I/, 



GERMAN I HIlOSOPHICAl CLASSICS 

FOR 

ENGLISH READERS AND STUDENTS. 

EDITED BY 

GEORGE S. MORRIS. 



HEGEL S AESTHETICS. 



VOLUMES ALREADY PUBLISHED. 



I KANT S rumor i; OF PIUE KEASON, v,\ PKOF. 

G. S. MOKKIS. I ll I). 
SCHELLINirs TRANSCENDENTAL I DEA LiS.M, 

J;Y PKOF. -loiiN WATSON, LI,.!)., F.K.S (_ . 
FH HTE s srlENi E &lt;)K KNO\VLKI)i; H, uv Pilot . 

C. ( . KVKKKTT. D.I). 
HE(iEI/s .HSTHKTK S, i;v PKOF. -I. S. KEUXKV, 

S.T.I). 



HEGEL S LOGIC, r.v PKOF. W. T. HAKIMS, LL.I). 
IlE&lt;;EL s PHILOSOPHY OF RELIGION, uv PKIN- 
CII-AL A. M. FAIKBAIKN, D.I). 



KANT S CKITK^rE OF .JTDGMENT. 
LEIP.NIT/ S IHMAN I N DERSTANDING, uv PJ:OF. 
G. II. HOWISON, LL.I). 



HEGEL S ESTHETICS, 



A CRITICAL EXPOSITION. 



BY JOHN STEIXFOKT KEDXEY, S.T.D. 

PROFESSOR OF DIVINITY IN THE SEABURY DIVINITY SCHOOL 

FA HI I 1 , A I I, T, MINNESOTA : 
AUTHOR OF "THE BEAUTIFUL AND THE SUBLIME." 



CHICAGO: 
S. C. GRIGGS AND COMPANY. 

1885. 



I 






COPYRIGHT, 1885, 
BY S. C. GRIGGS AND COMPANY. 



A/ 



PREFACE. 



THE ./Esthetics 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 lias 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. Tl]e//Y*&gt;7. 
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 
^Esthetik. By Win. M. Bryant. Ni&gt;\v York: D. Applcton and O. 
v 



VI PREFACE. 

here, an original disquisition, in language approach 
ing nearer the vernacular, and with more immediate 
regard to present ^Esthetic 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 1 would not have my own thought mistaken 
for Hegel s, 1 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. STEIXEORT KEDXEY. 

November, 18K4. 



CONTENTS. 



PART i 

PHILOSOPHIC BASTS. 



CHAPTER. I. 

THE MEANING AXI) PURPOSE OF ART. 

Art not a mere recreation, nor a means ot moral 
instruction .......... 1 

It can be scientifically treated, but worthily and 

satisfactorily, only by the a priori method , 6 
Critique of the assertion that it is superior to 
Nature ........... 8 

The sensible element in a work of Art ... 11 
The same in the Artist ....... lo 

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 ...... 10 

Art not simply a means of improving manners 11) 
&gt; tfts true mission to discover and represent the 
^ Ideal ............ 20 

The Kantian ^Esthetic, 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 



viii CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER II. 

BEAUTY IX ITS ABSTKACT IDEA. 

Definition of the primitive idea (Begriff}, and 
of the true Idea (Idee) 26 

The Beautiful the sensible manifestation of the 
same 27 

Stages in the evolution of the Idea, in the inor 
ganic world, and in the ascending series of, 
organisms 29 

Critique to show tli.it the grades of admitted 
Beauty do not accurately follow this evolu 
tion ." 32 

Enumeration of fact* concerning the Beautiful 
in Nature 33 

Critique of Hegel s Philosophy of the Idea . . 33 



V 



CHAPTER rrr. 



BEAUTY IX THE COXCKETE. 



Regularity, symmetry, conformity to law, and 
harmony, constituents of the Beautiful in its 
lowest forms 39 

Imperfection of all natural Beauty discussed 
at length, in order to show the need of the 
Ideal 42 

Critique of the above, and further explication of 
the Philosophy of the Idea 46 

Ground of the disagreement in subjective judg 
ments of the Beautiful in Nature and in 
Art .... 52 



CONTENTS. IX 

CHAPTER IV. 

THE IDEAL IX ART. 

Art discards in Nature whatever is not suitable 
for its purpose, and thereby finds a higher 
truth " . 53 

The Divine in its free serenity one result of its 
scrutiny and discovery 55 

The Ideal as given in the human form not ab 
stract, bat requires particularization ... 57 

CHAPTER V. 

THE REALIZATION OF THE IDEAL. 

The particularization of the Divine in the Greek 
divinities, and in heroic men 00 

Hence the need of the heroic age as the scene 
for the representations of the [deal . . . 03 

Modern civilized life not so suitable .... 05 
ie various sitnations proper for artistic treat 
ment 00 

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 c/ood 08 

Pure evil inadmissible in Art 09 

The Divine should be represented not as aloof 
from, but as intimate with, men and human 
affairs 71 

L)-istinction of Passion and Pathos .... 74 
he characters in Art must noc be mere ab 
stractions 77 



*-p 

.,* 



X CONTEXTS. 

The external element in works of Art must con 
form to the requirements of Beauty 80 

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 .... 85 



CHAPTER VI. 

ART F\" IlKLATION TO TirK PUP.LK . 

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 . . .01 

Some anachronisms are thus allowable . . . ( ,K&gt; 

CHAPTER VII. 

TIIK ARTIST. 

Definition of the artistic Imagination as needed 

to constitute yen in* in Art 100 

Critique of the same, to discover the distinction 

between genius and talent 104 

Definition of Inspiration 108 

Artistic work may be spontaneous, or may have 

a fixed theme given beforehand .... 109 
Originality showing itself in manner and in 

style . . Ill 



CONTEXTS. XI 

PART II. 

THE AllT-IMPVLSK TX ITS DEVKLOPMEXT. 
CHAPTER, I. 

k/ 

CLASSIFICATIONS. 

Different aims of disquisitions on Art . . . 114 

The subjective or changeable element in Art- 
appreciation should lie distinguished from the 

objective or universal one 115 

/ Different classifications of the Arts, (1) according 

to the material elements of the same . . . Ill) 
/ /(2) Hegel s Classification into Symbolic, Classic 
K and Romantic Arts is the true dialectic order, 
It and in some sense the chronological one . . 122 

CHAPTER II. 

THE SYMBOLIC PEKIOD. 

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 



l/ 



xii 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 . 1^7 

Unconscious puritv of the true ^Esthetic instinct 14 2 



CHAPTER IV. 

TIIK ROMANTIC PF.HIOD. 

This is brought about by a radical change in 
human consciousness 145 

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 146 

Different aims for Romantic Art . . , 149 



CHAPTER V. 

THE TEMPORAL AXD ETEUXAL 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 . . 152 

Claim that thus is furnished a Higher Criticism 
than that which judges the worth of a work 
of Art by any lower criterion 160 

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 163 



CONTEXTS. Xlll 

CHAPTER VI. 

THE SUBLIME AXD THE PATHETIC IX ART. 

Resume 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 (}) 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 173 

Distinction of the Pathos in Classic and Romantic 
Art 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. 
/ 

7 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 CONTKNTS. 



CHAPTER LI. 



/It becomes an Art when the Tseful is tran 
scended, and the P&gt;eautiful is sought: and its 
earliest efforts, when more than imitations. 

-- are Symbolic. Enumeration of monuments 
of this order, vi/.: Architecture purely inde 
pendent 100 

When dependent, or subordinate to purpose, we 
have Classic Architecture. The character 
istics of the same, as in the Greek temple . 19."&gt; 

Romantic Architecture combines the two, as in 
the Gothic cathedral . 1 ( .&lt;S 



CHATTER 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- 
( v ture necessary to the right understanding of 
all Greek Art 201) 

Various characteristics and excellences of Greek 
Sculpture. Its treatment of the eye, the 
J . mouth, and the attitude 210 



CONTENTS. 



The nude and the draped. Vindication of the 

latter 214 

ilfrstoric Development of Sculpture. Modern 

Sculpture -17 



CHAPTER IV. 

T1IK ROMANTIC AUTS. 



Philosophic w xmm of the development of the 
Art-impulse in order to show that Painting, 
Music and Poetry belong to its higher stage . 222 



CHAPTER V. 

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, Liyltt . . . 231 

ects proper for this Art different from those 
of Sculpture 284 

On the one hand, the Divine, religious love . 235 

On the other hand, Nature and the Beautiful, 
though transitory, in human affairs . . . 238 

]^odes of conception, composition and character 
ization 239 

CHAPTER VI. 

MUSIC. 

Its^element, movement, time, sound .... 245 
^"Analogies with the other Arts . 247 



xvi CONTEXTS. 

Its mode of conception different, since it aims 
to give, not precise thought, but sentiment . 251 

, As under mathematical laws it is the most 
closely bound of all the Arts: yet otherwise 
the freest . . . 254 

Psychological needs of measure, cadence and 

rhythm 255 

//Harmony and Melody. The latter shows its 

freedom 257 

//Music as accompaniment, and pure Music . . 258 

Benefit of a determined theme, both in composi 
tion and appreciation 2(50 

. / Musical execution, faithful or free .... 202 



CHAPTER VII. 

POETRY. 

j Its superiority to the other Arts 263 

J The poetic mode of conception, and critique of 

the same 2(54 

Poetry more ancient than fashioned prose . . 267 
This Art favored more "or less, and determined 

by different epochs and nationalities . . . 269 
The unity of a poetic work requires perfection 
in the individual parts as well as in the 

totality 270 

Lflistory and Oratory, when and how poetic . . 271 
Distinctive character of poetic genius . . . 272 
Difference in the prosaic and poetic modes of 
&gt; conceiving the same object or event. Coin- 
parisons 278 



CONTENTS. xvil 

CHAPTER VIII. 

EPIC POETRY. 

Its basis is some independent and complete fact. 
Epigrams, etc.. have the Epic character . . 27H 

The true Epos is an action developed completely, 
and in a calm and leisurely manner . . . 278 

The heroic age only is well suited for it . . 270 

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 288 

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 

Jlence its subject must not be a physical, but a 
moral action 288 

Its diction need not be purely natural . . . 280 

In the Greek Dramas, the principal characters 
represent legitimate principles, and are in 
themselves good. But in the concrete then- 
judgments may disagree, hence collisions . 200 



CONTEXTS. 

Here we find anticipated the results of Ethical 
inquiry 291 

In the denouement, 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 202 

Different epochs or peoples are more or less 
favorable for Dramatic Poetry .... 21)4 

Signification of the Chorus, in the Greek Dramas 21)5 

[n the denouement of ancient Tragedy the moral 
mind is left satisfied 297 

In Modern Tragedy this is only partially 
accomplished 298 

Excellence of Shakespeare s characters . . . 299 

Conclusion 301 



HEGEL S AESTHETICS, 



PART I. 

THE PHILOSOPHIC BASIS. 



CHAPTER I. 
THE MEANING AND PURPOSE OF ART. 

A HSTHETIC has for its object the vast empire 
---J ^ 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 



2 HEGEL S .-ESTHETICS. 

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 ?s the world of regu 
larity and necessity: the world of imagination is the 
world of the irregular and the arbitrary. The crea- 



THE MEAXIXG AXD PURPOSE OF ART. 

live 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 /Esthetic itself, so far as 
it is a philosophy. Physical beauty could have no 
explanation were not the principle of freedom dis 
coverable in nature. 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 HEGKL S .-ESTHETICS. 

tliat lie 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 
clearlv 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 
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 
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. V^-i t undertakes to disengage the truth from 
these illusory forms of the gross and imperfect world, 



THE MEANING AND PURPOSE OF ART. O 

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 ("I reek divinities. But there is a still 
profounder manner of comprehending truth, where 1 
it escapes all alliance with the sensible, as no longer 
competent to contain it or express it. Tt 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. Tn 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 /ESTHETICS. 

it did in other times. We reason upon our impres 
sions and enjovments, and works of Art, become more 
and more matters for criticism. 

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 coordinated, 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.] 



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. Hut 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. 
Tn 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 touch ingly 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 .ESTHETICS. 

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? Ts it not, rather, a fundamental impulse of 
our nature? Tlie 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 recog 7 nizes 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 
ternal things w r hich 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 MEAXIXG AXD PURPOSE OF ART. 11 

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 .ESTHETICS. 

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 utili/ing 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 thongJtt, 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 .ESTHETICS. 

production like that of the savant, who deserts the 
sensible in order to reach the pure conception, but 
the elements of intelligence and sensibilitv 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 ils work under a sensible form. Tt 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 

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, i 
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 



&lt; least invention in the mechanic arts is more noble 
I than anything which is a mere imitation. As 
| the principle of imitation is purely external and 
I 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 

r&gt; p r 

\ objects as beautiful among the infinite forms 01 
nature. It, is the individual taste which alone 

i 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 vindication of a higher and purer 
taste. It looks like an abandonment of any endeavor 
to disentangle and abstract the individual and idio- 
svncratic 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 Jias 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 



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 .-ESTHETICS. 

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 bv that to move our 
sensibility and exalt our imagination. to reali/e the 
&gt;avmn , " huHKtni mini d in&lt; aliennni jtttfo 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 [tains and his 
sutferings. 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. 

13ut 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 ever}* thing, 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 MEAXIXG AXD PURPOSE OF ART. 19 

tion. Ft 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 onl} T to teach, and all the delight we receive 



xJO HEGEL S .ESTHETICS. 

from Art representations might as well be missed. 
There may be in any pun. 1 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 verv 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 
^Esthetic, 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. 

^Esthetic 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 ITKGKI/S /ESTHETICS. 

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 nature or in humanity. To 
present these for the imaginative appropriation of 
his fellow r s, 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 Esthetic, 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 AKT. 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 unify 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 T 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 II KG EL S .ESTHETICS. 

contains in itself the guide to the form of its exter 
nal 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 
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 cf 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 divisions, 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. 2o 

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. (8) 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 
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. Vindication of this criti 
cism will be found interspersed, as there is occasion, 
in what follows.] 



CHAPTER IT. 
BEAUTY TX ITS ABSTRACT IDEA. 

HEdEL. ;is wo 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 ho 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 Beautv 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 /s 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 (Begmff) and the veritable idea (Idee). By the 
20 



BEAUTY IX 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 ib becomes, at 
length, the harmoniously completed object in the 
totality of its immanent relations. The true idea 
(Idt c) 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, 
then, may be defined as the sensible manifestation of 
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 /ESTHETICS. 

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 etre) 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 IX 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 
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- 
fft iff) 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 



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 coordinated 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 oryaiiism, 
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 IX 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. 
[11 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 inovganic nature, 
where we admire the regular forms of the crystal, 



32 HEGEL S .ESTHETICS. 

we do not regard these as produced by a foreign and 
merelv 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 \ve account for the different degrees of 
beautv in living animals, or for the fart 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, ({race 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 aym &lt;iblc.\ 

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 IX ITS ABSTRACT IDEA. 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. ] I kit nature, besides, 
presents a character altogether special in its ability 
to excite the sentiments of the soul by the sympa 
thetic intiuence 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 arid 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 .ESTHETICS. 

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 tin 1 same plane: and on the higher 
plane of the spiritual, beautv 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 /&lt;tca. 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 IX 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 ditference 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 



86 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 symboli/.e them to 
his imagination; and she can be sublime as well as 
beautiful, though perfect Jieauty be the ideal end 
for him and her. 

Nature is not, then, always and everywhere beauti 
ful, and her beauty admits of decrees 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 



BEAUTY IX ITS ABSTRACT IDEA. , 37 

underrate feeling, which may be aid 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 
/Esthetic 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 HEGEI/S .ESTHETICS. 

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 Lore as of Tltomjlit. But this is not availed 
of in his ^Esthetic, 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 IX THE CONCRETE. 

BUT let us see whether in Hegel s farther 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 



40 HEGEL S AESTHETICS. 

conformity to and evidence of the inner law become 
more and more apparent. | I Jut 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 1 cannot &gt;av 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- 



BEAUTY 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 .ESTHETICS. 

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. J 

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 a &lt;j recall &lt;\ 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 Beau 
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 
j dependence upon circumstances, in a word, by the 
1 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 iiij- 



44 HEGEL S .ESTHETICS. 

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 develop ng itself without hindrance in 
the fullness of its life, which is what constitutes its 
BeautyT 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 bodv 
itself presents, with regard to its beauty, a progres 
sion of forms co-respondent 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 IX 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 
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 .ESTHETICS. 

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 IX 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 preexistence, 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 ESTHETICS. 

inorganic, vegetable, animal, human worlds. Hegel 
knows no alsolute .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 materiel 
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 



BEAUTY 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 (partial, at least) quali 
fication. If one admits any distinction between the 
Beautiful and the (lyrccablr, 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 act ire. The soul goes out and coalesces^ 
with the object, so that the object becomes the form j 
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 in an, 
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 
in nature, in any form, must possess it, as well as 
the Beautiful in Art. It cannot lie, 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 



BEAUTY 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 Clod, 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 HEGEL S .ESTHETICS. 

covered and felt only where freedom is discovered 
and felt bv the free soul. The mistakes and dis 
agreements in subjective and individual judgments 
arise from not, spontaneously or reileet ively elimi 
nating the other elements of the complex conscious 
ness and leaving behind the pure elements of tin; 
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 ftf/i-i-nibfc. as when he speaks of 
the beauty of a mere mass of color, ff 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 mav 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 I DUAL IX ART. 

WE 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 



54 HEGEL S .-ESTHETICS. 

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 nat 
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 physiog 
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 ottf/ltt 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 /ESTHETICS. 

oppositions are. in general , more profound. Xever- 
theless, although grief penetrates deeper into the 
soul than with ill* 1 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 li;is been called Lxn(/Ji- 
ter (un nl t&lt; &lt;u x. 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 Hatters 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! 

fn 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 b} 7 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 varnish. 
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 .ESTHETICS. 

and the natural, it 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. y 

[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- 



THE IDEAL IX AKT. 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 
determine^ 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 little 
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 V. 
TTTE REALIZATION OK THE IDEAL 

BUT; now occurs the further question, !io\v 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. I3ut 
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 thereb} r 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 activity, 
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 AESTHETICS. 

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 Unite. 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, the} 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 dpsrij of the Greeks, 
who draws from himself, from his free spontaneity, 
and his personal sentiments, the principle of his 



64 HEGEL S .ESTHETICS. 

actions. Kight 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. Kven when, as with (Kdi- 
pus, tin* crime is involuntary, the culpability is 
accepted and punished. He docs not throw otf 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 --a 11 
idealixed, 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 
C7/0/V/X, 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. Upon 
this base are lifted the individual characters, the 



THE REALIZATION OF THE IDEAL. 65 

personages who play an active role, 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 ns 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 Wallenstain. 
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 /ESTHETICS. 

wrong s, it becomes ridiculous, as in Don Quixote. 
Nevertheless, even in the heroic age the special 
situation suitable for Art must lie 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. Y7/&lt;" ahx&lt; H&lt; i &lt; of ritual ion. i.e.. opposed to a deter 
mined situation: as when all relation t^o anything 
exterior is wanting, and the subject is shut- up in his 
own unitv. as in the ancient sculptures in the 
temples. Egyptian sculpture, and the most ancient 
Ureek. furnish us the model for this absence of situa 
tion. And in Christ ian Art. (rod the Father and 
Jesus Christ are, represented often in the same 
manner. So, too, the portraits of later time. 

-. The situation deprived of oil .svy/ows 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. l&gt;ut, 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 IDEAL. 67 

the sentiment of Lis 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 mav 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 coJJt iiion. 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 denouement, 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 
dtnoui riient. 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 Laocoon 
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 clidi dctcr. 

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 KEALIZATIOX 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 Komantic 
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 aesthetic 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 lago. 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 (ireck 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, the*e 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 denouement of the 
Philoctetus of Sophocles, or where, in the Iliad, 
Mercury conducts Priain to the feet of Achilles, and 

* Hegrel 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. 



72 HEGEL S .ESTHETICS. 

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 .ESTHETICS. 

let himself, lias still more beauty and a profounder 
truth. 

\Ve should distinguish, lor the heroic character, 
between jxixxion and /n/l/io:&lt;. Passion always brings 
with it the notion of something passive, hence low 
and contemptible. \Ve exact that a man. to win our 
respect, must not allow himself to be driven by his 
passions. Pathos,, on the contrary, excludes all 
notion 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, then, should be presented only 
as a motive in the actions of men. But thus it 
belongs to the true domain of Art, Tt 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. iO 

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. (&gt;) 
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 .-ESTHETICS. 

wounded honor drags him into a quarrel with Aga 
memnon. He is the faithful friend of Pat roclus; 
and yet a young man impetuous and tiery, swift in 
the race, brave, yet full of respect for old age. It is 
the same with the other Homeric characters. Each 
of thorn 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- 
tt ufrat d 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 OP 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 Held 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 n EU EL S .ESTHETICS. 

But these are still penetrated and uniHed In- one sole 
sentiment, by the force of the love which has taken 
possession of them, and which appeal s as a limitless 
sea,, so that Juliet can say, " The more I give, the 
more 1 [ possess." To the reasoning faculty such a 
divcrsitv. notwithstanding the domination of a unique 
element, may appear an inconsequence. It may 
ask. how can Achilles. \vho 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 Trov? But in the regard of reason 
itself, which sei/es 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 IDEALIZATION 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 /ESTHETICS. 

the external form of the Ideal hi 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 .ire detected in the Beautiful in 
nature. &lt;\ //., regularity, symmetry, and conformity 
to law. Kegularity and symmetry, in their abstract 
character, however, contrast with the vitality which 
lifts itself in its perfect freedom above the necessity 
of such symmetry. En 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- 
6 



82 HEGEL S .ESTHETICS. 

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 (jHKiififi/. 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 nitdlitt/. 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 (Joinhuntt 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 TIIK IDKAL. 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 not 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 Siniois. 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 AESTHETICS. 

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 
Poetrv, 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 
particular! /at ion. 

How r ever, 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 maml}^ 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 REALIZATION 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 
sun. 

( !.) But the environing nature can also be given as 
the result of human activity and intelligence. Man 
may huinani/e 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 



8(J HEGEL S /ESTHETICS. 

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. 8? 

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 aye 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 .ESTHETICS. 

survey such an existence seems a little wearisome. 
Man cannot re&gt;t in this narrow and poor li dd for 
his capacities. He is liorn 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 
mav claim a larger sphere than the Idyll allows. 
Thev mav 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 Uersten- 
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 
non 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 
phvsical 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 VI. 
ART IX RELATION TO THE PUBLIC. 

HOWEVER 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 
w r ork 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 object i rely, that is, in strict 
conformity to what they were in themselves, in his 
toric reality; or ,s objectively, 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 .-ESTHETICS. 

Tlie.se two principles carried out exclusively, conduct 
to t\vo extremes equally false. In the conciliation 
of the two. onlv, 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 
si end substitutes the present nitiuuer of conceiving, 
reserving only the nomemcraiupe or 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 naivete is to be found 
in the works of Hans Sachs, who makes of our Lord, 
of (lod 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 



AKT IX RELATION 1(J THK Pl BLlC. 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 
Tphigenia 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 feet ing 
of the immediate spectators. How, then, may both 
these requirements be put in satisfactory accord, an 4 
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. Bnd if 

* Certainly, during the last two decades French literfcop 3Ati 
Art have largely emancipated themselves from this narrowness. 



94 HEGEL S .ESTHETICS. 

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 \viili 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 (ireek 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 sa cants, 



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 cur- 
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 be} r ond 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-otf 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 lie 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 (Edipus Tyrannus is an Athenian 
tragedy, and the Eumenides of J^schylus had a 
national interest. 



96 HKGKI/S .ESTHETICS. 

The Greek Mythology, notwithstanding the con 
stant use of it, has never, since the ri tniixMinw 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 fur-oft material only as the framework 
or outline of bis 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. Hut 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 mmcln onisin. 
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 represented 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 oven 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 I 
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 
^Eschylus, 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 .ESTHETICS. 

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. Ft dues 
not recall to lirood over and torture itself about an 
action irrevocably accomplished. Orestes ha&gt; no re 
morse for having killed his mother. The avenging 
furies of the action itself pursue him. it is (rue, but 
the Eumenides are represented as general powers. 
We do not recogni/e 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, lie 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. Tt 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. 

HEGEL next considers the function and the 
activity of the Aiiixt: 1. to fix the true 
notion of his yrnhix and of his inspiration ; 2, to 
examine his creative activity on its objective side ; 
o. 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} \vatches 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 HEGEL S AESTHETICS. 

world. Any delect in his work which shows him to 
have dwelt in the region of abstractions only, and 
that his ga/e 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 (Might, 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 line 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, (ioethe, 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 
eveTwtJiingT^tTn^r^erfiye particulai^elenient of objects 
and theirreal forms, as well as the ability to retain 
all timt one hasjiTTjserved, is the prime condition of 
artistic genius. To a sufficient knowledge ~oi the 
forms of the external world should be joined that 
of the inner nature o 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 jmn_- 
ciple^expresses itsolf in the sejxsible 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 nnu-ef^al 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 Hofoundllitatffil. From a feeble imaina 



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 .ESTHETICS. 

and confounding together the rational element and 
the sensible form, the artist has need both ofjine 
sensibilitiesand 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. Ft 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 1 1 1 e i i nj_mjse s_ji nd 
aims and activities of the huinan_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 i cTeaun d e r 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 necessarv^ejiergy tp_ 
Design and execute, [i.e., something more than sensi 
bility ancTmtellect are needed: strength of thejvill, 
also, stimulated by the attractiveness of the end. 
One may feel exquisitely, amT^tlnnk ~cteeply 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 reali/ing 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 (Jod, 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 .-ESTHETICS. 

Thus on this side may genius and talent be said to 
he innate. 

| With regard to the long and interesting disqui 
sition above. I may remark that Hegel s treatment 
of iiimt/itmtioit 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 prod-diir-. 1 deserving the name of imagina 
tion. Hegel has had in mind, not the pure activity, 
but thj. 1 sum of spe&lt;jjj_l power, s needed for the crea 
tive work of the artist. An attempt at a more dis 
criminating detinition 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 (/ruin*. 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 coining 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 sei/e the essential unitvjpf 
things, and of the movements in the universe, to co- 
ordinate them into an harmonious whole. ButfTIns 
latter process may be one of pure thinking, and 
therefore still coJ&lt;l- or it may be accompanied by 
fedhiy 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 coordinates and is satisfied only 
with self-consistency and harmony. Hut the phi 
losopher deals with the abstract ideas of things, and 
works for the pure intellect; though, being Iranian, 
he cannot rid himself entirely of ideological rela- 
tions. The poet, on the other hand, feels, through 
his very vividness of imagination, his union with 



100 



mankind more acutely, and regards them as enjov- 
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 mny lie more or 
less keen and abiding, the craving for expression 
exist in various degrees, Imt the presence of it is a 
unique gift, and constitutes the jioi-t, 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 &lt;j&lt; ninx to mean this 
unifying, coordinating impulse, when carried to such 
expression and production as to be recognized and 
felt. whether_])oetic or philospjjlnc: and to confine 
the word tali iif 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 conies 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 FT EG EF/S .ESTHETICS. 

nal 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 bis imagination is in [ lay, and when 
he is reali/ing his conceptions, is what is commonly 
called inxjth iitivH. 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 docs 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 tins 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 displaved 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 tin; nai ve 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 II EC- EL S .-ESTHETICS. 

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 lull 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. Ill 

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 ESTHETICS. 

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 a.s 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 ell ace in tin- 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. 

Stylets something to be distinguished from manner. 
The French proverb is, " Style is the man himself." 
[tt 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 bizurre and startling effects, as in the 
straining after the humorous, is to reach an unsound 
originality. Even Jean Paul Kichter, 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. 
8 



PART IE. 

TIIK AKT-IMITLSK IN l [X |&gt;KVKL&lt; H MKXT. 



CLASSIFICATIONS OF TIIK ARTS. 



ADISQUlSrnOX on Art may subserve several 
purposes. i. 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 mav distinguish L imlx 
of excellence, and therefore L im/s of enjoyment, in 
themselves not measuring the &lt;l&lt; &lt;/r&lt; &lt;- 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. }. Tt mav 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 



CLASSIFICATIOXS OF THE ARTS. 115 

impulse itself, and the law of the mental evolution 
which lias 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 thorn, 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 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- 



11C HEGEL S /ESTHETICS. 

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. .Hut 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 onlv 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. 117 

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 
make real, and apprehensible for human conscious 
ness, 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 symbol, an ideal of Beauty or Sublimity; or. in 
Hegel s language, the "Idea itself in some stage 
of the process of its evolution. 

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, 



US HEGEL S .ESTHETICS. 

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 decrees, 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. Xor can we 
fix with entire accuracy the time and manner and 
conditions when the artist becomes cmitirr. Here, 
too. the steps are gradual and insensible between, 
on the one hand, the successful attempt to discover. 
or descrial of Xature s ideal in small tilings, 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 Xature reveals 
her perfect idea by glimpses and seeming frag 
ments. a 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 1 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 cm turner, 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 roach thorn 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 \vhen 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 &lt;ii/i c&gt; &lt;ililc 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 symboli/es 
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 poetic 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 v 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 HEGEL S ESTHETICS. 

a true objective classification, and in mark by appro 
priate epithets the xt&lt;i&lt;li&lt;i through which Art has 
moved in the evolution of the human mind. These 
he characterizes as the Svmbolic. 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. l&gt;ut 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 mav 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, con 
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 
necessary connection with Philosophy and Religion. 
Thus, 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 
eled. 

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 comuionicexltlt, 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 HEGKL S .KSTIIKTICS. 

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 h&lt;-conti//(/. never fixed, 
always liuent, 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 characteri/.e 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 TT. 
TIIK SYMBOLIC PF.KIOP. 

THAT 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 naive 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 



HEGEL .ESTHETICS. 

*, 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 l.y finding some outward 
rxpre&gt;sion. That which exists as a waning and 
brightening, di^ipating and combining object lor 
thought, must lloat 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 &gt;tart the mind on a 
new enterprise after a ne\v solution. 

Thus we have one &gt;ide of 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 inert, 1 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 F have been describ 
ing, we should look to see figures, or structures, or 
combinations of words marking the Stadinui 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 mav 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 SYMBOLIC 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 * 



1 30 II E( J E L S .ESTII ET1 CS. 

tian Art as to overwhelm or crowd out the Beauti 
ful; yet they are not entirely devoid of it. Jvepose, 
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 
tinct inquiry. 

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 ocean; 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 
which 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 music, 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 itself. Thus we have before us the Classic 
Period, its swift 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. 



CHAPTKR m. 

Till-: CLASSIC PKKInl). 

WHILE these words. Symbolic. Classic and Jvo- 
inantic, 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 people s, as with 
individual, 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 Ixomantie 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. Tht-se 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 symbol i/ed, 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 .ESTHETICS. 

had since another quickening impulse, is, as I have 
said, a fair question for historic and philosophic 
inquiry, but one F do not intend to deal with no\v. 

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 yod. 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. Tims 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 
beautv and their grace, and is enabled to give, in 
expression of countenance, in the repose or suggested 
motion of bodv. this ideal aloofness and spiritual 
serenity and nut roubled sense of po\ver. The suc 
cess is so marked tli.it it seems perfect. (Jiv-n the 
thought, and \ve cannot criticise the finest realiza 
tions of it in the ({reek 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 displav it as the result 
of a purely mechanical process, ruled bv the shaping 
skill after the pattern of the ideal form. Tin? Artist 
might or might not be his own Artificer; yet, to be 
a tine artificer \vas itself a rare gift. 

It is probablv true that the ({reeks 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 ({-reek statues, while in the Egyptian 
it is imperfect, suggestive, mystic, bewildering. This 
illumination of the ideal in the (Ireek 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 /.)// 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 
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 HKGKL S .-ESTHETICS. 

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 (Jreek ideal, thru, rightly only by 
remembering that the phy&gt;ical 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 bv ils permanence in its 
present form. This free spirit, then, is not realh r 
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, nav, 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. Tn 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 HEUEl/S AESTHETICS. 

the Classic period, must have its awakening. Such 
an eddy, curving and circling with .such exquisite 
grace, awa\ IVoin 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 toirents. 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 tor humanity. It is not perfect, after all, 
except as \ve 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 lor 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- 



U;3 HEGEL S .ESTHETICS. 

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 naive unconsciousness the (I reek .sculptor should 
raivlv or never have done violence to the instinct of 
moral Beautv. 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 
nals 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 ideali/.ed 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 sid- 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 
hintsof 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, \vho has not come to that stage of quiet and eternal 
fren/y 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. 1 From the last lecture of the late Sidney Laniei\ 
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 lo, 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 .ESTHETICS. 

feared. Only a select mortal now and then 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? r or a little while during their trium 
phant period the (i reeks forgot that these gods must 
die if they would keep hold of the human heart, and 
be able to rise au ain carrving the human race with 
them to the passionless heaven. 

The modern Artist who attempt* 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. 

r I ^HE 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 sed_u_cing 
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. 
Xot 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 S} T nthesis the 
law of whose being is in itself, that the concrete spirit 
differs no whit in essential characteristics and in its 

10 145 



146 1 UKGKL S .KSTHKTFCS. 

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 kno\v one s self, thus, as in idea like 
God. and kindred to him in the very iinest and highest 
capacities of the Divine; and not merely to imagine 
as gods men magnified after the longings of ones 
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 actualitv 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 w r hat 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 KOMAXTH I KHIOI). 147 

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 ESTHETICS. 

subjectivity, or lie 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 inqiriiy 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 V. 
THE TEMPORAL AXD TTIE ETERNAL IDEALS. 

REMARKS 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 .ESTHETICS. 

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 religions 
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 Xotte, 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 



TEMPOKAL AND 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 lie 
must soon relapse away and into a lower range of 
thought and imaginative activitv. What, then, is 
the secret of the attractiveness, what is the charac 
teristic of the beauty in the one case and in the 
oilier? 

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 A XI) ETERNAL IDEALS. 155 

Tn 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 case we have human love still, but 
forgetting itself in a more elevated consciousness. 
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 
w T hich 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 .-ESTHETICS. 

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 tics 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 irhlther 
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 
inmost instinct to be very near the secret and the 
explanation of all existence. 

The Virgin s face suggests all this. It depends 



TEMPORAL AXD ETEKXAL 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 \vould 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 



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 tin- illimitable vistas of the 
final heavens open their lucid depths and disclose 
their shadowless magnificence. 

Ere one can lap&gt;&lt;&gt; from the ideal state upon which 
is dependent the beauty of the St. Sebastian, and 
reach tin- 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 entirel}" 
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 HEGEI/S .ESTHETICS. 

setting of various beauty around the perfect gem 
of Virgin and Child. They show the insouciance 
and the play fulness into which human love, in its 
supreme content with itsi-lf. is always prompted to 
break. Some of the angelic figures are mat.uver 
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 1 . Kit her 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 lliient 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 .ESTHETICS. 

with its o\vn life, but Chines with the lustre of light 
reili rted, 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 arti&gt;t and its implications: 
though, undoubtedly, a wrong judgment might be 
easilv 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- 
atelv derived from a philosophy: from which it would 
follow that onlv 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 beautv 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 AND 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 HEGEL S /ESTHETICS. 

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. Me who ventures upon an ambitious work of 
Art challenges all other men to find out. that upon 
which his heart is lixed. if they can. This is the 
profoundest distinction bet wren 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 idiosvncratic. 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 
tilings." 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 unrolling itself, 
cannot be measured merely by the eye, which observes 
the almost insensible motion, then it may be replied, 
if so, how do we know that we have reached the 



166 HEGKL S .-ESTHETICS. 

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 theorv. 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, surelv, we have 
reached something permanent, fixed, unchangeable, 
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 naivete, 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 HEGEL S .ESTHETICS. 

marks that the ultimate Beaut} 7 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 illustration, color does 
not belong to the permanent, the eternity-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 VI. 
THE SUBLIME AND T11K PATHETIC IX ART. 

SINCE 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 
Laocoon, as well as the Antinous, or the Medicean 



170 HEGEL S .ESTHETICS. 

Venus; but the Pathetic in these is still distinguish 
able from that in Romantic Art. as I shall notice 
prrsrntlv. And in (Jreek 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 c7,v 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 undeifyiijg^o.f nature. In the early 
periods nature weighed down the spirit, was too vast 



SUBLIME AND PATHETIC IX 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. ai:d 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 



This accounts for the free handling which the 
world receives at the hands of the Romantic Poets 
and Painters, lor 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 tix 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 i/cttrc paintings, and of nine-tenths of 
the verse now for many years so prolitically 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 (lie 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 AXD PATHETIC IN AKT. 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-y 
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 



17-i HEGEL S .ESTHETICS. 

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 Meal treatment, which in its freedom of 
range mav bring back and borrow the Classic Ideal, 
or clarify the Romantic, or mingle the two; and 
thirdlv. 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 mav 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, lint 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 jl well 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 .ESTHETICS. 

sage and the conflict that conceals, rather than 
brings to lii_; lit. the contradiction. Tims, instead of 
Tragedy we have Comedy; instead of historic we 
have t/cni c 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 a. in loth to 
omit, but must. As tor the figure Painters in these 
clays, 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 winch 



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 Laocoon, 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 
12 



178 



the situation, but from his own mental activity, and 
possibly from the consciousness of his own immu 
nity. What is noticeable in tin (Ireek Pathos is, 
that there is no consolation for it; no hope held out. 
no surest ion that the &gt;ad 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 
murkv clouds and beckoning into the infinite; while 
in ill* 1 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 IX 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 .ESTHETICS. 

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, mav be sublime, for this exhaust less potenec 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, vet 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 PietA 
is, rather, beautiful and touching. When it does, 
as in the Niobe, or Laocoon, or Dving Gaul, it takes 
very strong hold of Christian sympathy. It rarely, 



SUBLIME AND PATHETIC IX ART. 181 

also, aims to be sublime, though the immeasurable 
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. Xor 
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. 



PAPxT ITT. 

THE SYSTEM OF THE DIFFERENT ARTS. 



CHAPTER I. 
STYLES: CLASSIFICATION . 

THE 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. r 
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 screw, 
the ideal and the graceful. Xo 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 .ESTHETICS. 

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. Bat //race, 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. Tt is apparent now that lie 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 tjracioux 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. \Ve 
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 o-eneral 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- 



180 



respond more or less accurate!}" 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 anv 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 llie 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 r 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 
Ifiunan, 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 11 KU EL S .-ESTHETICS. 

the subtle gradations of light and shadow are to 
Painting. To fiijov the sweetne.&gt;s 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 ol 
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, onlv to emerge again illumined bv the 
light, of the form. Xor 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 beautv 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 \vhich 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 object ivity 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 subject ire 
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 ottered 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 TI. 



A I/niOr&lt;;iI ili&lt; actual history of the Arts may 
--V_ ij,&gt; (litl rreiit among different peoples, still Archi 
tecture may be &gt;aid to be historically as well as log- - 
irally ih tirst. [f \ve 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 divinitv, 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, hut 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 

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. Architect nre 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 



193 HEGEL S .ESTHETICS. 

the illustrations of Symbolic Architecture may be 
reckoned the Tower of IJabel. the symbol of the dis 
solution of the primitive society, the family and 
patriarchal one. and the formation of a, newer and 
vaster one. uniting 1 men by some social or religious 
tie. Here \ve 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 otter an aspect free&gt; and independent, and draw 
their symbolic significance from the rays of the sun, 
to whose divinity, according to Plinv, thev were con 
secrated. In the monuments of Persia, too. we find 
represented rays of lire escaping from the columns. 
Also, in the same rank may b&lt;3 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 tile 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 bis worship- 



ARCIIITECTUKE. 103 

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 liou^e, as displaying a 
13 



104 HEGEL S ESTHETICS. 

farther 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 Jtidea. we find 
also these subterranean structures. Those caverns 
were often merely places of refuge, but in India, as 
in Egypt, they were a kind of cathedral meant to 
inspire a religions surprise, and offer subjects for 
contemplation. In the caverns of Milhni 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- 



ARCIilTECTtJKE. 195 

lent dwelling is not Art. It is only when some 
result is reached by it, intended for the imagination, 
some result of beauty, that \ve 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 
tn hi union. (The triumphal columns, as those of 
Trajan, and the column in the Place Vendome, 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 



1% 



ease and lightness. The Egyptians made use of this 
form, but not verv 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 1 he forms of organic nat ure 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 arabt sijues. Bui, on the other 
hand, it is contended that this infidelity to nature is 
permissible for the art of Architecture, for it is onlv 
by allowing hit it tide here, that the, living forms can be 
made supplementary to the chief aim of the architect, 
and enrich and enhance the beaufv of the main 
design. In the column, however, we see united the 
two ends. The beautiful column borrows a form 
from nature, 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. 

Tt 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. 197 

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, } - et 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 
lias no place but as ornament. Hie end is only 
reached in the religious sphere, in the tangle, 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- 
. nres 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 dry ness. 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 omit tod. though reluc- 
tantlv: and also the distinctions between the differ 
ent orders, and the briefer notice of the .Roman 
Architecture. 

:&gt;. Xext we consider the (lotliic or Itoiinnitic Ai clii- 
trchirt . While the characteristic of this order is 
that it unites the two ends of the Symbolic and the 
Classic, i.e.. of ihe independent and the dependent, 
it is by no means a fiiMon of the two forms, the 
Oriental and the Greek. Hut 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 



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 nature, but a world made for 
him alone, appropriate for meditation, for the inter 
view of the soiil 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 awa.y. All religio.us 
acts are going on at once. "Rut 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 .ESTHETICS. 

visible but in its rapid instability. Above all still 
rears itself tin; immensity whose aspiration nothing 
can disturb. 

External! v, 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. Uut 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 svmbols 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 Xature, or regular, as in Architec 
ture, i i which ease 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. 

ARCHITECTURE 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. 

Sculpt tire 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 AESTHETICS. 

ent, and that in a corporeal form which is essentially 
fitted to his individuality. At the same time it offers 
to onr 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. 

It we compare Sculpture with Poetry and Painting, 
it appears at first thought that since it offers to view 
the human form, as animated bv 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. Uut it is because of this simple nat 
uralness that the mere corporeal form does not 
respond to the true nature of tin; 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 profonnder 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? 
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 II KG EL S .ESTHETICS. 

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 tln ir own wealth and power. 

| \\ e may add here that the highest taste may be 
somewhat doubtful of the effect even of the Athene 
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 (-&gt;), its ideal ^ and (:&gt;) 
the material* 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. x!0o 

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 liinnau 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 ESTHETICS. 

of man. while the body is the product of nature; so 
the type i.s given, and not invented. 

\n nature, particularly in the animal kingdom, 
the ascending series of lorms belongs to the parallel 
series of moments or developments of the Idea. 
This is what wa.s 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 an? reali/rd 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 histoiy, 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 .ESTHETICS. 

idea of possible concretion. Philosophy and Science 
really are not moving apart in our day, and should 
be infinite!} 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 sentiment. 

The correspondence between the body and the spir 
itual soul, of which the Art of Sculpture avails itself, 
in ust 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 accidentally. Xo 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 ESTHETIC S. 

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 ba.-o of their strong and 
substantial individuality, creat themselves from 
themselves, make of themselves what they wish to 
be. Xo 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 eve, 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. 

spectator has but to shift his position and lie 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 
w r hich all these excellent results are attained are 



212 HEGEL 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. 
&lt;".//., the regard of the ct/c 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. Uut 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 



SCULPT UHE. 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 
morrnient 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 k&gt; 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 .ESTHETICS. 

cular situation which may be thus expressed ought 
not to be determined to the point \vhere it troubles 
or destroys the harmonious fullnos which is essential 
to the ide;i. by drawing the personage into strife or 
collisions, or engaging him in details. It must con- 
line itself to a simple determination, isolated, not too 
serious, or, at least, a mode of activity careless and 
serene, and whose inner calm lias not been infringed 
bv the movement, indicated. As before said, the 
Apollo lie 1 vide re stops ju&gt;l 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 (IrtifHTi/ is only 
an obstacle. But while acknowledging that for sen 
sible beaut v preference mav be accorded to the )iu&lt;le 
yet let it be borne in mind that physical beauty in 
itself is not the supreme beauty of Sculpture. The 
Greeks did not make anv mistake when they repre 
sented the most of their statues of mat as nutlr, and 
of froiHCH as rlofjird. 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 



SCULPTURE. 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 
ilie shape and attitude of the limits. Ln 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. Ft 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 nature, 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 w T ould 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 .ESTHETICS. 

it exercises in tliuf which is transitory to renew it 
without cessation. But in these changes what pleases 
us in one decade becomes ridiculous in the next. 
Jlence, 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 lind 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. 217 

Greeks, and has never elsewhere been equalled. Tt 
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 ttclredere. 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 tlioir 
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 tlie face or form, otherwise transitory, is 
fixed and preserved by the Sculptor. Still more 
marked is this interest in the transitory in the 
isolated //ro/^x, as in the Castor and Pollux | and, we 
may add, in the Venus of Melos. if that be jnstlv 
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 Laocoon 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 f,uc\\ 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 /ESTHETICS. 

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 l&gt;y it. The 
idea itself is not perfect Iv sei/ed. 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 /s/s holding Horns 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 Komantic 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 
eminence the Classic Art, and Painting the Romantic 
Art. 



CHAPTER IV. 
THE ROMANTIC ARTS. 

WHATEVER 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 a^ follows: 

In the evolution of Art, which grows in depth and 
compass with the human mind, we find, as has been 
alreadv noticed, an increasing subjectivity^ /.*&gt;., 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 



THE ROMANTIC AKTS. 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: ii i-:&lt; i K L S .-I:STII KTLCS. 

As to the external ,-ide of tin- representation, it is 
equallv independent in its particularity, and it 
acquires a right to this independence, since the prin 
ciple of subjectivity docs 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 
correspondence 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 forn^ and also opens a free 
career to the representation of the multitude of 
tilings. And this is not all. A new 7 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 hi the entirety of its dimensions, and to trans 
form its real existence into its opposite, into an 
(tppeara)tee 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 harmoni/e 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 .ESTHETICS. 

upon to reveal not only the interior of the soul, but 
also the same as manifesting itself in the external 
world. To repri-st iit ihis. 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 manifest ;it ion 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 vie\v. This Art, since it 
alone can develop the totality of thought, is the inii- 
irraaJ Art, and its sweep i&lt; 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 un reflective 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. 

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 ROMAXTIC ARTS. 227 

not wanting in the Architect or the Sculptor, but is 
the secret of his genius. Nevertheless, the regions of 
thought frequented in these Arts are more limited, 
obviously, than in Painting and Poetry; and hence 
in these Arts the coordinating 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, [n 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 maj 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 V. 



THERE 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. [\Ve 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 



PATXTIXG. 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, j 

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 school* 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, confessed!} 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- 



280 TI KOHL S .ESTHETICS. 

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 tor 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 lift*, 
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 morable 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 



. S ESTHETICS. 

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- 
Unite possibility of combinations of color married to 
form, is the image and physical correspondent of 
moral and spiritual beautvof the highest grade, and 
that both an,&gt; needed and will be found in the per 
fect life. | 

Bv 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 d u tnin 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. Lit/lit, 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 seetn 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 /ESTHETICS. 

A* 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 libertv to sei/e 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 .sr//Wx 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 J/e 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 Jove, 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 .ESTHETICS. 

necessity.] \Ve SIM 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 Laoroon. 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 &gt;oul are not conciliated. The expression 
of the inner&gt;power and meaning of the human soul 
was given for 1*1 10 first time in Romantic Art. 

To resume. the true felicity in love is the aban 
donment, the forget fulness of self in order to recover 
one s self in the object loved. Thus, we may add, 
the attraction of gravitat ion 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 onl\ r be realized 
in a^/Y&gt;rY&lt;xx; 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 frit in the depths 
of the soul, whether regarded as physical or spirit 
ual. It may, therefore, be rightly called an intui- 



PAIXTING. 23 

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 \vas 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. Xiobe 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 veiy 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 .ESTHETICS. 

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 f.-lt. to be nut dead and 
expressionless, but living and symbolic. To exhibit 
this rapjiort is also the purpose of Painting, which 
thus pierces within the mere externality to dis 
cover and bring to vie\v the inner thought in Nature 
herself. [Thus the discovery of nature s freedom is 
the detection of her Heauty: and the imaginative 
activity revelling thus in the movement of its con 
gener is the emotion of the Beautiful]. 

And there i&gt; 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 



PAIXTIXG. 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 extenso, 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 tln&gt; faithful. If this be 
wanting, and thev are merely statuesque, Painting 
show* 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 



PAINT1XG. 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 
tion 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 



24:2 HEGEL S AESTHETICS. 

ation itself, that it may not be insignificant, but help 
to combine all the elements into an harmonious whole. 
Hence the skill needed for f/roiqtiitf/, 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 Diirer 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- HEGEL S .ESTHETICS. 

are not those of men ivallv 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 tin-re is a trulv poetic 
element, [The spontaneous joy of the perfect life is 
fiu uivd in fhis lower sphere, and men are like the 
birds, sinking they know not why. ] 



CHAPTER VI. 

MUSIC. 

HEGEL 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- 



246 HEGEL S .ESTHETICS. 

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 vibratos so that each part of the body 
maintained bv cohesion, in being displaced, tends to 
return to its anterior state. The result of this 
undulatory vibration is so////(/, 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 
agreedbleness 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 S} r mbolic, 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 law r s 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- 



2-1:8 HEGEL S .ESTHETICS. 

iii _r thorp is moro affinity, for in expressing 
sentiment Painting ventures into tlie domain of 
Music. Tlio Painter, however, fashions his subject 
exteriorly, while tin 1 other Artist buries himself in 
the depths of his feeling: and in certain musical 
compositions this absorption goes so far that the 
subject itself i&lt; forgotten, and he abandons himself 
to spontaneous and playful expression. If the con 
templation of the beautiful in general effects a cer 
tain rlr/tt crtuicr of the soul from the needs and mis 
eries of finite existence, Music surely carries this 
emancipation to the highest decree. 

In a worlc of Sculpture or of Painting, the unity. 
as we have seen, must bv 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, hi 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. Vet 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 ditference 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 .ESTHETICS. 

complicated fabrics it constructs can be enjoyed 
only by ( on)ioixsein n, 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 a.nmse are always vague and Hitting. [It does 
not biiiil and absorb the imagination, but beckons it 
onward. ai:d leaves it free. | Vet. as we have seen, 
it, does no! and need not, preserve this entire inde 
pendence from thought, since it may adjust it&gt;elf 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. 

[hi what goes before Hegel seems to disdain the 
sensuous element of Poetrv. 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 .ESTHETICS. 

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 tin? soul as does no other 
Art, because it searches into it more deeply, dealing 
with the relations which escape intelligence, express 
ing the &gt;oul s want of knowledge of its own need, 
thus stifling, or rather allaying and beautifying, 
its inmost cry./^-The delight in Music, as we have 
before observed, is complex: the purely sensible 
one. enjoying the fiinhi c 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 com [loser: 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 coordinated and combined with other sounds. 
Hence its power to express sentiment is very limited. 



254 HEGEL S .ESTHETICS. 

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 \vhich carries into this element 
its own categories. Ilmce the necessity of quantify. 
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 atiinity with Architecture. 
Thus, on one side it is the freest of all the Arts; on 
the other, the most closelv 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 lihcrty in Jair,- 
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 meitsure, cadence and rJn/tJini. 

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 sound 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 .ESTHETICS. 

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 
lime as the rule to mark the intervals, and also 
fixes the arbitrarv 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 recogni/es 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 &lt; &lt; j xnra 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 ccsum. 

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 



and hence is the primal and immediate instrument 
of the soul. Hut 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 tind 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. Tt 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 pow 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 IIKGEL S .ESTHETICS. 

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 cro\vd of passions. In the transports of joy, as 
in the depths of grief. tin 1 soul must rest free and 
happv in the overflowings of the melody, if the 
requirements of lieaulv are to be met. [t is the 
part of Music to lift it above the constraint of any 
&gt;uch absorption to a plane where it, can take refuge 
without obstacle in th&gt;- pur., 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. 
.-ings 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- 
lore 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. J 



MUSIC. 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 



tary Art. may bo thought to be the greatest, and is 
certainly the only enduring one. | 

In musical cwHtutn, 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 cmife 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- 
po&gt;ili&lt;m, and if so, new suggestions in expression 
are possible. It is here as in the Histrionic Art, 
one may forget all other things hi 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. I 



CHAPTER VII. 
POETRY. 

POETRY 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 b}" 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 .ESTHETICS. 

abandons the sensible forms of the figurative Arts, 
h^t - veil that of which Music avails itself, the 
sound itself. We have left for its objective element 
fcimply the internal representation, the images 
aroused to life bv the arbitrnrv signs of language. 
Thought need not he confounded with language, 
which is only nn-i/i imi. Tim* it is inditferent for 
I oetry, 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. l&gt;ut its unlimited material is not poetic 
simply by being sei/ed by the imagination, for the 
common thinking does this. Jt 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. (_!) 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 ntl&lt;j&lt;tr 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 reali/ed (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 f 
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 
so/aid. 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 ejcistx 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 



POETKY. 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, coordinate, 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-calied 
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. 

llit- (/&lt; Hi fl aspect", of things is not yet separated from 
their in&lt;liri&lt;lmil existence, in which are not yet made 
distinct the lair and the jthi-nnnti non. 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, [vet these obviously 
form a totalitv. of which the poetic mind seeks to 
(ind the unifying principle. The rational laws 
which govern it are not sought in iheir abstract 
form: rather there is i/irinnl 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 hiiHxrlf. 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 whicli 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 HEUEL S .ESTHETICS. 

other ages. This, the pernianentand 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 tin* 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 tit for regard in itself. Reason is 
satisfied when in the philosophic movement it reaches 
the ultimate and coordinating principle; but imagi 
nation is not so satisfied. [Tt 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 
ness 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 

expositor} 7 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 aflinity. 

Histo)-;/ 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 mav 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 .Eloq uence, 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, 



2T2 IIE(JKLS .-KSTHETICS. 

but to convince, to persuade, io 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 road, 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. 1 oetrv, bv 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 
ness. 

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 knovvledgevthan 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 .ESTHETICS. 

seek not only, or not so much, to clarify and make 
precise, as to illumine and bring out their rich and 
hidden content. Tn ordinary logical speech one com 
prehends at once the meaning, while the poet s mean 
ing is onlv 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 Knst 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. 
Tt 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. &gt;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 



POETRY. "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. 

EPIC POETRY. 

THE usual and correct division of Poetry is into 
the E/&gt;ic, the Li/rt c. and the Dt fuiiutic. 

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 Epif/ram 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 Elcyy 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 



EPIC POETRY. 277 

intuitions, their nliirete, 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 ESTHETICS. 

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 belief s 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 denouement. 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 vet broken his close 



280 HEGEL S .ESTHETICS. 

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. Hut 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. | Hut 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 Com media 
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. 

I 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 Ballnds, 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 different roles. In uttering the playful 
movement of his own soul, it is not needful that 
what he says should have much sense. The logical 



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 
Foe, 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 nights 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 .ESTHETICS. 

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. Hut 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. Pagans, 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- 



LYKIC 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 naivete, 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 tioHwt or the Elegy , 
the poet is more restrained. I.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 naive 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 ami Persians has a kind of 
hyinnic 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. 

TPIE 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 
enterprise 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 



conducting us out of their tumult into repose. It is 
laicr ill origin than the Epic or the Lyric. It is the 
product of a, civili/at ion 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 Kpic 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 1 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 ro/- 
//N/oy/s. 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 
coordination 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, \&gt;y 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 .ESTHETICS. 

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 
intluence the human will, the family ati ections. the 
proper interests of real life, patriotism, and the 
religions 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 repre&gt;ent tl&lt;it 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 Ilie rlf/ltt. But not being able to realize what 
seems to him to be such without violation of another 
power, will, and end equal!} 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 HEGEL S ESTHETICS. 

terror and pity, yet purifying these emotions. What 
man reallv ought to dread is not the physical oppres 
sion, which ends at least with life, but the moral 
principle which lii-s 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 purelv 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 harmoni/ing. even destruct 
ively, these moral powers. Thus the substantial 
principle of the universe appears victorious in its 
inner harmony. Ft 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 
risible is not the Comic. Any contrast between 
idea and form, between end and means, may be 



DRAMATIC 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. 
[f 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 dt noue- 
ntent 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 /ESTHETICS. 

end inviolable, notwithstanding the momentary con 
tradiction. 

The Dr&lt;nn&lt;( holds a middle jilace between Tragedy 
and ConnM.lv. containing elements of each. It is more 
flexible, and hence more liable to depart from the 
purely dm ma tic typo, and to fall into the prosaic. 
Much of our modern Drama is without poetic interest. 

There have boon 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- 



DRAMATIC 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 moraLconscience--COanmenting_.on. what is. 
passing. It belongs essentially to that epoch when 



29G 



any established jurisdiction or formulated dogmas 
have not yet become potent and regulative, when 
manners appear yet in untroubled niih &lt; t&lt; . and yet 
when the equilibrium of social life rests sufficiently 
guaranteed against the terrible collisions into which 
the energy of the heroic diameters 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. Ft 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 role, 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 



DRAMATIC POETRY. 29? 

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 denouement of tragic action, it is evident 
that in these opposing rights and resolves, which we 
have seen are e&lt;juall} r 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 /ESTHETICS. 

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 (Edipus. 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 Coined} , as exhibited by Aristophanes, 
deals chieliv with the inferior conditions of society, 
and with simple men; or if introducing more ele 
vated 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 denouements. 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 



BOO 



complete men. Kven 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 poelic jn c^tii/c, and absorbed in the 
narrowness of their ideas, he gives ihem so much ihe 
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 energv so striking; their language evinces a sen 
sibility so profound and an imagination so brilliant; 
t lieii illustrations spring so spontaneously from their 
mouths, as the eloquence not of the school but of the 
heart, and as tin; 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. (ioethe, 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 dc HOHeiHeiit 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 
s eeing 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 Moliure, 
whose disappointed personages are by no means satis- 
tied with results. Yet the compensation is to be 
found in the skill in designing characters, and devel 
oping an intrigue. And modern Coined} 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 coordinate 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- 



3(jo HEGEL S AESTHETICS. 

tion and the harmony of the Absolute under sensible 
forms, ami 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 far short: that this endeavor comes from the 
primal hn^ ln* 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. j 






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N Hegel, Georg Wilhelm Friedrich 

64 Aesthetics 






