearance does not
offer the only means of expression conformed to the
principle of subjectivity. Instead of figures, which
distribute themselves in space, it may employ sounds,
which harmonize themselves in time. For sound,
since it owes its ideal and momentary existence to
something entirely diverse from extended matter,
corresponds to the soul, which seizes itself in its sub-
jective internality as sentiment. Thus, the second
Art born of this principle is Music. This Art, in
opposition to the Arts of design, rejects all form,
both in the relations of thought and of the physical
element which constitutes its mode of expression.
But Art, to correspond to its complete idea, is called
15 * *
226 HEGEL's AESTHETICS.
upon to reveal not only the interior of the soul, but
also the same as manifesting itself in the external
world. To represent this, that is, to communicate
to the spirit the thought of the spirit creating in its
proper domain, Art must employ the sensible instru-
ment of its manifestation but as a simple means of
communication, and, consequently, be content with
a sign in itself devoid of meaning. Poetry, the art
of speech, responds to this view. This Art, since it
alone can develop the totality of thought, is the uni-
versal Art, and its sweep is only arrested when the
mind, in its loftiest conceptions, having only an
obscure knowledge of its own thought, can no longer
represent it under the symbolic forms of external
nature.
[This is Hegel's endeavor to give the dialectic
order of the development of the Art-impulse. It is
not needful that this should have been actually its
chronological sequence in the history of any people,
or even in a single mind, for the transitions in either
case may have been unconsciously leaped over. This
is putting in words the unreflective processes, rescu-
ing them from arbitrariness, and showing that these
are the true relations in the region of abstract think-
ing. And surely, to appropriate this system will be
an aid in the appreciation and the criticism of all
the Arts. g -
It remains, however, still to be shown that the
poetic attitude, the mode of regarding the universe,
as it has been heretofore distinguished, follows in its
range and amplification the order here given. It is
THE ROMANTIC ARTS. 227
not wanting in the Architect or the Sculptor, but is
the secret of his genius. Nevertheless, the regions of
\bought frequented in these Arts are more limited,
obviously, than in Painting and Poetry; and hence
in these Arts the coördinating principle must sink
deeper in order to obtain a wider outlook. Music, too,
busies itself with the ultimate mysteries, and hovers
about the extreme limits of thought, carrying the
imagination it knows not whither. In this regard,
in the depth and purity of the poetic impulse, Music
might come after rather than before Poetry itself.
We may conceive how it may survive when the other
Arts have passed away, having fulfilled their func-
tion, and its artistic perfection merge into and be
identical with the absolute spontaneity of the per-
fect state.]
CHAPTER W.
PAINTING.
HERE is something cold, after all, in the great-
est works of Sculpture. The common mind
does not linger long over them. One has to be
taught to admire them so far as to linger over them.
The delight requires much reflection. Painting ap-
peals more quickly to the common heart, for it is
warmer. The figure is no more, as in Sculpture,
a personage immovable, and fixed on its base. It is
a living being descending into our human society,
and affecting a spiritual relation. In this Art, char-
acter is more pronounced. The man asserts his inde-
pendence over against God, nature, and other men;
displays the multiplicity of relations with the needs,
interests, passions and activities of the real life.
This multiplies vastly its possible subjects. Besides,
Painting unites in itself what belongs to the previ-
ous Arts, the exterior enclosure which Architecture
has artistically fashioned, and the forms of Sculpture.
It places these in the landscape it has selected from
external nature. [We may add that in dealing with
the mystery of color it produces a subtle accord,
allied to the harmony in Music. Even what Poetry
gives, the inward thought, it vivifies by the brill-
iancy of the eye and the language of the features.
228
f’AINTING. 229
It presses the sense of Beauty and even of Sublimity
home with more force than any other Art. It only
yields to Poetry in the range and the profundity of
the thought it represents. This may authorize us to
think,+ what Hegel elsewhere doubts, that Paint-
ing has yet a future.]
The complete treatment of this Art requires the
following division: First, its general character or
fundamental idea; secondly, the particular charac-
ters suitable for its requirements, the modes of con-
ceiving and composing them, and its methods of deal-
ing with color; and thirdly, the different schools to
which these characteristics have given rise, so that
this Art, like the previous ones, has an historic devel-
opment. We must condense greatly the exposition
of these topics.
The reason why Romantic Art, confessedly infe-
rior to Classic in Sculpture, is manifestly superior
in Painting is, that the depths of the soul, its joys,
sufferings and conflicts, had come to be more com-
pletely known and acutely felt. Possessing this
knowledge, Painting can do wonders with the ma-
terials it uses. By means of color it can express
character, situations, and actions minutely deter-
mined. With such variety possible before it, it found
only in the Romantic period subjects adequate to
its material possibilities. The fundamental idea of
Painting being the internal subjectivity of the spir-
it, the intimate fusion of the particular and the
general which characterizes the plastic Arts exists
no longer. The particular is detached: the individ-
230 HEGEL's AESTHETICS.
ual, even the accidental and the indifferent, resume
their rights. It is as in the real world, where the
accidental seems to be the predominant character of
phenomena; since the spirit, retired within itself,
leaves to all the objects of nature, and all the spheres of
human activity, their independent existence; and yet,
since it employs its activity upon this real world, it
becomes possible for this Art to deal with these things
with entire freedom, and allow any multitude of
objects to enter its domain. The entire circle of the
religious world, the scenes of nature and human life,
even the most fugitive situations, find here their
place. This Art may also represent sentiment, which,
even when related to something objective and abso-
lute, offers still a subjective character. What we
see in the multitude of objects in the picture is the
vitality of the conception, the reflex of more com-
plex thought. So, if the intended sentiment is given,
the choice of objects to convey it is indifferent, or at
least allows of a wide latitude. -
The physical element of painting is, space in two
dimensions. Perfect concentration, and freedom from
the restraints of space, consists, indeed, in the point,
especially in the movable point, the fugitive instant.
But Music only accomplishes this complete negation
of space. Painting is still more abstract than Sculp-
ture, but this abstraction, far from being a limita-
tion, constitutes precisely the necessary progress
which overpasses Sculpture. Already Art offers no
more a simple copy of corporeal existence, but an
image produced by the spirit. Hence it withdraws
PAINTING. 231
from the form all the aspects which, in the common
reality, do not respond to the idea it would represent.
Pictures become mirrors of the soul, which reveals
its spirituality by destroying the real existence, and
resolving the representation into an appearance.
Hence it enters into a still closer relation with the
spectator than the image of the Sculptor, which pre-
serves its independence. The spectator may shift
his point of view in regarding the statue, while in
painting, to catch the artist's thought, he must stir
in a more limited range, or be motionless, to feel
the closest rapport with the work. The require-
ments of proportion, etc., in the three dimensions
are needless. It is a purer contemplative interest
regarding the thought thus symbolized and expressed
by the simple appearance. ©
But, in very truth and scientific accuracy, the
physical element of Painting is nothing else than
Light. It is not the heavy matter which can be
verified by other senses, but something related, con-
sciously at least, only to the sense of sight. It is
the first ideality, the primitive identity in nature,
and has nothing in common with the dimensions of
the solid. [It is, we may add, the connecting link
between the material and the spiritual, the point of
transition, so that its language suits either side. It
is not simple, but complex, and breaks into color on
the one side, and correspondent radiance on the
other. Thus the very element of painting has in
itself spiritual relations, and the delight in color is
something very profound. We are hovering, in its
232 - IIEGEL's AESTHETICS.
contemplation, on the confines of two worlds, haunted
by the sense of their unity, by the subtle thought
that physical beauty, in the purity, richness, and in:
finite possibility of combinations of color married to
form, is the image and physical correspondent of
moral and spiritual beauty of the highest grade, and
that both are needed and will be found in the per-
fect life.]
By this combination of clear and obscure, or rather,
by the grades and degrees of light itself, does Paint-
ing construct its illusions. All color is something
relatively obscure. Hence, Hegel remarks that the
opinion is false which figures light as composed of
divers colors; that is to say, of divers manners by
which it is obscured.
[This is a question not yet put by science to per-
fect rest. All color is, indeed, something relatively
obscure, but the obscurity alone does not explain it.
The mere withdrawal of light cannot create the
different colors. To account for them, optics must
resort to chemistry, which brings to view a new set
of relations, and carries back to a life-force not yet
resolved into the mechanical. While awaiting the
final dictum of science upon this question, we may,
meanwhile, indulge in a priori speculation, and
observe, that no concrete existence is simple, for
observation, or even for thought, but complex, and a
system of relations between elements never torn
apart. Light, then, as the bond between the mate-
rial and the spiritual, cannot be thought apart from
its relations, and color is not the creation, then, of light
PAINTING. 233
and its negation, but of light in relation to other
elements of concrete existence. Or, if light be re-
garded as the pure principle, of which the physical
universe is the irradiation (as the Hebrew and
Christian Scriptures seem to indicate), then all color
is implicit in it, and the spiritual percipient is so
constructed as to be thus related to it.
With respect to the Art of Painting, color may
be regarded as filling in the outline of form already
conceived and sketched by the Artist, in which case
it is, by its distinctions, merely a mode of expressing
form; or it may be regarded in itself, and as to its
purity, richness, subtle gradations, and, when married
to form, its harmony. In dealing with it in this
latter respect, the Painter may be poetic, as well as
in the former. In the one respect Painting resem-
bles Music, in the mysterious charm which may be
imparted by color as well as by sound. In the
other, it is allied to Sculpture and Poetry, so far as
that by form it gives the thought, the properly intel-
lectual element of the picture.
When the subject is rich and complicated, the
highest effects of color are not likely to be reached,
or even ardently sought; the serene possession and
mastery of both powers constitute the perfect artist;
just as in Poetry we find fertility in thoughts and the
deepest poetic regard sometimes combined with
domination over language, and mastery of sweetness
of sound in words, of which accord and symmetry
of powers Shakespeare and Goethe are notable illus-
trations.]
234 HEGEL's AESTHETICS.
As we have said, Painting not only concerns it-
self with the deep thoughts of the soul, but has open
before it a free field for particularization. Hence
it is at liberty to seize and fasten the transitory ap-
pearance, the minute beauty, to preserve it for more
permanent and deliberate regard. We grade Paint-
ers, however, according to their propensity to choose
the profound or the superficial; though the order is
changed when we make skill in execution, mastery
of the means, the criterion. Thus it becomes possi-
ble, in either way, that propensities may be classified
and different schools in this Art may arise. These
are determined, not so much by special ability as by
individual character, and the spirit of peoples and
epochs, and concern both the conceptions and modes
of handling. -
Although modern Painters have employed mytho-
logical subjects, yet these do not afford the highest
opportunities for their Art, and, indeed, do not be-
long to its regular development. For the expres-
sion of profound sentiment, the ideal independence,
and the kind of grandeur which characterize Classic
Art, are not necessary. The natural serenity of the
Greek conceptions, the joyousness, the felicity ab-
sorbed in itself, are not sufficient. To show the true
depth and nature of the spirit, the soul must bring
to view all its interior life, that it has done much,
enjoyed much, suffered much, striven much, and over-
come obstacles, known the anguish of the heart, and
the moral tortures, while at the same time retaining
its integrity and keeping faithful to itself. The
PAINTING. .. 235
ancients, indeed, in the myth of Hercules, repre-
sented a hero who, after many rude proofs, reached
the rank of the Gods. But his were only physical
travails. The felicity accorded him is but a silent
repose; and the ancient prophesy which announced
that by him should be terminated the reign of Jupi-
ter he did not fulfill. The reign of this divinity
and his compeers ceased only when man, in lieu of
conquering dragons and Serpents, conquered the
dragons of his own heart, softened his severity, and
humiliated the pride of his will. It is only thus
that the natural serenity of the soul lapses into a
higher serenity, that of the spirit, which is born out
of conflict and internal torments, and which attains
by effort and sacrifice the infinite peace. Holiness
is a felicity conquered, and which is justified by its
victory alone. If we ask what is the true idea for
this sort of subjects, the reply is, it is the reconcilia-
tion of the soul with God, who, in his human mani-
festation, has Himself run through the path of suf-
fering. It is, then, religious love, a love without pas-
sion, as for a visible and tangible object, a love
which is, in a sort, a death to nature. Anything less is
transitory and imperfect. [This love, when perfected,
has its correspondent in a glorified nature, in the
perfect Light, from which the universe came, and
to which it is returning.]
In the figures of the ancients we see nothing of
this sort of freedom. [Theirs is rather the freedom
of selfish caprice than the freedom of moral accord,
which is identical with the only true and eternal
236 HEGEL's AESTHETICS.
necessity.] We see only, and in the later works,
when the Classic Artists have begun to suspect the
absolute truth of their ideal, a sadness which is a
confession of the failure of this ideal to satisfy, as
eminently in the Niobe and the Laocoön. There is
only a cold resignation. It is but a submission to
the inevitable Fate. It is a state in which grief and
nobleness of soul are not conciliated. The expression
of the inner power and meaning of the human soul
was given for the first time in Romantic Art.
To resume, the true felicity in love is the aban-
donment, the forgetfulness of self in order to recover
one's self in the object loved. [Thus, we may add,
the attraction of gravitation in the physical universe
is a true figure of the attraction which should reign,
nay, does reign, in the spiritual realm; but as this
is an attraction of free intelligences with infinite
capabilities of development, it can only be realized
in a process; so that time is the fundamental condi-
tion for spirit attraction as space is for physical. In
the completed organism, there must, then, be the
completest moral accord, to bring out the full signifi-
cance and capabilities of each member. This is the
ground for the attested fact of human sympathy,
which, being the internal bond of the entire organ-
ism, is ineradicable.
This thesis has true rationality. Neither attrac-
tion is discovered and thought spontaneously, but is
the fruit of reflection, yet either is felt in the depths
of the soul, whether regarded as physical or spirit-
ual. It may, therefore, be rightly called an intui-
PAINTING, 237
tion,--always existing, yet struggling and unravel-
ling into clear consciousness and expression.]
It is this mystic or religious love, the profoundest
impulse of human nature, which was the basis of
Christian Painting, and enabled it to excel all other
productions of this Art. The contrast of the group
of Niobe with any one of the eminent groups in which
Mary the Virgin figures, offers an illustration of the
two ideals. Niobe has lost all her children. She
keeps only her grandeur and unalterable beauty.
That which is still maintained in her is the external
side of existence. In this unfortunate, beauty has
become her very nature and identified with her entire
being, and remains all that it was, but her internal
nature, her heart, has lost the support of her love,
of her life. Her individuality and her beauty can
only be petrified. They give no hope nor promise.
The grief of Mary has quite another character. She is
not insensible. She feels the sword in her heart. Her
heart is broken, but not petrified. She did not merely
possess love: love was herself, and filled her entire
soul. This religious sentiment preserves always the
absolute essence of that which it loves; so the loss
of the object loved does not take away the peace of
love. Thus we have the living beauty of the soul
in contrast with the abstract beauty of the body,
which may rest unalterable in death, but exhibits no
gleam of inward peace and hope.
Farthest removed from this absolute ideal is that
which, taken in itself, is void of sentiment, and is
not Divine,—Nature. Hence we have Landscape.
238 HEGEL's AESTHETICs.
*s f
Yet the soul, possessed of love, can find in external
nature that which is akin to itself. When this rela-
tion between the subjective soul and objective nature
is established, the latter is felt to be not dead and
expressionless, but living and symbolic. To exhibit
this rapport is also the purpose of Painting, which
thus pierces within the mere externality to dis-
cover and bring to view the inner thought in Nature
herself. [Thus the discovery of nature's freedom is
the detection of her Beauty; and the imaginative
activity revelling thus in the movement of its con-
gener is the emotion of the Beautiful].
And there is a third kind of sympathetic expres-
sion which finds in insignificant objects detached from
the general landscape, and in the transitory and even
trivial scenes of human life something akin to the
human imagination in its play, and therefore legiti-
mate objects for this Art. That which makes them
worthy of such use is the vitality, the gaiety of un-
trammelled existence, possible to be felt even amid
its multitude of particular interests. That which
interests us in such representations is not the objects
themselves; it is still the soul in its evanescent yet
free phases which speaks to us. Mere illusion, the
simple imitation of nature, is a lower aim, and affords
occasion for the display of only technical skill. If,
however, the relation between the object and our-
selves is not practical, but purely contemplative, it
may be an artistic aim, and such subjects should not
be severely excluded, and especially those flitting
phases of nature and human life which vanish as we
PAINTING. r 239
look on them, Painting may seize and fix for more
deliberate and prolonged enjoyment.
As to the possibilities of the physical material of
which Painting avails itself, we may consider, first,
Perspective, accomplished by drawing, but principally
by coloring. We are charmed, indeed, by sketches,
which give the spontaneous thought of the artist in
the rapturous moment of inspiration; but to make
these thoughts truly living and bring out all their
implications color is needed, and in addressing him-
self to the further task his inspiration may cool a
little, and the completed work in one aspect of truth
be less vivid than the primal sketch. [And besides,
the fondness for the charm of color may be so great
as to lead the artist so far to indulge in its possi-
bilities as to conceal the vigor of the pure thought.
To attain the most perfect adaptation to each other
of the two can alone entitle the picture to be called
absolutely perfect.]
The subject of color, and of the methods of dealing
with light and shadow, is treated in eactenso, and can-
not be abridged. We pass on to the differences in
the modes of conception, of composition, and charac-
terization.
The modes of conception have their origin in part
in the subject to be represented, and in part in the
degree of development of the Art. The first form
to be noticed is that in which Painting shows its
analogy with Sculpture and Architecture. This is the
case when the artist confines himself to isolated fig-
ures, which are represented, not in the living deter-
240 HEGEL’S AESTHETICS.
mination of a situation variable in itself, but in
simple repose. The religious personages are capable
of an expression such as to constitute an object of
veneration and love for the faithful. If this be
wanting, and they are merely statuesque, Painting
shows its inferiority. . Such are even interesting
only to those acquainted with the originals. Paint-
ing, to exhibit its superiority, must give the figure
in a determined situation, and this, for the most part,
requires an environment. Some sort of dramatic
movement is needed even to bring out perfectly the
individuality of single figures. In this variety of
combinations Painting shows its analogy with Music.
This necessitates Composition. - -
Not every situation is suitable for this Art, yet
the painter has a field almost unlimited; and here
Painting shows its analogy with Poetry. It cannot,
however, give the development of a situation, as can
Poetry or Music, in a succession of different states,
but in a single moment. Thus it should seize that
instant in which what precedes and what follows
are concentrated in a unique point. The advantage
which it has over Poetry is, that it can give us the
scene determined in all its details. Descriptive
Poetry in this regard is inferior, since it gives only
successively what Painting gives simultaneously. In
reading we forget what precedes, and do not know
what is to follow. The whole impression is confused,
and we have to make a mental picture, which is far
feebler than that given by Painting.
But in another relation, in what may be called the
PAINTING. 241
lyric relation, Painting yields to Poetry and Music, for
these Arts can express ideas or sentiments, not only
as such, but in their fluctuation, their development,
and their gradation; and the intensity and concen-
tration of sentiment can be given by Music alone.
Painting, here, has at its disposition but the expres-
sion of the countenance, and the attitudes of the body,
which can give an expression only in its manifesta-
tionſ in a specific action. If it attempts to express
this internal sentiment immediately, without precise
motive and without action, its work is dry and
insipid.
If, then, Painting is to represent a veritable situ-
ation, its first law is intelligibility. Well-known
religious and historical subjects have here the advan-
tage: any others find fewer spectators. Allegorical
representations are always in doubtful taste. The
figures are known to be unreal, and inspire no strong
interest. But the determined situation being recog-
nizable, the task of the painter is to put in relief
the different motives which the situation incloses.
Each action of which the moral spring is to reveal
itself externally offers striking signs, manifest con-
sequences, and sensible relations, which may be so
given as to make the whole comprehensible, and
bring out the existing content of each individual
soul. And since the Artist has large spaces to fill,
and has need of a landscape or its equivalent as the
basis of his picture, and of the effects of light and
of accessory figures, he should adapt, as far as pos-
sible, all this environment to the motives of the situ-
16
242 HEGEL's AFSTHETICS.
ation itself, that it may not be insignificant, but help
to combine all the elements into an harmonious whole.
Hence the skill needed for grouping, in which the
favorite form with painters has been the architec-
tonic, the pyramidal, which has unity in itself. If a
mode of grouping less symmetrical is adopted, and
therefore more real and living, care should be taken
that the figures are not huddled together, as in some
pictures, where one cannot tell to what bodies the
limbs belong, and which thus puzzle the attention
and impair the enjoyment.
In characterization Painting has greatly the ad-
vantage over Sculpture. Many figures of ancient
Art are statuesque, and can hardly be called char.
acters, are rather eternal types of the plastic ideal;
while Painting does not lift its characters to this
degree of ideality. It is not even needful for it to
seek such perfection of the physical form, since it is
no longer this, but the inner content of the soul, that
is the centre of the representation. Thus the moral
consciousness may show itself in the homely figures
of Socrates or Silenus, and the painter may, by the
inner beauty of the soul, glorify the ungainly body.
Thus portraiture is a legitimate field for Painting;
but here the inner character, and not the mere phys-
ical conformation, should be the chief aim of the
Artist. A portrait may have a strong resemblance,
yet be insignificant. A mere sketch from the hand
of the master, indicating what there is in the char-
acter to admire and love, or fear, may have far more
worth. To preserve the middle pathway between
PAINTING. 243
the two tendencies is the secret of the Art of Por-
traiture. Titian, Albert Dürer and others have
made portraits of which it may be said that the pic-
ture is more like the real person than whatever can
be drawn from his countenance at any one time.
The design of the portrait is the countenance fash-
ioned by the spirit. Thus it is not only allowable,
but necessary, to flatter. The simple accidents of the
visage may be neglected in order to bring one into
closer contact with this soul.
In giving the historic development of Painting,
Hegel's facts and judgments do not differ materially
from those found and easily accessible in numerous
books concerning this Art. We only note what he
says of the peculiarities of Dutch Painting. These
he ascribes to national causes. The emancipation
from external constraint which the religious Refor-
mation and the victories which secured their inde-
pendence produced, enabled these people to give
themselves with more freedom and joy to domestic
pleasures. Having a natural propensity toward
Art, they would enjoy a second time in their pic-
tures this honest, complacent and merry existence.
In painting from the real life, the Dutch artists have
excelled all others. We note in their works the per-
fect mastery of the topic, a wonderful tact in dealing
with accessories, and a perfect care in execution.
There is not before us, in the paintings of Teniers
and others, a mere vulgar sentiment, but the moral
or domestic life, approaching the free life of nature,
with its animal gaiety and comicality. These figures
244 IIEGEL's AESTHETICS.
are not those of men really bad and contemptible.
In more modern pictures of this kind there is often
found an immoral element at the base of the comi-
cality. In the Dutch pictures there is a truly poetic
element. [The spontaneous joy of the perfect life is
figured in this lower sphere, and men are like the
birds, singing they know not why.]
CHAPTER WI.
MUSIC.
EGEL now goes over again the sequence in
the development of the Art-impulse, in order
to give the proper ground for the Art of Music.
If the spirit will manifest itself in the character
of internal concentration, the physical element
which is to respond to this need should enable a
mode of expression which, in its sensible form, has
nothing extended nor fixed. There is no space nor
fixedness in the human consciousness. We need now,
signs, materials, and a mode of expression, whose
character shall be to vanish as soon as they are born.
This entire disappearance of all extent, this com-
plete absorption of the soul into itself, is accom-
plished in the second of the Romantic Arts, in
Music. Instead of leaving the sensible element, by
which the interior feeling is to be expressed, to be
developed for itself, as do the figurative Arts, instead
of giving it a position and permanent form, Music
annihilates this form. Nevertheless, it retains some-
thing which attaches it to the figurative Arts, and
which recalls that they have preceded it, for it has
to move in the very bosom of the matter of which it
is the negation. We have now that which, as to the
material, has rested in repose, movement. Paint-
w 245
246 HEGEL's AESTHETICs.
ing suppresses one dimension of space; Sculpture
reduces extent to form. The destruction of extent
will, then, consist in this, - that a determined body,
abandoning its repose, is drawn into movement, and
meanwhile vibrates so that each part of the body
maintained by cohesion, in being displaced, tends to
return to its anterior state. The result of this
undulatory vibration is sound, the material element
of Music. Hearing, to which this is addressed, is a
sense more intellectual, more spiritual than sight.
The regard which contemplates without desire,
works of Art, leaves its objects, indeed, such as they
are, without destroying or harming them, but that
which it seizes is not, after all, anything purely
ideal, but, on the contrary, images which preserve
their sensible existence; while the ear, without exact-
ing the least alteration of the body, penetrates to
the result of the vibration, and thereby the soul .
experiences an ideal animation. Sound, like the
vibration which produces it, is a double negation, –
a phenomenon which is destroyed as soon as it is
born. It is thus eminently fitted to be the echo of
the soul. It is immaterial, aloof from space, and, in
its vanishing, almost aloof from time. Thus it has
an entirely abstract character. It does not, and can-
not, like the stone, or the color, represent the real
existence of anything. The most abstract subjec-
tivity only is appropriate for musical expression. It
is the Ego in its simplicity, the person with no other
content than itself; out of relation with space and
its objects, and finding in the element of sound a
MUSIC. *- 247 -
language for feeling, not caused by thought, but pure,
yet able to suggest thought. This fugitive sound
has no proper duration in itself. It is but a means
of transmission, and borrows all its worth from the
sentiment to which it is addressed.
[There is need here, also, to distinguish mere
agreeableness of sound, which has an immediately
physiological explanation, and which other animals
share with us, from the beauty which can be given
to sound, which thus is addressed to the imagination
as well. Thus, in the concrete, the delight in it is
double, both sensuous and spiritual; and in estimat-
ing music, separation should be made of these two,
which is not ordinarily done, as most express their
relative estimation from the whole impression, and
do not abstract the spiritual and artistic element
only, as furnishing the criterion for their judgment.]
Music, though opposed to Architecture, has a close
analogy with it; for, like it, its mode of expression
is symbolic, and not, as in Sculpture and Painting,
a more or less perfect unity of idea and form. More-
over, neither Art borrows its forms from nature, but
invents them, draws them from imagination, to
fashion them according to the laws of symmetry
or of rhythm. Each deals with number and quan-
tity. Music is entirely bound by these laws. This
Art may even renounce its immediate object, to ex-
press sentiment, and build up an edifice of Sound,
arousing only admiration for the builder's skill.
There is little analogy with Sculpture, in the
objective element, or in the idea; while with Paint-
248 HEGEL's AESTHETICS.
ing there is more affinity, for in expressing
sentiment Painting ventures into the domain of
Music. The Painter, however, fashions his subject
exteriorly, while the other Artist buries himself in
the depths of his feeling; and in certain musical
compositions this absorption goes so far that the
subject itself is forgotten, and he abandons himself
to spontaneous and playful expression. If the con-
templation of the beautiful in general effects a cer-
tain deliverance of the soul from the needs and mis-
eries of finite existence, Music surely carries this
emancipation to the highest degree.
In a work of Sculpture or of Painting, the unity,
as we have seen, must by all means be preserved
and felt, and for this deep thought and infinite
painstaking are required. Music, too, must have
its unity, but in a sense more restrained. In a
musical theme, the sense to be expressed is quickly
exhausted. If it is repeated, even with variations
and extensions, these at last become superfluous and
wearisome. This multiplicity of harmonic differ-
ences is not exacted by the subject nor sustained by
it. Yet in a musical composition one theme may be
added to another, mingle with it, interchange with
it, so that each may appear in turn vanquished or
victorious. Thus the unity of the composition is
not, as in the other two Arts, profound and concen-
trated. It is larger and freer. It is a succession,
a flight, and a return. The Art of Music, moving
in the free world of the soul, has the right to put
itself above the given subject [and to melt away the
MUSIC. 249
thought it has consented to express, or accompany,
and dissipate it into the vapor of feeling]. Yet
Music is free, also, to limit itself rigidly, and to
give us a morsel of finished and completely organ-
ized sound.
Music has a still greater affinity with Poetry,
since both deal with the sensible element of sound;
yet for all this strong resemblance, the difference is
more marked than with any other of the Arts. In
Poetry, sound is not modulated and artistically fash-
ioned. It is reduced to a simple oral sign to which
meaning has been arbitrarily attached. But it does
not identify itself with this. If sensation and
thought become an object for the mind, it is not
that they are expressed by signs or words. These
are an aid and convenience, but not essential.
Sound being thus indifferent in itself to the ideas
which it has been arbitrarily made to transmit, may
be given an independence, and treated as pure
sound. In Painting, it is true, colors, and their
distribution as simple colors, have in themselves no
proper signification, and thus this, too, is a sensible
element independent of thought. But color alone
cannot make a picture. It must be supplemented
by form and expression. But all this combination
falls short of the power of language to express ideas.
Sound is, then, in Poetry a means to an end, while
in Music it is the end itself. In modern times,
especially, Music has become more independent of
all clear and determinate thought, and confined to
its proper element; yet it often happens that the
250 - HEGEL's AESTHETICS.
complicated fabrics it constructs can be enjoyed
only by connoisseurs, and produce but a feeble inter-
est for the common heart.
That which Poetry loses in exterior objectivity, by
neglecting this element of sound, it regains in inte-
rior objectivity by the reality of the pictures its
language offers to the imagination, while Music at-
tempts nothing like this. Any mental pictures it
may arouse are always vague and flitting. [It does
not bind and absorb the imagination, but beckons it
onward, and leaves it free..] Yet, as we have seen,
it does not and need not preserve this entire inde-
pendence from thought, since it may adjust itself to
a determinate theme, to a subject already treated by
Poetry. However, the musical side of such a work
should remain predominant, and the purely poetic
side not appear of equal worth. The words should
be merely the occasion for a musical commentary,
which should still appear independent, and as the
true work.
[In what goes before Hegel seems to disdain the
sensuous element of Poetry. While, indeed, its
uttered sound is less agreeable to the sensory than
musical sound, yet it is capable of treatment in and
for itself, and the ability so to treat it as to pro-
duce the highest excellence in this respect, and the
correspondent capacity to enjoy it to the uttermost,
are rare natural gifts. Only in the greatest Poets do
we find the intensest and most piercing outlook upon
the universe allied to this feeling for melody and har-
mony of sound, and mastery of its possibilities. The
MUSIC. - 251
neglect of this thought on Hegel's part is the result
of over-systematization.]
Music differs from the other Arts in its mode of
conception, whether it serves to accompany a text or
remains independent. A musical composition may,
indeed, be nothing more than a succession of com-
binations, modulations, oppositions and harmonies,
but then it remains empty and inexpressive, and is
mechanism rather than Art. This requires that
some sentiment, some vague thought, some imagina-
tive activity should inspire the Artist. [Music does
not deal with precise thought, though it consents
to use it as a guiding-thread. This thought it is
perpetually plunging into the bath of feeling, dissi-
pating it into its primal elements, the deep longings
and aspirations of the human heart, to utter which
in its proper material is its true aim.]
Sentiment in its generality comprises divers par-
ticular states of the soul, and its sphere is large. But
whatever these may be, they are separated from ex-
terior relations and made as pure as possible. Like
the song of the bird, music should be, or seem to be,
a spontaneous production in which the technical
labor is concealed. Natural interjections are not
indicated. These are as much artificial signs as
language, and manifest some moral situation, an
impression which exhales with the cry and relieves
the soul by some change or shock in the organization.
Music, on the contrary, expresses feeling by mea-
sured sounds and cadences, softening and tempering
the natural violence of expression. In the other
252 HEGEL’S AESTEIETICS.
Arts, the soul and its objects still remain, in one
sense, aloof. In Music, the object is the condition of
the soul itself. [It moves the soul as does no other
Art, because it searches into it more deeply, dealing
with the relations which escape intelligence, express-
ing the soul's want of knowledge of its own need,
thus stifling, or rather allaying and beautifying,
its in most cry. The delight in Music, as we have
before observed, is complex: the purely sensible
one, enjoying the timbre of the sound itself; the
purely intellectual one, in which the mind, with an
interest entirely rational, follows the harmonious and
melodious concourse of sounds, understanding them,
and having recognition of the triumphant skill of
the composer; and the purely imaginative one, in
which this faculty, joyous or sad, yet ever free, en-
deavors to follow and sometimes to supply concrete
images to this flow of suggestions. The invisible
ghosts of thoughts rise into its atmosphere, and be-
come many-shaped and many-colored, yet vanish on
the instant, before the seducing attraction of the
melody which carries it along wonderingly into
newer realms.]
Thus, in Music, it is not so much our whole com-
plex being that is taken hold of, as our simple Ego,
the centre of our spiritual existence which is put in
movement, [and when this is done our whole being
sometimes responds, and trembles with it]. Thus,
in musical fragments easy to follow, and in which
the rhythm is strongly marked, we feel the impulse
to mark ourselves the measure, or to mingle our own
MUSIC. 253
voice with the melody. In the dance, the music
passes in some way into the limbs. When music
accompanies the military march, it sustains the sol-
dier by its regularity, and relieves the monotony of
the tread, in filling the soul with harmony. Thus
is revealed the intimate relation between the inter-
nal sentiment and the measure of time, which con-
stitutes the abstract element of Music. Feeling
excludes the idea of extent, and time is the negation
of extent. There is a continuous identity in the
soul itself, which is truly imaged, not by the changes
of determinate thought, but by abstract time, which
is capable of measure pure in itself. This is the
basis of Music, which is, still, more than measure.
Since musical sounds have no objective permanence,
but disappear and vanish in infinite succession, the
Art has need of prolongation of sound, or rather of
reproduction renewed without cessation; and the
key to govern this is found when music takes the
form of a communication made by a living person.
If soul is to reach soul, the human voice is the most
perfect organ, though instruments may accomplish
in lesser degree the same result. But the person-
ality of the performer may be made too exclusive,
and the interest concentered upon his skill or the
fineness of his voice.
How, then, does this Art add to simple sound an
artistic expression? Each sound has an existence
independent and complete in itself. It has no need
to be coördinated and combined with other sounds.
Hence its power to express sentiment is very limited.
254 HEGEL's AESTHETICS.
It may have musical worth from its sweetness and
purity, but it is by its relation to other sounds
that character is given to it. These relations are
imparted by the mind which carries into this element
its own categories. Hence the necessity of quantity.
The relations of number are employed in a manner
invented by Art, and modified and graded by it with
the greatest variety. Equality and inequality and
the abstract laws of quantity are the basis of Music,
in which respect it has affinity with Architecture.
Thus, on one side it is the freest of all the Arts; on
the other, the most closely bound. It does not put
these two sides in contrast, but harmonizes and
unifies them. [Thus of all the Arts it furnishes the
completest image of the perfect life, of liberty in law,
the coalescence of freedom and necessity.] It has,
then, to combine the abstract time and the free soul.
Hence we have to note, (1) the simple duration, the
temporal movement which Art cannot abandon to
arbitrariness, which it determines after fixed meas-
ures; these last admitting of differences, which in
their turn have to be reduced to unity. Thus the
need of measure, cadence and rhythm.
But (2) Music deals not only thus with abstract
time, but with determinate sounds, whose difference
depends upon the quality of the sonorous vibrations,
and also upon the different number of vibrations
which the material can produce in an equal time.
These differences become essential for the combina-
tion and opposition of sounds and their conciliation.
This task is denominated Harmony.
MUSIC. - 255
(3) It is by Melody that upon this basis of the
cadence, animated by the rhythmic movement and
the harmonic differences, Sounds are lifted into the
sphere of expression spiritually free.
Music can only distinguish sound by measure
into which abstract time can be broken. Thus it
creates differences, separates parts of an homoge-
neous element by means of the principle of regu-
larity. The reason why Music has need of measure
is, that the exterior movement of time has to be
treated conformably with the nature of the interior
soul itself. The Ego is not a continuity undeter-
mined, duration without fixedness. It has true
identity only inasmuch as it assembles the scattered
moments of its existence, and returns upon itself.
The undetermined moments of time in succession
have given to them, by being thus divided and
measured, the character which belongs to these
same movements in the soul itself. In conformity
with this principle, the duration of scund no longer
loses itself in the indeterminate. It has a fixed com-
mencement and a fixed end. But if many sounds
are to succeed each other, and if each one in itself
has a different duration from the others, in the
stead of the first empty indetermination there is
introduced afresh an arbitrary multiplicity, equally
undetermined, of particular quantities. But this
disorderly confusion contradicts still more the unity
of the Ego than the simple uniformity of a con-
tinued succession. The soul cannot discover and
satisfy itself in this variety, except as the isolated
256 HEGEL's AESTHETICS.
intervals of time are reduced to unity. And this
unity itself, in order to arrange its particularities
under its law must be a determinate unity. This
more advanced regularization is realized in the
Cadence, which maintains a determined unity of
time as the rule to mark the intervals, and also
fixes the arbitrary duration of particular sounds,
which thenceforth are reduced to a fixed unity; and
this measure of time is renewed in a manner mathe-
matically uniform. In this co-ordination of an arbi-
trary multiplicity the Ego recognizes the image of
its own proper unity, and the return of the same
unity reminds it that it is itself which has accom-
plished it. The pleasure which it experiences by
the cadence in the return measure is more complete
than that derived from any uniformity of times or
of sounds in themselves, since it is something be-
longing to itself, for it has given to time this unity
and uniformity for its own proper satisfaction.
In the physical world this abstract identity is
never found. There are no two things and no two
movements precisely alike. A propelled or falling
body is retarded or accelerated in an infinite pro-
gression. The celestial bodies have no proper uni-
formity in size or movement. No movement of the
animal body is ever exactly repeated. In the Cadence
alone we find pure abstract identity. . .
But in order that this determined unity may be
felt by the soul, the presence of an unrestrained
element, which lacks uniformity, is necessary.
There must be irregularity in order that the regu-
MUSIC. 257
larity may be felt. The contrasts and variety
which give liberty in law to Music are accomplished
by Rhythm, which is a system of accentuation.
Poetry, too, has its rhythm, but when the two Arts
are married, it is by no means necessary that the
accents of the measure should be directly opposed
to those of the metre. Coalescence is allowable and
desirable, but need not be exact. The rhythm of
the cadence with its strictly regular return must be
distinguished from the more animated rhythm of
Melody. The diverse periods of melody have no need
to commence strictly at the same time with the
cadence, and to finish when the other finishes. This
is a freer movement, and they may separate just at
the point where the principal cesura of the melody
falls in that part of the cadence to which, in the
relations of ordinary rhythm, no such elevation
belongs; while, on the other hand, a sound which in
the natural movement of the melody ought to have
no marked elevation may find itself in that part of
the cadence which exacts a cesura.
The means by which Music, thus resting upon the
abstract base of measure and rhythm, may develop
itself freely, is to be found in the domain of sounds
considered in themselves. These lead us to the laws
of Harmony, by which differences in sounds are con-
ciliated. -
The means to furnish the sounds are not at hand
except in the human voice. Hence the different in-
struments. But the voice is an ideal synthesis of
the sounds disseminated in all other instruments,
258 HEGEL’S AESTHETICS.
and hence is the primal and immediate instrument
of the soul. But human skill may abstract this or
that possibility of the voice, and intensify it by the
sound of a particular instrument. To put these in
accord is a great Art.
Besides this physical quality of the sound, it may
have given to it a determinate character by its rela:
tion to other sounds. The modes of accomplishing
this are treated at length, and are so scientific and
technical as to find place only in a proper treatise
on Music.
Thus far these constitute the basis upon which
the soul is freely to move. The free and poetic ele-
ment is Melody. This, though submitting to these
necessary conditions, does not yield its liberty. By
these very conditions, which forbid it from mere
arbitrariness, it acquires its true independence.
These laws are what make freedom in any high sense
possible. These abstractions are the means by which
melody displays its richness of meaning and its spir-
itual quality. It may even break these accords into
dissonances, and evoke contradictions, unchaining all
the potencies of harmony, sure of its power to ap-
pease their combat, and celebrate its own peaceable
triumph. But if this hardihood becomes the chief
aim, then the composition may have merely a tech-
nical interest.
There may be different means to accomplish the
expression of sentiment, whether superficial and
spontaneous, or profound and meditative. It may be
a simple accompaniment, that is, when the thought
MUSIC. 259
expressed in words is seized in its abstract sense, or
on its sentimental side, and allowed to penetrate the
musical movement; or it may detach itself from any
text and pose independently. The true sense of
accompaniment is not that of dependence upon the
words. Rather the reverse. It is the text which is
at the service of the music, and it has no other
worth than to create for the mind a representation
more precise, and to supply a guiding-thread. Music
still preserves its liberty, and conceives its subject
not altogether in the sense of the text, for it may
seize its ideal signification and wander through its
implications. It is not meant here only that the
instrument furnishes an accompaniment to the voice,
rather that the voice itself is an accompaniment,
since it adds a mode of expression to the sense of the
words.
In “dependent Music,” the text, which gives pre-
cise thoughts and images, serves to withdraw the
mind from its state of aimless reverie. But the
impression is weakened if this bondage to the sub-
ject is too apparent. The greatest composers have
avoided either extreme, and transmute the thoughts
of their subject into a free movement, though they
add nothing to the words [except the outflow of the
feeling involved in them, thus giving imagination
its own free field.]
In pure Music, it is the soul which sings imme-
diately on its own account, to manifest its inward
joy or its dreamy feeling; but this, like every other
Art, has for its mission to realize the Beautiful, and
260 IIEGEL's AESTHETICS.
hence it has still another function,--to moderate
these very affections of the soul and their expression,
so that they shall not be a disordered and tumultu-
ous crowd of passions. In the taransports of joy, as
in the depths of grief, the soul must rest free and
happy in the overflowings of the melody, if the
requirements of Beauty are to be met. It is the
part of Music to lift it above the constraint of any
such absorption to a plane where it can take refuge
without obstacle in the pure feeling of its own free
self. Not the particular sentiment, but the interior
movement of the soul itself, is the dominating thing.
As the skylark, which balances itself in the air,
sings in order to sing, Serenely, tranquilly, in the
intoxication of spontaneous production; so the human :
song and the melody of expression in Music have no
other end than themselves.
Yet this Art, in its compass, cannot content itself
solely with this melodic element. [The soul may
become weary of this elevation, and need to descend
in order to receive strength to ascend again. There-
fore the guiding limitations of a precise subject
become an aid and not a hindrance to the Art. In
the text are suggestions which furnish this relief and
stimulus. Music may thus seize some particular
sentiment implicit in the text, amplify and vary the
expression, give it imaginative treatment, live in it,
and use it so as for a time to transcend it, may even
return to it, and repeat it, carrying the glad and
willing soul into its fascinations again ere it lapses
suddenly or by easy transitions into a new melody.]
TMUSIC. 261
The Recitative, or chanted declamation, is allowable,
when a mere peaceable recitation of events is re-
quired, or even for pathetic descriptions. This, and
the dramatic chant, while hardly music, are yet
needed for the complete artistic work.
The nature of the text is not a thing indifferent.
The greatest compositions have always had an excel-
lent text. Its thought must have worth, for all the
skill possible can never draw out of an insignificant
thought anything musically profound, though in
musical morsels, simply melodic, the words are, in
general, of little importance. [It is possible for the
listener to neglect them altogether, and regard the
performance as pure music, though many persons,
being so accustomed to associate articulation with the
human voice, when it becomes a mere instrument,
or sings in foreign language, find their gratification
disturbed.] The greatest masters have loved best
pure sounds, and in combining them have given us
their wonderful symphonies. Yet in making these
purely musical structures they have not gone so far
as to produce what is meaningless and exacts no
reflection, suggests no pathways for imagination.
The thought, though indeterminate, is real,—[pro-
found, not by its precision, but by its rudimental
character. In penetrating to the region whence the
elements of all thought have their origin, and sym-
bolizing by all the resources of sound, human long-
ings, and the freedom, fertility, wide range, and infi-
nite possibilities of the perfect life, Music is the soli-
262 HEGEL’S AESTHETICS.
tary Art, may be thought to be the greatest, and is
certainly the only enduring one..]
In musical eacecution, there may be the exact lit-
eral rendering of the thought of the composer, and
the never transcending it; or there may be an effort
not only to reproduce but to create the expression.
In some subjects the reproduction should be faith-
ful. Only the genius in execution knows when to
add anything. The soul in the musical performance
may become as completely rapt as in musical com-
position, and if so, new suggestions in expression
are possible. It is here as in the Histrionic Art,
one may forget all other things in the sense of the
dramatic situation, and the true Artist may reveal
here his talent in invention, the depth of his sensi-
bility as well as the superiority of his execution.
This vitality is the more marvellous, if the organ is
not the human voice, but some other instrument.
Here sounds, in themselves wanting in life, have
imparted to them soul and expression. [The violin,
in especial, may become almost an extension of the
muscular and nervous systems, of the brain, and of
the soul itself.] -
CHAPTER VII.
POETRY.
OETRY is the Art which unites the two modes
of expression. Like Music, it contains the im-
mediate perception by the soul of itself. Like the
figurative Arts, it develops itself distinctly in the
world of imagination, and creates determinate ob-
jects like those of Sculpture and Painting. And it
alone is capable of expressing an event in all its
parts, the succession of thoughts, the development
and conflict of passions, and the complete course of
an action. It is reckoned, however, among the
Romantic Arts, because, first-in virtue of its char-
acter of spirituality, it is freed from all contact
with matter. It expresses spirit immediately to
spirit. It not only embraces the world of thought
in its totality, but describes all the particularities
and details of external existence with a fertility un-
attainable by Music or Painting. Secondly, it is
distinguished by its universality. It does not, like
Painting, give us precise forms simultaneously per-
ceived, but offers them in succession, and to the
imagination only. It gives what Painting can only
faintly suggest, the before and after. This is akin
to the nature of the soul itself, which is manifested
in a similar set of changes. - Thirdly, it not only
263
264 HEGEL's AESTHETICŞ.
abandons the sensible forms of the figurative Arts,
but even that of which Music avails itself, the
sound itself. We have left for its objective element
simply the internal representation, the images
aroused to life by the arbitrary signs of language.
Thought need not be confounded with language,
which is only medium. Thus it is indifferent for
Poetry, whether it be read or recited. It can be
without essential alteration translated into a for-
eign language, and even from verse into prose, and
the relations of sounds be thus totally changed.
What it has to represent by this material is the
True in itself, and whatever interests and moves
the spirit. But its unlimited material is not poetic
simply by being seized by the imagination, for the
common thinking does this. It must be seized,
rather, by the artistic imagination. This mode of
activity is something quite other. (1) The sub-
ject is not conceived under the form of rational or
speculative thought, nor under that of sentiment
inexpressible by words, nor with the precision of
sensible objects. (2) The subject in entering into
the domain of the artistic imagination puts off
whatever particularities and accidents may destroy
its unity, rejects all surplusage, and appears as an
organic whole, which, though having the look of
close relation between the parts, is yet free from
that kind of mutual dependence which character-
izes the prosaic reality. Its unity is entirely ideal.
[Some critical scrutiny of what is said above is
needed to reconcile it with ordinary thinking, or
POETRY. 265
to make clear the difference. First, let us note
that Hegel distinguishes the vulgar from the artistic
imagination. The mere mental reproduction of
familiar objects, or construction of arbitrary com-
binations, so as to form a new totality, possible or
impossible to be realized (which, indeed, is the
habitual state of the ordinary consciousness, furnish-
ing entertainment for the mind, and sometimes stim-
ulus to exertion), is what is commonly meant by this
word. Some authors have preferred to call it fancy,
reserving the other term for another use. It is an
arbitrary dealing with the material supplied by
memory. The poetic manner of dealing with this
same material involves a new kind of activity, the im-
partation to this aggregation of the soul's own unity,
thus organizing it and giving it objective unity. In
this we have a completer fusion of the subjective and
objective elements, in which the soul thus determined
becomes its own object. The vulgar or arbitrary
movement, which may be called fancy, grades into
this insensibly, and the two cannot, in the concrete,
be clearly separable for thought. But this last is
not yet the artistic or constructive imagination. It
antedates it. Because this has become the habitual
mental attitude it is that the artistic impulse has
birth. When nature supplies the technical ability
to deal with form or color or sound, or it is by labor
acquired, then this impulse finds expression, and we
have the Sculptor, the Painter, or the Artist of
Music. Otherwise the Artist remains inchoate, shut
in from external expression. The poet, too, as we
266 HEGEL's AESTHETICS.
have declared above, must have ability to deal with
sound. Doubtless most will object to Hegel's dictum,
that poetry can be translated into a foreign language
or into prose without essential alteration. Who has
not felt that by this process the Beauty, the Poetic
soul, is sometimes completely lost? Indeed, Poetry
cannot dispense with sound, the body of the arbi-
trary sign, the word; and it is only a perfect Art
when it comprises it, and brings out all its wondrous
possibilities of delight, entirely distinguished from
musical delight. The thought is itself rendered deter-
minate by the sounded word, which gives it subtle
relations. Poetry is not, then, a purely spiritual Art,
but only so in the sense in which Music is. Indeed,
the purely spiritual exists only in the abstract, and
cannot come within the activities of imagination.
These are never freed from the sensible world. The
human spirit, as such, is not pure spirit. It is a spir-
itual soul. Hence it eacists only as determined by the
physical relations. Thought owes its being to these
determinations. All existence is, then, for the imagi-
nation a concrete synthesis, and is at the same time
ideal and real, and withal emotional, for the con-
sciousness which apprehends it is never destitute of
feeling. And we can think the Divine spirit only as
complacent over his own works. -
It is a vantage to poetry to deal with sound.
Hereby it does as Music does, descends into the
depths of absolute existence, or rather dwells upon
the border-land between the primitive and ultimate
worlds with which Music deals, and the intermediate
POETRY. 267
and actual one in which the other Arts have their
home, sometimes taking its free flight, and its mys-
terious wanderings into one realm, and oftener mov-
ing among the precise images and in the movements
of the other. As a mode of expression it is only
perfect when its two capacities for imaginative re-
production and combination, and for sweet and har-
monized sound, are perfectly married, and in the
resultant charming of the listening soul there is at
the same time the triumphant mastery of the
thought, and the bewildering sense of the presence of
mystery, of meaning beneath all clear consciousness.
Both speculative and poetic thinking, as we have
said, coördinate, and demand unity; but the one
deals with ideas and relations, the other with the
concrete manifestations of the same, and feels as the
first does not, the correspondence of all the elements
of absolute being, and thus makes a completer syn-
thesis, which appeals not to the cool reason only, but
to the entire sum of the soul's activities.]
From all this it follows that not every so-called
poem, i. e., system of measured words, is a Poetic
work, for it may be a piece of pure mechanism.
The true poem is rather the result of a special mode
of thinking, in which consists its inspiration. This
mode is largely disseminated, and there have been
many Poets who, for divers repressing reasons, have
never produced poems.
Poetry is more ancient than artistically fashioned
prose. It is the first form under which the mind
seized the True. It is a mode of knowledge in which
268 HEGEL’s AESTHETICS.
the general aspect of things is not yet separated from
their individual existence, in which are not yet made
distinct the law and the phenomenon, the end and the
means, to be afterward connected by the processes
of reasoning. In this manner of conception it repre-
sents its objects as forming each a whole complete in
itself, and so far independent, [yet these obviously
form a totality, of which the poetic mind seeks to
find the unifying principle. The rational laws
which govern it are not sought in their abstract
form; rather there is divined the hidden soul of the
apparent complexity. When a glimpse of this is
reached the poet utters his discovery]. The poetic
regard has commenced when man undertakes to
express himself. That which is expressed is there in
order to be uniquely expressed. If man in the midst
of action and danger so elevates as to possess and
contemplate himself, there escapes from his lips a
poetic expression. The primitive poetry is something
spontaneous, and is poetic without being known as
such, and is so by the thought rather than by the
language. The later poetry has learned the resources
of language, and is a more deliberate work. In the
primitive ages, when the conception of the universe,
determined by the religious belief or by some other
principle has not been yet developed into a know-
ledge rationally systematic, when the actions of hu-
man life are not yet regulated by abstract maxims,
Poetry has easy play. Prose, then, does not constitute
in opposition to it an independent domain, and an
obstacle which it has to surmount. If the prosaic
POETRY. 269
mode of conception appears in all the objects of hu-
man intelligence, and has left its imprint every-
where, Poetry has to recast these elements, and
restore to them its own original mark. In its
struggle with the prosaic it has a difficult task, and
to vindicate its own right and truth in the face of
the common disdain.
Since its sphere is so wide, and since it appears
among peoples differing greatly in physical and mental
habitudes, there arise different forms of Poetry; and
different epochs, too, favor particular directions for
this Art. Thus at some times and places men are
more poetic than at others. Oriental thought has
been more poetic than Occidental, Greece being ex-
cepted. The unity of the universe, its principle and
indissoluble bond, is the chief thought in all the
productions of Oriental genius. The West, on the
contrary, especially in modern times, proceeds by
unlimited division and infinite particularization. In
this reduction of the world to atoms, each part, in its
isolation, appears independent, which forces us to
reattach it to others by the relations of dependence.
Among the Orientals, nothing rests, properly speak-
ing, independent. Objects appear but as accidents
which concentrate and absorb themselves continually
in the One and Absolute Being from which all things
proceed, and to which they return.
But from this variety of national forms and devel-
opments there is detached in some manner, in the
course of ages, their common essence, that which can
be comprehended and enjoyed by other nations and
270 HEGEL's AESTHETICs.
other ages. This, the permanent and essential human
nature, becomes the artistic element. The Greek
poetry, in particular, has been admired and imitated
by nations the most diverse, because in it the aspect
of human nature in its purity, both in its idea and
its form, has attained the most perfect development.
But it is proof of the largeness of modern culture
that it does not find Indian poetry entirely foreign,
but becomes more and more in sympathy with this
unique development of human nature.
It is obvious that the unity required for a poetic
work implies the organic connection of its parts.
But it is not so obvious that each part must have
distinctness and be fit for regard in itself. Reason is
satisfied when in the philosophic movement it reaches
the ultimate and coördinating principle; but imagi-
nation is not so satisfied. [It loves to disport among
the ramifications and claims to comprehend them.]
Hence this Art seeks to make every element of the
entirety interesting and living in itself. The poetic
exposition is therefore slower in its movement than
the logical. But this tendency may run into excess,
and the attention be diverted by too much minute-
mess of detail from the unifying idea, and its spiritual
significance. And besides, the unifying bond is not
any abstract relation of end and means, but concrete,
and admits of a fertile and beautifying development
of the several parts. Each of these is the idea itself
under a real form, and the idea is needful for its full
comprehension. This unity is not made apparent,
as in the philosophic thinking, by any logical or
POETRY. 271
expository process. It is felt as the soul is felt and
has intuition of itself in the human body.
The poetry of Symbolic Art cannot, on account of
its vague sense of the fundamental idea, realize this
organic development and perfection as does Classic
Art. There are too many gaps, so that the particu-
lars preserve their separateness, or else they are
rendered indistinct by the overflowing presence of
the Absolute thus vaguely apprehended, so that the
whole appears but as an enigmatical combination
of traits and aspects borrowed from the moral and
physical worlds,-heterogeneous elements which have
among themselves but a feeble affinity.
History may indulge to some extent in poetic
treatment. But history becomes possible only when
the nomadic existence, the heroic age, has passed, and
men are united by some political, social or religious
bond, when life has become prosaic. Only occasion-
ally are there heroic situations, sparkling eminences
amid the general level, which may be poetically
treated. But the historian cannot neglect the pro-
saic flow, and these flights are only episodical. This
historic unity, therefore, is something less profound
than the philosophic or the poetic, and does not
descend to the ultimate depths to deal with first
principles, and seek to reveal the divine plan, the
secret harmony of the universe.
The efforts of Eloquence, too, may be capable of
artistic excellence, and appear as the productions of
a mind entirely free; but the purpose of the orator
is not to produce anything true or beautiful in itself,
272 HEGEL's AESTHETICS.
but to convince, to persuade, to move and stimulate
others: thus it is practical and not contemplative.
These orations may be full of beautiful images, and
give evidence of the poetic mind, and arouse similar
excitation in others: they may be even prose poems
to be recited or read, but so far they depart from
the proper purpose of Oratory, and can never pro-
duce the perfect and everlasting result of the proper
poetic Art. Poetry, by trenching upon the domain
of Oratory, only becomes prosaic, and the versifier
who would instruct or convince has simply mistaken
his form. He makes his art only a means. The
versified productions narrating with sparkling ani-
mation some striking event are true lyrics, and the
lyric poet may sometimes lift himself above the level
of his order, and produce an Epic or a Drama in
miniature, giving his work isolation and complete-
I16SS.
Genius, talent, inspiration, originality are needed
for the poet, but his Art requires some modification
of the same. The Architect, Sculptor or Painter
is limited by his material, and must have special skill
in dealing with it. The poet, too, must have the
rhythmical ear, and a vocabulary of words sufficiently
large to bring out the resources of his language.
He may seem to have fewer technical difficulties to
vanquish, and hence the number of those who can
versify is greater than of those who can mould, draw
or paint; but the higher excellences of the Art are
quite as difficult to attain, and need talent inborn,
or laboriously acquired. Besides, the poet has prob-
POETRY. - - 273
lems to solve which do not fall to any other artist.
He finds himself upon the same ground where moves
already prosaic, scientific or religious thought, and
he is to keep himself separate from these and not
borrow their methods. And since his Art permits
him to penetrate farther into the mysterious depths
of existence, he has need of wider and more accurate
and thorough knowledge than the other Artists. And
to have full possession of himself he ought to be
unfettered by practical necessities, and be able to
contemplate the world with an eye calm and free.
Unquestionably the perfection of the work of the
poet has been impaired by Sordid cares and any alien
occupation whatever. Hence in youth, before the
soul has become drawn into the currents of life and
its multitudinous necessities, wooing it away into
the realm of the practical, the poetic impulse is most
strong and genial, and its productions are more
abundant; yet the older poet has acquired knowledge,
skill and mastery which the youth does not possess,
and his work, notwithstanding the disturbance in
his soul made by the imperious needs of life, and
though his inspiration may be less ardent, yet is
more perfect, and may continue to increase in worth
till the period of decadence, all unsuspected by him,
comes, and subtly loosens the firm brain, and inter-
poses its period of weariness.
The proper material for the poetic Art is, as we
have seen, the mental representations suggested by
the words, the arbitrary signs. It does not deal
with these as abstract, but as concrete; hence it may
18
274 HEGEL’S ASTHETICS.
seek not only, or not so much, to clarify and make
precise, as to illumine and bring out their rich and
hidden content. In ordinary logical speech one com-
prehends at once the meaning, while the poet's mean-
ing is only reached by its dwelling in the light of
imagination, and stimulating that faculty in others
to similar activity. When one says: “The sun is
about to rise, as I see by the color in the east,” I
understand it, but this is not poetic. When it is
said —
*The East begins to smile at his approach
And spread her rosy signals to the sky,”
we have the same thought in the garb of a poetic
image. The first effect which results from this mode
of expression is to make the dull thought living, and
to interest us thereby. In another sort of expression
the figure is less intimately married to the object.
It introduces a second object, in order to make the
first more sensible, -as when Homer compares Ajax,
when he will not fly, to an obstinate ass, or to
please us with the parallelism or correspondence be-
tween things moving on different planes. When,
however, the comparison is too prolonged or too
minute, the thought becomes dissipated and loses life
and force. Since, too, the procedures of poetic and
prosaic thinking are perpetually intermingled in the
same mind, it becomes difficult to proportion and
adjust them. The means by which this Art avoids
the Scylla of the prosaic and the Charybdic jumble
of images consists in its mastery over words, by its
inventing figurative expressions which tell much in
FOETRY. 275
little, and avoid the complications of the metaphor,
and the dissipation of the vigor of the thought. Even
this tendency, however, may be carried too far, and
the pomp and glitter of words conceal poverty of
thought, for the void beneath is sure to be detected.
And others again, from imperfect mastery of the re-
sources of language, may be unable to give their
thought clear and effective expression, though, could
it be brought out, it would be intensely poetic.
The requirements of versification are not for this
Art a yoke and a hindrance, but a help. The neces-
sity to search here and there for an expression which
his verse requires gives to the poet new suggestions
and discoveries which, without this need, would not
be reached. And the requirements of sound, its
harmony and sweetness, temper the seriousness of
his thought.
Hegel next gives a treatise on versification, not
dissimilar to the usual treatment, noting the excel-
lences of rhythmical verse, reaching the highest in
Greek Poetry, and of rhyme, whose resources have
been most fully developed in modern times, but say-
ing nothing of English blank verse, which exceeds
either of the above in its capacity for complicated
and subtle harmonies.
CHAPTER VIII.
º
EPIC POETRY.
HE usual and correct division of Poetry is into
the Epic, the Lyric, and the Dramatic.
The Epos is a recital in which the event is so
recounted as to be confounded and identified with
the discourse itself. For this it is needful that the
basis of the recital should be an independent fact,
complete in itself, and the discourse should display
it entirely in the whole extent of its development.
The simplest mode of Epic representation consists
in disengaging from the real world and the multitude
of its passing manifestations something substantial,
independent and necessary, and expressing it laconi-
cally. The Epigram is such a mode. The Gnome,
or moral maxim, is such. What constitutes the Epic
character of these is, that they are not the personal
sentiments or reflections of the individual. The
ancient Greek Elegy has this Epic tone, and the
“Golden Verses” which bear the name of Pythago-
ras. Such maxims may abandon their fragmentary
form, and be co-ordinated in a whole, which then has .
the Epic nature, for it is not a simple lyric senti-
ment nor a dramatic action, but a real and deter-
mined circle of life revealed to the conscience. Such
productions have a didactic tone, yet by their fresh
276
15RIC POFTRY. 277
intuitions, their náiveté, and felicitous expressions,
are something else than the mere reflective didactic.
But, instead of these, Poetry may take for its subject
some particular domain of nature, or of human exist-
ence, in order to offer to the imagination in harmo-
nious and concise language some eternal idea, thus
treating philosophic thought in a poetic manner. Of
this kind are the poems of Xenophanes and Parmen-
ides, and the ancient Cosmogonies and Theogonies.
The poem of Parmenides is an exposition of the Ele-
atic philosophy, and its idea is, the absolute unity
which, in face of the transitory existence and chang-
ing phenomena of nature, appears as the immutable
and eternal element. Nothing satisfies more the
mind which seeks with ardor the truth than this
conception of the eternal substance in its abstract
and universal unity. Inspired and dilated by the
grandeur of this object, and striving with its limit-
less power, the soul abandons itself to this lofty flight,
and thought takes easily a poetic turn. So, too, in
the Cosmogonies, where the poetic imagination, deal-
ing with the genesis of existence, personifies the
forces and phenomena of nature; and in the Theog-
onies, as in the Greek, where the interference of the
race of Jupiter allays the strife of the natural powers,
and harmonizes them into order.
Nevertheless, this kind of Epos is wanting in poetic
unity. These actions and events are but a necessary
succession of facts and incidents, and not an indi-
vidual action which springs from a center and finds
its unity in itself. Besides, the subject does not
278 HEGEL's AESTHETICS.
embrace the world in its totality, since human activity
is wanting. This alone can furnish a real and living
occasion for the action of the divine potencies.
The Epos proper is free from these defects. Its
subject is some past action, some event, which, in the
vast reach of its circumstances, and the multitude
and interest of its relations, embraces an entire
world, the life of a nation, or the entire history of
an epoch. The totality of the beliefs of a people,
religious and other, its spirit developed in the form
of a real event, which is its living picture, this is the
idea and the form of the Epos. All this is vivified
by its close connection with the actions and the char-
acter of personages. Such a subject should be
developed in a calm and leisurely manner, without
pressing upon itself like dramatic action, and hasten-
ing on to its dénouement. We must be able to con-
template the march of events, and to linger over
and enjoy the details and episodes; nevertheless it
should not be fragmentary. Its unity should never
be lost sight of, and it should be an organic whole.
It becomes thus the Bible for a people, though not
all Bibles are Epics. The Old Testament and the
Koran are not, though the former contains portions
of an Epic kind. But the Greek Bible was the Iliad
and the Odyssey, and the Indian the Ramayana and
Mahabarata.
The Epic poem belongs to a period between the
slumber of barbarism and the more civilized order,
the interval when individual thought has not yet
been concentrated into maxims. When the prin-
EPIC POETRY. 279
ciples which should govern human conduct do not
emanate directly from the conscience, but are an
external code, of various origin, and life in general
has become thereby more prosaic, then the poetic
impulse struggles to escape from these fetters, and
to create for itself a distinct and independent world.
Then the Lyric and the Drama find their stimulus.
But in the heroic age, the true cradle of the Epos, it
by no means follows that a people possesses the art
to express itself poetically. The habit and skill of
expression must have been acquired by culture and
reflection. Homer wrote long after the Trojan war.
But the age in which the Epos is written must not
be so far separated from the one furnishing the sub-
ject, that no sympathy exists between them. If so,
the performance seems artificial. Homer's world is
still essentially Greek; while in Virgil we are per-
petually reminded that his world is different from
that he represents. But on account of the objective
character of the Epos, the personality of the poet
should disappear in his treatment; the poem should
seem to sing itself.
For the Epos, the complex relations of the fixed
social life are not suited. The connection should be
more direct between action and the animating prin-
ciple. So, too, the connection of man with external
nature must not be artificial, but preserve its primi-
tive and immediate character. Its heroes build
their own houses and their vessels, and forge their
own arms, and slay their own oxen, and prepare
their own food. Man has not yet broken his close
280 HEGEL's AESTHETICs.
connection with nature, and interposed a complex
machinery between it and himself. This gives to
the personages their free individuality. Social and
political connections are still loose and in process of
formation. Agamemnon is no monarch, but only for
the occasion a leader. The subordination of others
is still free, and may at any time be declined, as by
Achilles. •
The Epic treatment differs from the Dramatic. In
the latter, the character creates his destiny for him-
self. In the former, this destiny is the result of
exterior forces. Man submits to the fatal and
necessary order, which may or may not be in har-
mony with him. But this seeming fatality is but a
higher kind of justice. [Destiny works its purpose
relentlessly, but it has its own secret method and
law, and derives from and results in a harmony
more profound than individual men can aim at or
accomplish..] But this gives to the Epic movement a
tone of sadness. -
[In his treatment of the Epic Poem, Hegel's
method has been quite as much a posteriori as a
priori, i.e., he adopts Homer's Iliad as the realized
ideal of the Epic Poem, and draws his rules for the
Epic in general from an inspection of that ; rather
than deduces from admitted premises absolute rules,
to which the Iliad is found to be most conformable.
The success and immortality of this poem derives,
indeed, from the observance of these laws, which are
shown to have rationality; but it cannot be inferred
that another Epic Poem might not have been, or
EPIC POETRY. 281
might not yet be, produced, which on examination
would be found to make its own law not identical
with that of the Iliad. Dante's Divina Commedia
cannot be made to fit this mould, and must be judged
by its own law.]
The Idyll and the Romance have the Epic rather
than the Lyric or Dramatic character; the Idyll
represents man still in his primitive, and society in
its formative, stages. Human nature is represented
as rising out of its animal rudeness, and full of the
gaiety which is nothing else than the spiritual ele-
ment gradually refining itself. The Romance is the
Epic of the Bourgeoisie, and the sole kind that can
be made, perhaps, in our modern and prosaic con-
dition of society. It cannot be pure poetry, but
derives its chief interest from the conflict between
the poetry of the heart and the opposing prose of
the social relations and the hazard of circum-
stances; and this discord can be treated either tra-
gically or comically. But a romance has excellence
and artistic worth, in so far as it preserves the con-
ditions for the unity amid variety which belongs to
the true Epic.
Here follows, in Hegel's work, a notice, character-
ization and criticism of the Epics of all times and
nations, which we must omit.
CHAPTER IX.
LYRIC POETRY.
N the Epic, the poet effaces himself in his work,
in the Lyric he draws all things to himself,
penetrates them with his feeling, and lets them issue
forth again, thus subjectified; but the utterance must
still be the result of the poetic and not of the pro-
saic outlook. The subjects for Lyric poetry are num-
berless, and unlimited by time or place. By the
charm of expression it can give life and interest to
almost anything. But the power to do this can only
come from the poetic soul, able to range freely above
the limitations of the prosaic life. -
Lyric Poetry may found itself upon an Epic event,
and take the form of a recital, as in the Ballads, yet
preserve its own fundamental tone, since the poet
still seeks to arouse in his auditor his own sentiment.
When the Epigram expresses any personal sentiment,
it is, so far, Lyric. And this treatment may show
itself in the Romance. But the Lyric poet is not
bound to any text. He need record the movements
of his own soul only, or he may metamorphose
himself into that which he describes, like an actor
playing différent rôles. In uttering the playful
movement of his own soul, it is not needful that
what he says should have much sense. The logical
282
LYRIC POETRY. 283
mind may be satisfied by the mere thread of connec-
tion and grammatical accuracy. He may marry the
slenderest thought or most vagrant feeling to subtle
and mysterious sound, [as in some poems of Edgar
Poe, and in the Songs of Shakespeare.]
These ramifications and refinements of emotion
belong rather to the fully formed and organized
condition of society, when in the security of fixed
institutions there is leisure for the free flights of
fancy, and when there is a larger round of situa-
tions occasioned by the complex artificial life. Thus
each rank furnishes its own class of topics, and we
have Lyrics of the natural, the popular, the national,
the cultured, and the fashionable life. The popular
or the national Lyric so far resembles the Epic, in
that the poet effaces himself in his subject. It is the
common feeling, of which he is the mouthpiece,
rather than his own, that he seeks to make com-
mon. The popular song seems to sing itself. It is
the cry of nature escaping from the heart. But Art,
in the strictness of its definition, is not at the mercy
of any wave of feeling. It is free and has conscience
of itself. It supposes that the artist knows and wills
what he is to produce. Hence he must have had a
preliminary culture, and an acquired skill in execu-
tion. So only do Lyrics become true works of Art.
The popular Lyric is, for the most part, anterior to
the prosaic period. The artistic Lyric is subsequent,
and finds the prose of life in full vigor, and struggles
with it and mounts above it. There may be the
philosophic Lyric, in which the clarity of the expo-
284 HEGEL's AESTHETICS.
sition of thought is not obscured, but has life given
to it by imagery and the warmth of sentiment.
The Lyric poem should possess unity,+ not the
objective unity of the Epic, but the subjective one
of the poet's soul, some attitude of it resolutely
kept; otherwise the thoughts fall into a didactic
level. Besides, the Epic movement spreads itself
and is slow. The Lyric movement concentrates itself
and is swift. Its highest excellence is intensity of
expression. But the Lyric poet is not bound to shun
all episodes. He may, without losing hold of his
fundamental sentiment, let himself wander hither
and thither as his imagination is captivated. [When
not too prolonged, these excursions rest the listening
soul, as do the musical changes which glide out of
and return into the essential melody.]
Lyric Poetry can be fitted to any kind of versifica-
tion; but neither the hexameter, nor blank verse,
is well suited to its movement, while rhyme greatly
favors it; [and the metre should, usually, be sug-
gested by the subject, and not the subject be driven
into the metre arbitrarily chosen.] Hymns, Dythy-
rambs, Paeans, Psalms, Odes, are Lyrics of different
kinds. In the Ode, the necessary mingling of the
characteristics of the grand subjects with the sub-
jective comments of the poet himself should guide
the irregular structure. The poet shows his genius
by resolving these alien elements into an artistic
whole. [The transitions should not be abrupt, but
natural, and the necessity for them felt beforehand.]
The Song or Chant is the freest of all poetic utter-
LYRIC POETRY. 285
ances. It may follow any objective or subjective
changes. It may content itself with much or little
thought, with thought profound or superficial. Its
proper character is its náiveté, the simplicity or in-
voluntariness of its utterance. It changes with the
changing history of the people among whom it is
born. The poet may either express his sentiments
with openness and abandon, or he can restrain him-
self, and by his very muteness make others guess
what is in his heart. In the Sonnet or the Elegy,
the poet is more restrained. [The ideal Sonnet is a
single thought turned this way and that way, like
the facets of a brilliant, yet constituting an harmo-
nious whole. In its musical capacity it is capable
of all the finest effects possible for versification.]
There is no branch of Art where the peculiarities
of the nationality or the epoch, and therefore the
individuality of genius, appear so marked as in Lyric
Poetry. But these particularities are still suscepti-
ble of the classification into the Symbolic, the Classic,
and the Romantic. As in the other arts, the Oriental
Lyric exhibits the personal consciousness absorbed in
the contemplation of nature, before which it bows
as representing the potency, and the substance of all
phenomena. It strives to possess and understand
this, but without success. It thus possesses a more
objective quality than the Lyric of the Occident. It
issues, as to its expression, in a näive expansion,
where the imagination loses itself easily, without
reaching a positive and clear expression, because its
object is the Infinite Being, which cannot be repre-
286 HEGEL's AESTHETICS.
sented by images. Thus the Lyric Poetry of the
Hebrews, Arabians and Persians has a kind of
hymnic elevation. What is wanting to the Lyric
sentiment in its interior and living liberty is re-
placed by the liberty and wealth of expression. We
find prolonged comparisons upon which the imagina-
tion ventures with incredible hardihood, producing
novel and surprising combinations. In the Classic
Lyric, the inner sentiment, instead of this symbolic
vagueness, is clear and precise in its conception, and
its expression. -
The Greek Hymns, like their statues, give to their
divinities fixed and sensible traits. The Roman Lyric
is less spontaneous, and more reflective, and hence
more subjective. In modern times the Lyric having
a wider field, a larger past, and a more complex
present, strays over a vast variety of subjects, be-
comes more intensely subjective, and tries all expe-
dients of versification and modes of expression. Its
varieties are too numerous to admit of classification.
CHAPTER X.
DRAMATIC POETRY.
HE Drama offers us the most complete reunion
of all the characteristics of the Poetic Art.
Like the Epos, it exposes a complete action as accom-
plished before our eyes, and whatever is done appears
to emanate from the passions and the will of the
personages who develop it. Its result is decided by
the essential nature of the designs which they pursue,
of their character and the collisions in which they
are engaged. The Drama cannot confine itself to
describing the external side of things. It deals with
the human souls who are in movement. The expres-
sion of these is not only by words, but by gestures,
motions, and the variations of the countenance.
Hence the Dramatic Art, when perfect, includes the
Histrionic. Independently of this latter, and view-
ing only the properly poetic side, we may consider
(1) the general principles of Dramatic Poetry, (2)
the particular characters of a Drama, and (3) its
relation to the public.
The Drama is not a mere representation of an
anterprise which peaceably runs its course. It has
interest only from the animated strife between its
personages and their struggle with obstacles and
perils. It gives us the final result of these conflicts,
287
288 HEGEL's AESTHETICS.
conducting”us out of their tumult into repose. It is
later in origin than the Epic or the Lyric. It is the
product of a civilization already advanced, and sup-
poses the days of the primitive Epos to be past, and
that the Lyric has already existed, since it makes
use of this. In the Epic the personal will is at the
mercy of destiny; in the Lyric, the personal con-
sciousness asserts its independence. If the Drama is
to unite these two characteristics, it must be under
the following conditions:
The action it selects is not a physical but a
moral one. The event is not forced by external cir-
cumstances, but comes from the living will. Through
this it is drawn into collision with other wills.
This perpetual relation of the events with the char-
acters is the principle of Dramatic Poetry. What-
ever results to the hero is the fruit of his own acts.
[To rest for awhile in order to exhibit the pathetic
situation with lyrical latitude is a permission that, if
allowed, must be economically made use of by the
dramatic poet. The soliloquies of the Drama have
interest, not as lamentations or rhapsodies, but as
giving the swift inner movement of the soul, explain-
ing itself to itself, or about to change its attitude
toward the other souls...] In this respect the Drama
is simpler than the Epos. It has not for basis an
entire world, ramified in all its parts, but only a
smaller number of determined circumstances in the
midst of which its personages march on directly to
their end. A larger development of character than
that arising from the particular circumstances would
DRAMATIC POETRY. 289
be superfluous, and dissipate the interest. Such
human relations must be selected as admit of col-
lisions. The motives of these oppositions are, how-
ever, the moral powers, and the issue of these conflicts
is determined by the eternal laws.
The Dramatic poem must have unity. The close
coördination of its parts is objective, because the
events in their flow do not violate the natural order,
and descend into improbability; and subjective, be-
cause the end pursued appears as a personal passion.
In Dramatic diction, we find both the natural and .
the conventional or declamatory. The first Goethe
and Schiller in their youth affected, but they aban-
doned it later for a loftier diction. The natural
tone is usually prosaic; to become poetic, language
must be lifted to an ideal sphere. In acquiring in-
tensity the relations of the words become other
than the common ones. But this style can become
too stilted and artificial.
If the Drama is to be represented, regard must be
had to its audience. The poet, however, may write
over their heads even when he profoundly interests
them. He may captivate the common heart, yet
have a reserve of meaning only to be reached by
study. Almost all the great dramas were written
with regard to the requirements of theatrical repre-
sentation, and, no doubt, by this a more intense
effect has been produced upon the solitary reader.
When written for such alone, a milder effect is
intended.
In all the kinds of Dramatic Poetry there is the
19
290 HEGEL's AESTHETICS.
same basis; on the one side, the good, the true,
the Divine; on the other, the arbitrary will of the
disordered personality, which together make possible
the contradictions and vindications. In Tragedy
especially, the basis is the legitimate powers, which
influence the human will, the family affections, the
proper interests of real life, patriotism, and the
religious sentiment, not as mystic, but as active
zeal. These motives constitute the moral goodness
of the true tragic characters. They are what they
can be, and ought to be, according to their idea.
They represent that in the character which is part
of the legitimate constitution of human society.
These are not the accidents of individuality. The
tragic heroes represent more elevated motives, which
have in themselves absolute worth. Yet these same
moral powers existing in different intensity in indi-
vidual souls, and the results of human action being
perceived with different degrees of clearness, colli-
sions become possible. Of two personages, in the
true Tragedy, each is represented as [subjectively]
in the right. But not being able to realize what
seems to him to be such without violation of another
power, will, and end equally just, the hero, notwith-
standing his morality, or, rather, on account of it, is
drawn to commit faults. This contradiction must be
destroyed, and a solution of this conflict be brought
about, eternal justice be exercised, and moral unity
be re-established by the destruction, if need be, of
what has troubled its repose. Thus the real combat
is not so much between particular interests, as be-
DRAMATIC PoETRY. 291
tween the moral reason in its pure idea, on the one
hand, and, on the other, its concrete manifestation in
the real world, and in human activity. This idea is
the harmonizing principle, and whatever has exclu-
sive particularity must be accommodated to it. But
the tragic personage, not being able to renounce his
projects, finds himself condemned to total ruin, or
at least is forced to resign himself, as he can, to his
destiny. -
[If this be true, it is an illustration of the instinct
of the Tragic poets, who thus anticipate the conclu-
sions of moral science, and furnish a commentary
beforehand. The principle of all moral action is
the same, but in applying it to concrete situations
obscurity and conflict are inevitable; seeing that
duty, in these collisions, and in all perplexities of
moral meditation, is relative to some ideal aspect of
the human world, which, the more it is pondered,
retires farther and farther off. Each is in dead
earnest, and the principle to harmonize the differing
views is not at hand. Christianity supplies such a
principle; and so must the true, clear and perfect
ethic itself. Hence- in Christian lands, and in the
light of true and complete culture, tragic situations
are fewer; and this may be one reason why in
modern times Tragedy is so seldom chosen by poets,
or why it is so rarely successful. When it is chosen,
the conflict is with the good and the bad, rather
than with the different subjectivities of the good.]
Under this relation Aristotle was right in making
the true effect of Tragedy to consist in exciting
292 BEGEL's AESTHETICS.
terror and pity, yet purifying these emotions. What
man really ought to dread is not the physical oppres-
sion, which ends at least with life, but the moral
principle which lies behind the physical powers, in
which alone the reason finds satisfaction. Pity may
be something profounder than mere sympathy with
suffering (which implies an imaginative substitution
of one's self for the object pitied); it may be some-
thing more purely rational,— recognition of the
justice of the cause, and the moral rectitude of him
who suffers, and sympathy with him accordingly.
The Tragic character, to excite this profound, com-
passion, must have right aims, even though issuing
in mistaken judgments. And the true Tragic interest
is sustained and satisfied only when we are allowed
to see the Eternal Justice harmonizing, even destruct-
ively, these moral powers. Thus the substantial
principle of the universe appears victorious in its
inner harmony. It destroys, indeed, the exclusive
side of these individuals, but brings their profound
and essential relations into accord. It is otherwise
in Comedy. Here the personality or subjectivity
appears as maintaining itself in security. What
amuses us in the personages who jostle each other is
the complacency both of victors and vanquished.
The arena suitable for Comedy is a world where
individual purposes destroy each other because they
have not a true and solid base. But not all action
is comic because it is vain and false. The merely
visible is not the Comic. Any contrast between
idea and form, between end and means, may be
f) RAMATIC POETRY. 293
made risible. Almost anything can be so treated
as to be risible to some tastes. Laughter is a kind
of self-complacency, in which we feel ourselves so
wise as to comprehend, and thus be outside the net
of this contrast. The true Comic, on the contrary,
is the infinite satisfaction which the character him-
self experiences to have lifted himself out of this
contradiction, in which the person, sure of himself,
shows that he can bear to behold his projects and
their realization destroyed. The characters of Com-
edy must not be pure abstractions, as avarice, etc.
If the person absorbs himself, and seriously, in some
such end, the essence of the Comic is wanting. The
true Comic emerges when the designs, in themselves
little and null, are pursued with the appearance of
great seriousness; but when failure comes, the person
does not perish, but subsides, resigned to his fall,
into his own free serenity. A contrary situation,
but equally comic, appears when the personages
endeavor to compass an important end, but show
themselves incompetent, or when the situations are
so complicated and extraordinary, that they are too
much for the character, and all falls into a ridi-
culous dissipation. Thus the Comic demands a dénoue-
ment more imperiously even than the Tragic; but
that which is in the end destroyed is not the True in
itself, nor the subjective and personal element.
Reason is not satisfied if the True is left liable to
permanent derangement. It must emerge into the
light again, and assert its own absoluteness. Neither
must the subjectivity be dissipated, but rest in the
294 HEGEL’s AESTHETICS.
end inviolable, notwithstanding the momentary con-
tradiction. -
The Drama holds a middle place between Tragedy
and Comedy, containing elements of each. It is more
flexible, and hence more liable to depart from the
purely dramatic type, and to fall into the prosaic.
Much of our modern Drama is without poetic interest.
There have been epochs also in the historic de-
velopment of Dramatic poetry. Oriental life has not
been favorable to it. Where the principle of fatality
reigns, individuals cannot vindicate their rights as
dramatic action exacts. In what purport to be
Dramas, among the Indians and Chinese, we have a
simple personification of events and sentiments
imagined, and adjusted to the situations which are
presented in the real life. The true commencement
of dramatic poetry was with the Greeks, for here
first the principle of free individuality appeared,
and rendered possible the Classic form of Art. In
the Greek Drama the interest turns upon the
general elevated character of the ends which the
personages pursue. Even in the Comedy, it is the
general and public interests which are represented,
rather than the particular ones of individuals. It is
- still the strife of moral powers. These comic figures
manifest the general corruption, and the causes which
were perverting the social constitution, and sapping
the foundations of the State. In the modern Drama,
on the contrary, it is the personal passion which is
the principal object, the development of the character .
under special relations. The interest, therefore, con-
1)RAMATIC POETRY. 295
sists in the grandeur of the characters. These show
that they are superior to their situations and their
actions, and if, by the tyranny of circumstances and
the complications of life, these rich natures cannot
display all the treasures which they contain, or if
they find themselves disappointed and shattered, they
still preserve their harmony in their greatness. Love,
ambition, etc., furnish the principal motives, and
crime is not excluded. But in dealing with this last,
there is a rock difficult to steer clear of, for the crim-
inal in himself, when his character is feeble or natu-
rally vile, offers but a disgusting spectacle. Here, to
be interesting, unusual will-force must be present to
redeem the character and to captivate the imagina-
tion; aesthetic, if not moral, interest must be aroused.
The crowd of particular incidents of which the
modern Drama makes use, ought, to excite a poetic
interest, to have some rule, and to be bound together
by some well-known law of Providence, and the col-
lisions should not be meaningless.
In the Greek Tragedy, whose scenes are laid in the
heroic age, we have, on the one side, the conflict of
wills and the strife of passions, and, on the other, the
meditative consciousness which preserves its serenity.
The first is represented by the characters, the last by
the Chorus. This serves to preserve the steadiness
of serene and true thought in the audience. It
represents the immutable element, while the char-
acters exhibit the transitory one of the human story.
It is the moral conscience commenting on what is
passing. It belongs essentially to that epoch when
296 BEGEL's AESTHETICs.
any established jurisdiction or formulated dogmas
have not yet become potent and regulative, when
manners appear yet in untroubled năiveté, and yet
when the equilibrium of social life rests sufficiently
guaranteed against the terrible collisions into which
the energy of the heroic characters has drawn it.
That such an asylum still exists the chorus makes to
be felt. It takes no part in the action, does not exert
itself for or against the personages; but emits its
judgments in a manner purely contemplative. In
its form of expression it is Lyric, yet preserves its
Epic character in the general and substantial truth
of its utterances. In the modern Tragedy the chorus
is not in its proper place, because the actions do not
depend upon a similarly substantial basis, but upon
the will of the individual characters, and the seeming
hazard of circumstances. Whatever was its origin,
the Greek Chorus purified and maintained itself in
this profound significance in the most flourishing
period of the Greek Drama; and the decadence of
Tragedy was seen when the Chorus descended from
this lofty function, and became a mere accessory or
indifferent ornament. It fell out of use in the mid-
dle age, for it was not adapted to the times of royalty
and chivalry. The people then played a very differ-
ent rôle, and was degraded into something merely
obedient, and no longer represented the general con-
science.
According to the idea of the Greek Tragedy above
given, it is evident that its circle of subjects cannot
be very extended, as is the field for the modern
f) RAMATIC POETRY. 297
*
*
Drama; [and, perhaps, had all the Greek Tragedies
come down to us, we should have found its capabil-
ities well-nigh exhausted, and that it must, of neces-
sity, have undergone a change, or exhibited the
tokens of transition.]
As for the dénouement of tragic action, it is evident
that in these opposing rights and resolves, which we
have seen are equally legitimate, one or the other
must perish. But that which is to be destroyed is
solely their exclusive character. Their interior har-
mony must appear at the termination of the con-
flict, unalterable, like that which is represented by
the Chorus. It is not misfortune or suffering to
awaken sympathy, but satisfaction for the moral
mind, which is the end aimed at. There must be
revealed to these very conflicting personages the ne-
cessity of that which has arrived, as if it had been
ordered by a superior mind. Thus only does the
listening soul, after this tumult, find peace. It is
not the commonplace Solution of crime punished, or
virtue rewarded, but a result which exhibits an
essential accord, and equal worth in the two powers
which have been in combat. Nor is it a Fate, a blind
destiny which triumphs. It is a Providence, rather,
full of intelligence, [and so far in harmony with our
reason, as far as this can see, that there is produced
in us a faith in the reasonableness of that which we
do not see.] This conciliation in the Tragedy is to
be distinguished from that of the Epos. In the lat-
ter the Nemesis is the ancient Justice which abases
all that has lifted itself in opposition, and establishes
298 HEGEL's AESTHETICS.
the equilibrium of felicity and misery needed to
carry on the machinery of the world; while the
Tragic conciliation is the return of the moral powers,
which have been in opposition, to their essential har-
mony. Thus, sometimes the personage who has
identified himself completely with the exclusive pas-
sion must be sacrificed; and sometimes the principal
hero may abandon his exclusive determination, but
this he can only do, and preserve his plastic charac-
ter, when by the command or in the presence of a
loftier intelligence, of the God. Or there may be an
internal conciliation in the mind of the hero, as in
the GEdipus. In this we find a resemblance to the
mode of the modern Drama, and are reminded of the
Christian hero, who expiates his fault by his death,
and finds in that transition his rest and felicity.
The Greek Comedy, as exhibited by Aristophanes,
deals chiefly with the inferior conditions of society,
and with simple men; or if introducing more ele-
wated ones, exhibits them as only transiently descend-
ing into the common arena, and loosely bound by
the interests they find there. The internal serenity
and good humor of the character is never lost, no
matter how riotous the ridicule. That calmness of
soul which is the terminus in Tragedy is the starting-
point in the Comedy, and is temporarily agitated
only to be regained.
In the modern Tragedy, for the most part, since its
principle is the subjective personality, we find the
collisions made not by the moral powers, but by
seemingly exterior accidents, which decide, or appear
DRAMATIC POETRY. 299
to decide, the dénouements. Not that, however, the
actions of men truly dignified are wanting in any
solid basis. They grow out of the domain of the real
life, yet their motives are higher than its caprices,
or its sordid needs. The principle of personality has
created a multitude of relations and rights unknown
to the Classic world, among which the Romantic per-
sonages find themselves placed, and which allow them
to act variantly; so that the conflict appears not
necessary, but arbitrary, and depends upon their
characters. These in the course of the action are
developed, not in virtue of any legitimate principle
they represent and defend, but in order to continue
faithful to themselves. Here, indeed, the morality
of the end and that of the character may often find
themselves in accordance, but this does not constitute
the essential basis of the interest. Under these con-
ditions, characters more numerous and various can
be exhibited. Yet triumph, here, is only to be found
in the English Drama, and in Shakespeare especially.
The characters of French or Italian Tragedies are
rather of an abstract simplicity, personifications of
definite passions. The same is true of the Spanish
Drama, though its figures are distinguished by a
kind of concentration, and by the immense variety
of their interesting situations. But the English
‘Drama, in Shakespeare, gives us characters perfectly
human. Even when the passion is something purely
personal, as ambition in Macbeth, or jealousy [or
pity] in Othello, it does not violate their individu-
ality, and all its violence does not hinder their being
300 HEGEL's AESTHETICS.
complete men. Even when Shakespeare, in the in-
finite variety of his theatrical world, goes to the ex-
tremes of perversity or folly, far from leaving his
figures devoid of poetic prestige, and absorbed in the
narrowness of their ideas, he gives them so much the
more spirit and imagination, so that they become
poetic creatures and artists of themselves. When it
is needed, his serious characters have an elevation and
an energy so striking; their language evinces a sen-
sibility so profound and an imagination so brilliant;
their illustrations spring so spontaneously from their
mouths, as the eloquence not of the school but of the
heart, and as the expansion of the character itself;
that, because of this alliance of vitality and inter-
nal greatness, no Dramatic poet among the mod-
erns can be compared with him. Goethe, though
aiming at it, could not reach this deep energy and
this elevated character of passion; and Schiller re-
sorted to a violence of expression whose impetuous
expansion lacked often any true vigor. Modern char-
acters allow of indecision and irresolution, which
arise from deeper and larger reflection, as in the
case of Hamlet, or when the changes of mind are the
result of natural character, as in Lear and Gloster.
In the dénouement of modern Tragedy, the eternal
justice which conciliates is revealed less clearly than
in the ancient. We find ourselves, in our deeper
view of Providence, puzzled to penetrate the meaning
of the destiny, and are obliged to rest satisfied with
seeing retribution for crime, as in Macbeth, and in
Regan and Goneril, or with the trusting faith that
DRAMATIC POETRY. 301
there is method and meaning in the vicissitudes of
terrestial things. In the deaths of Hamlet or Juliet
we can see no other possible termination, and resign
ourselves, not shocked, but still sad. The modern
Comedy, too, differs similarly from the ancient.
Aristophanes seeks to make his characters comical in
each others' eyes, while the modern Comedy regards
chiefly the audience. This is true even in Molière,
whose disappointed personages are by no means satis-
fied with results. Yet the compensation is to be
found in the skill in designing characters, and devel-
oping an intrigue. And modern Comedy can become
truly poetic when the good humor and careless gaiety,
notwithstanding the misadventures, and the faults
committed, constitute the principal tone, [for this
external ebulliance and untroubled sweetness is
one aspect of the poetic ideal, and is itself symbolical
of the profounder joy of the perfect life. Here again
there has been no success so brilliant as that of
Shakespeare]. The humor of Comedy, however, since
it separates the true and the real, tends toward the
destruction of Art.
In the conclusion of his work, Hegel says that he
has been endeavoring to coördinate the idea of the
Beautiful, and all the forms of Art; that in weaving
this crown philosophy has found the worthiest occu-
pation to which it could deliver itself, for in studying
Art this is not a mere amusing plaything, or a use-
ful instrument with which we have to do, but is
rather the attempted deliverance of the mind from
the trammels of finite existence, and the manifesta-
302 HEGEL’s. AESTHETICS.
tion and the harmony of the Absolute under sensible
forms, and thus it becomes the best recompense for
the rude travail to which man is condemned in the
order of science and knowledge.
[The result of the author's painstaking has been
to show that the eternal idea of the Beautiful has
haunted the human race, and that man has been
perpetually seeking to solace himself with the imagi-
native representation of that from which the reality
falls so fa. .hort; that this endeavor comes from the
primal impetus which started our race in its career
to create itself as a commonwealth, and for itself a
world truly beautiful; no matter what be the sublime
and pathetic periods through which it must pass to
reach that consoling and satisfying end.]
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