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An Art Philosopher's Cabinet

Being Salient Passages from the Works on
Comparative -Esthetics of

George Lansing Raymond, LMX>.

Fonner Professor of ^Esthetic Criticism in Princeton University

Selected and Arranged According to Subject by
Marion Mills Miller, Litt^D*

Editor of "TIic dassics—Greck and Latin/' etc.

With Illustrations

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Chief Source of the Selections

A System of GDmparative -Esthetics

By George Lansing Raymond, L.H.D*

I. Art in Theory
II. The Representative Significance of Form

III. Poetry as a Representative Art

IV. Painting, Sculpture, and Architecture as

Representative Arts

V. The Genesis of Art Form

VI. Rhythm and Harmony in Poetry and Music,
together with music as a representative
Art

VII. Proportion and Harmony of Line and Color
IN Painting, Sculpture, and Architecture

VIII. The Essentials of Esthetics: Being a Com-
pendium OF the System, Designed for a
Text-Book

Published fay
G* ?♦ Putnam's Sons> New York and London

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3G5884

PREFACE

The epigram, that most convincing form of argument,
while it effectively destroys unsound opinions prevalent
among people who let some one else do their thinking, may
itself become the mother of error when it is in turn accepted
without examination as to its positive truth.

Of this the popular epigrammatic definition of critics,
so effectively used by Benjamin Disraeli in his novel of
Lothair, as "the men who have failed in literature and art,"
is an example. It attacks unwarranted pretense on the
part of those assuming to be authorities in these subjects,
and unquestioning acceptance of them as such by the
general public, and, at the same time, appeals by its slur
to the element of malice latent in the human breast which
springs gleefully into expression when that which is con-
ceived to be a mask concealing real character and motives is
removed. For these reasons, this epigram has been suc-
cessful in its purpose where a plain statement of the need of
examining the credentials of those sitting in judgment
would have made no impression.

The error which the epigram propagates is in its sweeping
assertion that all those who assume to be critics are failures
as creative artists, — a patent untruth, but accepted for the
sake of the slur without regard to the injurious effect that
it may have on uninformed minds. Thus this epigram has
been popularly exalted to a postulate; qualification to
criticize has been accepted as proving inability to create;
and, as an inevitable corollary, criticism has been deemed
an inferior form of writing, indeed practically worthless.

To confute these errors, a plain statement of facts show-
ing that great artists like Leonardo da Vinci and great
poets like Coleridge have been supreme critics does not
seem all that is demanded. Those who surrender to the
force of epigrams appear often to bring about situations
from which none but the champions of other epigrams can

vi PREFACE

deliver them. There is a sense, therefore, in which it may
be said that the false conceptions just mentioned required
a master of epigram to expose them, even if he had to do
this at that cost to truth which is always incurred when
answering a fool according to his folly.

Oscar Wilde in his most brilliant essay on The Decay of
Lying, exploded the vital element of the epigram in ques-
tion— namely, the deduction that criticism is an inferior
form of writing — by frankly granting the failure of critics
as creative artists, and boldly claiming that this was due to
their special ability in a higher field of literature. Criticism
he declared, supporting his statement with great ingenuity,
was the supreme order of literary composition.

The concession that he made was, perhaps, necessary to
secure the essential quality of surprise in his succeeding
epigrammatic presentation ; but it has proved very injurious
to certain subservient minds ever ready to follow an original
genius who proclaims himself an authority. These follow-
ers, without examining Wilde's argument for positive and
permanent truth, indeed not desiring to do so, since in-
genuity is more attractive to them than wisdom, have
accepted his impudent assertion at its face value, and have
found license to pose as critics without qualification for the
office and with no other thought than to make their judg-
ments seem striking and plausible. Their utterances are
unsound and insincere, and effective only for the destruction
of accepted beliefs, true as well as false. Lacking the con-
structive ability to create a new pantheon in place of the
idols overthrown, they have deified the hammer which their
master, the supreme iconoclast, taught them to wield, — the
two-headed paradox as destructive in the rebound as in the
blow. Indeed, one of them, George Bernard Shaw, too
proud to acknowledge discipleship to Wilde, but, neverthe-
less, a member of the cult, and, in fact, its chief living repre-
sentative, has attempted to develop the principle of the
paradox into a working philosophy for constructive as well as
destructive purposes. This is more than was ever con-
templated by Wilde himself, who was not serious even in
smashing things, but rather wanton, breaking old and
sacred windows in the social temple just to hear the glass
crash, and not to let in the pure air and sunlight — although
this was, happily, often the result.

Shaw's doctrine of contrariety that attempts to find

PREFACE Vii

wisdom in palpable absurdity, and to show that the ap^
parently impracticable method is the only sure means to
achievement, is most patent, and hence ineffective for evil,
in politics and economics. This is shown by the general
contempt that has dubbed him Bernhardi Shaw because of
his recent criticisms of Great Britain for not defending
Belgium by leaving it defenseless, and by the repudiation
on the part of even his fellow socialists of his late theory that
equality of income is practicable without equality of oppor-
tunity to secure the income.

It is in the field of art and letters, however, that his
principle is most subtle, because there it is based upon his
elusive personality, and hence is most subversive of sound
principles. He is certainly not one of those critics who have
failed in literature. As a dramatist, he has been eminently
successful. But these very facts tend to uphold Wilde's
contention that such a man cannot be a great literary critic;
and one who wanted to confirm this conclusion could point
out that, perhaps, no writer to such an extent as Shaw has
ever adapted his general philosophy of composition, es-
pecially play- writing, to his own special abilities and limita-
tions. Shaw has done this with such success that, by his
method, Shakespeare is condemned and he himself com-
mended. The first requisite for acceptance of his views is
acceptance of himself, with all the whimsical contradictions
of his nature, as the ideal artist.

The sensible view of the relation of the critical work of an
author to his creative achievements — a perfectly natural
connection which has been artfully exalted into a subject
for debate — is that creative ability is a desirable qualifica-
tion for criticism when the critic is not an egotist, but is a
detriment to him when he has his own case continually in
mind as a standard for judging other creative artists. Criti-
cism must, first of all, be impartial. Success as a creative
artist is simply a conclusive proof of one kind of ability.
Nor is the fact that a writer has abandoned creative for
critical work evidence of a lack of creative ability. On the
contrary it may be a proof of it. A man who has worked out
for himself, and demonstrated to his own satisfaction,
principles of art, if the altruism of the teacher is strong in
him, may sacrifice the joy of creation for the higher pleasure
of imparting his knowledge to others. This was the case
with John Ruskin; in his youth he was a painter of promise.

viii PREFACE

yet gave up his career as an artist with pencil and brush
impelled by the irresistible desire to teach, combined with a
consciousness of ability to do this through his mastery of
the artistry of lang^uage.

Wilde's contention that criticism is itself a kind of
creation, while untrue, is nevertheless valuable inasmuch
as it strikes at the truth. Criticism is one of the factors of
creation, but not creation itself. In the language of philo-
sophy, interpretation of the message of a work of art to the
world is an effective cause of the fulfilment of the final
cause or purpose of the work. The whole truth is that both
creator and interpreter are essential agents to this end, and,
in this respect, both deserve honor. The precedence of the
one or the other must be determined, if at all, by comparison
of the relative position which each holds in his own pro-
fession. But comparisons are particularly odious, and, as a
rule, wholly useless, when instituted between persons of
different pursuits.

The rounded work of a critic is both destructive and
constructive, the former, in its office of preparation for
upbuilding, being in character no less creative than the
latter. For effectiveness there must be fixed purpose in the
work from the beginning, and a determined and original
method of achieving the ultimate object. In short, a true
critic must be a philosopher in the domain of his activity.

And when, as in the case of art, this domain is a broad
and diversified one, containing many separate fields, each
distinct in character, and as such generally localized, but
with merging and ill-defined boundaries, and with common
but differently employed riparian rights to the streams of
influence which flow through them all, the critic must be
a comparative philosopher in particular, if he would be
practically helpful.

His requirements do not stop here. Not alone must he
be true to himself, to his own abilities and attainments in
the choice of his subjects, and be true to the nature of the
subject itself in treating it, but he must be able to present
truth to others in a form suited to their understanding and
acceptance. In order to meet this requirement, it seems
well-nigh essential that he should have had a certain amount
of experience as a teacher of at least some of the principles
of the branch to which he has devoted himself.
, If our contention be justified, if the ideal critic in general,

PREFACE IX

and of art in particular, be one who is himself a creator of
artistic forms, with inborn ability cultivated by study and
practice; and be also a philosopher of analytic and synthetic
powers reinforced by wide knowledge of his subject; and
have had experience in the work of explaining and presenting
what he has to impart, we are in possession of a standard
by which to judge any particular critic under discussion.

We believe that George Lansing Raymond, the author of
the only complete system of art-interpretation that has
yet been produced in any country, — complete because of
its analytic and synthetic unity, treating its theme equally
in its historical and theoretical aspects, and applying identi-
cal principles to both subject-matter and form as used in
every one of the higher arts, — is a critic who conforms to
this standard in each of these regards, and with an unusual
degree of excellence in all of them. He won distinction as a
poet and orator in early life, and has constantly increased
his reputation since then. For poetry, he has chosen themes
that are fitted for poetic treatment, and presented them in
a style whose lucid artistry, by the aptness with which it
performs its function, not only enhances the thought but
acquires reflected value in its own assthetic character.
Some of his poems are dramatic in form, and in these as
well as in other slight, perhaps, but successful excursions
into regions demanding ability to interpret human nature
and to portray personal character, he has not been found
wanting, whether judged by the inferences of common sense,
or by the canons of criticism; while his essays, addresses,
and even technical treatises on aesthetics and various other
subjects which he has taught, all reveal, in their natural yet
original methods of presentation, the literary artist.

In more direct, though not more essential, relation to his
work as a critic, it may be claimed that Dr. Raymond has
eminently the mental habit of a philosopher. A reader of a
single book of his, or even a chapter, will be impressed by
the manner in which he resolves forms existent in art into
their essential elements, and from these reconstructs the
ideal forms; and a student who has examined his entire
system will realize, as never before, the interrelation of all
the arts and their common foundation on broad physical
and psychological principles, which may be harmonized in a
general aesthetic philosophy applicable to every branch of
the subject. As evidence of such a realization by readers of

X PREFACE

even single volumes, we quote from a review of "The
Representative Significance of Form," in The Scotsman
of Edinburgh: "Professor Raymond goes so deep into
causes as to explore the subconscious and the unconscious
mind for a solution of his problems, and eloquently to
range through the conceptions of religion, science, and
metaphysics in order to find fixed principles of taste."
And this, from a review of "The Genesis of Art-Form," in
the Philadelphia Press: "It is impossible to withhold
one's admiration from a treatise which exhibits in such a
rare degree the qualities of philosophic criticism." This
also from the Portland (Me.) Transcript's review of "Pro-
portion and Harmony": "It is scientific and mathe-
matical to the core without destroying the beauty of the
creations it analyzes. It is, above all, logical and methodi-
cal, maintaining its argument and carrying along from one
subject to another the deductions which have preceded."
And this from the Portland Oregonian, in speaking of
"Rhythm and Harmony": "The analysis is, at times, so
subtle as to be almost beyond the reach of words, but the
author's grasp of his subject nowhere slackens, and the
quiet flow of the style remains unclouded in expressing
even the most intricate phases of his argument." A re-
viewer in the New York Times tells us that: "In a spirit
at once scientific and that of the true artist, he pierces
through the manifestations of art to their sources, and
shows the relations, intimate and essential, between paint-
ing, sculpture, poetry, music, and architecture."

As a final qualification for the great work to which Pro-
fessor Raymond has devoted the larger part of his life may
be noted his experience as a student and his activities as a
teacher of the subjects. A personal appreciation appearing
in the New York Times in connection with a review of one
of his books contains the following: "We consider Pro-
fessor Raymond to possess something like an ideal equip-
ment for the line of work he has entered upon. His own
poetry is genuine and delicately constructed, his apprecia-
tions are true to high ideals, and his power of scientific
analysis is unquestionable." .... He "was known,
when a student at Williams, as a musician and a poet —
the latter because of taking, in his freshman year, a prize
in verse over the whole college. After graduating in this
country, he went through a course in aesthetics with Pro-

PREFACE a

fessor Vischer of the University of Tubingen, and also with
Professor Curtius at the time when that historian of Greece
was spending several hours a week with his pupils among
the marbles of the Berlin Museum. Subsequently, be-
lieving that all the arts are, primarily, developments of
different forms of expression through the tones and move-
ments of the body. Professor Raymond made a thorough
study, chiefly in Paris, of methods of cultivating and using
the voice in both singing and speaking, and of representing
thought and emotion through postures and gestures. It is
a result of these studies that he afterwards developed, first,
into his methods of teaching elocution and literature"
(as embodied in his Orator's Manual and The Writer) "and
later into his aesthetic system. ... A Princeton man has
said of him that he has as keen a sense for a false poetic
element as a bank expert for a counterfeit note; and a New
York model who posed for him, when preparing illustra-
tions for one of his books, said that he was the only man
that he had ever met who could invariably, without experi-
ment, tell him at once what posture to assimie in order to
represent any required sentiment."

In his early manhood, Professor Raymond taught oratory,
rhetoric, and English literature in his Alma Mater,
Williams College; and, in the fulness of his mental powers,
founded and, for many years, conducted the department of
Oratory and ^Esthetic Criticism at Princeton University.
In later life, he retired from the class-room, and, taking up
residence in Washington, lectured before the George
Washington University and various societies in that city
upon his system of aesthetic philosophy which by this time
he had completely developed. He is now a resident of Los
Angeles, where, in the congenial climate of the ** American
Italy," his mind is still actively engaged in recording in
book-form the thoughts which he has derived from a life
full of research, and rich in experience as a teacher and
writer. At present he is engaged on a work having to do
with ethics — a subject which he will undoubtedly approach
from the direction, among others, of aesthetics. This is a
view-point which sadly needs a sane and sincere exposition
after its gross mistreatment at the hands of Oscar Wilde and
others belonging, more or less, to the same school — a cult
which has brought a genuinely philosophical subject into
much popular disrepute.

zu

PREFACE

It must not be inferred from the foregoing that Dr.
Raymond has excluded from his former works consideration
of the bearing of art upon human conduct. On the con-
trary, his books are full of it. It is this that makes them so
vital, — so unlike all other works save Ruskin*s of the same
order. In the comparative assthetics, the soul as well as
the body of art is made the subject of interpretation at
every point.

This latter fact would furnish a sufficient reason, perhaps,
for the preparation of a collection of extracts as in the
present volume. But the book is not designed for those
interested exclusively in any one phase of art or its influence.
The thoroughness, and consequent comprehensiveness, of
Professor Raymond's discussions have placed a great deal
of what he has said practically beyond the reach of many
busy people who cannot take from other necessary occupa-
tions the time needed for studying his system as a whole.
The editor is convinced that readers of this kind, whether
artists, poets, art-lovers, critics, editors, teachers, or
preachers, will welcome an opportunity afforded them for
becoming acquainted, in a very few moments, with any one
of the more important of Professor Raymond's contribu-
tions to any phase of the general subject.

Similarly selected quotations from Professor Raymond's
poetical works have already been published in a book
entitled A Poet's Cabinet. To this, the present book,
giving extracts from his prose works, forms a companion,
the two cyclopedias supplying comprehensive mental and
spiritual co-ordinates whereby the reader may be enabled to
test not only the personality of the author but the com-
pleteness and applicability of his philosophy of art and life,
and may be guided and inspired by their suggestions.

Marion Mills Miller. '

The Authors Cluby New York.

ILLUSTRATIONS

I. The Author .... Frontispiece

From a photograph

The following have been selected from the many hundreds in Professor Raymond's
volumes on account, mainly, of the self-explanatory testimony which they all furnish to
the truth of one of the most important of his fundamental propositions. This is that the
primary and most universal endeavor of the imagination when influenced by the artistic
tendency is to form an image that is made to seem a unity by comparing and grouping
together effects that, when seen or heard, are recognized to be wholly or partially alike.

II. A Maori Festival, New Zealand .

III. Kaffir Station, Africa

IV. Type of an Assyrian Square
V. Poutou Temple, Ningpo, China .

VI. Taj Mahal, India ....

VII. St. Mark's, Venice, and St. Sophia, Constan
tinople ......

VIII. Cologne Cathedral ....

IX. St. Isaac's, Petrograd

X. Doorway of a Church in Jak, Hungary

XI. The Descent from the Cross, by Rubens

XII. The Death of Ananias, by Raphael

XIII. The Laocoon Group of Sculpture

FACING
PAGE

32

64

96

128

160

224
256
288

352

384

aou

An Art-Philosopher's Cabinet.

ACCENT (see also quantity, rhythm, tune, and verse).

Some may doubt whether (in poetry) accent is the basis of
rhythm and tune, but it is really about all that the majority
of men know of either. With exceptions, the fewness of
which confirms the rule, all of our English words of more
than one syllable must necessarily be accented in one way ;
and all of our articles, prepositions, and conjunctions of one
syllable are unaccented, unless the sense very plainly de-
mands a different treatment. These two facts enable us to
arrange any number of our words so that the accents shall
fall on syllables separated by like intervals. The tendency
to compare things, and to put like with like, which is in
constant operation where there are artistic possibilities,
leads men to take satisfaction in this kind of an arrange-
ment; and when they have made it, they have produced
rhythm.

A larger rhythm makes prominent as in prose, every
second or third accent; but metrical rhythm, i. e., metrey
regards every accent. When reading verse, the accents
seem to mark it off ; if marching, our feet would keep time
to them. Hence, as many syllables as can be grouped
about one syllable clearly accented, are termed a measure
or foot, — words synonymous as applied to English verse ;
though the classic measure sometimes contained two feet.
— Poetry as a Representative Art, ii.

^ESTHETICS, AS DEVELOPED IN PROFESSOR RAYMOND'S BOOKS.

{Recapitulation.) In the volumes following "Art in
Theory," the order of thought adopted in that book is
reversed. Having begun the discussion of the general
subject by observing forms as they have been produced by
art, and drawing inferences from them, ending with the
final inference that all are necessarily expressive of a certain

a "^ ^ AN Akt-?HILOSOPHER'S CABINET

sign^.ficanc-g, it ^ieerrre<l natural that the endeavor in sub-
sequent volumes to determine how art should fulfil the
requirements indicated in the introductory volume should
start with significance, and work outward, showing what
different conceptions it is possible to express in art, and how
these determine its form. In pursuing this line of thought,
the first thing to do, of course, was to examine the connec-
tion between significance and form in general. This sub-
ject was assigned to the volume of the series entitled **The
Representative Significance of Form." The next thing to
do was to examine the connection between significance and
the possible forms of each of the different arts in particular.
This was done in the volume entitled "Poetry as a Repre-
sentative Art"; also in that part of the volume entitled
**Rh5rthm and Harmony in Poetry and Music" which is
devoted to the discussion of ** Music as a Representative
Art," as well as in the volume entitled "Painting, Sculp-
ture, and Architecture as Representative Arts." Having
examined the methods of representing significance through
form in general, and in each class of forms in each different
art in particular, the next thing to do was to examine form
in itself — that is, as something which, though influenced by
significance, and in practice always connected with signifi-
cance, may, nevertheless, for the purposes of analytic study,
be considered as existing apart from anything else, and as
developing according to laws having to do mainly, if not
solely, with that which pertains to the appeal to the senses.
Here, in analogy to the course pursued when studying sig-
nificance, attention was directed first to the sources,
methods, and effects of form in general. This was done in
the volume entitled "The Genesis of Art-Form." Next,
what had been learned with reference to form in general was
applied to form as manifested in each of the arts. This was
done in the two concluding volumes of the series, " Rhythm
and Harmony in Poetry and Music," and "Proportion and
Harmony of Line and Color in Painting, Sculpture, and
Architecture." — Proportion and Harmony of Line and Color ^

XXVI.

ESTHETICS, AS INFLUENCING MANNERS.

What is the reason that a man of aesthetic culture is the
last to come into his home swearing like a cowboy, cocking
his hat over the vases on the mantelpiece, or forcing his
boots up into their society ? Because this sort of manner is

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 3

not to his taste. Why not? Because, for one reason, he
has learned the value of little matters of appearance; and
for any man to learn of them in one department is to learn
of them in all departments. — Essay on Art and Education,

.ESTHETICS, AS INFLUENCING SCIENCE AND RELIGION {seC dlso

mention of the first under art, religion, awe? science).

Esthetic studies, among which one may include anything
that has to do with elocution, poetry, music, drawing, paint-
ing, modeling, building, or furnishing, whether we consider
their influence upon the artist or upon the patron of art,
are needed, in order to connect and complete the results of
education as developed through science alone or through
religion alone. These studies can do for our minds what
science cannot, crowning its work with the halo of imagina-
tion and lighting its path to discovery. They can do for
us what religion cannot, grounding its conceptions upon
accuracy of observation and keeping them true to facts.
Art unites the separated intellectual influences of the two
other spheres. It can not only hold the mirror up to nature,
but it can make all nature a mirror, and hold it up to the
heavens. In times of intellectual and spiritual storm and
stress, when night is above and waves below and winds
behind and breakers ahead, the voice of art can sometimes
speak peace to conflicting elements, and bring a great calm;
and then, in the blue at our feet, we can see not only a little
of the beauty of a little of the surface of the little star in
which we live, but something also of the grandeur of all the
stars of all the universe. — Idem.

.ESTHETICS, MEANING OF.

The word (Esthetics is traceable to a work termed **iEs-
thetica, "publishedin Germany in 1750, by A. G. Baumgarten.
The word was derived from the Greek a?a0Y)Ttx6<; meaning
*' fitted to be perceived," and is now used to designate that
which is fitted to the requirements of what philosophers
term perception; in other words, fitted to accord with the
laws, whether of physiology or psychology, which make
effects appealing to the mind through the organs of per-
ception— i. e., through the senses — satisfactory, agreeable,
and, as we say, beautiful. If such effects need to be ** fitted '*
to be perceived, they, of course, need to be made to differ
from the condition in which they are presented in nature.
That which causes them to differ from this is art. Esthetics

4 AN ART-PHILOSOPHER'S CABINET

is the science of the beautiful as exempHfied in art. The
latter has to do with the processes through which a sight or
a sound may be "fitted to be perceived"; the former, with
the effects after it has been put through these processes.
One cannot be artistic without being able to design and
produce ; he may be cBsthetic, when able merely to appreciate
and enjoy the results of design and production. The
German term for the science, which some have tried to
introduce into English, is (Esthetic. But this term, except
when employed as an adjective, seems to be out of analogy
with English usage. According to it, the singular end-
ing ic, as in logic and music, commonly designates some single
department in which the methods of the science produce
similar results. The plural ending ics, as in mathematics,
physics, mechanics, and ethics, commonly designates a group
of various departments, in which similar methods produce
greatly varying results. The many different departments
both of sight and of sound in which can be applied the
principles underlying effects that can be "fitted to be per-
ceived, " seem to render it appropriate and important that in
English the science treating of them should be termed
(Esthetics. — Essentials of Esthetics, Preliminary Note.

ESTHETICS vs. UTILITY {sCC also ART EXPRESSING THOUGHT).

Of course, in certain respects, these (aesthetic) arts may
be as useful as any that are termed useful: but the utility
in them is always such as produces not a material but a
mental result, and even no mental result except indirectly
through an effect upon the senses. — Art in Theory, ii.

ALTERNATION AS RELATED TO PROPORTION.

The pillars alternate with the spaces between the pillars.
In such cases, if all the pillars, as compared with one another
and not with the spaces between them, are of like apparent
dimensions, and also all the spaces, as compared with one
another and not with the pillars, then it is not necessary
that the ratio between the dimensions of the pillars and
the dimension of the spaces should be easily recognized. . . .
Whatever may be the ratio, the mind will take in at a glance
the fact that one pillar is to the space next to it as a second
pillar is to a second space. In Cologne Cathedral towers, it
is important that the storeys, as they have been termed,
should seem — though gradually diminished in order to
Increase the apparent height — of like height, and that the

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 5

same should seem to be the case with the cornices or mould-
ings separating these storeys; but it is less important that
the exact ratio between the height of the storeys and the
height of the mouldings should be recognized. In all these
cases, too, it is important, that, while the alternating
measurements seem alike, the intervening ones should seem
sufficiently unlike the others not to confuse the mind by
suggesting likeness where it is not intended to be suggested.
— Proportion and Harmony of Line and Color , x.

ANALOGY, ARGUMENT FROM.

An argument from analogy is always derived from a few
forms that are representative, on the one hand, of a whole
series of forms, and are representative, on the other hand,
of a certain mental significance that is expressible through
forms alone, and is actually expressed through the particular
forms thus used. — The Representative Significance of Fornix

XII.

ANALOGY IN ART {see olso ART, THE CONNECTING LINK).

How now is it with art? Its conceptions have been said
to partake of the nature partly of those of religion and
partly of those of science. They must, therefore, be partly
indefinite and partly definite; and their expression, there-
fore, must partake of the nature partly of suggestion and
partly of formulation. An indefinite suggestion is imparted
through definite formulation according to the method not
of logic, but of analogy; and a formulation of that which
cannot be definitely communicated, but only indefinitely
suggested, cannot be said to be presented, but only rep-
resented. These are the reasons for maintaining, as will be
done in this chapter, that an artistic conception tends to
expression through analogical representation. — Idem, xi.

The fact that the conceptions of art, as distinguished
from those of religion and of science, cannot communicate
significance except through the use of analogically represen-
tative forms, involves a limitation, which, like all limita-
tions, is, in one sense, a source of weakness. But, in another
sense, it is a source of strength, and a source of this in the
exact degree in which its limitations are clearly recognized
and no effort is made to overstep them. What but a
consciousness of these limitations has caused all our great
artists, when desiring to make their presentations of truth
accord with the degree of knowledge or the phase of thought

6 AN ART-PHILOSOPHERS CABINET

of their own period or country, to content themselves, in
place of discussing and explaining conditions, with merely-
describing their appearances? But notice that it is precisely
because they have contented themselves with this, that
progress in knowledge and thought, which is constantly
rendering obsolete the results presented in science and
philosophy, and even systems of religion, does not interfere
with the enduring influence of works of art. In these works,
certain appearances of material or human nature have been
selected for reproduction. Through unique combinations
of these, the significance behind them has been brought out
more uniquely, yet the inferences which are drawn from
them, so far as art is strictly and solely representative, can
be drawn with as little arbitrary bias as from nature itself.
Art of this character can appeal to the intelligence and the
sympathy of all audiences of all periods. Its significance can
be perceived and felt wherever men have eyes or ears, for
its products continue always to be what they were when first
conceived — faithful images of the real life by which human-
ity is constantly surrounded. — Idem, xii.

ANALOGY, WHAT IT IS AND HOW USED.

Imagination is accustomed to jump the steps of logic.
Yet often, as we have found, through subconscious intel-
lection, it reaches exactly the same conclusions as are
reached by investigation. How does imagination do this?
Through arguing not logically but analogically. The term
analogy is derived from two Greek words, aya, signifying
thereon, and Xdyoq, signifying a word. The conception
underlying the term, therefore, seems to be that a natural
appearance, i. e., a form to which the term is applied, has the
effect of a word; — that it is a part of that whole of nature
which is frequently called the "unwritten word." More-
over, analogy implies, beyond this, that some one natural
appearance or form has been compared with at least one
other, which is found to furnish a word thereon, or a word in
addition, so that the two or more appearances taken together
can be considered as words of the same meaning or sig-
nificance. It is an argument from an analogy between not
two but many — in fact, as many as possible — different
appearances, that causes the conception of the unity of
nature. — Idem, xii.

A work of art completes our ideal of that which should

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 7

characterize an image of nature, in the degree only in which
it is a word in addition, in the sense of being something that
both suggests nature in appearance and, at the same time,
exempHfies the laws that operate in nature. We term the
work one of creative imagination mainly because, in both
form and significance, in the way in which it appeals to
both the physical senses and to the whole mind, it seems
to be a continuation of the work of creation. — Ideniy xii.

ANGLO-SAXON WORDS, WHY POETIC {see WORDS, FOREIGN).

The principles just unfolded are closely related — in
connection, however, with one or two other considerations —
to that preference which almost all English poets exhibit for
words of native or Anglo-Saxon origin. . . . The words of
Anglo-Saxon origin include most of those used in our youth,
in connection with which, owing to long familiarity with
them, we have the most definite possible associations.
Whenever we hear these words, therefore, they seem pre-
eminently representative.

Then, too, we hear in the Anglo-Saxon derivatives, to a
greater extent than in the foreign, the sounds which, when
originally uttered, were meant to be significant of their
sense. In fact, almost all the words instanced in another
place as having sounds of this kind were Anglo-Saxon. On
the contrary, almost all our words derived from the Latin
through the French have suffered a radical change in sound,
both in the French language and in our own. Therefore
their sounds, if ever significant of their meanings, can
scarcely be expected to be so now.

Again, we know, as a rule, the history of our Anglo-
Saxon terms, inasmuch as we still use them in their differ-
ent meanings and applications, as developed by association
and comparison. But foreign words are usually imported
into our language in order to designate some single definite
conception, and often one very different from that which
they designated originally. All of us, for instance, can see
the different meanings of a word like way or fair and the
connections between them; but to most of us words like
dunce and pagans, from the Latin Duns and pagani, have
only the effects of arbitrary symbols.

One other reason applies to compound words. If the
different terms put together in these exist and are in pres-
ent use in our own language, as is the case with most of our

8 AN ART-PHILOSOPHERS CABINET

native compounds, then each part of the compound con-
veys a distinct idea of its separate meaning; so that we
clearly perceive in the word its different factors. For in-
stance, the terms uprightness, overlook, underwriter, under-
standing, pastime, all summon before the mind both of
the ideas which together make up the word. We recognize,
at once, whatever comparison or picture it represents. In
compound words of entirely foreign origin, on the contrary,
it is almost invariably the case that, at least, one of the
factors does not exist at present in our own tongue. In-
tegrity meant a picture to the Roman. But none of us use
the word from which its chief factor is derived. So we fail
to see the picture. Nor do we use either factor of the words
depravity, defer, retire. — Poetry as a Representative Art, xvii.

ARCHITECTURE (see mention of it under comparison, com-
position, PROPORTION, and representation),

ARCHITECTURE AND MUSIC, WHY BUT SLIGHTLY IMITATIVE.

The musician constructs an entire symphony from a single
significant series of tones, and the architect constructs an
entire building from a significant series of outlines. At
the same time, there is, in both arts, an occasional return
to nature for the purpose of incorporating, if not imitating,
in the product some new expression of significance. But
the fact that they are both developed from this sustained
and subjective method of giving expression to a first sugges-
tion, makes such a return to nature much less frequent in
them than in the other arts. — Painting, Sculpture, and
Architecture as Representative Arts, xvii.

One more point of similarity between music and archi-
tecture ought, perhaps, to be mentioned. It is this, that
while, as among very young children, for instance, the in-
articulated tones that develop into music antedate the
articulated words that develop into poetry, the artistic
forms of music, as in melody and harmony, are developed
much later than those of poetry. In the same way, too,
while the building of huts that develops into architecture
antedates the drawing, coloring, and carving that develop
into painting and sculpture, the artistic forms of architec-
ture, as in ornamental columns, pediments, and spires, are
developed later than painting and sculpture of, at least,
sufficient excellence to merit recognition. Of course, the
human being is obliged at a very early stage in his history

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 9

to provide means of shelter. But he is not influenced to
construct that which he erects in such a way as to give
expression to his thoughts and emotions, which is essential
for an artistic motive, as early as he is influenced to draw
pictures for the same purpose. A boy, or a boylike savage,
using a pencil or knife, will enjoy expressing his thoughts
and emotions by way of imitation for its own sake, long
before he will enjoy doing the same for the sake of ornament-
ing what would be just as useful without ornamentation.
In the former case, his mind begins by being at play; in
the latter, by being at work ; and his first desire always is
to be rid of work. — Idem, xvii.

ARCHITECTURE, ARTISTIC, DEVELOPED FROM USEFUL CON-
STRUCTION [see also ornament).
Using as a theme a few notes representing a mood of mind
as indicated by a song of nature, the musician goes on to
compose a whole symphony to correspond with them. So,
from a few outlines of windows, doors, or roofs, the archi-
tect goes on to construct a whole building to correspond with
these. This method he applies not only to the development
of new forms, but to the ornamentation of old forms. In
doing this, he merely carries out a principle exemplified in
the action of the human mind in any like relation. For
instance, a man, for practical purposes, produces a piece of
woven cloth or something made through the use of it. That
the cloth may not ravel at its edge, a section of it is pur-
posely unraveled there, or a hem is made here, or, if two
pieces of cloth be used, a seam is produced where the two
are joined. After a little, according to a law which the mind
always follows, the imagination begins to experiment with
these necessary contrivances, and then the unraveled edge,
the hem, the seam, each respectively, becomes a fringe, a
border, or a stripe; i. e., each is developed into one of the
well-known ornamental resources of the art of the tailor
or the upholsterer. It is the same in architecture. When
the imagination begins to play with the underpinnings of
buildings, or with the means of approaching and entering
them, it gives us foundations, steps, or porches ; when with
the parts upholding the roof, it gives us pillars, pilasters, or
buttresses; and when with the upper or lower parts of
openings, it gives us caps, or sills, of doors or windows ; when
with the roof and its immediate supports, it gives entabla-

10 AN ART-PHILOSOPHER'S CABINET

tures, eves, gables, domes, or spires. All these features,
moreover, are representative. If the foundations be appar-
ent and large, they indicate support and sufficient support.
If the steps or entrances be broad, they indicate accommoda-
tions on the inside for a multitude. If the windows be high
or wide, they indicate a high or wide room on the inside.
In thoroughly successful architecture, the walls are es-
pecially transparent, as it were, revealing the internal ar-
rangements. Horizontal mouldings or string-courses show
where the floors are, and vertical buttresses or pilasters,
where are the partitions. Roofs, when artistic, are visible.
In public buildings, at least, they should indicate the shapes
of the ceilings under them. A dome is out of place unless it
span a vast space; and towers and spires are inexcusable
unless they be adaptations of features that are useful. —
Essentials of Esthetics, vii.

ARCHITECTURE, COLD AND WARM COLOR IN (see COLOR.)

As applied to architecture, it is evident that, aside from
the effects of form, which in certain cases may entirely
counterbalance those of color, the colder the color, the more
massive, as a rule, will appear not only the building itself
but also the grounds about it; the effect of the cold color
being to make the house and its parts seem at a greater
distance from the observer, and, therefore, greater in size
than it would be at the supposed distance. Hence, another
reason for using cold colors in grand buildings. The same
principle applies to the painting and the papering of an
interior. The warm colors cause an apartment to seem
smaller and more cozy, and the cold colors exactly the
opposite. The latter on the walls, therefore, not only for
the reason suggested on page 204, but because of these
uncozy effects, are objectionable. But for ceilings, es-
pecially of public halls and churches, blue at least is rightly
popular. Thus used it suggests largeness and elevation, as
in the sky which it seems to resemble; and it also furnishes,
as a rule, an agreeable contrast to the warmer colors appro-
priate for the walls. — Painting, Sculpture, and Architecture
as Representative Arts, xi.

ARCHITECTURE DEVELOPED FROM ORDINARY BUILDING.

The earliest human dwellings are supposed to have been
caves, or very rudely constructed huts. According to the
views presented in " Art in Theory," so long as men expended

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS li

no thought or emotion upon these beyond that needed in
order to secure an end of utility there was no art of archi-
tecture. But it is impossible to conceive that the human
mind would not begin very soon, in this department as in
all others, to pay some attention to aesthetic ends. . . .
The earliest traces of architecture indicate endeavors to
make pictures — of course, as the material used was stone,
to make sculptured pictures — out of that which was being
constructed. Fig. . . . for instance, represents one of the
earliest attempts at architecture, that has been discovered
in Asia Minor. Looking at it, one would suppose that it was
a cave, in front of which a framework of wood had been
erected. Not at all. . . . These apparently wooden col-
umns and beams have been carved out of the native stone
of the cave. Why has this been done? Can any one doubt
the reason of it? Can any one fail to perceive in them the
influence of a picturesque and statuesque motive? Can
even those who prophesied so confidently that the theory
of this series of essays was sure to break down when it
came to be applied to architecture, be so dull as not to see
that this wellnigh earliest architecture of which we know
was distinctively representative? Observe, too, that it
was representative of both mental conceptions and material
appearances. No one looking at the entrance of the one
cave, or the interior of the other, could fail to recognize
both that a man had been at work upon it, and also that
he had been at work for the purpose of reproducing that
which he had seen elsewhere. It would represent the man,
because one would know that the person who had planned
the carving had been accustomed to wooden constructions,
and it would represent his thought or feeling with refer-
ence to these, because it would show his appreciation and
admiration of certain of their effects. Otherwise he would
never have tried to reproduce similar effects through the
use of material infinitely harder to shape. — Paintings
Sculpture, and Architecture as Representative Arts, xvil.

ARCHITECTURE DIFFERENT FROM ORDINARY BUILDING.

While no one confounds poetry, painting, or sculpture
with the early inartistic form of expression from which it
is developed, there are many who suppose that everything
used for the purpose of shelter, even the rudest hut of the
savage, is an exemplification of architecture. But one

12 AN ART-PHILOSOPHERS CABINET

might as well suppose everything of the nature of language
to be an exemplification of poetry. It has a relation to
poetry. It contains the germs from which the art grows;
but this is all. So with the hut of the savage, and with
many constructions more pretentious. An ordinary wood-
shed has no more to do with architecture than the cry of
our nursery, the talk of our kitchen, the sign of our barber,
or the rock of our curbstone has to do with the respective
art to which it seems allied, whether music, poetry, painting,
or sculpture. — Idem, xx.

ARCHITECTURE, EXPRESSION IN.

Underlying architecture too, there are subjective modes
of expression. There are the ideas, for instance, of support
and shelter; and these ideas it is by no means impossible
or unusual to represent by gesture. Moreover, in all the
other arts too there are objective products intervening be-
tween the subjective and the artistic forms. Artificial
resonant sounds, spoken and written language, hieroglyphic
drawings and carvings are conditions that antedate music,
poetry, painting, or sculpture, no less than house building
antedates architecture. House building, moreover, accord-
ing to the principles that have been unfolded, is no less
truly a form of natural expression than these others are.
It springs from the nature of the primitive man, precisely
as nest-building or dam-building from the nature of the
bird or the beaver.

That architecture does not reproduce the forms of nature
in as strict a sense as do poetry, painting, and sculpture
is true; yet, as we shall find hereafter, its products are
modeled upon these forms in as strict a sense as is the case
in music. This art, like it, is evolved from the unfolding
of the principles underlying nature's methods of formation
even more than from a reproduction of its actual forms.
And yet architecture does reproduce these latter. The
portico of the Greek temple is acknowledged to be nothing
more than an elaboration in stone, for the sake merely of
elaborating its possibilities of beauty, of the rude wooden
building with a roof supported by posts, which was used
by the primitive man in his natural state. A Chinese or
Japanese temple or palace, with its many separate small
structures, each covered by a roof sagging downward from
the apex before moving upward again at the eaves, is

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 13

nothing more than an elaboration in wood, for the sake of
elaborating the possibilities of beauty in it, of the rude tent
used by the nomadic ancestors of these people in their
primitive natural states. That Gothic columns and arches
are merely imitative elaborations, for the same reason, of
the methods and manners of support suggested by arrange-
ments of rows of tree- trunks and their branches, has been
strenuously denied and even ridiculed. But the fact re-
mains that an avenue of trees with bending branches in-
variably suggests the effect of a Gothic cathedral. If so,
why could it not have suggested the conception of a Gothic
cathedraltothearchitect who first planned one? . . . There
is nothing in the art itself necessarily removing it from a
sphere identical with that of painting and sculpture. Its
products, it is true, must fulfil the purely technical prin-
ciples of mechanical contrivance. But so must works of
music fulfil the principles of harmony, to say nothing of
the technique of execution. So must works of poetry or
painting or sculpture fulfil the principles of grammar,
rhythm, rhyme, color, or proportion. But in all these
arts equally the fulfilment of such laws is only a means to
an end. That end is the distinctively human satisfaction
derived from elaborating forms in excess of that which is
demanded in order to meet the exigencies of material utiHty ,
elaborating them simply because they are felt to be attrac-
tive and beautiful in themselves. — Art in Theory, viii.

ARCHITECTURE, EXPRESSIVE OF CHARACTER {see alsO ARCHI-
TECTURE REPRESENTATIVE, MORALITY AS INFLUENCED
BY ARCHITECTURE, and SKYSCRAPERS).

Is it too much to say that subtle analysis may occasionally
find reason to suspect that it is the lack of the good and
the true in American manhood, that causes the lack of the
beautiful in the American city street or college campus?
Is it this lack in character that destroys the symmetry
of adjoining buildings by throwing the cornice of the last
comer just enough above that of its fellows to produce
the effect — and for a similar reason — of the feather that
stands straighter and higher than any surrounding it, in
the head-gear of the uncivilized Indian? And then, be-
sides the outHnes, think for a moment of the inharmony
of the colors! — sometimes of the paint, sometimes of the
brick and stone, imported too, at great expense from distant

14 AN ART-PHILOSOPHERS CABINET

places, to afford another opportunity for the snob*s exhibi-
tion of himself ! The whole method of procedure is as fatal
to the requirements of sound sesthetics as of neighborly
courtesy. — The Representative Significance of Form, xxiv.

ARCHITECTURE, FRAUD IN (see also ORNAMENT).

Is it not about time that mansard roofs and wooden
cornices, which are no real roofs or cornices at all, with
their various mouldings almost as light as if intentionally
curled into shavings, should be committed to the flames,
once and forever? This is said not merely because they
are frauds, but because they are — what in art is worse —
palpable frauds, frauds clearly seen to afford no legitimate
conclusion whatever to a wall of stone, — donkey's ears
protruding where they are clearly seen to have no connec-
tion with the body under them. — Idem,

A more radical and, for this reason, thorough way of
correcting the error would be to avoid all deceit, and, in
accordance with the method in art sometimes termed sin-
cerity {see page 407) , to arrange the materials in such ways
that the apparent support would be the real support. In
an age of iron, why should not the iron be shown, and al-
lowed to reveal its genuine character? If a roof be really
supported by steel girders, why should not the steel be
visible? A ceiling of wood, revealing its natural colors
and grainings, resting on beams of polished or nickel-
plated steel, might be made to have effects, both as regards
material and color, in the highest sense chaste and beautiful.
The metal might even be ornamented and as legitimately
too as if it were bronze. — Painting, Sculpture, and Archi-
tecture as Representative Arts, xviii.

ARCHITECTURE INFLUENCED BY A ONE-SIDED THEORY.

Fifteen years ago everybody in Boston was talking about
"sincerity" in art. As applied to building a house, this
meant that every respective bath-room, or closet, or stair-
case should be indicated on the exterior by a significantly
constructed window, or blank space, or protuberance, — a
thoroughly sound principle so far as it was applicable.
But with the narrowness and the lack, in a distinctive sense,
of comprehension characterizing the artistic notions of our
country, the principle was applied to everything — to every
exterior effect, for instance, without any regard to any
requirements of proportion or harmony. There followed

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 15

those developments of the "Queen Anne" style, which
even the unbalanced conceptions of American criticism had
sense enough to nickname "Bloody Mary" and "Crazy
Jane." Probably, however, even these were an advance
upon the method pursued in the construction of the old
Douglas Park University of Chicago, a huge Gothic build-
ing, the exterior of which is said to have been actually
completed before any attempt had been made to decide
upon the rooms or halls to be placed in the interior. Why
should this not have been the case? In those days, when
men wanted a meat market or a prison, they put up indis-
criminately what was supposed to resemble either a Gothic
cathedral or a Greek temple. There is no necessity of
stopping to argue how far all buildings manifesting so
partial a regard for the requirements of art rank below one
in which the claims of both significance and form have
been given due weight, whether it be a private house or a
public hall, a villa on the Rhine or a cathedral at Cologne. —
Rhythm and Harmony in Poetry and Music; Introduction
to Music as a Representative Art.

The one thing which can enable an architect to produce
that which, so long as it survives, may have a right to
claim attention as, in its own style, a model, is this, — to
bear in mind the double character of all artistic effects.
Depending partly upon outward form, which mainly re-
quires a practice of the method pursued in classic art, and
partly upon the thought or design embodied in the form,
which mainly requires a practice of the method pursued
in romantic art, these artistic effects appeal partly to the
outward senses and partly to the inward mind; and only
when they appeal to both are the highest possibilities of
any art realized. — Art in Theory^ iii.

ARCHITECTURE INFLUENCED BY FORMS IN NATURE.

The simple truth seems to be that the changes from the
style of building determined by the use of the horizontal
line, the circular arch, and the pointed arch, were not
caused merely by the necessities of construction, . . . but
also by the appearances of similar forms in nature. The
exact effect given to the nave of a Gothic cathedral cannot
be attributable merely to a development of methods of
construction, nor to an imitation of cheaper buildings. It
is of the same character as that which has been shown to

j6 AN ART-PHILOSOPHER'S CABINET

be true of any representation of natural objects when first
attempted. We merely associate the nave with the natural
appearances which it only suggests. — Paintings Sculpture,
and Architecture as Representative Arts, xxi.

One of the most charming features in connection with the
castles on the Rhine, for instance, is their apparent cor-
respondence— always in the nature and color of the building-
material, and sometimes in outline — to the demands of the
surrounding scenery. Art seems in them to have simply
carried out the suggestions of nature. Indeed, had we time
for it, it would be interesting to study the extent to which
such suggestions have influenced those who have originated
different styles of architecture. On the borders of the Nile,
where the eye must see constantly the low and seldom un-
dulating lines of the horizon giving way to the clean-cut
limits of an almost cloudless sky, where man learns of multi-
formity mainly through the squarely shaped limbs of the
cactus and the palm, the proudest achievement of Egyptian
architecture seems to have been to chisel angular outlines
like those of the pyramids, and to embody an ideal of sym-
metry in the stiff smile of the sphynx. But just across the
sea, amid the same clearness of atmosphere, yet surrounded
by a more generous guise of objects on the earth, that heave
heavenward through grand hills and bend genially down
amid the shadows of mysterious groves, have been reared
the no less distinctly outlined but far more varied and
symmetrical column and capital of the Grecian temple.
Beyond this land again, amid the vapory climate of the
north, where on either side the high horizon reaches up in
outlines indistinct, that blend with mountains existing
often only in the clouds, the child of storm and fog has
drawn the hazy lines that sprout and branch out into pin-
nacle and spire above the spirit whose ideal of architecture
seems complete alone when he is gazing upward toward
his lofty Gothic arch and finial. To-day, in our own land,
with the experience and the models of the past to guide us,
we may take our choice of any of these styles; and we can
learn much from the study of them. But while we study
them with care let us be sure that we are paying equal heed
to the promptings of nature without us and within us. Let
us be sure that we are not sometimes producing forms that
are foreign to our own surroundings and demands, and are
thus untrue to one of the first principles of the art in fulfil-

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 17

ment of which they are supposed to be constructed. — The
Representative Significance of Fornix xxiv.

Not without reason, certain critics insist that in choosing
the material for the construction of a building, preference
should be given to that which is natural to the district in
which the building is to stand. They say, for instance, that
in red sandstone districts it should be built of red sandstone ;
in a gray granite district, of gray granite; or in forests in-
tended to be left in a rustic state, of logs left in a rustic
state. The idea is that a building thus constructed will
appear to be a part of the surrounding landscape, harmon-
izing with it in color, and, upon a nearer inspection, in
material also. There is undoubtedly much in this, as
applied to a country residence. But, evidently, all the
truth that is in it, is there because it involves one more
way of making architecture represent nature. — Paint-
ingj Sculpture, and Architecture as Representative Arts,

XXI.

ARCHITECTURE INFLUENCED BY FORMS OF ART.

When our race, with no models to direct them, first began
to build houses and temples, the external forms of each were
determined by the design for which it was constructed, —
a design suggested, as reflection will show that it must
have been, by the modes of attaining in nature ends like
those of support, protection, and shelter. This being the
case, the desire to attain these ends was evident to every
one who saw the building; in other words, the building's
effects were artistic in the sense of being genuinely repre-
sentative of the design of the builder.

In process of time, however, after many such structures
had been erected, and some of them had come to be espe-
cially admired for their appearance, a class of artists arose
more intent to imitate this appearance than the methods
in accordance with which the older architects had designed
the buildings and caused them to appear as they did. As
a consequence, there came to be no apparent connection
between the outward form of a building and that for which
it was designed; — in other words, architecture ceased to
be representative, in the sense in which the word has been
used in this chapter. But besides this, after the arts of
painting and sculpture had been developed, architects began
to manifest a tendency to imitate the methods, if not the

1« AN ART-PHILOSOPHERS CABINET

appearances, employed in these oxis.— The Representative
Significance of Form, xxvii.

Fergusson ascribes inferiority to modern architecture as
contrasted with mediaeval, — though he does not employ
these words, — because of the prevailing tendency in this
art to derive its methods from painting and sculpture rather
than from the natural promptings and requirements of
architecture itself. This tendency often causes the builder
to be entirely satisfied with an "elevation" that merely
makes a satisfactory picture when drawn on paper. But,
as will be shown in the volume of this series entitled " Pro-
portion and Harmony of Line and Color," the requirements
of perspective often prevent the parts of a building, which,
when so drawn, seem to fulfil the principles of proportion
from fulfilling them when put into the building itself.
Besides this, the tendency leads to other forms of confusion
between the kinds of conceptions appropriate for producing
effects in this art and of conceptions that find legitimate
expression in the other arts only. One element of success-
ful architecture undoubtedly is the mere external appear-
ance of a building. And yet, if this alone be regarded, is it
not evident that the building, according as it is constructed
with exclusive reference to its position or proportions, will
be the embodiment of a motive less legitimate distinctively
to architecture than to landscape-gardening, painting, or
sculpture? And is it not because of this confusion of
motives that we find in our modern buildings — in their cor-
nices, roofs, windows, and walls — so much that is false,
in other words, so much that is merely on the outside, put
there to look well, not to fulfil or to give embodiment to
any such significance as it is the peculiar function of archi-
tecture to represent? This is not to say that, in this art,
the external form should violate the laws of proportion or
harmony; but it is to say that these latter should be made
subordinate to the general design, that they should cause
the outlines to be so disposed as to indicate this design,
and not, as is true in too many cases, to conceal it. — Idem,
xxvii.

ARCHITECTURE, MODERN, CAN BE ORIGINAL {see dlsO ORIGI-
NALITY IN architecture).
It is often urged that, in our age and country, no new
style of architecture can be originated. With reference

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 19

to this, something has been said already on page 95 of " Art
in Theory," on pages 206 and 293 of " The Genesis of Art-
Form," on pages 330 and 406 of " Painting, Sculpture, and
Architecture as Representative Arts," and on page 227 of
the present volume. It may be said here that probably we
can find no other ways of bridging openings made for doors
and windows than those which have been in vogue for cen-
turies, and which have already determined the chief char-
acteristics of the Greek, Romanesque, and Gothic styles,
namely, the horizontal lintel, the round arch, and the pointed
arch, and that probably also the necessity of securing
correspondence in architecture must continue to cause all
other outlines in our buildings to resemble these. Yet
while this is true, it must also be true that in every period
in which there is progress, progress is possible in art.

Our own age has made an advance upon all preceding
ones in two regards which should have, and already have
had, some influence upon our architecture. These are the
development of our mineral resources and of the faciUties
of transportation. The one has converted iron, together
with various combinations and modifications of it, into a
building material, and the other has lined our streets with
structures of stone and brick exhibiting every variety of
color. One can scarcely beheve otherwise than that if one
half of the thought expended on the Parthenon were ex-
pended upon incorporating the suggestions and possibilities
derived from these two facts, we might originate an archi-
tectural style of our own which would become as classic and
deserve to be as much admired as that of the Greeks. Iron
used for the walls of buildings is inartistic. It looks like
an imitation of stone produced by wood and paint, while
it is standing; and it cracks, curls, melts, and ceases to
stand as soon as a fire of any magnitude begins to heat it.
But, used for roofs, it is more in place ; and, where so used,
the most economical and convenient shape that can be
chosen for it is often the most beautiful. A correspondence
between its arching forms and like forms in the stone- or
brick- work underneath it, might give rise to a style equally
novel and attractive.

See what is said on page 330 of " Painting, Sculpture,
and Architecture as Representative Arts," with reference to
methods of letting iron be seen in ceilings. Besides this,
iron can span immense spaces, and this fact renders the

20 AN ART-PHILOSOPHERS CABINET

columns characterizing the Gothic, and to some extent, the
Greek structures as much out of the way architecturally
in some of our modern buildings, as, with our modern uses,
they are in the way optically. Large interiors, however,
containing few or no columns, necessitate very artistic
treatment of the wall-spaces. Otherwise, everything
seems too airy and cold. Arrangements of mouldings and
spaces can do something toward preventing such effects,
but careful attention to the requirements of decorative
art can do more. Nor in such cases should efforts be con-
fined merely to painting. Decorative color, to be perma-
nent, should be resident in the material used; and here, in
treating both exterior and interior walls, architects might
avail themselves of our modern facilities for transportation.
Pictures have been made of mosaics, but few great build-
ings have been constructed on the principle of using differ-
ently colored bricks and stones and harmonizing them
according to the principles of decorative painting.

Probably an architect who should undertake to erect
such a building would be considered audacious; and, unless
the materials and colors were judiciously chosen — not
too brilliant or diversified — and were arranged in strict
fulfilment of the principle that like classes of forms should
be characterized by like classes of substances and hues, and
were grouped in masses large enough to give dignity to the
effect — probably the result would prove this opinion to be
correct. Yet a great genius might produce something
with a beauty as unique and successful as was the earliest
Gothic church in its day, and surpassing the beauty of
most of our buildings as much as the frescoed interiors of
the present New York merchants* houses surpass the white-
washed walls of their Knickerbocker ancestors. Color is
certainly an element of beauty. Why should it not be
recognized as such in architecture? Even the Greeks
acknowledged the fact. It is known now that the marble
of the Parthenon, unsurpassed as it is in its capabilities
for receiving polish, was painted. But the painting has
perished. IJsed on exteriors, it always does perish. Can
no imperishable colors be used thus? They can. In a coun-
try where brick and stone of all possible compositions and
colors can be collected from all quarters at comparatively
slight expense, one can imagine churches, halls, streets,
entire cities, wholly different in hue and general appearance

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 21

from any that have ever existed, built of material destined
to remain unchanged as long as the pyramids, and, for a
longer time, to continue to be models. — Proportion and
Harmony oj Line and Color, xxv.

ARCHITECTURE, REPRESENTATIVE {see mention cf architec-
ture under representation and representative).
In the age in which the Greek temples were constructed,
other artists believed — and why not the architect? — that
a man should study upon a product, if he intended to have
it remain a model for all the future. Is it not natural to
suppose that in such an age the structural arrangements
intended to counteract optical defects, or to produce optical
illusions, or, as some think, to produce, in connection with
these, effects of variety or of vagueness in Hne or outHne,
were largely the results of the individual experiments of
individual builders? If not such results, why were they
invariably different in different buildings? But if they
were such, the predominating motive in the mind of the
artist was not to imitate any particular form that he had
seen before, so much as to represent its general effect.
Thus, from the beginning of architecture in which we see
the builder taking suggestions from primitive huts or from
the trunks and branches of trees in nature, to the highest
stage of its development, where we see him taking sugges-
tions from the works of previous architects, we find him,
in the degree in which he is a great artist, representing
rather than imitating. — Essentials of ^Esthetics, vi.

ARCHITECTURE, REPRESENTATIVE OF THOUGHT.

A building, in just as true a sense as a poem, a symphony,
a picture, or a statue, is the embodied expression of an
idea. In architecture, this idea is a plan. It is sown, so
to speak, in a particular locality; and there straightway
it springs into walls, branches into wings, leaves into doors
and windows, flowers into capstones and roofs, and some-
times filaments into spires. — The Representative Significance
of Form, xxiv.

If the internal arrangements are to determine the external
ones, as must evidently be the case in all logical construc-
tion, then, in the degree in which this principle is carried
out artistically, i, e., in such a way as to be made apparent
in the form, that which is on the inside must be represented
on the outside. In other words, a building to be made

22 AN ART-PHILOSOPHER'S CABINET

expressive of the thought, which, in this case, would mean
the design of the artist, must have an external appearance
which manifests the internal plan. — Painting, SculpturCj
and Architecture as Representative Arts, xviii.

Walls in which there are doors, windows, and projections
such as pilasters, pillars, buttresses, or string-courses, —
and the same is true of foundations, porches, and roofs, —
awaken as much more interest than do blank walls, as
bodies do when infused with a soul having the power to
express thought and feeling than they do when they are
merely corpses. Of course, too, the more clearly the archi-
tectural features reveal not only that there is thought
and purpose behind them, but what this thought and pur-
pose is, the more successful is the result. — Idem, xviii.

A traveler, judging merely from appearances, may say
with reference to the methods of construction, that some
particular pillar, bracket, Hntel, arch, was shaped and placed
as it is in order to furnish just the support needed for some
particular weight or arrangement of material which is over
it. Or he may say that some particular foundation was
laid as it is in order to suit some particularly rocky, sandy,
or marshy soil ; or that some particular roof was pitched as
it is in order to fit a dry or a wet climate, to shed rain or
snow. Or, judging from arrangements of doors or windows,
he may say, with reference to the general uses of a building,
that some particular part is an audience hall, a chapel, or a
picture gallery. Even if he find nothing except founda-
tions, he can often declare this to be a theatre, and that to
be a temple, or a bath, or a private house; and not only so,
but sometimes, as at Pompeii, he can tell the uses of each
of the different rooms of the house.

Observe that, in all these ways, it is possible for a build-
ing to be representative; moreover, that just in the degree
in which it is so, the interest awakened by it is enhanced.
It then comes to have the same effect upon us that would
be produced did its builder stand by us and tell us exactly
what his thoughts were when designing the arrangement
that we see. It is as if he were to say: ** I had a conception
that it would be a good idea in this position to have an
arch projected so, or a ceiling supported by a bracket in-
serted so; or a foundation in soil like this laid so; or a roof
in a climate like this shaped so; or a chapel for a sect like
this planned so; or an audience hall for an assembly like

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 23

this arranged so. " And the more one knows of architecture,
the more innumerable will he recognize to be the thoughts,
and, in the degree in which ornamentation is increased,
the aesthetic feelings that it is possible for the architect to
represent through these apparently lifeless forms of wood
or brick or stone. — Idem, xvii.

ARCHITECTURE, ROMAN VS. GREEK {see under comparison).

One or two other statements of Vitruvius may be of
interest. But while reading them it is important to bear
in mind that their significance lies not in the figures given
but in the general principle which they exemplify. The
figures are Roman, the principle is Greek. Greek architec-
ture was original, and apparently, for reasons already
indicated, what might be termed independent and indi-
vidual. Roman architecture was imitative, and, as these
quotations from Vitruvius show, traditional and mechanical.
The principles that the Greeks sought to carry out in a
spirit of freedom, the Romans sought to carry out in servil-
ity to the letter; and it is as true in art as in religion that
"the letter killeth." — Proportion and Harmony of Line and
Color, XV.

ARCHITECTURE VS. PAINTING AND SCULPTURE.

The painter and the sculptor observe nature for the pur-
pose of reproducing its forms; the architect, for the pur-
pose of producing a new and different form, for which, as a
whole, nature furnishes no copy. In his work the contrast
between the product and nature is often so complete that
the one no longer, as in the case of painting, necessarily
suggests the other. Although the shapes of the founda-
tions, pillars, capitals, arches, roofs, chimneys, or towers
of a building may suggest reminiscences of nature, they
are constructed almost invariably as if the architect had
forgotten what was the particular appearance of anything
that had inspired his forms. He is influenced somewhat
by nature, but much more by his own mind, which works
with the least possible artistic regard for nature's disposi-
tions of the forms that he uses. If these forms be beauti-
ful, it is less because they are the same in detail as those
found in nature, than because they are the same in principle,
because they are controlled by the same general laws that
underlie all appearances and combinations of them that
are naturally pleasing. — Art in Theory, xix.

24 AN ART-PHILOSOPHERS CABINET

ARCHITECTURE, WHY STYLES SHOULD NOT BE MIXED.

The world may improve in art as in other things. Yet,
as every thinker knows, all improvements are in the nature
of developments that are made in strict accordance with
fixed laws. We have found that scientific classification,
as well as artistic construction, demands that like be put
with like. This demand is beyond the reach of any human
power that may seek to change it. It exists in the consti-
tution of the mind. No architect can disregard it, and
produce a building satisfactory to men in general. No
building has ever obtained and preserved a reputation as a
work of art, in which this requirement has been neglected.
. . . The true reason, therefore, for not introducing the
forms of Greek, Romanesque, and Gothic architecture into
the same building, is that, as a rule, such a course is fatal
to unity of effect. These principal styles and some of the
subordinate styles developed from them differ so essentially
that to blend them is to cause confusion in the form where
the mind demands intelligibiHty, which, so far as our present
line of thought is applicable, means something in which
many repetitions of similar appearances reveal that all are
parts of the same whole. Buildings in which there are
very few, if any, forms alike, are not, whatever else they
may be, works of art. — The Genesis of Art- Form, xii.

So far as the appearance of forms alone is concerned, there
is no reason why certain features of the Greek style should
not accompany certain of the Gothic. To use them to-
gether would not violate in the least the fundamental prin-
ciple of art, that like forms should be put together. At
the same time, to do so would cause art to associate features
that have come to be clearly dissociated in the mind. For
this reason, it is possible that, as long as the world lasts,
no artist can mix them extensively without suggesting to
some an amount of incongruity wholly inconsistent with
those effects of unity invariably present in arts of the highest
character. — Idem, ix.

Under all the arts are certain principles that successful
products need to exemplify. As applied to building, for
instance, it is not because the Gothic artist did not mix
horizontal with arched coverings for windows that it should
not be done to-day. Our artists should be actuated by a
higher motive than imitation. What they should avoid

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 25

is a violation of the principle exemplified by the Gothic
builders, which principle is to put, wherever it is possible,
like with like. It was pointed out in Chapter XVII of
**The Genesis of Art-Form" that in strict accordance
with this principle, as it is applied in all the other arts,
there might be a legitimate style in which, from the lower
storey up, the acuteness of the arches in each storey would
be gradually increased; also, that in these days of easy
and extensive methods of transportation, there might be
a legitimate style, in which, through the use of stones or
of other materials of different hues, the effects of con-
trast in coloring could be produced, even on exteriors. —
Painting, Sculpture, and Architecture as Representative Arts,

XXI.

The use of color enters largely into effects in painting,
and much imitation of natural forms characterizes both
painting and sculpture. Neither fact is true of architec-
ture. Its effects are often confined to those of forms alone.
This makes these of supreme importance. Its forms,
moreover, are originated by the artist. This makes it
easy to have them such as interfere with what may be called
the natural requirements of art. For both reasons, the
architect needs to be exceedingly careful in his work. A
painter has but to copy a tree as he sees it in nature, and
every part of it will be consonant. The leaves or branches
will differ in size and shape and, in the autumn, at least,
differ sufficiently in color to suggest differences in combina-
tion and material. But, comparing leaf with leaf and
branch with branch, the same principle of formation will
so manifest itself in every part of the tree that no one who
sees it can doubt that each belongs to the same organism. A
building should appear to be as much a unity in this sense
as a tree. Exact repetition of the same forms, as already
explained, would always make it seem thus. But, in archi-
tecture, exact repetition is not always possible ; nor even, if
we wish to produce thoroughly natural effects, desirable.
The method that is both possible and desirable is consonance.
A moment's reflection will reveal, too, that there are certain
very simple devices of arrangement which necessarily secure
this effect. It ought to reveal, also, that the effect is im-
portant enough to make even a child notice the defects in
cases in which it is neglected. — The Genesis of Art-Form^

XV.

26 AN ART-PHILOSOPHER'S CABINET

ART.
Nature made human, or nature re-made by the human
mind, is, of course, a very broad definition of art — one that
scarcely begins to suggest all that is needed for a full under-
standing of the subject. But it is one that all can accept,
and therefore it will serve as a starting-point for what is
to follow. — Art in Theory, i.

ART, ESTHETIC {see also ESTHETICS, MEANING OF).

^Esthetic Art is the use of natural forms that seem beau-
tiful for the expression of human thoughts and emotions ; or,
as we may say, it is natural beauty adapted to the formu-
lation of human sentiment. — Notes Taken in a Lecture.

-Esthetic art, when possessed of the finest and highest
quaUties, from its first conception in the mind to its last
constructive touch in the product, is a result of a man's
imagination giving audible or visible embodiment to his
thoughts or emotions by representing them in a form trace-
able to material or human nature, which form attracts him
on account of its beauty, and is selected and elaborated
by him into an artistic product in accordance with the
imaginative exercise of comparison or of association, modi-
fied, when necessary, so as to meet the requirements of
factors which can be compared or associated in only a partial
degree. — The Essentials of ^Esthetics, xviii.

ART AND BEAUTY {see also NATURE, TRUTH TO).

Of course the word art may be broadly ascribed to any-
thing that is made, especially by way of imitation; and,
therefore, the term artistic may properly designate any
product of this kind. But the word has also a more limited
meaning, — the meaning that we all recognize when found
in the terms the fine arts, or les beaux arts. When this is
its meaning, the objects that art imitates must be, pre-
dominatly at least, beautiful, and the product itself must
introduce ugliness, or its concomitant, impurity, only
subordinately ; — by way, so to speak, of contrast, by way
of shading that offsets brightness. A good deal that is
true to life is not true to the beautiful in Hfe; and, therefore,
contrary to the opinion of these writers, is philosophically
out of place in the highest art. Of course, this principle,
if applied, would rule out of the highest rank a number of
our modern plays — some of those by Ibsen, Sudermann,
Hauptmann, and d'Annunzio. If so, they ought to be
ruled out. The principle is one that no one who thinks

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 27

correctly can fail to accept ; and, as proved by the survival
of interest in Greek art, it is the only principle that all
people, at all times, can be expected to accept. — Essay on
Art and Morals^

In the preceding chapter an endeavor was made to show
that art of the highest or finest quality involves three
things: first, a reproduction of the phenomena of nature,
especially of its sights and sounds ; second, an expression of
the thoughts and emotions of the artist; and, third, an
embodiment of both these other features in an external
product Uke a symphony, a poem, a painting, a statue, a
building. The question now arises whether we should not
make further Hmitations with reference to the sights or
sounds of nature with which the highest art has to deal.
. . . The question . . . suggests that when a man not for
a useful but, . . . for an aesthetic end, reproduces these,
he must do so mainly because something about them has
instructed, attracted, and, as we say, charmed him. There
is one word which we are accustomed to apply to any form,
whether of sight or of sound that attracts and charms us.
It is the word beautiful. ... It seems to be conceded that
arts of the highest class should reproduce mainly, at least,
and some seem to think solely, such phenomena of nature
as are beautiful. — Essentials of Esthetics, 11.

It is only when an effect, whether appealing to the ear
or eye, exerts a subtle charm upon the mind and spirit that
it influences a man sufficiently to cause him to desire to
reproduce it. But what is it that exerts this subtle charm
upon the mind and spirit ? It must be something, of course,
connected with the appearance or form; for it is this, pre-
sumably, which is imitated. But charm exerted by appear-
ance or form is due, as a rule, to that which men ordinarily
associate with the term Z>eaw/3'. . . . "The beautiful arts,"
"the fine arts," 'Hhe arts," as we term them, are those in
which a man gives expression to the excess within him of
mental and spiritual, or, as we may say, intellectual and
emotional vitality through a representation of effects
exerting that subtle charm which, as a rule, is traceable
only to appearances having what is called beauty. — Art in
Theory y viii.

Facts do not confirm any theory to the effect that all
the features chosen for art should be beautiful. The most
that can be said is that in the main they should be so;

28 AN ART-PHILOSOPHERS CABINET

and that those which are not so should be introduced only
in order, by way of contrast, to enhance the beauty of
others with which they are combined. — Idem, x.

Art, as a product of the imagination, always involves
more or less use of imagery, as in the imitations of painting
and sculpture, and the figures of speech in poetry, to say
nothing of more subtle representings in music and architec-
ture. This fact renders it possible often for the artist to
introduce beauty into his treatment of subjects which, in
themselves, are not beautiful. We see this illustrated often
in the colors or carvings of pictures, statues, or buildings,
and in the similes and metaphors of poems. Notice the
following reference to hostile footsteps heard through the
darkness of a midnight tempest in a jungle :

There seems human rhythm in this hell.
What hot pursuit is it comes burning through
These crackling branches? — The Aztec God.

And this description of the approach of a threatening
storm :

It came like a boy who whistles first
To warn of his form that shall on us burst,
As if nature feared to jar the heart
By joys too suddenly made to start.

-The Last Home Gathering.

— Notes Taken in a Lecture,

Everybody admits that art is an embodiment of the
ideal. Whoever heard of an ideal that was not characterized
by beauty? Everybody admits, too, that art is of benefit
to individuals or communities in the degree in which it
cultivates in them ideaHty. How could it cultivate this,
where it presented no ideal because no beauty? Of what
use to humanity could art be, where all that could cause
it to be of any use whatever was left out of it? — Idem,

ART AS MENTAL AND SPIRITUAL.

Art is a form produced by a man, and a man is not yet
a spirit. He may have spiritual instincts tending, in a
vague way, toward a recognition and production of the
beautiful; but, as a man, with a human mind working in a
consciously rational way, he knows nothing about form
except as he may perceive it in the external world, of the
appearances of which alone he is conscious. Nor can he
produce form, except so far as he recombines those factors

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 29

of it which have already been created for him in this exter-
nal world. One hears a man talk to himself, and he imi-
tates the general form of the talk in a lyric. He hears
men talk together, and he imitates the general effect in a
drama. He hears them hum, and he imitates the general
effect in a melody. He looks at scenery and a human
figure, and he imitates the general effect in a painting or a
statue. He notices the methods in nature of protection,
support, and shelter, and he imitates the general effect in
a building. So far as a man is an artist, i. 6., a being who
works by intellection as well as by inspiration, it is always
nature that furnishes his model. Especially is this true
of that which, in art, is beautiful. There is no beauty
without form. There is no form except in visible or audible
nature. There is no beauty of form that is not suggested
in connection with an observation of nature. This applies
not only to the general outlines of art-form, but to the de-
tails of its elaboration — to rhythm, proportion, tone, color,
and the harmony of tone and color. All these, in their
perfected phases, are developments of certain great laws
of appearance which have to do with the pleasurable or
disagreeable effects produced upon the nervous organiza-
tion of the eye or ear, or, through suggestion, of the mind
itself. There are many physical and psychical elements
which, in certain circumstances, enter into the requirements
of beauty; but of all these a man knows with certainty only
so far as he may study their effects in material nature.
What then? — Is beauty merely an attribute of matter? —
a superficial quality? Is Plato wholly wrong? Has the
idea, the spiritual force which he supposes to be the cause
of the expression, no influence? Just the contrary may be
true. But so far as the idea appeals to the mind, it can
become an object of conscious thought only when embodied
in material nature . . . and any one who has faith in the
Creative Spirit has faith to believe that the arrangements
of nature are such that a thoughtful mind will not fail to
find illustrated in them exactly those principles and laws
which are suited for one's highest mental and spiritual
requirements. Art in reproducing the appearances and
methods of nature continues and develops their mental
and spiritual effects. In the lyric, the play, the novel, the
picture, the statue, — and always in the degree in which
the imitation of nature is exact, — art widens the experience

30 AN ART-PHILOSOPHER'S CABINET

of men with the same influence upon the mind that would
be produced by actual experience, making them wiser, more
sympathetic, more charitable; in short, more humane. . . .
Art is the expression of human thought and feeling in
the terms of nature. This expression is never merely com-
municative, nor merely imitative. It is always both. It
is representative. Art embodies truth, not dogmatically
but imaginatively, and its influence is exerted not by way
of dictation, but of suggestion. Therefore, art does not,
cannot, and should not take the place — as Plato seems to
suppose that it may — of either philosophy, ethics, or the-
ology. All these together cannot produce upon conception
or emotion the cultural effects of aesthetics. It is well,
therefore, to let the latter do its own work, as also to ac-
knowledge the value of this work when it is done well. — An
in Theory, Appendix ii.

ART, BREADTH OF ITS RESOURCES.

Indeed, the resources that may be utilized in art are prac-
tically infinite. No man can observe so much as to see
any facts outside the limits of its sphere. No man can
reflect so much as to arrive at any conclusions beyond its
powers of expression. No man can be so much as not to
have mind and spirit lifted to greater heights through its
inspiration. — The Representative Significance of Form, xiii.

ART, EXPRESSING THOUGHT THROUGH IMITATION.

Are there any products which, however materially useful
they may subsequently prove to be, are, at any rate, not
planned, primarily, for the purpose of being useful? Of
course, there is but one answer to this question. Such
products are plentiful. Moreover, it is one invariable
characteristic of all of them that in certain features, to a
certain extent, their appearances are left in the condition
in which they are found in nature. This is the case even
with factors of a musical melody. The composer accepts
the different elements of movement and pitch as they come
to him, rendering them more useful not even by adding to
them articulation. Much more is the same fact evident
in poetry, the imitative, figurative, or descriptive language
of which is recognized to be successful according to the
degree of fidelity with which it recalls the sights of nature.
So too with the products of painting, sculpture, and of the
ornamental parts, at least, of architecture. Were forms

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 31

in these arts — and in principle the statement is applicable
to the arts of sound also — shaped or combined, as are most
implements and machines, into appearances wholly unnatu-
ral, they would necessarily suggest a material end intended to
be accomplished by them. But this they do not suggest,
for the very reason that their appearances are not changed
from those that are presented in nature. Here then we
come upon a clear point of agreement between the arts that
are the most finely and distinctively forms of nature, and
those that are the most finely and distinctively human.
There is an indissoluble connection between employing in a
product the appearances of nature and having it in a con-
dition in which it will pre-eminently direct attention to the
fact that it is used for the sole purpose of giving expression
to thought or feeling. An artificially shaped machine or
implement at once suggests the question, "What can it do? "
But a drawing or carving never suggests this question, but
rather, "What did the man who made this think about it,
or of it, that he should have reproduced it?" — Art in
Theory, vi.

ART FOR art's SAKE.

Whenever one uses a form either of sound or of sight in
order through it to express thought or feeling, a natural ten-
dency of mind causes him after a little to become interested
in the form and to develop its possibilities for its own sake.
It is this tendency that leads to all art ; and the fact furnishes
a degree of justification, though not to the extent that is
sometimes urged, for the maxim that enjoins interest in
"art for art's sake," even if by art, in this sense, be meant
that merely which has to do with the representation of
form. The truth of this statement is especially easy to
recognize as applied to painting and sculpture, partly be-
cause in them it is so evidently essential to have the forms
exactly imitative of those of nature, and partly because,
before the imitation necessitated can be successful, it so
evidently requires careful and scientific study. These
considerations do not justify a lack of interest in the sig-
nificance which a form may be made to express; but they
do necessitate, on the part of all who wish to understand
the subject, some knowledge, if not of a painter's tech-
nique, at least of his technical aims. Only in the degree
in which men have this knowledge, can they estimate a
painting from an artist's point of view, or have a right to

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an opinion concerning its workmanship. — Painting, Sculp-
ture, and Architecture as Representative Arts, xvi.

"art in theory," analysis of the book.
(Recapitulation.) In the introductory volume, "Art in
Theory," an attempt was made to derive a true conception of
the requirements of art from a study of certain facts and
opinions concerning it acknowledged by all, or held by
writers of authority. Guided by these criteria, nature
was first distinguished from art, and then the lower arts
from the higher. It was found that an essential char-
acteristic of these latter is what is known as form, but in
their cases a form producing always two apparently dif-
ferent effects, one derived from an imitation of external
phenomena, and the other from a communication of
thoughts and emotions. The first effect, tending to em-
phasize the form in itself, was said to be mainly, though
by no means exclusively, characteristic of classic art, and
the second effect, tending to emphasize the significance
in the form, was said to be mainly characteristic of romantic
art. It was also argued that the emphasizing of either
of these tendencies, if carried so far as to involve a neglect
of the other of them, is fatal to artistic excellence. In
indicating, then, the conception of artistic aims best tend-
ing to preserve the equilibrium between the two tendencies,
it was pointed out that art neither imitates nor communi-
cates in the most practically effective ways. Because aim-
ing to do both, its chief aim cannot be to do either the
one or the other. Art represents natural phenomena,
as one may say, as a means of representing thoughts and
emotions. Or, to express this differently, art emphasizes
representation, developing and elaborating the factors of
it in nature, and the possibilities of it in the mind. But
in doing this, art is using the same means and continuing
the same modes of expression as those that are attributed
by men to the creative and divine intelligence. The
impulse to art, therefore, may be considered creative
and divine. But as it neither imitates nor communicates
in the most usefully effective way, we must trace it less to
the useful than to the non-useful and so to what in ele-
mentary phases is called the play-impulse. This play-
impulse, even in dogs and kittens, to say nothing of apes,
tends to the imitation of that which seems interesting,

A Maori Festival, New Zealand
See pages p, lo, ii, 7J, Si -83, 88, 89, 91, 147, 148, 162, 227, 38s

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 33

attractive, and charming in one's surroundings. The same
impulse, when turned in the direction of art, inasmuch as
this always involves the use of form, tends also to imitation.
But an imitation of that which is interesting, attractive,
and charming in form, especially in form communicating
to mind and spirit the suggestions of a creative and
divine impulse, is nothing more nor less than a reproduction
of what men, when using the term in its highest sense, mean
by beauty. What is there in beauty, however, that it
should be used by the art-impulse when giving expression to
the mental and spiritual? A review, which follows, of the
history of opinion on the subject, reveals that the effects of
beauty are well-nigh universally attributed — not always
explicitly but certainly implicitly — in part to form, but in
part also to significance suggested by the form. In other
words, the charm exerted by beauty is exerted partly upon
the senses, because the elements of the form harmonize
with one another and with the physiological requirements
of the ear or eye, and partly upon the mind, because the
suggestions of these elements harmonize with psychological
requirements. The consequent definition reached is, that
"Beauty is a characteristic of any complex form of varied
elements, producing apprehensible unity {i. e., harmony or
likeness) of effects (i) upon the motive organs of sensation
in the ear or eye, or (2) upon the emotive sources of imagina-
tion in the mind, or (3) upon both the one and the other."
There are the best of reasons, therefore, why a creative and
divine impulse tending to imitation should reproduce beauty,
the mere existence of which alone may involve that appeal
to the mental and spiritual nature which is made by what
we term significance. But we must not forget that in
art the mind may do more than represent significance as
a secondary consideration, which would be the case did it
do so merely because, by way of accident, as it were, a cer-
tain significance was necessarily suggested by the form
used. The mind often represents thoughts and emotions
as a primary consideration, — that is, it decides upon them
first, and, afterwards, selects the forms through which to
communicate them. We are obliged, therefore, to know
something about the ways in which the mind communi-
cates or represents thoughts or emotions through any
forms whatever, irrespective of their being characterized
by beauty. The remainder of the book shows how, at

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different stages of the influence exerted by precisely the
same external phenomena, entirely different phases of
conscious thoughts and emotions are aroused to activity.
This activity is analyzed into that which primarily is
instinctive or spontaneous, is reflective or responsive, or
is a blending of both the others in what may be termed
the instinctively reflective or the emotive. It is shown that
for every phase of activity there is only one natural form
of expression; and that it is this form and no other which,
when artistically developed, i. e., developed with reference
to beauty, finds appropriate embodiment in one of the
five arts of Music, Poetry, Painting, Sculpture, or Archi-
tecture.— Proportion and Harmony of Line and Color, xxvi.

ART, ITS GENERAL EFFECTIVENESS.

Other products of men, products that are not distinc-
tively works of arts, sometimes have marvellous effects.
A machine, a galvanic battery, can electrify a body just
bereft of life into movements for a moment almost deceiv-
ing the senses into surmising life's return. But what are
such effects to those of art? men ask. What else but it
can put such spirit into matter which never yet had life that
the vitality can remain forever? — More than this, what
else can reach outside the forms in which it is embodied,
and electrify all beings that have souls? And when one
yields to arts of this kind, the highest homage that can be
bestowed upon the products of intelligence and skill, to
himself, at least, he seems to do so, recognizing not alone
that the finest and most distinctive qualities of mind have
been expended on them; not alone that they have issued
from an intellect exerting all its power, throned in the regal
right of all its functions ; not alone that they have involved
activities of mind at the sources of the useful and of the
ornamental arts combined. But he does so, because he
feels that such activities, when exercised conjointly, adjust-
ing thought to form and form to thought, necessitate, even
aside from any other consideration, a quality of action that
is not the same as that manifested by either of these
activities, when not combined. Gunpowder and a match
give neither of the two, nor both. No wonder then that
mental possibilities, united as in art, suggest a force and
brilliancy different in kind from that exhibited in any other
sphere. "I tell you," said King Henry VIII. to a noble-

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 35

man who had brought him an accusation against the painter
Holbein, "I tell you, of seven peasants I can make as many-
lords, but of seven lords I could not make one Holbein." —
Art in Theory ^ vii.

ART, ITS HUMANIZING EFFECTS {see Under culture).
What a rebuke to the bigotry and the cruelty of the
Middle Ages are the countless products of the arts of those
periods, pleading constantly to the eye against the savage
customs of the times for the sweet but little-practised
virtues of justice and charity! Within our own century,
too, notwithstanding the traditions of society, the state, and
the church, which have often exerted all their powers to up-
hold and perpetuate slavery, aristocracy, and sectarianism,
recall how the modern novel chiefly, but assisted largely
by the modern picture, has not only changed the whole
trend of the world's thought with reference to these systems,
but has contributed, more, perhaps, than any other single
cause, to the practical reorganization of them, in accordance
with the dictates of enlightened intelligence. — The Repre-
sentative Significance of Form, xi.

ART, THE CONNECTING LINK BETWEEN SCIENCE AND

RELIGION (see ANALOGY IN ART, also under culture).

The moment that thought transcends the sphere possible
to knowledge, it gets out of the sphere of science. But,
when it gets out of this, what sphere, so long as it continues
to advance rationally, does it enter? What sphere but that
of religion? And think how large a part of human experi-
ence— experience which is not a result of what can strictly
be termed knowledge — is contained in this sphere ! Where
but in it can we find the impulses of conscience, the dic-
tates of duty, the cravings for sympathy, the aspira-
tions for excellence, the pursuit of ideals, the sense of
unworthiness, the desire for holiness, the feehng of depend-
ence upon a higher power, and all these together, exer-
cised in that which causes men to walk by faith, and not by
knowledge? The sphere certainly exists. Granting the
fact, let us ask what it is that can connect with this
sphere of faith the sphere of knowledge? Has any method
yet been found of conducting thought from the material
to the spiritual according to any process strictly scientific?
Most certainly not. There comes a place where there is a
great gulf fixed between the two. Now notice that the one

36 AN ART-PHILOSOPHERS CABINET

who leads the conceptions of men across this gulf must, like
the great Master, never speak to them without a parable —
i. e., a parallel, an analogy, a correspondence, a comparison.
Did you ever think of the fact that, scientifically inter-
preted, it is not true that God is a father, or Christ a son of
God, or an elder brother of Christians, or the latter children
of Abraham? These are merely forms taken from earthly
relationships, in order to image spiritual relationships,
which, except in imagination, could not m anyway become
conceivable. This method of conceiving of conditions,
which may be great realities in the mental, ideal, spiritual
realm, through the representation of them in material form,
is one of the very first conditions of a religious conception.
But what is the method? It is the artistic method. Un-
less this could be used, science would stop at the brink of the
material with no means of going farther, and religion begin
at the brink of the spiritual with no means of finding any
other starting-point. Art differs from both science and
religion in cultivating imagination instead of knowledge,
as does the one, and instead of conduct, as does the other.
But notice, in addition to what has been said of its being
an aid to science, what an aid to religion is the ar-
tistic habit of looking upon every form in this material
world as full of analogies and correspondences, inspiring
conceptions and ideals spiritual in their nature, which
need only the impulse of conscience to direct them
into the manifestation of the spiritual in conduct. This
habit of mind is what art, when legitimately developed,
always produces. It not only necessitates, as applied to
mere form — and in this it differs from religion and resembles
science — great accuracy in observation, but also, as applied
to that which the form images — and in this it differs from
science and resembles religion — it necessitates the most exact
and minute fulfilment of the laws of analogy and correspond-
ence. These laws, which, because difficult and sometimes
impossible to detect, some imagine not to exist, nevertheless
do exist; and they give, not only to general effects, but
to every minutest different element of tone, cadence, line,
and color, a different and definite meaning, though often
greatly modified, of course, when an element is differently
combined with other elements. — Essay on Art and Education.
Science has to do mainly with matter, religion with spirit,
and art with both ; for by matter we mean the external world

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 37

and its appearances, which art must represent, and by
spirit we mean the internal world of thoughts and emotions,
which also art must represent. The foundations of art,
therefore, rest in the realms both of science and of religion;
and its superstructure is the bridge between them. Nor
can you get from the one to the other, or enjoy the whole
of the territory in which humanity was made to live, with-
out using the bridge. Matter and spirit are like water and
steam. They are separate in reality: we join them in
conception. So with science and religion, and the concep-
tion which brings both into harmonious union is a normal
development of only art. — Idem.

A religious conception cannot become artistic until
imagination has presented it in a form which manifests an
observation of external appearances and an information
with reference to them as accurate, in some regards, as are
those of science. Nor can a scientific conception become
artistic before imagination has haloed it about with sugges-
tions as inspired, in some regards, as are those of religion. —
The Representative Significance of Form, vi.

ART vs. NATURE.

In the degree in which significance is thus introduced
into a painting, it necessarily calls attention to something
that could not be suggested by the objects if depicted
merely as they exist in nature. This something is an effect
of rearrangement in accordance with a mental purpose.
The objects as reproduced in art are thus made representa-
tive of the artist, of man; and, therefore, it is that, in a true
sense, the result may be said to belong to the humanities.
If we could imagine a picture in which the imitation was so
accurate that no one could tell the difference between it
and nature, we should have a result that, on the surface
would not reveal itself to be the product of a man. The
effect would be indistinguishable from that of nature.
But art is different from nature; and, interesting and desir-
able as is vsuccess in imitation, clever deception is not
synonymous with artistic skill. It must not be forgotten
that, beyond imitation, and not at all interfering with it,
something else needs to be superimposed before the art-
product can be crowned with that which is indicative of its
having a right to the highest rank. — Painting, Sculpture^
and Architecture as Representative Arts, xiv.

38 AN ART-PHILOSOPHERS CABINET

ARTISTIC BASED UPON NATURAL REQUIREMENTS.

It is not meant to be maintained here that all architects
who first used the dome or pointed spire, or windows
with round or pointed arches, did so because they had
personally seen among savage tribes similar constructions,
which they consciously imitated. The same cause that,
among the savages, would operate to make those using
cheap material build with a round or pointed arch, would
operate also among those using costly material. All that
it is intended to maintain, is, that these several forms are
first adopted in order to meet certain requirements of
nature; and afterwards are imitated and ornamentally
developed in order to meet artistic requirements. — Idenij
XX.

ARTISTIC CONCEPTIONS NECESSITATE FORM.

A scientific formulation — mathematic or geometric,
for instance — usually indicates the interdependence of the
conditions for which it stands without conveying the
slightest conception of their appearances. In the ideality
which characterizes art, this is not so; the imagination
conforms the ideas to the outlines of certain known objects,
events, or experiences. Artistic conceptions are therefore
necessarily connected in thought with form, i. e., with a
visible or audible effect which is referred to, or is imitated,
in order to express them, as, in such cases, they must be
expressed, by way of representation. — The Representative
Significance of Form, xii.

ARTISTIC NATURES {see also sentiment).
All men have emotion. All may be strongly moved, and,
in such circumstances, the minds of all may be subject to
that subconscious action which is one source of imagination.
But when we try to answer the question, — To what extent
may one as compared with another be subject to this? we
find the differences between men almost world-wide. We
must conclude, therefore, that large numbers are by nature
excluded from the sphere of action of the artist. They are
too cautious, too much under the control of consciousness,
or, as we say, self -consciousness, to give themselves up to the
abandon of subconscious mental activity. It is not only
great orators who lose themselves in their subjects before
they become eloquent. Sculptors, painters, and musicians
have a similar experience. "If you think how you are to

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 39

write,** said Mozart, "you will never write anything worth
hearing. I write because I cannot help it." Viewed in this
light, we may trace to the power that Shakespeare and
Goethe had of objectifying and so of forgetting themselves,
not only the effects but the causes also of their greatness.
It might be almost said that faith in the results of that
which is beyond the sphere of consciousness enables one to
reach the aesthetic paradise no less than the heavenly.
Especially in these intensely practical times of factories
and furnaces, what but the ability to preserve one's rela-
tionship with something hidden, with some ideal that
cannot be smelt or touched, with something real though in
realms of mystery, — what but this can keep the soul in a
region where results of art are possible? And if some by
nature be excluded from the sphere of action of the artist,
it must be equally true that some by nature are included
in it. And, now and then, their products may evince this
fact. From the realm of their nativity they can be banished
wholly neither by the deadening effects of practical life,
nor by the lack of the quickening influences of assthetic
education. — Idem, xiii.

ARTISTIC vs. SCIENTIFIC MENTAL ACTION {see TEMPERAMENT).

All children, because their brains are active, are artistic
in their tendencies. The very essence of artistic imitation
is mimicry; and what child is entirely destitute of this?
Very nearly all the young pass through a dramatic age, in
which they flower into poetry; and whether the blossoms
soon fade or bloom perennially depends mainly upon the
permanence within them of the characteristics thus mani-
fested. When men arrive at maturity, the artistic mind, as
distinguished from the scientific, continues to form theories
before it reasons them out, and to imagine truth before it in-
vestigates. If one naturally of an artistic temperament ever
can reach results that are scientific, this term "scientific"
cannot be applied to the movements of his mind prepara-
tory to these. Instead of advancing step by step toward
his end, he first jumps to his conclusions, and then turns
backward to discover the intervening steps. Very difficult,
too, as a rule, is his task in bringing these to the light.
Through the mist-hung marshes which the wings of his
imagination have borne him across, he must flounder on
foot, picking his pathway painfully until he reach his

40 AN ART-PHILOSOPHER'S CABINET

starting-point. Yet if he do not do this, his own explana-
tions of what he has accompHshed will be more apt to entitle
him to rank as a visionary among idealists than as a guide
among practical thinkers. Notice, nevertheless, that the
method of mental action just described is that which is most
allied to the method which the world usually attributes to
genius. A genius perceives a specific effect in nature,
and surmises thence a truth or principle which is generic.
Newton is said to have surmised the law of gravitation
from the sight of a single apple falling from a tree; and
almost every one who has invented any kind of a machine
has conceived of it as a whole before he has tried to construct
its separate parts. As everywhere else, therefore, the
difference indicated here between the artistic and the
scientific mind is one of degree and not of kind. The artist
works almost exclusively according to the method just
indicated; so the world supposes that he must be a genius
necessarily. The scientific man has very much to do be-
sides surmising and inventing; so the world confines the
title genius to the few scientific minds pre-eminent in doing
these latter. — Idem, xiii.

artists' love for their own products.

The story of Pygmalion who fell in love with his own
statue of Galatea is merely an artistic embodiment of the
conception of the naturally emotive susceptibility of the
true artist. It is doubtful if one of these ever lived who
lacked the tendency developed in the tale. It is doubtful
if one without the capacity for falling thoroughly in love
with his own product could ever be an artist. God made
men, as we are told, in His own image, and the highest manli-
ness results when His spirit becomes incarnated in them. So
the artist forms art in his own image; his works reflect his
thought or feeling; and the highest excellence follows only
in the degree in which his soul has found complete embodi-
ment in them. — Idem, xiii.

artists need breadth of culture.

The highest result, as art is, of human intelligence and
skill, it cannot be produced when only part of the highest
possibilities of manhood are engaged upon it. It needs all
the resources that a man can command, as well as all the
facility that he can acquire through the education that
enables him to command them. — Idem, xv.

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 41

ARTISTS, SOME SUCH BY NATURE.

Every art is developed by making a study of methods
natural to exceptional men who, because they take to them
naturally, do not need to cultivate them. — Essay on Art and
Logical Form.

ARTISTS, THEIR STUDY OF NATURE.

Who does not acknowledge that one characteristic of all
great artists, especially of those who are leaders in their arts,
is the faithful study that they give to nature. We may not
admire the social customs of ancient Greece that allowed
its sculptors frequent opportunities to observe the un-
clothed forms of both the sexes; we may shrink from
believing the story of a Guido murdering his model in
order to prepare for a picture of the crucifixion; or of a
David coolly sketching the faces of his own friends when
put to death amid the horrors of the French Revolution;
yet, in all these cases, there is an artistic lesson accom-
panying the moral warning. It was not in vain that
Morland's easel was constantly surrounded by representa-
tives of the lower classes; that Hogarth always had his
pencil with him on the streets and in the coffee-houses;
or that, morning after morning, Corot's canvas caught its
colors long before the eastern sky grew bright with sunlight.
Or, if we turn to literature, it is not an insignificant fact
that Shakespeare and his contemporaries, who gave form
to the modern drama, as well as Goethe, who records in
his Wahrheit und Dichtung the way in which he spent his
j'-outh in Frankfort and his age in Weimar, were for years
the associates both of the audiences and actors in city
theatres; or that Fielding, who gave form to the modern
novel, was the justice of a police court. High art is dis-
tinctively a form of nature — a form that is this in the sense
of being perceptible in nature, or at least directly suggested
by it. — Art in Theory, 11.

ARTISTS vs. ARTISANS.

It is wellnigh universally recognized that the poet is not
a reporter, nor the painter a photographer, nor any artist
at all entitled to the name, a mere copyist. For this reason
it is felt that while, in the main, he is a careful observer of
outward appearances, he, too, as well as the workman in
so-called useful art, must have ability to penetrate in some
way to something underl3ang these ; that pathos in ballads,

42 AN ART-PHILOSOPHERS CABINET

passion in dramas, groupings on canvas, attitudes in marble,
arches in cathedrals, cannot be produced so as to have
anything approximating an artistic effect — be produced
so as to cause forms to fulfil both physical and mental laws,
— if their authors have either studied the sounds and sights
of nature to the exclusion of its operations, — under which
term may be included its effects upon thought and feeling
as well as upon matter, — or have studied the latter to the
exclusion of the former. Men name the producer of the
highest assthetic results an artist. By this term they dis-
tinguish him from one whose skill exhibits a more partial
exercise of his various possibilities, whom they term, if his
products repeat merely the appearances of nature, an
artisan; if they repeat merely its operations, a mechanic.
The highest (Esthetic art must do both. — Idem, ii.

ARTISTS vs. SEERS {see also RELIGION VS. ART).

In general, it may be said that most men's conception of a
distinctively religious teacher, to say nothing of a prophet,
excludes anything .supposed to call particular attention
to his own conscious intellection, or even to his own intel-
lect. He may possess, and add to his influence by possess-
ing, accuracy of observation, breadth of information, and
brilliancy of style, but it is felt that the value of his work
does not depend mainly upon them. He is supposed to be
guided to his utterance by an agency above him, which can,
occasionally, make the words of an ignorant fisherman or a
weak child as enlightening and uplifting as those coming
from the lips of the most learned scholar and skilful advocate.

Notice, however, that just the opposite is true in the
case of art. For success in it, accuracy of observation
is essential, because the artist derives from nature not
only his suggestions, but the very form of the image which
he must use in indicating them. So with reference to
breadth of information. When the results of subconscious
mental action must be represented through the results of
conscious observation, information obtained through this
latter is indispensable. Again, too, because supposed, in a
degree not true of a religious leader, to work out his concep-
tions according to conscious mental methods, it is felt that
the artist must have more than a usual amount of mental
ability. In fact, it is felt that there is, and should be, an
immense difference between the motive underl3dng the

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 43

effect produced by the preacher and by the actor. The
actor we admire, as we do every artist, on account of a
manifestation of acquired faciHty in holding the mirror of
the subconscious as also of the conscious mind up to nature
so that each mind shall work with apparent spontaneity
as regards both impression and expression; and no matter
how much he may reveal of the results of subconscious
action, he is either supposed to have attained these results
through lofty flights of his own self -impelled imagination,
or else, if presumed to have received them precisely as
prophets receive religious truth, to have rendered them
effective through acquired skill, by means of which he has
been enabled to give them form. — The Representative
Significance of Form, vii.

ARTS, THE, ARE ATTRIBUTABLE TO DIFFERENT EFFECTS UPON

THE MIND.

As related to the processes of representative art, the mind
or the imagination, which is the faculty of the mind princi-
pally engaged in the work, acts, as it were, Hke a mirror. At
different stages, as the trains of influence pass by, it flashes
back that which necessarily takes a form analogous either
to music, poetry (oratory), painting, sculpture, or iarchi-
tecture. We shall find, in short, that all these arts are
elaborations of instinctive modes of expression which, in
certain circumstances, the mind is forced to adopt, all
representative art being, as Opie says of painting in the first
of his " Lectures " upon that subject, "a language that must
exist, in some greater or less degree, whenever the human in-
tellect approaches a certain, and that by no means elevated,
standard." — Art in Theory, xvi.

ARTS, THE, AS INFLUENCED BY BOTH NATURE AND MIND.

Let us represent the contents of the mind by the floating
but, except for outside influence, stationary ice in some bay
or inlet, and at the same time represent that which flows
into the mind by the waves and currents entering this
bay or inlet from an ocean. Let us observe what is the
natural order of development of the relations sustained
between the waters thus forced inward and the ice. Is
it not something Hke this? — At the point nearest the ocean,
the waves sweeping over the ice break off and bear up and
down small portions of it, but with such force that the ice
forms but an insignificant, perhaps an indistinguishable,

44 AN ART-PHILOSOPHER'S CABINET

part of the effect of the waves as a whole. This is the condi-
tion corresponding to that of music. A Httle farther inward,
the floating ice covers the waves. We see mainly the ice,
but it is moving, and its movement indicates that of the
water under it. This is the condition found in poetry.
Still farther inward, the portions of broken ice, crowded
together by the force of the waves, begin to offer mani-
fest resistance. Up to this point one could hardly dis-
tinguish from a distance the ice from the waves. Here it
becomes almost impossible to confound the two; for at
one place the weight on the surface is seen crushing down
the surf, and at another the surf is seen breaking through
and above the surface. This is the state of things in
painting and sculpture. Last of all, at places nearest the
shore, the force of the waves seems to be crushed out com-
pletely, yet the effects produced by them are abundantly
apparent in the great moveless heaps of ice resting against
the water-line. This represents the condition in archi-
tecture. Let us now notice whether this order of develop-
ment in the relations existing between the influence from
without and the possessions within the mind has any basis
in facts; first in physical facts, afterwards in mental facts.
To begin with, are there any physical facts which justify
us in comparing the action of outer effects upon the mind
to that of waves upon something stationary; and if so, is
there any reason why these waves, at their greatest, can be
represented in music, and, at their least, in architecture?
To both these questions we can give an affirmative answer.
Physicists tell us that the acoustic nerve is surrounded by
a fluid back of the drum of the ear; also that the optic
nerve is surrounded by a corresponding humor back of
the crystalline lens of the eye. They tell us that when-
ever sounds or sights reach intelligence, they are conveyed
to it because, as a fact, these nerves are physically shaken
through the influence of waves from without which strike
the ear drum or the crystalline lens. So much for the
first question; now for the second. Physicists tell us
also that the waves vibrating to shake the acoustic nerve
are so large that, at the least, about sixteen of them, and
at the most, about forty thousand, can move in a second
of time; but that, on the other hand, the waves shaking
the retina are so minute that, at the least, about four hun-
dred and eighty-three trillions, and, at the most, seven

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 45

hundred and twenty-seven trillions, can move in a second.
These assertions indicate that the sensation of being most
shaken, shaken by the largest waves, or when the influence
has most force, can be represented or communicated better —
and any nervous mother with half a dozen small boys will
confirm the statement from her own experience — through
sound than through sight. Whether we consider quantity
or quality, there is more of sound represented in music
than in poetry. By consequence, of the two arts, the
former represents better the first effect of a motive per se;
i. e., the most powerful, the least exhausted effect of any
influence from without, considered merely as an influence.
Oratory appeals to sight as well as to hearing. For this
reason it represents a later effect than poetry. Of those
arts which, because they appeal to sight alone, represent
effects in sight still later than oratory, painting evidently
comes first. It uses more briUiancy and variety of color,
necessitating larger vibrations — the largest of all, for in-
stance, producing extreme red — and also greater dependence
upon everything conditioned directly by influence of this
kind than does either sculpture or architecture. — Essentials
of Esthetics, ix.

In its lack of the imitative element, and therefore in
having forms that recall nature more by way of association
than of comparison, architecture resembles music. Madame
de Stael termed it "frozen music"; and with our present
view of the subject, we may perceive the appropriateness
of her metaphor. In music, the influence coming from
without moves so rapidly and freely that, as contrasted
with it, the mind is hardly conscious of its own ideas. In
architecture, on the contrary, this influence seems so slight
that of it the mind is hardly conscious. That which flows
in the one art may be said to be congealed in the other, and
the artistic representation of each state of consciousness
evinces this. The medium of music moves; that of archi-
tecture stands. Because of the lack of balance in both
arts between the consciousness of the influence from without
and that of the ideas within, the connection between influ-
ence and ideas is not, in either art, always apparent. Many,
in fact, fancy that music represents no ideas, and architec-
ture no influences derived from the forms of nature. But
the truth is that, without both arts, the representations of
the different phases of consciousness, developing, one after

4^ AN ART-PHILOSOPHER'S CABINET

another, as has been shown, would be incomplete. The
two arts are expressive respectively of the two extremes of
this, — of those misty border lands of apprehension where
external influence appears and where it disappears. Be-
tween these two extremes, the motive from without and the
ideas within are more evenly balanced. The effect in the
intellect (inter and lego), as jointly influenced by both, leads,
when the consciousness of the influence from without
exerted upon the emotions is the stronger, to comparison,
tending, as in poetry and oratory, to identifying the two;
and, when the consciousness of the ideas within, deliber-
ately modifying by reflection the influence from without,
is the stronger, to comparison also, but with more realiza-
tion of a contrast between the two, as is the case in land-
scape gardening, painting, and sculpture. Taken together,
the arts that have been mentioned represent every possible
effect produced in the mind as emotions, intellect, and will
successively receive and modify the influence that the audi-
ble or visible forms of nature exert upon it. The expres-
sional series is complete all the way from where, in music, we
heed the roaring of the waves of influence as they dash upon
apprehension, to where, in architecture, we perceive the
spray that congeals in fairy shapes above the place where
their force has been spent. — Art in Theory, xix.

In the moods represented in music and poetry, the in-
fluence from without is recognized in consciousness mainly
because the thoughts move with it. This movement, there-
fore, is appropriately represented in musical tones and poetic
words that follow one another in time. In the moods rep-
resented in painting, sculpture, and architecture, however,
the mind is prompted to conceive of the influence as sepa-
rate and different from the ideas; frequently, indeed, as of-
fering a contrast to them. The influence from without is
recognized in consciousness mainly because, as contrasted
with the influence, the thoughts are relatively, though not
absolutely, stationary. Consider now how these facts
must be represented. If one wish to give expression to a
consciousness of an external source of influence which is
separate and different from the ideas within his mind, he
can do this effectively only through using an external me-
dium which alone is clearly separate and different from them.
Again, a contrast is always revealed most clearly when ob-
jects are viewed not one at a time, but two or more at a time.

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 47

If one wish, therefore, to represent a consciousness of con-
trast, especially in connection with that of a continuation of
a difference between the external world and his own ideas of
it, he can best do this through using a medium that presents
objects not in succession, like the words of a poem, but side
by side in space like the forms on the canvas of a picture.
And if he wish, again, to represent the fact that his own
ideas, though affected by the influence, are not swept away
or onward by it ; but that whatever effects are produced are
confined to suggestions prompted by the objects in nature
that continue to stand immediately before him, he can best
represent this fact too through using a medium that will stay
thought like a scene rather than hurry it on Hke a story. —
Idem, XIX.

ASSOCIATION, AS AN ART METHOD {see also COMPARISON).

Association and comparison, however, as has been pointed
out in former essays of this series, are in all cases very closely
allied, and sometimes are practically inseparable. Associa-
tion is based upon suggested likeness in the underl5dng
principle exemplified in two things which are apparently
different. Comparison is based upon apparent likeness in
the things themselves. Whether, as a fact, we connect
them by way of association or of comparison, depends
partly upon our point of view, and partly upon the degree of
external similarity between them. Sometimes we associate
things that are different in specific details, because they are
connected with some identical general effect. Thus we
associate the moon and the stars, because both are con-
nected with the general effect of the night-time ; or hens and
turkeys, because both are connected with the general
effect of a barn-yard. Yet while this is true, observe also
that, in case we be thinking of the heavenly bodies, we can
also compare the moon and stars, because, from that point
of view, we can find many regards in which in specific
details the two are alike, and so, in case we be thinking of
fowls, we can compare hens and turkeys. Again, in case
a Greek column supporting a heavy entablature be perceived
to be like a Gothic column supporting a heavy arch, in one
regard alone, namely, in being large in size, then we can
say that the one column suggests the other by way of
association. But in case the Greek column be perceived to
be like another Greek column in most regards or in many

48 AN ART-PHILOSOPHER'S CABINET

regards, then we can say that the one definitely recalls the
other by way of comparison. Moreover, in case we have
learned that the Greek column is large in order to hold up a
heavy weight, then we can infer that the Gothic column is
large in order to do the same thing; and we may say that
the latter, by way of association, represents the same general
idea, or conception, of strength in support which we have
originally derived from the former. But if the latter column
as well as the former be Greek, that is, if both columns
manifest the same details of appearance, then we may say
that the latter not only represents the same idea or concep-
tion of strength in support as does the former, but that it
does this by way of comparison as well as of association. —
Painting, Sculpture, and Architecture as Representative Arts, i.

BALUSTRADE, REPRESENTING A FLAT ROOF.

What does a balustrade as thus indicated represent?
What is it for? What but to keep people from falling over?
But if they need to be kept from this, they must be expected
to walk on the roof behind the balustrade. But how could
they walk on a roof unless it were fiat? A few questions
like this will lead to the inference that a balustrade neces-
sarily represents a flat roof. Now, if we compare with this
inference, the fact that this sort of ornamentation is recog-
nized by almost everybody as, on the whole, the most
satisfactory for a wall supporting a flat roof, we shall have
obtained at least one proof that when by conscious design
or unconscious accident the architect faithfully represents
actual conditions, he does exactly what will fulfil the artistic
conceptions of the majority of people. — Idem, xix.

BEAUTIFUL, THE, VS. THE ARTISTIC (see ART AND BEAUTY).

The artistic may result from any isolated proof of crafts-
manship. Not so with the beautiful. It is general in its
eft'ects, and these transcend those of the craftsman. The
light that it possesses is like that of a halo. It illumines
everything of which it forms a part, its influence on the
mind extending to the whole mental environment, giving
suggestions to imagination, stimulus to aspiration, and fill-
ing every allied department and recess of energy with that
subtle force which men attribute to inspiration. It is
merely in accordance with a law of nature, therefore, that,
as a fact, all such statues, pictures, poems, buildings of past
ages as are universally considered to be great conform to

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 49

the laws of ethics almost as fully as to the laws of aesthetics,
' — ^in other words, that one test of greatness in art has always
been its influence upon morals. — Essay on Art and Morals.

BEAUTIFUL, THE, VS. THE USEFUL IN ARTS.

The question, as applied to sights or sounds, suggests
at once that when a man, not for a useful but, ... for an
aesthetic end, reproduces these, he must do so mainly
because something about them has interested, attracted,
and, as we say, charmed him. There is one word that we
are accustomed to apply to any form, whether of sight or of
sound, that attracts and charms us. It is the word beautiful
. . . To-day, everywhere, it seems to be conceded that
arts of the highest class should reproduce mainly, at least,
and some seem to think solely, such phenomena of nature
as are beautiful. . . . For a sufficient reason then did the
Ahh6 Du Bos in 1719, in his ''Reflexions critique sur la
Po^sie et la Peinture, " first apply to the arts the term
*'Les Beaux Arts." — The Essentials of ^Esthetics, 11.

BEAUTIFUL VS. POPULAR STYLE.

And people call, and most of them think, the prevailing
style beautiful, merely because it happens to be current and
popular. They are so constituted that, consciously or
unconsciously, they are unable to resist the tide that, ap-
parently, is bearing along every one else. When the same
tendencies appear in art it strikes me that the critic who
is of value to the world is the man who, in case public opin-
ion be setting in the wrong direction, is able to resist it, is
able to look beneath the surface, analyze the effects, detect
the errors, put together his conclusions, and have indepen-
dence enough to express them. When the current theory is
riding straight toward the brink, he is the man who fore-
sees the danger, screws down the brakes, and turns the
steeds the other way — not the sentimentalist irresponsibly
swept into folly by the fury of the crowd, or the demagog
whooping its shibboleth to the echo, because, forsooth,
he must be popular. — Essay on Art and Education,

BEAUTY AND ANALOGY IN ART (see also ANALOGY).

Our standards of beauty, concerning which the reader may
consult Chapters X. to XIV. of "Art in Theory," are derived
primarily from certain forms of nature, which, because
attractive and charming in themselves, cause men to like
to look at them and to think about them. Accordingly,

50 AN ART-PHILOSOPHER'S CABINET

if a man wish to produce forms of art which men will like
to look at and to think about, it is merely a dictate of
policy, and, if he be an artist, it is generally a dictate of
preference, for him to select these forms for his models;
and in the degree in which he reproduces them, or any effects
analogous to theirs, his product will have beauty. What is
to prevent his selecting them because, viewed in one aspect,
they are beautiful; and yet also selecting them because,
viewed in another aspect, they, as well as all other natural
forms, are analogical? Certainly there is no conflict be-
tween the conception that beauty is of paramount aesthetic
importance, and the conception that the effects obtained
through the use of beauty should be analogical. — The
Representative Significance of Fornix xii.

BEAUTY, ATTRIBUTED TO BOTH FORM AND SIGNIFICANCE.

Let us recall a woman, in prominent position, of great
beauty of form and excellence of character, a woman with
the reputation, say, of Queen Louise of Prussia, the mother
of the first Emperor William. Here was one whose form
and face were of such a nature that, owing solely to their
effects upon the organs of sight, they would cause almost
any observer of ordinary taste, however ignorant of whom
or of what she was, to declare her to be beautiful. But,
behind and above the attractions of her mere appearance,
she had such a character, such mental and sympathetic
traits, that none of her own family, intimately acquainted
with these, would have been willing to admit that she was
beautiful to others in as deep and spiritual a sense as to
themselves. But to what would their unwillingness to
admit this be owing, except to a subtle belief in a phase of
beauty dependent upon effects exerted not upon physical
organs, but upon mind and soul? At the same time, had
one of their number been blind, all the others would have
regretted the impossibility of this one's recognizing her
beauty as they did. But to what would this feeling be
owing, except to an inward conviction that beauty is a
result of effects coming from form as well as from character ;
and, not only this, but also from both of them when com-
bined.— Art in Theory, xii.

This combination of mental effects with those of form
can be recognized more clearly in connection with poetry.
In this art, besides the beauty which is due to phraseology,

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 51

as manifested in the choice and sequence of words, and in
various developments of assonance, alliteration, rhythm,
and rhyme, everybody acknowledges that there is also a
beauty dependent upon the thought, the proof of which is
that this beauty is frequently as great in prose as in poetry.
But from what does this beauty spring? Clearly and un-
mistakably from a combination of the effects of recollection,
association, and suggestion, assuming concrete form in the
imagination; in other words, from the harmonious effects
of many different forms, some coming from without and
some from within the mind, some perceptible to sight or
recalled by memory as once perceptible to sight, and some,
according to the laws of the mind, merely conjured by fancy.
As a rule, too, the wider apart the spheres are from which
these effects are derived, introducing that which is un-
expected and surprising, the more striking is the beauty
resulting from their combination, as where those that are
extremely material are united to those that are extremely
mental, e. g.,

Still as a slave before his lord,
The ocean hath no blast;

His great bright eye most silently
Up to the moon is cast.

The Ancient Mariner: Coleridge.
— Essentials of Esthetics, 11.

If men think with the classicists of the extreme type that
the chief end of art is imitation, either of classic models or
of nature, is it not because, consciously or unconsciously,
they hold to a belief that beauty is conditioned mainly
upon form? And if, on the contrary , they think with the
romanticists that the chief end of art is the expression
of ideas, is it not because they believe that beauty is
a result of thought or feeUng either of the human mind
as in art, or of the creative mind, as, according to the
Platonists, in nature? The inference, therefore, from
what has been said hitherto, is that there must be some
who attribute beauty to form; and some who attribute it to
the thought or feeHng expressed in the form, with a proba-
biUty also of the existence of some who attribute it partly
to the one source and partly to the other. — Art in Theory, x.

BEAUTY ATTRIBUTED TO HARMONY OF COMPLEX EFFECTS.

The phase of unity appealing to scientific apprehension
is usually the basis of conscious or unconscious classifica-

52 AN ART-PHILOSOPHER'S CABINET

tion as it is termed; that appealing to philosophic compre-
hension is usually the basis of what, if distinguished at all
from classification, is termed systemization ; and that ap-
pealing to aesthetic appreciation can be defined by no better
term, perhaps, than harmony, as the word is used not in a
technical but in a general sense. As we shall find presently,
it is the phase of unity that we have in harmony, which, as
manifested in connection with a variety of complex effects,
produces the result that is termed beauty. — Art in Theory y

XII.

The highest beauty, in all its different phases, results, as
is the case in other departments of excellence, from har-
mony in effects. Analyzing the elements of these effects,
carries with it the additional conclusion that, so far as
beauty is physical, it results when sounds, shapes, or colors
harmonize together and in such ways that their combina-
tions harmonize with the natural requirements of the
physical senses — ears or eyes — that are addressed; that,
so far as beauty is psychical, it results when the thoughts
and feelings suggested or expressed through forms harmonize
together, and also with the natural requirements of the
mind addressed; and that, so far as beauty is both physical
and psychical, it results when all the elements entering into
both physical and psychical effects harmonize together, and
also with the combined requirements of both the senses and
the mind. In this latter case, it will be observed that the
complete beauty which results necessitates something more
than that which is either formal or expressional. It can
be obtained in the degree only in which a form beautiful
in itself fits a beautiful ideal conjured in the mind by the
imagination as a result of a harmonious combination of
thoughts and feelings. To express all this in language as
concise as possible, we may say that beauty is a char-
acteristic of any complex form of varied elements producing
apprehensible unity {i. e., harmony or likeness) of effects
upon the motive organs of sensation in the ear or eye,
or upon the emotive sources of imagination in the mind;
or upon both the one and the other. — Idem, xiv.

The essential element of beauty is harmony resulting from
complexity of effects, and the greater the number of the
effects upon the mind that can be added to effects upon
the senses, the greater, at times, is the amount of the

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 53

beauty. A single tone gains in beauty, as has been said,
when compounded of several different partial tones; but
it is usually more beautiful when heard in connection with
a melody or chord or series of chords that multiply the
complexity many scores of times. The tone is still more
beautiful when, in addition to this, it resembles, so as
clearly to represent, some natural or conventional method
of expression, and therefore some effect of emotion, and
in connection with this a combination of the effects of
many different emotions. So with poems, pictures, statues,
and buildings; they are all made more beautiful, the more
their harmony results from effects of apparent complexity
in the form, and more beautiful still, the more, in addition
to this, it results from the mental effects of images recalled
in memory or conjured by imagination, as well as of infinite
ranges and spheres of these. In fact, this increase of
beauty always continues up to the point where confusion
begins. This is true even of the blending of effects from
different arts, as where to those of melody are added those
first of harmony, then of poetry, then of acting, then of
dancing, then of painting, then of sculpture, then of archi-
tecture, till, finally, we have all the components of a Wag-
nerian opera. In all such cases, up to the point where
confusion begins — but it must be confessed that with some,
perhaps with most people, it begins long before the list is
completed — there is an apprehensible increase of the dis-
tinctly aesthetic influence. — Idem, xiii.

BEAUTY, HUMAN, ATTRIBUTABLE TO BOTH FORM AND SIGNIFI-
CANCE {see also taste, discrepancies in).
As related to the human form, one must always bear in
mind that its proportions are expressive of significance.
All the members, whether connected with forehead, eyes,
ears, nose, mouth, chin, neck, shoulders, arms, hands,
waist, hips, legs, calves, ankles, feet, are adapted to some
purpose; in our minds they are associated with this pur-
pose; and seem beautiful or ugly, on account, partly, of the
way in which they fulfil it, and partly, of the deficiency
or superabundance of the characteristics supposed to be
represented by them, in case they are relatively smaller
or larger than is usual. This is true as applied to combina-
tions, the beauty of which is ordinarily judged to be de-
pendent upon form solely. For instance, take those

54 AN ART-PHILOSOPHER'S CABINET

outlines of the countenance composing what are ordinarily
described as regular features. When, as in these, after
drawing vertical and horizontal lines across the face, the
corresponding parts of eyebrows, eyes, nostrils, on the oppo-
site sides of the face, appear to be in exact balance, inas-
much as the whole is outlined by a framework that is exactly
square or rectangular, the external arrangement is satis-
factory because it seems representative of something in-
ternal that is satisfactory; in other words, because we
associate these physical conditions with correlated ones
that are mental and moral. Because the face is square,
we judge that the character is square. For instance,
Mephistopheles as represented on the stage is always
painted with the arch of the eyebrows not in line with the
horizontal, but beginning high up on the temples and
running downward toward the bridge of the nose. This
is the way, too, in which even a handsome man looks when
contracting his brows under the influence of arrogance,
pride, contempt, hatred, and, most of all, of malice. With
a similar general effect of irregularity, a simpleton on the
stage is painted with nostrils and lips which exaggerate
the expression of the smile by running too far up the sides ;
and a scold, with the sides of the same features exaggerating
the expression of the sneer and frown, by running too far
down. Or if we consider combinations which almost
every one admires, of a comparatively small ankle and
large calf, or of a small wrist and large forearm, or
of a small waist and broad shoulders, or, in a woman,
broad hips; certainly one way of explaining the effects
of combinations of this kind is to attribute them to
significance. Clumsy joints at the places where the body
must bend suggest a lack of flexibility, deftness, and grace ;
and slender muscles at the places where the body must
exert itself suggest a lack of stability, strength, and persist-
ence. Therefore, though the curve connecting the ankle
with the calf, or the wrist with the forearm, or the waist
with the breast or hips, is beautiful, as will be shown by-
and-by, because it fulfils a requirement connecting together
with ease two outlines in vision, it is beautiful also because
it fulfils a requirement connecting together with satisfaction
two facts in thought. After all that can be claimed, there-
fore, for the effects of mere outlines, there remain certain
other requisites of beauty for which these never can ac-

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 55

count. They can be attributed to significance alone, under
which general term we may include, for reasons given in
Chapter XV. of " Art in Theory," all such suggestions as are
contained in conceptions like those of adaptability, fitness,
association, symbolism, sympathy, and personality. — Pro-
portion and Harmony of Line and Color ^ vii.

BEAUTY, IN BOTH PHYSICAL AND MENTAL EFFECTS.

There are certain combinations of colors or sounds, say a
flag like that of Italy, or a tune Hke the " Austrian National
Hymn," the effects of which, in every land, without some-
thing to interfere with the normal action of the eye or ear,
are recognized to be beautiful. Yet it is possible that,
owing to certain associations of ideas, or to certain sugges-
tions excited by their effects upon the mind, the indis-
putable beauty both of the flag and of the tune may fail to
appeal to some. Did the Italian flag seem beautiful at the
time of the unification of Italy to the adherents of the Pope?
or the Austrian hymn seem so to the Italians when Austria
was their oppressor? On the contrary, for exactly opposite
reasons, the sound of a Scotch bagpipe or the sight of a
Scotch plaid, though neither may fulfil aesthetic laws in its
effects upon the physical organs of perception, excite in
the Scottish head and heart that which, with his hand on
the Bible and fear of eternal punishment in store for per-
jury, the Scotchman would be willing to declare an effect
of beauty. Yet even he might be willing to admit, too,
that certain other things could be more beautiful, — an
admission which, logically carried out, would lead to the
acknowledgment that complete or ideal beauty is attained
only by effects, if there be any, recognized to be beautiful
not only by the senses irrespective of the quality of their
appeal to the mind, and by the mind irrespective of the
quality of their appeal to the senses, but also by both the
senses and the mind; in other words, when the effects
upon the senses seem to fit those upon the mind in such
ways that both together seem to fit the whole duplex na-
ture of the man to whom they are addressed. — Art in
Theory^ xii.

In the first place, there are forms made up of complex
effects containing every element of beauty, so far as con-
cerns their appeal to the eye or ear, and yet which, on
account of the character of their appeal to the mind, no

56" AN ART-PHILOSOPHERS CABINET

delicately organized assthetic, to say nothing of moral,
nature could declare to be, in anything like a satisfactory
or complete degree, beautiful. Instead of this, their
beauty in any degree might be denied. Take a scene of
debauchery — a mingling of vice and nakedness — could
any amount of faultless music or physique make this
seem to a pure mind other than disgusting and revolting?
And could the effects of beauty be fully experienced, or
consciously experienced at all, in connection with either
feeling? Notwithstanding every argument or example of
immoral art, there is but one answer to this question. Cer-
tainly they could not, and why not? Because the effects
which act together harmoniously, so far as concerns their
influence upon the ear or eye, are accompanied by other
effects produced through the agency of the imagination
calling up forms from the realms of recollection, associa-
tion, and suggestion; and with these latter effects those
from without are discordant. — Idem, xiii.

Every physiologist admits that the nerves may be
affected not only from the sense-side, but also from the
mind-side. A man suffers in spirits and health not only
because of influence exerted upon his body from without,
but also because of influence coming from his own thoughts
and emotions. It is a simple physiological fact, therefore,
that, even though the nerves may be agreeably affected by
a form, nevertheless if, owing to a lack of adaptability or
fitness, or to a failure to meet the mind's requirements of
association, symbolism, sympathy, or personaHty, certain
suggestions of the form jar upon one's sense of congruity or
propriety, or, as we say, shock one's sensibilities, then even
the physiological condition which is the subjective realiza-
tion of the presence of beauty will not ensue.

The author is aware that to take this ground is to meet
with the accusation, on account of the one subject to
which the principle is most frequently applied, that he is
confounding the assthetical with the ethical. But this
is not so. It seems so because the dictates of conscience
are more apt to be the same in all men than those of any
other part of one's nature, and because, therefore, that
which violates these dictates is that which is most likely
to appear distasteful to the largest number. But the
principle involved applies to a vast range of subjects which
have nothing to do with ethics. A picture untrue to the

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 57

requirements of history also, or to the scenes of a locaHty,
might have a correspondingly distasteful effect upon the
mind of an historian or a traveller; might so jar upon his
sensibilities as to counterbalance entirely any possible
degree of excellence in form considered merely as form. —
Proportion and Harmony of Line and Color, vii.

BEAUTY IN EXPRESSION.

We sometimes find, as in the pictures of early Christian
art, a degree of beauty which cannot be attributed to any
fulfilment of the laws of line or color, such as meet the
physiological requirements of the eye. Yet often these
pictures are acknowledged to possess great charm, owing
to what is termed, notwithstanding the implication of
some that it does not exist, beauty of expression. What
is meant by this? Careful analysis will show that it means
that there are evidences in them of a blending of separate
and very widely different effects, only a few of which are
attributable to form as form. The rest are attributable
to traits of character, which certain of the depicted faces
and figures are supposed to manifest. But is not every one
of these traits of character conjured by the imagination of
the spectator and assigned to the forms only so far as they
have effects upon recollections of some like form, or upon
associations with it, or else as they in some other way sug-
gest a significance which can have its origin in no place
except his own mind? — Art in Theory, xiii.

There are forms the inharmonious effects of which upon the
senses render them incapable of appearing beautiful, con-
sidered merely as forms ; and yet, on account of other accom-
panying effects exerted upon the mind, these same forms
often manifest, not a little, but a great degree of beauty.
Recall, for instance, many a tone expressive of joy, admira-
tion, wonder, surprise, as it is uttered upon the stage, not
only in dramas that are spoken, but in operas that are
sung; and yet such tones, having all the scientific qualities
of noise and not of music, have precisely the thrilling and
inspiring effects upon thought and emotion that are ascribed
to beauty. It is the same with lines. The rigid straightness
and sharp irregularity allowed in art because they alone are
expressive of passion, either rightly or wrongly impelled, do
not in themselves considered, whether used in dramatic
representation or in pictures or statues, contain any har-

58 AN ART-PHILOSOPHERS CABINET

monious elements such as must appeal to the eye before
a form can produce upon it the physical effect of beauty.
So with colors. In connection with certain scenes or figures
the effects which the mind attributes to beauty may often
be received from forms depicted in hues that to the eye alone
appear to be only dingy, mixed, and sometimes positively
inharmonious. — Idem, xiii.

BEAUTY IN FORM.

To men generally, a fabric of a single hue hanging in a
shop-window, two or three of different hues thrown acci-
dentally together, and certain figures, even rooms, on
account, sometimes of their colors, sometimes of their
proportions, sometimes of both, are termed, and properly
termed, beautiful. When so used, the word does not refer
necessarily to any human thought or feeling that men recog-
nize as being suggested through them or by them. All that
is meant is, that certain colors and spaces have been so
presented as to fulfil requirements of physical laws that
make them attractive or agreeable to the sense of sight.
Women are not wrong in principle, only in their applica-
tion of the effect to a lower sense, when they apply the
same word to soups and pies agreeable to taste. — Idem, x.

BEAUTY IN SIGNIFICANCE.

Ordinary language recognizes a phase of beauty in mere
significance, despite the form. Let one come upon a woman
with a deformed figure and homely countenance, dressed
in most inharmonious colors, and in a most illy proportioned
room; yet if she be engaged in the utterance of some noble
sentiment, or in the performance of some sublime act of
charity or of self-sacrifice, the expression of the motive in
her face and frame, together with her surroundings, may
be so accordant with the demands of his soul as to trans-
figure the mere forms, and prepare him to swear before a
court of justice that he has seen what is beautiful. — Idem, x.

BEAUTY IN SOUND.

When is a sound beautiful ? Few would think of answer-
ing this except by saying, when it is a blending together,
in accordance with the laws of harmony, of several sounds,
as in melodies or chords, or series of these, — in other words,
when the sound is not simple but complex. But let us be
accurate in this matter. Is it not true that a single sound,
like the solitary, unvaried note of a bird or of a prima donna,

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 59

is sometimes beautiful? Certainly it is. But when is it
beautiful? Of course, when it is musical. But when is it
musical? As all physicists know, in the degree in which
it is complex; and complex under such conditions that all its
component effects work together in ways causing them to
fulfil the same laws of harmony that are fulfilled in chords
or series of them. . . . For instance, when a string like
that of a bass viol is struck, its note, if musical, is not single
or simple: it is compound. Suppose that it produces the
tone of the bass C — representing a sound-wave caused by
the whole length of the string. This C is the main, or, as
it is termed, the prime tone that we hear. But, at the same
time, this same string usually divides at the middle, pro-
ducing what is called a partial tone of the C above the bass,
representing a sound-wave caused by one half the string's
length. It often produces, too, partial tones of the G above
this, of the C above this, and of the E above the last C,
representing sound-waves caused, respectively, by one
third, one fourth, and one fifth of the string's length.

— Ideniy XII.

BEAUTY IN THINGS SEEN.

When is a line beautiful ? Who, if asked this, would not
answer, when it outlines a figure? And when does it out-
line a figure? — When it is a combination of many lines of
different directions; and, therefore, when its effects are
complex. But here again it may be asked, is a single line
never beautiful? And again we may answer, "certainly."
But, if so, the line is never perfectly straight; it is never
a line having the simple effect of only one direction. The
line of beauty is a curve; in other words, it has a complex
effect. Nor is it really beautiful even then, except when
its different sections are conditioned and related so as to
produce effects which, for reasons that cannot be given here,
are recognized to be harmonious. The same is true of colors
also. It is with the harmony or contrast occasioned by the
presence of many of these used together that we ordinarily
associate the idea of beauty. But yet a single color may be
beautiful. At the same time, when this is so, it is owing
either to the contrast between it and everything surround-
ing it, or else to harmonious effects of light and shade, as they
apparently play upon the surfaces of a hue, and also subtly
underlie it in those exact subdivisions of the elements of light
and of its absence, which determine what it is. — Idem, xii.

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BEAUTY, ITS APPEAL TO THE SYMPATHIES.

On the whole, however, this fact that men attribute
beauty to that which makes an appeal to the sympathies
has not been sufficiently emphasized. Yet nine people
out of ten, especially among those not educated in partic-
ular schools of art, whose minds therefore act according
to first principles rather than according to derived ones,
in reading poetry, in looking at pictures, or in entering
houses, judge of their beauty precisely as the poet Coleridge
said that he did of the inspiration of the Bible — namely,
b}'^ the feeling that it found him. In this fact with reference
to the influence of art, lies the degree of truth that there is,
when not made universally applicable, in the theory of
"association." We all take delight in songs and choruses
like those of which we have pleasant reminiscences; in
passages of poetry that express thoughts or feelings like
those to which we have been led by our own experiences;
in landscapes like those by which we have been surrounded
in hours of pleasure; in figures like those which we have
loved or should wish to love could we only find them; in
buildings like those which we have possessed or should like
to possess as homes. In all these cases, with a possibility
of a breadth of applicability in other directions not possible
to the theory of association, as held exclusively, the principle
of ascribing beauty to the influence of like effects exerted
by the forms from without and by those conjured by the
imagination within, covers all the facts. But notice, too,
that among these like effects, in cases where beauty emanates
from a work of art, are included not merely effects traceable
to the thought, feelings, will, in short the whole character
of the artist, all of which have been manifested by him in
his art-form, but also those conjured by the imagination
from the thought, feelings, will, in short the whole character,
of the one to whom the beauty appeals. — Ideniy xv.

BEAUTY OCCASIONED FROM WITHOUT AND FROM WITHIN.

Going back to what was said of the play-impulse or the
art-impulse, which is distinctively manifested, as explained
there, in an excess of psychical or spiritual life, let us observe
more carefully than was then done the sources of the mani-
festations of this excess, which, of course, will be the same
thing as to trace the sources of beauty; for it is in beauty
that the manifestations culminate. Where, then, are the

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 6i

sources of this? Are they wholly in the mind, the soul,
the spiritual being of the subject of it ? If so, why does the
impulse characteristically express itself, as shown on page
73, in imitation? It certainly would not do this were it
not under the influence of natural appearances that could
be imitated. Yet again, would any number of natural
appearances that could be imitated account for the excess
of vitality carrying on the imitation ? Must not this vital-
ity come from within? It certainly seems so. Yet if it
be so indeed, we have clearly indicated effects both from
without and from within. — Ideniy xv.

BEAUTY PSYCHOLOGICALLY CONSIDERED {see HARMONY).

[Comments on the cesthetic theory that ''the sense of leauty
is an emotional state arising from progressive psycho-physical
accommodation to mental objects.'"] In nature, opposing
effects, like differently produced waves on a pool, can often
be seen to assimilate; and we have a certain interest in
watching the result. So w4th the sense of accommodation,
the one to the other, and, by consequence, of progressive
identity of the different stages of logical processes. But
notice that in these it is necessary only that two or more
very nearly connected conceptions should assimilate, where-
as in beauty — as will be recognized upon recalling the con-
ditions underlying rhythm, versification, musical harmony,
proportion, collected outlines of columns, arches, windows,
roofs, even the tones of a single scale or the colors of a single
painting, — it is necessary that whole series and accumula-
tions of effects should assimilate; that, so far as possible,
everything presented should seem to be the result of putting
like effects (not necessarily like forms — see page 153) with
like. This requirement of beauty appears to be met by
saying that, in it, the amount of assimilation is increased, —
that it results in the degree in which the processes to which
attention ministers all tend together to give this sense of
accommodation. But even this statement seems insuf-
ficient. In the degree in which pleasure of any kind what-
ever predominates, the consciousness of opposing effects
must be subordinated to that of assimilation. Distinctly
aesthetic pleasures differ from those afforded by logical
connection, or by mere sensational ease or assimilation not
only in the relative amount of likeness in them, but also
in the relative comprehensiveness of this. There may be

62 AN ART-PHILOSOPHER'S CABINET

physical pleasure in which there is little or no complexity
and therefore no assimilation between effects from sources
essentially different, such, for instance, as those that appeal
to the senses and those that appeal to the mind; and the
same is true of mental pleasure; and in both forms of
pleasure, because of greater narrowness of excitation, there
may be more intensity — ^more, that is, which induces to
thrill and rapture, tears and laughter — than in esthetic
pleasure. A person is more apt to become hilarious when
being tickled or when hearing good news from the stock
market, than when reading Shakespeare. But the peculi-
arity of aesthetic pleasures is that while they lose in intensity
they gain, as a rule, in breadth. The latter effect follows
not only from the relative amount of likeness in them; but
still more from the range and different qualities of the sources
of this. In their most complete phases, as has been shown,
aesthetic pleasures blend the results of that which is most
important in both physical and mental stimulus, widening
one's outlook and sympathies especially in the direction —
for this is distinctive in them — of enabling imagination to
perceive subtle correspondences between things material
and spiritual which otherwise might not reveal their essen-
tial unity. The fact is, as pointed out on page i6o, that
the effects of beauty are satisfactory in the degree in which
they are felt to accord with every possible influence exerted
at the time when they are experienced. It is not too much
to say that so far as they result from vibrations, or in con-
nection with vibrations, some of these are beyond the
circumference of conscious experience; but all of them,
nevertheless, like the minutest and most distant waves
upon a pool, moved as in our first illustration, seem at the
time to be proportional parts of a universal rhythm. Often,
in fact, they seem to be, and possibly, to an extent, they
always are, parts of that larger rhythm which, coming down
through life and death, winter and summer, waking and
sleeping, inhalation and exhalation, pulse-throb and stillness,
extend back through the alternating effects of metre and
proportion, tone and hue, to others of a nature almost
infinitely subtle, but which are just as necessary to the life
of the spirit as the beat of the heart to that of the bod}^
To this conception of beauty the idea of sensational ease or
assimilation is necessary as an accompanying effect ; but it is
a question whether, considered even as a point of departure

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 63

for development, it is inclusive of all that is in the germ, or
of that part of it which most clearly reveals the originating
cause. One could not be conscious of the thrills of pleasure
connected with doing a deed of disinterested kindness, were
it not for unimpeded processes in the circulatory systems of
his physical organism. But these do not account for all
the effects entering into such an experience or possible to it,
even if, as at times in the presence of beauty, it awaken a
sense of nothing not distinctly physical. A cause to be
satisfying must be capable of accounting for all the facts.
Can this be affirmed of the processes that have been men-
tioned? Are they not rather effects accompanying others
which, in connection with these, are attributable to some-
thing deeper in essence and more comprehensive in applica-
bility?— Art in Theory, Appendix i.

BEAUTY RECOGNIZED BY ITS EFFECTS ON THE MIND.

So far as can be ascertained, the aesthetic quality of a
single tone or color, as also the concord caused by the blend-
ing of it with others, is recognized to be what it is by the
physical senses irrespective of the conscious action of the
mind. Only the analysis of science has been able to detect
the way in which, in such cases, the effects are made to
harmonize. But can the same be affirmed of all the effects
of beauty ? Can it even be affirmed of all of them that are
indisputably connected with form as form? How is it with
the beauty of effects undoubtedly imparted through rhythm
and proportion? These, certainly, though apprehended
through the physical senses, are recognized only in connection
with the conscious action of the mind. It is because we
can consciously count the beats and accents in music and
poetry, as well as compute the distances between straight
lines and curves in painting and architecture, that we detect
those results in them of exact measurements in time or
space which make them what they are. But if it be true
that certain characteristics of art which are determined only
by form demand action on the part both of the senses
irrespective of the mind and of the mind also, how much
more true must this appear when we consider that in all
cases, as shown in Chapter VI., this form is, in some sense
at least, a form of expression; and therefore a form of some-
thing that in any circumstances must, in some way, appeal
to the mind. — Art in Theory, xii.

64 AN ART-PHILOSOPHER'S CABINET

The very complexity and unity that have been shown to
be essential to beauty of form can be recognized by only
the exercise of distinctively mental analysis. Indeed, the
range of the appreciation of beauty is invariably limited by
the abiUty of the mind to make this analysis. If musical
tones be made to follow one another too rapidly for the mind
to distinguish the differences between them, the result is
not rhythm or melody, but noise; or if a round disk with
harmonious colors near its rim be made to revolve too
rapidly for the mind to distinguish them, the whole produces
only the effect of a mixed color usually of a dingy and
thoroughly non-beautiful white. A similar result is pro-
duced in poetry by metaphors or similes, the different
effects of which are so complicated as to appear mixed, as
well as by hues, outlines, or carvings of a similarly confused
nature in pictures, statues, or buildings.

— The Essentials oj /Esthetics y il.

Now the question comes. Are all the effects entering
harmoniously into that complex result which constitutes
beauty traceable to such as influence merely the physical
organs of the ear or eye? In answer to this it may be
stated, first, that it has been discovered that not only do
the nerves of the ear and eye vibrate as affected by sound
and sight, and communicate to the brain intelligence of
particular degrees of pitch and hue as determined by the
rates and sizes of the vibratory waves, but that in addi-
tion to these the nerves, as well, that constitute the sub-
stance of the brain vibrate and thus give rise to thoughts
and feelings; and, not only so, but that the vibrations of
the nerves in particular parts of the brain give rise to
thoughts and feelings of a particular character; such, for
instance, as those connected with particular exercises of
memory in recalling general events or specific terms.
These facts have been ascertained through various ob-
servations and experiments in connection with the loss or
removal of certain parts of the brains of men or of animals,
or with the application of electricity to certain systems of
nerves accidentally or artificially exposed or else naturally
accessible. Of course, such discoveries tend to the infer-
ence that all conscious mental experience^ whatsoever,
precisely as in the case of sensations excited in the organs
of the ear and eye, are effects of vibrations produced in
the nerves of the brain. If this inference be justified,

Kaffir Station, Africa
See pages lo, ii, 38, 73, 81-85, 88, 147, 148, 162, 208, 227, 326

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 65

the line of thought that we have been pursuing apparently
justifies the additional inference that all conscious mental
experiences of the beautiful are effects of harmonious
vibrations produced in the nerves of the brain. — Ideniy 11.

BEAUTY THE EMBODIMENT OF CREATIVE THOUGHT.

The aspiration and the aim of art
That will not bide contented till the law I
Of thought shall supersede the law of things,
And that which in the midnight of this world
Is but a dream shall be fulfilled in days
Where there is no more matter, only mind,
And beauty, born of free imagination.
Shall wait but on the sovereignty of spirit.
— West Mountain, from *' The Mountains about Williams-
town.''

BEAUTY WHEN COMPLETE.

It does not seem to be true, therefore, that beauty can
be referred merely to form, or merely to significance, or
merely to both together. To cover all the facts indicated
by, at least, the ordinary use of the term, we must acknowl-
edge that all these theories contain some truth; and, at the
same time, that beauty is complete alone in the degree in
which beauty of form and of significance are combined.

— Art in Theory, x.

BRILLIANT WRITTEN STYLES, BRIGHT AND CLEAR.

This is a method of writing not uncommon in our day,
and it is called brilliant. But no style is really brilliant the
figures and ideas of which do not stand out in bright light
and clear relief; and few writers of the first class, not-
withstanding the example of Carlyle, and, to some extent,
of Emerson, obscure their thought by an endeavor to render
it poetically representative. We have found how true this
is as applied to the poetry of the best writers; it is equally
true as applied to their prose. The fact is that a man who
knows best what poetry is, knows best what poetry is not;
and when he tries to write prose he gives men the benefit
of his knowledge. Nothing, indeed, can be more simple
and direct than the prose of Shakespeare, Coleridge, Goethe,
Wordsworth, and Byron. A man judging from it might sup-
pose that these writers, as compared with men like Professor
Wilson, Hartley Coleridge, and Carlyle, had but little rep-
resentative ability. — Poetry as a Representative Art, xxv.

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CHARACTER (see mention of it under architecture, per-
sonality, REPRESENTATION, and REPRESENTATIVE).
CLASSIC VS. ROMANTIC.

Centuries ago, people who spoke one of the two languages,
Greek or Latin, the degrees of proficiency in which even in
our own colleges indicate the class to which a student belongs,
and which everywhere since the revival of learning have
been termed, because the literature composed in them is
supposed to belong to the highest class, the classic languages,
— these people produced certain works of art, noticeably in
poetry, sculpture, and architecture, that are still considered
to equal, if not to excel, anything produced in modern
times. For almost a thousand years, during the Middle
Ages, this art was scarcely known, little appreciated, and
seldom imitated. In the meantime, however, an artistic
development manifested itself among the different Roman-
esque or Romantic nations, as they are termed, i. e., na-
tions both Latin and Gothic, formed from the fragments of
the former Roman Empire. In architecture this develop-
ment culminated in the style termed Gothic. In sculpture,
years before the revival of learning, it produced statues and
busts like those in Wells and Lincoln cathedrals, which in
form are wellnigh perfect. In music and poetry it brought
forth the songs of the troubadours and the minnesingers, and
also the early rhyming chronicles and ballads. It gave rise,
too, to the ''mystery plays" and the "moralities, " and was
the mainspring of the English drama.

About the fifteenth century, however, owing partly to
the wars in the Orient and the attendant renewal of com-
mercial intercourse with the East, partly to the fall of
Constantinople and the consequent dispersion of Greek
scholars through Europe, and partly to that general revival
of interest in intellectual pursuits that soon afterward led
to the Reformation, the older classic languages and art
began to attract attention. The matured results, as they
were, of a matured civilization, they could not but have a
moulding influence upon the theory and practice of Western
art with which they were now brought into contact.

Whatever increases intelligence tends to increase intel-
lectual power, and the influence of schoolmen learned in
the classics was at first only beneficial. Nearly all modern
literature in every country of Europe dates from the Ren-
aissance. Painting and sculptiure attained, at that time,

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 67

an almost unprecedented degree of excellence ; and the style
of building originated by Brunelleschi, Bramante, and
Alberti in Italy was based upon principles that still underlie
the most successful street architecture for large cities, and
which, artistically developed, might have led then, and
might still lead, to results equalling anything termed Grecian
or Gothic.

But increased intelligence tends to increase not only
intellectual activity but also pedantry. The artistic ex-
pression of pedantry is imitation. As soon as that which
was classic became fashionable, artists began to forget to
embody their thoughts and feelings in what they produced.
They paid attention to forms alone; even then to forms
as they could be found, not in nature, but in celebrated
works of art. With these for their models, and being
artisans rather than artists, they attained the highest
object of their ambition in the degree in which they attained
success in copying. Their copying, moreover, necessarily
extended, after a little, beyond the forms to the ideas ex-
pressed in them. The subjects of art came to be not modern
nor even Christian, but ancient and mythologic. For
these reasons, the production of something that imitates
a previously existing form or subject is now one of the
recognized meanings of the term classic. When the word
was used first, Greece and Rome supplied the only classic
products. Now any works of any nation are so called as
soon as they have become admired sufficiently to be used
as models. . . .

The classic tendency being that which inclines the artist
to imitate forms and subjects of the past, the romantic has
come to mean just the opposite, — namely, that which allows
the form to be determined solely by the exigencies of expres-
sion and the expression solely by the exigencies of the period.
In fact, it is hardly right to say that this latter tendency has
come to mean this, — it has always meant this. The
mediaeval pictures were poorly drawn. Their forms, as
forms, were exceedingly defective. Yet they were fully
successful in expressing exactly the religious ideas of the
time. Similar conditions underlay also, as first developed,
mediaeval music, poetry, and sculpture.

This being so, it is evident that romanticism, if mani-
fested to the total exclusion of classicism, cannot lead to
the best results. The same fact is still more evident when

68 AN ART-PHILOSOPHER'S CABINET

we consider that the forms and themes of all art of the
highest character, whenever and wherever it appears, are
developed upon lines of previously developed excellence;
and that to model after others, even in a slight degree, is
to manifest something of the classic tendency. — Art in
Theory, iii.

"The Independent" first refers to the "astounding mis-
apprehension" of this view, and then goes on to say, —
"We cannot at all admit that . . . 'the production of
something that imitates a previously existing form or
subject is now one of the recognized meanings of the term
classic.'" Why can he not admit this? Can it be that
he is unaware that, at the present day, which is what
is meant by the word now, men, when they speak of a
modern artist as producing a classic face, or temple, or
drama, or allusion in a drama, invariably suggest a like-
ness in it either to a Greek face, or temple, or drama, or
allusion containing Greek mythological references? or
else, if not, at least a likeness to some form which, as a form,
is sufficiently old to have a recognized character? And
does he not know that the reason for this suggestion is
that "one of the recognized meanings" — not the only
meaning mentioned in "Art in Theory, " but one mentioned
in its historic connections — "of the term classic is the pro-
duction of something that imitates a previously existing
form or subject"? One would think that everybody ought
to know this. "Les classiques," says a French criticism
lying before me now, "les classiques c'est-a-dire ceux qui
perpetuent une manihre. " But this reviewer does not know
it. However, he probably fancies himself in good company
— ^for America. An earlier critic in "The Nation, " quoting
from "Art in Theory" the statement that "the germ of
classicism is the conception that art should chiefly emphasize
the form," and of romanticism that "the ideas expressed
in the form should be chiefly emphasized," had exclaimed:
" Sound not sense was certainly never a motto of classical
literature." And who had said that it was? Does the
carefully worded phrase "chiefly emphasize" mean "exclu-
sively emphasize"? Or does the term "sound" include all
that is meant by "form"? When we speak of dramatic
"form" do we often even suggest the idea of "sound"?
What we mean then is the general method of unfolding
the plot as a whole. This attempted refutation reveals,

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 69

once more, that lack of philosophic discrimination to which
reference has been made. But connected with it, there is a
still greater lack of historic knowledge. Who has never
heard of the famous theatrical contest between the classi-
cists and romanticists in Paris, which once almost made a
Bedlam of the whole city, because Victor Hugo, the idol
of romanticism, did not model his dramas upon those of
his predecessors, which, in turn, were modelled upon those
of the Greeks? What was Hugo contending for? For the
right to emphasize chiefly the ideas behind the form — to
speak out naturally upon a modern subject, with a style to
fit it, whether it assumed a conventional form, or one that
nobody before had ever attempted. But no, says one of
these critics: ** Classicism and Romanticism are tempers
of mind." ''They owe their origin," says the other, **to
a difference in mental constitutions. " Of course, there is a
truth in this. By nature men are inclined toward the
one or the other. But one might say the same of almost
any different phases of mental action. He might say it
of the tendencies to intemperance or gambling. But
would his saying this explain what either of these is?
Certainly not; for only when the tendencies come to the
surface and reveal themselves in a form of action, do they
exist in such a way that they can be differentiated. The
same is true of classicism and romanticism. They cannot
be differentiated till developed into a form of expression.
The questions before us are, what is this form, and what is
there in it, as a form, that makes it what it is? To speak
of differences in ** tempers of mind" or of ''mental constitu-
tion," is to mention something influential in causing a
difference to be. But it is no more influential than is the
spirit of the age, or the conditions of taste, or environment,
or education; and it fails to suggest, as even some of these
latter do, why it is that, in certain periods, all authors and
artists incline to classicism, and in other periods all of them
incline to romanticism; while, now and then, the same
man seems almost equally inclined to both. Goethe's
*' Leiden des jungen Werther's," for instance, and his
**Goetz von Berlichingen " are specimens of distinctively
romantic literature; whereas his "Iphigenie auf Tauris"
is, perhaps, the most successful modem example of classic
literature. At what period between writing the first two
and the latter of these was his "temper of mind," his

70 AN ART-PHILOSOPHER'S CABINET

"mental constitution" changed? Is it not a little more
rational to say that what was changed was his artistic
method? — possibly, his theory of this? — that in the first
two he "chiefly emphasized" the "significance," and in
the last, "the form," causing it to be — what he did not
take pains to cause the others to be — "something imitating
a previously existing" Greek "form" not only, but, in this
case, a Greek "subject" also?

On the contrary, says one of these critics, elaborating his
theory about "tempers of mind, " "classicism is reasonable,
logical, and constructive, while romanticism is emotional
and sensuous"; and the other echoes his sentiments with
something about "the eternal distinction between the intel-
lectual and the emotional." And so one is to believe that
the distinguishing feature of classic Greek sculpture — like
a " Venus, " a "Faun, " or a "Group of the Niobe, " — or of a
classic Greek drama, like the "Antigone," is, that it is not
sensuous or emotional; and that the distinguishing feature
of the plays of Shakespeare or Hugo, or of a Gothic cathe-
dral, is that they are not reasonable or logical or construc-
tive ! Of course, there is a cause underlying the distinctions
that these critics are trying to make. It is suggested too
in "Art in Theory." On page 25, the statement is made
that one characteristic of romantic art is that in it the
form is "determined solely by the exigencies of expres-
sion," and on page 17, at the beginning of the chapter in
which this statement occurs, as well as in scores of other
places in the book, it is explained that by the term expression
is meant a communication of thought and feeling combined.
Without any explanation indeed, this meaning would be a
necessary inference from the fundamental conception of the
book, which is that all art is emotional in its sources, and
that art-ideas are the manifestations of emotion in con-
sciousness (Chapters V., XVIII., and XIX.). It follows
from all these facts together that emotion — but not without
its accompanying thought, which, sometimes, as with
Browning, throws the emotion entirely into the shade — has
a more unrestricted expression in romantic art than in classic
art. In the latter the form is "chiefly emphasized," and
therefore there is a more conscious, as well as apparent
exercise of rational intelligence engaged in constructing a
form for it, and in confining the expression to the limits of
this form. But we must not confound the effects of this

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 71

difference with that which causes them. This is the method
of the artist when producing his art-work, a method influ-
enced by the relative attention which he gives, either con-
sciously or unconsciously, to the requirements of significance
or of form. It is important to recognize this fact, too,
because, otherwise, we should not recognize that he is the
master of his methods, and, if he choose, can produce in
both styles, though, of course, not with equal pleasure,
because he must have his preferences; nor with equal
facility, because it is a matter of a lifetime to produce suc-
cessfully in either. To suppose that his methods master
him, is to show a lack of insight, with reference to the prac-
tice of art, still greater than that just indicated with
reference to the theory of it. Goethe could write * * Iphigenie
auf Tauris" or the ** Leiden des jungen Werther's." So,
too, the same painter can "chiefly emphasize" form in his
figures by using the distinct "classic" line, as it is termed;
or, if he have been educated in another school, often merely
if he choose, he can suggest the form with the vague outlines
of the romantic impressionists; and the same architect also
can plan a classic Girard college, or a romantic seaside
cottage. To imagine otherwise, is to parallel the notion of
a schoolboy that the poet tears his hair, rolls his eyes, raves
in the lines of a lyric rather than of a drama, and makes a
general fool of himself by a complete lack of self-control
whenever he is composing at all, simply because he is "bom
and not made."

That this inference with reference to the error as to
artistic methods is justified, is proved by the inability of
critics of this class to recognize the necessity of making
any distinction whatever between significance in form — not
outside of form — and form as developed for its own sake,
concerning which the reader may notice what is said in the
Introduction to "Music as a Representative Art." —
Rhythm and Harmony in Poetry and Music, Preface.

CLASSIFICATION, AS THE SOURCE OF ART-COMPOSITION.

Men generally — and possibly we may find the same true
of artists — before they can master the materials about them,
must do what is expressed in the old saying, "Classify and
conquer. " When the child first observes the world, every-
thing is a maze; but, anon, out of this maze, objects
emerge which he contrasts with other objects and distin-

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guishes from them. After a little, he sees that two or three
of these ot:)jects, thus distinguished, are alike; and pursuing
a process of comparison he is able, by himself or with the
help of others, to unite and to classify them, and to give to
each class a name. . . . All his knowledge, and not only
this, but his understanding and application of the laws of
botany, mineralogy, psychology, or theology will depend on
the degree in which he learns to separate from others, and
thus to unite and classify and name certain plants, rocks,
mental activities, or religious dogmas. Why should not the
same principle apply in the arts? It undoubtedly does.
. . . The factors classified and the results attained in
science, philosophy, and art are different; but in essential
regards, the method is the same. It is so because it is the
same human mind that applies it. — The Genesis of Art-
Form, I.

Just as the physicist classifies effects conditioned upon
laws operating underneath phenomena of a physical nature,
and the psychologist classifies effects conditioned upon laws
operating underneath phenomena of a psychical nature, so
the artist classifies effects conditioned upon laws operating
underneath phenomena of an artistic nature. . . .

So far as classification results from the conditions of mind,
its function is to simplify the work of forming concepts,
and its end is attained in the degree in which it enables
one to conceive of many different things — birds or beasts,
larks or geese, dogs or sheep, as the case may be — as one.
Classification is, therefore, an effort in the direction of unity.
It is hardly necessary to add that the same is true of art-
composition. Its object is to unite many different features
in a single form. Unity being the aim of classification, it
is evident that the most natural way of attaining this aim
is that of putting, so far as possible, like with like; and that
doing this necessitates a process of comparison. Applying
this principle to art-composition, and looking, first, at music,
we find that the chief characteristic of its form is a series of
phrases of like lengths, divided into like numbers of meas-
ures, all sounded in like time, through the use of notes that
move upward or downward in the scale at like intervals,
with like recurrences of melody and harmony. So with
poetry. The chief characteristics of its form are lines of
like lengths, divided into like numbers of feet, each uttered
in like time, to which are sometimes added alliteration,

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 73

assonance, and rhyme, produced by the recurrence of like
sounds in either consonants, vowels, or both. In painting,
sculpture, and architecture, no matter of what "style,"
the same is true. The most superficial inspection of any
product of these arts, if it be of established reputation, will
convince one that it is composed in the main by putting
together forms that are alike in such things as color, shape,
size, posture, and proportion. . . .

But classification is traceable not only to the conditions
of mind but also of nature. It is in the latter that the mind
is confronted by that which classification is intended to
overcome, by that which is the opposite of unity — namely,
variety. If there were none of this in nature, all things
would appear to be alike, and classification would be un-
necessary. As a fact, however, no two things are alike
in all regards; and the mind must content itself with putting
together those that are alike in some regards. This is the
same as to say that classification involves, occasionally,
putting the like with the unlike and necessitates contrast as
well as comparison. ... A similar fact is observable
in products of art. One of the most charming effects in
music and poetry is that produced when more or less unlike-
ness is blended with the likeness in rhythm, tone, and move-
ment which, a moment ago, was said to constitute the chief
element of artistic form. In painting and sculpture one of
the most invariable characteristics of that which is inartistic
is a lack of sufficient diversity, colors too similar, outlines
too uniform. So, too, with architecture. Notice the
conventional fronts of the buildings on many of the streets
of our cities. Their accumulations of doors and windows
and cornices, all of like sizes and shapes, are certainly not
in the highest sense interesting. When we have seen a few
of them, we have seen all of them. In order to continue to
attract our attention, forms must, now and then, present
features that have not been seen before. In "The Genesis
of Art-Form" (see the chart on page 89 of this volume),
the suggestions derived from a line of thought similar to
that just pursued, are developed into various methods used
in art-composition. — Essentials 0} Esthetics, xiv.

CLASSIFICATION, NECESSITATED BY IMITATION.

At first thought, classification, and anything resembling
imitation appear to necessitate different processes. But,

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possibly, they do not. Suppose that the forms of nature
themselves were found to manifest effects like those of
classification? In that case, to imitate them would involve
imitating this ; and to add to them, as is usually done in art,
and to add to them in such a way as to make the added fea-
tures seem analogous to the imitated ones, and thus to cause
the forms as wholes to continue to seem natural, would in-
volve continuing the process of classification. Now, if, with
this thought in mind, we recall the appearances of nature, we
shall recognize that the condition, which has been supposed
to exist there, really does exist. A man, when classifying
rocks, puts together mentally those that are alike. So does
nature, grouping them in the same mountain ranges, or at the
bottoms of the same streams. He puts together leaves, and
feathers, and hairs that are aHke. So does nature, making
them grow on the same trees, or birds, or animals. He puts
together human beings that are alike. So does nature,
giving birth to them in the same families, races, climates,
countries. In fact, a man's mind is a part of nature; and
when it works naturally, it works as nature does. He
combines elements as a result of classification, in accordance
with methods analogous to those in which nature, or, "the
mind in nature, " combines them. Indeed, he would never
have thought of classification at all, unless in nature itself
he had first perceived the beginning of it. He would never
have conceived of forming a group of animals and calling
them horses, nor have been able to conceive of this unless
nature had first made horses alike. To put together the
factors of an art-product, therefore, in accordance with the
methods of classification, does not involve any process
inconsistent with representing accurately the forms that
appear in the world. These forms themselves are made up
of factors apparently put together in the same way, though
not to the same extent. — The Genesis of Art- Form, i.

COLOR {see harmony of color, decorative vs. pictorial,
and representative effects of color).

color, as perceived by the eye.
Where {i, e., through the bacillar layer) the optic nerve
enters the retina, the eye is blind. This seems to prove
that the bacillary layer is necessary to sight. But this layer
contains the rods and cones. These are said in Foster's
** Physiology " to be transparent, refractive, doubly refrac-

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 75

tive, and very sensitive to light, changing in size in different
degrees of it. Possibly they may act in some way analo-
gously to prisms. But however they may act, Fig. 131
shows that the rods because smaller should be more sensitive
to slight vibratory effects than the cones; and Fig. 128
shows that the central spot, which sees outlines and colors
the most distinctly, contains only cones. Are the rods,
therefore, affected, according to what was said on page 379,
by light in general, and the cones by local color in particular
objects ? Again, each rod and cone possesses two apparently
separated limbs, the larger of which is nearer the main body
of the nerves than the smaller. If a wave of white light
affect each limb similarly, this wave divided and changed in
form, as when color is produced, must affect each differently.
In this case is one cone-limb affected by the principal color-
wave, and the smaller, with reflecting rods near it, by the
twin complementary color- wave? All around the rods and
cones, and inside the former, a purplish-blue liquid is con-
stantly advancing and receding. It has been supposed that
the sole purpose of this is to record different degrees of light
and shade. But, while recording these, it may do very
much more. Most of us must have noticed, when the
power is turned from an electric light, that the one platinum
wire vibrating at different rates produces all the warm colors
— white-yellow, yellow, orange, and red; and it is a fact
easily shown that these colors respectively, when shining
through blue glass, produce all the cold colors, — blue, green
olive-green, and purple. The attributing of articulative
sounds to different rates and forms of vibrations when affect-
ing the same ossicles in the ear suggested to Professor Bell
that apparatus for converting the vibrations in an electric
wire into sounds which made the telephone a'success. Why
is it not reasonable to suppose that the same rods or cones,
when vibrating differently, shaded or not by blue, can
produce all the colors, so that the mind can see them as well
as the outlines in the picture impressed upon the retina.
Another thought: vibrations of particles of matter against
one another or the air usually generate heat. Heat thus
generated usually generates chemical action . Different rates
of vibration — and this is why, as has been proved, it is true
of different colors — generate different degrees of heat and of
chemical action. Chemical action, so scientists tell us,
manifested in the pulling down and building up of tissue,

76 AN ART-PHILOSOPHER'S CABINET

is the method through which the nerves communicate
sensations. What then? The author is aware that he has
suggested an explanation of the way in which sound-waves
or sight-waves may affect the organs of the ear or eye, and
through them the nerves and the mind back of them, which
is not in the books. But can any explanation be found in
them as plausible, or as free from objections, as is this one?
Certainly it is not any explanation ascribing the recognition
of any pitch or color to a separate organ fitted to respond
sympathetically to it and to it alone. So far, at least, as
concerns the organism, as represented in Figs. 130 and 131,
there is no reason to suppose otherwise than that all the rods
and cones may be equally fitted to respond to the waves of
light of any color, and yet with different degrees of sus-
ceptibility, some — possibly the rods — ^representing only at-
mospheric light and color, and some — possibly the cones —
that color which appears in particular objects.

The explanation thus suggested not only refers to a
similar cause the subjective effects both in the ear and the
eye . . . but it seems to explain also the most important
difference between the effects of successive' and of simultan-
eous ^ contrast. This is that the time of the continuance and
the brilliancy of a color in successive contrast depend upon
the length and strength of the vibratory condition preceding
it, whereas, in simultaneous contrast, such effects depend
neither upon the length of time during which one looks at a
color, nor even upon its comparative fulness. This differ-
ence is exactly what, according to our hypothesis, we should
expect. According to it, the continuance and character
of the oscillations occasioning successive contrast will, of
course, be determined by the quantity and quality of their
previous excitation. On the contrary, the complementary
color produced in simultaneous contrast depends upon the
presence by its side of the local color, and it is neither in-
creased nor lessened in intensity by its continued presence.
Moreover, in every place where this complementary hue can
become visible, there is already some other shade or tint with
which its hue must blend, and . . . produce a mixed, and
therefore never, save in very exceptional cases, a brilliant
effect. — Proportion and Harmony of Line and Color ^ xxii.

* Color contrasting with that of an object removed from sight.
' Color contrasting with that of an object which it surrounds.

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 77

COLOR AS PRODUCED BY HAVING HUES MIX IN THE EYE.

Within the last half -century, the art of painting . . . has
been almost revolutionized; and here again we have to at-
tribute the result to a change in the method of producing
effects in color. The older painters, as a rule, mixed their
hues before placing them on the canvas, and put them there
exactly as they wished to have them appear when seen
from a distance. But, according to the most modern
method (suggested first by Velasquez), colors, so far as
feasible, are brought into proximity on the canvas in such
ways that, although not mixed there, they shall, when seen
from a distance, mix in the eye. This is the way in which
the color effects of nature are usually produced; and, as
applied in many cases renders the art-product much more
satisfactory, suggesting that the elements entering into a
scene, like those of leaves and grasses, are separated from
one another, and thus conveying impressions of trans-
parency and atmosphere which were impossible according
to the older method. The general effect . . . with the
attendant impressions of transparency . . . and of in-
finity of gradations seems to be accepted as a crucial test of
excellence in modern painting.

It is safe to say that the Fontainebleau-Barbizon and the
Spanish Roman schools, which have been chiefly instru-
mental in introducing these new methods, have changed
the whole character of much of the contemporary art in
other countries, and of about all of the best painting in
our own. — Proportion and Harmony of Line and Color ^ xvii.

COLOR, IN PAINTING VS. DECORATION.

There are two methods of using color, one having to do
with imitating it so as to represent it as we find it in certain
agreeable or beautiful appearances of nature; the other
with applying or arranging it, irrespective of anything but
the general principles in accordance with which it appears
to be agreeable or beautiful. As painting gives us pictures
of the forms of nature, and architecture does not, it is
natural to suppose that the first of these methods is, or
shotild be, used mainly in the former art, and the second
mainly in the latter, i. c, in the decoration of the interiors or
exteriors of buildings. This natural supposition it would
be well if some of our modern painters would ponder.
When they imagine that they can use color merely "for its

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own sake" they are on ground almost, though not quite,
as dangerous — owing to the far more subtle requirements of
color when used in any circumstances whatever — as are
poets who imagine that they can use rhyme, or any other
element of sound, merely ''for its own sake. " The primary
object of both painting and poetry is to represent certain
effects that are, or that may be supposed to be, in nature ;
and the moment that this primary object is forgotten the
artist or author has crossed the boundaries of his own
art, and must compete with the decorators or musicians,
in circumstances where imitative limitations by which
they are not hampered will materially interfere with his
success. — Proportion and Harmony of Line and Color, xvii.

Just as arrangements of sound in verse are satisfactory in
the degree in which they fulfil such laws of harmony as
apply to music, so arrangements of colors in pictures are
satisfactory in the degree in which they fulfil such laws of
harmony as apply to decoration. Although the painter of
pictures does not use color merely for its own sake, he ought
nevertheless to use it in such a way as to cause it, for its own
sake, to be a source of interest and pleasure. — IdeiUy xxiii.

In music, it is absolutely essential that all the tones
sounded simultaneously as in chords, or in immediate
succession, should fulfil certain physical and physiological
requirements. If they do not, all the other art-methods,
however scrupulously applied, cannot secure harmony.
That the same is true with reference to the colors used side
by side or one after another in the order of space is a fact
which, even if not confirmed by our own observation, the
investigations of science have placed beyond dispute. —
Identy XXII.

COLOR-PERCEPTION INFLUENCED BY CULTIVATION.

A spectrum, which, when thrown upon green pigment,
shows only a green color, if thrown upon the green of foliage
shows tints both of red and yellow. Or if the trees be
examined through a red glass, it has been observed that in
the degree in which the glass transmits only the red rays the
leaves are red, although the blue sky above them, as also
green fabrics and pigments about them, appear black. The
conclusion is inevitable that the coloring matter of foliage,
which is called chlorophyl, contains, besides green, other and
warmer colors. Of course, for one who knows this, the

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 79

suggestion of the tints of red and yellow, in the green about
him, will greatly augment his interest in natural scenery.
Nor does it require more than a slight degree of effort to
enable him actually to perceive these. In coloring, as in
everything, men come to see what they try to see. What
but persistence in scrutinizing and criticising their neigh-
bors' attire makes the color-sense in women so much
stronger than in men? As shown in Chapters XII. to
XIV. of ** Art in Theory, " beauty, even as recognized by the
senses, depends largely upon effects produced upon the mind.
The truth underlying such injunctions as "Seek ye first
the kingdom, " "The kingdom is within you," and "Except
a man be born from above he cannot see the kingdom," is
of universal applicability. Those who strive to enter into
the realm of coloring will find capabilities within themselves
which, if properly used, will introduce into their field of
vision an infinite variety of tints and shades which, so far
as concerns the effect upon the senses, transcend in beauty
those which the ordinary man perceives, in a degree akin
to that in which the new earth pictured in the Apocalypse
transcends the old earth of ordinary experience. It is only
the man, too, who is able to perceive these colors in nattire,
by whom they can be fully recognized as representing truth
when they are placed upon the canvas of the painter. Yet
here they are essential. That indescribable effect of vitality
which characterizes the grasses and grains of some land-
scapes is owing largely to the presence in them of these red
and yellow tints. It is these that make of the dead green a
"living green," just as surely as the same tints, were they
used, would give to the pictiu*e of a corpse the glow and
warmth of life. — Idem, xviii.

COMPARISON AND ASSOCIATION IN ART-COMPOSITION {see also
ASSOCIATION, and IMAGINATION AND COMPARISON).

Certain audible or visible effects traceable to material or
to human nature have, either by way of comparison, as in
imitation, or of association, as in conventional usage, a recog-
nized meaning. This meaning enables the mind to employ
them in representing its conceptions. But what has been
said applies to the use of these effects so far only as they
exist in the condition in which they manifest themselves in
nature. Art-composition involves an elaboration and often
an extensive combination of them. How can they be

8o AN ART-PHILOSOPHER'S CABINET

elaborated and combined in such a way as to cause them to
continue to represent the same conceptions that they repre-
sented before art had begun its work upon them? Evi-
dently this result can be attained in the degree alone in
which all that is added to the natural sound or sight
representing the original conception continues to repeat
the same representative effect. In other words, the im-
agination, which, by way of comparison or of associa-
tion, connected together the original mental conception
and the form representing it, must continue, in the same
way to connect together this form and all the forms added
to it by way of elaboration or combination. Other methods
of expression — ^religious or scientific — may use imagina-
tion in only its initial work of formulating words or other
symbols, but art must use it to the very end. It mat-
ters not whether its first conception be an image of a
whole, as of an entire poem or palace, or whether it be an
image of a part, as of a certain form of metre or of arch,
the imagination, in dividing the image of the whole into
parts, or in building up the whole from its parts, must always,
in successful art, continue to carry on its work by way of
comparison or association. — Essentials of Esthetics, xiv.

COMPARISON APPLICABLE TO MENTAL CONCEPTIONS.

The degree of importance that should be attached to the
representation of like conceptions in the forms that are
grouped together, is difficult for some to recognize. Yet if,
as was said on page 344, the difference between the effects
of harmony and of discord be the difference between experi-
encing in the nerves an unimpeded, free, regularly recturent
vibratory thrill or glow, and experiencing an impeded, con-
strained, irregularly recurrent series of shocks or jars, then
an application of the simplest physiological principles ought
to show us that the artistic effects of which we have spoken
can be produced in part by the representation of like concep-
tions. It is universally admitted that the nerves, merely as
nerves, may be affected from the thought-side as well as
from the sense-side. Whatever, therefore, owing to incon-
gruity between thought and form or between different
thoughts as represented by different forms, shocks one's
conceptions or, as we say, one's sense of the proprieties, may
so contribute to the general nervous result that, even though
he may find the combinations of color thoroughly pleasing,

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 8l

it is physiologically impossible that he should experience the
effects of beauty in its totality. On this subject the reader
may consult Chapter XIII. of **Art and Theory." — Propor-
tion and Harmony of Line and Color y xxi.

COMPARISON AS THE FOREMOST ART-METHOD {seC olso COM-
POSITION, IMAGINATION, LIKE WITH LIKE, and PAGE 89).

Every one knows that comparison is the very first result
of any exercise of the imagination. And he knows also
that imagination is the source of all art-production. When
a man begins to find in one feature the image of another,
and, because the two are alike, to put them together by way
of comparison, then, and then only, does he begin to con-
struct an art-product. And not only so, but only then
does he continue his work in a way to make it continue to be
a medium of expression. The forms which he elaborates are
naturally representative of certain phases of thought or
feeling, and the significance of the completed product de-
pends upon its continuing to represent these phases. But it
can continue to do this only when that which is added in the
process of elaboration is essentially like that with which the
process starts. It is a striking illustration of the rationality
which characterizes the action of the mind when working
naturally and instinctively though without knowledge of
reasons, that the forms of all the arts, as developed in
primitive ages, should fulfil this rational requirement.
. . . Looking at poetry, we find the chief characteristic of
its form to be lines of like lengths, divided into like numbers
of feet, each uttered in like time, to which are sometimes
added alHteration, assonance, and rhyme, produced by the
recurrence of like sounds in either consonants, vowels, or
both. So with music. The chief characteristic of its form
is a series of phrases of like lengths, divided into like num-
bers of measures, all sounded in like time, through the use
of notes that move upward or downward in the scale at like
intervals, with like recurrences of melody and harmony.
In painting, sculpture, and architecture, no matter of what
" style, " the same is true. The most superficial inspection
of any product of these arts, if it be of established reputation,
will convince one that it is composed in the main by putting
together forms that are alike in such things as color, shape,
size, posture, and proportion. ... It is an equally
striking illustration of the irrationality and departure from

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nature into which too much self-conscious ratiocination
may plunge the same mind, that, in our own more enlight-
ened age, art-forms should not only be tolerated but praised
— in poems and buildings for instance — in which the prin-
ciple of putting like with like has been utterly disregarded.
— The Genesis of Art Form, ii.

Ancient artists, with only their sensations to guide them,
constructed those harmonic systems of tone and of color,
of which modern science alone has discovered the causes.
These causes, as will be shown presently, are the same as
those that underlie all the developments of form in art,
being all traceable to the satisfaction which, for reasons
unfolded in "The Genesis of Art-Form," the mind derives
from being able, amid the variety and complexity of nature,
to form a conception of unity, and, through the general
method of comparison to embody this conception in a
product. — Rhythm and Harmony in Poetry and Music, vii.

In these volumes, the effects of form in art have been
traced to a single principle, and to the same principle have
been traced the effects of whatever significance also may
be expressed in each form. All art, in any of its manifesta-
tions, has been shown to be an emphasizing, through a
method of elaboration, of factors taken from one's surround-
ings, which are used not only in art, but in every attempt
at expression, for the purpose of representing, by way of
association or comparison, sometimes these surroundings
themselves, and sometimes the thoughts and emotions that
are communicated through them. Moreover, whether we
wish to emphasize the factors themselves, or the purpose for
which the mind uses them, each end is best attained by
putting, so far as possible, like with like in the sense of
grouping features having either corresponding effects upon
the mind, i. e., like significance; or corresponding effects
upon the senses, i. e., like forms ; or, as is frequently the case,
corresponding effects upon both the mind and the senses.
Stated thus, the principle may seem very simple and insig-
nificant. But any one who has read the volumes of this
series, and observed the applicability of the principle to all
possible effects of form in all the arts, together with the way
in which analogous effects in different arts have been corre-
lated to one another ; and who has observed also the applica-
bility of the principle to the mental effects of art, whether
produced by the grandest generalizations that can broaden

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 83

thought, and the profoundest passions that can excite
emotion, or only by the smallest specific accent of a syllable,
the measuring of a tone, the shading of a line, or the turning
of a little finger, — any one who has observed these facts, and
is at all appreciative of the vastness and complexity of the
subject, or is acquainted with the chaotic conditions in which
the histories of opinions have left men's common concep-
tions of it, or is merely aware of that which, in general, is
the distinctive aim of all philosophical analysis, — any such
man will recognize the degree in which, when the elements
investigated are made to seem single and simple, the
comprehensiveness and importance of the discussion are
enhanced. — Proportion and Harmony of Line and Color, xxvi.
The reader needs to be reminded that the developments
resulting from putting like with like according to the methods
indicated in the chart on the opposite page, are mani-
fested not only in rhythm and proportion but also in har-
mony, whether of sound or sight, the difference between the
first two and the latter being that in the former we are
conscious of the elements that are put together, and in the
latter we are not conscious of them, and can only become
aware of them as a result of scientific demonstration. At
the same time, there are both sounds and sights which are
in the border-land, as we may term it, between these two
conditions. For instance, in a low tone of the organ we
can distinguish vibrations allying its effects to those of
rhythm almost as clearly as we can distinguish pitch allying
them to those of harmony. So in the case of this particular
curve, a reason for the use of which is indicated here in
accordance with the principles of proportion, — this ex-
planation will not prevent another, and perhaps a better one,
which will be given on page 292, and which ascribes it to
the principles underlying harmony of outline. — Idem, v.

COMPARISON IN ARCHITECTURE {see mention of it under

ARCHITECTURE, PERSPECTIVE, and PROPORTION).

Study will show that at the time of the Gothic and the
Renaissance revivals, the manifestation in buildings of the
principle of putting large numbers of like dimensions with
like, again came to be considered necessary. It is con-
sidered so in all great architecture.

In case our own builders ignore this fact, we can expect
but little from them. They may turn out of their planing

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mills or stone quarries, pillars that look like those of Greek
temples, or arches that look like those of Gothic cathedrals ;
they may discard these older models altogether, and try as
hard as savages to be original by bringing together dis-
cordant mixtures of shapes, sizes, styles, and colors, and
doom to eternal infamy the names of Queens Anne and
Elizabeth by calling their hotch-potch after them; but no
great architecture or school of architecture can be produced
in this way. Great architecture is founded upon principles
that are in the constitution of nature and of mind, the
applicability of which all men recognize. Nor can they be
ignored or neglected in any product of art without lessening
the force of its appeal to human interest. — Iderriy xiii.
Every list of figures that we have found proves . . . that
the Greek builder was careful to preserve the appearance of
putting like dimensions with like. This principle applied
to all the parts of a structure would determine its pro-
portions as a whole. If, in time, laws like those mentioned
by Vitruvius arose, it is more than likely that most of these
in the forms in which they have been preserved, were after-
thoughts, derived from what, at a period when architecture
was no longer in its prime, was discovered by measuring the
buildings of the fathers. Why it should ever have passed
its prime and begun to decline is easy to perceive. When
any form of art is young, men are never tired of going back
to first principles and experimenting with their designs,
not only in painting and sculpture but in architecture too,
just as often as effects seem unsatisfactory. After the
earlier, creative periods of the art, however, men begin to
think that the whole subject, and all its methods, have been
mastered. They imagine that no more practical experi-
ments are needed. They are first contented with what has
been achieved by their ancestors, and then they begin to
have a traditional veneration for it. That which should
stimulate them to thought, stirs them only to reverence,
and, like many of the critics and architects of our own
day, they come to teach in their schools, and to believe in
their hearts, that to be a successful imitator is to embody
the only praiseworthy artistic ideal. Undoubtedly this was
the fate that, after a time, overtook the architects of Greece.
They became imitators. Because their copies stood before
them,, they ceased to experiment. Because they did not
need to conceive their own designs they ceased to think

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 85

about them; and when they ceased to do this they neces-
sarily ceased to cause them to develop, and began to cause
them to deteriorate. Before long, they began to regard
as ends those methods which the great architects had used as
means. They reproduced the subordinate features in the
older temples, but overlooked the principal ones. Finally
all the measurements that they used grew discordant, and it
was beyond the power of any rules like those of Vitruvius
to make them otherwise. Columns, entablatures, and tym-
panums, bore a general resemblance to those upon the
Acropolis, but contained not one element that, in the
estimation of the merest tyro of the art, could entitle them
to be considered architectural models. . . . The Greek
temples emphasize results, which the others do not, attained
by putting like with like. All the best Greek buildings
show similar effects, and why? Because the Greek lived
near to nature. His buildings emphasized corresponding
measurements for the same reason as do the card houses of a
child. The Greek carried out the instinctive promptings
and prescriptions of the mind. It was in the endeavor to
do this that he originated those scientific adjustments to
accommodate actual proportions to optical requirements,
which will be considered in the following chapters. Only
much later did this end absorb the wh6le interest of builders,
as it has that of modern students who have examined their
works, and thus divert attention from more important
matters on account of which alone these optical require-
ments were at first studied. The result was on a par with
that of the exclusive attention paid to the secondary details
of poetic form in the time of Queen Anne, leading to the
pompous prosaic jingle that during most of the last cen-
tury passed in England for the only permissible poetic
phraseology. — Idem, xiii.

COMPARISON, PUTTING LIKE WITH LIKE ^N POETRY.

The illustrations used are sufficient ... to suggest to
what an extent the meanings of words, whether primary or
secondary, are developed according to the very closely
allied methods of association and comparison. Isolated
words, however, do not constitute language. Before they
can become this, they must be put into phrases and sen-
tences. But what are these phrases and sentences, again,
except words uttered consecutively in such a way that the

86 AN ART-PHILOSOPHER'S CABINET

order of their utterance or dependence upon one another
shall compare with the order, i. e., the direction or tendency,
of the different phases of the mental motive which prompts
to them? Through the whole extent of language, therefore,
which furnishes the material or medium for the expression
of poetry, we find in constant operation this process of
comparison. The same thing is true, but need not be
argued, with reference to metaphors, similes, and representa-
tions of characters and events, which all acknowledge to be
necessary to the further development of poetic language and
thought. — Art in Theory, xviii.

We cannot, without some important modification, frame
any rule to the effect that the uttering in succession of like
sounds is invariably euphonious. But should we, therefore,
draw the inference, as some do, that the opposite is true; in
other words, that in poetry the repetition of similar sounds
is not euphonious, and that here is a case in which the
principle of putting like effects with like does not apply?
Before drawing this conclusion, let us, at least, look farther
into the subject. . . . The vocal organs are so formed
that their positions and actions in an accented and in an
unaccented utterance are different. . . .

Moreover, the nature of the organs is such that ease of
utterance requires that both forms should be present, and
used in alternation. One cannot apply to consecutive
syllables without restriction, therefore, this principle of
comparison. Unaccented syllables must contrast with the
accented ones, and in such a way too as to complement them
(see page 89). But if this requirement be regarded, like
sounds repeated only on accented or only on unaccented
syllables, except in the sense in which all forms of repetition
may become monotonous and tiresome, are not open to
the objection urged. They do not render utterance more
difficult, as suggested above, but, on the contrary, decidedly
more easy. — Rhythm and Harmony in Poetry and Music,

VII.

COMPLEMENT {see CHART ON PAGE 89, CONTRAST, and
HARMONY OF COLOR).

Two things are complements when they contrast, and
yet, as they appear together, complete the one thing to
which they equally belong. They must be regarded, too,
in classification, because every department of nature is full

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS t1

of them. Certain kinds of metals and ores, leaves and
branches, males and females, alike in some regards, unlike
in others, are always found together, and are both necessary
to the realization of the type. So in the arts. In those of
sound, high and low tones contrast; and yet, if we are to
have rhythm, melody, or harmony, both are necessary. In
the arts of sight, light and shade contrast; and yet, if we
are to represent the effects of forms as they appear in sun-
light, both are necessary. In colors, again, certain hues,
like red and blue-green, contrast; and yet as both, when
blended together, make white, both may be said to be
necessary to the completeness of light. In all these cases
the contrasting factors are termed complements. The
principle which underlies their use is closely related, both in
reality and in ordinary conception, to the developments of
it in counteraction and balance. — The Genesis of Art- Form , li.

Complement produces unity in a natural way from things
different. Counteraction applies the principle underlying
complement to things that are not complementary by nature,
and produces, as we have seen, effects that are essential to
the very existence of form. Balance ^ going still farther,
applies the same principle to things that are neither com-
plementary nor counteractive, in such a way as to give a
more satisfactory appearance to the form by adding to it
the effect of equilibrium. A still later development of the
same principle, preceding which, however, there need to be
some intervening stages, results in symmetry. — Idem, iii.

COMPLEXITY {see BEAUTY ATTRIBUTED TO HARMONY).
COMPOSITION IN ART, METHOD OF {see CHART ON PAGE 89, and

mention of it under classification and comparison).
^ How is a song or a symphony that is expressive of any
given feeling composed? Always thus: A certain duration,
force, pitch, or quality of voice, varied two or three times, is
recognized to be a natural form of expression for a certain
state of mind, — satisfaction, grief, ecstasy, fright, as the
case may be. A musician takes this form of sound, and adds
to it other forms that in rhythm or in modulation, or in both,
can be compared or associated with it, varying it in only
such subordinate ways as constantly to suggest it ; and thus
he elaborates a song expressive of satisfaction, grief, ecstasy,
or fright. Or if it be a symphony, the method is the same.
The whole, intricate as it may appear, is developed by recur-

88 AN ART-PHILOSOPHER'S CABINET

rences of the same or very similar effects, varied almost
infinitely but in such ways as constantly to suggest a few
notes or chords which form the theme or themes. A similar
fact is true with reference to poetic elaboration. What are
the following but series of comparisons, — reiterations of the
same particular or general idea in different phraseology or
figures? . . .

What do we have in the poetic treatment of a subject
considered as a whole, as in an epic or a drama? Nothing
but repeated delineations of the same general conceptions
or characters as manifested or developed amid different
surroundings of time or of place. So with the forms of
painting, sculpture, and architecture. Every one knows
that, as a rule, certain like lines, arches, or angles are repeated
in the columns, cornices, doors, windows, and roofs of build-
ings. Few, perhaps, without instruction, recognize that the
same principle is true as applied to both the outlines and
colors through which art delineates the scenery of land or
water or the limbs of living creatures. But one thing almost
all recognize : This is that, in the highest works of art, every
special effect repeats, as a rule, the general effect. In the
picture of a storm, for instance, every cloud, wave, leaf,
bough, repeats, as a rule, the storm's effect; in the statue
of a sufferer, every muscle in the face or form repeats, as a
rule, the suffering's effect; in the architecture of a building,
— if of a single style, — every window, door, and dome repeats,
as a rule, the style's effect. — Essentials of Esthetics, xiv.

COMPOSITION IN ART, METHODS OF (see CHART ON PAGE 89).

Art-composition is influenced first by mental and then by
material considerations. He (the artist) begins with a
conception which, in his mind, is associated with certain
forms or series of forms. To represent this conception is
his primary object. But he cannot attain it, unless the
forms, or series of forms, added by him in the process of
elaboration, continue to have the same general effect as
those with which he starts. About the latter therefore, as
a nucleus, he arranges other like forms according to the
general method of comparison. Controlled at first chiefly
by a desire to have them manifest this, in order to express
a like thought, or to be alike by way of congruity; afterwards
descending to details, he is careful to make them alike
by way of repetition and consonance. While thus securing

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 89

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unity of effect, however, he is confronted by the variety and
complexity of the natural forms from which he is obliged
to construct his art-work. But he soon finds that these can
be adapted to his purposes through the methods of contrast
and complement; and, when it comes to grouping, he is able
still to suggest unity by fulfilling the requirements of order,
in spite of confusion, through counteraction and the arrange-
ment of factors in accordance with methods of principality,
subordination, balance, and organic form. — The Genesis of
Art-Form, ix.

It is the combined result of the application of all of these
methods that produces the general effect termed harmony.
— Proportion and Harmony of Line and Color, xxiv.

COMPREHENSIVENESS AS AN ART-METHOD {see CHART ON

PAGE 89).

Who that has heard the earlier composed overture of
Wagner's **Tannhauser" — and the same question would
apply to the whole opera which this overture represented
and epitomized — can fail to recognize either how themes
thus contrasted may add to the interest, or how, by the way
in which they complement each other, they may augment
the comprehensiveness of the result ? In this overture, a slow
choral, representative of the religious element, is at first
entirely interrupted by wild contrasting movements, repre-
senting the surgings of the passions; then, after a little, it
reappears again, gains strength, and finally by main force
seems to crush the others down, and in the final strain en-
tirely to dominate them. Here, in the blending of the most in-
tensely spiritual and material of motives, is incongruity, and
with it a comprehensiveness including the widest extremes.
Yet how artistically the like features are grouped with like,
and each phase of expression made to complement the
other; and when the two clash, how principality gets the
better of what would else be insubordinate, and reduces all to
order! Incongruity in such cases really adds to the general
effect of congruity, because it suggests, as nothing else could,
the overwhelming power of that tendency to produce a single
effect upon thought, which finally blends the whole into a
unity. — The Genesis of Art-Form, ix.

CONGRUITY IN ART {see CHART ON PAGE 89).

Connecting objects because of like effects produced upon
the mind by way of association or suggestion may be

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 91

termed congruity (from con, together, and gruo, to grow).
It means that two things are conceived of as naturally-
growing or going together; and it may cause them to be
connected when in reality they are as unlike as the sounds of
a church bell and of an organ, or as the crape of a widow's
garb and a white face. — Ideniy vii.

Congruity might cause the artist to associate in a product
things as different essentially as rouge on a cheek and
blondined hair, or a hunting song and the sound of a horn ;
repetition, on the contrary, would demand as much like-
ness as in the allied factors of a piece of fringe, or of a picket-
fence, while consonance, half-way between the two, would
be satisfied were he to unite sounds as different in some
regards as those of the flute, the trumpet, the violin, and,
the drum, or shapes as different in some regards as a chim-
ney and a tower, or a window and a porch. In architecture,
a porch or a bay-window on one side of a building, and a wing
or hot-house on the other side of it, might be alike by way
of congruity. Windows and doors of the same sizes and
shapes would be alike by way of repetition; but merely a
similar pitch of angles over windows and doors and in the
gables of a roof above them, would be enough to make all
alike by way of consonance. — Idem, vii.

CONSERVATISM IMPORTANT IN ART.

It is a question whether the most enduring work of even
the most original artist is that in which he manifests to the
full his tendency to forsake the methods of his predecessors.
Wagner, for instance, will probably be remembered chiefly
not for the extended passages in his ** Siegfried " or "Tristan
und Isolde," in which he carried his theories to excess;
but for the passages mainly in the operas of his middle period
in which his themes were developed more in accordance with
the requirements of form as established by his predecessors.
That he neglected these requirements is more evident, per-
haps, in the works of his imitators than in his own. — Idem, iii .

CONTRAST, AS AN ART-METHOD {see mention of it under com-
parison, COMPLEMENT, COMPOSITION, HARMONY OF COLOR,
IMAGINATION AND COMPARISON, and PAINTING VS. POETRY).

When the modern artist, like the Greek, selects for repre-
sentation a certain part of nature, he does so because he has
contrasted it, and wishes others to contrast it, with the
whole of nature. When, again, in certain parts of his

9* AN ART-PHILOSOPHER'S CABINET

picture, he wishes to bring some objects into the foreground
and to keep others in the background, his attempt is suc-
cessful in the degree in which light and shade and color are
arranged, according to scientific principles controlling con-
trasts, so that the objects, as they appear side by side,
shall be not only separated with the distinctness found in
nature, but shall also produce other distinctively comple-
mentary effects such as art seems to require. Moreover,
it is worth noticing as according with this principle, that
the excellence of subjects as manifestations of ideality is
measured by the degree in which they admit of originality in
the arrangement of contrasts. Hence a fruit-piece, in which
the forms and colors admit of little variation, ranks below
a landscape; a landscape, for the same reason, below one
representing human figures; which latter, in the details
both of line and color in posture, countenance, and dress,
admits of variations almost infinite. — Art in Theory, xix.

CONTRAST, REPRESENTING IMAGINATION {SBB IMAGINATION).

It is the effort of what we term the imagination — the
effort to find in one phenomenon the image of another, or to
find one like another — that leads the mind to compare, and
then, if it cannot do this, to contrast the two. In such
cases, therefore, the imagination is the underlying faculty
of mind called into exercise, comparison the primary method
in which it exercises itself, and contrast the secondary. As
applied to art, the primary position of comparison is still
further augmented by the fact that art-products always
spring from efforts to connect motives and ideas, and to
embody both in a single form. The result is that while the
phases of consciousness represented in the arts of sound
begin, as it were, with comparison, the forms that are pro-
duced in these arts, including, as they necessarily do, many
things that are not alike, involve also a consciousness and a
representation of contrast. The converse is also true, that
while the phases of consciousness represented in the arts of
sight begin with contrast, the production of a form which
shall be true to the appearances, or, as in architecture, to the
formative principles of nature, necessarily involves, also
the consciousness and representation of comparison. Only
in the exercise of comparison and contrast together is the
work of imagination, which is the faculty underlying all the
developments of art, complete. — Idem, xx.

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 99

CONVENTIONAL FORM IN ART.

Just as everybody in Italy, before the time of Dante, sup-
posed that literature could be written in only Latin, though
unintelligible to the common people, so everybody in these
ages of decline had come to expect, in art, forms that were
not natural, and so far, for the reasons just given, not in-
telligible; and all were disappointed if they saw anything
else. — Essay on Art and Education.

CORRESPONDENCES OF REPRESENTATIVE FEATURES OF SOUND
AND OF SIGHT (see also REPRESENTATION BY ASSOCIATION).

Sounds may differ not merely in duration or the quantity
of time that they fill ; but in force, or the stress with which
they are produced, making them loud or soft, abrupt or
smooth, etc. ; also in quality, making them sharp or round,
full or thin, aspirate or pure, etc. ; and in pitch, making them
high or low, or rising or falling in the musical scale. Sights,
too, may differ in analogous ways; i. e., not nierely in
extension or the quantity of space that they fill, which is the
same thing as size; but in contour, which is the same thing
as shape, and is shown by the appearance of forcible or
weak lines of light and shade; also in quality of color, which
has to do with their tints and shades and mixtures; and in
pitch of color, which is determined by the hue.

In addition to merely stating these facts, it may be well
to enlarge upon one or two of them. Notice, for instance,
how true it is that force which gives emphasis to sounds,
rendering them more distinct from one another than would
be the cajse without it, corresponds to light and shades which
emphasize and render more distinct the contour through
which one portion of space having a certain shape is clearly
separated from another. Notice, also, that accented and
unaccented syllables or notes, as they alternate in time,
perform exactly analogous functions to those of light and
shade, as they alternate in space. The impression of form,
for instance, which, so far as it results from metre, is con-
veyed by varying force and lack of force in connection with
divisions made in time, is the exact equivalent of that im-
pression of form which, so far as this results from shape, is
conveyed by varying light and shade in connection with
divisions made in space. Notice, again, that quality and
pitch are terms almost as much used in painting as in music,
quality in colors depending, in a way analogous to quality

94 AN ART-PHILOSOPHER'S CABINET

in sounds, on the mixture of hues entering into the general
effect; and pitch in colors depending on the subdivision
of light and its vibratory effects. Undoubtedly, too, it is
owing partly to a subtle recognition of the correspondences
just indicated that to certain effects in the arts both of sound
and of sight the more general terms, tone and color, have
come to be applied interchangeably. In connection with
the various divisions and subdivisions under which will
be treated the different phases of form to be considered it
is sufficient to say that duration, limited by pauses in connec-
tion with force, as applied to the accents of syllables or notes,
gives rise to rhythm; that extension, limited by outlines in
connection with light and shade, as applied to contour or
shape, gives rise to proportion; that quality and pitch of tone
taken together furnish the possibility of developing the laws
of the harmony of sound; and that quality and pitch of color
furnish the same possibility with reference to the laws of the
harmony of color. It is important to notice, too, that force
or accent, while having to do mainly with rhythm, has a
certain influence also upon tone — in poetry upon the tunes
of verse, and in music upon the melodic suggestions of
different degrees of animation; also that, in the same way,
light and shade, while having to do mainly with outline and
proportion, have a certain influence also upon color. They
change it in order to interpret the meaning which a colored
surface is intended to convey, as, for instance, whether it
is to represent what is flat or round. They suggest, too,
the vitality characterizing nature. Correspondingly, also,
it is important to notice that quality and pitch of sound are
often necessary for the full effects of force as applied to
rhythm; and that the same elements of color are often
necessary for the full effects of light and shade as applied to
proportion. In fact, when used in the same art, the differ-
ent special effects that enter into the general effects of
proportion and harmony which are now to be considered
are none of them produced exclusively according to one
method or to one combination of methods, but more or less
according to all of them when operating conjointly. —
Proportion and Harmony of Line and Color, i.

COUNTENANCE {see olso IRREGULARITY).

The expression of mere individuality alone necessitates
having no two forms or faces in the world exactly alike. Yet

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS . 95

thousands of them may be equally beautiful; and tens of
thousands, though not equally beautiful, may be equally
attractive ; while, to the student of humanity, none can fail
to be interesting. — Paintings Sculpture, and Architecture as
Representative Arts, vi.

COUNTENANCES MAY BE REGULAR WHEN NOT GRECIAN

(see also regularity).
It must not be supposed, however, that countenances,
in order to meet the requirements of regularity, need to
be similar. In its way, a dog's face may be as regular as
a man's ; and there is no reason why one human face should
not be as regular as another, though both differ almost radi-
cally. Of course, this could not be the case, if by regularity
were meant conformity to a certain Greek type, which, as
must be confessed, is the generally accepted supposition.
Regularity, however, need not mean this; but only a con-
dition in which the general outlines sustain analogous rela-
tions to lines or spaces of like directions or measurements.
And there may be many different forms of which this can be
affirmed, all corresponding in principle though not in the
method of applying it. For this reason, when, as is probable
nine tenths of all Americans tell us that they consider these
faces more beautiful than any conforming to the Greek
type, they may be justified. According to the laws of form,
properly interpreted, such faces fulfil the principles of
proportion. But, besides this, according to the laws of
significance, as derived from our association with faces
of the ordinary American type, from our deductions with
reference to the characteristics manifested by them, and
from our sympathy with the persons possessing such char-
acteristics, it is perfectly in accordance with aesthetic prin-
ciples to say that, while as beautiful in form as are the Greek
faces, their beauty, to one of the race and country to which
they belong, is enhanced on account of its significance. —
Paintingy Sculpture, and Architecture as Representative
Arts, VI.

creative art.
It was said that the arts cannot create. But it was not
said that they cannot be creative. If by the creative we
mean the power which seems to represent divine intelligence
through the sights and sounds of nature, what can more
resemble this than can the power of him who makes a further

96 AN ART-PHILOSOPHER'S CABINET

use of these same sights and sounds for the purpose, through
them, of representing his own thoughts and feelings? Is
it strange that he should take delight and pride in work like
this, and in connection with it feel the sources of the deepest
inspiration stir within him? Who is there that could not
draw delight and pride and inspiration from the conscious-
ness of being in the least degree a follower, an imitator, a
child of Him who created the heavens and the earth? —
Art in Theory, v.

CRITIC, THE DESTRUCTIVE.

One is tempted by it toward the easy task of a destructive
critic in general, and to the easier task of destroying their
reputations in particular. But a man who becomes a
destructive critic, except when intellectual slaughter is
justified in order to prevent the slaughter of the truth which
he represents, is one who has turned from the discussion of
principles and is willing to imperil the acceptance of them
for the empty, often merely malicious satisfaction of doing
personal harm to those whom he should wish to help. In
the long run, to live and to let live is the wisest way of serv-
ing the truth, whether of mind or of heart. — The Genesis of
Art-Form, xv.

CRITICISM {see historic, standards, and taste).

CRITICISM, destructive.

The only valid arguments that can be urged against any
form of criticism must be connected in some way with a
proof that it is destructive and not constructive; or that,
if it be the latter, it becomes so by pointing to imitation and
not to invention; or, if to invention, only to methods of it
which necessitate a departure from the first principles of
the art rather than a development of them. — Painting,
Sculpture, and Architecture as Representative Arts, xxi.

CRITICISM, EFFECTS OF, ON THE ARTIST(5ee olso STANDARDS OF) .

Criticism cannot produce personality, but can guide it
to successful performance. It can prevent that total waste
of ability which is invariably expended upon worthless
products, where either imitation or eccentricity has led
taste away from a recognition of standards which are as
enduring as the ages, because rationally deduced from prin-
ciples deeply seated in humanity and in nature. Rules of
art cannot create artistic ability; but they can cultivate it.
They cannot make a man a genius; but, if he have genius.

^^^

Type of an Assyrian Square
See pages g, 73,81, 82, 88, 147, 14S, 162

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 97

they can enable him to give it vent in such ways that it will
exert its due influence; and, if he live, as every man does,
where he must accommodate his productions to the demands
of those about him, the study of aesthetics can elevate con-
ceptions and tastes so as to give a higher aim to the efforts
which are directed to the satisfying of them. The born
artist may be a ruler of humanity by divine right ; but it is
art, the requirements of which can be taught and learned,
that alone can give him his government, army, palace,
throne, crown, and sceptre, and not only these, but the
subjects, too, who on account of their appreciation of the
significance of these will acknowledge his authority. —
Proportion and Harmony of Line and Color, xxvi.

CRITICISM, SCIENTIFIC, NOT DETRIMENTAL TO ART.

There is less danger, therefore, than is sometimes sup-
posed, that scientific pursuits will diminish the facility of
one's imagination. There is always a possibility, of course,
that a single mode of thinking, if pursued exclusively, will
predominate in the mind; but if two modes be pursued
together, and especially if one be pursued for the direct
purpose of giving efficiency to the other, this aim will cause
both to be kept in use, and counterbalance the possibility.
As a fact, we find few instances in history in which a liberal
education, properly subordinated, has proved an injury
to the aesthetic nature, Milton wrote little poetry until
he had finished his political work. Goethe and Schiller
both profited much from the discriminating scientific criti-
cism to which, as appears in their correspondence, they were
accustomed to submit their productions ; at all events, they
achieved their greatest successes subsequent to it. And
with criticism playing all about his horizon, like lightnings
from every quarter of the heavens, who shall calculate how
much of the splendor of Shakespeare is attributable to this
by-play among the circle of dramatists by whom he was
surrounded? With new forms rising still like other Venuses
above the miasmas of the old Campagna, who shall estimate
how much the excellence of the Italian artists has been owing
to the opportunities afforded in historic Rome for critical
study? — The Representative Significance of Form, xiii.

CULTURE, AS INFLUENCED BY ART.

Art, in all its phases, is merely a compend of lifelong
studies in nature and in human conditions, reported by those

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with exceptional powers of perception, insight, and inference.
If men are to become wise, they must have experience. If
they cannot travel and become personally acquainted with
different parts of the world, and its inhabitants, they must
derive their experience from those who can do so. There
is no more efficient way of deriving this than from the pic-
tures, poems, dramas, and novels of great artists. But the
effects of art are so subtle, they depend upon so many
complex causes, that one can derive comparatively little
from it, until he has learned to do so. And when he has
learned this, the result is so connected with everything in his
whole complex constitution, with both mind and soul, that
not only his intellectual but his spiritual experience is
enlarged almost beyond measure. — Essay on Teaching in
Drawing.

CULTURE, AS RELATED TO SCIENCE VS. ART.

A scientific specialist with any amount of learning, if it
be merely learning, may not give any suggestion of what is
meant by culture. A man may study science all his life,
and never do it — which fact is the one irrefutable argument
against an entirely scientific course in our universities. But
it is impossible for one to be a student of art — a dabbler is
not meant now, but a student — and not begin to have some
culture, and this for the simple reason that he is obliged — ■
a statement which cannot be made so absolutely with
reference to any other department of study — to experience
some of the results of practice. It will be foimd, too, that
the degree of his culture will often depend upon the degree of
the thoroughness with which he has studied some art in some
of its phases. — The Representative Significance of Form, xv.

CULTURE, AS RELATED TO TASTE (see olso TASTE).

The age is scientific, and the country's aims are directed
toward material progress. Both facts cause us to empha-
size the real rather than the ideal, the substance rather than
the suggestion, that which is held in the hand rather than
that which is conceived in the brain. In such conditions, the
phase of the play-impulse that prompts to art cannot tend
to give expression to its highest possibilities. A cowboy of
the West could take little pleasure in the Seventh Symphony,
the "Excursion," the "Sistine Madonna," the "Dying
Gladiator," or Roslyn Chapel; and, for this reason, no
artist of the Western plains would be stimulated to produce

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS ^99

its like. But taste in appreciation or production can be
cultivated; and, in the degree in which it is cultivated, a
new realm of thought will open for a man, and with it a
recognition, hitherto not experienced, of those almost
infinite correspondences between spiritual and material
relationships which every great product of art manifests.
Thus gradually the mind will enter a region of thought in
which the play-impulse, which, at first, is satisfied to expend
its energies upon the merely apparent and superficial, will
care for more than a fife and drum, a jingle of rhyme, a dash
of color, a trick of chiselling, or an incongruous pile of stone
and mortar. The mind will not be satisfied unless, at times
and often, music, poetry, painting, sculpture, and architec-
ture suggest the profound and the sublime; in fact, unless
the humanities have had their perfect work, and art has
become humanizing in all of its relations. To open such a
region to the mind, has been the object of the work of which
these volumes contain the records. — Proportion and Har-
mony of Line and Color, xxvi.

CULTURE, WHAT IT IS.

What, according to the conceptions of men in general, is
a man of culture? Does not the following describe him?
He is one who has been educated in the sense of having
been trained ; who has not only a brain but a working brain ;
who is prepared therefore to deal not only with information
but with suggestion ; a man whose aims in study — to express
his condition in terms to accord with the general thought
presented in this volume — ^have regarded duly both the
conscious and the subconscious powers of mind; a man
whose memory is able to recall from his own experience
and that of others, from history current and past, from
books and life, the scores and hundreds of associated
facts and fancies teeming about, and through, and be-
yond the immediate object of consideration; a man
whose sphere of thought belongs, therefore, not to the
small but to the great, not to the single but to the uni-
versal; a man whose whole nature is open to the cur-
rents of tendency moving in upon him from all directions,
and is prepared both to apprehend and to comprehend,
to appreciate and to appropriate whatever truth may
loom from any quarter. — The Representative Significance of
Form, XV.

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DECLINE IN ART.

It is a fact overlooked by many how rapidly art, owing
to its other necessarily imitative methods, when it once
begins to decline, continues to do so. The sense of pro-
portion in the human face and form was entirely lost once,
and recovered again, during the period of the art of ancient
Egypt. It was lost in Europe all the time between the third
and thirteenth centuries. It has been lost many times in
China and Japan. In architecture, as developed in Greece,
the same sense was lost before Rome was in its prime. It
continued lost till the rise of Gothic architecture. It is lost
again in our own time. The simplest principles of propor-
tional perspective, which the Greek applied to buildings
precisely as we do to pictures, are not merely misappre-
hended, but are not considered possible cither of apprehen-
sion or of application by our foremost architects. — Essay
on Art and Education.

DECLINE, NATIONAL, ATTRIBUTED TO ART.

It has been seriously maintained by certain writers that
the development of art in a nation is contemporaneous with
its intellectual and politic?!, but especially with its social
and moral, decline. At first thought, too, this theory has
seemed well founded. Though not true of poetry, the fine
arts never reveal their full possibilities in any land, until
many individuals have come to have sufficient wealth and
leisure to enable them to become patrons or producers of
that which is ornamental as well as useful. Nor does de-
cline come to a nation until exactly the same conditions
of wealth and leisure have caused many to care more for
luxury than for right living. There is, therefore, a certain
connection between artistic development and national
decline. The connection, however, is not that of cause and
effect, but merely of coincidence. Indeed, considered in this
light only, a more careful study of history will reveal that the
connection is by no means as close or inevitable as is some-
times represented. As a fact, centuries elapsed between the
age of Pericles and the intellectual and political decline of
ancient Greece. Rome survived by almost as long a time
her most flourishing period of architecture and sculpture.
Other agencies than those of art could be shown to underlie
the partial decline of Italy and Spain between the seven-
teenth and nineteenth centuries; and there is no indis-

QUOTED CRITICAL C0MMB.nTS.\v :' ^ ;;,. :.,ip|

putable proof of any deterioration whatever in any of the
other nations of Europe as a consequence of their artistic
activity during the last three centuries. — Essay on Art and
Morals.

DECORATIVE VS. PICTORIAL ART {see olso PAINTING).

Decorative differs from pictorial art, primarily, in the
motive. In a picture, color is used in order to reproduce an
appearance of nature. In decoration it is used for its own
sake. While in the former, therefore, all possible shades and
tints may be introduced, so long as, in some way, they can
be made to harmonize ; in the latter, those only ought to
be introduced which of themselves harmonize naturally.
Connected with this difference in motive, is the same differ-
ence that was noticed on page 175 of "Rhythm and Har-
mony in Poetry and Music" between sounds in speech and
in music. In the one, every possible degree of pitch may be
used; in the other, only certain degrees separated from one
another by decided intervals. Of course, the method of
gradation is exemplified both in pictures and decoration ; but
in decoration the colors used are, as a rule, separated from
one another by more decided intervals, such as are indi-
cated in the color-chart on page 334; and they are more apt
to be full hues, than light or dark modifications of these
such as are generally found in painting. These hues are
placed, sometimes, side by side; but they produce better
effects when separated by black, white, gold, or silver lines,
which lessen the influence of the adjoining colors on one
another. Moreover, while painting deals largely with the
greens, light blues, and grays predominating in the world
about us, decoration shows a large use of the reds, oranges,
yellows, and dark blues, as if one design of it were to produce
contrasts to the colors seen in nature. Again, as imitation
of form or outline in decoration is often of little importance,
almost the entire effect depending upon the selection and
arrangement of colors, it is still more necessary than in
painting that these should be grouped so as to fulfil strictly
scientific principles. — Proportion and Harmony of Line arid
Color, XXV.

DEGENERATION IN ART.

Does this comment seem to involve treating evident
absurdities too seriously? Does any one feel prompted to
excuse them because they are merely manifestations of a

i<J(ir.,^/'?,;;^':;:a1V AST-PEILOSOPHEKS CABINET

Species of play? So, as shown in Chapter VII. of *'Art in
Theory, " is all art. The point to be observed is that the
manner of the play reveals the matter of the art-conception.
Besides this, it is important to observe, too, that, owing to
the necessarily imitative action of the mind in connection
with all art-development, nothing can degenerate quite so
rapidly, when allowed once to start in the wrong direction,
as art can. If any one doubts that we are getting ready, at
short notice, to take a stride all the way back to the artistic
conditions of the middle ages, it might be well for him to
ponder the facts just mentioned. Why are they facts?
There can be only one of two reasons, — either because too
few inventive brains are left among our artists to give us
products representative both of mind and of nature; or
else because too few aesthetic brains are left among our
patrons of art to make demands upon the artists which will
necessitate their finding out exactly what art is. — Paintings
Sculpture, and Architecture as Representative Arts, xii.

DESIGN, WHAT IT IMPLIES.

A cousin of mine went to a ball. He came back raving
about a young miss fresh from the country who had fas-
cinated him there. A few days later, he was told that she
was an experienced coquette who had long been out of her
teens. Then he began to talk of her arts, he began to recog-
nize in her a creature of design. And we shall find that
universally when we speak of art, whether of its lowest or
highest manifestations, — all the way from sighs to sym-
phonies or canes to cathedrals, — we mean something which
is a manifestation of design. — Art in Theory, i.

DETAILS, COPIED MAINLY IN LATE DEVELOPMENTS OF
IMITATIVE WORK.

Now, with this thought in mind, turning again to the
other arts, notice that an increase in the imitation of the de-
tails of natural appearances has a tendency to increase the
same in the treatment determining the general outlines
also. As a rule the general plot, i. e., the general outline,
of a ballad has to do mainly with mere events; the plot of
an epic, which comes later, with details concerning the
persons engaged in these events; the plot of a drama, which
comes still later, with additional details representing the
characters of these persons ; and the plot of a descriptive —
as distinguished from a narrative — poem, which comes yet

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 103

more late, with added details representing one's natural
surroundings. So in music. Only in later compositions,
as in the oratorios of Haydn, or the operas of Wagner, is the
plot unfolded by so analogous or imitative a use of harmony
that the melody is reduced to recitative. So too in painting
and sculpture. A reproduction of the general outlines of
form, as by the painters of the middle ages, was once con-
sidered all that was necessary. Now there are schools of
criticism whose sole applied test of excellence seems to be
accuracy in the delineation of the minutiae of appearance. —
Painting, Sculpture, and Architecture as Representative Arts,

XXI.

In accordance, now, with everything that has been said
in this volume, let us notice the order of the development of
the representation of appearances in architecture as fulfill-
ing the principles of correspondence by way, first, of associa-
tion or suggestion; and, later, of comparison or imitation.
On page 8 it was said that in association things are con-
nected that have a like general effect, though they may not
seem alike in their details; whereas in comparison things
are connected that in their details as well as in their general
effects seem alike. In strict conformity with this order of
representative development, notice that in poetry, music,
painting, and sculpture, the first effect which the primitive
artist tries to reproduce is a general outline of something,
either of a story, or of a method of intonation, as in a rude
ballad or chant; or of a figure of a man or a beast, as in a
rude sketch by pencil or chisel. Notice, too, that even when
the desire for ornamentation is quite strong, he is satisfied,
at first, merely by emphasizing the factors of outline as in
measures and verses, or in colors and shadings. The early
poet does not usually give that careful attention to minutiae,
which in more civilized times causes a distinctively poetic
style, and he never has what is termed a flowery style, by
which, as usually interpreted, is meant a style excessively
full of comparisons. Nor does the earlier musician make
any attempt at the significant accompaniments and florid
variations which come later; nor does the earlier painter or
sculptor imitate in color or line the less obvious appearances
of surfaces and textures. So with architects. . . . long
after pillars were given capitals and care was taken with the
arrangements of entablatures and pediments, no ornamenta-
tion appeared except in the way of giving additional em-

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phasis to their necessary characteristics. But just as the
straight onward flow of poetic style begins, after it passes
the ballad period, to be filled up with allusions, mainly
associative and suggestive, and after that with minute
descriptions of flowers, plants, streams, mountains, and the
various men and living creatures that can be seen surround-
ing one, so the straight onward lines of architectural style,
when it gets beyond the archaic period, begin to be filled up
with, first, associative suggestions, and after that with care-
ful imitations of the appearances of nature. . . . Yet, at
first, the imitation is only partial. That is, parts of certain
natural forms are copied, but they are not put together as
in nature. . . . Later than these partially imitated
figures, though now, of course, often found in the same
buildings with them, come those that are fully imitated,
— the method of dealing with forms, which we find in the
later decorated Gothic. — Idem, xx.

DISCORD IN ART {see olso BEAUTY ATTRIBUTED TO HARMONY,

and harmony) .
It is difficult to conceive how a man who has never studied
the subject at all can fail to detect the blunders in some of
the discords above. Certainly few children playing with
building blocks would make mistakes analogous to them.
The outline of the toy houses that they construct are usu-
ally consonant at least. Why is this not the case with those
planned by architects ? For the same reason, probably, that
many in other arts — musicians, elocutionists, painters —
owing to false methods of studying or of applying rules,
seem to be unable to sing, speak, or color in a natural way.
Certain methods of studying or applying the law^s of archi-
tecture seem to have a corresponding effect. Those who
should be conversant with them neglect to exemplify require-
ments that are the most instinctive of which we know. — •
The Genesis of Art- Form, xv.

DRAMATIC ART {see olso EPIC).

Like marriage and religion, dramatic art is one of those
human activities to which, as things are, no one can put an
end; and, at certain periods — as, for instance, at the time of
the morality plays — its influence has been just the contrary
of debasing. What is needed is an endeavor not to abolish
but to correct; and, so far as the nature of art has been
misunderstood, a first step in doing this must be taken by

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS I05

giving people more accurate conceptions with reference to
what art really requires. — Essay on Art and Morals.

DRAMATIC ART DEALING WITH HISTORY.

Just as a magnifying glass modifies all the points of inter-
est in an object to which it is applied, so it seems permissible
at times for imaginative art to do — in case, like the glass, it
does not change the relative proportions of the parts to one
another and to the whole. A poet, like a painter, has a
right to increase the interest and beauty of the life that
furnishes his model by means of the medium — the modern
medium too — through which he is supposed to contemplate
it. Otherwise, the subject with which he deals could not
be treated from a present and poetic view-point, and his
works would not be worth the ink expended on them. All
the consideration for truth which it seems reasonable to
expect of the historic dramatist is that, in a medium, the
component parts of which are necessarily made up of the
language and methods of thought natural to his own time,
he should represent, in their relative proportions, the par-
ticular motives and feelings as well as the general atmos-
phere of thought natural to the conditions existing at the
time of the events forming the basis of his plot. — Introduc-
tion to ''The Aztec God.''

DRAMATIC ART, IN A CLASS BY ITSELF.

Take the dramatic art — a better term, by the way, than
histrionic, though perhaps, because liable to be confounded
with dramatic literature, not so distinctive a term as
dramatics — take this art. In important particulars, it
certainly stands at the centre of the higher aesthetic system,
containing in itself, as it does, the germs of all its artistic
possibilities. It may use not alone the sustained intona-
tions of the voice that are developed into melody and music,
but also the unsustained articulations that are developed
into language and poetry ; and besides these, too, it may use
the posturing in connection with surrounding scenes and
persons and stage settings that are developed into painting,
sculpture, and architecture. Why then is it not usually
included in the same class with music, poetry, painting,
sculpture, and architecture? Is not this the reason? —
Because its effects result mainly from the use of means of
expression that are connected with the artist's own body,
whereas the other arts necessitate the use and consequent

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production of a medium of expression that is external to him.
There is Httle doubt that externaHty in this sense is import-
ant in order to give completeness to the conception of a
product of art as a thing that is made. — Art in Theory y ix.

DRAWING, INFLUENCE OF INSTRUCTION IN.

As we sit in our homes and examine our surroundings, we
discover in them artistic appearances infinitely beyond the
number of those which any one man, looking at the World
about him, could suppose that this could in any way suggest.
These appearances are everywhere, whether we look at the
carpet, wall-paper, table-service, bric-^-brac, or furniture.
As manifested in all these places, they indicate the exact
degree of the taste of those who have made or have pur-
chased them. Much of this taste, too, as well as the ability
to express it in production, has been cultivated in children
when learning to draw and color. But this is not all.
Dependent primarily on the same taste and ability, are the
house itself, the garden surrounding it, the town in which it
stands, with its business blocks and churches, the county
with its roads and parks, and the whole country with its
harbors, canals, and railways, with all the century's various
methods of development and transportation. All these
necessitate, on the part of promoters or inventors, the draw-
ing of plans, plots, charts, maps, and designs. If so, it may
be doubted whether, after reading, writing, and arithmetic,
any branch of instruction begins the knowledge of that
which is destined to prove more generally useful in life, than
does instruction in drawing. — Essay on Teaching in Drawing.

DRILL IN EDUCATION (see olso INSPIRED, PRACTICE, and SKILL).

We need to have impressed upon our minds the fact that
drill and discipline are not merely a subordinate function, —
they are the chief function of education up to the period of
adolescence. Studies intended merely to inform or explain,
instead of being crowded down, as now, into periods earlier
than this, should be crowded up and out, — not because they
have no importance, but because, at this period, other
mental requirements that it is impossible to cultivate later
in life have greater importance. Exactly the same method
pursued in making a scholar in music should be pursued in
making any scholar. You want the man when grown to
be well informed. Very well, then, you must sharpen his
memory when young, so that the information that he gets

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 107

when older will stick. You want the man, when grown,
to be a thinker. Very well, then, when young you must
keep his mind awake by quizzing — tickling it, even in
the sense of playing with it. Such questioning will accus-
tom him to search for what is inside his mind, to dive into
the depths of consciousness and to bring every link in the
chain of thought to the light. Hypnotize him, and you will
find that, however hidden, what you want is inside of him.
He has not forgotten or lost any fact or principle that ever
was his. He merely fails to be able to recall or use it. If
you train him properly, he can do both. — Essay on Music
as Related to Other Arts.

EARLIER ART PRODUCTS {see also HOMER).

Who has not asked himself why it is that to-day we find
so many of the best models of art in all its branches among
the earlier products of the kind? And what is the answer?
Is not one reason to be found in the fact that, in the absence
of specimens of the sister arts which crowd around and
confuse the aims of the modern workman, the ancient one
was in a better condition to confine himself to the legitimate
promptings of the phase of consciousness natural to his own
art ? — The Representative Significance of Form, xxv.

EDUCATION INVOLVES HARD WORK.

One theory of our modern educational quacks — who seem
to have forgotten the experiences of their youth because
only imagination, which they have not, is able to recall them
— ^is that education should not be made either hard or dis-
ciplinary; on the theory that it cannot thus be made enter-
taining,— as if it could not be, at one and the same time,
both, — as if the mind, like the body, did not enjoy exertion,
and the triumph of overcoming, in the very degree of the
difficulty involved! The idea of recommending a game to
a growing boy on the ground of its being easy ! In the olden
times, some of the most pleasant hours of almost every
childhood were spent when all the school were assembled
together, in order to be drilled. Of course, such a method
of teaching, to be interesting, requires an interesting instruc-
tor; but so does any successful method of teaching. — Essay
on Music as Related to Other Arts.

EFFECTIVENESS OF WORKS OF ART.

There is a sense, too, in which this art is often able to
repeat the most effective even of nature's operations in the

io8 AN ART-PHILOSOPHER'S CABINET

most effective way. What is it in nature that operates the
most powerfully ? Not the wind or fire or earthquake, but
rather the still small voice, sighing for us in the silence of our
reveries. So in the works of man, not in the railway or the
telegraph, in the rattle or the flash of material forces that
deafen or dazzle us, do we apprehend the presence of the
most resistless power. Just as frequently, more frequently,
perhaps, we recognize it in connection with those products
of art which, though they seemingly may influence activity
as slightly as the ministering angels of a dream, yet, like
them too, come often summoning souls to high companion-
ship, and everything that this can signify, with all that is
most true and good and beautiful. — Art in Theory, ii.

ELLIPSIS, AS USED IN POETRY {see also OBSCURITY).

There is a significant connection between these effects
and the use of the rhetorical hiatus and ellipsis which are
so general in poetry, and so generally regarded as legitimate.
These figures of speech seem invariably to suggest that the
thoughts of the writer are moving forward in time, and
that he must not try to elaborate them. He must hurry on
to something else. In the majority of cases, too, hiatus
follows a reference to something that is aside from the main
line of thought, something that the writer conceives of as
existing side by side with that with which he is dealing,
something involving, therefore, an appeal that is suggestive
to the imagination. One secret of Robert Browning's
power lay in this use of ellipsis. But he sometimes carried
the figure too far. — The Representative Significance of Form,

XXII.

Omission or ellipsis is an exaggeration of terseness in
style, which is often a great excellence. In all kinds of
writing, but especially in that appealing to the imagination,
it is a fault to express too much. Those to whom poetry
is naturally addressed derive their main satisfaction, and
therefore interest, from that which influences them in the
way of suggestion, leaving their fancies free to range where
and as they will. — Poetry as a Representative A rt, xiv.

ELLIPTIC-LANCEOLATE SHAPE AS USED IN ART.

Dr. M. Foster says in his *' Text-Book of Physiology,"
sec. ii., on Binocular Vision — that "when we use both eyes
a large part of the visual field of each eye overlaps that of
the other; but that, nevertheless, at the same time, a

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 109

certain part of each visual field does not so overlap any part
of the other. The dimensions of the field of sight for one
eye will, . . . be approximately circular. " But, so far as
this is true, notice that the whole field of sight — not for one
eye, but for both eyes when acting conjointly — is repre-
sented neither by the single circle . . . nor by . . . two
separated circles ; but rather by the space enclosed between
. . . two circumferences of the circles where they overlap,
. . . This space has the shape termed by botanists
elliptic lanceolate, — an ellipse pointed; and of all outlines
wholly curved, those of an upright elHpse fit into it most
nearly.

The bearing of this upon our present subject is found in
the fact that the whole of a form facing us can be recognized
with ease, i. e., in a single glance, or, at least, a single con-
scious glance, in the degree in which it is conformed to
vertical elhp tic-lanceolate outlines. Indeed, this fact thus
theoretically unfolded, can be confirmed by practical experi-
ments. If we describe at the nearest point at which it is
posible to perceive all its outlines, an ellipse longer vertically
than horizontally, and about it a circle of the same diameter
as the vertical length of the ellipse, there will be not a few
who will find it slightly more easy at a single glance, or with-
out consciously changing the axis of the eye, to perceive all
the outlines of the former than of the latter. If we describe
about the circle and ellipse a square of the same diameter as
the circle, no one can see all its outlines without consciously
changing the axis of the eye, as when glancing from corner
to corner; and if we describe about the square a rectangle of
the same vertical but twice the horizontal dimensions, we
cannot see all its outlines without changing the axis still
more consciously.

In the use of the eyes, the difference between movement
and no movement, or no conscious movement, is the differ-
ence between activity, work, or effort, and rest, play, or
enjoyment. But this is the same difference as in Chapter
III. of this book is said to separate that which is done with
a utilitarian aim and an aesthetic. If a form of outline
naturally fitting into the shape of an upright elliptical
figure, be the one which requires, to recognize it, the least
visual activity, work, or effort, then this form must be the
one most conformed to the physiological requirements of the
eye. In other words, it is the form most in harmony with

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these requirements ; therefore the most agreeable, the most
pleasurable, the most ''fitted to be perceived," which is
the exact etymological meaning of the word (Esthetic. This
fact furnishes the best possible justification for calling the
curve — particularly, as we shall notice presently, the one
found in the ellipse — the line of beauty.

What has been thus found to be true with reference to
the elliptical contour, renders significant many whole
classes of facts with which few of us can fail to be familiar.
Recall, for instance, the extensive use in art of this elliptical
shape. If we go into the shops where they sell implements
for drawing, whatever else they may not keep, assortments
of models for different sizes of ellipses are sure to meet our
eyes. The one ornamental object, avowedly not modelled
after an appearance in nature, which the arts of all lands
and races have united in producing, is the vase; and this is
almost invariably conformed to vertical elliptic-lanceolate
outlines. Again, in architecture, the form that general
usage has shown to be the most satisfactory is one which,
whether we consider it as exemplified in the cupola or the
dome, is . . . described within the space enclosed between
circles . . . and even if the building be wide, the form
preferred for this is one containing at least a central part
which . . . it is possible to enclose in such a space.
Notice, too, how the human form as a whole fits into the
same elliptic-lanceolate shape. — The Essentials of Esthetics,

XVI.

ELOCUTION A GUIDE TO RHETORIC.

A man who knows just where to pause and emphasize in
order to produce the best elocutionary effects, will know also
how to arrange his words the most effectively when writing.
Still greater will be the influence of the same fact upon his
oratorical rhetoric. He will instinctively come to present
his thoughts not only rhythmically but emphatically. His
good elocution will secure him an audience when he speaks,
and often, too, when what he speaks is put into print. —
Essay on Elocution in the Theological Seminary.

ELOCUTION, AS INTERPRETING THE ART PRINCIPLE.

The form to which the elocutionist must apply the result
of technique is a part of himself. Therefore, he, of all artists,
is least liable, in his own conceptions, to divorce the form of
expression from the significance of expression. Take any

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS iii

elocutionary system and you will see the truth of this, —
that of Delsarte, for instance. What does it suggest ? To
half of us the importance and possibility of accurately
representing significance in the form. But to the other
half, it suggests gymnastic technique — the importance and
possibility of adapting the form to every possible require-
ment of grace. At the same time, to all of us it suggests
something of both conceptions. Such a result is not so
inevitable in any other art. Nor is it an unimportant
mission of elocution, as I conceive, to make it inevitable in
all the arts. But, while doing this, and because doing it,
our branch of instruction has a broader mission still. What,
as well as it, can enable a man to realize that he has a soul
of which his body is merely an instrument, an instrument
that can be made to signal any purpose, or to trumpet any
call? And the man who recognizes that the human form
can be transfigured by the influence of soul, — is not he the
one most likely to recognize that, by way of association or
suggestion, all forms can be thus transfigured? — Essay on
the Function of Technique.

ELOCUTION, AS RELATED TO ALL EXPRESSION.

The man who has learned how to arrange tones and pauses
in reading is the man who can best arrange what can be
easily read by others. Where elocution is properly taught,
not once in a score of times, will you find a prize writer in
an upper class who has not started by being a prize speaker
in a lower class. When Wendell Phillips made a special
study of elocution at Harvard, by his side studied Motley,
the historian. But, beyond its influence upon literary
excellence, the kind of practice necessitated in elocution,
and its very apparent effects, are a revelation to large
numbers of students of the true method through which
thought and feeling can make subservient to themselves
the agencies of expression in any department whatever that
necessitates the acquirement of skill ; indeed, a revelation of
how, if at all, the mind can master the whole body or any of
its bodily surroundings. — Idem.

ELOCUTION, AS RELATED TO OTHER ARTS.

It is not only an art, but also, in an important sense, the
art of arts, the centre and fountain of the whole aesthetic
system. When the fountain plays, there is melody and
rhythm in the rush of its spray and the ripple of its overflow ;

112 AN ART-PHILOSOPHER'S CABINET

there is color and line in the sunlit bow crowning its brow
and in the ghost-like shadow shrinking from the touch of
moonlight or the frost. But there would be nothing to hear
or to see, except for the fountain itself. Nor would there
be anything of the whole art-system except for elocution.
Make that which can echo a man's intonations, symboHze
his articulations, imitate his postures and the hues and
outlines that surround him, and you have the possibilities
of music, poetry, painting, sculpture, and architecture.
Whatever more these latter arts include, they gain all their
uses and meanings from the previous use which an imma-
terial soul has made of its material body. Art is human
sentiment made incarnate in the forms of nature; and
it first touches nature in the human form, as in elocution. —
Idem.

ELOCUTION, ITS INFLUENCE ON LITERARY STYLE.

"In reading without utterance aloud," says Alexander
Bain, in his " Rhetoric," "we have a sense of the articulate
flow of the voice as it appeals to the ear." If this be so,
the deduction is unavoidable that the man who, himself,
knows how to read with ease will be the most likely to know
how to select and to arrange words so that they can be read
with ease by others. He will be the most likely to know
just where to introduce the accents causing natural rhythm,
the pauses enabling one to breathe without effort, and the
important words emphasizing the sense; to know where to
hasten the movement by short sentences and syllables that
one can pronounce quickly, and where to retard it by long
sentences and syllables that have to be uttered slowly ; to
know how to balance the sound-effects of epithets and
phrases, when ideas are to be contrasted, or to parallel them
when they are to be compared ; to know how to let the sugges-
tions of proof, if decisive, unwind like a cracking whiplash at
the end of a periodic sentence or climax, or, if indecisive, un-
ravel into shreds at the end of a loose sentence or an anti-
climax; to know how to charge his batteries of breath with
consonants and clauses that hiss, whine, roar, or rattle, and
give thought the victory over form, through rhyme that is
loaded with reason, and rhythm that repeats the thought-
waves pulsing in the brain, or only to waste his energies in
cataloguing names for things that never waken realization
of what they cannot picture, that never rouse imagination
save as they first lull to dreams, and that never stir one

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 113

vivid feeling except of gratitude when their dull details are
at an end. — Essay on the Literary Artist and Elocution.

ELOCUTION, PROFESSORSHIP OF {see also teacher).

The inexperienced conception of a professorship like
ours is more likely to be that of a man spending all his time
in enlarging the range of Demosthenes and Shakespeare by
his own contributions, blowing their dead phrases to a glow
with the breath of his own inflections, and starring their
every climax with the rays of his own gestures; above all,
exhibiting his familiarity with the very gods themselves, by
pointing the end of every criticism with a rocket bursting
into a temporary rivalry of Venus, Jupiter, and Saturn and
the whole galaxy of the empyrean.

As a fact, however, no boy was ever more cramped and
smothered, while playing dumb orator, than some of us
have been, spending so much of our lives, as we have, almost
literally kneeling behind those who, but for us, would have
had little more influence in the world than the dumb and
the halt — and with what result ? Not infrequently a comic
result ; for this is a world of incongruities. The born genius
to whom we have been conscious of offering a few hardly-
needed suggestions, may thankfully attribute all his success
to our efforts. But the man whom we have literally created
from the diaphragm up, sending into certain parts of his
lungs for the very first time the real breath of life, is not
seldom inclined to resent the impious insinuation that to
any influence less than that of divinity could be attributed
what he has become. — Essay on the Function of Technique.

ELOCUTION TEACHERS, ARTIFICIALITY OF {see also TEACHER).

Occasionally, one meets candidates for such positions
who articulate with such pedantic precision that he feels
like shaking them to see if teeth and tongue, which appear
to have cut connection with head and heart, cannot actually
drop out. There are others who emphasize with so much
artificiality that the chief impression conveyed comes from
the dexterity with which subordinate words and clauses are
kept dancing up and down, as if intent to assume an impor-
tance that will keep the main sense in the background. —
Essay on Elocution in the Theological Seminary.

ELOCUTION, WHEN TOO PICTURESQUE.

A word, too, might be added with reference to the fault
of making elocution too picturesque; of confounding re-

114 AN ART-PHILOSOPHER'S CABINET

presentation in action with painting. As we all know, in
connection with expression in language, only a moderate
degree of action is natural. To overstep the boundary of
moderation in this regard is to transgress those limits where
the dignity of appropriate characterization passes into the
ludicrousness of incongruous caricature, — a result that we
may laugh with in comedy, but can only laugh at in
a serious performance. — The Representative Significance
of Form, xxvi.

elocutionary vs. musical motive {see oratory vs.
conversation).
In correct elocutionary delivery, every sound represents
a definite thought. In music, not every sound but every
series of sounds represents, and, even then, it does not
represent a definite thought but an indefinite emotive
tendency of thought. The musical motive is manifested
in elocution, when the speaker begins to be influenced by
the general drift of the words rather than by the particular
thought behind each word. He is more apt to be influ-
enced thus when he is reading from a manuscript than when
he is speaking without one. When the eye is attending to
phrases instead of individual words the mind is apt to be
thinking of the phrase. As a consequence, there begin to
be regularly recurring series of slow or rapid upward and
downward utterances, irrespective of the emphasis appro-
priate for particular words, which, when a man is thinking
of them, he always gives. This makes the result of elocu-
tion resemble that of music. Music either puts our
thinking powers to sleep, as if the rhythm had a sort of
hypnotic influence, or else it sets us to thinking not of
anything in particular but of many things in general, the
drift only of which need be in analogy with that which
is being heard. And this is just what is done by a sermon
delivered with the musical motive, no matter how sweet
the voice or correct the enunciation. It either puts peo-
ple to sleep, or makes them think of something having
nothing to do with the discourse. Indeed, however they
may try to follow the line of its thought they have hard
work in doing so, the legitimate effect of the delivery
being to incline them away from it. One's feet might al-
most as well attempt, without slipping off, to follow a line
of cracks along the side of a steep roof covered with ice.
— Idem, xxvi.

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 115

EMOTION, AS INFLUENCING ART-EXPRESSION.

The works of the lesser or occasional artists are produced
amid excitement which at intervals avails in all to paralyze
the logical powers and to stimulate the analogical. But
when, as in the greater artists, such phases of emotion are
the rule and not the exception; when they are constant,
when the man by nature is subjected to them and habitually
views things in an artistic light, and that, too, although not
greatly influenced by external causes, then the experience
must be attributed mainly to temperament. — Idem, xiii.

Thought in its very essence is comparison. The artistic
state in which the tendency to use comparisons is in the
intensest exercise, may be the state in which there is the
in tensest exercise of thought. What though this thought
may be impelled by an excited rather than by a quiescent
condition of emotion? Does this change its essential
character? As a fact, do artists show less thought in what
they furnish us than do scientists? Are not the spirits of
the great artists, as of the prophets, notwithstanding all
their quickness and intuitiveness of perception and expres-
sion, subject to their rational minds? Dante and Raphael,
— were their works inspired by an absence of intellection?
Leonardo and Goethe, — were they not wellnigh as accurate
in their regard for the laws of science as of art? — Idem, xiii.

The emotion possessed by the artist, it was said, moves
his thought with so much speed that he is unconscious of
the different phases through which it passes before reaching
its conclusions. With little emotion, with all the thoughts
advancing at slow pace, the scientist is conscious of almost
every step. But when circumstances so affect one that,
owing to some limit in his means or time for consideration,
he must arrive at his conclusions in haste — circumstances
realized in the cases of all the members of a savage and
uncultivated race, and of children and of older persons in
the presence of exciting causes — then apprehension over-
balances comprehension, and the mind expresses what it
would according to the dictates of intuitive judgment
rather than of logical reasoning. These are the conditions,
as we have found, which give birth to art. — Idem, xiii.

EMOTIONS, AS THE SOURCE OF ART.

It is because of emotions succeeding one another too
rapidly to permit one's perceptions or expressions to flow

ii6 AN ART-PHILOSOPHER'S CABINET

wholly in the channels of conscious thought that the artist's
mind works imaginatively with reference to the forms of
nature, and causes the minds of others to work similarly
with reference to the forms of art which are made similar
to those of nature. In other words, the imaginative ideality
embodied in art is due to thought as prompted by emotion.
But this is exactly what Lord Kames in his "Elements of
Criticism" says that sentiment is. — Idem, xv.

EMOTION, OR SOUL, AS RELATED TO INSTINCT AND REFLECTION

(see REPRESENTATIVE EFFECTS IN EXTENSION).

Instinctive processes on the part of men are those which
are conducted according to unconscious methods, and are
analogous, for this reason, to the results of the promptings of
instinct in the lower animals. Applying this test to music
and poetry, we can perceive in what sense they may be
attributed to the instinctive tendency. The best melodies
and verses sing themselves into existence. The musician
or poet hardly knows how or whence they come. In pro-
ducing paintings, statues, and buildings, however, the mind
is more successful when it works reflectively, by which is
meant according to the conscious and calculating methods of
reason. A statue and a building are produced slowly and
with a clear conception of design. At the same time it is
important to remember that neither the instinctive nor the
reflective tendency alone is sufficient to bring all that there
is in a man to bear upon his product. . . . it is when the
results of reflection are added to those of instinct, or of
instinct to those of reflection; when, therefore, neither one
of these elements alone is present, but both together, — it is
then that we have in the product an illustration of what, in
distinction from either instinctive or reflective, we may term
an emotive influence. A man, for instance, may eat and
sleep like an animal, instinctively, or he may think and talk
reflectively, without giving any expression to what we mean
by emotion. But as soon as he thinks and talks in con-
nection with eating and sleeping, as is the case with a caterer
or upholsterer, an hotel keeper or a house- wife; or as soon
as his instincts prompt and accentuate his thinking and talk-
ing, as is the case with an actor or a good story-teller, then,
as a result of instinct made thoughtful, or of thought made
instinctive, he begins to manifest his emotive nature; and
the character of his emotion is represented by the degree in

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 117

which the one or the other of the two tendencies — instinct
or thought — is in excess. It may be interesting to point
out also that, according to ordinar}^ conceptions, the power
which blends or balances the instinctive or physical and the
reflective or mental, is the soul, holding body and mind
together, influencing and influenced by both; and also
that, according to ordinary conceptions, it is the same thing
to put emotion into expressions and to put soul into them.
Neither can be manifested in them unless they represent a
blended result both of nerve and of thought, of instinct and
of reflection. In accordance with this, it is evident that
music and poetry, which are naturally instinctive, come to
manifest soul in the degree in which they embody also, kept
of course in due subordination, something of the reflective;
and that the naturally reflective products of the other arts
acquire the same effect in the degree in which, in the same
way, they embody something of the instinctive. — Art in
Theory J xx.

EPIC, REALISTIC, AND DRAMATIC MOTIVES.

Suppose that one be moved to tell a story. That which
first prompts him to do so is some thought, usually a general
impression, which strikes him in connection with certain
transactions that he has witnessed or heard; and because
the impression remains, he tells the story in such a way as
to convey to his hearers an impression similar to his own.
His whole object in the recital, though he may not be con-
scious of it, is to make clear the impression, or, as we some-
times say, the morale the point that has interested him, and
so long as he does this he cares little about accuracy in all
the details. Now this is the condition requisite to the epic
form of art, and, as all of us will probably recognize, this is
the condition of the method most naturally adopted by those
who gain the reputation of being good story-tellers. There-
fore it seems appropriate that the Greeks, taking their term
from a word meaning story, should have named this form,
par excellence, the epic, or story-style.

But there is another way in which one may recall the
same transactions. After reflecting upon them a little, he
may begin to analyze the different deeds or words of the
person implicated, and to ask himself, Why did this one
do this or say that ? These reflections will lead him to think
more particularly of the details of the transactions and

Ii8 AN ART-PHILOSOPHER'S CABINET

sayings, and of each of them in the order of its occurrence.
When, after such a consideration, he comes to tell the story,
although possibly he may not neglect to bring out that which
at first seemed to him to be its "point," nevertheless this
will appear subordinate to the accuracy with which he re-
lates the details themselves and their interaction. In other
words, his desire to be true to the facts in their order of
sequence — i. e., to the scientific-artistic tendency — will
realize the condition requisite to what has been termed
realistic art; and, with reference to this, it is evident that
while such a mode of recital may render a story far less
interesting as a mere story, it will render it far more satis-
factory to a consideration purely intellectual and analytic.

Once more, there is a third way of telling the story.
After analyzing the different words and deeds of the per-
sons engaged in the transactions, a man may become con-
scious of forming definite conclusions with reference to the
motives and characters of these persons, and, as a result of
his conclusions, he may be joyous or otherwise, according
to the degree in which the events have pleased or grieved
him. At this stage, he will be prompted to express his
pleasure or grief; i. e., his emotions, and, while doing so,
in order to manifest his reasons and enforce their reasonable-
ness on others, he will be led instinctively to imitate the
expressions or appearances of the characters to whom he is
referring. This gives us the condition requisite to dramatic
art — from the word dramare, to act. In this form, the
story is told, not with supreme reference to the point or
moral, as in the epic, or to the details or facts, as in the realistic,
but to the effects produced upon thought or feeling, and to
the way in which they can be represented in action. — Essen-
tials of Msthetics, xi.

EPIC, REALISTIC AND DRAMATIC OUTLINES (see REPRESENTA-
TIVE EFFECTS IN NATURAL OUTLINES).

Now add to this observation with reference to the expres-
sion of outlines in material nature, another with reference
to the expression of thoughts or emotions in the human
form. Whenever these find vent under the predominating
influence of a subjective or instinctive prompting, corre-
sponding to the epic; in other words, whenever, wholly
from within, a man is inspired to rapture, enthusiasm, and
eloquence, either of a joyous or serious character, then his

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 119

gait, postures, gestures, and all the movements of his body,
in the degree in which his sentiment is able to find unim-
peded expression in his physical frame, will take the form of
free, large, graceful curves. But whenever his thoughts or
emotions find vent under a predominating influence of a
relative or reflective prompting corresponding to the
realistic — in other words, whenever he is actuated by a
desire, conscientious, self-conscious, and therefore more or
less constrained, to accommodate expression exactly to that
which it is to express, then his form will be erect, and his
gestures straight and stiff, and, so far as is necessary in order
to make them straight, angular. And once more, whenever
he is under a predominating influence of objective or emotive
promptings, corresponding to the dramatic — in other words,
whenever his chief impulse is to emphasize in the forms of
expression that which in view of outward circumstances
or consequences has stirred him profoundly, then the excite-
ment or passion either joyous or grievous, in the degree in
which it is effectively manifested, will double up his form,
throw out his chin, bend violently his elbows, knees, and
wrists, and make all his body a human representation of
the same sort of varied irregularity already described in
the forms of nature which have been said to represent the
same tendency.

There are reasons, therefore, founded both upon the
principle of association and upon methods of expression
pertaining to the very nature of our body, why the three
tendencies of form should find expression as has here been
indicated. — The Representative Significance of Form, xxi.

EXPLANATIONS OF ART-WORK {scC dlso INFORMATION and

literary).
To a work of art an explanation is much what canes are
to walking. Well used, they may increase the gracefulness
of impression conveyed by a man's gait. But this cannot
be graceful at all, unless he is able to walk without them.
So a picture cannot be all that a work of art should be,
unless, without one's knowing what the explanation is de-
signed to impart, the drawing and coloring can, in some
degree, at least, attract and satisfy assthetic interest.
Neither can a musical composition, unless it too, without
the aid of explanations, through the mere unfolding of
musical motives in a distinctively musical way, can afford,

120 AN ART-PHILOSOPHER'S CABINET

at least, some degree of assthetic delight. So far as an
explanation is intended to be used as a crutch instead of a
cane, the opponents of program music are justified. But
on the other hand, so long as a composer refrains from con-
ditioning upon his printed description such effects as are not
legitimate to it, there seems to be no good reason why he
should not share his confidences with his audiences, and let
them know what visible phenomena seemed represented by
his product when he was preparing it. In pursuing this
course, why is he not acting as strictly in accordance with
the principles of his art, as is the composer of an opera when
he indicates to his stage managers how to represent the
movements of his music through visible changes in scenery
and action? — Rhythm and Harmony in Poetry and Music:
Music as a Representative Art, vii.

EXPRESSION, ARTISTIC VS, ORDINARY {see ART FOR ART's

sake).
A man hums and talks, fulfilling an instinctive prompting
of his nature, in order to give vent to certain inward moods.
It is when something about the form in which he hums —
the movement, the tune — attracts his attention, and he
begins to experiment or play with it for its own sake, that
he begins to develop the possibilities of the musician. In
the same way, it is when something about the forms in which
a man talks — the metaphors, similes, sounds of the words —
attracts his attention and he begins to experiment with them
that he begins to develop the possibilities of the poet. So
with drawing, carving, and building. A man does more or
less of all of these, owing to an instinctive prompting within
him; but when something about the outlines, colors, and
materials that represent the conditions or relationships of
nature attracts his attention, so that he begins to experi-
ment with them — it is then that he begins to develop the
possibilities of the painter, the sculptor, or the architect. —
The Genesis of Art-Form, i.

EXPRESSION DEVELOPED FROM POSTURES AND GESTURES {sce
REPRESENTATION A CHARACTERISTIC OF ART).

How does a man express to sight what is passing in his
mind? Undoubtedly by his postures and the gestures of
his hands, feet, head, and countenance, and by these as we
see him when standing alone not only, but when surrounded

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 121

by other persons and things. Postures and gestures,
though never as definitely intelligible as the sounds of the
voice, are, nevertheless, in as true a sense natural forms of
communicating thought and feeling; and may be developed
into the subordinate art of pantomime, just as natural forms
of utterance in sound may be developed into the art of
speech. But pantomime is no more painting or sculpture
than speech is poetry. It is when a man becomes so at-
tracted and charmed by the methods through which he
naturally expresses thought in pantomime that he begins
to make an external product, embodying thought through
like methods, — it is then that he begins to work in the sphere
of the higher arts. Moreover, when he does this, he does
not pose with his own figure, as in dramatic representation,
but he makes other figures pose — that is to say, he draws,
colors, shapes, and combines the different parts of the figures
of other men, either alone, or in connection with their fellows
or with objects of nature animate or inanimate. Besides
this, too, very often without making use of any human
figures, he draws, colors, shapes, or combines other animate
or inanimate objects. It is for these reasons and in these
circumstances that he produces a work of painting or of
sculpture. In other words, instead of conveying a thought
or feeling through a posture of his own body, he conveys
it through representing a posture in a pictured man's body.
Or if his idea involve nothing that needs to be represented
by human figures ; if it be something that could be conveyed
by his pointing to animate or inanimate objects, were they
present in a certain location, then he leaves the human figure
out of his pictiure, and reproduces merely these objects.
. . . Paintings and statues are thus external products that
are embodiments of distinctively human methods of ex-
pression. But, besides this, notice how true it is that they
are not directed primarily toward ends of material utility.
The infinite pains taken with the lines, shadings, hues, and
modelings, that alone make them works of art, cannot be
explained on any other supposition than that they are
owing to the satisfaction which a man takes in developing
the forms for the sake of their own intrinsic beauty, wholly
aside from any desire to make them convey clear intelligence
of that which they express. This could usually be conveyed
equally well by the rude outlines of hieroglyphics. — Art in
Theory, viii.

122 AN ART-PHILOSOPHER'S CABINET

EXPRESSION FOR EXPRESSION'S SAKE {sce olso ART FOR

art's sake, and personality as represented).

All expression, in order to be what it is, in order to con-
\e,Y audible and visible information of inaudible and invisi-
ble thought and feeling, necessitates a use of the sights and
sounds furnished by nature. Only art emphasizes this use
of them. Notice that, in doing so, art does not emphasize
the thought and feeling in themselves. . . . What art
emphasizes is the use that by way of development is made
of the factors of expression. What music emphasizes, for
instance, grows out of the possibilities of rhythm, melody,
and harmony in sound; what poetry emphasizes, grows out
of the possibilities of rhythm, figurative language, descrip-
tion, and characterization; what painting and sculpture
emphasize, grows out of the possibilities of outline, color,
pose, and situation ; what architecture emphasizes, grows out
of the possibilities of support, shelter, strength, and eleva-
tion. . . . But what interest has the artist in manifesting,
or the world in knowing, that certain forms of nature are
factors used for the purpose of expression by a mind behind
them? What interest has a man in manifesting, or the
world in knowing, that behind any appearances of nature
there is a mind? He who can answer this, will find a reason
for the interest that men take in art, either as producers or as
patrons. ...

But are there any problems of life of interest so profound
as those which have to do with the relations of mind to
matter ? Is it not enough to say that mortals conscious of a
spirit in them struggling for expression, feel that they are
doing what becomes them when they give this spirit vent,
and with care for every detail, elaborate the forms in which
they give it this? What are men doing when thus moved
but objectifying their inward processes of mind; but
organizing with something of their own intelligence, but
animating with something of their own soul, the scattered
and lifeless forms that are about them, and infusing into
their product something of the same spirit that is the source
of all that they most highly prize within their own material
bodies. — Idem, v.

Art, while traceable to that which, in one sphere, is a
play-motive, and while produced with an aim irrespective
of any consideration of material utility, nevertheless often
springs from mental and spiritual activity of the most dis-

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 123

tinctive kind, and results in the greatest possible benefit to
the race. What though a product does exist for expression's
sake alone? A being with a mind and spirit perpetually
evolving thought and feeling possesses that which, for its
own sake, ought to be expressed. Beyond his material
surroundings and interests, there exists for him a realm in
which excess of mental and spiritual force may be directed
toward the production of veritable works of art; and the
effects of these upon mental and spiritual development may
be infinitely more important than all possible energy that
could expend itself in seeking "what shall we eat, or what
shall we drink, or wherewithal shall we be clothed. " — Idem,

VII.

If in the world that we call real, our spirits be in prison,
then in the world ideal of art in which the spirit freely con-
jures forms at will, there may be an actual and not a fancied
exercise of that which men in general, not knowing why,
but following, as so often, an unerring instinct, have agreed
to call "the faculty divine." At least, with all the possi-
bilities suggested, if not indicated, by the facts that are be-
yond dispute, we certainly have no necessity for asking why
the aim of art should be to represent, though only for the
sake of representing, these reciprocal effects of nature upon
the mind and of the mind upon nature, with which we have
found it to be occupied. — /Jew, v.

EXPRESSION, ITS MEANING.

No one thinks of objecting to applying to the higher arts,
as is so frequently done, the phrase "arts of expression,"
which term expression, as will be recognized, indicates always
the general result when a man's invisible or inaudible
thoughts or emotions are represented visibly or audibly in
deeds or tones. As thus understood, expression involves
effects produced both by the mind, which is the source of
the conception embodied, and by the body — the voice,
hands, whatever they may be, that constitute the agencies
through which the conception is made to pass into form. —
The Representative Significance of Form, xiii.

EXPRESSION, ITS PRINCIPLES.

The principles of expression which we teach, — what are
they but those which best interpret that which is most
important in humanity, and not in it alone, but in all the
audible and visible forms of the universe, from which it is

124 AN ART-PHILOSOPHER'S CABINET

possible for humanity to derive wisdom and guidance? —
Essay on the Function of Technique.

EXPRESSION, ITS TRUTHFULNESS DEPENDENT ON ITS FORM.

It is common with the English to fancy that if one have
only something to express, he need not trouble himself
about the form of expression. So, when they wish to
express heartiness of welcome, they imitate the actions of
men shaking hands with ladies holding up heavy trains
on their arms, — actions necessarily suggestive of a pretence
of having artificial habits acquired at court, and, by con-
sequence, just as necessarily incapable, in the remotest
degree, of suggesting anything even of the nature of hearti-
ness.— Idem.

EXPRESSION, TEACHERS OF.

The majority of the great teachers, whose names have
come down to us from antiquity, like Aristotle, Ga-
maliel, Quintilian, were teachers of expression, some of
them, like the last-named, distinctively teachers of elocu-
tion.— Idem.

FADS IN ART.

Let any one glance at the illustrations in the new' English
magazine, ** The Yellow Book " ; and then in humiliation read
over the names of hitherto reputable authors who have been
beguiled into allowing their writings to be printed between
the covers of a periodical started for the purpose of making
such illustrations popular. We are told that these are
specimens of a new style of art. In reality, they are speci-
mens of a style of no art whatever, if by the term we mean
that which is art in the highest sense; and this for the very
evident reason, which those who have followed the lines
of thought in this so-called unpractical series of essays,
will at once recognize, namely, that it is not their aim to
represent either mental conceptions or natural appearances.
The fad which they exemplify furnishes merely one more
of many inane manifestations of Anglo-Saxon affectation,
the same trait, exhibiting the same inability to perceive
the essentially ethic as well as aesthetic connection between
a thing to be expressed and a representative method of
expressing it which, for years, has made two whole nations
speak inarticulately and spell irregularly, and, to-day, is
making so many wear monocles, carry canes dirt-end up-

*This was first printed in 1895.

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 125

ward, and shake hands as if, forsooth, they could not get
over habits acquired in clasping the fingers of court ladies
holding on their arms heavy trains at the queen's recep-
tions. There is no more art in what the draftsmen of this
"Yellow Book" suppose to indicate it than there is heart
in what so many of their patrons now suppose to indicate
a hearty welcome. — Paintings Sculpture, and Architecture
as Representative Arts, xii.

FAMILIAR, ART AS RELATED TO THE.

The mere fact that the discoveries of science are treated
like familiar subjects is not an argument against the artistic
quality of the work containing them. Nevertheless, as this
quality can be recognized by those alone to whom such
subjects are really familiar, the fact may be an argument,
and a strong one, against the expediency of introducing
them at the expense of necessarily limiting the number of
those to whom the work will prove artistically interesting. —
The Representative Significance of Form, viii.

FASHION PREVAILING, DISREGARDED IN ART.

Nor is the taste of any age, however it may stimulate
ability or aspiration to produce, above the sway of fashions,
good and bad, that, in proportion as they keep truth fettered,
render excellence impossible. In order to attain this, the
leader in art, as in religion, must break away from them,
in fact from all the shackles of conventional traditionalism-—
one might almost say of historic criticism, broadly beneficial
as this has been in many a direction, — and, searching back
of them, must find within himself and in the world about
him those first principles that underlie the nature of both
thoughts and things. — The Genesis of Art Form, Preface.

FIGURATIVE LANGUAGE, WHEN APPROPRIATE (see ILLUSTRA-
TIONS, LANGUAGE PLAIN AND FIGURATIVE, POETRY — ITS
LANGUAGE VS. PROSE, and REPRESENTATION IN SENTENCES).

He (the poet) will be impelled to use figures whenever, for
any reason, he feels that plain language will not serve his
purpose. Two circumstances, inclusive, in a broad way,
of many others, will justify him, as we can see, in having
this feeling: first, one in which the impression to be con-
veyed is very great or complex in its nature. Very often, in
these circumstances, plain direct representation might not
only fail to do justice to the subject, but might positively
misrepresent it. Milton wished to convey an impression

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of the size and power of Satan. It would scarcely have
been possible for him to do this adequately without mak-
ing his representation i//w5/ra/^Vg. . . . The second circum-
stance that justifies a writer in feeling that he must not
use direct representation is this: — not the fact that the
impression to be conveyed is too great or complex to be
represented truthfully in this manner, but just the opposite:
— the fact that it is too small and simple to be represented
adequately in this manner. When the scene to be described
is one that in itself is fitted to awaken the deepest and grand-
est feelings and thoughts, then, as in the concluding para-
graph of '* Paradise Lost," given a few pages back, direct
representation is all that is needed. Wherever, in fact, the
ideas to be presented are sublime or pathetic in themselves,
the one thing necessary is that the reader should realize them
as they are; and any indirectness in the style rather hinders
than furthers this. . . . Indeed, the main reason for the
large preponderance of direct over illustrative representa-
tion in the works of Homer and of the Greek tragedians, is
undoubtedly this, — that most of the persons and actions of
which they treated were heroic in their nature. They
needed only to be represented as they were, in order to
awaken admiration. It is the boast of our modern times,
however, that we have learned to take an interest in com-
mon men and actions. The poet feels that he misses that
which perhaps is noblest in his mission if he fails to help
the humblest of his fellows, physically, mentally, socially,
morally, and spiritually, by doing his best to lead them into
better conditions. — Poetry as a Representative Art, xxiii.

FORM AND SIGNIFICANCE IN ART {see olso ART AS MENTAL,
ART EXPRESSING THOUGHT, SIGNIFICANCE and TECHNIQUE).

The term Jorm, derived from the Latin word forma ^
meaning an appearance, refers, primarily, to anything
that can be perceived by the senses, and, in the higher
arts, for reasons given on page 8, by one of two senses,
— that of hearing or of seeing. But, besides this, the
term has a secondary and metaphorical meaning; it refers
to any conception the whole and the parts of which appeal
to the imagination — i, e., the imagining power of the
mind — in a clearly articulated, distinctly outlined, or
graphic way, so that one may liken the conception to a
thing that the senses can perceive. This is the use of

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 127

the word which justifies one in speaking of the form of an
oration or a drama, or of a storm-scene or a battle-scene,
which latter he may have only in mind without any inten-
tion of ever actually putting it into the form of a picture.

The term significance refers to that which is supposed
to be indicated to the mind through the form. Sometimes
the form indicates this on account of what it is in itself,
as when the picture of a man looking intently at an object
makes us think that he is studying it. But sometimes
the form in itself has nothing to do with the significance,
which it only suggests by way of association. For instance,
in certain circumstances, by hanging out a national flag,
or by wearing the national colors, we may manifest our
patriotism. The flags and colors are the forms through
which, because men can see them, we indicate the patriotism
which men cannot see. The flags and colours are the signals,
the patriotism is the thing signified, or the significance.
This illustration will indicate what is meant in art by form
and by the significance expressed through the form. Very
many forms which an artist can use inevitably suggest — on
account of what they are in themselves, or of their associa-
tions— one conception and no other. Therefore, in reproduc-
ing them, the artist must treat them not as mere forms,
but as forms which, by way of nature or of ordinary use,
have a definite meaning. If, for instance, we ask a sculptor
who has tried to represent a certain character, why a hand
has been moulded so as to produce a gesture with the palm
up instead of down, he cannot give a satisfactory answer
by saying that he has moulded it thus for the sake merely of
the form, in case he mean to use this word as indicating an
appearance. On£ gesture, if well made, may appear as well as
another. The mfference between the two is wholly a differ-
ence of meaning, of significance. — Essentials of ^sthteics, v.

This fact is exemplified in all the arts ; and it is that which
makes an art-product, as distinguished from a scientific,
a combined effect of both form and significance — of form,
inasmuch as it fulfils certain physical laws of harmony
or proportion, which make the effect agreeable or attrac-
tive to the physical eyes or ears; and of significance, inas-
much as it fulfils certain psychical laws, as of association
or adaptability, which cause it to symbolize some particular
thought or emotion. — Art in Theory ^ Introduction.

128 AN ART-PHILOSOPHER'S CABINET

Goethe once said that his poetry had been a continual
confession. Suppose that it had been merely a confession.
Would this alone have made him the greatest poet of his
time? To become such, did he not need, besides thinking
of the significance of that which he was to say, to think
also of the form in which he was to say it ? And was not the
significance one thing, and the form — the versification,
or the unity of the plot — another thing? And might he
not have paid attention to the one, and not to the other?
Most certainly he might. But if he had he would never
have ranked where he does — with Dante and Shakespeare.
So in painting and sculpture. The figures of Benjamin
West and Julius Schnorr are arranged more effectively
than many a most spectacularly significant climax in a
drama; those of Balthasar Denner and Florent Willems
manifest the most scrupulous regard for the requirements
of line and color. Yet because exclusive attention to
either significance or form led all of them to neglect one
of the two, they never can rank with artists of which this
was not true — Raphael, Titian, and Rubens. — Essentials of
Esthetics, V.

Do those who hold that the subject of art can be "any-
thing, " continue to hold on to their belief in the necessity
of a strictly artistic treatment of this? — or do their fol-
lowers? It may be a new suggestion, but the plain truth
is that usually they do not, and this because they cannot.
If it be a law, as is maintained in "Art in Theory," that
an artist, to be successful in his work, must always keep
his thought upon two things, — form in itself, and signifi-
cance in the form, — then he cannot think of only one of
these without doing injury to both. He is like a man in
a circus, riding two horses. The moment that he neglects
one of them, it shies off from him; and, when he leans
to recover his control of this, he finds himself balanced
away from the other. Very soon, unless he wish to keep
up a jumping exhibition, for which his audience have
not paid, he will either ride no horse at all, or only one,
and this is as likely as otherwise to be the very one that
he at first neglected. So in art: unless a man preserve the
equilibrium between the requirements of form and of
significance, no one can tell which of the two will finally
appeal to him more strongly. Significance of some sort,

Poutou Temple, Ningpo, China
See pages p, 12, 73, 81-85, 89, qi. 147, 148, 162, 223-225, 301, 385

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 129

for instance, to apply this to the case before us, is eternally
present in art, no matter what one's theory may be con-
cerning it. For this reason, when men have begun to
think that the subject of art may be "anything," so long
as the form is artistic, some of them, as just noticed, will
soon begin to think that it may be "anything but what it
should be." Before long, too, they will come to suppose
— just as people come to admire most the disagreeable
eccentricities of those whom they accept as leaders — that
the art is all the better for having as a subject "anything
but what it should be. " Does this result appear improba-
ble? Recall the almost universal comment of the art-
editors in our country upon the rejection of the nude male
figure prepared for the medal of the Columbian exhibition.
The comment — probably true enough in itself — was that
the authorities at Washington did not "understand" or
"appreciate art." But think of any one's imagining that
this fact was proved by this particular action? — as if the
statues of our statesmen in the old Hall of Representatives
in the Capitol could not be specimens of art unless all their
pantaloons were chiselled off! — as if appropriateness of
subject and of treatment had nothing to do with art in
them or in this medal! — as if by reproducing, however
successfully, a form representative of Greek life, we could
atone, in a distinctively American medal, for misrepre-
senting American life! — as if, in short, there were not a
large number of other considerations far more important
as proving the possession of aesthetic appreciation than
the acceptance of a subject which, when exhibited in an
advertisement, would inevitably be deemed by hundreds
of thousands of our countrymen "anything but what it
should be!" How long would it take a condition of art-
appreciation, of which such a criterion were the test, to
fill our public parks with imitated Venuses and Apollos,
meaningless to our people except as reminders of the
reigning beauties of else forgotten "living pictures"?
What would be the effect upon our growing youth, were
the thoughts excited by such productions to be substi-
tuted for the nobler and purer inspiration of works like
St. Gaudens* "Farragut," or McMonnies' recently erected
"Nathan Hale"?

The influence upon sculpture of this supposition that a
subject of art may be "anything, " has not yet, fortunately,

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in our country, been fully revealed. But the same can-
not be said with reference to poetry. There are plenty
of people among us, neither vicious nor morbid in their
tastes, who, nevertheless, are inclined to fancy that, con-
sidered aesthetically, a shady theme is not only excusa-
ble but desirable, when furnishing a background from
which to project into relief a brilliancy of treatment.
Therefore, for his brilliancy, they accepted Swinburne
when he first appeared; and to-day, though far less brilliant,
they have taken up with Ibsen. How would it be, accus-
tomed as they are now to these morbid themes, were
another Ibsen to appear, an Ibsen so far as concerned his
subjects, but without the present Ibsen's dramatizing
skill? Would he, too, though destitute of the elements
of form which once their school considered the essential
test of art, — would he, too, be accepted as a foremost poet
or dramatist? Strange as it may seem, he certainly would.
Most of the service of praise to Whitman in the Madison
Square Theatre in New York, some ten years ago, was
piped by our little metropolitan singers, whose highest
ideal of a poet had been Swinburne, and whose most
vehement artistic energy had hitherto expended itself
almost entirely upon dainty turns of melody in rondeaus
and villanelles. The result merely verified an old well-
known principle. Extremes meet. The apotheosis of
form, when the smoke of the incense clears away, reveals,
enthroned on high, a Whitman; and not in any of Whit-
man's works is there even a suggestion of that kind of
excellence in form, which once his worshippers supposed
to furnish the only standard of poetic merit.

Precisely the same principle is exemplified in painting,
too. When an artist starts out with an idea that the sub-
ject of art may be " anything, " of course he begins to develop
the form for its own sake. He has nothing else to do.
But form may mean many different things. With some,
it means the imitation of natural outlines or colors. With
some, it hardly means imitation at all. It means the
development of color according to the laws of harmony.
Even where the subject of art is a person, even in portraiture,
there are critics who tell us that the result should not be
judged by its likeness to the person depicted. It is not a
photograph, forsooth. It is a painting, to be judged by the
paint, they say, and mean, apparently, by the color, irre-

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 131

spective of its appearance in the face portrayed. Of course,
this supposition will be deemed by some unwarranted.
Few would second it, made thus baldly. But we must
judge of beliefs by practices ; and scarcely an art-exhibition
in New York fails to show some portraits on the walls — nor
the ones least praised — in which those slight variations of
hue which every careful observer recognizes to be essential
to the effects of life in the human countenance, are so
exaggerated for the sake of mere effects of color that faces
in robust health are made to look exactly as if breaking out
with the measles; or, not infrequently, as if the victim had
had the disease, and died of it. Thus in painting as in
poetry, and the same fact might be exemplified in all the
arts, exclusive attention to form, — the conception that art
is the application of its laws to "anything" — may lead in the
end, and very swiftly too, to the destruction not only of all
in art that is inspiring to the soul, but even of that which is
pleasing to the senses. A law of art-form is worth nothing
except as it is applied to forms that have worth; and that
which gives them worth is not by any means synonymous
with that which makes them "anything." — Rhythm and
Harmony in Poetry and Music, Preface.

This fact, that certain characteristics of art are wellnigh
entirely dependent upon form considered as significant,
while certain others are equally dependent on form con-
sidered merely in itself, makes the tasks both of the art
producer and of the art-critic peculiarly difficult. To
neglect the requirements of significance is to disregard
the soul of art, that which is the very substance of its
life; and to neglect the requirements of form is to disregard
its body, that which is essential to its artistic effective-
ness.— Idem: Introduction to Music as a Representative Art,

Do I mean to say, therefore, that every artist, when com-
posing, must consciously think of significance and also
of form? Not necessarily. Many a child unconsciously
gestures in a form exactly indicative of his meaning. But
often, owing to acquired inflexibilit}^ or unnaturalness, the
same person, when grown, unconsciously gestures in a form
not indicative of his meaning. What then? If he wish to
be an actor, he must study the art of gesture, and for a
time, at least, must produce the right gestures consciously.
And besides this, whether he produce them consciously or

132 AN ART-PHILOSOPHER'S CABINET

unconsciously, in the degree in which he is an artist in the
best sense, he will know what form he is using, and why he is
using it. The fact is that the human mind is incapable of
taking in any form without being informed of something
by it; and it is the business of intelligent, not to say honest,
art to see to it that the information conveyed is not false,
that the thing made corresponds to the thing meant.
— Essay on Art and Education.

It might be inferred from what has been said that the
requirements of form and of significance are essentially
different. Indeed, many artists and critics, apparently,
imagine that, in order to do justice to one of the two,
they must subordinate the other or neglect it altogether.
This supposition has led to two schools of art, the one
grounding it, primarily, upon imitation, the other upon
the communication of thought and emotion. But why
should there be these two schools? A man usually imi-
tates a form because he has had some thought or feeling
in connection with its appearance, — in other words, be-
cause it has suggested something to him, because it has
had for him some significance. The very existence of
art-form, therefore, involves the existence of significance.
Again, a man communicates thought and emotion through a
form because these, in the condition in which they exist in
the mind, cannot be heard or seen by others. They must be
expressed audibly or visibly; that is to say, in a form. The
existence of significance, therefore, if one would make it
known, involves the use of a form. — Essentials of Esthetics,

V.

FORM AND SPIRIT.

To determine aright the relations that should exist
between form and spirit is to solve the most important,
perhaps, of human problems. Ideally, of course, the one
should be a perfect expression of the other; but, in this
world, nothing is ideal or perfect ; and in nothing is the fact
more clearly exemplified than in the frequent failure of a
form to represent that which, apparently, it exists for the
sole purpose of representing. To recognize, and, so far as
possible, to remedy this condition, are primal obligations
of intelligence ; and this fact justifies the extensive treatment
of the subject which has characterized the literature of all
periods. — Introduction to "Cecil the Seer.''

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 133

FORM, ARTISTIC AS DEVELOPED FROM NATURAL.

Unless a man could and did hum in this apparently use-
less way, it is not likely that any conception of musical art
could ever be suggested to him. At any rate, it is true as a
fact that it is never until something in connection with the
form in which he hums — the movement, the tune — attracts
his attention, charms him, seems beautiful to him, and he
begins to experiment or play with it for its own sake,
irrespective of any aim having to do with material utility,
that he begins to develop the possibilities of the musician.
In a precisely similar way, talking to oneself may be said
to be the underlying condition of poetry. When a man,
because interested in some ulterior object, is talking to
others, he has neither the time nor the inclination to think
of the form that he is using. It is only when something in
connection with the form — the metaphors, similes, sounds
of the syllables, or words — attracts his attention, charms
him, seems beautiful to him, and he begins to experiment or
play with it for its own sake — it is only then that he begins
to develop the possibilities of the poet.

A rude outline can convey all that is essential to suggest
to oneself or to others the idea of a horse. When a man,
simply to give vent to the excess of energy in his expressional
nature, delays over the outline, adding to what would be
necessary in hieroglyphic writing, for instance, limnings
and colors that make the representation more complete or
ornate, he is moved by the art-impulse. When again,
merely to give vent to this energy, besides shaping, he
shapes carefully, or ornaments clothing, knives, forks, or
other implements; and, still more, when he does all this in
connection with busts and statues, which, from their very
nature by imaging human forms and faces, are peculi-
arly adapted for the expression of human thought
and feeling, then again he is moved by this impulse.
Once more, when in constructing by way of combina-
tion any object, but especially a house with which we
always associate a human presence, he adds to it, above
what is necessary, pillars, porches, window-caps, corni-
ces, cupolas, and always in the degree in which these
are distinctly expressive of human sentiment — as in a
church, for instance, — then, too, he is influenced by the
art-impulse. It is almost superfluous to point out that,
in these three cases, respectively, we find the conditions

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leading to painting, sculpture, and architecture. — Art in
Theory y viii.

FORM, HUMAN {see ARTISTIC CONCEPTIONS, BEAUTY HUMAN,

PROPORTION IN HUMAN FORMS, REPRESENTATIVE EFFECTS

IN GESTURES, and TASTE DISCREPANCIES).

FORM IN AN ART- WORK CONSIDERED AS A WHOLE.

When we have any conception to communicate to others,
we instinctively associate it with some sight or sound in the
external world. Otherwise, as thought itself is invisible
and inaudible, we might not be able to make them acquainted
with it. For instance, this term expression, just used,
means a pressing out, — an operation that can be affirmed
literally only of a material substance which is forcibly
expelled from another material substance; but, because we
recognize a possibility of comparison between this opera-
tion and the way in which immaterial thought is made to
leave the immaterial mind, we use the term as we do. So
with thousands of terms like understanding, uprightness,
clearness, muddled, etc. Carrying out the same principle,
the ancients represented whole sentences through the use of
hieroglyphics; and geometricians and scientists, even of our
own times, represent whole arguments — the logical relations
of abstract ideas and the physical relations of intangible
forces — through the use of lines and figures. In a similar
way and with a similar justification, we can apply the princi-
ple to the expression of thought in a subject considered
as a whole. . . Not merely, as judged by separate
illustrations, but by general arrangement, that oration or
poem is the most successful which presents the thought
in this depicted or graphic way, — a way that causes the
hearer or reader to seem to see all the lines of the argument
mapped out before him, the entire framework of the ideas
built up and standing in front of him. But before a speaker
or writer can produce such an effect, he himself must be
able to see his subject lying before him, or rising in front
of him; in other words, he must be able to conceive of it as
comparable to some external object whose shape or move-
ment can be perceived. — Essay on Art and Logical Form.

Almost all critics of all ages have felt it to be appropriate
to take an animal or a man, the highest type of an organized
being, as an ideal natural form from which to derive sug-
gestions with reference to the essential characteristics of

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 135

an ideal art-form. Plato, for instance, named head, trunk,
and feet as the three essential features in every work of art ;
and Aristotle, recalling the fact that all products do not
appeal to the eye, and cannot seem to have visible bodies,
tried to state a principle more general in its reach by declar-
ing that they must all have beginning, middle, and end.
But both statements are virtually the same, and together
are inclusive of all possible artistic applications of the sub-
ject. The first applies literally to forms that appear in
space, the second to those that appear in time. Both mean
that there should be such an order in the arrangement of the
parts constituting the form as to cause all the parts to
seem to be organically connected with one whole, and this
whole to seem to possess all the parts necessary to render
it complete. — The Genesis of Art-Form, vi.

In arranging a number of objects or individuals to be
represented in the same picture, an artist will almost invari-
ably place the larger or more prominent in the centre or at
the top, thus giving the group a head; and the others on
either side or below, thus giving it a trunk and feet ; while he
will dispose of all the members in such ways that the con-
tour of the group, as outlined by all their forms together,
shall seem to have some shape — that suggesting a circle, an
arch, or a pyramid, as the case may be.

In architecture, the foundation corresponds to the foot,
the wall to the trunk, and the roof to the head. All these
features taken together may present effects of grouping
similar to those in painting and sculpture. The various
projections, gables, pediments, chimneys, domes, spires,
whatever they may be, that make up the wings and roofs,
may be arranged so that, taken together, they can be in-
scribed in a low or a high arch, rounded or sharpened like
a pyramid. As a rule, the greater the appearance of the
exercise of design in the organic arrangement of these
features, the more satisfactory are they to the eye that
looks to find in them the results of art. — Essentials of
Esthetics, XIV.

FORM IN ART NOT ALWAYS DETERMINED BY THE FORM IN

NATURE.

Our first conception would be that the sight or sound
perceived in nature would of itself indicate the forms in
which the thoughts or feelings awakened in connection with

136 AN ART-PHILOSOPHER'S CABINET

it should be reproduced in art. Such is sometimes the
case. It would always be the case, if art were a mere
imitation. But, whether imitative or not, art is also an
expression of thought and emotion, and, because it is so, the
form used must, at times, be subordinated to the require-
ments of that which is to be expressed. To illustrate this,
suppose a man to have listened to the story of a battle. It
might be presumed that a representation of what he has
heard would also assume the form of a story, and therefore
be artistically expressed in a poem. But often the effect of
the story upon his imagination, as also of his imagination
upon it, is such that what is experienced can be represented
truthfully only through a picture. Again, it happens some-
times that the forms through which the effects have been
exerted, have lingered so long in his mind, and experi-
enced so many modifications there that, though critical
analysis may detect, as in architecture and music, that
the effects produced have been suggested by forms in
nature, the artist himself is unconscious of what these
forms were. — Idem, ix.

FORM, STUDY OF, NEGLECTED BY ANGLO-SAXONS (see TECH-
NIQUE).

Misunderstanding of the relations to expression of techni-
que and consequent suspicion of it, is common in our own
country. I sometimes think that it is constitutional with
us. Certainly no race manifests such possibilities of error
in this direction as does the Anglo-Saxon. Many of us
have apparently become so accustomed to see a form used
to express a mental condition diametrically the opposite of
that which it should express, that we have ceased to recog-
nize any necessity of having the one correlated to the other.
Is there any other race among whom an ideal hero is a man
like Rochester in "Jane Eyre, " Bertie in ''The Henrietta, "
or the "Disagreeable Man" in "Ships that Pass in the
Night" — a man whose exterior exactly misrepresents his in-
terior? Is it a wonder, either, that this nonconformity of the
ideal to the real in actual life should influence conceptions
of art? An Italian or a Frenchman with a voice natu-
rally melodious, a frame naturally graceful, and both natu-
rally flexible, seems to believe instinctively that the form
of expression should be, and can be, conformed to that which
is behind it; and he seldom thinks of appearing in public

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 137

until he has studied sufficiently to secure this result. But
an Englishman or an American who, as a rule, has by nature
either an inarticulate drawl or a nasal twang, and an awk-
wardness not only unthinking but unthinkable, he, for-
sooth, must hold a theory that any study of elocutionary
technique is unnecessary! — Essay on the Function of
Technique.

FORM VS SIGNIFICANCE IN ART {see SIGNIFICANCE VS. FORM).

Go to critics of literature who believe that art is "the
application to anything" of the laws of art-form — which,
for reasons given on page 235, is a strictly just way of
shortening what is meant by the exceedingly loose use of
the term proportion in the above definition — and ask them
who is the first English poet of the age. They will probably
answer — and few would differ from them — Swinburne.
Now ask them what is the influence upon life of the thought
presented in his poetry, what is the particular phase of
inspiration to be derived from it; and they will probably
answer that to them as critics this is immaterial ; that not the
thoughts of the poet, not his subjects give him his rank, but
his manner of presenting them, his style, the rhythm of his
verse, and its harmony as produced by alliteration, asso-
nance, or rhyme. Again, ask a critic of painting of the same
school to show you the best picture in a gallery. He is as
likely as not to point you to the figtire of a woman, too lightly
clothed, posing not too unconsciously near some water; or,
too heavily clothed, sitting in front of a mirror. You ask
him what is the peculiar phase of thought expressed in this
picture, the particular inspiration for life to be derived from
it; and he will look at you and laugh. Nothing to-day, in
our country, is supposed to show more ignorance about
art, than the conception that interest in a picture has any-
thing to do with a subject, or with its suggesting a story,
whether inspiring or otherwise. We must judge of the
picture, we are told, entirely by the form, the style, the
use in it of light and shade and color.

But, you say, there certainly was a time when theories
of art were different. Dante, Milton, Wordsworth, yes,
and Shakespeare, Goethe, and Schiller too, — all these had
style or form, yet what one thinks of chiefly, when he
reads them, is not this, but the thought that is behind it.
Then there is Raphael. On a Sunday, one could sit for

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an hour before the Sistine Madonna, and feel more bene-
fited than in most of the churches. But Raphael's is not
a name, you find, with which to charm the modern critic.
You are told that you are behind the age. This state-
ment gives you a new suggestion, and you proceed to
apply it. You ask yourself if you are also behind the age
in your conceptions of literary art. You take up the
nearest periodical and read the poetry in it, and its criti-
cisms upon poetry. What are the new poets doing?
What is it in their work that excites praise ? The thought ?
— its breadth of conception? its completeness of develop-
ment? its power of expressing truth fitted to uplift spiritu-
ally? How often do we see, in an American criticism, any-
thing like an analysis of a new American poem ? How often
do we see an effort to bring to light the subtle character of
the philosophy of which it is the expression? And there is
the kindliest of reasons why these are not seen. A suggestion
of logical arrangement, as in Dante or Milton, a hint of
ethical maxims, though set as brilliantly as in Shakespeare or
Schiller, would give a poet of our own day, were he com-
mended for these particularly, a hard tramp up the road to
recognition. What our people want is style, form. * ' Yes, ' *
say the critics, "but imaginative form. You can't object
to that." Certainly one can — to imagination used for
mere form's sake. Imaginative form has value only when
it images a truth; and this is that which our modern critics
have forgotten. Any comparison, however odious, will
do for them, if it be only a comparison, and almost any
style if it only ring, even if as hollow as some of the French
forms of verse that our magazines admire so much. Not, of
course, that the style must always be as dainty as in these.
Some of us prefer to take it — as the English do their cheese
— strong, with plenty of light and shade, and if the former
be leprous and the latter smutty, so long as the effects are
anything but weak, our critics, especially of our religious
journals, are apt to like it all the better. The truth is that
the moment that, through an overbalancing regard for form,
people come to think that it alone has value, and that the
subject in art is immaterial, they are in a fair way to become
realists in that very worst sense in which it means believers
in the portrayal in art of any amount of ugliness or nastiness
so long as it be only that which they term "true to nature. '*
This is the belief which, at present, is uppermost in France,

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 139

brought about in that country by the predominating
influence, through more than one century, of a materialistic
art-philosophy. . . . And this French attitude of mind
toward art, — art which some believe to be the handmaid of
civilization and religion, and the most powerfully elevating
of any purely human influence; — this attitude of mind and
this direction toward high achievement in art, is that to
which almost all those potent in criticism in our country,
to-day, are doing their utmost to point our own people. —
Rhythm and Harmony in Poetry and Music, Preface.

FORM vs. SIGNIFICANCE IN MUSIC.

And so with music. The difference between a melody
of Offenbach and the least successful recitative-work of
Wagner is the difference between treating musical form as
if it were wholly a matter of form, and as if it were wholly
a matter of significance. The difference between both and
the best music of Wagner, and of Mozart, Beethoven, and
Sullivan, too, is that in this latter the equilibrium between
the two tendencies in art is maintained. — Idem, Introduction
to Music as a Representative Art.

FORM, WHY ART ORIGINATES IT.

Art is a development of the earliest endeavor of men to
give form to thought for which they have no form at
their command. It is not at the command of the savage
or of the child, simply because no form appropriate has
come, as yet, within the very limited range of his experience
or information. It is not always at the command of the
cultivated man, because, often, all forms with which he is
acquainted seem to be inadequate. Accordingly the
uncultivated and the cultivated alike are impelled to origi-
nate expressions for themselves. In doing this, they are
obliged to interpret nature in a certain way. They must
think about that which they have observed, and before they
have had time to examine it critically, through the exercise
of their conscious powers, they must judge of it instinctively
through the exercise of their unconscious promptings. This
principle applies, not only to their use, for purposes of expres-
sion, of imaginative words and imitative drawings, but to
their whole methods of conceiving of the material world.
The boy hears of a sailor or of a general, and for the very
reason that he has had no experience of the life led by either,
he imagines it, and the man in the same condition surmises

I40 AN ART-PHILOSOPHER'S CABINET

what might be the experience of a fairy or of a saint. —
Essentials of Esthetics, iii.

FORMS, IMPORTANCE OF INTERPRETING THEM IN ART AND

NATURE.

It is hoped that a few examples which, possibly, on second
thought, the author might explain, or the reader apprehend
differently, will not deter any from a serious consideration of
the principles themselves, the acceptance of which cannot
fail to have an important influence upon all one's views
either of art or of life. For, if true, they show that the
poems, symphonies, paintings, statues, and buildings pro-
duced by the artist differ from the elementary forms of these
produced before his appearance, mainly in the greater
degree in which he has learned to read through forms,
whether human or not, that which is in the soul of man and
of all things. For one who practises art or enjoys it, or
takes any interest in it whatever, though not beyond a
perception that it is about him and has come to stay; and
not only for such an one, but for all who live in a world
surrounded by appearances which could awaken infinitely
more interest, were it believed that every slightest feature of
them might be recognized to be definitely significant and
suggestive and, therefore, instructive and inspiring, —
this, certainly, is a conception of art and of life and of the
relations between them, which is worth holding. — Paintings
Sculpture, and Architecture as Representative Arts, Preface.

FORMS, THINKING THROUGH USE OF.

Most of us are not aware of the extent to which we think
through this use of forms. We fancy that we think through
the use of words. So we do, but only so far as words have
been made arbitrarily to take the place of forms. We
think in dreams, do we not? In these, what are we doing
except thinking? Yet how many words do we seem to
hear in our dreams? The vast bulk of our experience then
appears to pass before consciousness in visible pictures.
The same may be affirmed of what occurs during our
reveries, though we seldom analyze these sufficiently to
discover the fact. — Essay on Teaching in Drawing.

FORMULATION, NEEDED IN ALL INVENTION.

A principle or law which has never been applied in inven-
tion can have no existence until it has been given a form;
and it cannot be given a form until the image of it has been

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 141

conceived in the mind. Therefore, in order to be able to
invent, a mind must, first of all, be able to think in images.
This is the same as to say that an original product, before it
can become real, must be ideal, — in other words, that the
main difference between the action of the mind in physical
construction and in metaphysical, is in the order of time in
which the one or the other appears. After the preliminary
work in the imagination, the arts separate. That which
the mind seems to see, the poet records in words, the
painter in pigments, the architect in brick and mortar, the
machinist in wood and iron. — Idem.

FORMULATION, THE CHIEF FUNCTION OF SYSTEMIZING.

A scientist, philosopher, or statesman is often successful
in the degree alone in which he is able to visualize the
material effects of a collection of facts, principles, or motives,
in such a way as to substitute for the chaos in which they
ordinarily appear, what we term a well-outlined system.
There is no radical difference in mental action between
planning a military campaign executed by guns through the
agency of bullets, and a political campaign executed by
words through the agency of ballots. — Idem.

GENERAL AND DISTANT VS. SPECIFIC AND NEAR ART-EFFECTS

{see also perspective, and proportion dependent on

APPARENT NOT ACTUAL MEASUREMENTS).

One not acquainted with the methods of reproducing
in color the effects of nature might suppose that it would
be necessary merely to go into the fields, and examine
near at hand the colors, appearing, say, on a rose or a bush,
match them exactly with his pigments, and then use, on
his canvas, these pigments thus determined. But every
one of experience knows that much more is necessary;
and this for the simple reason that colors, when blended
and seen from a distance under the influence of light and
shade, are very different in appearance than when seen
near at hand. A certain fresco in Paris, when examined
closely, shows the flesh of a human figure to be painted
in green. Owing to the influence of surrounding colors,
no other color, at a distance, could be made to have the
effect of flesh. Contours are impressed upon the retina
in connection with the same processes as those that impress
colors upon it. These latter indeed frequently seem to
compose the whole image, outlines being merely effects pror

142 AN ART-PHILOSOPHER'S CABINET

duced where one color changes to another. Why should
it not be recognized that to imitate the appearance of out-
lines necessitates the reproduction of general effects, in the
same sense that it does to imitate colors? But is this
recognized? Undoubtedly — in painting and sculpture ; but
not, in our times, in architecture. Yet it is as rational
for a man to suppose that he can produce satisfactory
effects of outline through causing a building to measure just
as many inches across the top as across the bottom, or
through causing a cornice to be exactly straight, or causing
columns to be exactly the same distance apart, as it would be
for him to suppose that he could produce satisfactory effects
of color by exactly matching with his pigments the apparent
hues of a rose or a bush, when examined close at hand.
— Proportion and Harmony of Line and Color ^ xiv.

Whatever benefit we may derive, therefore, and it may be
much, from the accurate measurements of the buildings of
the Greeks, we can never find out, in this way alone, those
elements of proportion which they esteemed of most im-
portance. ... To understand what these elements were
we must examine their buildings, as intimated on page 35,
not near at hand, but from a distance. The same holds
good in principle as applied to the processes through which
we come to understand any works of art. If we wish to
study Raphael, we do not start by trying to detect the way
in which he put the paint upon his canvas. We sit before a
finished work of his where we can gaze, unconscious of
the paint, at what seems flesh and blood infused with thought
and grace and beauty. We feel his composition in our
souls before we touch it with our fingers. If we wish to
study Shakespere, we do not start by testing how his lines
will parse and scan. We read, or we hear read, an act or a
scene. We listen to the music of his sentences. We heed
the accents of the living men of his drama. We note the
play of fancy that passes between them, their bursts of
passion and the friction of their thoughts as they flame out
so that heaven and hell both brighten to reveal their
secrets. We move with ordinary men and women, but
cast in a heroic mould. We live in history that was
dead but has found a resurrection. We revel in the bliss of
a new world that the poet's genius has created. These
are facts that pedants never seem to realize. They teach

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 143

the spelling-book and mathematics, and think that out
of these the works of art develop. But works of art are
germed in seed that drops down from above. Like Min-
erva from the brain of Jove, they spring to life full-armed;
and soar through air before they tread the earth; and
when, through using spelling-books and mathematics,
men make the art-forms fit intelligence, these forms have
no artistic value save to those who know enough to search
beneath them for the principle that formed them, a prin-
ciple manifested in results that cannot be perceptible ex-
cept to larger and more comprehensive views in which the
parts appear related to the wholes, and the wholes related
to the parts. So, to judge of these Greek buildings, we
must see them from a distance where such views are possi-
ble. Indeed, the very conception that the Greek had of
proportion indicates as much. How could he study what
he considered the inter measurement between the parts,
except from a point where all, or at least a majority of all,
the parts were visible? Again, in order to find what the
Greek considered desirable in architectural proportion,
we should draw our conclusions from examining as many
temples as we can, — Idem, xi.

"genesis of art-form, the.*' analysis of the book.
Form, as related to art in general, was treated in the
volume entitled **The Genesis of Art-Form." Taking up
the thread of thought where dropped in the previous
volume, this opens by examining the very beginnings of form
when representing significance. The necessity is pointed
out of having inaudible and invisible thoughts or emotions,
when they are to be imparted to another, communicated to
him through some audible and visible meditmi. Then
it is pointed out that the particular method in which they
may be thus communicated in art is only one of many simi-
lar ways in which the mind is obliged to use material sur-
roundings. It is recalled that all knowledge, and not only
this, but all understanding and application of the laws of
botany, mineralogy, psychology, or theology, depend upon
the degree in which a man learns to separate certain plants,
rocks, mental activities, or religious dogmas from others,
and to unite and classify and name them; and that it is
classification which enables him to have knowledge and
understanding of the materials which nature furnishes, and

144 ^N ART-PHILOSOPHER'S CABINET

to make an efficient use of them. It is maintained that,
while science classifies facts, and philosophy theories,
art classifies forms or appearances; and it is stated also
that the general process in all cases is the same, — a pro-
cess which involves an application of the same princi-
ples of association and comparison which are mentioned
on page 426 as being at the basis of all earliest attempts at
expression. This process in its elementary stages is a put-
ting of like with like. If the factors be not actually alike
in form the process involves gathering them into groups
according to the principle of mental association; or, if
they be alike in form, of doing the same according to the
principle of comparison. The essay maintains, in short,
that it is the endeavor to produce unity of impression out
of the variety and complexity everywhere apparent in na-
ture, as one is influenced sometimes by the requirements
of the mind, sometimes by those of nature, and sometimes
by both, that leads to the different methods adopted in
art-construction, the whole of which methods, arranged
in the order of their logical development, are indicated in
a chart.' — Proportion and Harmony of Line and Color ^
Recapitulation in, xxvi.

GENIUS {see ARTISTIC VS. SCIENTIFIC, INDIVIDUALITY IN ART,

INSPIRED, PERSONALITY AND UNIVERSALITY, and

SUBCONSCIOUS MENTAL ACTION).

What is genius? The term is derived — through the
Latin word genus, meaning something characterized by the
source of its begetting or production, therefore a family,
race, or, in this sense, kind — from the word genere, meaning
to beget or produce. The word genus seems to combine,
therefore, the ideas both of kind and of production. It
means the kind that is produced. The termination ius means
belonging to. Therefore, genius means something belonging
to the kind that is produced. All recognize that by the
genius of an age or a race, as when we say "the genius of
the American people," is meant the kind of production in
thought, word, deed, invention, or composition, that belongs
to the age or race. And what is a genius but primarily
a man who is the source of this kind of production? — a
man whose feelings, aims, opinions, deeds, or words are
true representatives of kinds that belong to his age or race?

* See page 89 of this volume.

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 145

I
Was not this true of Homer, Pheidias, Raphael, Milton,
Mozart, Goethe, and Beethoven? Could their works have
appeared except when and where they were produced?
And if we want to find out what was the genius of the age
of each, do we not examine what was done by these men and
by others who were typical of their age ? And is not this one
reason why we term these men geniuses? But, of course,
there is also another reason, yet it is connected with this.
As indicated on pages 223 to 227, a man is considered to
be a genius in the degree in which he is able to give un-
impeded outward expression to results coming from the
hidden sphere of mind. But this sphere is occultly con-
nected with the whole hidden or spiritual sphere of nature.
The genius, therefore, is a man whose temperament makes
him one of his kind, and therefore makes his products
reflect the fact, in the sense of inclining him to be influenced
as are other human beings, and as are also all the animate
or inanimate developments of life that is not human. The
word genius is sometimes used for the word spirit. Why
is this except because genius tends like spirit to make the
mind work in harmony with what may be termed the Mind
in nature, and hence, according to the principle brought
out on page 94, with the Spirit, or, if we choose to be
polytheistic, the spirits in nature, of which Milton sings
when he says? —

And as I wake, sweet music breathe

Above, about, or underneath,

Sent by some Spirit to mortals good,

Or th' unseen Genius of the wood.

// Penseroso.

The genius's interpretations of nature commend them-
selves, therefore, both because nature makes the same
appeal to him as to others through its visible forms, and
also because it causes a unity of action between the sub-
conscious processes of his mind and its own invisible pro-
cesses. This unity of action results in expression which
is artistic inasmuch as it is characteristic of the individual
artist, and yet is also natural inasmuch as it is characteristic
of what is experienced by men in general, the representa-
tions of art, notwithstanding the intervention of human
skill, appearing to spring up and flow forth to influence as
instinctively as fountains issue into streams and buds burst
into blossoms. As a result, the art of any age is the bloom-
ing and fruitage of the influences of nature and humanity

146 AN ART-PHILOSOPHER* S CABINET

that have been at work on every side throughout long
centuries. — The Representative Significance of Form, xiv.

The same conception of the province of genius is involved
also in the use that we make of another word, — the adjective
genial, meaning that which is kindly stimulating because
coming from one of one's kind or kin. We all recognize
this meaning as applied in ordinary language to the pro-
ductive influence of one natural object upon another, —
that of the April sun, for instance, on the meadow. A
similar influence, natural and life-stimulating, on the part
of works of art upon the human mind, is similarly termed.
But a writer or composer of any product of art who is really
genial or congenial is, so far, a genius. Thus not alone these
words, but the ideas expressed in them, appear related. —
Idem, XIV.

GENIUS AND LEARNING {see IMAGINATION and INFORMATION).

Let it not be thought, then, that education, experi-
ence, and learning unfit one for those pursuits which are
usually supposed to necessitate genius. Milton wrote
little poetry until he had ended his argumentative and
political work. Goethe and Schiller both profited much
from the discriminating scientific criticism to which, as
appears in their correspondence, they were accustomed
to submit their productions; at all events, they achieved
their greatest successes subsequent to it. And with
criticism playing all about his horizon, like lightnings
from every quarter of the heavens, who can calculate how
much of the splendor of Shakespeare is attributable to
this by-play among the circle of dramatists by whom he
was surrounded? With new forms rising still like other
Venuses above the miasmas of the old Campagna, who
can estimate how much the excellence of the Italian artists
has been owing to the opportunities afforded in historic
Rome for critical study ? — Essentials of Esthetics, iv.

GESTURE {see REPRESENTATIVE EFFECTS IN GESTURES).

GOTHIC ARCHITECTURE {see ARCHITECTURE, EXPRESSION IN,

ARCHITECTURE, WHY, and REPRESENTATIVE

EFFECTS IN NATURAL OUTLINES).

One peculiarity of this style is that it can be varied almost
infinitely. A number of buildings can be constructed either
with towers or without them, and yet, when grouped to-
gether, produce an effect of unity. . . . Another peculiarity

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS I47

of the style is that it admits of equal variety in expense. The
stone is generally uncut, but any amount of carving is
admissible in the elaboration of details. ... As a result, a
dormitory, costing only fifty thousand dollars, may stand at
the side of a chapel costing five hundred thousand, and
yet both buildings contribute equally to the harmony of
the whole series of buildings. — Painting, Sculpture, and
Architecture as Representative Arts, xix.

GRADATION IN OUTLINE.

As we look at the successive arches of a bridge, or of an
aqueduct, we see them gradually becoming smaller and
smaller. If we look at a row of trees that is sufficiently
long, we see it pass gradually into a narrow stretch of
green. Two parallel outlines, if we continue to trace
them when carried up toward the zenith, or toward the
horizon, appear gradually to converge. Sometimes, if
they ascend a hill, though themselves perfectly straight,
they seem gradually to pass into curves A similar fact
is still more evident in the outlines of forms not so in-
fluenced by the laws of perspective. Think of the innumer-
able curves and angles and straight lines that make up the
contour of every mountain, tree, bush, fruit, flower, bird,
beast, and man; yet often, not even with a microscope, can
one tell just where one form of line ceases and another
begins. — The Genesis of Art-Form, xvi.

GRADATION IN SOUND AND COLOR {see HARMONY OF).

In listening to a bird singing, to a wind whistling, or to a
surf breaking, we usually notice a gradual increase and
decrease in the blended sounds. It is the same when observ-
ing color. Any ordinary lawn reveals an almost infinite
number of shades of green, and the most of these coalesce,
but show scarcely a trace of when and where they do it. A
clear sky at dawn or sunset exhibits between the horizon
and the zenith every color of the spectrum from red to
purple, yet few boundary lines between any two colors.
Among the maple trees in spring, when just beginning to
show their leaves, one can clearly see hues as different as
red, yellow, and green, yet it is well-nigh impossible to find
in any given cluster just where one color stops and another
starts. It is the same with a majority of the hues of
nature, whether seen in the flowers beneath us or in the
clouds above us. In fact, it is one of the most common

148 AN ART-PHILOSOPHER'S CABINET

laws of sight, that when different colors or different shades
of the same color come together, the line of demarkation
between them is indistinct. — Idem, xvi.

In music, graduated differences of effect take place in
time, as when the movement passes from one key to another.
In painting, there is no reason why they shoiild not take
place in space, and, if they do, though the vibrations in one
part of the retina may not coalesce with those in another
part, the eye, for reasons indicated on page 350, may be
hardly conscious of the difference. At the same time,
as a whole scene is usually visible to a single glance, or to
many glances constantly moving from one to another part
of the scene, it is doubtful whether, in case the changes
are from one decided hue to another, the best effects of
harmony can be secured by gradation without the aid of
such arrangements of color as have been described under
the heads of balance, symmetry, and interchange. — Proportion
and Harmony of Line and Color, xxiv.

GREEN COLOR IN PAINTING.

Between violet, purple, and red there are differences in
degree by no means matched by the differences between
their complement aries, yellowish-green and bluish-green.
This fact makes the difficulty of using green with its proper
contrasts very great ; and this difficulty becomes still greater
in view of the position of green on the dividing line between
the warm and cold colors, concerning the entirely different
uses of which in sunshine and shadow mention was made
on page 320. We see one reason, therefore, why a decisive
test of a good landscape painter is the way in which he
manages his greens, as well too, perhaps, as why decorators
in all times have made but alimited use of them. — Idem, xix.

HARMONY {study also BEAUTY, COMPARISON, and vibratory).

We must begin by ascertaining exactly what harmony is,
and this not in its general but in its technical sense. An
answer to the question can be found in no better way than
by recalling the discoveries of the scientists as a result of
analyzing harmony as it appears in music, the art to the
effects of which the term was first applied technically.
In this art, through the use, among other methods, of
resonators, so constructed as to enable one to detect the
presence in a tone of any particular pitch, it has been
found that notes which are harmonious are such as con-

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 149

tain the same elements of pitch, or — what is the same
thing — are notes in which effects of like pitch are repeated.
For instance, when a string Hke that of a bass viol is struck,
its note, if musical, is not single or simple : it is compound.
Suppose that it produces the tone of the bass C — represent-
ing a sound-wave caused by the whole length of the string.
This C is the main, or, as it is termed, the prime tone that
we hear. But, at the same time, this same string usually
divides at the middle, producing what is called a partial
tone of the C above the base, representing a sound-wave
caused by one half the string's length. It often produces, too,
partial tones of the G above this, of the C above this, and of
the E above the last C (etc.). . . . This C, G, C, and E of
the major chord are in harmony with the lower bass C,
because they are made up of effects that already enter
into its composition. The chord as a whole, therefore, or
any analogous development of it, is a result of putting like
effects with like. — Art in Theory, xii.

Glancing at the above, suppose that we were to sound
the note C, and then to sound, either after or with it, — ■
for the laws of harmony have to do with the methods of
using notes both consecutively and conjointly, — notes
whose partial tones connect them most closely with C,
— what notes should we sound? We should sound F, —
should we not? — of which C is the third partial, and G,
which itself is the third partial of C. This would give us
C — F — G — C. But these are the very tones accredited to
the **lyre of Orpheus," which represented the earliest of
the Greek scales.

Let us add to these notes those whose partial tones are
the next nearly connected with C, F, or G. They are
D the third partial of G, E the fifth partial of C, A the
fifth of F, and B the fifth of G. This gives us C— D— E—
F — G — A — B — C, which is our own major scale, the main
one that we use to-day; and is similar to one used by
the Greeks after theirs had been expanded to seven
notes. — Essentials of /Esthetics, xvii.

Why is it necessary that tones should chord ? Why does
the mind or the ear demand concordance in the sounds
used in music ? — In answer to this we might begin by infer-
ring a psychological reason. Sounds result from vibrations
that cause oscillations in the air, and through it in the liquid

150 AN ART-PHILOSOPHER'S CABINET

within the inner labyrinth of the ear. There is a sense in
which it may be said that the mind is conscious of these
vibrations, for when it hears a certain number of them, per
second, it invariably hears a sound of a certain pitch. Now
if the vibrations causing two notes start together every
second, third, fourth, fifth, or sixth time that they are made,
as they do in the notes composing the musical concords, it is
easy for the mind — on the supposition, of course, that in
some subtle way it takes cognizance of vibrations — to per-
ceive a unity in the result, because it can analyze the
vibrations and perceive that they all form exact sub-
divisions of certain definite wholes. But if the vibrations
causing the tones start together at only long and irregular
intervals, then any analysis or classification of the different
constituent effects is impossible. Of course such a result
cannot be else than confusing and unsatisfactory.

This explanation, which is the one given by Euler, has
much to recommend it. We know how it is in the case of
musical rhythm. Certain measures, to all of which an
equal time is given, are filled with notes and rests that
represent exact subdivisions of this time — the whole of it or
a half, a quarter, an eighth, or more, as the case may be.
When the musician composes or sings in rhythm, he beats
time, mentally if not physically, and puts into each measure
just the number of notes that will fill it. Why are we not
justified in surmising that the principle which the mind
applies consciously when it counts the beats that determine
the relations of a note to rhythm, it applies uncon-
sciously when it counts the beats or vibrations that deter-
mine the relations of tone to pitch.? The fundamental
bass note of the chord represents a certain number of
vibrations per second. These constitute, so to speak, the
chord-measure, and only those notes can be used in the
chord which represent the partial tones produced by exact
subdivisions of this measure. In fact, there is ground
enough for holding the theory that music is no more than
an artistic adaptation of the laws of rhythm, of a part of
which, as related to duration, the mind is conscious; but
of another part of which, as related to pitch — i. e., to the
rhythm resulting from tone-vibrations, — it is unconscious.

But it has not yet been shown here that the mind actually
does count or compare vibrations. It may do this, but
is there any proof of it? We may best begin an answer to

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 151

this question by going back of the action of the mind to
that of the ear that occasions it, and ask, is there any proof
of a physical requirement in the ear underlying an
operation analogous to comparison as made in the realm of
consciousness ?

There is proof of such a requirement. If we sound at
the same time two very low notes of an organ separated
from each other on the scale by only half a tone, — C and
C# for instance, — we shall hear, not a consecutive tone,
but a succession of throbs or beats. Knowing that all
sounds are caused by vibrations, and that a difference in
pitch is caused by a difference in the time of vibrations, it
is easy to understand how these beats are produced. Sup-
pose that one of the notes is a result of fifty vibrations in a
second, and the other of fifty-one. At the end of the
twenty-fifth vibration in the first of the tones, there will
have been, in the second, twenty-five and one half vibrations.
But as each vibration necessitates a movement in one
direction half the time, and in a contrary direction
the other half the time, the vibrations in the first tone will
move from the twenty-fifth to the fiftieth in an opposite
direction from those in the second tone. For this reason
the vibrations causing the two tones will tend to suppress
and to still one another, just as is the case where two waves
of nearly equal size but contrary motions come together
at the mouth of a river. However, at the fiftieth vibration
in the first tone, and at the fifty-first in the second, the
vibrations in the two will again move in the same direction,
and tend to reinforce one another. A difference between
two notes, therefore, corresponding to one vibration in a
second, will cause one suppressed period and one reinforced
period of sound, — or one beat in a second; a difference of two
vibrations, two beats in a second, and so on. In a difference
of this kind between low notes caused by a limited number of
vibrations in a second, these beats are perceptible, as has
been said, and are easily counted; but this is not the case
when produced by high notes. Then one of two results
follows. The beats either become so numerous as to
form vibrations causing an entirely new tone, or else they
continue to exist as beats which the ear cannot distinguish,
but feels to be disagreeable.

Why does the ear find these beats disagreeable? For
this reason. They are interruptions in the continuity or

152 AN ART-PHILOSOPHERS CABINET

regularity of the vibrations. On page 194 attention was
directed to the fact that a musical sound, and therefore
all the pleasure derivable from it as such, is due to the
rapid periodic, or — what means the same — the regularly
recurring motion of the sonorous body; and a noise to its
non-periodic, or irregularly recurring motion.

When beats occur that interfere with harmony, there-
fore, there is noise instead of music. But noise in music
not only violates the artistic principle which requires that
like amid varied effects be put with like, but it communi-
cates to the auditory nerves a series of shocks, conveying
an intermittent, irregular, disordered excitation; whereas
it is natural to suppose that, in all agreeable excitations of
the nerves, the thrill and glow that are pleasurable are
characterized by the elasticity and freedom accompanying
non-interference. We may infer this from the fact that in
nature all movements are regular and rhythmical. The
leaves and limbs of a twig, for instance, vibrate, when
struck by a blow, as regularly as does a pendulum. The
same must be true of the oscillations in . . . the audi-
torium of the ear. At any rate, we know that only regu-
larly recurring vibrations can produce the sensations in
the auditory nerves which render music enjoyable. . . .

In conclusion, we may blend the physiological and psy-
chological reasons for the effects of music, thus: The
ear has become habituated through long experience to
search for unity of effect in sounds. When it hears musical
chords, it recognizes, after a few vibrations, that all the
sounds are exact subdivisions of some one note, — in other
words, that what is heard results from a succession of like
amid varied effects. At other times, when the mind cannot
recognize that this is the case, it is natural to suppose that
there is an endeavor to recognize the fact, and, owing to
this endeavor, that there is a positive effort on the part of
the organs of sensation in the ear to adjust themselves to
the new conditions and to discover elements of unity and
likeness that do not exist. That the ear is sometimes suc-
cessful in doing this, is proved by its acceptance of the
slight variations from true harmony that are found in the
temperate scale. In decided discords, however, nothing
can make the sounds seem to compare, and the nerves and
muscles are wearied by the effort of trying to do it, just as
they would be, were they listening intently for sounds or

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS TS3

footsteps which they failed to hear. Of course, the nerves
of hearing, strained, and on the alert, but without success,
give the ear pain, not pleasure. Pleasure in connection
with sound, aesthetic satisfaction in connection with tone,
is experienced by mind or ear in the degree only in which
the result is perceived to be a unity obtained from the ap-
parent variety of unlike complex wholes hy putting together
those that have like partial effects. — Rhythm and Harmony in
Poetry and Music, xvi.

The reader will not fail to notice that the effects of har-
mony as thus described are, in important regards, analogous
to those of rhythm, and yet of a rhythm so finely grained
that it is impossible that the mind should be conscious
of its constituent elements. ... It is sometimes said
that, as the mind consciously counts the beats in determin-
ing rhythm, so, in some subtle v>ray, it unconsciously counts
the vibrations in determining harmony. But is it neces-
sary to suppose this ? When influenced by tones that seem
consonant we are certainly not conscious of counting. Are
we conscious of doing it even when influenced by the effects
of rhythm ? Are we conscious of anything except of certain
accentuations of tone that are equally subdivided into
other accentuations — all of which, in some way, are so
related that they exactly fit, the smaller into the larger
and all into the largest? And if we need not count the
accents in rhythm, why should we do it in harmony?
Why need we do more than experience certain throbs or
thrills of sound equally subdivided into other thrills, all of
which are so related that they exactly fit, the smaller into
the larger and all into the largest ? As a result of experi-
encing these, every part of the auditory organism, under
any influence of sound, is under the same influence,— as much
so as is every part of a still pool when we have thrown
a single stone into it, infinitely varied as may be the sizes
of different waves that in remote places circle into ripples.
The result, inasmuch as all the sound-waves represent a
single impulse, is an unimpeded, free, regularly recurrent
vibratory glow of the whole auditory apparatus. But if,
on the contrary, the effect resemble that upon the waters
of a pool when more than one stone is thrown into it, i. e.,
if the sound-waves do not coalesce, if the smaller do not
fit into the larger, and all together into the largest, then

154 AN ART-PHILOSOPHER'S CABINET

nothing ensues but a broken, impeded, constrained, irregu-
lar series of jolts or jars. The difference in the ear between
the sensation of harmony and of a lack of it, is the physical
difference between thrilling or glowing and jolting or jar-
ring. Notice, too, that this illustration applies to notes when
sounding not only, as in one chord, simultaneously, but, as
in different chords, successively. Two things related to
the same thing cannot fail, in some way, to be related to
each other; and two chords, each containing sets of vibra-
tions for which there is a common multiple, and both
containing one set of vibrations (i, e., one tone) which is
the same, must both be entirely composed of vibrations
for which there is some common multiple. This common
multiple, moreover, for the vibrations of a first and second
chord may be different from that of the vibrations of the
second and third chord. It is possible, therefore, for a
series of chords, each in part repeating the same tones as
the last sounded, and in part introducing new tones, to
change, very soon, the whole character of the general
vibratory effect; and yet if this be done with sufficient
gradualness, the auditory apparatus will experience no
jolt or jar, while, at the same time, it will be conscious of
a constant progress and so of relief from anything resembling
monotony. — Proportion and Harmony of Line and Color , xx.

Of course, the early musicians could not have explained
exactly why they selected certain notes and put them into
a musical scale, and from these began to develop that which
has now come to be our elaborated system of melody and
harmony. Those artists followed merely the instincts of
their aesthetic nature. This prompted them, in construct-
ing forms, to select sounds that would naturally go together;
and to use these and these only. But what connection is
there, it may be asked, between sounds that naturally go
together, and those that go together because certain of
their effects are alike? None, perhaps, so far as the first
musicians were aware. They judged merely by the results
that they heard, and had only a limited knowledge of the
causes of these. Nevertheless, as w411 be shown presently
from an examination of the discoveries of modern science,
their ears guided them aright. All the notes of the scale
and all the methods of musical harmony owe their origin
to a literal fulfilment of the art-principle declared in "The

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 155

Genesis of Art-Form" to be of universal applicability.
This principle is that, in order to receive an impression of
unity, the mind groups complex wholes by putting those
together that produce like partial effects. — Rhythm arid Har-
mony in Poetry and Music , xii.

Harmony, like rhythm and proportion, often involves
very intricate arrangements and developments, but through
them all can be detected the presence of this one underlying
principle. The following, for instance, represents a com-
mon way of accomplishing the result which is termed
"making the circuit" of all the major keys. Those un-
acquainted with music will understand sufficiently what is
meant when it is said that the chords of one key are often
discordant with those of another key unless, in some such
way as is indicated in this music, an artificial connec-
tion has been made between the two. — The Essentials of
MstheticSy xvii.

The main result ... is secured through using such
methods as those of interchange, gradation, and transition,
which, nevertheless, cause all the divergent parts of a
composition to assimilate. Because, too, all the methods
in the chart (see page 89 of this volume) are, more or less,
connected, music, at times, reveals traces of the influence
of every one of these. — Idem.

HARMONY OF COLOR {see dlso different paragraphs under

BEAUTY, COMPARISON, and VIBRATORY).

Like tone-harmony, this was developed, at first, by
artists of exceptional taste, knowing little and caring less
about the scientific reasons underlying their choice of
combinations. But, after art has developed to a certain
extent, scientists always make a study of its efl;ects. That
which they discover increases not only the knowledge and
the appreciation of art on the part of the general public,
but also adds not a little to the resources of the artist and
to his ability to make further progress.

Nor must it be supposed that color-harmony, so far
as it has been developed from the contributions of science,
has been based upon the relations between vibrations in
the eye in the same way in which tone-harmony has been
based upon the relations between vibrations in the ear.
The numbers of the latter vibrations can be and have been
definitely determined. The numbers of vibrations causing

156 AN ART-PHILOSOPHER'S CABINET

the colors have not been determined except approximately.
For this reason, and very wisely, the principles of color-
harmony have been developed from facts which, though
related to those of vibration, have, unlike them,' been
definitely ascertained. The different stages of development
have been somewhat as follows :

The discoveries with reference to the complementary
colors,' as described on page 370, led to the natural sup-
position that the eye takes pleasure in seeing these two
together; and as, in all cases, the two were found to make
white, it led to the supposition that any two or more colors
making white would cause harmony. Not long after, too,
it led to the supposition that these colors must be intro-
duced into a painting in just such proportions as to make
white. ... A law of this kind, however, though it
might be applied to decoration, would evidently interfere
with one of the first requisites of the art of painting, namely,
that it should represent nature. In how many landscapes
can we find the blue of the sky, or the green of the foliage,
or the bluish gray of a lowery day, exactly mingled in such
proportions with the warmer and lighter yellows, reds, or
browns ?

On the face of it, therefore, this theory did not seem
tenable. Modern artists universally reject it. They tell
us that the slightest spot of crimson against the green of a
forest, or of yellow against the blue of the sky, is all that is
needed in order to bring out the brilliancy of the com-
plementary coloring. . . . But when it is added that
these effects are owing to merely a suggestion given to the
mind, one must demur. Those who say it have forgotten
a very important principle in aesthetics. That is, that
psychological effects (see Chapter 11.) must harmonize with
physiological, and, as the latter come first in the order of
time, it is not logical either to overlook them or to fail to
consider them first.

The influence in a painting of very slight quantities of
complementary coloring seems to suggest the importance
of the method of interpretation indicated on pages 375 to
378. If we may suppose that a color associated with its
complementary produces in the eye an agreeable effect

^ The complementary colors are usually said to be red and bluish-
green, orange and turquoise -blue, yellow and ultramarine-blue, yellow-
ish-green and violet, and green and purple.

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 157

because, for the vibrations causing both colors, there is a
common multiple, then we may also suppose that these
colors influence, at the same time, the organs of the same
retina without producing any sensation of jolting or jarring.
All the vibrations are variations of the same unity in that
they are partial effects of the same single impulse or set of
impulses, resulting in a free, unrestrained vibratory thrill
or glow. The quantity of color, therefore, makes no differ-
ence with the harmony of the effect. All that is necessary
is that the form of vibration causing the one color, be it
much or little, should exactly coalesce with the form of
vibration causing the other color. It could coalesce in
this way, of course, in several different circumstances.
First of all, it could do so when there was one predominating
color. . . . Thus, in a scene representing moonlight or
twilight, or even a storm, especially if at sea, there would
necessarily be one pervading color, in some cases banishing
almost the suggestion of other colors. . . . Such paintings
are said to be characterized by tone, and, as this quality is
usually understood, it is difficult to perceive why it does not
fulfil a different law of harmony from that which is fulfilled
through a use of great variety in coloring. Indeed, it is
often represented that it does; as if the theory that har-
mony of coloring is produced by uniformity of coloring
were antagonistic to the theory that it is produced by
variety. . . . But why cannot an identical law be per-
ceived to be operative in both cases? Differences in tints
and shades of the same hue, while they involve differences
in the intensity of the sight-waves, do not necessarily
involve differences in their rates or shapes. Therefore
uniformity of coloring is fitted to cause all the vibrations
of the same retina to coalesce, i. e., to cause all to be exact
subdivisions of some common multiple. But the same
effect is produced by the use of one predominating color
with its various tints and shades, enlivened . . . by an
occasional introduction of some tint or shade of its comple-
mentary color; and it is produced also when both com-
plementary colors are used in almost equal proportions.
In fact, color-harmony may result from the use of any col-
ors whatsoever, if only they can be made in some way to
produce in the organs of color-apprehension an effect of
unity. This effect follows whenever all the vibrations of the
retina that are near together are multiples of some common

158 AN ART-PHILOSOPHER'S CABINET

unit, as is the case when adjoining tints and shades in a
painting are of the same hue, or of hues that form comple-
mentaries, or for some reason alHed to this, as indicated on
pages 370 to 374, are fitted to go together. If, in connection
with these hues, others must be used requiring what may-
be termed conflicting forms of vibration, these others must,
in the painting, be remote from the first, and be connected
with them in accordance with methods of securing partial
consonance Hke those of interchange, gradation, and transi-
tion. . . . Why this should be the case, may be sur-
mised by recalHng that a single vibration is to the whole
retina about what a single wave is to an ocean. On an ocean,
divergent forms of waves would not be recognized to be con-
flicting were they widely separated, or were they changed
from one form into another with great graduality; and were
thus made — to apply the term of physiological psychology
— to assimilate. . . . Color-harmony, to be successful,
must be a result of an application of the same endeavor
after unity of effect which, starting with the principle of
putting like with like wherever possible, leads to a careful
study and embodiment of all such requirements as those of
variety, complement, principality, subordination, balance,
parallelism, repetition, alternation, symmetry, massing,
interchange, continuity, consonance, gradation, transition,
and progress.' This fact is developed in the author's
"Proportion and Harmony of Line and Color in Painting,
Sculpture, and Architecture." — The Essentials of Esthetics,

XVIII.

The third method of arriving at the principles underlying
the joining of colors is advocated by those who hold that as
in music the ratios between the numbers of vibrations per
second producing the different notes determine which should
go together, so, in painting, the ratios between the numbers
of vibrations per second producing the different colors
should determine this. As a rule, physicists have had little
respect for any advocate of this theory, because he has
usually started out with the hypothesis that there is some
absolute and necessary connection between the seven colors
of the spectrum and the seven notes of the musical scale.
As was shown, however, in Chapter XIV. of ** Rhythm and
Harmony in Poetry and Music, " these seven notes happen

* See the Chart in " An Art-Philospher's Cabinet," on page 89.

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 159

to be used merely as a matter of convenience. There have
been scales extensively used of four and six notes, and
possibly our own might be improved by the addition of two
more. As it is, it contains not seven but twelve distinct
intervals. There is a principle, however, underlying the
formation of all musical scales, as well as of all melody
and harmony, which depends upon the relative numbers
of vibrations. One cannot refrain from feeling, there-
fore, that it is logical to suppose that this same prin-
ciple should be exemplified in that which causes colors
to harmonize.

It does not allay this feeling, to remind one that between,
say, the 400 trillions of vibrations causing extreme red and
the 750 causing extreme violet, the differences in vibration
are not sufficient for those of a single octave. ... As
it is, we have in the colors all the range of intervals corre-
sponding to those of one octave if containing no note be-
longing to another. Moreover, the possibility of producing
variations in a single color is much greater than that of doing
the same in a single sound. Indeed, when we consider the
innumerable shades and tints not merely of one color but of
all other colors in connection with which this one may pro-
duce mixed effects, we are forced to recognize that the range
both of single colors and of those that are exactly com-
plementary to these is practically infinite, and thus far
more than sufficient to make up for the absence in the color-
scale of more than one octave.

So much for the theory; now for the facts confirming it.
Let us take the ratios of the numbers of vibrations pro-
ducing the sounds, not of all the scale, but of those that
harmonize, and apply these ratios to the numbers of vibra-
tions producing the different colors, and notice what colors
they cause to go together. As the numbers of vibrations
producing the colors are exceedingly great, and the difficulty
in the spectrum of determining just where one color leaves
off and another begins is also great, we must content our-
selves with approximate measurements, but even with these
we can attain our object. — Proportion and Harmony of Line
and Color, xxiii.

HARMONY OF COLOR AS PRODUCED BY VIBRATIONS.

Sound-waves are comparatively large. . . . Color-waves
are exceedingly small. . . . According to Le Conte in his

I60 AN ART-PHILOSOPHER'S CABINET

*' Sight, " there are in the center of the retina, in a space not
larger than one tenth of an inch square, no less than a million
cones that a wave can influence. ... As is known, too,
all these are so connected with their surroundings, as Foster
says, by a ** basket-work" or * 'sponge- work, " that they are
apparently capable of vibratory motion. If their minute
vibrations, as affected by movements in the ether, may be
supposed to influence the whole retina in any degree, how
can they do so except as one set of waves may be supposed
to influence the whole surface of a sea? On the same sea
there may be breezes causing waves differing, as these
vibrations do, in intensity, in rate, and in shape. But,
in case these differences were far apart, and produced by
very gradual changes from one form to another, there might
be, to an eye capable of perceiving the whole surface at
once, no appearance whatever of inharmonious action. It
needs to be added, however, that, within the narrow limits
of a picture, it is impossible for any colors to be very widely
separated, and, not only so, but that, even if they could be,
the eye, in shifting attention from one point to another
while examining them, would constantly be bringing them
into still closer proximity, in fact necessitating often the
perception of all the colors on the canvas by exactly the
same part of the retina.

These latter conditions, taken in connection with those
mentioned on page 349, will show us that, in considering the
harmony of color, there are two main questions to be dis-
cussed: first, the selection and arrangement of colors with
reference to their general effects in a painting considered as
a whole, corresponding to the selection in music of a key-
note, involving that of the particular scale and chords that
go with it; and, second, the selection and arrangement of
colors with reference to their special effects when placed
side by side, together with the ways of sufficiently separat-
ing and yet connecting them in cases in which placing them
side by side would produce discord. This phase of har-
mony corresponds to what in music is termed modulation
or transition from one key to another. The first of these
questions will naturally be discussed while considering the
methods in the chart (see page 89 of "An Art- Philosopher's
Cabinet**) preceding co7isonance, and the second while con-
sidering consonance and the methods following it. — Idem,

XX.

ks <^

a.

to

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS i6i

. HARMONY OF POETRY.

Some may suppose that, in poetry, there are no effects
corresponding to those of musical harmony. But this is
not so. Inasmuch as poetry uses words, the articulation
of these renders them more clearly distinguishable from
one another than are musical notes; and there is not the
same necessity, as in the latter, for merely tonal distinctions
of quality and pitch. But science has ascertained that in
addition to the pitch on which a vowel or a consonant is
apparently sounded, it has, at least, one partial tone peculiar
to itself, which tone is always at the same pitch. For this
reason, alliteration, assonance, and rhyme all involve the
use of like pitch; consecutive syllables produce different
consecutive degrees of pitch, i. e.y melodies, or what are
termed tunes of verse; and every syllable containing a
vowel and a consonant, like an, for instance, contains two
tones that may or may not harmonize. For these reasons,
the words of poetry, though in a very subtle, but, at the
same time, suggestive way, fulfil the same methods as
those of musical harmony. See the author's "Rhythm and
Harmony in Poetry and Music," Chapters V. to XII. —
The Essentials of Esthetics, xvii.

It is not true, therefore, that, in arranging words, all that
is necessary is to put them together grammatically, and in
such a way as to indicate their sense. To produce satis-
factory poetic effects either upon the mind or ear, they must
be arranged so that their sounds shall occur in a certain
order. ^ — Rhythm and Harmony in Poetry and Music, vii.

HARMONY OF TONE AND OUTLINE AS PRODUCED INDIRECTLY.

In artistic speech, as in poetry, the harmonic ratios that
underlie musical pitch are often exactly though subtly
reproduced. At the same time, the poet who reproduces
them successfully, does not do so directly, i. e., by thinking
of the pitch of his tones while he is composing. He does
so indirectly, i. e., while thinking merely of accommodating
the sounds to the physiological requirements of the ear;
so that, as the tones pass, the one into the other, they shall
produce a satisfactory, agreeable, and artistic effect; in
other words, so that the transitions shall seem not sharp and
abrupt, but smooth, euphonious, and natural. In order
to attain this end, poets use such methods as in the repeated,

* See page 89 of "An Art-Philosopher's Cabinet."

i62 AN ART-PHILOSOPHER'S CABINET

or regularly recurring sounds in alliteration, assonance, and
rhyme, or in the very easily coalescing sounds in pho-
netic syzygy and gradation. . . . When we are using a
phrase like "Many men of many minds," though the un-
accented syllables differ, the fact that the organs, being
once arranged for the m-sound in the accented syllables,
regularly, when these recur, return to this same position,
makes the utterance easy .... So in the arts of outline.
What the artist successful in these thinks of, is the method
of accommodating their appearance to the physiological
requirements of the eye so that they shall have satisfactory,
agreeable, and artistic effects. . . . Again, outlines, or
those parts of them nearest to one another, may be said to
be arranged according to the requirement just indicated,
when they are adjusted in such ways that straight lines are
made to pass into curves, or curves of one kind into those
of another kind, by regular degrees of change. . . .
According to this method, though there may be conscious
changes in axis, focus, or lens, as the eyes look from one
line or part of a line to another, the changes are as slight as
possible, and occur by regular degrees — in these regards
evidently producing effects corresponding to those of verse
which are most nearly connected with phonetic gradation.^
— Proportion and Harmony of Line and Color y xiv.

HARMONY, SIMILARLY PRODUCED IN ALL THE ARTS {see olso

correspondences) .
Thus far, we have found that poetry and music are alike
in that both contain melody and harmony. But when we
attempt to go beyond this, and to inquire in what ways
melody and harmony are manifested in each, we find great
differences. This discovery is important, not only on its
own account, but, as we shall find in another place, on
account of the light that it throws on the correspondences
which we should expect to exist between harmony of sound
and of color. That which connects the arts is the unity
of method underlying them. In each of them this method
is applied to a different germ. By keeping this fact in mind
we shall be able to recognize, as would otherwise be impos-
sible, in what sense the effects of harmony in all the arts
are secured in ways essentially the same. — Rhythm and
Harmony in Poetry and Music, xii.

* See page 89 of "An Art-Philosopher's Cabinet."

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 163

HISTORIC, NOT THE HIGHEST FORM OF ART-CRITICISM.

The claim of the historian that all art is of interest and
deserving of study is not true as applied to the artist as an
artist. To him only such art is of interest as has attained
a certain high level of excellence, which it is the object
of criticism to discover, and which excellence, as we know,
has appeared only at certain favored periods. It is worth
while to notice, too, as just suggested above, that these
periods are not necessarily identical with those that are
under the influence of the historic spirit. The tendency
of this, unless counterbalanced, is to direct attention to
forms as forms, not to these as expressions of spirit; or, if so,
only of the spirit of the past. The practical results of such a
tendency are, in the first place, as already intimated, imi-
tation, and, in the second place, degeneracy. The nature of
the mind is such that it must vary somewhat that which it
imitates; and if its variations be not wrought in accordance
with the principles underlying the first production of the
imitated form, the original proportions of the different parts
of this as related to one another are not preserved, and
the whole is distorted. For this reason, it is fully as im-
portant— to say no more — for the artist to continue to
work in accordance with the methods of the great masters
as to continue to produce the exact kind of work that
they did. And if we inquire into these methods, we shall
find that, in art as in religion, philosophy, and science,
the one fact which distinguishes not only such charac-
ters as Socrates, Aristotle, Confucius, Gautama, Paul,
Copernicus, and Newton, but also Raphael, Angelo,
Titian, Shakespeare, Goethe, Beethoven, and Wagner,
is that they have resisted the influences of traditional-
ism sufficiently, at least, to be moved as much from within
as from without; as much by their own feeling and thinking
as by those of others who have preceded them, and whose
works surround them; as much, therefore, by that which
results from a psychologic method — for we must not forget
that there is always a necessary connection between one's
method of studying art and of practising it — as by that
which follows an historic. In an age when the influence of
the latter is so potent that not one in ten seems to be able
to detect, even in his own conceptions, the essential differ-
ences that separate archeology from art, it is well to have
: emphasized again, as is done in every period when pro-

164 AN ART-PHILOSOPHER'S CABINET

duction is at its best, the importance of the former method.
— Art in Theory, Preface.

HOMER, WHY HIS METHODS DESERVE STUDY (see EARLIER).

These poems of Homer have stood the tests of centuries,
and there are reasons why they have survived them. The
consideration which should interest us most in the present
connection is the fact that the poems were produced by a
man who spoke directly from the first promptings of nature;
a man upon whom the methods of representation in other
arts, and of presentation as used in science and philosophy,
had had the least possible influence. In his works, therefore,
better than in any others with which, in our day, we can
become acquainted, we can study the tendencies of poetry
in its most spontaneous and unadulterated form. — Poetry
as a Representative Art, xxii.

HUMANITIES.

"The humanities" . . . are the arts through which a man
can cause forms, otherwise often merely material in their
influence, to thrill and glow with emotion and meaning;
through which he can show himself able to breathe, as it
were, something of that sympathetic and intellectual life
which has already given life and humanity to his own
material frame. — Art in Theory, ix.

HUMANITIES, SIGNIFICANCE OF THE TERM AS APPLIED TO ART.

Instead of considering particular works of art, as they
appeal to individuals, take them collectively, as they appeal
to men in general. What do men call them? One term,
almost universally used, is ''the humanities." Would
this term have been used by way of distinction unless it had
been thought possible to embody in the art- work all the high-
est possibilities of humanity ? Certainly not. But is there
any highest possibility of humanity which is not connected
with the human mind? Certainly not, again. But what
is the mind? What but a reservoir of thought and emotion
ever on the alert to detect significance in everything that
is seen, and to express this in everything that is handled?
And what is a human mind? A mind in a body, not so?
And this body is a combination of nerves and muscles,
sensitive to every phase of apparent form, and capable of
being trained to an almost limitless extent in the direction
of reproducing it. The arts, therefore, which are distinc-
tively the humanities, must involve both the expression

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 165

of significance and the reproduction of form. — Paintings
Sculpture^ and Architecture as Representative Arts, xiii.

HUMANIZING OF NATURE BY ART.

Art humanizes nature according to the thoughts and feel-
ings of one man, yet succeeds in making it human for all
because the thoughts and feelings of this man accord in
general with those of all men. The artist is a mediator
between the actual truth of nature and the possibility
in the race of recognizing actual truth. He is in fact the
priest of nature, in his rank inferior only to the priest of
revelation. He, too, lifts the veil that hangs about God's
earthly tabernacle. He, too, steps within the holy place,
bows before the light which shines from the Shekinah, and
comes back to the masses bearing them a message from that
which always dwells behind the symbol. — The Representa-
tive Significance of Form, xiv.

IDEAL, AN, WHAT IT IS.

An ideal is an idea represented to the imagination in
the outlines, greatly beautified often, of some known object,
event, or experience. This is always the condition when a
conception becomes artistic. No matter how much in it
may be derived from the vague intimations of subconscious
intellection, it is fitted for art in the degree alone in which,
for the time being, it has been made to assume exactly
what a religious conception may not even suggest, namely, a
definite form. — Idem, ix.

IDEALS, WHY ORIGINATED.

Science is concerned with knowledge; and one cannot
have knowledge without some comprehension of preceding
material conditions. But art is concerned with ideals;
and ideals, however much or little one may know of a
preceding condition, are not material. They are mental.
Circumstances and our very nature prevent all of us from
learning about more than a few objects and from experi-
encing more than a few phases of life. Nevertheless, we all
desire to possess the results that would ensue, provided
such were not the case. Therefore the boy who cannot
have the experience surmises what might be the experience
of a sailor or a general; and the man in the same condition
surmises what might be the experience of a fairy or a saint.
— Idem, X.

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ILLUSTRATIONS, WHY EFFECTIVE IN DISCOURSE.

We all know that the man who makes a large use of
illustrations and figures, the imaginative man, or the man
sufficiently imaginative to give a graphic as well as logical
form to his thought, is, as a rule, a more successful ora-
tor than the man who does not. Why? It is because
he is addressing his audience according to methods of
the mind's nature which operate in a different and deeper
way than is exemplified in plain language. He is com-
municating his thought not merely as it has assumed shape
when formulated on the lips, but as it emerges into con-
sciousness, when conceived in the mind. So far as possible,
without the intervention or interference of audible forms
between his conceptions and his hearers' conceptions, or
between what he apprehends and what he desires to have
them apprehend, he is bringing that which is in the depths
of his own spirit into direct contact with the depths of their
spirits. In this way, he is often making them do more than
merely understand. He is leading them, step by step,
through all the processes of his own mind, starting with
these processes at the very springs of psychic action. He
is influencing them as if they were expressing their own
thought. In making them visualize this, he is making
them, for themselves, vitalize it — making them feel and
realize it in a way impossible according to any other method.
Essay on Teaching in Drawing.

IMAGINATION AND COMPARISON AS USED IN ART {sec

COMPARISON and contrast).
What is the faculty of mind from which springs the kind
of repetition developed in art when elaborated in accord-
ance with the principle of representation. What is it but
the imagination, the faculty which has to do with the imag-
ing of one thing in or by another ? In an art-product, forms
are grouped together because imagination perceives that
they are alike or allied, in other words that they compare,
either exactly or very nearly. If, for the sake of variety,
a few subordinate features are introduced of which this is
not true, even then the clearest possible consciousness
that comparison is the process and that these features are
exceptional, is manifested by the fact that they are ac-
knowledged to be introduced artistically in the degree in
which they exactly contrast with the other features. But

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 167

no one can originate or recognize a contrast, — which is an
effect caused by agreement in many features but disagree-
ment in, at least, one feature, — except as a result of com-
parison, which itself is merely the mode of procedure of
imagination. — Art in Theory y v.

IMAGINATION, AS AFFECTED BY REPRESENTATION AND
IMITATION {see REPRESENTATION VS. IMITATION).

It is precisely for this reason, too, because art does
and can represent, and does not and need not literally
imitate, that the faculty through which it exerts its chief
influence upon the mind, as has been so often observed
but seldom explained, is the imagination. A literal imi-
tation, leaving nothing for the imagination to do, does not
stimulate its action. Whistles or bells in music; common-
place phrases or actions in poetry; and indiscriminate par-
ticularities of detail in the work of pencil, brush, or chisel,
usually produce disenchanting effects entirely aside from
those that we feel to be legitimate to art. This is largely
because the artist, in using them, has forgotten that his aim
is not to imitate but to represent. It is well to observe here,
too, that an effect, appealing primarily to the imagination,
necessarily passes through it into all the faculties of mind;
and therefore that the distinctive interest awakened in them
all by works of art is really due to that which affects first the
imagination. — Art in Theory, iv.

IMAGINATION, AS AIDING SCIENCE (5^6 SCIENCE AIDED BY ART).

The mind that can make discoveries of great truths and
principles is, as a rule, the mind that, when it can advance
no longer, step by step, can wing itself into these unexplored
regions. How can it do this? Through imagination.
How can imagination, when doing it, detect the truth?
According to a law of being which makes the mind of man
work in harmony with the mind in nature, which makes an
imaginative surmisal with reference to material things a
legitimate product of an intelligent understanding of them.
This is the law of correspondence or analogy, which can
often sweep a man's thoughts entirely beyond that which is
a justifiable scientific continuation of the impression
received from nature. Only in art is the mind necessitated
and habituated to recognize this law, which fact may
not only suggest a reason why so many successful inventors
have started in life, like Fulton, Morse, and Bell, by making

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a study of some form of art; but it may almost justify
a general statement that no great discovery is possible to
one whose mind is not able to go beyond that which is
ordinarily done in science. — Essay on Art and Education.

Imagination is a forerunner of investigation ; and investi-
gation furnishes an impetus to imagination. For this
reason a great thinker, whether a poet or a philosopher,
although he will incline to the one method or to the other,
according to the bent of his genius, must not be wholly
deficient in the qualities that go to make up either. Nor, so
far as education can atone for deficiency, will his education
be complete until he has cultivated the powers that go to
make up both. Goethe was a student of science; and his
poetry owes much to his scientific studies. Dante and
Milton were scientific in their poetry, and Plato and Spinoza
were poetic in their philosophies. As Sir Wm. Hamilton
says, in the thirty-third of his "Lectures on Metaphysics":
**A vigorous power of representation is as indispensable a
condition of success in the abstract sciences as in the poetical
and plastic arts; and it may accordingly be reasonably
doubted whether Aristotle or Homer were possessed of the
more powerful imagination." — The Representative Signifi-
cance of Form, viii.

IMAGINATION, AS INFLUENCED BY MUSIC VS. POETRY.

Literature belongs to the department of art. This fact
necessitates its appealing, not — as science does — to the
understanding through direct statements with reference
to ideas or emotions, but to the imagination through forms
representative of these. In other words, the imagi-
nation thinks of that which art presents, by perceiving
images which appear in the mind. But in different arts
these images are awakened in different ways. The inarticu-
lated sounds heard in music start within one a general
emotive tendency— active or restful, triumphant or despond-
ing, gay or sad, as the case may be — and this tendency
influences the general direction of thought; but exactly
what the form of the thought — or the image — shall be, the
mind is left free to determine for itself. If a reciter forget
to appeal to imagination according to the methods of sound,
he ceases to have that drift which is necessary in order to
draw into the channel of his thought, and sweep onward, as
music does, the emotions of his audience. If he forget to

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 169

appeal to imagination according to the methods of sight,
i. e., to remember to what an extent his words, and each
word in its place, must cause his audience to think in
pictures, then his motive, being merely musical, begins to
have the effect legitimate to music. It either lulls people to
sleep or, if not, at least leaves their minds free to deter-
mine for themselves what shall be the substance of their
thought. — Essay on the Literary Artist and Elocution.

IMAGINATION, THE SOURCE OF ART.

Art is distinctively a product of imagination, of that
faculty of the mind which has to do with perceiving images,
— the image of one thing in the form of another. While
science, therefore, may find a single form interesting in itself,
art, at its best, never does. It looks for another form with
which the first may be compared. While science may be
satisfied with a single fact, art, at its best, never is. It
demands a parallel fact or fancy, of which the first furnishes
a suggestion. — Essay on Art and Education.

IMITATION AND EXPRESSION NOT ANTAGONISTIC.

Why cannot and why should not a work of art be equally
successful in imitation and in expression, in execution and
in purpose? — there is no reason except that the most of
us are narrow in our aims and sympathies, and prefer to
have our art as contracted and one-sided as ourselves.
But this is not the spirit that will ever lead to the develop-
ment of great art. It may foster the mechanical school,
where everything runs to line, and the impressionist, where
everything runs to color, but it will not always blend both
lines and colors sufficiently to produce even satisfactory
form, and it will never make this form an inspiring pres-
ence by infusing into it the vitality of that thought and
feeling which alone can entitle it to be a work of the hu-
manities.— Art in Theory, ill.

IMITATION, ARTISTIC, DUE TO EXCESS OF LIFE-FORCE.

Imitation without reference to that which underlies the
method, or has to do with the end which it is desired
to attain, always arises from a condition in which the
tendency to activity on the part of the imitator is in excess
of that which needs to be expended, or which, in the cir-
cumstances, can be expended, upon gaining what is really
necessary for the supply of material wants. The young
cannot realize the need of expending it upon these, nor do

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they know how and where to expend it thus. Therefore
they play, and the form of their play is imitative. Their
elders, on the contrary, realize that they must work; and
they have learned how and where to do it. Therefore they
seldom play, having neither the time nor the inclination for
it. But that which causes indulgence in play in any case is
excess of life-force which, if it cannot be expended in obtain-
ing that which is needful for the supply of material wants,
must be expended in other directions. — Idem, vii.

IMITATION, ARTISTIC, INCLUDES GENERALIZATION.

Imagine a gardener classifying his roses — as he must do
instinctively the moment that he has to deal with any large
number of them — and obtaining thus a general concep-
tion of the flower. Then imagine him trying in some
artificial way to produce a single rose embodying this
conception. This rose will very likely resemble some one
rose particularly present to his mind while forming it;
yet, probably, because, before starting with his work, he
has obtained a conception of roses in general, his product
will manifest some rose-like qualities not possessed by
the specimen before him, but suggested by others. That
is to say, because of his general conception derived from
classifying, he does more than imitate — he represents
in that which is a copy of one rose ideas derived from
many roses. The same principle applies to all works of art.
Let a man write a story or paint a picture. In nine cases
out of ten in the exact degree in which he has observed and
classified many like events or scenes, he will add to his pro-
duct the results of his own thinking or generalizing. In
fact, it is a question whether the chief charm of such works
is not imparted by the introduction into them, in legitimate
ways, of these kinds of generalizations having their sources
not in the particular things described, but in the brains of
the describers, who have already been made familiar with
many other things somewhat similar. Shakespeare certainly
did not get the most attractive features of his historical
plays from history, nor Turner those of his pictures from
nature. So, as a rule, even in the most imitative of works,
the really great artist, consciously or unconsciously, gives
form to conceptions that he has derived from an acquaint-
ance with many other objects of the same class as those
imitated. — The Genesis of Art-Form, i.

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 171

IMITATION IN ART, ARISTOTLE 's CONCEPTION OF.

The general result of emphasizing unduly the imitative
side of aesthetics is to lead men to consider art merely a
reproduction of reality as manifested in form, and not to
consider it, in any important sense, a representation of
ideality, or an expression of human thought and feeling. Is
there anything in Aristotle's conception of art as imitation
to justify a deduction that he did not consider it to be an
expression of human thought and feeling? — Strange as
it may appear to some, nothing whatever. His own
explanation of what he meant by imitation or mimicry
{\)X^ri<:\q) includes all that most idealists would desire to
have included in the conception of that which art should
do. "Homer," says Aristotle (Chap. 2), "imitates better
men than exist," and again, in Chap. 25, "the poet,"
he says, "being an imitator, like the painter or any other
artist, must, of necessity, always imitate one of three
things, — either such as they were or are; or such as they are
said to be or appear to be; or such as they ought to be"
(Thomas Taylor's translation). ... In art, imitation or
imaging is a means not an end, — a means of representing
through accurate imitations or images of external objects
that which is, or appears to be, or ought to be. This seems
to be the only fair interpretation to be put upon Aristotle's
word; and this interpretation reveals at once the depth and
the comprehensiveness of his aesthetic insight. — Art in
Theory y Appendix iii.

IMITATION OF THE ART-WORK OF OTHERS.

It is hard enough to produce a work of art which is
natural, when one models directly from nature. It is
well-nigh impossible to do so, when one models merely or
mainly from that which another man, however accurate
his eye, has seen in nature. The work of the imitator
will be as much inferior to the work of art after which he
models, as the latter is to nature's original. — Art in Theory ,
III.

IMITATION, SOLELY, NOT THE AIM OF HIGH ART (see mention

of it under comparison composition, representation).

The aim of high art is never mere imitation; and the

truth of the statement is nowhere exemplified more clearly

than when applied to the use of color. Merely because

blue in the natural spectrum stands between green and

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purple, is no proof, as we shall find by-and-by, that a blue
object should be represented in a painting as standing next
to one that is green or violet. In the natural spectrum, as
in a natural scene, bounded by only the horizon, there are
other counteracting, balancing, or complementary influences
of color, which may render an effect entirely different from
that which alone is possible where a few colors are intro-
duced into the narrow limits of a picture. Besides this,
the mere association of certain hues in nature does not
make the arrangement beautiful; and, if not, art has no
business to reproduce it. For both reasons, it must always
be borne in mind that art deals with selected colors, just as
poetry and music deal with selected tones; and harmony
in all these arts, though discovered from a study of prin-
ciples in nature, is distinctively a human invention. —
Proportion and Harmony of Line and Color, xvii.

Art is the work of a man possessing more than merely
physical senses. The reason why he desires at all to con-
struct an art-form is because natural forms have produced
an effect upon his mind. And it is this effect that he wishes
to reproduce. If he can do it by mere imitation, well and
good; but there are many cases in which he cannot do it
thus. Yet even then, even in poetry, in which . . . the
imitative element is often very slight, who can fail to per-
ceive that, as in the "Voices of the Night" of Longfellow,
or the tragedies of Shakespeare, the effects of nature upon the
mind may be reproduced; that the reader or hearer feels
sad or joyous, weeps or laughs, precisely as he would, were
he, in natural life, to experience the actual moods or per-
ceive the actual events imaginatively presented to his con-
templation? A similar principle evidently applies also to
the products of painting, sculpture, and architecture. —
Art in Theory, I v.

IMITATION vs. REPRESENTATION IN ART {see also
REPRESENTATION IN ART VS. IMITATION).

So with the general line of thought in a poem. An
imitation so exact apparently that we should think it
written down within hearing, of the ravings of a mad
king, or of lamentations at the loss of a friend, would not
appeal to us like what we know to be merely representa-
tions of these in the blank verse of Shakespeare's **King
Lear," or in the rhyming verse of Tennyson's **In Memo-

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 173

riam." The talk of the phonograph will never be an accept-
able substitute for the soliloquy or dialogue of the artistic
drama or novel. A like fact is true of the photograph.
For the very reason that it is an imitation, in the sense of
being a literal presentation, of every outline on which the
light at the time when it was taken happened to fall, it does
not awaken in us the kind or degree of imaginative inter-
est or of sympathy that we feel in paintings or statues.
In contrast to the impression received from a photo-
graph, in gazing at these, we feel that we are looking
through an artist's eye, seeing only what he saw or thought
fit for us to see, and that everything in them is traceable
to the skill displayed by him when transferring what in
nature is presented in one medium into another medium, as
when delineating flesh and foliage through the use of color
and when turning veins and lace into marble. — Essentials
of Esthetics, vi.

It is mainly owing to a lack of all appeal to the imagi-
nation or the sympathies, that accurate imitations of the
sounds that come from birds, beasts, winds, and waters fail
to affect us as do notes which are recognized to be produced
by wind and stringed instruments in the passages descrip-
tive of the influence of a forest, in Wagner's opera of " Sieg-
fried," or in the ''Pastoral Symphonies" of Handel and
Beethoven. Nor do any number of tones imitating exactly
the expressions of love, grief, or fright compare, in their
influence upon us, with the representations of the same in
the combined vocal and instrumental melodies and har-
monies of love songs, dirges, and tragic operas. The
truth of this may be more readily conceded in an art, like
music, perhaps, than in some of the other arts; for in it the
imitative elements are acknowledged to be at a minimum.
To such an extent is this the case, in fact, that some have
declared it to be presentative rather than representative, not
recognizing that a use of the elements of duration, force,
pitch, and quality, such as enables us to distinguish between
a love-song, a dirge, and a tragic passage, would altogether
fail to convey their meaning, unless there were something
in the effects to represent ideas or emotions which we were
accustomed to associate with similar effects as they are
presented in nature, especially as they are presented in natu-
ral speech. — Art in Theory, iv.

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IMITATION, ITS USE IN MUSIC AND POETRY.

It is evident that the analogies between the general order
of series of sounds and the order of particular phases of
nature that they are intended to suggest, can be rendered
much more distinctly apprehensible by adding to what is
only generally representative by way of analogy that which
is specifically so by way of imitation. It would need but a
few imitative strokes of a drum, for instance, to make that
which might suggest either a storm or a battle, suggest one
of these rather than the other. In this regard, musical
forms correspond exactly to poetic forms. Some words are
representative because they suggest a similarity in under-
lying causes — like the word expressive^ derived as it is from
analogies between pressing one material substance out of
another material substance, and doing something similar
with a purely mental substance. Other words are repre-
sentative because they suggest a similarity in apparent
effects — ^like the imitative words **buzz" or ''crackle."
The same is true, too, of phrases and sentences. Some
are artistic because they recall an analogous series of rela-
tionships, and some because they also recall an analogous
series of sounds. — Rhythm and Harmony in Poetry and
Music: Music as a Representative Art, viii.

IMITATION, WHY LITTLE, IN MUSIC AND ARCHITECTURE.

A symphony is constructed from a single significant series
of tones; and precisely in the same way a building is con-
structed from a single significant series of outlines, as in a
rounded or pointed arch. In both arts, however, there is
an occasional return to nature for the purpose of incorporat-
ing, if not imitating, in the product some new expression
of significance. But as both arts are developed, as will be
shown in the first chapter following, from a sustained and
subjective method of giving expression to a first suggestion,
a return to nature is much less frequent in them than in
the other arts. Poetry, being developed from the unsus-
tained and responsive methods of expression underlying
language, manifests a constant tendency to talk back and,
therefore, to mention and describe what has interrupted the
flow of thought and presented new thought. Painting and
sculpture, being developed from the same methods of expres-
sion, when underlying vision, manifest a constant tendency
to look back and, therefore, to imitate and depict what has

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS I75

interrupted the contemplation of one object of sight and
presented another. — Idem, Introduction to Music as a Rep-
resentative Art.

IMPRESSIONISM AS RELATED TO MUSIC.

Only since there has come to be a scientific study of the
philosophic reasons underlying the laws of musical har-
mony and composition — such a study as is exemplified in
the great work of Helmholtz on ** The Sensations of Tone " —
has there been a study of the effects of color-harmony and
composition of such a nature and with such a purpose as is
manifested in the painting of the modern impressionists.
— Essay on Music as Related to Other Arts.

IMPRESSIONISM, INFLUENCE OF, ON DRAWING.

An age of the paintings of impressionists, in which mere
patches of color would be considered all that was requisite
in order to enable the imagination to construct its own
contours for objects, would be an age in which drawing
would become a lost art. Here, as elsewhere, the truth
seems to lie between the extremes. And does not the sal-
vation of art as of life depend upon its fidelity to truth ? —
Painting, Sculpture, and Architecture as Representative Arts,

XVI.

IMPRESSIONIST PAINTING (sce POETRY AS PICTORIAL).

The endeavor appears to be to influence the eye by means
of color aside from shapes in a way analogous to that
in which, in music, the ear is acknowledged to be influenced
by sounds aside from words. Is it possible to suppose
that such effects would ever have been attempted, if it had
not been for suggestions derived from music? It is inter-
esting to notice, too, that, when carried to excess, impres-
sionism, which may be described as painting influenced
by decorative motives, is apt to prove unsatisfactory owing
to neglect of the natural requirements of picturing in out-
line, in exactly the same way in which, as was pointed out
a moment ago, poetry, influenced by the musical motive, is
apt to prove unsatisfactory owing to its neglect of the
requirements of picturing in words. One can no more make
a thoroughly successful painting without lines that, at least,
suggest to the mind a very definite form than he can make
a thoroughly successful poem without words and phrases
that do the same. Nevertheless, just as the influence of
music on verse has been, in part, beneficial, so too has been

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its influence, so far as exerted, in the directions of which I
have been speaking, upon the use of pigments. The con-
ceptions which underlie modem impressionism will prob-
bably never cease to manifest themselves, and in ways,
too, perfectly legitimate to the art of painting. — Essay on
Music as Related to Other Arts.

INDIVIDUALITY, DISTINGUISHING THE PROSAIC FROM THE

POETIC.

One difference between the prosaic and the poetic, as
respectively illustrated in these passages, lies in the fact
that the former is devoid of any formative influence upon
the details mentioned produced by the intervening
human mind through which it has come to us, whereas of
the latter the contrary is true. The same should be true
of all products purporting to be those of art. No men
are great painters merely because they accurately repro-
duce the shapes or hues of nature; or great sculptors,
merely because they remould some ancient masterpiece,
or merely imitate in marble some modern living model.
It is the individuality of the effect characterizing the new
product that gives it artistic soul and life. In what con-
sists the difference between the artists living in Rome
to-day and the artisans who do their chiselling for them?
Is it not in this? — that the artists give form to their own
conceptions, while the artisans give form to the concep-
tions of their employers? — The Representative Significance of
Form, XIV.

INDIVIDUALITY IN ART {seC olso GENIUS and PERSONALITY).

The truth of art is surmised and embodied according to
the methods of imagination and expression pectdiar to the
temperament of one man; and it becomes the property of
all mainly on account of the individual influence of this man
whose intuitive impressions have been so accurate as to
recommend themselves to the aesthetic apprehensions, and
to enlist the sympathies, of those about him. — Idem.

INDIVIDUALITY MANIFESTED UNCONSCIOUSLY.

A moment's thought will enable us to recognize that
that which constitutes one's individuality often lies in traits
of which he is unaware. Or, if through a study of him-
self or of the opinion of the community he have become
aware of them, they are even then expressed, as a rule,
involuntarily. A man is never more thoroughly himself

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 177

than when so interested in something else as to forget him-
self. The Christ said that "he that loseth his life for my
sake shall find it." Wherefore shotdd not art affirm the
same? — Idem.

INFORMATION INCREASING ENJOYMENT OF ART {see also

EXPLANATIONS and literary).
An art-product appeals to a man as distinguished from
an animal. If so, the appeal must be made to that which
distinguishes him from the animal. This, of course,
is his intellect, together with the character and amount of
intelligence ascribable to it. But if this be so, an increase
of intelligence must increase his capacity for recognizing
the appeal of art. As applied to a particular art-product,
an increase of his intelligence with reference to either its
form or subject, must increase his capacity for enjoying
it. Nor need it make any essential difference whether
this intelligence be the result of his general information,
or of special information with reference to the object
immediately before him, such as he can derive from a
guide book. A man with a knowledge of history, how-
ever derived, will certainly take more interest in a paint-
ing like Raphael's "School of Athens". . . than will one
ignorant of history ; and a student of the Bible will take more
interest than will one ignorant of it in a painting like "The
Death of Ananias.". . . The degree of beauty is often
increased in the degree in which the number of effects enter-
ing into its generally complex nature is increased. This
is true even though some of these effects, as in the case
of forms conjured before the imagination by a verbal de-
scription, may come from a source which, considered in itself,
is not aesthetic. It must not be overlooked, however, that
all beauty whatever is a characteristic of form; and that
intellectual effects, like these explanations, to have an
aesthetic influence, must always be presented to apprehen-
sion in connection with an external form with which they
can be clearly associated. For this reason, though they
may add to the aesthetic interest, where it already exists,
they cannot, of themselves, make up for a lack of it. . . .
A picture cannot be all that a work of art should be,
unless, without one's knowing what the explanation is
designed to impart, the drawing and coloring can, in some
degree, at least, attract and satisfy aesthetic interest. . . .

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But the knowledge that we may get with reference to the
subject of a picture, enlarging, as this must do, its associa-
tions and suggestions, can add immensely to our distinc-
tively aesthetic enjoyment. In what consists the worth of
art except in the effects that it arouses in the emotions
and, through them, conjures in the imagination? But
by what is the reach of imagination determined, except
by the amount of information present in the mind with
reference to that by which the emotions have been
influenced? — Painting, Sculpture, and Architecture as
Representative Arts, xv.

INSPIRATION ANT) OBSERVATION, BOTH NEEDED IN ART.

The transcendentalists of New England who, fifty years
ago, were exercising the most pronounced of any effect upon
the art and literature of our country were constantly con-
founding artistic inspiration with religious inspiration. The
tendency of this mistake was not only to minimize in re-
ligion the importance of the spiritual, because this was
conceived to be the same in kind as the distinctively hu-
man in art; but to minimize in art also the importance
of the material, — i. e., of the material product as given form
through skill in technique, — because the whole desired
effect was conceived to be attained, as in religion, by merely
giving adequate and accurate expression to the results of
inspiration. Emerson himself, not only in his practice but
in his theory, almost always goes astray when he approaches
this subject of art-form. On the other hand, the followers
of the French, who, during the last twenty-five years,
have occupied in our country the position formerly occu-
pied by the transcendentalists, are constantly confounding
artistic observation with scientific observation; and the
tendency of their influence is not only to minimize in
science the importance of imaginative hypothesis as a pre-
requisite for the discovery of great underlying principles,
because they conceive that science has the same interest
in the mere appearances of nature that art has; but to
minimize in art also the importance of imaginative con-
struction embodying the great truths of analogy; because
they suppose the end to be attained in art, as in science, by
an accurate study of the facts of nature as they are, poems
or paintings being ranked according to the literal fidelity
with which they recall or imitate the details of that which

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 179

has been observed. — The Representative Significance of
Form, Preface.

INSPIRATION, ARTISTIC.

Just here, in fact, we come upon a philosophic, if not
scientific, warrant for that common opinion, so often held
without reasoning and expressed without discrimination,
that the products of art are to be ascribed to what is termed
inspiration. When we have traced them to this overflow
at the very springs of mental vitality, no one who thinks
can fail to feel that, if human life anywhere can come into
contact with the divine life, it must be here. There are
reservoirs behind the springs of the mountain-streams.
Are there none behind those of thought? And if there be,
what are they ? The answer to this question must depend,
of course, upon the general character of one's theologic or
philosophic conceptions. He may attribute that which he
calls inspiration directly and immediately to the divine
source of life. Or, recognizing the erroneous nature of the
forms in which truth, even when most unmistakably inspired,
is often presented, he may suppose that there are gradations
of intelligences beyond one's ken through which, even before
undergoing subjection to human limitations, the brightness
of the divine light, in order to become attempered to the
requirements of earthly conditions, loses not only its bril-
liancy but with this much of its defining power. Or he
may suppose that the soul itself comes into the world
stored with forces directly created for it, or else indirectly
acquired in a previous existence of which not only every
otherwise unaccountable intuition but every impulse is a
consequence, — a previous existence, which, if not human
and personal, may, at least, have existed as a psychic force
developing in the lower orders of life according to the
laws of psychic evolution through successive physical
forms, themselves developing according to the laws of
physical evolution. Or, finally, he may suppose that this
reservoir is in a man's own subconscious nature; and this,
again, he may suppose to be either psychical or physical.
With those whose tendencies are toward idealism, he may
deem the reservoir to be the receptacle of experiences in
his present state of existence, stored in the inner mind
with all their attendant associations and suggestions, and,
in accordance with some law, surging upward in order to
control thought and expression whenever, as in dreams

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or reveries, or abnormal states of trance or excitation, or
merely of poetic enthusiasm, the conscious will, for any
reason, is subordinated to the impulse coming from within.
Or, with those whose tendencies are more materialistic,
he may consider this subconscious nature to be the accu-
mulated result merely of that which, through physical
sensation, has come to be stored up in the nerve-cells and,
in circumstances similar to those just mentioned, aroused
to conscious vitality as a consequence either of intense
external stimulation, or of unusual activity in the nervous
centres. Whether a man incline to the acceptance of one
of these theories, or of a combination of them; however he
may account for what lies in the realm of mystery beyond
the art-impulse, it is evident that the theory just presented
of it can accord with every possible view. That, back of all
conscious intelligence, there is an unconscious intelligence of
some kind, in which the powers of memory and of deduction
are well-nigh, if not absolutely, perfect, the phenomena of
accident, disease, and hypnotism seem to have established
beyond all question. How, otherwise, could men with
memories naturally weak recall, as at times they do, in
abnormal conditions, whole conversations in a foreign
tongue with not one word of which they are consciously ac-
quainted ? Or how could those of the very slightest powers of
imagination or of logic, argue for hours, when in such states,
with superlative brilliancy and conclusiveness? Whatever
be the final explanation of these facts, in themselves — as
will be brought out clearly in the volume of this series treat-
ing of the nature of the thought that can be represented in
art — they cannot now be doubted. Behind conscious
mental life, sources exist of intellectual energy. They find
expression in many ways — in the words and deeds of ordi-
nary people, as well as in the extraordinary moods and
methods of prophets and reformers. But there is only one
department of activity which humanity appears to have
developed for the special purpose of giving expression — if
we may so say, of consciously giving material embodiment
— to that which has its source in these subconscious regions
of the mind; and this department of activity is art. — Art
in Theory, vii.

INSPIRATION, INFLUENCED BY ARTISTS* SURROUNDINGS.

In every age, of course, men of genius are prompted
instinctively, entirely aside from any knowledge that they

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS i8l

may have of aesthetic laws, to recognize and embody
aesthetic effects. But where are such men who fail to find
themselves surrounded by the products of their inferiors?
and who is able wholly to resist the influence of these? If
it be true that art, like religion, is fountained in inspiration,
it is true also that different sources of this differ in quality;
and that the stream which flows from the high region of
the masters has a purity not characterizing that which
rises in the low plane of their imitators. — The Genesis of
Art-Form, Preface.

INSPIRED, THE, AND THE ARTISTIC {see GENIUS).

When Mozart was three years old, he was giving con-
certs attended by the first musicians. When he was eight,
he had composed a symphony containing parts for a com-
plete orchestra. We ascribe such precocious results to
genius. But suppose that . . . after practising (like
Beethoven) five or six hours a day for ten or fifteen years,
he had produced the same, or approximately the same,
quality of music. In this case, we should have said that
his genius had been rendered able to express itself as a
result of his having acquired skill. . . . We should recog-
nize, too, that he never could have become able to do this,
unless that which he had studied and practised had, after
a time, passed from a region — so to speak — in which it
needed to be consciously overlooked, to a region where it
could be overlooked unconsciously. No man ever ac-
quired the skill of an artist until he could — automatically,
as it were — read printed notes, finger them, and harmo-
nize them, while reserving all his conscious energies for the
expression of the general thought and emotion. . . .
When a man's mind has naturally a tendency to act in
this way, we term him a genius ; but this tendency may
be greatly developed by the study of art. In fact, it
may be developed in some cases in which it is only
latent. Many find the strongest indication of the ge-
nius of Henry Ward Beecher in his marvelous illustrative
ability, in his imaginative facility in arguments from anal-
ogy. He himself, in his "Yale Lectures," says that, while
in later life it was as easy for him to illustrate as to breathe,
he did not have this power to any such extent in early
manhood, but cultivated it. Now, notice the inference from
what has just been said. If the subconscious powers of

i82 AN ART-PHILOSOPHER'S CABINET

mind that every man possesses operate like an automatic
machine, producing approximately perfect results of recol-
lection, imitation, illustration, and — as developed from the
premise submitted — of logic, then the problem of education
is how to cultivate the conscious powers of the mind so that
they shall be more and more pliant to the touch of subcon-
scious influence, and thus be enabled to manifest outwardly
that which is within one. The problem of expres-
sional art is how to cultivate the conscious agencies of
expression so that they shall respond automatically to the
promptings of the subconscious agencies. The musician has
always practically solved this problem when he is pouring his
whole soul into his music, unconscious of anything but the
emotional effect that he desires to produce upon the souls
of his hearers. The sculptor and the painter have alwaj^s
solved it, when they are projecting into line and color, un-
conscious of being hampered by any thought of technique,
that picture which keen observation of the outer world has
impressed upon their conceptions. The poet has always
solved it, when he has lost himself in his theme, uncon-
scious of anything except that to which Milton referred in
** Paradise Lost," when he said that it

" Dictates to me slumbering or inspires
Easy my unpremeditated verse."

As intimated here, this state in which thoughts and emotions,
i. e.y mental forms, pass from the inner mind into external
material forms, through methods, of the details of which, at
the time of its action, the mind is unconscious, is the result
of what we sometimes term inspiration. But notice, too,
that it is often, even in cases of the most indisputable
genius, a result, in part at least, of acquired skill. There-
fore, the inspirational and the artistic are frequently exactly
the same in effect. — Essay on the Literary Artist and
Elocution.

INTONATIONS VS. ARTICULATIONS IN LANGUAGE.

Whatever may be true of words used separately, it is a fact
that, even aside from the conventional meanings ordinarily
attached to them, intonations, such as can be given only in
the movements of consecutive speech, have a significance.
When Bridget, according to a familiar story, was sent to
the neighbors to inquire how old Mrs. Jones was, she

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 183

emphasized the old, and paused after it, and so gave irrepar-
able offence. Her tones represented an idea which the mere
words of the message confided to her had not been intended
to convey. — Poetry as a Representative Art, i.

IRREGULARITY IN THE HUMAN COUNTENANCE (see also

COUNTENANCE and regularity).
This statement suggests an important principle of art
which needs to be noted here. It is that, sometimes, cer-
tain requirements of form have to be waived for the sake of
significance. We all are acquainted with this fact as applied
to paintings or statues containing two or more figures.
We often see one of these made positively irregular and
ugly, in order to offset, and thus enhance, the regularity
and beauty of the others. . . . The same principle is
applicable not only to groups of faces or figures, but, in each
of them, to groups of features. Irregularities in certain of
these, if not too pronounced, though they may be altogether
too decided to render possible any method of supposing them
to be regular, may add at times not only to the interest,
but even to the charm of the form in which they appear.
Like the stronger shading of a line or color that changes the
apparent condition of a factor for the purpose of emphasiz-
ing it, or of taking emphasis from some other adjacent
factor, they may thrust upon attention that which thus inter-
prets the meaning of the whole, and renders it in the highest
sense representative. The expression of mere individuality
alone necessitates having no two forms or faces in the world
exactly alike. Yet thousands of them may be equally
beautiful; and tens of thousands, though not equally beauti-
ful, may be equally attractive; while, to the student of
humanity, none can fail to be interesting. — Painting,
Sculpture, and Architecture as Representative Arts, vi.

LABOR, NEEDED FOR ART-EXCELLENCE.

The results of art have not disproved that universal
principle according to which the degree of labor, medi-
ate or immediate, generally measures the degree of worth.
A bountiful exuberance of imagination usually accompanies
abounding information. The analogies of the poet are
usually most natural to the mind that has made the most
scrupulous study of nature. Truth, comprehensiveness,
and greatness, manifested in artistic products, are usually
crystallizations of the accuracy, breadth, and largeness of

lS4 AN ART-PHILOSOPHER'S CABINET

the formative thought occasioning them. — Essentials of
Esthetics, IV.

LANDSCAPE GARDENING, ARTIFICIAL AND NATURAL
EFFECTS OF.

Where human intellect is supposed to have graded the
hillocks and cultivated the lawns, neither of these can
appropriately present too great an appearance of ruggedness
or unculture. Lakes that are acknowledged to be the results
of contrivance should not seem swamps, nor should streams
that are made to flow into them seem sluggish. Trees
that have been transplanted should not appear illy selected
as to sizes, nor illy arranged as to groups or rows. Walks
that every one knows to have been planned, however adroit-
ly they may be adjusted to the conformations of the land,
should never violate the mathematical laws controlling the
formation of curves; nor should flowers that have been
placed in beds be disposed otherwise as to sizes and colors
than in a manner suited to produce effects that are aesthetic.

On the other hand, the artist, while striving to avoid the
tendency just mentioned, can scarcely be too cautious in
his endeavor to guard against infidelity to such effects
as may be supposed to have developed naturally. It is
possible to grade the land so that the outlines and positions
of mounds, lawns, and lakes shall seem too much the pro-
ducts of design. The trees may be too nearly of a size, and
arranged with too great regularity. If in addition, as in
some French gardens, they be clipped in order to seem uni-
form, or be made to imitate tents, spires, or what-not that a
man may fancy, or if they be ranged like fence-poles about
walks suggesting nothing but a square and compasses,
or stuck into the edges of flower-beds, wherein all the colors
are as carefully matched as in the mats of a French parlor,
then, while artifice has had its perfect work, nature may
seem to have been so painfully distorted and misrepresented
that the result has been the death of her. — The Representa-
tive Significance of Form, xxiv.

Applying these ideas to landscape-gardening, it is simply
a fact recognized by all, that any given plot may be so
graded and laid out that hills and valleys, lawns and lakes,
avenues and flower-beds, shall appear to be the results of
nature as much as of artifice. In the degree in which such
is the case, landscape-gardens may be said to suggest effects

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 185

in time. And yet if, in connection with these, there be
no evidences that the results perceived were contrived and
constructed through an exercise of ingenuity and skill; if,
in other words, there be no evidences of a human mind
which, accepting certain natural features of landscape as
developed in time, has given unity to the whole in space,
and this as a result of thinking, — then manifestly the
landscape will not appear artistic. — Idem.

LANDSCAPE GARDENING, AS INFLUENCED BY OTHER ARTS.

What but a subtle tendency to imitate the effects of draw-
ing or of painting could lead to the mathematical straight-
ness or stiffness apparent often in the arrangements of
walks and plants, and of outlines in artificial ponds, and even
of forms and colors in flower-beds? Or what but a con-
founding of this art with sculpture or architecture could
result in that which so offends good taste in many gardens,
— the crowding together of plaster statues, waterless foun-
tains, riverless bridges, and arbors whereon the sun never
shines, clipped out and bent out of trees that would have
seemed beautiful if only left in their natural condition?
No wonder that they appear artificial! — Idem, xxvii.

LANGUAGE, ARTISTIC, NEEDS CULTIVATING.

At a recent centennial celebration of one of our colleges, a
professorial friend of mine was seated next to a scientist.
They were listening to a brilliant speech from a prominent
clergyman. The scientist was to follow. Before he did so,
he made a disparaging remark, indicating that he felt that
he should be commended because he could not, and would
not, attempt anything resembling what had immediately
preceded. My friend in repeating his remark indicated
that he also agreed with the scientist in this self -commenda-
tion. Neither, apparently, was able to perceive his own
limitations sufficiently even to regret them. ... Is it neces-
sary to argue that when such sentiments prevail and are
expressed by those who desire to make themselves popular,
no great efforts will be expended upon the methods of pre-
senting thought; and if so, that no high standards will be
reached in the spheres peculiar to literature, whether of
prose or of poetry? You cannot expect art to be mani-
fested in the use of language in any college or country
where there is general disparagement of endeavors to make
language artistic. — Essay on Fundamentals in Education.

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LANGUAGE, AS FORMED INSTINCTIVELY AND REFLECTIVELY.

The earliest sounds made by a babe are instinctive, by
which is meant, that they are allied in nature to expressions
of instinct, due, even in a rational being, to the operation
less of conscious rationality than of natural forces vitalizing
all sentient existence. These instinctive sounds seem to
be accepted as words in fulfilment, mainly, of the principle
of association. The child cries and crows while the mother
hums and chuckles, and both understand each other. They
communicate through what may be termed ejaculations
or interjections. This kind of language is little above the
level of that of the brutes; in fact, it is of the same nature as
theirs. The sounds seem to have a purely musctilar or nerv-
ous origin ; and for this reason may be supposed to have no
necessary connection with any particular thought or psychic
state intended to be expressed by them. Nevertheless, we
all understand the meanings of them when produced by the
lower animals, as well as when made by man. Everywhere,
certain ejaculations are recognized to be expressive of the
general tenor of certain feelings, as of pleasure and pain
desire and aversion, surprise and fright. This fact shows
that there is a true sense in which these utterances are
representative.

The principle of association in connection with the use
of natural exclamations accounts probably for the origin
not only of actual interjections, but of other sounds also,
like the sibilants, aspirates, and gutturals, giving their
peculiar qualities to the meanings of syllables like those
in shoo, hist, and kick. Some, too, think that it accounts
for the origin of words like is, me, and that, cognate with
the Sanskrit, as, ma, and ta; the first meaning to breathe,
and indicating the act of breathing; the second closing
the lips to shut off outside influence, and thus to refer to
self; and the third opening the lips to refer to others. In
the same way, too, because the organs of speech are so
formed that the earliest articulated sound made by a babe
is usually either mama or papa, and the earliest persons to
whom each is addressed are the mother and father, people
of many different races have come to associate mama,
which, as a rule, is uttered first, with an appeal to the
mother, and papa with an appeal to the father.

In order, however, that utterances springing from exclam-
ations may be used in language, it is evident that men must

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 187

begin to imitate them, which they can do as a result only
of comparison. This principle, therefore, as well as that of
association, must have been closely connected with the
formation of the earliest words. Ejaculations, as has been
said, are instinctive. As such, they come first in the order
of time. The imitations of them with the purpose of mak-
ing them accepted as words do not appear till the reflective
nature begins to assert itself and then they soon extend to
the reproduction of other sounds besides ejaculations —
sounds that are representative of natural effects external to
man, and that become accepted as words as a still more
immediate result of comparison. These latter sounds are
first heard when the child is led to notice external objects.
Then, unlike the animal which can only ejaculate, but just
like his reputed father Adam, the first who had a reflective
nature, he begins to give names to these objects, or to have
names given to them for him by others. These names, ac-
cording to the methods controlling the formation of nursery
language, are always based upon the principle of imitation.
Certain noises emanating from the objects designated,
the chick-chick of the fowl, the tick-tick of the watch, the
cuckoo of the bird over the clock, the how-wow of the dog,
and, later, the clatter of the rattle, or the rustle of the silk or
satin, are imitated in the names applied to them; and
this imitative element enables the child to recognize what
the object is to which each name refers. The existence
of hundreds of terms in all languages, the sounds of which
are significant of their sense, like buzz, hiss, crash, slam,
bang, whine, howl, roar, bellow, whistle, prattle, twitter,
gabble, and gurgle (many of which are of comparatively
recent origin), is a proof that the principle of imitation is
an important factor in the formation of words. — Painting,
Sculpture, and Architecture as Representative Arts, i.

LANGUAGE, ITS EARLIEST FORM.

This theory, that the very earliest words were ejacula-
tory and imitative, seems to accord with the commonly
accepted view, that language is a gift from God, recogniz-
ing it to be so in the sense that, whereas beasts and birds
are endowed with the power of representing only a few
sensations through a few almost unvarying sounds, man
can represent any number of thoughts and emotions
through articulating organs capable of producing almost

i88 AN ART-PHILOSOPHER'S CABINET

infinite combinations and variations. Place two human
beings, thus constituted, in a state like that of Eden, and
in a month's time, by using ejaculatory and imitative
utterances, and mutually agreeing, as they necessarily
would do, to associate certain ideas with certain of these,
they would form a primitive language, which both could
understand; and a number of their words, too, would
probably not be wholly dissimilar in either sound or sense
to some that we use to-day. — Poetry as a Representative Art, i.

LANGUAGE, PLAIN AND FIGURATIVE (see POETRY, ITS LAN-
GUAGE, REPRESENTATION IN POETRY, and WORDS).

Plain language, as we have traced it, is a development of
the instinctive methods of expression used in natural
ejaculations. These, by being associated with the circum-
stances in which they are uttered, come to be used as
words; and, in a broad way of generalizing, there is a
sense in which all words, no matter how originated, when-
ever they come to mean what they do on account of this
principle, can be put into this class. But now, if we think
a little, we shall recognize that, from the moment of the
utterance of the first ejaculation to the use of the latest
sound which means what it does merely because conven-
tionally associated with an idea to which it stands in the
relation of an arbitrary symbol, the tendency exemplified
is a desire to present rather than to represent the thought
or feeling.

Just the contrary, however, is true of figurative lan-
guage. We have traced it to a development of the reflec-
tive methods of expression which arise when one hears and
imitates for a purpose the sounds about him. The same
tendency is carried out when he puts these sounds together,
after they have become conventional words, so as to
represent the relations between the sights about him, as
in the terms express, understand: in fact, it is carried out in
every case in which there is a use of imaginative or figura-
tive language. This latter language, then, from its earliest
source to its utmost development, exemplifies a tendency
to represent rather than merely to present the thought or
feeling.

But we have not yet reached the whole truth with refer-
ence to the matter. It must be remembered that thus far
we have been dealing mainly with single words, or with a

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 189

few of them arranged in single sentences. Each of these
words or sentences may be supposed to express some sin-
gle phase or process of the mind's experiences. But to
express a series of these processes, as words usually do
when used at all, we need a series of words and sentences.
Now it is conceivable that, though each factor of the series
when taken by itself should merely present some single
phase, all the factors when taken together should represent
a series of these phases; and it is equally conceivable that
though each factor of the series when taken by itself should
represent a mental phase, all the factors when taken to-
gether should merely present a series of these phases. In
other words, it is conceivable that owing to the artistic use,
not of single words but of series of them, plain language
should represent the thought and feeling (as in "Home
they brought her Warrior " in Tennyson's " Princess "),
and therefore be poetic; and it is equally conceivable that
figurative language (as in oratory) should present, and there-
fore be prosaic; prose, so far as it is determined by the
mode of communicating thought, being the presentative
form of that of which poetry is the representative.

These conditions which we have considered conceiv-
able, we shall find to be true in fact; and for this reason
poetic methods of treating a subject considered as a
whole must be judged, precisely as was said in another
place of poetic sounds, by the degree in which they repre-
sent the thought or feeling to which they give expression.
Now what, in the last analysis must determine the method
of the communication? — what but the method in which
the thought itself is conceived in the mind of the writer?
If he think in pictures, his words, whether or not pictur-
esque or figurative in themselves, will describe pictures.
Otherwise they will not. Moreover, if we reflect a moment,
we shall recognize that there are many times when he can
think in pictures, even when he is not thinking of pictures;
as, for instance, when he is impressing a truth upon the mind
through using a story, a parable, or an illustration, as we
call it. In this case, his method, if it accurately convey
to us that which is passing before his own mind, must be
representative, and not merely presentative.

Accordingly we find, when we get to the bottom of our
subject, that the figurative or the representative element
in poetry may exist in the conception as well as in the

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phraseology. If it exist in only the conception, we have
representation in plain language, or direct representation;
if in the phraseology, by which is meant now the words or
expressions illustrating the main thought, we have repre-
sentation m figurative language, or illustrative representation.
If all the significance expressed in a passage be represented,
the form of the representation will in this work be termed
pure; if a part of the thought be merely presented, the
representation will be termed alloyed; and in the degree in
which this is the case, it will be shown by and by that the
whole is prosaic.

Pure representation is pictorial in character, as we should
expect from the pictorial tendency of which we have found
it to be an outgrowth, and its methods are not wholly unlike
those of painting. When composing in accordance with
them, the poet indicates his thought by using words refer-
ring to things that can be perceived; and in this way he
causes the imaginations of those whom he addresses to per-
ceive pictures. Alloyed representation, while following in
the main the methods of that which is pure, always contains
more or less of something which cannot be supposed to have
been perceived, at least not in connection with circum-
stances like those that are being detailed. For this reason,
that which is added to the representation is like alloy, inter-
fering with the pureness and clearness of the pictures pre-
sented to the imaginations of those addressed. It appeals
to them not according to the methods of poetry, but of
science or philosophy, or of any kind of thought addressed
merely to the logical understanding.

The distinction between pure and alloyed representa-
tion lies at the basis of all right appreciation of poetic
effects. — Poetry as a Representative Art, xix.

The object of language is to cause others to share our men-
tal processes, to communicate to them the substance of
our ideas and their associated feelings. In doing this, it
represents both what a man has observed in the external
world and what he has experienced in his own mind — not
in either the one or the other, but invariably in both of them.
If a man, for instance, show us a photograph of something
that he has seen, he holds before our eyes precisely what has
been before his own eyes; but if he describe the scene in
words, he holds before our mind only those parts of it that

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 19I

have attracted his attention ; and not only so, but added to
these parts many ideas and emotions of his own that were
not in the scene but occurred to him when viewing it.

A similar added element from the man's mind accompan-
ies every endeavor of his to tell what he has heard, or even,
at some other time, thought or felt. From these facts, it
follows that the aim of language, so far as this can be deter-
mined by what it actually and necessarily does, is to
cause the same effects to be produced in the hearer's mind
that are experienced in the speaker's mind. Now if one,
when talking, conceive that this is an easy aim to attain;
that what he has heard or seen or thought or felt, needs only
to be told in clear, intelligible phraseology, in order to pro-
duce in another the same effects as in himself, then he will
be content with conventional modes of expression; he will
use in the main plain language.

On the other hand, if a man conceive that the end at
which he is aiming is difficult to attain; that what he has
heard, or seen, or thought, or felt, either on account of its
own nature, or of the nature of those whom he is addressing,
is hard for them to realize in its full force, and with all its
attendant circumstances, then, as his object is to convey not
merely an apprehension but a comprehension, both complete
and profound, of that of which he has to speak, he will dwell
upon it ; he will repeat his descriptions of it ; he will tell not
only what it is, but what it is like ; in other words, he will try
to produce the desired effect, by putting extra force into
his language, and, in order to do this, inasmuch as the
force of language is increased by becoming representative,
he will augment the representation by multiplying his
comparisons; his language will become figurative. It will
be so for the same reason that the language of a savage
or a child, even when giving utterance to less occult ideas,
is figurative, — because he feels that the words at his com-
mand are inadequate to express or impress his meaning
completely. — Idem, xviii.

LAW, ART AS SUBJECT TO {seC also MUSIC AS RELATED TO

law).
In the degree in which the conclusions reached are accu-
rate, and appeal as such to the reader's judgment, it will
make evident that the effects for which the artist seeks are
due to laws that operate far more inflexibly than sometimes

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is supposed; it will suggest that originality, while wider in
its scope than those imagine who confound the methods of
the master-artists with their manner, has too its limits; and
it will reveal beyond a doubt why many works of so-called
art produced to-day, because devoid of almost every ele-
ment of art, can never be of permanent interest, as well as
why, for reasons just the opposite, so many of those that are
now the classics of the past have charms that never can be
lost. — The Genesis of Art- Form, Preface.

LIKE WITH LIKE (see dlso comparison).

Imagination is the source of all art-production. When
a man begins to find in one feature the image of another,
and, because the two are alike, to put them together by
way of comparison, then, and then only, does he begin to
construct an art-product. And not only so, but only then
does he continue his work in a way to make it continue to be
a medium of expression. The forms which he elaborates
are naturally representative of certain phases of thought
or feeling, and the significance of the completed product
depends upon its continuing to represent these phases.
But it can continue to do this only when that which is
added in the process of elaboration is essentially like
that with which the process starts. ... As a fact, however,
no two things are alike in all regards; and the mind must
content itself with putting together those that are alike
in some regards. — The Genesis of Art- Form, ii.

literary, a term applied to pictures {see also explana-
tions and information).
Suppose that, for the reason which Lessing gave when
he said that it should present only that which could be
perceived at one time, or for any other reason, the pic-
ture is not able to interpret itself. Then it needs an expla-
nation. Such an explanation is necessarily made in words,
and, often, in printed words. Words, whether printed or
not, are the substance of literature. A painting which
cannot be of interest until one is made acquainted with
the literature of the subject, until one has read or heard
the words of a story which it is supposed to illustrate — •
what is this? — What, but a painting which may be said
to owe its interest to literature; and in this sense a paint-
ing that is "literary.". . . The term *'Hterary," as one of
disparagement, is rightly applied to pictures that need to be

Church of St. Mark, Venice

!"■ 1.^1 -J 8 ■-^WiSi ^ 5_-" •-;••'•-: -\-^"--:--^^»i^»|TnM|ff

Old Picture of St. Sophia, Constantinople
See pages q, io, 1$, IQ, 73^ Si-8s, 89, 91, 223-225, 316, 385

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 193

interpreted by a verbal story; in other words to pictures that
do not represent their own story. But is this what is meant
by those who, in our own time, most use the term? No;
but often the opposite. The term is applied to pictures that
do represent their own story; and because they do this.
Thus a deduction from Lessing's principle is made in order
to disparage the very kind of pictures that he would have
commended. Nor is it the first time that inability to inter-
pret the spirit of a law beneath the letter of it has caused
the disciples of a master to suppose themselves to be fol-
lowing his lead, when they are going in diametrically the
opposite direction. — Painting, Sculpture, and Architecture
as Representative Arts, xiii.

Human minds, as a rule, have so narrow an outlook that
they can be depended upon to snatch a half-truth, if possible,
and use it as a weapon against the whole truth. Whatever
may have been the case in the past, an artist at the present
time cannot compose upon the theory that significance is
essential to the highest excellence in art without being
stigmatized by certain critics as "literary"; nor can he
compose upon the theory that imitative skill is essential to
the highest excellence without being stigmatized by cer-
tain other critics as being "a mere technicist. "

Of course, in some cases the use of these designations
is appropriate; and, in all cases, it is easy to trace their
genesis, and find some justification for them. To inveigh
against the literary tendency in this art is a perfectly nat-
ural reaction against an attempt on the part of certain
English and German artists of the early part of the last cen-
tury, like West and Overbeck, not only to revive religious
symbolic and allegoric painting, but to do this, apparently,
upon the supposition that a subject capable of being made
impressive by an elaborate explanation, or story indi-
cating its intention, can compensate for an indifferent
style, an idea subsequently developed by the English Pre-
Raphaelites and in the genre pictures of the followers of Von
Schadow at Dusseldorf. On the other hand, to inveigh
against exclusive attention to technique is an equally
natural reaction against the exceedingly tame and unim-
aginative effects produced by mere imitation, such as
we find in many of the French pictures. No amount of
care expended upon the portrayal of tint or texture in
foliage, clothing, or flesh can satisfy the artistic ideals

X3

194 ^^ ART-PHILOSOPHER'S CABINET

of certain minds. They refuse to admit that great art
can ever result from any possible elaboration of small
subjects. — Idem, xii.

LITERARY STYLE IN ART-CRITICISM.

That which was undertaken in these volumes did not seem
to permit of a method that might have proved far more
pleasurable both for author and for reader. How can
one get down to the roots of anything, so long as he persists
in making his chief aim the enjoyment of its flowers? Our
libraries are full of treatises upon art appealing to the
imagination. The series of volumes which this concludes
has been intended to appeal to the understanding. We
may exercise imagination and go astray, in case we fail to
exercise the understanding also. But so long as we are
really using the latter, whether as artists or critics, we are
much less likely to go astray, however imaginative. To
understand a subject completely, one must be led to analyze
it, and to perceive its minutest details. Details that are
minute require minuteness in presentation. Your small
matter may be as effectually lost in generalities of style
as a needle in a dust-heap. Or, as applied to considerations
of a broader character, one cannot manifest the coolness
needed in a philosophic presentation, through a manner
aglow with the heat of fancy; nor accurately balance prin-
ciples in the scale of argument, when allowing either side
of it to be borne up or down by a bias of sentiment. —
Proportion and Harmony of Line and Color, xxvi.

LITERATURE AND SERIOUS THOUGHT.

"From time to time, " says Oscar Wilde, **the world cries
out against some charming, artistic poet, because, to use its
hackneyed and silly phrase, he has 'nothing to say.' It is
just because he has no new message that he can do
beautiful work." Think of the literary prospects of a country
or of the world; of the possibility of its receiving any
inspiring impulses from its poets at a period when new
authors, writing with the acknowledged motives of Dante,
Milton, or Wordsworth, would, for this and for no other
reason, fail to commend themselves to the leaders of literary
opinion ! — Essentials of Esthetics, v.

LYRIC {see also dramatic, epic, realistic).
A lyric represents a movement imparted to the thoughts,
but, unlike the condition in a melody, the thoughts of the

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 195

lyric appear in definite form. It is these thoughts that,
according to their order of sequence, reveal the tendency
which impels them. — Art in Theory, xvii.

LYRIC CRY.

The term lyric cry is often used by critics. What does
this indicate except a recognition that, in this form of poetry,
the soul, as in the case of one crying out in excitement, is
over-mastered by the impulse from within. Yet there is
little suggestion that the thought or emotion, as in the epic
condition, is absolutely too great to be adequately expressed.
There is often a suggestion of the opposite. Judging of the
persons who cry loudest, and of the circumstances in which
they do so, it might be argued that this form of expression,
as a rule, exaggerates the amount and quality of the experi-
ence; and this is the condition in dramatic art. — The Repre-
sentative Significance of Form, xix.

LYRIC POETRY {sCC VERSE AN ELEMENT).

^ Just as, through a few outlines, a good draughtsman gives
us a conception of a whole form, so the lyric poet, through
a few words, gives us a conception of a whole series of
scenes or events. But in the lyric these few words do
more than represent, as in realistic art, what exists or may
be supposed to exist. They create something that with-
out them would not exist. They give apprehensible form
to impressions made upon thought and feeling. . . . The
aesthetic interest awakened by the following is an interest
not in any great idea illustrated nor in successive events
accurately detailed, but in the form which the writer has
constructed in order, through it, to represent the particu-
lar character of the emotional effects which, owing to his
own poetic sensibilities, he himself has, or may be sup-
posed to have, experienced. — Idem.

MODELS, HUMAN, AND THEORIES OF PROPORTION {see also
OBSERVATION VS. THEORY, and SCULPTURE, GREEK).

It is impossible to find rules for guidance which, as used
in particular cases, do not constantly need to be authenti-
cated and modified by the facts that can be learned from
studying models. All art is the representation of nature.
The art that portrays human nature represents that which
is, presumably, the highest embodiment of creative intelli-
gence. A man who tries, after no matter how faithful a
study of the human form in general, to create such a form

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de novo, is in danger of representing his own conceptions to
the detriment both of nature and of that creative intelli-
gence which gives human nature its highest significance.
As indicated on page 89, a knowledge of proportion can
do little more than enable an artist, in the presence of
models, to select for portrayal features that are beautiful,
and, where these are combined with such as are not, to
avoid copying the latter, or, if he must regard them, then,
as a result of observation and experience, to correct their
defects. To do this last satisfactorily, however, or even
to choose a model wisely, requires that an artist's judgment
should be regulated by some correct general theory. . . .
Such a theory may afford equal aid, too, when one is called
upon to form practical or theoretical judgments with refer-
ence to mere posture. . . . There is no doubt that, when
limbs are arranged so that their combined outlines suggest
these like curves, the effect of beauty is enhanced on account
largely of their influence in producing effects not only of
harmony of outline, but of proportion. — Proportion and
Harmony of Line and Color, viii.

MORALITY, AS INFLUENCED BY ANY ART.

The novel, the drama, the painting, the statue, — all re-
port, with more or less interpretative additions, that which
keen observers have been able to perceive, and to reproduce.
The legitimate effect of their work is to enlarge the experi-
ence of others who have not had the same opportunity, or
the same ability to avail themselves of it, that they them-
selves have had. Whoever enlarges another's experience
imparts not only information, but, with it, something of
that wisdom which expresses itself in intelligent action.
Of course much depends, as has already been intimated,
upon the artist through whose mediumship the wider
experience has been imparted. He is like a showman
who may throw upon a screen whatever sort of picture
he may select. At the same time, in making his selection,
he can scarcely fail to be influenced by another fact. It is
this, — that only in the degree in which men conceive that
his thought when assuming form in art is in harmony with
thought when assuming form in nature, do they conceive
him to be influenced by the spirit in nature to such an extent
as to term him inspired. Is there any great artist who does
not wish to have his work considered to be of this character?

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 197

Or, if an artist be not great, does he not try, at least, to
imitate those who are so, and prefer to be considered of their
class ? If both these questions can be answered in the affirm-
ative, then it must be true that, practically, in the majority
of cases, the forces that are working in nature, as most of
us believe, for the enlightenment and uplifting of man will
continue to be influential in directing toward the same ends
the developments of art. — Essay on Art and Morals.

Nothing influences the general conceptions of a com-
munity more than the specific conceptions suggested by
what seems true of its art. This cannot manifest disre-
gard of law without cultivating more or less disregard of
the same in life, whether individual, social, political, or
religious. There is a connection between thinking that
anybody, without any guidance of rules, can write a suc-
cessful poem, or build a successful house, and fancying that
a promoter on Wall Street can disregard the financial laws
of the street, and not do something toward bringing on a
financial panic; or that a lady of the "Four Hundred" can
turn her back upon her poor relations, violating thus the
laws of both humanity and hospitality, and not do some-
thing toward making them turn their backs upon her, even
to the extent, possibly, of causing them to enlist for a social-
istic revolution ; or that a statesman, trusting to his own per-
sonal popularity or eloquence, can ignore the laws of
diplomacy and the enactments of his predecessors, and not
do something to endanger the peace and procperity of his
country; or that a leader in the Church, under the impres-
sion that all that religion needs can be developed from his
own unaided self -consciousness, can break away from the
laws of form or purpose embodying the historic results
of the spiritual life of the past, and not do something to
develop from himself the very evils that religion and its
methods are intended to prevent. — Essay on Music as
Related to Other Arts.

Art is one thing, and morality is another thing. A statue,
a picture, a drama, or a dance, may be immoral in its
influence, and yet artistic. But, in this case, it is seldom
artistic in every one of its features. If it were, people
would not speak of it, as some invariably do, when referring
to products of this character, as "lacking in good taste." —
Essay on Art and Morals.

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MORALITY, AS INFLUENCED BY ARCHITECTURE 866 alsO AR-
CHITECTURE, EXPRESSIVE OF CHARACTER and SKYSCRAPERS).

Are there any ethical relations of architecture: and if so,
are moral principles exemplified in it? Both questions can
be answered in the affirmative. Consider, for instance,
the modern skyscraper, — the apartment house, hotel, or
office building containing twenty or thirty stories. Sociolo-
gists point out how objectionable it is morally, as used
in residence districts, either for irrepressible children who
need more companions out of doors, or for disaffected
parents who need fewer of them indoors; and how objec-
tionable physically, as used in business districts, because
depriving thousands of sunlight and fresh air, and increasing
the nervous strain of life by crowding streets and street-
cars, and adding to the labors of business, the greater
labor of trying to get in safety, comfort, and health, despite
lungs almost suffocated, to and from one's home. But,
long before the sociologist had thought of these results, the
artist had realized the beauty of a uniform skyline, as in the
streets of Paris and the Court of Honor at the Chicago
Exposition ; and had recognized as well the inexcusable les-
sening in value, because of depreciation in effectiveness, of
every building that another adjoining it is allowed to over-
top. So one might go on and give to the principle thus
illustrated almost universal applicability. — Essay on Art
and Morals.

MORALITY, AS INFLUENCED BY DRAMAS (5^^ PLAY, DRAMATIC).

As for the other criterion, namely, that art should point
a moral, this is accurate so far as it goes ; and yet at, imita-
tive art, must do more than point a moral. Its nature is
that of representation, not reasoning; it presents a picture
to be perceived, not a problem to be solved; and the repre-
sentation, the picture, not the reasoning or the solution, is
that in it which is of supreme importance. — The Represen-
tative Significance of Form, xv.

MORALITY, AS INFLUENCED BY POETRY.

Very often passages like this merely add to the impres-
siveness of the picture conjured before the imagination,
and are distinctly within the limits of an appeal to senti-
ment. For this reason, though having much to do both
with influencing conduct and imparting information, they
are legitimate to art, because subordinated to its aims.

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 199

This is a fact important to recognize. Indeed, the failure
to recognize it is one of the artistic mistakes of our own
age; and is doing more than any other, perhaps, to pre-
vent art from attaining the rank due to it, as a great in-
strumentality for the betterment of humanity. In the
criticisms in our papers — often, owing to an affectation of
aesthetic knowledge, in our religious papers, — one finds
an almost universal tendency to discount, and for this
reason solely, poetry, painting, and statuary that give any
marked evidence of being the product of an earnest, ethi-
cal, or religious nature. One reason — though, of course,
not by any means the sole reason — why certain of our
greater as well as minor pessimistic poets, whose influence
is anything but inspiring, are so lavishly praised, is because
they give so few indications of having such a nature;
and it is certain that many critics of the drama would
think twice before imperiling their reputation by object-
ing to a really artistically constructed play merely because
of its immoral tendency. Yet what can be more thor-
oughly unphilosophical than to gauge artistic ability and
taste by an absence of those traits which, in ordinary
life, give a man not only character but common sense? —
Idem.

MORALITY, AS INFLUENCING ART.

We respect a moral man who is a boor; but when there
is enough of aesthetics in him to make him also a gentleman,
we admire him, and strive to imitate him. We tolerate
earnest reformers who, in rowdy mobs, boisterously insult
all who differ from them; but most of us connect ourselves
with such leaders only as do their work "decently and
in order, " in places where they have more or less of refine-
ment in their surroundings. Why cannot this rule be
reversed, and art be bettered by its moral quality? —
Essay on Art and Morals.

Wherever there is anything human, there, too, exists
the possibility of immorality. Art is intensely human.
But just as the best type of humanity is distinctly moral,
so it is with the best type of art. To this rule, dramatic
art furnishes no exception. Nor, for a similar reason, does
that of the romance or the novel. — Idem.

Art, as a pleasurable result, may appeal in a pleasurable
way to a man's whole nature; and nothing can do this that,

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in any degree, shocks and repels him because recognizing
it to have an impure and harmful influence upon thought,
feeling, or conduct. — Idem.

MUSIC, AND ITS TEACHER.

There are certain principles essential to the very existence
of every other higher art, as at present developed, which are
traceable to music alone ; and no esthetic influence tends so
decidedly as that which it exerts to keep alive, in any de-
partment of culture, either a realization in theory or an
actualizing in experience of such effects as those of law, thor-
oughness, accuracy, practise, drill, pleasure in work, or per-
sonality in presentation. If what has been said be true, then
the music-teacher stands in the very front ranks of those
who are leading the armies of culture. Without what he,
and he alone, is fitted to contribute, no department of that
army can be fully equipped, and all the departments to-
gether may fail of their purpose. — Essay on Music as
Related to Other A rts.

MUSIC, AS AFFECTING POSTURE.

Not until, at least, the rhythm of music — to say nothing
of its tune — began to affect the human nerves, did the man
begin to dance, and not until he began to dance, did his
arrested attitudes begin to emphasize those effects of grace
which, perhaps, most clearly differentiate the portrait from
the snap-shot photograph and the genre painting from
the portrait. It is not too much to say, therefore, that
some lessons learned from the influence of music upon the
human form are illustrated in almost all pictures and
statues, whether considered as ends in themselves, or as
ornamenting architecture. — Idem.

The underlying significance of all straight lines, angles,
and curves, whenever or wherever seen, is subtly con-
nected with the expressional uses of the same in the poses
assumed by the various limbs of the human body. Man
is so limited in outlook, so self-centered in insight, that he
is obliged to interpret not only God but all nature and its
manifestations in accordance with his own experience
and actions. So, indirectly, the same strains of music that
cause dancing, and thus tend to the exhibition of graceful-
ness in the human form, have an influence on the artistic
qualities of other of the visible forms that become subjects
of art-production. — Idem,

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 201

MUSIC AS RELATED TO LAW.

The mightiest master of melody and harmony who, as
he composes, seems to lose all consciousness of restraint
and to give vent to absolutely untrammeled promptings
of inspiration, is not one who has risen above the control
of rules. He is one who has studied and practised in
accordance with them so assiduously that not one cell in
his brain can forget them, or break from the habit of ful-
filling them, Every musical non-conductor has been, by
repeated effort, expelled not only from his conscious but
from his unconscious mind. Every nerve in his being
vibrates to the touch of harmony, and vibrates according
to law. — Idem.

MUSIC, CHARACTER OF ITS INFLUENCE.

Music furnishes perhaps the best possible illustration
of a fact noticed to be true universally whenever, rising
above purely physical conditions, we come to consider
forces fitted to affect the mind and soul, — the fact, that it
is of more importance to influence the substance of thought
than the form of thoughts; of more importance to aim for
something giving direction to sentiment than definiteness
to statement; in short, that the most profound and lasting
effect upon experience is exerted in connection with that
which, at the same time, allows the greatest freedom to
expression. This principle is illustrated more or less in all
the arts. Otherwise they would not merely represent what
they have to express; in direct form they would present it.
But the principle is especially noticeable in music; and for
this reason, probably, the production of it is mentioned so
often in the Bible in order to describe symbolically the
employment of heaven. Other arts, by words, shapes, or
colors, confine thought to some extent; indicating, as they
do in no unmistakable way, that of which one should think.
Not so with music. It may hold the feelings of a multitude
in absolute control; yet, at the same time, it may leave
each individual absolutely free to think the thought and
to do the deed that is prompted by his individual instincts.
— Art in Theory, xviii.

The most powerful mental agency perhaps is music.
To those who can appreciate it, it can bring joy or sadness,
smiles or tears, long after every other influence has ceased
to affect the feelings. Yet music is the most intangible

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and spiritual of all the arts. There is nothing to see as in
sculpture, no movement to animate as in oratory, no words
to inspire as in poetry. One hears sounds only; and these
vague sounds are so powerful that a man may be thrilled
through and through with . . . whatever thoughts of joy
or of sadness may be nearest to the heart of the man who is
under its control. The same strains may affect differently
the experience of every one who listens to them. It may
make a child think of his play, a youth of his school, a
merchant of his business. — Suggestions for the Spiritual Life^
II.

Yet, with all this, it would be an error to think that the
mental influence of the art is slight. The story of the men
hired to assassinate Stradella, who, after listening to his
oratorio in Rome, dropped their weapons and became
the saviours of his life, is only one story of a thousand
evincing men's belief to the contrary. — Essentials of
^Esthetics, vii.

MUSIC, DRAMATIC.

His (Wagner's) method was first to associate a motive
with some person, object, action, or event; and afterward,
whenever that with which it was associated appeared upon
the stage or was suggested by the language, thought, feelings,
or situations, the motive itself was introduced into either
the melody of the voice or the harmony of the instrumen-
tation. Not only so, but a certain correspondence was
musically indicated between the way in which this was
introduced and the relations of the person, object, action, or
event to the circumstances attendant upon its introduction.

This method, to those who have familiarized them-
selves with the motives, causes an opera of Wagner to have
a double effect: first, the ordinary musical effect which is
due to the development of the melodies and harmonies
for their own sakes; and, second, the intellectual effect
which is due to connecting each of these motives with
that which it suggests, and noticing the way in which it
blends with other motives or opposes them. This action
on an extended scale, of motive upon motive, is what
Wagner meant by dramatic music, and it is in the develop-
ment of this that he chiefly manifested his originality. It
is owing to it, too, that he has obtained such a hold upon
his admirers. His method of adapting music to the require-

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ments of intellect necessarily adds to it an intellectual
interest. In fact, after making all due allowance for
those who applaud and apparently enjoy his music for the
same reason that they applaud and apparently enjoy any-
thing which is understood to be fashionable, there are cer-
tainly many people formerly unable to appreciate anything
musical, who have learned to perceive in his works that
which they can appreciate, and who, by first coming to
take delight in music as developed by him, have come
to take an otherwise, for them, impossible interest in all its
legitimate forms. Through effects thus exerted Wagner
greatly dignified the art to which he devoted himself,
as well as extended the sphere of its influence. — Rhythm
and Harmony in Poetry and Music : Music as a Represen-
tative Arty VIII.

MUSIC, HOW REPRESENTATIVE (see paragraphs concerning
music under representation and representative).
Startled by circumstances, the child of nature utters
inarticulate cries. These are instinctive in their origin; but
are always alike when the mind is influenced by like motives.
Therefore men associate them with these motives, for which
reason they may be said to be in a true sense representative
of them. Availing himself of this fact the artist endeavors
to portray in music the effect not of a single feeling, but of
an entire current of feelings as set in motion by outside
influences. Notice too that all the developments of the art
continue as it begins. Notwithstanding the very limited
amount of imitation and, in this sense, of comparison that
we find in music, nevertheless, a great composer, through
introducing only a few imitative notes, may force the mind
to connect two things as radically different as, say, a
symphony and a landscape. That he may accomplish
this end, two conditions are necessary: he must have
observed the particular character of the sounds through
which the child of nature, and, in some cases, through
which the irrational creature, represents particular feel-
ings; and again, he must have been conscious within him-
self of feelings similarly excited — similar in kind, that is,
not in degree — and hence capable of being represented
similarly. The two conditions go together. Unless he
has observed the forms of expression in natural life, the
forms at his command, to be used in his art-product,

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will be few in number. Unless he himself has experienced
feelings that naturally lead to such expressions, the few
forms that he does use will not be used appropriately.
They will have little meaning. They will not speak to
the universal human heart with the authority of a veritable
language of the emotions. In short, we notice what is in
exact analogy with the line of thought in the chapters pre-
ceding this, namely, that the same conditions which make
music representative of human nature or of natural feel-
ing render it representative also of the artist or of the
artist's feeling; in other words that to be truly represen-
tative of nature, this art must be representative of man
also. — Art in Theory, xviii.

MUSIC, ITS GENESIS {see also ART FOR ART'S SAKE, POETRY
vs. MUSIC, ETC.).

Music has been traced to humming. But only a slight
development of this latter is needed in order to turn it
into a song; and a song is not merely the beginning of
music, but music. Cannot a man sing without construct-
ing a product external to himself .f" Certainly he can, and
so can a bird; and, if a man could do no more, he could
do nothing entitling music to be placed in a class different
from that to which, for example, dramatic representation
belongs. A melody, in itself considered, is not necessa-
rily, in the finest and most distinctive sense, a natural form
made human. Yet it may be this. It is so in the degree
in which it is unmistakably a product of the art of music.
What is such a product? A composition that consists
not merely of unstudied subjective expressions in sounds.
It is objective. It is a result of labor and practice. Even
aside from its usually involving an external writing in
musical notation, it is a development of a complicated
system of producing notes and scales and chords, not only
with the human voice, but with numerous instruments,
invented, primarily, so as to imitate every possibility of
the human voice, all these working together in accordance
with subtle laws of melody and harmony which, as a result
of years of experiment, men have discovered and learned
to apply. Indeed, almost the slightest musical composing
suggests an external product. Simple humming is not
only a method of expression for its own sake, but it is a form
of nature, of nature as manifested in a man. A symphony

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 205

is a development not only of the possibilities of this expres-
sion, but of its peculiar form; and it involves, therefore,
especially in connection with the necessity for a written
score and for manufactured instruments, the existence and
elaboration of form such as is possible only to an external
product. Notice, too, that to the last detail of this elabora-
tion, there is nothing whatever in the art that is not attribu-
table to the satisfaction which the mind takes in developing
the form not for the purpose of attaining an end of material
utility, but for the sake of its own intrinsic beauty. — Art
in Theory, win.

MUSIC, ITS LANGUAGE FOR THE MIND.

There is a natural, inarticulated language of the emotions
employed by all of us. What reason is there in nature to
suppose otherwise than that all its elements might be com-
prehended and tabulated with sufficient definiteness in a
few score of carefully related forms of sound? As it is,
even now, every really great composer recognizes the
existence of this language and unconsciously applies its
principles. Why should they not be formulated so that
all men could know them? Why should not the psycho-
logical correspondences of music be unfolded with as much
definiteness as those of elocution to which in their elements
they are analogous ? Or, if the formulation of the principles
involved would necessitate, as it might, artistic difficulties
and dangers impossible to overcome, why, at least, might
there not be developed among men such a concurrence of
opinion with reference to the principles themselves that the
composer would feel constrained, more often than at pres-
ent, to regard them? And then, in the degree in which
they were carried out persistently and accurately, would
not the musical world be made familiar with them, and even
the unmusical be made, at any rate, to recognize their
existence? Were this done we should have no more writers
upon aesthetics with outer and inner senses — ears and
minds — so dull of perception as to declare that music does
not appeal, as do the other arts, to intelligence, or that it is
presentative and not representative. It has been abun-
dantly shown here that this view is erroneous; but it would
be an advantage to have the recognized conditions of the art
clearly reveal the fact. It would be an advantage to have
music seen by all in its true position, standing side by side

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with poetry, painting, sculpture, and architecture, and rep-
resenting in just as legitimate a sense as they, its own appro-
priate phase of the influence which nature exerts not merely
upon the auditory nerves — which alone would not account
for its spiritual effects — but also upon the mind. — Rhythm
and Harmony in Poetry and Music : Music as a Representa-
tive Art, VIII.

MUSIC, SPIRITUAL EFFECTS OF.

If the mind can ever be affected by color in exactly the
same way as by sound, then coloring, like music, may
become an art setting in motion the general drift of
thought and feeling, but leaving imagination free to formu-
late what evolves from the drift. Because exerting this
kind of influence upon the sources rather than the results
of thinking, music never, even when used in worship, tends
to dogmatism and bigotry as do, sometimes, the words of
hymns, or to idolatry and superstition as do, sometimes,
pictures and statues. Its tendencies to a greater extent
than those of any of the other arts except, perhaps, archi-
tecture, are spiritual and religious. It would be strange if
the play of electric light on the stage of the comic opera and
the ballet should lead, some day, to a new art — probably of
decoration, though possibly of performance — which philoso-
phers would have a right to associate with the distinctively
spiritual and religious. But it would not be the first time
that the world has had experience of such results. Most
of us have heard the same kind of music that summons
the wild Indian tribes to a war-dance used to collect the
throngs of the Salvation Army; and, if we live long enough,
we may hear, in many a Sunday-school, the melody of the
" Merry Widow Waltz" inciting to all the virtues. If the
teachings of history have not been misinterpreted, we might
have had none of the harmony that renders possible the
great anthems or masses of the present, had it not been for
the Bacchanalian street-airs brought together in rounds,
which so distressed the serious minded Plato ; or introduced,
to relieve, by way of variation, the unisonance of solemn
cathedral chants, in disregard of consternation in the souls
of the mediaeval priests. — Essay on Music as Related to Other
Arts.

MUSIC vs. POETRY (see also poetry vs. music).

It follows from what has been said that, as distinguished
from poetry, music should be representative of only such

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 207

indefinite and emotive mental effects as can be expressed
in unarticulated sounds. This inference suggests, at once,
a reason for certain well-known facts with reference to
the effects of this art. It shows us, for instance, why the
music invariably conceded to rank highest is instrumental ;
, . . and again, it shows us why it is that all men, well-
nigh with unanimity, recognize a superlative sweetness in
the midnight serenade. In both cases there is experienced
a distinctive effect of sound, and of this only. In con-
nection with the former, there is no distraction from words ;
in connection with the latter, none from sights. — The
Representative Significance of Form, xxvi.

NATURAL EFFECTS RATHER THAN APPEARANCES REPRODUCED

IN ART {see also art as mental, and repre-
sentation IN art vs. imitation).
But again, are the effects that come from nature trace-
able to the forms in themselves, or to causes behind the
forms? Hardly to the forms in themselves, because,
practically considered, as has been shown, neither music,
poetry, painting, sculpture, nor architecture involves an
exact imitation of forms. At best, art merely reproduces,
as will be brought out in Chapter XVI., their effects; and
again, because, theoretically considered, in reproducing
effects, a stream cannot rise higher than its source. How
can powerful influences such as, presumably, stir thought
or feeling in the presence of beauty, owe their origin to
forms that have no force of any kind — at any rate, no
mental or spiritual force behind them? — Art in Theory, xv.

The mind itself is a source of thoughts and feelings.
These are constantly at work, and the influence of them may
often change completely the specific form in which an effect
has come from nature. This is a fact, a discussion of which
would have greatly enhanced the value of Lessing's cele-
brated criticism upon the "Laocoon. " What is involved
in the fact may be made clear by an illustration. Suppose
a man to have listened to the story of a battle. It might
be presumed that a representation of what he has heard
would also assume the form of a story, and therefore be
artistically expressed in a poem. But often the effect
of the story upon his imagination, as also of his imagination
upon it, is such that what is experienced can be represented
truthfully only through a picture. Again, it happens

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sometimes that the forms through which the effects have
been exerted, have lingered so long in his mind, and experi-
enced so many modifications there that, though critical
analysis may detect, as in architecture and music, that the
effects produced have been suggested by forms in nature, the
artist himself is unconscious of what these forms were. —
Idem, XVI.

NATURAL EFFECTS REPRODUCED IN ART {$66 ART AS MENTAL).

In poems and dramas, the characters represented,
although Homeric gods or Miltonic angels, speak and act
in ways showing that the artist's ideas concerning them
have been modeled upon forms natural to men and women
of the earth. Even in music and architecture, the principle
holds good, though in a more subtle sense. There would be
no melodies if it were not for the natural songs of men and
birds or for what are called "the voices of nature"; nor
would there be buildings were there not in nature rocks and
trees furnishing walls and columns and water-sheds, to say
nothing of the innumerable forms suggested by the trunks,
branches, leaves, flowers, and other natural figures which
architectural details unmistakably imitate. In a word — to
repeat what was said before — the effects of art are not what
they are because they are unnatural. On the contrary, they
all do no more than remake, reproduce, reshape, rearrange,
reapply, recombine, represent appearances that nature first
supplies. — Art in Theory, i.

The first condition of art is an audible or visible form;
and this form is always a reproduction, at least partially,
of something perceived in nature, which term is to be
understood as including not only non-human but human
nature, as manifested in a man's actions and utter-
ances. It follows, therefore, that, in some way, one must
always associate with nature whatever thoughts and emo-
tions he puts into artistic form. Otherwise, he could not
attribute to nature any possibility of representing these;
he could not suppose that, by using natural forms as he
does, he could suggest his thoughts and emotions to others.
— The Representative Significance of Form, i.

Whenever we term a product of art "natural, " and argue
that, because it is so, it is artistically effective, we include
in the term "natural" a conception both of form and of
conditions which precede and determine form. For in-

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 209

stance, we all recognize that the events portrayed in a drama
or a novel are effective in the degree in which they are
natural to the conditions that lead up to them, i. e., to
the causes occasioning them. — Idem, xii.

NATURAL FORMS AS THE AGENTS OF EXPRESSION.

At every stage of intellection, a man is forced to use
the forms of the material world in order to represent his
mental processes. Otherwise they could not be perceived
clearly nor understood intelligently even by himself, and
much less by others to whom he wishes to communicate
them. Take any one of the more important of the emotions
that actuate us and we shall recognize this fact. Take that
experience in some of the manifestations of which religious
people believe that a man most resembles the Unseen One.
Think how love, which is begotten often in a single glance,
and is matured in a single thrill, gives vent to its invisible
intensity. How infinite in range and in variety are those
material forms of earth and air and fire and water which are
used by a man as figures through which to represent the emo-
tion within him! What extended though sweet tales, what
endless repetitions of comparisons from hills and valleys,
streams and oceans, flowers and clouds, are made to revolve
about that soul which, through the use of them endeavors to
picture in poetry spiritual conditions and relations which
would remain unrevealed but for the possibility of being
thus indirectly symbolized! Nor is it man alone who is
obliged to use the forms of material nature in order to reveal
the workings of his spirit. He himself does this only, as it
were, by way of imitation ; only because he partakes of the
nature and therefore must follow the methods of the Crea-
tive Spirit to which all men and all material nature owe
their origin. If what has been said be true of the expres-
sion of human love, why should not the Great Heart whose
calm beating works the pulses of the universe express divine
love through similar processes evolving infinitely and eter-
nally into forms not ideal and verbal, but real and tangible
— in fact, into forms which we term those of nature ?

Do we not all, subtly, at least, believe in the two state-
ments just made? Do we not believe that material nature
furnishes the representative implements through which a
man creates language, and that it furnishes also the actual
implements through which the Creative Spirit produces

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a language speaking, though in a less articulate and distinct
way, to our thoughts and emotions? — Psychology of Inspi-
ration, VI.

This is the question with which, wittingly or unwittingly,
poetry and poetic faith always have confronted and always
must confront merely natural science and scientific skepti-
cism.— Poetry as a Representative Art, xxviii.

NATURE, REPRESENTATION OF, ESSENTIAL TO ART.

Forms of natural expression — intonation, speech, draw-
ing, coloring, constructing — just at the point where most
satisfactory as means of communicating thought and feeling,
lack something that art needs. What is this? It is not
difficult to tell. . . . They lack that which can be given, in
connection with expression, by the reproduction of the
effects of nature. Penmanship and hieroglyphics lack the
appearances of nature that are copied in painting and
sculpture. Prose lacks the figures of speech and descriptions
that in poetry are constantly pointing attention to the same
appearances; and, as shown in the last chapter, even the
elements subsequently developed into music and archi-
tecture lack traces of a very keen observation and extensive
use of effects in nature which would not need to be observed
or used at all, were the end in view attainable by the mere
communication of thought or feeling. Were communica-
tion the aim of any art, the elaboration of the forms of
nature would cease at the point where it became sufficient
for this purpose. — Art in Theory, v.

NATURE, REVELATION OF ITS LAWS BY POETS AND ARTISTS.

A philosophical botanist — to say nothing of a poet like
Wordsworth — will have scores of thoughts suggested to
him by a scene in nature, which would never occur to most
of us. Now these scenes in nature, — what are they?
They are visible representations of the life and methods
at the source of nature. They are illustrations, through
the appearances and operations of nature, of what we mean
when we speak of divine laws, principles, and truths. I
think that everyone admits that one of the chief missions
to the world of great poetic and artistic minds, like those of
Dante, Angelo, Shakespeare, Raphael, and Goethe, is that
they interpret rightly these laws, prinqiples, and truths. —
Essay on Teaching in Drawing.

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS '^211

NATURE, TRUTH TO, NOT ALL THAT ART NEEDS.

We are constantly hearing it asserted that, if anything
portrayed in art be "true to nature, " this fact is a sufficient
warrant for its reproduction — in plays or pictures, for in-
stance— and, sometimes, a trustworthy test of its excellence.
In connection with this assertion, those who — mainly, as is
supposed, for moral reasons — object to some of the practical
results of applying the theory involved in it are usually
represented to be victims of ignorance or bias which they
would not manifest had they been sufficiently cultivated
aesthetically. According to the conclusions reached in this
volume, nothing could be more at variance with the truth
than such assertions and representations. Our whole
argument tends to show that the mere fact that effects
are "true to nature " by no means justifies their use in art of
high quality. They can be used in this so far only as, in the
first place, they are in themselves beautiful, and, in the
second place, are, aside from themselves, suggestive, or
capable of being made suggestive, of the artist's thought
and feeling. Ugliness and vileness are never beautiful in
themselves, though, at times, some feature manifesting them
may enhance, by way of contrast, the beauty of some other
feature which they are introduced in order to offset. When
they form the sole theme of paintings, statues, novels, or
dramas, as, unfortunately, is the case in many products of
many men greatly praised in our own time, — their names
need not be mentioned, — the result is opposed to the first
principles of aesthetics still more than of ethics. — The
Essentials of ^Esthetics, xviii.

NOVEL, INFLUENCE OF THE MODERN.

When we recall the Puritanism, the bigotry, and the
sectarianism of the last century, we cannot fail to contrast
them with the humaneness and the liberality of thought and
feeling prevailing in our own times; and, if we ask what has
wrought the change, we are forced to ascribe it, very largely,
to the influence of the modern novel. Through portrayals
of people entirely different in motives, manners, customs,
and characters from those with whom the novel's readers
have associated, these readers have been enabled to become
well acquainted with conditions of thought and of life foreign
to their own. The effect has been to broaden their knowl-
edge of the world and of hiunan nature, and to increase

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almost infinitely their sympathies with men of "all sorts
and conditions." In other words the novel has given mil-
lions of people whose real experience, perhaps, has been
necessarily confined to the narrow limits of a single village,
a substitute in the way of an imaginative experience almost
as effective as anything obtained by actual travel. That
one normal result of such an imaginative experience is to
purify mind and heart through developing wisdom and
charity has been proved by the effects which can unmis-
takably be traced to this form of literature. — Art in Theory ^
Appendix iii.

NOVEL, ITS REFORMATORY INFLUENCE.

It is less the influence of the pulpit than of the novel
that in our own land, within the memory of some still
living, has not only freed the slave and unfrocked the
aristocrat, but has snatched the standards of sectarianism
from the hands of hypocrites and bigots, and restored for
all the Church the one standard of Constantine, and that
one not held up by the hands of man, but flaming in the
sky. — Essay on Art and Education.

NUDE ART.

As applied to the human figure, and to the expression,
through every part of it, of some special phase of signifi-
cance, it is apparent that certain legitimate deductions
from this principle are often ignored. When this is said,
it must be said also, if we are to deal with the subject
with perfect truth, that they are ignored almost as much
in certain disguising concealments of the form character-
izing some of the customs of civilization, as in certain
disenchanting exposures of it characterizing some of the
conventionalities of art. Viewing the subject not with
the prejudice which supposes that whatever is, is neces-
sarily right, and therefore finds fault with straight skirts
on a woman merely because others are wearing hoops,
and with knickerbockers on a man merely because others
are wearing pantaloons; but viewing the subject in a
rational way, it may be said that the human form just as
it is, is God-made, whereas human clothing is man-made;
and that the latter, even though it drag for yards behind
the feet, especially if with just enough exposure to sug-
gest a possibility of more exposure, may be in its
tendency less humanizing, in a good sense, than a garb dis-

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 213

closing enough, at least, to allow free and natural expression
to the soul within. The Hebrew priest was told to
sprinkle the blood of a sacrificial victim — representing
life that was innocent and therefore spiritual — on the
vessels of the temple every time that he had occasion to
use them. The people were thus taught that nothing in
the world that is material, not even a consecrated imple-
ment of the sanctuary, is sacred except when made to
represent the presence of spiritual life. Much less is th^
material clothing of human figures sacred. One might
argue that it can never represent spiritual life quite as
well as when it faithfully reveals the general outlines of
the form which the creative power designed that spiritual
life on earth should have. Or — to examine the subject
in the light of its practical effects — what artist ever repre-
sented a wanton in the scanty short skirts and bare feet
of a peasant? What man, so far as form in dress could
affect him, would not be conscious of more kindly, tender,
generous, and protective impulses awakened in him by the
simple clothing of the latter, or of a young girl just enter-
ing her teens, than by the trailing silks and laces of the
former? This much for one of the many mistakes of
civilization. No influence is more indirectly exalting than
beauty, and no beauty ought to be more exalting than
that of the human form. To veil it wholly, as the Oriental
women do their faces, may impair the charm of life not
only, but its chastity. When much that is concealed, might,
if revealed, put an end both to legitimate curiosity and to
purely aesthetic desires, might it not also put an end to much
that, when developed, reinforces desires of a less worthy
nature? It is certainly a question whether in such cases,
complete satisfaction would not often accompany that
which satisfied merely the eye. The Japanese, familiar
from childhood with an almost total exposure of the form,
and notwithstanding traditionally low standards of con-
ventional morality, are believed by themselves, and by
others who have studied them, to be, absolutely considered,
more moral by nature, in that they are less prone to morbid
and soulless forms of indulgence, than are the Europeans.
Is not one proof of this — as it certainly is a proof of the
delicacy of their sense of propriety and, for that matter, of
beauty — afforded by the fact that, in their higher art, com-
plete nudity is never depicted? So much for a mistake of

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conventional fashion. Now a few words with reference to a
mistake in an opposite direction made by conventional art.
The true principle in art is that it should represent life, and,
if dealing with human life, should represent that which is
in the highest sense humanizing. But that which is in the
highest sense humanizing gives principality to mental and
spiritual suggestions, and keeps others subordinate. Can
this be said to be done when parts of the body, which even
barbarians conceal, are exposed, in conditions, as some-
times happens in modern art, so different from those of
natural life that one is forced to the inference that they are
exposed for the sole purpose of exposure ? In answer to this
we are referred to Greek art. But Greek art was true to the
conditions of Greek life. The legitimate deduction is that
our art should be true to the conditions of our life. . . .
The truth is that, in this, as in every other practical possi-
bility, there is no end worth seeking, whether it be the
representation of human sentiment or of skill in workman-
ship, that cannot be attained without going to extremes.
When one thinks of this fact, and of the liability, if it be dis-
regarded, of having art lower its aims, or if not this, having it
antagonize, through creating false impressions of its aims,
thousands of those in special need of its influence, — in other
words, when one thinks how much might be gained to the
world, and how little can be lost, by applying in this sphere
the same common sense that all men are expected to apply
in other spheres, it certainly seems strange that those who
wish to make the most of art should pursue a course, in either
criticism or production, fitted really to make the least of it.
— Proportion and Harmony of Line and Color, vii.

A friend of mine once met, on a Pacific steamship, a
Japanese fresh from his own country who represented him-
self as greatly shocked by some framed photographs of
European works of art of excessive disrobement which he
had observed hanging in the Captain's cabin. "Why?" —
said my friend to him. *' It is only what one can see almost
every day in the life of your own land." "We have it in
life," replied the Japanese, "but we don't thrust it upon
attention, and, by elaborating it in our art, make a public
confession of how much we have been thinking and feeling
about it. " It is well to observe that this representative of
the most artistic of living races was not influenced by ethics

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 215

but by aesthetics, — by the requirements merely of delicate
instinct and good taste. — Essentials of Esthetics, xviii.

OBSCURITY, LITERARY, WHEN EXCUSABLE {see olsO

ellipsis).
Frequently, the difference between the artistic and scien-
tific method might be said to be owing merely to the differ-
ent degrees of rapidity with which the thoughts are moving.
This fact will be evident upon recalling the condition usually
accompanying the mind's imaginative and, therefore, parti-
ally subconscious actions. It will be found to be a condition
of emotive excitement. Listen to the children as they
watch a display of fireworks. With what facility they
recognize resemblances! Roosters, churches, fans, and
fountains, — these are what they imagine to be in shapes
suggesting nothing to their parents. Yet when some
excitement strong enough to appeal to these latter has
succeeded in moving them, they, too, will become unex-
pectedly imaginative. As for the intelligent artist, there
is reason to suppose that imaginative results in his case,
also, are owing to mental action too rapid for him to be
conscious of all its processes. This fact, indeed, is often
very effectively represented in artistic products, especially
in literature, the words of which are particularly fitted to
reveal exactly what is taking place in the thoughts to
which the words give expression. Recall the ellipses and
consequent obscurity in which writers like Carlyle and
Browning indulge. In almost every instance where obscur-
ity of this kind is observable, some additional reflec-
tion would have enabled the writer to recall and to reveal
the missing links of thought, and thus to give his expres-
sions the effects of careful precision. In many cases we
may criticize his not doing this. But had he done it in
all cases, would the result have been as artistic as it is?
Thus expressed, would it not have represented a concep-
tion in all of its details clearly present to the conscious
mind? But art, as we have found, represents a concep-
tion of a part of which the mind is conscious and of a part
of which, owing to the rapidity of its processes, the mind
is not conscious. Thus this effect of obscurity, so often
recognized as being for some vague reason particularly
artistic, is seen to be so because it accords exactly with
the requirements of art. — Identy iii.

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OBSCURITY, LITERARY, WHEN INEXCUSABLE.

The conclusions that have been reached thus far con-
cur in serving to prove that poetry as an art must have
form, the very sounds of the single and consecutive words
of which must represent the phases and movements, physi-
cal, intellectual, or emotional, of which they are supposed to
be significant; and it has been shown that great poets like
Shakespeare, Spenser, and Milton are great masters of
representative expression in this sense. It follows from
these facts that there is no artistic warrant for produc-
ing effects of sound through insertion, transposition, alter-
ation, omission, or other use of words, that by violating the
laws of grammar or lexicography obscures the meaning. . . .
This statement agrees not only with the most recent deduc-
tions of physiological aesthetics, but also with those of com-
mon sense. The test of form in every case is its fitness to
represent, at least clearly, if not, as it sometimes should,
brilliantly, every line and color, every phase and movement,
every fact and suggestion of the ideas to be expressed. If
this test be borne in mind, there can still be plenty of
poetic failures from lack of poetic ideas, but no failures from
a mere lack of the very easily obtained knowledge of the
rudimentary principles of poetic technique. — Poetry as a
Representative Art, xiv.

OBSERVATION.

To whatever art we look, in the degree in which a work
rises toward the highest rank, it continues to train our
powers of observation. One difference between the great
poet, for instance, and the little poet is in those single words
and phrases that indicate accuracy in the work of ear or eye,
or of logical or analogical inference. Recall Tennyson's
references to the ** gouty oak," the "shock-head willow,"
the ** wet-shod alder." . . . Now can you tell me any
study for the young that will cultivate accuracy of obser-
vation, that will begin to do this, as can be done by setting
them tasks in drawing, coloring, carving, or, if we apply the
same principle to the ear as well as to the eye, in elocution
and music? — Essay on Art and Education.

OBSERVATION, ACCURACY OF, IMPORTANT.

When a fire threatens several places in a street, when a
ship seems about to strike another in a storm or fog, when a
general is about to meet an enemy upon land on which there

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 217

are a few knolls or houses, then that man is apt to be the
most efficient who, in the briefest glance, can perceive most
clearly the largest number of conditions and possibilities.
So in the scientific world, the successful botanist is he who
notices with most accuracy every turn of line or color that
distinguishes one leaf or limb from another; the successful
physician is he who is keen enough not to leave out of his
diagnosis a single one of the small and, apparently, insigni-
ficant symptoms that separate one disease from other
diseases. To be able to observe is equally important in less
serious circumstances. I once had a servant in my house
who apparently never failed to hear anything said in no
matter how low a tone, or to see anything left in no matter
how hidden a place. All the members of the household were
inclined to feel that, with her about, they were leading rather
too conspicuous a life. But when she gave way to another
servant, who apparently could hear or see nothing, a cry for
help seemed constantly going up that the help for which
we were paying never supplied. . . . Hundreds of similar
instances might be cited, all illustrating the importance
of cultivating, when deficient, habits of observation. All
habits, as we know, are cultivated best in childhood.
Nothing tends to cultivate accuracy in the perception of
every phase of form, as does the effort to draw or to color it.
— Essay on Teaching in Drawing.

OBSERVATION VS. THEORY AS AN ART-METHOD {see also

models).
Though induction, as a philosophic method, was not
formulated till the time of Bacon, it has been practised ever
since the origin of the human mind; and in every period of
high attainment it has been practised extensively. Nor
does the history of art furnish any exception to this state-
ment, though, at many different periods, certain works have
been produced in large numbers on the supposition that
mere theories of form, originally derived, of course, from
nature, but finally held independently of it, could be sub-
stituted for continued and careful observation. We find
such works among the remains of the arts of Egypt and As-
syria, as well as of Greece prior to the time of Daedalus. We
find them in the painting and sculpture of the primitive
Christians, and of the Middle Ages. We find them in the
conventional flowers and leaves wrought into the decorations
of the earlier Gothic cathedrals. We find them in many of

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the figures and landscapes of the arts of China and Japan;
and we find them in designs for illustrations of books
and for ornamentations on walls, even in elaborately
wrought products of the decorative and what is termed
the decadent art of our own day; but we find them in
the foremost products of no age or style in which art is
acknowledged to have been at its best. — Proportion and
Harmony of Line and Color, vii.

OPERA, ITS EFFECTS NOT ALL THOSE OF ART.

What operatic company is successful in our own country
in case it contain no preeminent solo-singer? And, aside
from the parts in which the music is sufficient unto itself,
what does the opera furnish save a species of intellectual dis-
sipation rather than of recreation; save effects that, on
account of their variety, are distracting rather than restful,
— effects in which there is very little influence resembling
that of the "still, small voice" which thrills us when listen-
ing to the song of the family circle or to the "pure music" of
the concert room, or when reading a beautiful poem or
listening to an eloquent address ? All parts of the opera fur-
nish changes from ordinary thoughts and occupations ; and
all changes have their charms. But something more than
the effect of mere change must be produced before one can
experience that distinctively aesthetic influence which
cultivated minds know to be the result of the highest
art. — The Representative Significance of Form, xxvi.

Songs and operas are often enjoyed immensely by persons
to whom music as music is a sealed art. Their pleasure in
the song is similar to that which attends the utterance of
very rhythmical poetry; and in the opera, the gaudy play-
house, the gayly dressed people, the glittering stage, and the
movements of the actors are all entertaining on their own
accounts. A real musician, however, frequently regards
everything of this sort as a distraction; and he enjoys the
music connected with it just as much — sometimes more —
when the words used on the stage are in a foreign language
which he does not understand, or when the harmony is
played, apart from either words or scenery, by an orchestra
in a concert. — Idem, xxvi.

ORATION, FORM OF ONE AS A WHOLE.

An experienced public speaker, unless in a time of unusual
excitement, begins his address with his body at rest, with his

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 219

tones uttered deliberately, with the pitch of his voice one
that is natural to conversation, and with the range of his
thoughts not raised much above the level of those of his
hearers. In other words, he starts where the audience are,
with no more of vehemence, rapidity, or brilliancy than is
justified by the condition of thought in their minds at the
time. He begins in the plane of ordinary, dignified inter-
course, making no statement with which he has not reason
to suppose that most of them will agree. But as he ad-
vances, his gestures, tones, language, and ideas gradually
wax more and more energetic, striking, and original, till
he reaches his climax. In the oration, perfect in form, in-
tended to produce a single distinct and definite impression,
this final climax, though often preceded by many another
of less importance, stands out preeminently in advance of
them. In it all the man's powers of action and of lan-
guage, and the influence of all his separate arguments that
now for the last time are summed up into a unity, seem
to be concentrated like rays of light in a focus, and flashed
forth for the enlightenment or bewilderment of those before
him. But the most artistic oration does not end with the
climax. At least, a few sentences and sentiments follow
this, through which the action, voice, and ideas of the
speaker gradually, gracefully, and sympathetically descend
to bear the thoughts of his audience back again to the plane
from which they started. That is to say, the artistic oration
has an end as well as a beginning and a middle. It is a
representation in complete organic form of the whole range
of experience natural to discussion, from the time when a
subject is first broached in ordinary conversation to the
time when, having been argued fully and in such ways as to
produce a single effect, the mind in exhaustion sinks back,
once more, to the level of the conversation that suggested
it. — The Genesis of Art-Form^ vi.

ORATORY, ARTIFICIALITY IN {see also ELOCUTION TEACHERS).

Artificiality, in speaking, invariably resiilts from paying
attention, and, therefore, giving importance to something
that should be treated as if of little or no importance. —
Essay on Elocution in the Theological Seminary.

ORATORY AS DISTINGUISHED FROM POETRY.

Oratory involves some of the representative character-
istics not only of elocution but also — and here it is at one

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with rhetoric — of poetry. Like the latter, both oratory and
rhetoric result in an external product. But, counteract-
ing this latter fact, is another which causes both to differ
not only from the dramatic art but equally from music,
poetry, painting, sculpture, and architecture. It is the fact
that, at its best, neither public address nor rhetoric is at-
tributable, as we have found to be true of the effects of
these arts, to the satisfaction derived from elaborating
a form of expression as a thing of beauty aside from an
end of utility. Oratory invariably springs from a desire
to influence, in certain definite directions, the thoughts
and feelings of those to whom it is addressed. This fact
makes its rhetoric differ from poetry no less than its delivery
does from acting. Anything that attracts attention merely
to the manner of expression, to form as form, is injurious
both to oratory and to rhetoric per se. But it is often essen-
tial to the effects of the actor and the poet. — Art in Theory,

IX.

ORATORY, EXPRESSIVE OF WILL.

Emotion influencing mainly the feelings, leads to music;
influencing the thoughts to poetry; influencing the will
to oratory. The orator strives to give expression to
feelings or thoughts not for the sake of their own intrinsic
worth or beauty, but for their influence upon others. As
already pointed out, oratory is not so much an aesthetic as
a practical art. As soon as the speaker loses all hope of
causing others to agree with him, he ceases to harangue
them. — Idem, xix.

ORATORY OF WENDELL PHILLIPS.

The orator who, with the least appearance of effort, could
produce the most satisfactory effects both of time and of
modulation was Wendell Phillips. He could measure off his
rhythm without any suggestion of monotony in recurrence;
and could pass over all the notes of two octaves so subtly that
half of his audience would be willing to take oath that he
had not varied his intonations by more than two or three
intervals. If a natural effect be the perfection of art, then
he was the most artistic elocutionist of his day. — The
Representative Significance of Form, xxiii.

ORATORY, ONE SECRET OF SUCCESS IN IT.

The late Dr. Tyng, formerly rector of St. George's
Church, New York, said that the secret of his success as a

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 221

public speaker was his imagining everyone before him to
be a numskull to whom every little statement must be
explained. — Essay on the Function of Technique.

ORATORY vs. CONVERSATION {sCC ELOCUTIONARY).

When a man turns from conversation to public address,
he has departed from the conditions of nature; and unless he
have that rare artistic temperament which enables excep-
tional minds to recognize instinctively the new relationships
and proportionments, each to each, of the elementary
elements of expression, he cannot restore these conditions
except as he acquires skill through following the directions of
some instructor who has such a temperament.

Successfully changing private speech into public speech
involves much the same process as turning a bug into
a bird through the use of a microscope. If you merely
put one edge of the glass over his head, or tail, or wing, this
appears too large for the rest of his body. Only when you
hold your microscope so as to magnify every part of him
alike is the result natural. When a man begins to talk in
public, he necessarily departs from the conditions of nature
by using a louder and higher tone and more breath. As a
result, he feels a tendency, at the end of every long sentence,
to lessen his force, lower his pitch, and cease to vocalize
all his breath. But if he yield to this tendency, which now,
as you notice, has, in the changed conditions, become what,
in one sense, may be termed natural, he produces, as in what
is called the ministerial tone, a series of intonations entirely
different from those which, in a far more important sense,
can be termed natural. — Essay on the Function of Technique.

ORIGINALITY AND ECCENTRICITY {see STANDARDS and TASTE).

Every schoolboy, musing on the genius of his recitation
room, believes originality, and this in the sense, too, of
eccentricity, to be not alone the essential but almost the
only requisite for success in art. All general beliefs are
based upon truths. This belief is based upon the require-
ment that the artist must be able to make the forms of
nature after which he models conform to his individual men-
tality. If art were nature, it would not be art ; and the only
possible distinction between the two which can be deter-
mined by the conceptions embodied is that the one is char-
acteristic of the mind of the Creator, and the other equally
so of the mind of man. Now one whom the world esteems

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*'a. character," and with whom therefore it associates an
essential capacity for characterization, is, par excellence, a
man whose individuality is distinct and definite. The
characteristic effects are sometimes produced by traits that
are merely eccentric. But whatever may produce them,
they are apt to render any individualization of nature that
he attempts, distinct and definite. Therefore, the artist and
the eccentric character have something in common ; and the
boy's mistake in judging of the genius of his school, is only
that which is common with his elders, — namely, that of tak-
ing something to be everything. — The Representative
Significance of Form, xiv.

Another thought is suggested. The tendencies to imita-
tion on the one side and to eccentricity on the other, which
have been said to characterize the developments of art
where there is no belief in approximately definite stand-
ards, is connected with a false conception of what consti-
tutes that originality which everybody acknowledges to
be essential to great art. It is the conception that origi-
nality is a constituent of mere form. Originality of course
is a characteristic of form, in which alone it can be mani-
fested; but the artistic originality which men mean to
applaud when they speak of it, is originality of form as
expressive of significance, originality that is felt to be a
manifestation of mental freshness and uniqueness, therefore
of what we term — including in our conceptions both the
intellectual and the spiritual — personal force. That it is
this force issuing from the sources of the soul to which men
mean to refer when praising originality, needs no further
proof than that the trait which they praise is not always
prevented by imitation of form, nor always helped by eccen-
tricity of form. An actor can show his personal originality
by imitating; and a very bashful man can entirely hide
his by eccentricity. Notice, too, that the argument against
the existence of standards of art founded on the supposi-
tion that they may interfere with originality has, for the
reasons just stated, no basis in fact. To make external
forms conform to a standard is not to interfere with the
expression of the originality which is of the soul and mind.
Through an application of identical methods, one may give
an elocutionary education to two men, making the voices
of both equally musical and their movements equally

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 223

graceful. Yet the method as carried out in the forms
manifested by the one may make him a great and original
actor, and the personality behind the forms manifested by
the other may result in no greatness or originality what-
ever. At the same time, the first man, with all the origi-
nal bent of his genius, could not have become the great
artist that he is, without learning to conform his repre-
sentation to the standards of his art. — Proportion and
Harmony of Line and Color, xxvi.

ORIGINALITY, ARTISTIC.

After all, the difficulty, in our age, is not to find new
methods of producing genuinely artistic effects, but to find
artists with sufficient originality to recognize their possi-
bilities. Nor is there a surer way in which they may be led
to realize them than through coming to know and feel and
embody in their products the principle that all art, even
constructively considered, should be representative. —
Painting, Sculpture, and Architecture as Representative Arts,

XVIII.

ORIGINALITY IN ARCHITECTURE (^^e ARCHITECTURE, MODERN).

As has been suggested, proportion, in its character,
is not only simple but complex, and its effects cannot
be produced on a large scale without the most careful
and profound study. These effects, too, are still capable of
further development. The forms of Greek, Gothic, Moorish,
Romanesque, or Renaissance art have no more exhausted
the possibilities of architecture than analogous develop-
ments in poetry, painting, or music. In this land and age,
we can, and should, have an architecture of our own, to
meet the requirements of our climate, as the Greek may not ;
of our customs, as the Gothic may not; and of our artistic
instincts, as the Queen Anne may not. Such an architecture
can be thoroughly original, yet if, in trying to make it so, we
neglect the principles according to which the minds that are
to view it must judge of it, we cannot expect it to commend
itself to general approval, even in our own times, and much
less in coming times. Whatever may be the nature of his
designs, the architect who deals with shapes must remember
that shapes fill space just as sounds fill time, and that for the
purposes of art the appearances of similarly related measure-
ments in the one are as necessary as in the other. In short
he must never forget that which it has been found necessary

224 AN ART-PHILOSOPHER'S CABINET

to repeat so many times already, that the fundamental
principle in art is to group sizes as well as shapes by put-
ting together those that, if not as wholes, in parts at least,
can be made to seem alike. — Proportion and Harmony of
Line and Color, xiii.

When a style is just beginning to be developed, a builder,
having learned nothing from his own experience or that of
others, ^ necessarily makes mistakes. His work is the
expression of his thought. It is original; but not always
artistic. Much later on, in the development of the style, pre-
cisely the opposite condition is found. The highest con-
ception of the builder seems to be that his forms should
be modeled — not partly, which would be unobjectionable,
but entirely, — upon those of preceding buildings, ancient
or modern. These preceding buildings are either wholly
copied by him, in which case the new product is a mere imi-
tation ; or else several different buildings are copied in part
and in part combined with other forms that he originates ;
in which case, because the method in accordance with
which such forms as he combines were brought together by
the earlier architects is not known, often not even studied,
his new product is incongruous. Its effects are produced
with too little regard for the considerations which must
have influenced those who produced the original forms
which are imitated — namely, the requirements of the design
of the bmlding and of the eye and mind as affected by great
natural laws like those of propriety, proportion, and sym-
metry.— Art in Theory, ill.

ORNAMENT IN ARCHITECTURE (see ARCHITECTURE, FRAUD IN).

All appropriate ornamentation, as brought out in ** Paint-
ing, Sculpture, and Architecture as Representative Arts,"
is the result of an adaptation of means to ends. A roof, for
instance, is a necessary conclusion in the case of every
erection designed for shelter; but towers or turrets are not.
Upon a hillside or elevation, a tower may indicate a view;
but what is its meaning in a valley or surrounded by a
forest? Over a public building a dome may suggest a hall
beneath, too lofty and too vast to enable it to afford support
to an ordinary roof; but of what is it significant in a private
house? In connection with a mosque or church, a minaret
or spire may recall a "call to prayer," or suggest a bell or
even the heaven above; but who can understand the con-

Cologne Cathedral — Fagade

See pages 4, 9, 10, 15, 19, 73, 81-85, 89, 91, 162, 223-225^

316, 323-327

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 225

nection between these suggestions and a warehouse? — The
Representative Significance of Form, xxiv.

The representing of a material less difficult to work in
material which is more difficult, is usually considered es-
sential to the highest artistic success. While it is deemed
appropriate, for instance, to make a stone building repre-
sent, as in the case of the Greek temple, noticed on page
376, a wooden building, it is not deemed so to make a
wooden building represent a stone one, or to make a wooden
balustrade look like a brass one, or stamped paper look like
bronze. — Painting, Sculpture, and Architecture as Repre-
sentative Arts, XXI.

The spire of a church enables strangers to know where
to find a place of worship. But in part, also, especially
as it has been developed, it is monumental and ornamental.
For this reason, care should be taken to have it appear not
essentially cheaper than the edifice to which it is attached.
As a rule, a stone church should have a stone steeple, not a
wooden one. On large public buildings, again, such as
schools and colleges, a cupola, or any like arrangement,
can accomplish a useful purpose. It can serve for a clock
tower, belfry, or observatory. But if it cannot do this, it
would generally better be omitted. The same can be said
of towers on houses situated in city streets, where they are
overtopped by surrounding buildings, or placed in positions
where they themselves need not be seen from a distance, or
where other things need not be seen from them; that is to
say where there is no possible use to which they can be put.
Only where architecture, which is a development of that
which is useful in building, turns into ornamental features
things primarily intended to be of use, is it carrying out the
principles of representative art. When it is doing any-
thing else, as in arbitrarily introducing unnecessary features
in order thus to obtain something that can be made orna-
mental, it is in danger of carrying out no principles of art
whatever. — Idem, xix.

PAINT, EXCESS OF, IN PICTURES.

When we look at a picture in which the drawing or color-
ing is defective, causing disproportion in the parts, un-
atmospheric sharpness of outline, absence of shadowy
gradation — above all, a predominating impression of paint
everywhere — the effect is exactly like that of powder and

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rouge on a woman's face. It is impossible to see any soul
through or past the form. — Essay on Art and Education.

PAINTERS, IF GREAT, ARE USUALLY DISCOVERERS.

With scarcely an exception, the greatest painters seem to
have attained to fame almost as much on account of their
discoveries as of their productions, the inspiration to
investigation having apparently proved the surest stimu-
lus to invention. At least, it can be said that the two
tendencies have gone hand in hand; and undoubtedly
the frequent temporary decline of painting, as of every art,
immediately after great achievements, has been attributa-
ble in part to the supposition of men of genius that all its
secrets had been discovered, — a supposition which has
caused them to turn from it to pursuits like philosophy,
science, or politics, which seemed at the time to promise
a more certain reward for original effort. — Proportion and
Harmony of Line and Color, xvii.

PAINTING {see COLOR, HARMONY OF COLOR, REPRESENTATIVE
EFFECTS OF COLORS).

" PAINTING, SCULPTURE, AND ARCHITECTURE AS REPRE-
SENTATIVE ARTS," ANALYSIS OF THE BOOK.

(Recapitulation:) In the volume entitled "Painting,
Sculpture, and Architecture as Representative Arts," first
through an analysis of the elements of visible representation,
it is shown that large size or deep shading in certain features,
when connected with the opposite in other features, sug-
gests, whether in landscapes, figures, or buildings, either con-
ceptions or surroundings characterized by such traits as
heaviness, strength, immobility, influence, or nearness ; and,
again, that outlines formed by the continuity of curves, and
also those manifesting irregularity, suggest the normal and
natural in landscapes, and the free and unconstrained in
figures, whereas straightness, angularity, and regularity
suggest the abnormal and artificial, as in effects of vol-
canic action in nature, of self-conscious and constrained
action in men, and of rectangularity in buildings and in
most other human constructions. In unfolding this sub-
ject, the principles shown to underlie other forms of visi-
ble representation are applied to a complete system of
expressing thoughts and emotions through the shapes,
postures, gestures, and facial movements of the human

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 227

body. Following this, comes a discussion of the repre-
sentative significance of the different colors.

The concluding part of the book treats of the repre-
sentation of mental conceptions and also of material sur-
roundings in compositions as wholes; first, in landscape,
portrait, genre, historic, allegoric, and symbolic painting
and sculpture, and, after this, in architecture. In discuss-
ing this latter art, it is shown that the constructive con-
ception, as well as the plan, can be represented in the
interior and exterior of a building; and, in a series of illus-
trations presenting various huts and tents as constructed
by the natural man side by side with columns, pediments,
entablatures, arches, roofs, and spires of perfected art, it
is shown that the latter are developed from the former
through a picturesque and statuesque and, in this sense,
representative motive. — Proportion and Harmony of Line
and Color, xxvi.

PAINTING vs. DECORATIVE ART {see also DECORATIVE).

We may be sure that any theory true as applied to one
art is in analogy to that which is true of every other art of
the same class; and I, for one, refuse to take from the art
of painting its right to be classed among the other higher
arts. Why does it rank with the humanities, and not with
the merely decorative arts ? — why, but because its products
so distinctively give expression to human thought, — in
other words, so unmistakably suggest significance? — Essay
on Art and Education.

PAINTING vs. LANDSCAPE GARDENING {see LANDSCAPE
GARDENING.)

When we recall what an inartistic impression is frequently
conveyed by the reproducing in a picture of a highly culti-
vated park, or of a gentleman's homestead, — the house
architecturally correct, and the avenues leading to it as
clearly drawn as the lines of a geometric figure, — then we
may understand with some definiteness what is meant by
confounding the conceptions to be expressed in landscape-
gardening and in painting. Both ought to represent, as
all art should, the effects of nature at first hand; but, in the
case of pictures such as those just mentioned, there is danger
that the main impression conveyed will be of the effects upon
nature of some man, of some landscape-artist. And reflec-
tion will convince us that this is the reason — certainly a suf-

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ficient one — why such pictures often appear inartistic. They
manifest, to too great an extent, the influence of a method
of representation appropriate to another art. — The Repre-
sentative Significance of Form, xxvii.

PAINTING VS. POETRY, COMPARISON AND CONTRAST IN EACH

(see also contrast, and poetic description).
The difference in painting between high and ordinary art
is revealed in the contrast between the picture and nature.
In passing through the mediumship of the man, that which
came from nature has been changed. Each change has been
wrought by an idea, and all the changes together indicate
a contrast between what nature really is and the artist's idea
of what it might be. Here, at the very beginning of the
mental tendency that is represented in painting, we have
a beginning of that principle of contrast that enters so
largely into the painter's success when using, in a merely
technical way, the elements of light and shade and color.
While poetry, as in . . . picturesque language . . . uses com-
parison with only occasional contrast, painting uses both
in very nearly like proportions. This more extensive use
in painting of contrast might be considered of merely theo-
retic importance, were it not for that which necessarily
accompanies it. This is the fact that the natural appear-
ances treated in painting are, as a rule, perceived outside
the mind, whereas those referred to in poetry have been
already stored inside the mind. Painters and sculptors re-
produce scenes or figures perceived in the external world
and they do this through using an external medium like
canvas or marble. Poets recall what they have heard of
events or of men, like a battle or a Wellington, and repro-
duce this through using words. Words contain not what is
external to the mind, but what is in it. The bearing of
these facts is extremely important when considered in
relation to the conceptions appropriate for treatment in
the different arts. As applied to poetry, the facts seem to
rule out of its domain any descriptive details other than
those of such prominence that a man observing them
might reasonably be supposed to have been able to retain
them in memory, — other than details — to state it differently
— which have been stored in the mind, and are brought to
consciousness because, apparently, the most important
factors entering into the general mental effect. In accord-

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 229

ance with this principle, it was shown in Chapter XXII.
of the author's "Poetry as a Representative Art" that
the descriptions of Homer are all mental, fragmentary,
specific, and typical. As contrasted with poetry, painting
and sculpture represent not that which is inside the mind,
and may be recalled in the order of time, but that which is
outside the mind, and may be perceived in the arrangements
of space. Poetry, though it should not directly represent
space, yet may indirectly suggest it. Painting and sculp-
ture may suggest, though they should not directly repre-
sent, time. — Essentials of Esthetics, x.

PAINTING VS. POETRY. CONSCIOUS VS. INSTINCTIVE WORK

IN EACH.

Painting and sculpture reveal much more plainly than
either music or poetry that the mind has been moved by
some outward form which they imitate. But they necessi-
tate, and, in a sense not true of either of the arts of sound,
they show that they necessitate, great conscious effort on
the part of the intellect in arranging outlines, in coloring
canvases, or in shaping marbles, so as to make the forms
which are imitated embody the mind's ideas. If the influ-
ence be strong enough, musical melodies and poetic passages
seem to spring to the lips instinctively. However strong
it be, pictures and statues do not fall into shape except as
a result of thoughtful work, which is due to the mind
and not to that which affects it from without; work, in
other words, in connection with which the ideas within
the mind emphasize their own separate existence. — Art
in Theory, xvii.

PAINTING vs. POETRY, SUBJECTS OF EACH {see also POETIC
DESCRIPTION).

Poetry represents phases of consciousness moving, one
after another, in time. So its medium of representation is
in words which also move. These are peculiarly fitted to
present the various consecutive thoughts suggested, as well
as the events detailed, in a story. Painting, on the other
hand, represents an influence of fixedness such as appeals to
the eye. A painter's first impulse is always to represent
shapes as he sees them, and hence in space. A child with a
pencil in hand, so far as he can draw at all, thinks of nothing
but shapes. But once present his mind with the details,
whether appealing to the mind or to the eye, of that which

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forms the substance o£ a story, and he is tempted to rep-
resent them also with brush or pencil. — The Representative
Significance of Form, xxvii.

It need not be inferred that painters can never draw their
subjects from poetry, or poets from painting. It need
merely be inferred that there should be a difference in the
ways in which the two arts treat the same subject. — Idem,

XXVII.

PAINTING VS. SCULPTURE, EXPRESSION IN.

Painting, is better fitted to suggest time than is sculpture.
This is so because painting, as a rule, can represent a larger
space than sculpture, — a space filled with more objects
and figures and indicating, therefore, more interchange
between them of cause and effect. . . . We seldom see
in a picture a figure that stands out from all surrounding
figures, asserting such claims to preeminent and exclusive
attention as is common in groups of statuary. Continu-
ing this line of thought, we shall soon recall how super-
latively we have enjoyed certain statues, for the very
reason, apparently, that they were placed so that one
could view them apart from anything else, — statues that
stand in rows, or in alcoves by themselves. — Essentials of
^Esthetics, x.

PAINTING VS. SCULPTURE, THEIR SUBJECTS.

The difference between that which is appropriately
represented in painting and in sculpture is very truthfully
suggested, though not entirely indicated, by the difference,
which all recognize, between the meaning of the terms
picturesque and statuesque. The picturesque, as defined
on page 280, involves a conception of much and minute
variety. And this is just what painting involves. The
color that is used in it, and not in sculpture, is never well
applied unless it imitates the influences of light and shade
in nature to such a degree as to cause slight differences
at almost every perceptible point. Besides this, color
enables the artist to separate, one from another, and thus
to represent clearly, a very large number of small details
most of which would be indistinguishable if an attempt
were made to indicate them in sculpture. On the other
hand, the statuesque involves the conception of something
that stands out by itself, — something that, because it has
bulk or body, can be looked at from every side. Even

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 231

when the term applies to the sculpture of mere relief, the
solidity of the medium that is used in it, and not in paint-
ing, tends to separate every contour from every other by
emphatically defined outlines. These outlines, too, must
be comparatively few in number and the objects which
they delineate comparatively large in size. Thus the
limitations of the material used in each of the arts deter-
mine the limitations of the subjects which it and it alone
can appropriately embody. On account of the minute
representative possibilities of color, one can make a paint-
ing of a landscape, and can crowd into a small compass
a large number of figures and faces, appearing almost
immediately beside or behind one another. In sculpture,
landscape is wellnigh impossible, and so is any extensive
grouping of figures. Even such figures as can be brought
together must, owing to the uniformity of color, be very
distinctly separated, and, as artistic effects produced
through variety of hues are impossible, compensating
artistic effects through the use of outlines become impera-
tive. Hence parallelism, continuity, balance, symmetry',
and kindred methods of aesthetically accenting the require-
ments of contour become more prominent. — The Represen-
tative Significance of Form, xxvii.

A picture and a statue may both imitate the same model.
When we look at the former, we instinctively think of the
model. When we look at the latter, we often think only of
the effects that human nature in general has had upon form
in the abstract. While painting may represent only a
person, sculpture is more likely to represent a personage. —
Art in Theory, xix.

Painting that depicts leaves, flowers, fruit, and children,
or grown people as doing very trifling things, may rank
high, because manifesting a high degree of skill in drawing
and coloring. The more minute the factors with which both
of these deal, the more difficult, often, is it to attain success.
Besides this, almost any scene which painting depicts
includes a very large number of different objects; and
these to an extent may compensate in quantity for what
the general subject lacks in quaUty. But in sculpture the
conditions are different. There is almost no comparison
between carving the wreath of a column's capital and the

» See chart on page 89 of this volume.

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contour of a human body; and, if the latter have to be
carved at all, the difficulty of the work, the permanence
of the material, and the fact that the body, when com-
pleted, is to be the sole object of attention, all combine
to make it seem especially inappropriate to have it repre-
sent a trivial subject. It ought to be a dignified subject,
or, in lieu of that, at least a subject treated in a dignified
way. As for the dignity of the subject, notice that, in a
sense not true of painting, it is appropriate that the figure
delineated should be represented in a form greatly exag-
gerated. Very large pictures . . . sometimes offend us
by their very size; and it is almost impossible to conceive
of an attractive picture with figures of heroic proportions.
But the "Moses" of Angelo or the "Liberty Enlighten-
ing the World" in New York do not offend us. On the
contrary, very small pictures, as in miniatures, are often
extremely pleasing and valuable. But most of us cannot
avoid feeling, when we see the bronze doors of the Capitol
at Washington, that the small size of the figures makes
the work expended upon them hardly worth while, because
such subjects could have been represented so much more
satisfactorily in pictures. — The Representative Significance of
Form, xxvii.

An art is always fulfilling its best possibilities when it is
doing that which it and it alone can do. What painting can
do and sculpture cannot, is to produce effects through the
use of pigments. What sculpture can do and painting can-
not, is to produce effects through the use of bulk, including
outlines representing length, breadth, and thickness. — Idemy

XXVII.

PARTHENON, THE, AS A MODEL.

It is ordinarily supposed that the Parthenon represents
the highest point of perfection reached by Greek archi-
tecture. It does, and yet it was the beginning of a decline,
just as we recognize to have been the case with the poetry
of Milton and the music of Wagner, when we notice the
effects that the works of each produced upon their followers
and imitators. The Parthenon is the building which mod-
ern people have studied and imitated most in their efforts
to understand and apply the Greek methods. They ought
to have it impressed upon their minds that those who first
began to study and imitate it were the ones who began

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 233

that very process of degeneracy in art, the current of which
it is now supposed by some that a return to Greek methods
can stem. — Proportion and Harmony of Line and Color, xii.

PERCEPTIBLE, ART DEALS WITH THE.

Art either accepts forms as wholes, or it regards them as
combined or developed out of their more prominently per-
ceptible parts. — The Representative Significance of Form, viii.

This is the same as to say that art derives its conceptions
from the effective features of objects, sometimes from only
one feature, but, if from more, in all cases, from those which
are the most perceptible. — Idem.

PERSONAL AND SYMPATHETIC EFFECTS OF ART {sec also
GENIUS, INDIVIDUALITY, SUBCONSCIOUS, and SYMPATHY).

Now we come upon two apparently anomalous facts.
One might suppose that representation, exerting, as it
does, an indirect influence, would reveal less of an artist's
character, and would also appeal less to the sympathies of
others, than would presentation, exerting, as it does, a
direct influence. But the truth seems to be the contrary.
Nor, when we think a moment, will it seem surprising that
this is so. As applied to the revelation of character, it is
simply a fact that all of us, in determining what a man is
in his spirit, intentionally or unintentionally, judge him by
what he appears to be in his subconscious rather than in his
conscious nature; therefore more by what he unconsciously
represents of himself than by what he consciously presents.
This is true in every relation of life. No man ever fell in love
with a woman because of her words or deeds that he sup-
posed attributable to conscious intention. So with the
products of art. The most professionally trained dancers
and singers who prove fascinating to us do so because of
slight unconscious peculiarities of movement in body or
voice which are characteristic of them as individuals, and
cannot be acquired by another with another personality.
This fact is true of the effects of any kind of expression
embodied in any kind of form. The chief charm of a melody,
poem, painting, or statue, even of a building, often lies in
certain subtle touches given to it by its producer uncon-
sciously,— ^in characteristics which it is sometimes impossible
for the critic to analyze or even to describe. Yet it is these
touches that most surely convey the impression of the
artist's individuality. Need it be said that they do not

234 AN ART-PHILOSOPUERS CABINET

present his conscious intention ? They represent his uncon-
scious method, a method that he cannot, so to speak, avoid.
Closely connected with the apparent anomaly just con-
sidered is the other of which mention was made. One
might suppose that indirect representation — i. e. expres-
sion made through the use of forms not at all associated
with those of one's own body — would appeal less to the
sympathies of others than would direct expression, or
what has been termed presentation. But this supposition,
again, would not be entirely correct. Owing to the per-
sonality of effect indicated in the preceding paragraph as
characterizing representative expression, this latter some-
times makes a stronger appeal to the sympathies than
does the other form of expression. We all, to an extent,
recognize this fact when we quote with approval the maxim
that actions speak louder than words. As applied to art,
when methods characterizing a product have been made
characteristic of an artist's personality, others must be
influenced by his work as they would be by his person-
ality. But how are they influenced by this ? How do any of
us come to have an ideal — or come to take an interest of
any kind in anything — that is peculiar to the personality
of another ? There is but one answer : It is through our sym-
pathies— a word which, as thus used, applies primarily to
our emotions, but includes also our thoughts, as influenced
by these. — Essentials of Esthetics, viii.

PERSONALITY AND UNIVERSALITY OF REPRESENTATION.

At first thought, the principle previously stated, namely,
that the art-product is successful in the degree in which the
artist represents his surroundings in such ways as to mani-
fest his own personality, by which must often be meant his
individual thoughts and emotions, seems to conflict with
the principle just unfolded, which attributes his success to
the degree in which the conceptions that he embodies are
not merely his own, but those of others. Second thought,
however, will convince us that the two principles conflict
only seemingly. In practical experience, no one has any
difficulty in recognizing the individuality of a Raphael and
a Shakespeare in almost every product of their skill ; yet this
does not prevent the product from being an accurate repre-
sentation of nature as viewed by all men. Painters, sculp-
tors, dramatists, are greatest when most thoroughly

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 235

themselves, yet greatest also when their minds, like mirrors,
reflect their surroundings in such ways as to conform
most exactly to the observations of people in general.
The reason for this, of course, is that no conceptions of
the meanings of nature can be universally accepted, except
so far as they have been derived from the appearances of
nature as universally perceived. — Idem.

PERSONALITY AS REPRESENTED IN ART {seC EXPRESSION FOR

expression's sake).
Art of the highest rank, in addition to representing rather
than imitating the phenomena of nature, and to repre-
senting rather than communicating thoughts and emo-
tions, must represent rather than present the personality
of the artist, meaning here by the word personality that
combination of spirit and body which belongs to oneself
as an individual, and to no one else. To understand
why personality should be represented rather than pre-
sented, let us recall, for a moment, what was said in Chapter
III. There, the impulse to art was attributed to life-force
or energy issuing from the subconscious or spiritual nature,
and striving to embody itself in the material. We all know
that the spiritual itself cannot appear, — it can merely repre-
sent itself in the material. At the same time, of course,
representation is involved, to some extent, in every form of
expression. All thoughts and emotions, as they exist in the
mind, are inaudible and invisible, and, in order to be com-
rnunicated to others, they must be symbolized through sights
and sounds borrowed from nature. But there is a different
use of these latter in ordinary expression, and in that of art.
In ordinary expression, it is sufficient that the thoughts and
emotions should be clearly presented. Upon artistic ex-
pression, as in that of a poem or a statue, years of labor
are frequently expended in order to secure a result beyond
that of mere clearness of expression. Upon what is it that
the artist, in such cases, expends his labor? Of course it
must be upon that which the expression contains in addition
to the thoughts and emotions. What does it contain in
addition to these? Nothing more, certainly, than the
expressional factors. As it is not the thoughts and emo-
tions, it must be the expressional factors that are intended
to be emphasized; and when we recall that it is the expres-
sional factors that are repeated in art, and to what an extent

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all art involves repetition, and that, as a rule, repetition
necessarily emphasizes, we shall recognize the truth of
this inference. Now notice that these effects will be
emphatically produced in the degree alone in which the
material forms which one uses in his art are not those
belonging to his own material body. Every man gives
expression to his spirit through using his own body. To
give such expression in the most emphatic way, one must
do it in an exceptional way; and this can be done alone
when, unlike ordinary men, he uses forms that are not an
organic part of his own nature (see page lo). Evidently,
too, in this case, the external material forms thus used
cannot be said to present — they merely represent — himself.
— Idem.

PERSONALITY, EFFECTS OF, IN ART.

In all the arts, as we know, it is these effects, manifested
in what the artist puts into his product or leaves out of it,
that largely determine its quality, that differentiate, for
instance, a poet from a reporter, or a painter from a photo-
grapher. The same principle is illustrated in every relation-
ship in the world in which one life touches other lives.
It is the bringing of one's personality to bear upon his sur-
roundings, that makes a man's form better than a carcass,
reveals a spirit inside of a body, and proves that life, in any
sphere, is really worth the living. — Essay on Music as
Related to Other Arts.

PERSPECTIVE vs. PROPORTION (see also GENERAL AND DISTANT,

and PROPORTION vs. perspective).

Perspective, to which several chapters are devoted, has to
do with the methods of arranging real outlines and with
them, of course, measurements, so as to have them pro-
duce a certain desired visual result, whereas proportion
has to do with the measurements as they appear in the
result after perspective has produced it. — Proportion and
Harmony of Line and Color, Preface.

Though in nature the measurements of an object may ful-
fil the requirements of proportion, they may not, owing
to the operation of the laws of perspective, fulfil them in
the image which this object produces on the retina; and,
vice versa, though in nature the measurements may not
fulfil the requirements of proportion, they may, neverthe-
less, owing to the operations of the laws of perspective,

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 237

fulfil them in this image. In short, as applied to propor-
tion as to many other artistic features, a work of art,
whether a painting, a statue, or a building, has to be judged
by what may be termed, and is, in this sense, its subjective
effect after it has begun to influence the eye and mind. —
Idem. IV.

But enough has now been said to verify the statement
that the ancient architects in order to fulfil both visual
and aesthetic, both physiological and psychical, require-
ments erected their buildings with primary reference to
their general effects when seen from some definite point
or points at a distance. In connection with this it has
been shown also that these architects differed materially
with reference to the particular methods through which
to secure these effects, arriving at their conclusions, prob-
ably, as a result of many individual experiences and ex-
periments.

Since the printing of the first edition of this book, Pro-
fessor W. H. Goodyear has discovered that the methods
attributed in this discussion to only the ancient Greeks,
the Egyptians, and the Romans, were used also by the early
Gothic architects. He himself has measured eighty-five
of their churches in Italy which have floors rising between
the front door and the chancel, sometimes, three feet, while,
often, the successive key-stones of the arches between the
nave and the aisles descend in the same direction, — evi-
dently to increase the effect of distance according to the laws
of perspective. To what extent the same methods are
exemplified in the Gothic churches of northern Europe, has
not yet been determined. — Idem, xv.

PHILOSOPHICAL TREATMENT OF ART IN AMERICA.

Owing to a lack of breadth and balance characterizing
the practical limitations of American culture, a man here
who tries to treat art philosophically finds his way blocked
at the very threshold of his undertaking by two almost
insurmountable obstacles. One is that few of our philo-
sophers have had sufficient aesthetic training to be interested
in that which concerns art ; and the other is that few of our
artists — including our art-critics, though there are note-
worthy exceptions — have had sufficient philosophical train-
ing to be interested in that which concerns philosophy.
Accordingly, as a rule, the philosopher never looks at the

238 AN ART-PHILOSOPHER'S CABINET

art-book at all; and the art-critic, on whom the public
rely for information concerning it, does so merely because
he cannot dodge what is tossed directly at him as a reviewer ;
but the little that he sees of it he usually misapprehends
and very frequently misrepresents. — Rhythm and Harmony
in Poetry and Music, Preface.

PITCH, AN ELEMENT BOTH IN MUSIC AND POETRY (see olso
REPRESENTATIVE EFFECTS OF PITCH)

As most of us know, science has ascertained that all
musical sounds result from regularly recurring vibrations
caused by cords, pipes, reeds, or other agencies. About
thirty-three of these vibrations per second produce the low-
est tone used in music, and about three thousand nine
hundred and sixty, the highest. That the number of vibra-
tions in any note may be increased and its pitch made
higher, it is necessary to lessen the length or size of the
cord, or of whatever causes the vibrations. When the
vibrating cord is lessened by just one half, the tone pro-
duced is separated from its former tone by an interval of
sound which in music is termed an octave. Between the
two extremes of pitch forming the octave, eleven half
tones, as they are called, caused by sounds resulting from
different lengths of the cord, between its whole length
and its half length, have been selected, for reasons to be
given in another place, and arranged in what is termed a
musical scale. These half-tones, seven of them constitut-
ing the dOy re, me, fa, sol, la, and si of the gamut, are all
that can be used in music between the two notes form-
ing the octave. There are about seven octaves ... of
pitch that are used in music. In the speaking voice
only about two octaves are used, so that in this regard its
range is more narrow than that of music. Between any two
octave notes, however, the speaking voice can use whatever
sounds it chooses ; it is not confined to the few tones that
constitute the musical scale. For instance, the note of the
bass voice called by musicians C, is sounded by producing
one hundred and thirty-two vibrations a second, and C of
the octave above by producing two hundred and sixty-four
vibrations. Between the two, therefore, it is possible to
conceive of forming one hundred and thirty-one distinct
tones, each vibrating once a second oftener than the sound
below it. It is possible, too, to conceive that the speaking

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 239

voice can use any of these tones. Music, however, between
the same octave notes, can use but eleven tones. There-
fore, the different degrees of pitch used in speech, though
not extending over as many octaves, are much more numer-
ous than those used in music. For this reason, the melo-
dies of speech cannot be represented by any system through
which we now write music. There are not enough notes
used in music to render it possible to make the represen-
tation accurate. Nor probably would much practical
benefit be derived from an attempt to construct a system
of speech-notation; though it, like other things, may be
among the possibilities of acoustic development in the
future.

In applying to poetic form the principles determining
pitch in elocution, let us take up first those in accordance
with which certain syllables are uttered on a high or low
key. The former key seems suggested by vowels formed
at the mouth's front, as in beet, bate, bet, bit, bat, etc. ; the
latter by back vowels, as in fool, full, foal, fall, etc. The
best of reasons underlies this suggestion. It is the fact that
the pronunciation of every front or back vowel-sound
naturally tends to the production of a high or low musical
note. Bonders first made the discovery that the cavity
of the mouth, when whispering each of the different vow-
els, is tuned to a different pitch. This fact gives the
vowel its peculiar quality. Instruments, moreover, have
been constructed, by means of which most sounds can be
analyzed, and their component tones distinctly and defi-
nitely noted; and now the theory is accepted that the
voice, when pronouncing vowel-sounds, at whatever key in
the musical scale it may start them, has a tendency to sug-
gest— if not through its main, or what is termed its prime
tone, at least through associated, or what are termed its
partial tones — that pitch which is peculiar to the vowel
uttered. — Poetry as a Representative Art, viii.

From these facts two inferences follow : First, that when-
ever two syllables, whether containing sounds of different
vowels or consonants or of both, are uttered in succession,
we have a succession of tones that differ in pitch. This is
the same as to say that whenever we use consecutively
words that are not pronounced exactly alike, we produce,
in just as true a sense as when singing a melody, an effect

240 AN ART-PHILOSOPHER'S CABINET

of passing from one pitch to another. The second infer-
ence is that whenever sounds of two different vowels or
of vowels and consonants that constitute a syllable are
uttered simultaneously, they produce a blending of tones
that differ in pitch, or, in other words, an effect corre-
sponding to that which is heard in musical harmony.
Indeed, the music of the speaking voice, as distinguished
from the singing, is characterized mainly by the harmony
that results from this blending of the consonant-sounds
with the vowel-sounds, the latter being often in singing
the only sounds that are heard, and always the only sounds
that are made prominent. Of course, too, there is a sense
in which the utterance of the component parts of any
single syllable, especially when these are the two vowels
of a diphthong, resembles more an effect of quality than of
harmony. But sometimes, as in the case of an inflection
which begins at one pitch and ends at another, there are
suggestions of harmony. — Rhythm and Harmony in Poetry
and Music, xii.

PLAY, DRAMATIC (see MORALITY AS INFLUENCED BY DRAMAs).

It is a law of our nature — that the sayings and scenes by
which we are surrounded produce a much greater effect upon
our conduct than do any deductions with reference to them
that we may draw in our own minds. This is the principle
that a thinker is obliged to apply to theatric performances.
It is the language, the picture of life — in short, the play that
is the thing of chief importance — this wholly irrespective of
any possible moral that thinking can draw from it. — Essay
on Art and Morals.

PLAY-IMPULSE IN ART {see ARCHITECTURE ARTISTIC, ART IN

THEORY, and EXPRESSION FOR EXPRESSION'S SAKE).

PLEASURE AND PAIN, BOTH PRODUCED BY ART.

If the phases of expression which we find in art, and which
depend on such conditions as physical temperament and
personality, be recognized to involve the experience and
consequent communication of sentiment, — a term imply-
ing thought as prompted by emotion — i. c, an intense
degree of activity of both thought and emotion — then it
seems logical to recognize also that very often art must
impart great pleasure. For of what is pleasure a result, if
not of activity that is unconscious of control ? Knowledge
limits both our feeling and our thought, but, in the degree

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 841

in which we are indulging in sentiment, the limits are
removed, and we are left free to feel and to imagine what
we choose. From its very nature, therefore, sentiment
implies a certain degree of pleasure. But it brings con-
scious freedom so far only as this can be experienced in
thought . . . and we may derive less acute enjoyment from
mental than from physical pleasure. For the same reason
also, when a work of art enlists our sympathy with the
suffering and the fallen (and, in the degree of the breadth of
our culture, with more subtle phases of human weakness
and wretchedness), the consciousness which we often have
that no material or, so to speak, bodily effort of ours can
avert troubles of this kind, imparts to the freedom even
of sentiment a limitation that results in the effect of pathos
or of horror. To say, therefore, that the objective result
of the artistic tendency, as affected by the physical con-
ditions underlying temperament and personality, is senti-
ment, enables us to give full recognition to whatever truth
there may be in the arguments of those who claim that the
aim of art is pleasure; and it enables us also, at the same
time, to explain satisfactorily, as these arguers do not, both
why other things sometimes afford more pleasure than art
and why art itself sometimes, as in the pathetic and the
tragic, includes the painful. — The Representative Signifi-
cance of Forniy xv.

POET, HIS RELATIONS WITH NATURE.

Language involves, as we have found, a representation
of mental facts and processes through the use of analogous
external facts and processes, which alone are apprehensible
to others, and which alone, therefore, can make others
apprehend our thoughts. But facts and processes fitted
to furnish such representations may be perceived on every
side of us in the objects and operations of what we term
nature. It is the poet, however, who is most conscious
of these analogies, for he, instead of accepting those noticed
by others and embodied in conventional words, is con-
stantly seeking for new ones and using these. To the poet,
and the reader of poetry, therefore, all nature appears to be,
in a peculiar sense, a representation, a repetition, a
projection into the realm of matter, of the immaterial
processes of thought within the mind. — Poetry as a Repre-
sentative Art, XXVIII.

x6

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POET, INDEBTED TO BOTH TEMPERAMENT AND CULTURE.

By temperament many are constitutionally unqualified
to give any utterance to instinctive promptings, to throw
themselves with abandon into anything; but, granted
this power, it is often the accuracy, breadth, and largeness
of the cultivation received that determine the truth, com-
prehensiveness, and greatness of the result. A wholly
uncultivated man may produce a perfect stanza or sketch;
but usually not a long poem or a painting. — The Represen-
tative Significance of Form, xiii.

POET, THINKS IN IMAGES.

The poet naturally thinks through the use of images. He
seems to see outwardly the things that he describes. He
seems to hear outwardly the things that he utters. — Essay
on Teaching in Drawing.

POETIC DESCRIPTION {see olso PAINTING VS. POETRY).

In the phase of consciousness represented in poetry, the
man thinks of certain scenes in the external world because
they are suggested, not by anything that he is actually, at
the time, perceiving there, but by his own recollections of
them as they exist in thought. To one likening his action
in a battle to that of Wellington at Waterloo and of Grant
at Vicksburg, these men are not really present, only ideally
so. As objects of thought they are not outside of his mind,
they are in it. In the mood represented in painting, the
man thinks of external scenes because they are actually
before him. He is clearly conscious therefore of two differ-
ent sources of thought — one within, the other without. The
objective world is really present. If he wish to represent
this fact, therefore, he cannot use merely words. Words
can contain only what is in the mind, or ideally present.
In order to represent in any true sense what is really
present he must use what is really before him, i. e., an
indisputably external medium, as in painting, sculpture,
and architecture. . . . Accordingtothedistinction just made,
any descriptive details are out of place in poetry other
than those of such prominence that a man observing them
may reasonably be supposed to be able to retain them in
memory; — other than those, to state it differently, which
are illustrative in their nature, and truly representative,
therefore, of ideas within the mind as excited to conscious
activity by influences from without. There is, of course, a

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 243

certain interest, though sometimes not above that which is
merely botanic and topographic, awakened by verbal
descriptions of flowers and fields such as a painter on the
spot would be able to give while scrutinizing them in order
to depict them. But this interest may be just as different
from that which, in the circumstances, is demanded, as it
would be were it merely didactic or dogmatic; and a poet
with sensibilities keen enough to feel the differences between
essentially different motives will be loath to yield to the
promptings of that which is essentially not poetic. He will
refrain from indulging in the kind of writing just indicated,
not because it is too difficult for him to master; not because
though living at the present time he is unaware that the
prevailing taste approves of it, or that, if he fail to follow its
whims, he will be accused of having too little love of nature
or sympathy with it ; but because he wishes to be true to his
art, as he recognizes that all the greatest masters have been;
and because he knows that, when the present fashion passes
away, as it surely will, only that poetry will live which is
poetic in the most distinctive sense. — Art in Theory, xix.

All lengthy descriptions or declamatory passages that
have nothing to do directly with giving definiteness, char-
acter, and progress to the plot, detract from the interest
of the poem, considered as a whole. The effect of these
things upon the form is the same as that of rubbish thrown
into the current of a stream — it impedes the movement,
and renders the water less transparent. This is the chief
reason why the works of the dramatists of the age of the
history of our literature commonly called classical, like
Dryden, Addison, Rowe, Home, and Brooke, notwithstand-
ing much that is excellent in their writings, have not been
able to maintain their popularity. — Poetry as a Representa-
tive Art, XXII.

POETIC FORM, ARTIFICIALITY IN.

Poetic form, for instance, as used by Shakespeare, Cole-
ridge, Scott, and Burns, was characterized by apparent ease
and facility. Whatever art there was in it, if not wholly
concealed, at least called attention, not to itself, but to the
thought and feeling for the expression of which alone it is of
any use. It is true that, in the times of Queen Anne, form
like this was considered insufficient for the purpose. It is
also true, though the fact is not often acknowledged, that in

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our own times there is a similar opinion. But we have
learned that the styles of Pope and Dry den were artificial.
What will our successors learn about our styles ? Certainly,
if those older poets cultivated an unnatural rhythmic swing,
ours are cultivating an equally unnatural melodic swag,
the straightforward movement, which alone is logically
appropriate in an art, the medium of which is a series of
effects in time, having given place to a succession of side-
heaves, occasioned by endeavors to lug along heavy epithets.
In the overloaded form, there is scarcely more drift, which
used to be considered essential in poetry, than in a fishing
smack with every line on board trailing in the water, and
every hook at the end of it stuck fast in seaweed. From
the levy made upon every possibility of ornamentation
within reach, one would suppose that the contemporary
muse were the mistress of a South Sea Islander, who never
sees beauty where there is no paint. — Essay on The Func-
tion of Technique.

POETIC FORM ESSENTIAL TO POETIC EFFECT (see olso

technique).
Poetry is more than thought; it is more even than a strong
and metrical expression of thought. The mere fact that a
girl was drowned on the sands of Dee, or that three fisher-
men were lost at sea, is not enough to account for the interest
that we take in Charles Kingsley's ** O Mary, Go and Call the
Cattle Home, ' ' and ' ' The Fishermen. " It is his poetry that
interests us ; and by his poetry we mean the representative
way in which he has told these tales. . . . The important
thing that needs to be borne in mind in judging of poetry, is
that it is an art, and partakes of the nature of the fine arts ;
and that, as such, its one essential is a representative form
appealing to a man through that which causes him to admire
the beautiful. — Poetry as a Representative Art, xxvii.

Not all, but some of these quotations show us that poetic
effect is not dependent wholly upon the presence or absence
of poetic thought. On the contrary, that which in verse
charms the ear, fixes attention, remains in memory, and
passes into a precept or proverb, is sometimes dependent for
its popularity almost entirely upon consecutive effects of
sound, so arranged as to flow into one another and together
form a unity. Certainly, in many cases, the same thought,
expressed in sounds less satisfactorily arranged, would not

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 245

be remembered or repeated. — Rhythm and Harmony in
Poetry and Music, vii.

POETIC FORM, EXCESSIVE ATTENTION TO.

The peculiarity of poetry consists in the fact that its
medium is composed of words, which words, in turn, are
forms of thought. If, therefore, attention be directed
too exclusively to the form as form, the thoughts, which
alone give it real value, will not produce their legitimate
effects. For this reason, there is always an inartistic
tendency in any excessive use of alliteration, assonance,
or rhyme. . . . There is a sense in which all art-products
are artistic in the degree in which they are natural. They
appear most natural, of course, when they appear most
spontaneous. But too great attention expended upon the
mere selection of letter-sounds interferes with spontaneity
of effect. Excessive alliteration, assonance, and rhyme
suggest calculation, contrivance, effort, and this of a char-
acter not very choice in quality. They are all in themselves
comparatively easy to produce; and, unless entering into
the formation of a word exactly fitted to convey the mean-
ing that is intended, they suggest an unwarranted sacrifice
of sense to the mere jingling of sounds, and, therefore, a
cheap form of ornamentation. — Rhythm and Harmony in
Poetry and Music, ix.

POETIC FORM IN POEMS CONSIDERED AS WHOLES.

A poem is a development of language, and language is a
representation of thought, and thought always involves
motion. A poem, therefore, is a representation of thought
and also of motion, or, rather, of thought in motion. But
more than this, it is a single art-product; therefore it must
represent a single thought in a single motion. This implies,
first, one thought to which all the other thoughts of the
work must be related by way of complement, or subordi-
nated by way of principality; and second, one motion of
thought — i. e., one thought moving in one direction, having
one beginning from which all the movements of all the
related and subordinated thoughts of the entire poem
start; a middle through which they all flow; and an end
toward which they all tend, — The Genesis of Art Form, vi.

In speaking of the plan of his "Excursion, " Wordsworth,
in several places, tells us that his conception of it was that of
a cathedral to which his minor poems should stand related

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like chapels opening from the aisles. In other words, he
acknowledges that a method of thought or expression not
natural to poetry, but to another art, an art, too, necessi-
tating a body filling space, was present to his mind when
considering the general form of his poem. So far as this
method had influence, his motive, therefore, was that not
of the poet but of the architect. A poem m.odelled after
a cathedral ! One might as well talk of a picture modelled
after a symphony, or a statue after a running stream. To
be sure, if the stream were frozen stiff, and so far lifeless,
the statue might image it. Only so far as thought were
in a similar condition could a poem that was really like a
cathedral, embody it. — Representative Significance of Form,

XXV.

This requirement of organic form, as manifested by the
arrangement of the chief features of an artistic product,
differs not whether a poem be short or long. The degree
of excellence in its conception is measured by the degree in
which it presents an image of the phase of life with which it
deals in a distinct form, by which is meant a form in which
are preserved the organic relationships of all the parts to
one another and to the whole. When, in speaking of a
long poem, such as the ** Iliad" or ** Paradise Lost, " '* Ham-
let, "or "Faust," we commend its unity and progress, or
the consistency, continuity, and completeness with which
certain ideas of which it treats are developed, we mean
merely that the poem as a whole presents in distinct organic
form a whole image of that which it is designed to present.
The difference, therefore, between the ability to produce
a long poem and a short one, or what is sometimes the same
thing, a great poem and a small one, is simply of the same
nature as that which exists between a high and a small
order of intellect in other departments, — a difference in the
ability to hold the thoughts persistently to a single subject
until all its parts have been marshalled into order. — The
Genesis of Art-Form, vi.

None of these poems deserve to be placed in the highest
rank, because they lack the qualities which, as we have
found, must characterize the products of an art, whose
form is apprehensible in time. They lack the qualities
because they lack the form that necessarily would show
these; and they lack the form — i. e., the representative form.

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 247

•^because their authors did not start to compose them with
representative conceptions. When Dante, Shakespeare, and
Milton first conceived their greatest works, it must have
been a picture that appeared to loom before their imagina-
tions. It is doubtful whether Wordsworth, Cowper, and
Campbell thought of anything except an argument. — Poetry
as a Representative Art, xxvii.

POETIC FORM, ITS INFLUENCE UPON THOUGHT.

When a man polishes a diamond its beauty is due, in a
sense, to its appearance, and to what his polishing has added
to its appearance; but, in another sense, the beauty is due
still more to the surrounding light which his polishing has
enabled the diamond to reflect. The poet who never
allows himself to use an imperfect rhyme, or, except for
reasons in the sense, to use words containing consecutive
letter-sounds that do not harmonize, is likely, on account
of the very attention that he pays to the expression, to
make the expression seem worthy of attention; and, not
only so, but to make that which is expressed seem worthy of
attention. We wonder, at times, why certain modern poets
prefer to write plays in blank verse. Most of us ascribe the
reason to the influence of tradition. But there is a better
reason than this. Foot and line impose limits upon expres-
sional form. The necessity for conciseness in the language
impels to conciseness in the thought. Thought like light
never becomes really brilliant, never flashes, except from a
form in which its rays are concentrated. The sun's influ-
ence on a bright day is pervasive; it is everywhere; but its
beams never sparkle from the whole surface of a pool or
lake, — only from places where in this they touch some single
small drop, or collection of small drops. — Essay on Music
as Related to Other Arts.

POETIC FORM, ITS RICHNESS COMPENSATING FOR POVERTY

IN IDEAS.

As this poetry lies concealed in ordinary life, the poet
is compelled to do more than simply to represent ordinary
life. He must make this appear to be more than it seems
to be; and he must do so by making more of his poetic form
than can be done in direct representation. We all know
how ladies taking up a temporary residence for the summer
in small seaside cottages, erected without paint or plaster,
make up for the lack of other beautifying elements, by

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tacking all over the walls Japanese fans and scarfs of
innumerable hues, intermingled with wreaths of evergreen
and myrtle; or how, when they rent furnished houses in
which the colors of the carpets, chairs, and wall papers do
not harmonize, they spread tidies, afghans, and ornaments
of all possible shades over sofas and mantles, so as to pro-
duce effects pleasing by way of combination and variety,
where it is impossible to have simplicity and unity. All this
is an illustration of cheap ornamentation. Yet it is justi-
fiable in such circumstances. The tendency producing it is
exercised unjustifiably only when an architect or uphol-
sterer, with an opportunity to rely upon more worthy
methods, tries to produce similar results not as means but
as ends. Illustrative representation in poetry is often pro-
duced by bringing together all sorts of elements, very
much as the Japanese fans are brought together in sea-
side cottages; and it is justifiable when it is necessary to
make thought attractive which otherwise would not be so.
To illustrate how poetry can make this sort of thought
attractive, take this description of a luncheon in Tenny-
son's "Audley Court." In most of the passage we have
direct representation; but all the better for this reason, it
serves to illustrate what I mean by saying that form can
make the unpoetic seem poetic. What could be more
unpoetic or commonplace than a meal? Yet notice how
by the introduction of picturesque elements like "wrought
with horse and hound," "dusky," "costly made," "Like
fossils of the rock," "golden"^ "Imbedded," and the
graphic account of the conversation, — all such as could be
observed by one looking on, the poet has rendered the
whole poetic. It is an admirable illustration of a legiti-
mate way in which by richness of form a poet can make
up for poverty of ideas. — Poetry as a Representative Art,

XXIII.

POETRY AS AN ART (see also REPRESENTATION, A
CHARACTERISTIC OF ^.STHETIC ART).

Poetry is acknowledged to be an art, ranking, like music,
with the fine arts, — painting, sculpture, and architecture.
It is acknowledged, also, that the peculiar characteristic of
all these arts is that they have what is termed form (from
the Lsitin forma, an external appearance) . This form, more-
over, is aesthetic (from the Greek ataOrji^q, perceived by

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 249

the senses) ; and it is presented in such a way as to address
the senses through the agency of an artist, who, in order
to attain his end, represents the sounds or sights of nature.
All these arts, therefore, in a broad sense of the term, are
representative. What they represent is partly the pheno-
mena of nature and partly the thoughts of man; partly that
which is imitated from things perceived in the world with-
out, and partly that which is conceived in the mind of him
who, in order to express his conception, produces the imi-
tation. Both of these factors are present in all artistic
forms, and cause them to be what they are. That painting
and sculpture represent, is recognized by all; that music
and architecture do the same, needs to be proved to most
men. As for poetry, with which we are now to deal, all
perceive that it contains certain representative elements;
but few are aware to what an extent these determine
everything in it that is distinctive and excellent. — Idemy i.

"poetry as a representative art, analysis of the

BOOK. "

{Recapitulation:) In the volume entitled "Poetry as a
Representative Art," as well as in the essay on "Music
as a Representative Art," it is shown, for instance, — to
mention only a few particulars as illustrative of many
more, — that, both by way of suggestion and of imitation,
solemnity, gravity, and dignity are represented by long
syllables and notes causing slowness of movement as con-
trasted with the opposite ; that self-assertion and vehemence
are represented by distinctness of accent and loudness
of tone as contrasted with indistinctness and softness ; that
conclusiveness, decision, affirmation, and satisfaction are
represented by downward as contrasted with upward
movements either in the tunes of verse or of song; and also
that feelings like fright, amazement, indignation, contempt,
horror, awe, surprise, solicitude, delight, admiration, and
determination are each represented by different qualities
of tone, whether indicated in vowels and consonants or
in musical instruments.

In the last halves of the essays, both on poetry and on
music, the elements which are considered separately in
the first halves are examined as representing mental con-
ceptions or material surroundings when combined in com-
pleted art-products, the purpose being to bring out clearly,

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if possible, as applied to both theme and treatment, whether
plain or figurative, the distinctions between the poetic and
the prosaic, the musical and the merely sonorous. — Pro-
portion and Harmony of Line and Color y xxvi.

The theory underlying all that has been said thus far
is, that poetry is an artistic development of language; its
versification, of the pauses of natural breathing; its rhythm
and tune, of the accents and inflections of ordinary conver-
sation; and the significance in its sounds, of ejaculatory and
imitative methods actuating the very earliest efforts of our
race at verbal expression. The inference suggested has
been that these effects produced by sound are legitimate in
poetry, because, like language, and as a part of it, and far
more significantly than some forms of it, they represent
thought. This inference necessarily carries with it another,
which it seems important to emphasize before we leave this
part of our subject. It is this, — that no effects produced by
sound are legitimate in poetry, which fail in any degree to
represent thought. If a man's first impression on entering
a picture-gallery come from a suggestion of paint, he may
know that he is not in the presence of the masters. So if his
first impression on beginning to read verse come from a
suggestion of jingle, of sound, or of form of any kind not con-
nected in some most intimate way with an appeal to his
thinking faculties, he may be well-nigh sure that the lines
before him do not entitle their author to a high poetic
rank. As I intend to show further on, all artistic poetry
must produce the effects of form, but these include impres-
sions recognized not only by the outer ear, but also by
the inner mind. It is because of the exceeding diffi-
culty of perfectly adjusting sound to thought and thought
to sound, till, like perfectly attuned strings of a perfect
instrument, both strike together in all cases so as to form a
single chord of a perfect harmony, that there are so few
great poets. — Poetry as a Representative Art, xiii.

POETRY AS PICTORIAL ?;5. MUSICAL {seealsOVOKI'RY VS. MUSIC,
GENESIS OF each).

In primitive times, the poetry of a word or phrase was
determined by its appeal less to what we may term the
ear of the mind than to its eye. By words appealing to
the ear, I mean those like hiss, rush, roar, rattle, evidently
originated by the recognition of resemblances between

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 251

meaning and sound. By words appealing to the eye, I
mean those like upright, shady, forerunner, turnover, used
in what is termed a metaphorical sense, and evidently origi-
nated in a desire to represent or picture certain conditions
or relationships of thought that are not visible, being in-
side the mind, through references to conditions or relation-
ships that are visible, because in the external world. It is
words of this latter kind upon which the earliest poets seem
to have depended mainly for their effects. . . . Attempts
to cause poetry to represent its meaning through the use of
mere sounds were very limited until long after the period
of the most ancient poetry. Rhythm, assonance, allitera-
tion, rhyme, and particularly what are termed the tunes of
verse, and the selection of different metres for the presen-
tation of different sentiments and subjects, were all of them
more or less late developments in the history of the art. —
Essay on Music as Related to the Other Arts.

The general result is represented in poetry through
the use of articulated words, and in music through the use
of inarticulated tones. Words represent conceptions which
are sufficiently intelligible to be clearly defined. Tones
represent conceptional tendencies, which are not always
sufficiently intelligible to be clearly defined. The conse-
quent difference between the effects of the two arts is this :
Both influence the imagination, and, while doing so, conjure
pictures which pass in review before it; but while poetry
indicates definitely what these pictures shall be, music leaves
the mind of the listener free to determine this, the same
chords inclining one man, perhaps, to think of his business,
and another of his recreation; one of a storm at sea, and
another of a battle-field. Now notice a further fact, — that
words make thought definite because they appeal to the
imagination as is done through the sense not only of hearing
but also of sight; and this, not only because they can be
printed as well as spoken, but because, as a rule, they refer
to objects, as in the cases of hut, farm, road, and horse; or to
actions, as in the cases of come, go, stop, and hurry; or to
other conditions, as in the cases of near, far, with, and 6y,
that can be seen, and that are seen by imagination when-
ever the words are used. Musical tones, on the contrary,
appeal to imagination almost exclusively as is done through
the sense of hearing irrespective of sight. This is a difference

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which is radical, and extremely important. Poetry of the
highest order, as we read it, calls attention to visible objects.
Through doing so the lines transport us into a realm of
imagination, and this not of our own making, as in music,
but of the poet's making. So far as he fails to lift us into
this realm, and to keep us in it, his poetry fails of one of its
most important possibilities. Notice in the following
how clean-cut and concrete every figure is, how it stands
out in relief, rising visually before the mind, the moment
that the words are heard. ... In much modern poetry, musi-
cal effects are either entirely substituted for visual effects,
or are allowed to overbalance the visual to such an extent
as to obscure them. This is one reason why poetry is so
little read, and has so little influence, in our own times. —
Essentials of ^Esthetics, ix.

One takes up a magazine or a book of the day, and sees
type arranged in the form of verse. He notices in the
successions of syllables an abundance of music, perhaps.
But the writers have evidently forgotten — not wholly but
largely — that which, when poetry began, gave it its nature
and value. In what he reads, he finds little visualizing
of invisible thought, little formulation of unformed sug-
gestions, little projection of definite ideas from regions of in-
definiteness, little illuminating truth shining out brilliant as
a star from vague depths of apparently unfathomable signi-
ficance. He can read page after page of this modern so-
called poetry from which it is hardly possible to obtain by
mining a single word or phrase such as is everywhere on
the surface, and which the most casual glance reveals spark-
ling like a gem, not only in the products of the ancient classic
poets, but of all the great modern poets like Dante, Shake-
speare, and Goethe. — Essay on Music as Related to Other
Arts.

I used to wonder why it was that foreign critics — French
and German — almost universally fail to assign very high
rank to the poetry of Tennyson, while they do assign it to
that of Byron. I am quite sure now that the line of thought
just suggested, explains, in part at least, both facts. The
depreciation of Tennyson seems to be owing to his over-
balancing appeal to the imagination through the methods
of sound. Those not familiar with the sounds of English
words and the more subtly associated suggestions of these

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 253

sounds often fail to recognize his artistic qualities. Tenny-
son, however, was a great poet. His work very frequently
appeals to the imagination through the methods of sight. —
Essay on The Literary Artist and Elocution.

In the following, for instance, all of us will be conscious
of a musical flow of syllables, but most of us will not be
conscious of seeing images rise in succession before the
imagination; we shall not be lifted into that realm of visual
surroundings to which it is the peculiar province of poetry
to transport one. On thinking it over, too, we shall prob-
ably recognize that the same could be said of much of the
ordinary — the very ordinary — poetry of the present, though
it, too, is often extremely musical. — Idem.

In poetry, the sounds of the words have little to do with
poetic achievement except so far as by being picturesque —
individually and collectively — they represent the forms —
some of them audible it is true, but most of them merely
visible — that are moving forward and carrying to success-
ful development that which is in the poet's imagination.
I once heard a remark attributed to the French dramatist,
Scribe, to the effect that when he was composing he always
seemed to be looking at his characters moving before him
on the stage. This tendency to think by describing what
appears to be seen, is common, in fact, probably necessary,
to all those who produce works of the imagination. It is
because of the ability to perceive inward experiences as if
they were outwardly present, that many great poets — and
some of the very greatest — poets like Dante and Milton,
have been what we may term natural, if not proficient,
mathematicians, or, at least, geometricians. In speaking of
University experiences at Cambridge, you may recall what
Wordsworth says of

The pleasures gathered from the rudiments
Of geometric science. ...

— Essay on Teaching in Drawing.

POETRY AS PRODUCING MUSIC.

There is no doubt, too, that this influence of music upon
poetry has, to an extent, been beneficial. At the same time
nothing human, whether we apply the term to character
or to characteristics, is ever wholly benefited in case external
agencies be allowed to master traits peculiar to its own
individuality. Poetry whose distinctive features are sub-

254 AN ART-PHILOSOPHER'S CABINET

ordinated to those of music or of any other art, may become
unpoetic; and if they be only partly subordinated, it may
become partly unpoetic. No form of influence that a
man can exert in this world is so certain to prove successful
that, in his efforts to produce it, he can afford to ignore
the importance of concentration. — Essay on Music as
Related to Other Arts.

How can one be expected to appreciate that which has
caused poets like Shakespeare, Milton, or Tennyson to put
their thoughts into verse, if his ear have never been made
acquainted by nature or by training with the relations and
the meanings of sounds? Upon such a man, all the time
and the care that these poets have expended in arranging
their words in another form than prose have been wasted. —
Essay on The Literary Artist and Elocution.

With all this preponderating devotion to the supposed
requirements of form, there appears to be, both in Pope
and Dry den, a marked absence of any desire to produce the
finer qualities of sound, like those of assonance, phonetic
syzygy, and gradation, which make poetry really musical.
With all their transpositions, they never succeeded in pro-
ducing the purely melodious effects of Tennyson and
Longfellow. — Poetry as a Representative Art, xiii.

POETRY, BASED ON COMPARISON.

Poetry results, . . . when the motive which previously has
influenced the thought indefinitely, and which therefore
could be represented appropriately in only indefinite or
inarticulate sounds, reaches the region of definite thought.
... It seems to be a necessary condition of definite thought,
that there should be, in the first place, conceptions already
in the mind, and, in the second place, a motive owing to
the influence of which they are revealed to consciousness.
Ordinarily a man conceives of both the conceptions and the
motive as one. He does so, however, according to the same
principle that leads him, when he sees ice moving in the river,
to say that the water is moving. The two things, ice and
water, are different. It is the mind that unites them. At
the same time, thought is conscious, all the while, that they
are two things, and not one. The motive in poetry, as in
music, sweeps the emotions onward to instinctive action.
But in poetry, the ideas, caught up in the tide, clearly repeat,
or, as we may say, reinforce the motive; and that which

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS . 255

causes the mind to consider both motive and idea as one
thing and not two is the fact that, with, of course, some
contrasts, they compare together, and also the fact that
the mind is conscious that they do this. Conscious com-
parison, therefore, rather than the unconscious phases
of it and of association that lead to the developments of
music, lies at the basis of poetry. — Art in Theory, xviii.

POETRY, HOW DEVELOPED.

Similar facts are true of poetry. A man like an animal
could express his actual wants in a few different sighs,
cries, grunts, and hisses. But from these he develops, in
their various forms, the innumerable words and phrases
that render possible the nice distinctions of language.
These words and phrases are often freshly invented by
the poets, and they are almost always invented as a result
of what is recognized to be the poetic tendency latent in
all men. As for poems considered as wholes, their metres or
rhymes are never produced as immediate subjective utter-
ances, such as we hear in ordinary speech. They are always
the work of the imagination, bringing together the results
of experience and experiment, according to the method
termed composition. In other words, even aside from the
fact that they are usually written or printed, but neces-
sarily when considered in connection with this, they evi-
dently involve the construction of an external product.
Nor can we explain their existence at all, except by attribut-
ing them to the intense and unadulterated satisfaction which
the poet derives from elaborating them, not for ends of
material utility, but for effects of beauty that pertain only to
themselves. — Idem, viii.

POETRY, HOW ITS REPRESENTATION INFLUENCES THOUGHT.

Poetry, as we have found, is an art; and art does not
consist of thoughts, explanations, or arguments concerning
things, but of substituted realities representing them; and
there can be no legitimate re-presentation, except of what
may be supposed to be perceived. If, for instance, certain
persons are doing certain things, one will probably draw
some inferences from their actions with reference to their
motives, and he will have a right to tell his inferences — in
prose ; but not, as a rule, in poetry. In this, he must picture
what he has observed, and leave others, as free as he himself
has been, to infer what they choose. At the same time.

356 AN ART-PHILOSOPHER'S CABINET

in the degree in which he is an artist, his picture will be
of such a character as to impel others to draw from it the
same inference that he himself has drawn. — Poetry as a
Representative Art, xx.

POETRY, ITS LANGUAGE IN A SCIENTIFIC AGE.

As a language grows conventional and scientific, it loses
much of its imaginative and poetic force. When men have
arbitrary symbols to express precisely what they wish to say,
their fancies do not search for others to suggest what, at best
can but vaguely picture it. We hear them speak of engines
and of locomotives, not of ''horses breathing fire." . . . Amid
circumstances like these must poetry succumb? If not, in
what way can the poet overcome them? Certainly in one
way only — by recognizing his conditions, and making
the most of the material at his disposal. He must use a
special poetic diction. In doing this two things are
incumbent on him. The first is to choose from the mass
of language words that have poetic associations. All our
words convey definite meanings not only, but accompany-
ing suggestions ; and some of these are very unpoetic. . . .
But there is a second thing incumbent on the poet. . . . He
must choose from the mass of language words that embody
poetic comparisons, — choose them not only negatively, by
excluding terms too scientific or colloquial, which, with
material and mean associations, break the spell of the
ideal and spiritual; but positively, by going back in imagi-
nation to the view-point of the child, and (either because
arranging old words so as to reveal the pictures in them,
or because originating new expressions of his own) by sub-
stituting for the commonplace that which is worthy of an
art which should be aesthetic. — Idem, xvii.

POETRY, ITS LANGUAGE NOT NECESSARILY FIGURATIVE.

Direct pure representative poetry, as has been intimated,
pictures to the mind, without the use of figurative lan-
guage, a single transaction or series of transactions in such
a way as to influence the thoughts of him who hears the
poetry, precisely as they would have been influenced had he
himself perceived the transaction or series of transactions
of which the poetry treats. The works of Homer, as in
fact of all the classic writers, are filled with examples of this
kind of representation. — Poetry as a Representative Art,
XX.

St. Isaac's, Petrograd

See pages 4, 9, 10, 12, 73, 81-85, 89, 91, 162, 223-225, 301, 316,
323-327, 385

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 257

POETRY, ITS LANGUAGE VS. PROSE.

Poetic form necessitates a peculiar selection and arrange-
ment of words and phrases. But if these violate the laws
of natural expression or of grammatical construction, as
exemplified in the language of prose, their meanings may
be obscured entirely, or, if not so, will, at least, be con-
veyed through forms that seem artificial. It was for
these reasons that Wordsworth argued that there should
be no difference between the language of poetry and of
prose. In his own practice he sometimes carried out his
theory only too faithfully; but a truth underlay it, which
always needs to be borne in mind. The problem in con-
nection with all versification is, how to arrange words. . . .
so as to produce. . . . rhythmical and musical effects, with-
out impairing, somewhat, the naturalness of the phrase-
ology. The departures from naturalness, in order to satisfy
the demands of sound, usually manifest themselves in
one of five different ways, viz: in the insertion, the trans-
position, the alteration, the omission, or the misuse of words.
— Idem, XIII.

When we get to the bottom of the subject, that which
distinguishes prose from poetry is that the latter influences
us through the use of imitation or through imaging. As
shown on pages 208 to 212 of "Poetrj^ as a Representative
Art," we can present the thoughts and feelings which an
appearance of nature suggests, in ordinary language, i. e., in
prose, if we choose. But if so, we seldom present them
artistically, or poetically. We do the latter only when we
repeat the methods of nature, and re-present that which na-
ture presents. Just as we re-present the natural inflections
of the voice in musical melody, the figures and scenes of
nature in painting and sculpture, so in poetry, we re-present
through descriptive or figurative language. In one sense it
is true, as the modern so-called Aristotelians tell us, that
the effects of art, even in poetry, do not depend upon the
subject. They depend upon the appeal which the subject
makes to the imagination, and this depends upon the ima-
ging, or upon what Aristotle terms the imitation. At times,
but only at times, the subject itself is such that necessarily,
the moment it is presented, the imagination thinks of a
picture. At other times this is not the case. When it is not,
the poet, through the use of imitative or imaging language.

258 AN ART-PHILOSOPHER 'S CABINET

or, as we say, of figurative language, must make the different
parts of the subject seem picturesque. — Art in Theory,
Appendix iii.

POETRY, ITS PRACTICAL UTILITY.

This interpretation of the meaning of nature, natural
and human, by those who have learned to interpret it,
while striving to have it convey their own meanings, lies
at the basis of all the practical uses of poetry. Therefore
it is that its products bring with them an atmosphere
consoling and inspiring, both enlightening and expanding
the conceptions and experiences of the reader. Just as
each specific application of Christianity, — all its warnings,
consolations, and encouragements, which develop purity
within and righteousness without, in the individual, in
society, or in the state, spring from the one general concep-
tion of universal and divine love manifested in the
form of the Christ, so do all the specific applications of
poetry spring from the one general conception of universal
and divine truth manifested through the forms of material
and human nature. — Poetry as a Representative Art, xxviii.

POETRY vs. ELOCUTION.

Viewed in itself, poetry is an end, — a series of words
representing the comparative processes of imagination.
Viewed in connection with elocution, poetry is a means. If
a written product happen to suggest acting, this fact alone,
irrespective of its merit as poetry, may commend it to the
elocutionist. It follows therefore that the subject-matter of
each of the two arts must be judged by a different stand-
ard,— a fact which, if regarded, would save our critics of
poetry many a slip, and our orators many an hour use-
lessly employed in the vain attempt to produce an oratori-
cal effect through the medium of that which is distinctively
poetic. It is logic aimed to affect reason and will, rather
than analogy aimed to affect imagination and sentiment,
that renders the oration powerful. The poetic end is
important; but not in circumstances where the essential
matter is to influence reason and will. — The Representative
Significance 0} Fornix xxvi.

POETRY vs. LOGIC.

Poetry does not reveal truth to us in logic, but in light. —
Poetry as a Representative Art, xxiv.

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 259

POETRY VS. MUSIC, GENESIS OF EACH.

When a man, or any living creature, gives vocal expres-
sion to moods that control him, there are two distinct forms
which this may assume, both of which, however, all creatures
cannot always produce. The sounds may be either sus-
tained or unsustained. A dog, for instance, howls, and also
barks; a cat purrs and also mews; a bird warbles and also
chirps; a man sings and also talks. If these forms be at all
representative, the sustained sounds must represent some-
thing sustained, and the others something not sustained.
As a rule, an internal mental process is continued or sus-
tained because it is *iot interrupted. As a rule, too, that
which interrupts is external to the thoughts and feelings
which constitute the factors of this process. Interrupt
the creature producing the sustained sounds, — go out at
night and speak to your howling dog, take the milk from a
purring cat, the nest from a warbHng bird, or the plaything
from a singing child, and at once you will hear sounds of the
other form, — barking, mewing, chirping, or scolding in words.
We may say, therefore, that the sustained form is mainly
subjective, or spontaneous, and that the unsustained form
is mainly relative or responsive. Birds and men instinctively
sing to meet demands that come from within; they in-
stinctively chirp or talk to meet those that come from
without. The singing sounds continue as long as their
producer wishes to have them; the chirping and talking
sounds are checked as soon as they have accomplished
their outside purpose, and are continued only by way of
reiteration or else of change, in order to suit the changing
effects that they are perceived to have upon the creatures
or persons toward whom they are directed. It is not
essential that the sustained, singing sounds should convey
any definite intelligence to another, because there is no
intrinsic necessity that he should understand them. But
the unsustained sounds must convey definite intelligence,
because this is their object.

These two conditions respectively correspond, as will be
observed, to those that underlie effects in music and in
poetry. It is to be shown, in the discussion which follows,
that there is a sense in which the former art as well as
the latter is representative; but it is important to notice
that the two arts are not representative of the same con-
ditions. Therefore they do not represent in the same

26o AN ART-PHILOSOPHER'S CABINET

way nor to the same degree either mind or nature. Music
gives expression to certain classes of sustained and sub-
jective moods, joyous or sad, concerning which there is
no outside or objective reason for imparting any specific
or definite information. The moment intelHgence of a
particular mood needs to be communicated thus, as in
cases of outside emergency of an ordinary character, or of
those exciting one to extraordinary petulance or rage, then
the dog barks, the bird chirps, and the man, in order to
make himself distinctly understood, uses his throat, tongue,
and lips in the various ways that cause the distinct articu-
lation which characterizes words.

It is important to notice, too, that this difference dis-
tinguishable between the lowest and most elementary forms
of these two methods of vocal representation is the only one
that is fundamental. All the other distinctions that can
be made between sounds characterize alike thOvSe of song
and of speech. As will be shown in the following chapter,
sounds differ in time, jorce, pitch, and quality. Accord-
ing to the first, one sound may have more duration than
another. Artistically developed, in connection with force,
this difference leads to rhythm. But there is rhythm in
poetry as well as in music. According to the second, one
sound may be louder than another. But this kind of
emphasis is as common in conversation as in chanting.
According to the third, one sound may be higher in the
musical scale than another. Artistically developed, this
leads to tune. But the voice rises and falls in speaking as
well as in singing. According to the fourth, one sound
may be more sweet and resonant than another. But
the differences between pure, orotund, guttural, pectoral,
and aspirated tones, are as decided as are those between
the tones in different parts in singing and between the
characters of the sounds produced by different musical
instruments.

When we come to use the word sustained, however, we
can say that in music a tone is sustained in time, with a
degree of force, at one pitch, and with one kind of quality,
in a sense that is not true as applied to speaking. We
may use articulated words in a song, yet there is a radical
difference between singing them and talking them; and
so far as concerns merely musical effects, these can be
produced, as is often the case not only in instrumental but

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 261

even in vocal music, without any of the effects produced
by articulation.

It is possible to separate even more clearly the original
germ of musical representation from that of poetry. As
shown in Chapter XX. of "Art in Theory," the elementary
tendency mainly developed in music, is found in those
instinctive and always inarticulate ejaculations or more
prolonged utterances, as of fright or of pleasure, which are
natural to a man, and these utterances, when, intentionally
or artistically repeated for purposes of expression, come to
mean what they do in fulfilment of the principle of associ-
ation. The elementary tendency mainly developed in
poetry is found in those forms of articulation used after
expression ceases to be wholly instinctive and becomes re-
flective; and in these forms of articulation, as shown in Chap-
ter I. of " Poetry as a Representative Art," a man begins to
imitate what he hears and to make his utterances mean
what they do in fulfilment of the principle of comparison.
At the same time, as pointed out in the same place, associ-
ation and comparison are closely allied; and, even when they
are most different, expression is developed with completeness
in the degree only in which it manifests some traces of both.

Even speech, for instance, while meaning what it does
on account mainly of articulation, is, in part, also dependent,
precisely as is music, upon that which is not articulation
— but what we term intonation. A babe too young to
talk, a foreigner using a language unknown to us, or a
friend talking at such a distance that his words are indis-
tinguishable, can each, notwithstanding this disadvantage,
reveal to us something of his meaning. We can tell from
his tones, aside from his words, whether he be excited or
calm, elated or depressed, pleased or angered, earnest or
indifferent. The effects thus produced spring, evidently,
from a natural tendency which causes the movements or
directions — what we might term the general methods of
the voice — to correspond to those of the motives that
actuate one.

On account of this expressional tendency to fulfil, either
by way of association or of comparison, what may be termed
the principle of correspondence, the intonations of speech may
be said to be, in a true sense, representative. All of us
must be aware that an acquaintance can be recognized in
the dark largely because his conversation is characterized

262 AN ART-PHILOSOPHER'S CABINET

by similar ways, at certain definite intervals, of moving and
checking and pitching his utterances; in other words, be-
cause he has a certain rhythm and tune of his own. Make
one a public speaker or a reciter of stories, like the min-
strel of former ages, and these movements of the voice
will be made by him with more art and more regularity.
Hence the origin of rhythm, as well as of chanting, among
those story-tellers who were the first poets. Make the
rhythm a little more marked and regular and arranged in
clauses of the same length, on the principle of putting
like with like, and we have verse. Make the rhythm still
more marked, by the use of similar sounds at regular inter-
vals, and we have rhyme. Vary the rhythm to express
different ideas or classes of ideas, and we have the various
kinds of metre. Vary the rhythm still more, as well as
the upward and downward movements of the voice con-
stituting the tune or chant, and, in connection with this,
pass from unsustained to sustained tones, and we have a
musical melody. "We are justified in assuming," says
Helmholtz, in Part III., Chapter IX., of the "Sensations of
Tone," "that, historically, all music was developed from
song. Afterward the power of producing similar melodic
effects was attained by means of other instruments, which
had a quality of tone compounded in a manner resembling
that of the human voice." Of course, in connection with
the development of melody and the invention of musical
instruments came the arrangement of notes in musical
scales and the beginning of harmony; but these have to
do not with representation in music, but with the methods
of elaborating the form of representation. At present, it
is sufficient to notice that, when once we have a melody
sung in the notes of a scale, we have but to combine cer-
tain of these notes, that is, to sound do, mi, sol, not succes-
sively but simultaneously, and we have harmony. If,
now, we produce both melody and harmony on different
musical instruments, and, in connection with these, sing
without articulating words, as, in fact, most singers do,
we can yet produce intelligible music; or we can cease to
use our voices at all, and still dp the same.

Evidently, there is nothing to prevent the sounds as
thus developed from continuing to be representative. At
the same time, as has been intimated, there is no reason
why they should be representative in a way as unmistak-

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 263

ably distinct and definite as we find in language; and they
are not so. Berlioz, we are told, used to amuse himself
by singing tunes with Italian words, and waiting till his
hearers had demonstrated how successfully the character
of the Italian verse had inspired the composer, when he
would inform them that the music was from a symphony
of Beethoven. We must all have noticed, too, how scores
of different sets of words, describing or expressing by no
means the same experiences or conceptions, may often,
with equal appropriateness, be sung to the same melody.
But, while this is so, it is worthy of note that in certain
general features, especially in expressing certain phases of
feeling, all these verses must be alike. They must all, for
instance, be either joyous or sad, or represent either elation
or depression. With this general and mainly emotive
method of representation, music must be content. — Rhythm
and Harmony in Poetry and Music: Music as a Representa-
tive Art, I.

POETRY vs. PAINTING AND OTHER ART-FORMS {see FORM,
STUDY of).

Poetry bears the same relation to the arts of sound that
painting and sculpture bear to those of sight. All three
are largely imitative. Poetry reproduces in an artistic
guise what might be heard in nature, if a man were telling
a story, or if several men were conversing. Painting and
sculpture reproduce in an artistic guise what might be seen
in nature. For this reason it is possible to be interested,
though not artistically interested, in the products of each
of these arts, on account merely of that which they portray,
irrespective of the style or form in which they portray it.
But the converse is true with reference to music and archi-
tecture. These arts are only slightly imitative, and if
we be interested in them at all, it is owing almost entirely
to their style or form. But we must not make the mis-
take of inferring from this fact that style or form is unim-
portant in the former arts; in other words, that the laws
of tone as tone must not be fulfilled in poetry, or of color
as color in painting. It is chiefly with reference to poetry
that this mistake is likely to be made. Admirers of Whit-
man might possibly — were they logical, which, fortunately,
they are not — be ready to deny that the laws of sound apply
to poetry in the same sense as to music. And yet they are

264 AN ART-PHILOSOPHER'S CABINET

as imperative in the one art as in the other, though, of
course, in a different degree and way. — Rhythm and Har-
mony in Poetry and Music, vii.

POPULARITY AS A TEST OF ART.

It is because no soul can sympathize with a conception
higher than its own best possibiHties that popular art, as a
rule, embodies views of life which are common to all men,
rather than peculiar to a few. It is because love is univer-
sal, that love-stories are the most universally popular. At
the same time, of course, popularity is not a sufficient
criterion by which to judge of art — any more than of any-
thing else. The value of the popularity depends upon its
quality, and, in art, which involves an appeal to intelligence
and experience, it depends upon the quality of these. — The
Representative Significance of Form, xiv.

PORTRAIT, WHEN RANKING HIGHEST.

The portrait and the bust, which reproduce the forms of
nature most perfectly, are not necessarily entitled to the
highest rank ; and when they are entitled to it, like the works
of Titian or Velasquez, they rank thus not merely on account
of the accuracy of their imitation, but also because, in
addition to this, they have the quality to which Sir Joshua
Reynolds referred when he snapped his fingers, saying of a
work, "It wants that.'' No matter, at present, what this
quality is. . . . Just now, it is enough for us to recognize
that the value of a portrait or a bust does not depend
alone upon its accuracy as a copy. Nor, even were this the
case, could ** natural," as the term is used, be applied to it
with any more propriety than to a picture of the Madonna,
whom Raphael never saw; or to a landscape of scenes in
Greece which Rottmann never beheld; or to a statue of the
struggles of a Laocoon, which existed only in the brain of a
Virgil. — Idem, xii.

PORTRAITS, HOW MADE IDEAL.

It may be said that when any portrait is to be painted,
that of which the great artist thinks is not merely outline
and color, but the thoughts and emotions which outline
and color, in the particular face before him, can be made to
suggest. He asks what is the character, and what is the
influence upon the mind, of the particular character that is
to be portrayed. Take a boy. If he be athletic in his
tendencies, his character may be best brought out by stand-

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 265

ing him up in a lawn-tennis suit with a racket in his hand : if
studious, by sitting him down with a book. In both cases,
the pose can be made to tell its own story. In the latter case,
if he be gazing up from his book with a dreamy, far-away
look in his eyes, the picture, though a portrait, may be
made to have all the interest that might attach to an
idealization named "The Young Newton," or "The
Young Scott"; and, no matter whose boy it may be, he
will seem interesting to every one. What makes any
portrait the opposite, is less the fact that the person por-
trayed is uninteresting, than the fact that the artist has
not had enough penetration to discover what the traits
are that are interesting, uniformly and universally; or
the ingenuity to extract them from their lurking-places
and reveal and emphasize them. — Painting, Sculpture, and
Architecture as Representative ArtSy xiv.

PORTRAITURE, IDEAL.

To go back to portraits. By the exercise of a little
brain-work it is always possible, in picturing a person, to
introduce something which, without verbal interpretation,
will represent, and enable the mind to recognize, his char-
acter. This causes what is termed ideal portraiture. — Idem,

PRACTICAL AIM IN ART-STUDY {see STANDARDS).

In any study of art, however, it must always be borne
in mind that to reach a philosophical result is not the sole
or the chief aim. This aim is practical ; and it was a practi-
cal aim that first suggested this series of volumes. At a
time when their writer was an author and a teacher, looking
for guidance and finding none, most of the criticism of the
day, whether of poetry, painting, or architecture, revealed
an absence of any standards of judgment, if not a disbelief
in the possibility of their existence. Indeed, some of the
foremost leaders in criticism took the ground that there are
no such standards, an opinion virtually maintained, despite
all protests to the contrary, in what are, perhaps, the fresh-
est and most suggestive of the books on aesthetics that have
been produced even very lately. — Proportion and Harmony
of Line and Color, xxvi.

PRACTICE AND ART-PRODUCTS {see also DRILL, INSPIRED, and
SKILL AND REVISION).

It is true, of course, that no amount of practice can enable
some to become artists, and that, in exceptional cases or

266 AN ART-PHILOSOPHER'S CABINET

upon extraordinary occasions, some may produce genuine
works of art who have practised little; but, as a rule, practice
is indispensable if one wish to attain the characteristics
supposed to be possessed habitually by the great artists. —
The Representative Significance of Form, xiii.

PRACTICE AND PROFICIENCY.

In all education, as in musical, in which everyone recog-
nizes the fact, later proficiency is the result of early practice
and patience. The expert in using all the elements of sound
began his familiarity with them by being introduced to
them, one by one, and over and over again, because he
could not elsewise remember them; and the thrill that we
get when he masters his forces is the direct result of the drill
that he got from those who mastered him when a boy. —
Essay on Fundamentals in Education.

PRACTICE, ITS EFFECTS {see also INSPIRED, THE, and skill).
Exactly what was it that practice had thus done for
Beethoven ? ... It had given his fingers muscular flexi-
bility, enabling them to sound upon an instrument what-
ever notes a composition demanded. But besides this,
practice had given the brain controlling his fingers what also
we might term flexibility; and it had given the mind, too,
lodged in his brain, a mental habit of using the right fingers
in the right places, and all the fingers in the right orders
of succession. Beyond this, it had enabled his mind to
comprehend in a single glance large groups of notes on a
printed staff and, no matter how numerous and complex, to
send his knowledge of them through the nerves, and transfer
them to sound with precision and yet with the rapidity of
lightning. Moreover, all this, which, when he began, had
involved the slow and painful process of consciously think-
ing of each note on a printed staff, and of each corresponding
key on an instrument, practice had enabled him to do at
last unconsciously at the same time that all his conscious
powers were employed in giving expression to the general
effect. — The Representative Significance of Form, xiii.

PRACTICE OF ELEMENTS, ESSENTIAL TO PERFECTION.

My theory is, that, in the degree in which any essential
characteristic of delivery is defective, there is not a move-
ment of the elbow, wrist, or fingers, of the lungs, larynx,
palate, or tongue, which can be freed from defect except as
a result of automatic action acquired through a slow and

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 267

laborious practice of exercises, every feature of which has
been accurately described by the instructor and put into
execution by the pupil; for no matter how rapid or how
slight a gesture or a tone may be, the eye or the ear will be
sure to detect and feel any defect whatever in its expres-
sional quality. — Essay on The Function of Technique,

PRINCIPALITY IN ART.

In hearing the song of a bird or a man, we may observe
chiefly the time filled by the different tones or their move-
ments up and down the scale; in looking at a tree we may
observe chiefly the outlines formed by its leaves, branches,
or general contour, or by its color; but whatever we may
observe, it seems to be a law of the mind that usually
only one of the many features perceived attracts special
attention. The fact that this is so, has much to do with
causing the song or tree — notwithstanding the different
effects of its component parts — to appear to be one
thing and not many. That which attracts special atten-
tion in these cases — whatever it may be — is that which
seems to the observer to have principality^. Everything
else, of course, appears subordinate,^ while the degree in
which all the factors together — whether principal or sub-
ordinate— blend so as to suggest the completeness or
equilibrium of the whole gives the measure of the com-
plement or balance^. — The Genesis of Art-Form, III.

PROGRESS, AS REPRESENTED IN ART.

It is almost impossible to conceive of any painting or
statue, however small, in which the progress^ of the idea in
its advance to take possession of the whole body of the
subject or subjects, might not be represented. In a human
figure, the expression of the face may be in advance of that
of the arms or hands, the expressions of these in advance of
that of the lower limbs, while at the same time the adjust-
ments of the clothing may give scarcely any indications of
that which has begun to influence the body underneath it. —
Ideniy XVII.

PROGRESS, REPRESENTED IN ARCHITECTURE.

Nor is it less possible to represent the effects of progress^
in buildings. In many of the English cathedrals the whole
development of Gothic architecture from the Norman,
through the pointed, decorated, and perpendicular, can be

'See page 89 of "An Art-Philosopher's Cabinet."

268 AN ART-PHILOSOPHER'S CABINET

traced literally in the different forms used in different parts.
But progress in such a literal sense is not essential, nor is it
always consistent with unity ^. When, according to the
method of gradation^ described a moment ago, one form of
arch is used above the lower openings, and another sharper
development of the same over higher openings, and another
still sharper over the highest, we have a representation of
progress of a more desirable kind. So, too, we have the
same in the interior of a cathedral, when the arches above
seern to grow like limbs of trees out of the shafts below
them, and when the chancel beyond the nave, to which so
many lines of the walls and ceiling point, seems, with its
finer elaboration of the resources of outline and its grander
wealth of color in window and altar, to burst upon the
vision like a flower, for which all the rest has furnished only
a splendid preparation for unfoldment. — Idem, xvii.

PROPORTION (see also references to the subject under archi-
tecture, PERSPECTIVE, and rhythm).

The term proportion, when used in a non-technical sense,
signifies frequently little more than measurement. When
we say that a house has the proportions of a palace, or a
growing boy the proportions of a man, we mean merely
that the one is as large as the other, or has the same
general measurements. In addition to this, however,
there is often connected with the term, when carefully
used, a conception of a comparison of measurements.
When we say of a man that his feet are out of proportion, or
of a copy of a Greek temple, that its pediment is out of
proportion, we are probably recalling a normally developed
man or an ancient Greek temple. If so, we mean that, in
the specimen before us, the measurements of the parts
mentioned are not the same as in the specimen of which we
are thinking.

There may be two reasons why these measurements are
not the same: one reason, because they are absolutely
larger or smaller than in this specimen; the other reason,
because they are relatively so, a hand or a limb being said
to be in proportion because its measurements, whether
large or small, bear the same relation to the parts or to
the whole of a body that they do in the typical man which
is supposed to be the artist's model.

»See page 89 of "An Art-Philosopher's Cabinet."

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 269

But proportion has still another meaning. From this,
any conception of imitation, whether or not suggested by
any particular model, is absent; and a part is said to be in
proportion because of the relationship which its measure-
ments sustain to the measurements of other parts or to
the whole of a product. This seems to be the meaning
when we speak of the proportions of the human figure,
irrespective of any references to attempts to copy any par-
ticular model; and it certainly is the meaning when we
speak of the proportions of a building in a style such as
has never before had existence, ... in this sense, propor-
tion includes the ideas, both of ratios or relationships, as
in 1:2, and also of Hkeness or equality in ratios, as in 1:2::
3 : 6. — Proportion and Harmony of Line and Color, 11.

The view expressed in Gwilt's "Encyclopedia of Archi-
tecture, " and still quite prevalent, to the effect that pro-
portion is "but a synonym for fitness," is entirely ignored.
This is not because of any undervaluation of the aesthetic
importance of fitness, but because it is recognized that this
latter characterizes many other artistic arrangements of
form, as those of rhythm, tune, and color; and because it is
recognized also that no amount of mere fitness could cause,
or even suggest, that which is generally meant not only by
artists but by people in general when they speak of pro-
portion. When using this term in any strict or technical
sense they almost invariably refer to an effect of measure-
ments indicating a certain mathematical relationship
between the parts of a product as compared with one
another and with the whole. — Ideniy Preface.

Artistic proportion is based in this volume, as all acknow-
ledge rhythm to be, upon the principle of comparison. It
is held that, fundamentally, measurements go together
because they appear to be exactly alike, that is, as 1:1;
and that the mind accepts the ratios of certain small num-
bers that are not alike, like i : 2 or 2 : 3, because it is able to
recognize in the first that which corresponds to I : I + 1 , and
in the second that which corresponds to i-f-i:i + i + i. —
Idem, Preface.

If, however, the relationship be not that of 1:1, the next
easiest to recognize is that of i : 2. . . . Nor is it difficult to
recognize the relationship of i : 3, as between the second pair
of lines in this figure, or of 2 : 3, as between the third pair.

270 AN ART-PHILOSOPHER'S CABINET '

But it is evident that as the values of the numbers represent-
ing the ratios increase, these become less recognizable; as,
for instance, when they are as 4:5 or as 5:7, as between,
respectively, the fourth and fifth pairs of lines in this Fig.
16. When, at last, we get to a relationship that can be
expressed only by large numbers like 10:11, or 15:16, the
mind is no longer able to recognize even its existence. —
Idem, IV.

What has been said will show us a good reason, too,
why, as affirmed by W. W. Lloyd in his ''Memoir on the
Systems of Proportion," published with Cockerill's ** Tem-
ples of ^gina and Bassse," p. 64, "the Greek architects
attached great value to simple ratios of low natural num-
bers." Of course, the simpler the ratio, and lower the
number, the more easily could each be recognized. — Idem,
II.

Notice, again, that proportion, as it is thus attributed to
measurements that are compared, is merely a statement of
a fact; nor is it essential that the mind, before stating this
fact, should recognize what the ratio is, only that it has
existence. The same principle applies here as in rhythm.
To experience the effects of this, we do not need to be
able to tell what the metre is — whether long or short,
iambic or trochaic — only that there is a metre. But while
this is true, the metre must be capable of being analyzed;
and we must feel that it is so, although, perhaps, we our-
selves do not actually go through with the analytic process.
Idem, II.

The mind takes satisfaction not in the ratio per se, but
in that which the ratio enables it to recognize, which is that,
in fulfilment of the fundamental art-method, measurements
have been put together which are alike as to their parts. . . .
This is not the explanation usually given for effects of
proportion. But it is the explanation most consistent
with that usually given for effects of rhythm; it is the
explanation most consistent with all the methods of art as
unfolded in " The Genesis of Art-Form" (see also chart
on page 89 of the present volume) ; and, finally, it is the
explanation which can render most easy and simple the
practical application of the principle to all possible visible
efiEects. — Idem, viii.

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 271

As rhythm starts by putting together similar small parts
such as feet and lines, and produces the general effect of the
whole as a result of the combined effects of these parts, so
does artistic proportion. For instance, the height of the
front of the Parthenon is to its breadth as 9: 14. But we
need not consider the architect as aiming primarily at this
proportion ; or that it is any more than a secondary, though,
of course, a necessary result of the relations, the one to the
other, of the different separate measurements put together
in order to form the whole. — Idem, Preface.

PROPORTION AND RHYTHM NATURAL TO MAN.

There is no primitive kind of ornamentation, no matter
how barbarous the race originating it, of which one char-
acteristic, perhaps the most marked, is not an exact division
or subdivision of spaces, the mind, apparently, deriving the
same sort of satisfaction from rude lines of paint and
scratchings upon stone, made at proportional distances from
one another, that it does from the rhythmical sounds
drummed with feet, hands, or sticks to accompany the song
and dance of the savage. — Idem, 11.

An appreciation of rhythm is usually supposed to furnish
the earliest evidence of aesthetic capability on the part of
either a child or a savage. In fact, almost the only form of
musical harmony over large sections of the earth to-day
continues still to be merely a rude development of rhythm.
But what is rhythm ? A result of making, by series of noises
or strokes, certain like divisions of time — small divisions,
and exact multiples of them in large divisions. But the
moment that the smaller become so numerous that the fact
that they exactly go into the larger divisions is no longer
perceptible — as often, when we hear more even than eight
notes in a musical measure, or more even than three syllables
in a poetic foot, — the effect ceases to be rhythmical. A
like fact is true of proportion. Owing to the very great
possibilities and complications of outlinings, as in squares,
angles, and curves, its laws are intricate and difficult to
apply; but, as will be shown in the volume of this series
entitled ** Proportion and Harmony in Painting, Sculptiu'e,
and Architecture," the harmonic effects of proportion all
result, in the last analysis, from exact divisions and sub-
divisions of space in every way analogous to the methods

272 AN ART-PHILOSOPHER'S CABINET

underlying the effects of rhythm in time. — Art in Theory ^

XII.

PROPORTION AND RHYTHM RECOGNIZED BY CONSCIOUS
MEASUREMENT.

The effect of proportion is attributed in this volume to
the mind's conscious as distinguished from unconscious
measurements. This distinction is the logical result
of a conception of an essential correspondence between
proportion and rhythm. In the latter the mind is always
consciously able to count, if it choose, the notes, syllables,
feet, bars, lines, phrases — in other words the measures or
measurements — which cause the effect. This is the same as
to say that proportion in the arts of sight is not, as has been
almost universally supposed (see Chapter III.), the analogue
of harmony in the arts of sound. Harmony is produced in
these arts whenever the number of vibrations per second
determining the pitch of one tone sustains a certain ratio to
the number of vibrations per second determining the pitch
of another tone. But only the investigations of science
have been able to discover that this is the reason for the
effect. The mind cannot count the vibrations. It is not
conscious of them; but only of an agreeable thrill or glow
experienced when different rates of vibration sustain to one
another the required harmonic ratio. Now if we go upon
the supposition that the measurements determining the
effects of proportion are ascertained just as are those deter-
mining the effects of harmony, it is evident that we must
suppose ourselves dealing with factors of which the mind is
unconscious; and must remain ignorant until science has
come into possession of certain data not yet discovered. Is
it any wonder that those accepting this supposition who
have tried to explain the effects, have either held that
they cannot be explained at all, or have made attempts
at explanation which may be said in a general way to
have failed to prove convincing? Is it any wonder that,
even when acknowledging that the Greeks once had a
knowledge of the subject, very many in our own times,
after seeking for this knowledge in wrong directions, have
conceived of the subject as hidden in almost impenetrable
mystery, — as involving principles which it is well-nigh
useless for present artists to attempt either to understand
or to apply? — Proportion and Harmony of Line and Color,
Preface.

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 273

proportion dependent on apparent measurements

{see general and distant vs. specific and near

effects).

This effect of proportion thus interpreted is further

limited in this book by being ascribed to measurements

that are apparent as distinguished from actual. It is

shown that we judge of the proportions of the parts of a

body or of a building when viewing each from a distance, not

when examining it near at hand. — Idem, Preface.

An apparent measurement necessitates, at times, not
only a different result from an actual measurement, but also
a different conception of what should be measured. As an
instance of a different result, consider how the leg between
the heel and the place where it separates from the body is
apparently divided at the knee into two equal parts. This
is not a result of having the half below the knee of the same
length as the half above it. Being slimmer, the lower half
would appear longer, were it not in reality slightly shorter.
Again, as an instance of a different conception, consider
the measurement of the ankle. Ordinarily, we should
suppose this to be a dimension determined by its circum-
ference. But, when considering effects of appearances, it
is not the circumference that concerns us, but the appar-
ent distance from one side of the ankle to its other side,
as it is seen from a single point of view. — Idem, viii.

When a man with a yardstick is measuring, close at hand,
the parts of the Parthenon, then, according to the gener-
ally accepted representation, he is studying proportion.
But he is really doing nothing of the sort. He is studying
proportion, when he is standing at a distance from the
building and noticing the parts of it, which, from that dis-
tance, appear to fulfil the requirements of those comparative
measurements which proportion necessitates. When he is
close against the building with his yardstick, he is more
apt to be learning the differences between measurements
as they are, and as, from a distance, they appear to be, the
consideration of which differences and the methods of
obviating them furnish the subject-matter not of proportion
but of perspective. In the case of the Greeks, too, as we
shall find, the principles of the latter were applied in order
to produce distant appearances of proportion not only, but
also of height, breadth, straightness, parallelism, and other

x8

274 ^^ ART-PHILOSOPHER'S CABINET

effects, which, in addition to those of proportion, were
deemed desirable. As said in the preceding chapter, a chief
reason why the requirements of proportion are supposed
to be involved in impenetrable mystery, and why, therefore,
the neglect of them in our own day is supposed to be excus-
able, is traceable to this confounding of these two entirely
different subjects of inquiry. — Idem, iv.

As the principles of proportion have reference to appear-
ances and to these alone, they cannot be fulfilled in a satis-
factory way without regard to circumstances. A number
of straight lines enclosed within a space, for instance, in-
crease the apparent length of that space in the direction in
which they point or incline. Any other spaces containing
no such lines, yet intended to appear of equal length with
it, ought really, therefore, to be a little longer. Again, if
when we are looking at a building a projecting cornice hide
part of a wall, window, pediment, or roof that is above the
cornice, so that this upper part appears too short or too low
to be in good proportion, then, as we shall find was the case
in the Parthenon, it must be made longer or higher, no
matter what its real measurement may be. The end to be
attained is not factors with like or related measurements,
but factors that appear to have these. — Idem, ix.

Whether applied to exteriors or interiors, the important
consideration is that there should be some apparent relation-
ship between the length, height, and breadth. If we
perceive that there is such a relationship, our minds are
satisfied. If we fail to perceive it, they are confused; the
effects are distracting and disquieting. As wAl presently
be shown, the use, on exteriors, of window-caps, string-
courses, cornices, pilasters, pillars, and also of some of these,
as well as of color and of upholstery in interiors, may some-
times counteract a confusing tendency. But sometimes,
too, it cannot; and when needing to suggest relationships
that do not really exist, it can never do so except by ap-
parently shortening or lengthening actual dimensions. —
Idem, IX.

It is well-nigh impossible to distinguish such effects as
are attributable to the measurements, from such as are
attributable to the outlines that are measured. For
instance when one says that the angles described by the
coverings over the gable-windows, turrets, and different

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 275

parts of the roof in Fig. 2^, page 51, are not in proportion,
he necessarily refers to appearances produced both by
measurements and by shapes. In the mind of the observer,
therefore, the two different classes of efEects are often
confounded.— /i^m, ix.

PROPORTION DEPENDENT ON APPEARANCES.

A very convincing proof of this may be obtained from the
facade of St. Sulpice, Paris. Has any one ever looked at
this church without finding himself involuntarily asking
why it is that its proportions seem so unsatisfactory? And
yet it is not because the measurements, as applied to the
building as a whole, violate any of the principles of propor-
tion. The extreme width of each tower is to the width of
the space between the towers exactly as 1:2. Could any
scheme of ratios be more simple? Why, then, does it not
appear so ? Why, but because of the five divisions made by
the pillars in the space between the towers? How can the
mind recognize that each tower's width is to the space as
1:2, or, what is the same thing, as 2:4, when it sees five
instead of four divisions in this space? It cannot do so,
or, at least, not without at first being confused. Were there
a pediment above the cornice over the nave, the apex of
this would divide the space there into two equal parts; or
were the central door of the nave made more prominent
than the two doors each side of it, then the present unfortu-
nate effect would be prevented. But if such changes cannot
be made, the mind would be better satisfied, in that it
would judge the proportions to be more correct, even on a
supposition that they were 2 : 4, in case there were between
the towers only four divisions of the width of the present
ones, making the proportions, in fact, less correct. — Idem, ix.

PROPORTION, GREEK, MISUNDERSTOOD.

There were many of the dimensions which the modem
Hellenist would follow slavishly, which the Greeks used on
account not of what they were, but of what they appeared to
be. Nor, even admitting that the proportions were used
on account of what they were, is it certain that the parts of
the buildings which modern students suppose these pro-
portions to determine are the parts which the Greeks
intended them to determine. When, for example, the
height of a temple, pediment included, is to its breadth
as 7: 12, or 9: 14, is this ratio the cause of these dimensions,

276 AN ART-PHILOSOPHER'S CABINET

or only an incidental and, therefore, almost accidental
result of arrangements for which the cause is to be sought
elsewhere, — for instance, in a desire to make the entabla-
ture and pediment appear of the same height, and both
together to appear to sustain a certain ratio to the columnar
space below them? — Idem, xi.

PROPORTION IN ARCHITECTURE.

Architecture, like music, deals with forms that to only
a limited extent can be said to result from an imitation of
nature. In some regards, this fact gives the builder greater
freedom for invention than is possible in painting and
sculpture. He is not expected to accept forms as he finds
them. Like the musician, who is at liberty to shorten and
lengthen sounds so as to make them rhythmical, he is at
liberty to shorten and lengthen shapes so as to make them
proportional. But this fact places him, in some regards,
under peculiar restraints. If the effects of the proportion
produced by him must depend upon his own invention, it is
particularly necessary for him to understand what the right
proportions should be. A painter not knowing this may
succeed because he may be able to copy accurately the
proportions of objects that form his models. But the archi-
tect, barring the instances, necessarily limited, in which
he may exactly imitate the buildings of others, must design
his own forms. In such circumstances, so far as beauty
depends on proportion, if ignorant of its requirements,
he will fail as certainly as a musician attempting to compose
a march, without knowing how to produce rhythm. — Idem,

IX.

PROPORTION IN ARCHITECTURE, THE RESULT OF EXPERI-
MENTING.

The Parthenon was not sketched in its completed form
upon paper, and then let out to some contractor to be
erected in so many months. It took, as some say, ten years,
and, as others say, sixteen years to complete it ; and most of
the marble in it — each column, for instance, with its capital
— is said to have been shaped after being lifted to its
place. We know that some of the Gothic cathedrals were
almost entirely pulled down and rebuilt, because their
appearance was not satisfactory. Why should it not have
been the same with the Greek temples? In the age in
which they were constructed other artists believed — why

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 277

should not the architect? — that a man should study upon
a product, if he intended to have it remain a model for
all the future. It is natural to suppose that the structural
arrangements intended to counteract optical defects, or to
produce optical illusions, were largely the results of the
individual experiments of individual builders. If they
were not so, why were they invariably different in different
buildings? But if they were so, and if, therefore, it be
justifiable to compare the methods of arranging the out-
lines of these buildings to the methods of arranging outlines
according to the laws of perspective in painting, then why is
not the general principle which these ancient architects
endeavored to fulfil of more practical importance than any
particular manner in which, in any particular case, they
fulfilled it? More than this, why might not the architects
of our own time, by applying, each for himself, as a result
of his individual experiments, the same general principle,
produce approximately successful results? But these they
certainly cannot produce (for reasons stated on page 26)
until they get out of their heads the conception that the
measurements in the ancient buildings are merely represen-
tative— in some mysterious way not possible to fathom —
of ratios related to one another as are those of pitch in
music. As applied to this case, at least, we have an illustra-
tion of how utterly destructive of true practice in art is a
false theory. — Idem, xiv.

PROPORTION IN ARTISTIC PAINTING OF NATURAL SCENERY.

Natural speech is not always rhythmical, at least not in
that higher sense in which it is also metrical. Yet a drama-
tic poet, in his artistic representation of speech, may make it
so. In the same way, why may not a painter or sculptor,
whether or not a form or collection of forms manifest pro-
portion in nature, make it do so in his artistic treatment?
The main requisite of proportion, as we have found, is to
have some apparently like standard of measurement into
which certain parts or sets of parts in an object of sight are
divided; and there are innumerable methods, not involving
any lack of exactness in imitation, through which this
result may be attained. Take a mountain scene. A
selection of one point of view only a hundred feet away
from another may entirely change the suggestion of like
divisions afforded by the lines of distant and nearer ridges,

278 AN ART-PHILOSOPHER'S CABINET

of snow or flora of different characters, or of the borders
of lakes or rivers. — Idem, vi.

The painting accurately represents nature, and nature
deprived of none of its variety. But if the artistic repre-
sentation did not fulfil the requirements of proportion, it
might be no more entitled to be considered a work of art
than would be a poem, if devoid of rhythm. — Idem.

PROPORTION IN HUMAN FORMS, AND CLOTHING.

To speak of the originator of styles of clothing, it is
sometimes supposed that these latter need fulfil no aesthetic
principles, — that men will think beautiful any style to
which they have become accustomed. But they will not
think it beautiful — whatever word they may use in order to
express their thought of it; at best, they will merely think
it fitting, because it is conventional; and for the same
reason, too, they may think any other style inappropriate.
But in some way, which possibly they cannot explain,
perhaps not even recognize, life for them will be deprived
of certain legitimate aesthetic influences, the presence of
which might enrich their experience. This statement
applies not only to the use of form and color, but also of
proportion. How easy it would be to cause the cut of
the garments to reveal the four, five, six, or eight parts
of equal lengths into which the height of the well propor-
tioned body is divisible! A line below the knee, whether
of skirt or breeches; a line at the middle, whether of girdle
or waistcoat; a line in the centre of the breast, whether
of bodice or vest, together with other lines, always divide
the figure satisfactorily. — Proportion and Harmony of Line
and Color, vi.

PROPORTION IN HUMAN FORMS, AS DETERMINED BY REAL OR
IMAGINED LINES.

When we come to consider the human body it might be
supposed that the influence of such lines as are drawn
through it or through parts of it, might not be felt because
they are not actually present. Nevertheless, because
they are ideally present, they have some influence. If,
for instance, a person be facing us, it is almost impossible
not to suppose an imaginary vertical straight line drawn
from the middle of his forehead to the middle of his chin,
and if we find this line passing through the middle of his
nose, we obtain an impression of regularity which, so far as

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 279

concerns it alone, is an aid to the agreeableness and conse-
quent beauty of the effect; but in the degree in which the
middle of the nose is out of this vertical line, not only-
irregularity but ugliness is suggested. A similar tendency of
thought causes us to suppose other imaginary vertical
straight lines, drawn, at equal distances from this central
line; and from them we may gain an impression of relative
regularity by noticing to what extent the lines pass through
corresponding sides of the face. Besides this, we are
prompted to suppose horizontal lines drawn, across the
forehead, eyes, and mouth; and from these lines, too, we
form judgments with reference to the degrees of regularity.
If the hair be farther down on one side of the forehead than
on the other, or if the arch of the eyebrows be not sym-
metrically rounded, or if the sides of the mouth incline down-
ward or upward, or a lip be larger on one side than on the
other, we notice the fact. Of course we do this, only so
far as we compare the result with that of an imaginary
straight line drawn through the feature. The same is
true, too, with reference to lines dividing other parts of the
body. If one part of an eye or ear or if a neck, or hand, or
trunk, or leg, be, relatively to other features of the frame,
too long, or too short, we perceive the defect almost immedi-
ately; but we can only do it as a result of ideally drawing
such lines and measuring and comparing the distances
between them. In the same way, the similarity in curva-
ture suggested by the outer lines of calves, thighs, and
shoulders, prompts us to imagine similar curves drawn;
and in case there be any deviation in outline from confor-
mity to a segment of one of these curves, the eye will ob-
serve the fact; and the parts of the contours about which
they are described will not seem to be constructed on the
same lines, as we say, and, therefore, will not seem to be in
proportion. So much as to the general principles in ac-
cordance with which such lines are made the basis of
aesthetic judgments, either because they are actually
delineated or are merely imagined. — Idem, vii.

For instance, take the outlining conditions of pictures
produced upon stained glass, especially in windows. Such
windows are always constructed on a network of bars which
cannot be hidden; and these necessitate dividing whatever
is represented on the glass into certain parts. Why has it

280 AN ART-PHILOSOPHER '5 CABINET

never occurred to artists to have these bars divide human
forms, when crossing them, into parts of Hke longitudinal
dimensions? Straight lines, cannot give us, perhaps, the
most important indication of the measurements determin-
ing the proportions of the human form. But such lines
can give us some indication, and, so far as they do this, the
artist, alive to his opportunities, will utilize them, it being
an elementary principle in art that its necessary limitations
should be made to add to its effectiveness. — Idem, vi.

PROPORTION IN HUMAN FORMS INDICATED BY LIKE CURVES.

Figures of various outlines can be made to seem to be in
proportion, when they are, or can be, framed not only in
like rectangles, but in any like figures whatever. The
rectangle is used as an actual or ideal standard of compari-
son merely as a matter of convenience. It is comparatively
easy to recognize whether or not straight lines, such as
rectangles have, are of the same lengths, or are the same
distances apart, or have, in other regards, other measure-
ments that are in proportion. It would be a mistake,
however, to suppose that the standard of measurement is,
or, in all cases, can be rectangular. Take the human
form. It is ordinarily divided into equal parts by hori-
zontal lines, and these lines are undoubtedly an aid in
determining the proportions. But, as will be shown on
page 68, effective aid may be afforded by circles also. . . .
There is a reason for the use of these circles as a standard
of measurement derived from the physiological require-
ments of the eye, especially in binocular vision. This
reason will be found unfolded in Chapter XVI. Here it
is sufficient to say . . . that when all the circumferences of
the circles described about the same figure are the same, the
eyes are supposed to be focussed for distinct vision at exactly
the same distance. At a certain distance from the form, for
instance, all the circles are of one size, but nearer than this
all of them are of another size. . . .

A very interesting illustration of the aid afforded by. . .
the perception of the fact that like is put with like, may
be observed in . . . the curve which Ruskin, in his ** Mod-
ern Painters," declares to be the most common in nature.
The curve is one so described as to show a constant
tendency to become straight, although never becoming
straight. . . .

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 281

. . . Any one who will go over any representations of the
human figure with compasses will be surprised to find how
large a part of a segment of exactly the same curve fits
either the bend of the calf, forearm, thigh, abdomen, chest,
or back. If then his experience — say at a bathing-place —
causes him to recall the aesthetic influences of such forma-
tions as a long arm or leg combined with great leanness, or
a small chest combined with an abnormally large abdomen,
he will find upon reflection that the effects of disproportion,
while attributable partly to association, are also attributable
partly to a recognition of an absence of like curves. Or, to
illustrate this fact from a contrary condition, everybody ad-
mires a small ankle and a good-sized calf. Yet the moment
the calf becomes so large proportionately as to interfere
with the suggestions of a like curve in this, and in the out-
lines of the hip, almost everybody is conscious of receiving
a suggestion of disproportion. — Idem, v.

PROPORTION VS, PERSPECTIVE {seC also GENERAL AND DISTANT
VS. SPECIFIC AND NEAR EFFECTS, and PERSPECTIVE).

As indicated in either opinion or production, the artistic
intelligence of our own time has, as yet, scarcely an appre-
hension, and no comprehension whatever, of that which
is acknowledged to have formed the chief visual excellence
of Greek art. The author is convinced that this fact is
owing almost wholly to a misunderstanding of the aims of
proportion, together with a confounding of it with perspec-
tive.— Idem, Preface.

It will be recognized that the supposition that all these
buildings were constructed with primary reference to pro-
ducing a certain apparent effect when viev/ed from some
point or points at a distance, is the only one that can furnish
the same reason, and a sufficient one, for all the different
methods of producing these effects, — methods as different,
for instance, as that in the forward curve of the entabla-
ture and as in the upward curve of the entablature or of the
stylobate. Moreover, such a supposition is the only one
that can give the same reason, and a sufficient one, for the
application of the same method in order to produce the
same effects, yet with almost infinite differences in measure-
ments, in different temples. Here are some of these meas-
urements . . . they probably have nothing to do with
proportion, per se, but merely with producing the appear-

282 AN ART-PHILOSOPHER* S CABINET

ances to which, after being made to appear as they do, the
principles of proportion apply. The best clue to the
interpretation of these irregularities seems to be afforded
by the methods of introducing perspective into painting.
It is not considered necessary in this latter art to apply
the laws of perspective with mathematical exactness.
Each draftsman, in arranging his outlines, feels at liberty to
stand off from his drawing, and, as a result of repeated
examinations and experiments, to use his own ingenuity.
Indeed, even if these laws were applied with mathematical
exactness, the required measurements would differ with
every foot by which a man stood nearer to his product, or
farther from it. Precisely so in architecture ... as
Vitruvius says, very unequivocally, in book iii., chapter iii.,
*'To preserve a sensible proportion of parts, if in high
situations or of colossal dimensions, we must modify them
accordingly, so that they may appear of the size intended."
— Idem, XIV.

Every painter knows that colors and shadows as examined
close at hand in the external world often differ greatly from
what they appear to be to one who judges of them by the
image on the retina. To him an actually checkered surface
may appear to be of a single color, and a color, owing to the
influence of surrounding hues, may appear unlike that which
it actually is. The same fact is true with reference to out-
lines. The eye is rounded and therefore the mind behind it
sees everything through a rounded surface. If one look into
a convex mirror he will find all of the dimensions of the
natural world slightly altered. As a rule, for instance,
the straight upward lines of a square object with its base
on the middle line of the mirror will appear not to be
parallel but to approach one another. The effects in the
mirror merely exaggerate the effects already exerted upon
nature by the rounded formation of the eye. As applied
to natural surroundings, we become accustomed to these
effects and never judge lines to be curved or lacking in
parallelism merely because they are so in the image on
the retina. On the contrary, unless they were so in this
image, we should judge the lines to be neither straight nor
parallel. Accordingly, when men try, as in drawing a
picture, to reproduce the appearance of such an image, it
becomes important for them to carry out what are termed

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 283

the laws of linear perspective. These are laws, as will be
explained in Chapter XIV., in accordance with which all
the outlines of an artificial image, whether drawn, painted,
carved, or constructed, or however changed in size, are
made among other things to sustain somewhat the same
relations as in an image naturally produced on the retina.
Notice, moreover, that to fulfil these laws of perspective
so as to make this artificial image correspond to the image
in the eye is one thing; and that to make the respective
dimensions of this image appear to fulfil, each to each,
the laws of proportion is another thing. Yet it is quite
easy and natural to confound the two. We need not be
surprised, therefore, to find them almost invariably con-
founded in theories of proportion, especially in those
which have had most influence in causing men to think
that the subject is too complex and mysterious for solu-
tion. Those who have advanced these theories have
failed to recognize that the analogue of proportion is not
harmony but rhythm. Moreover, as rhythm is an effect
of the conscious action of the mind, its general principles
are comparatively easy to ascertain; and, by carrying out
the analogies suggested by them, the explanation of the
effects of proportion may be rendered comparatively
easy. But the processes through which the ear becomes
cognizant of the harmonic relations between musical notes
and chords are difficult to ascertain, for the very reason
that the mind is not conscious of these processes. No
wonder, therefore, that a theory identifying with them
those of proportion by which the mind, through the eye,
becomes cognizant of the relations existing between spaces,
should involve difficulties. — Idem, iii.

QUALITY {see REPRESENTATIVE EFFECTS OF COLORS, and
REPRESENTATIVE EFFECTS OF TONES).

RANK OF A WORK OF ART.

The rank of a work of art is determined not only by its
aim, but by the degree in which it attains this aim, whatever
it may be ; and the higher the aim, the more difficult often
is it to reach. But just as a drama, if successful, is greater
than a ballad, so a painting in which the representation of
thought and emotion is directly necessitated, is greater
than one in which this is not the case. — Painting, Sculpture,
and Architecture as Representative Arts, xiv.

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READING, TO ACQUIRE LITERARY STYLE.

Most of us know that a good literary style is cultivated
by acquaintance with good literature even more than by
studying rhetoric, in however excellent a manual; and we
know, too, that no small part of the beneficial influence of
this literature, whether oratory or poetry, is derived from
testing how it sounds, which involves getting the benefit
of its distinctively elocutionary effects. — Essay on The
Principles of Writing and Speaking the Same.

REALISTIC ART {see EPIC, etc.).
REFLECTIVE AND INSTINCTIVE MENTAL ACTION IN ART- WORK.

By instinctive mental processes are meant those which
are conducted according to unconscious methods, and are
analogous, for this reason, to the results of the promptings
of instinct in the lower animals. It is in this instinctive way
that the child utters ejaculations, to which, as shown on
page 4, certain of our words owe their origin, and it is in the
same way that melodies and verses are sometimes composed,
singing themselves into existence, the musician or poet
hardly knowing how or whence they come. In the same way,
too, children and the uncultivated gesture, and even draw
and carve and build, the action of mind in the elementary
processes of these arts not being essentially different from
that in which the bees or birds or beasts construct their
honeycombs or nests or dens. But poetry and music deal
also with words, notes, and phrases, originated with a clear
reflective consciousness of surrounding phenomena with
which, by way of imitation or description, the sounds used
in the arts are made to compare. It is the same in the arts
of sight. What is there constructed by an animal showing
thought and discrimination, — and, in this sense, reflection
with reference to surrounding appearances — of the same
quality as that which characterizes the forms used in
painting, sculpture, and architecture? It is owing, more
than to anything else, to this reflective action of the mind,
working according to the calculating methods of reason
that, even though general conceptions of paintings, statues,
or buildings may result from sudden and instinctive inspi-
rations, all of them, if works of art, are, as a rule, produced
slowly, and with a clear conception of the reason for the
introduction of each detail. — Painting, Sculpture, and
Architecture as Representative Arts, i.

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 285

REFLECTIVE AS WELL AS INSTINCTIVE MENTAL ACTION IN
ART WORK.

Of course, all nature has some effect upon the mind,
whether or not one is distinctly conscious of the fact. It is
conceivable, therefore, that a picture composed with no
higher purpose than that of exact imitation might prove —
just as would the natural scene which it imitates — exceed-
ingly significant. Many a man who desires to do no more
than tell a good story in a tale or a ballad does this so
graphically that it is as full of imaginative suggestiveness
as if he had intended to make it so. The same result follows
in landscape painting. The art of a product must be judged
by the effect which it produces, not by the method of
producing this. If a painter happen to select a suggestive
scene, his imitation of it may be equally suggestive. But
it is simply a fact, and one that needs always to be borne
in mind, that notwithstanding some exceptional successes of
this kind, no story-teller or painter can, as a rule, produce a
series of successful products except as a result of an intelligent
adaptation of artistic means to artistic ends. — Idem, xiv.

REGULARITY IN ART {see also IRREGULARITY).

The two sides of even a very symmetrical tree do not
exactly correspond, and a tree depicted in art is most apt to
have the appearance of life, if the same be true of it. The
two sides of a man's body are more nearly alike than those
of a tree; but in the degree in which he possesses life and
consequent grace, they will, while suggesting likeness, be
made unlike by the positions which he assumes. — The
Genesis of Art- Fornix xi

A picture in which paths or trees or bridges are arranged
in uninterrupted rows as geometrically regular as the
threads of a spider's web, seems to be in the highest degree
unnatural. Even though a literal copy of some park in
actual existence, we feel like blaming the artist for not
choosing to copy a scene giving more evidences of nature
as God left it. In this, we should usually find places where
lawns, bushes, forests, rivers, hills, or other paths, trees, or
hedges crossed or stopped the straight lines, or made them
bend away in other directions. — Idem, xiv.

REGULARITY IN ART, WHAT IT MEANS (see olsO BEAUTY
HUMAN, and PROPORTION IN HUMAN FORMS).

In the arts of sight, regularity is a result, primarily, of

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like effects produced by measurements, just as in poetry
and music it is a result of like effects produced by meas-
ures. As outlines surround both spaces and shapes, these
like effects may be produced by resemblances either in the
one or in the other. For instance, if, in a door, a square panel
alternate with a circular one, and the opposite sides of the
square be the same distance apart as those of the circle, i.e.,
if the diameters of both figures have the same measurements,
then men consider this arrangement an illustration of regu-
larity, though the likeness is in the spaces occupied not in
the shapes occupying them; or if in a human face there be
the same distance or measurement between the hair of the
forehead and the eyes, and between the eyes and the nostrils,
and between the nostrils and the chin, men say that the
features, so far as this fact can make them so, are regular,
though there is likeness only in spaces not in shapes. But
the term is applied sometimes to shapes alone. When
each part of a curve or angle, as in an arch over a window,
bears the same relations to the whole, that each part of
another curve or angle bears to another whole, which
nevertheless occupies less space ; or when one part of a curve
or an angle is like another part of the same curve or angle,
as is sometimes the case with the curve over the eyebrows ;
or is related in the same way to some third feature, as the
eyebrows are to the nose, — ^in these cases, too, because the
mere shapes are alike, there is said to be regularity. —
Paintingy Sculpture, and Architecture as Representative Arts,

VI.

REGULARITY IN NATURE AND ART

The impression that we most instinctively form of
nature, so far as man has not touched it, is that of irregu-
larity. As a rule, this and nothing else is what mountains,
valleys, rocks, lakes, whether we consider their outlines
or arrangements, seem to us to illustrate. For this reason,
in a thoroughly successful painting of nature, the contours
of hills, dales, rivers, foliage, and the forms of animals and
men are never arranged along the lines of a framework with
a too inflexible regard for such characteristics as radiation,
parallelism, or balance'; or, if they be, these methods are
concealed so as not to be recognizable without study.
Otherwise, the result would seem not even artistically

^ See page 89 of this volume.

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 287

natural but unnatural and artificial, regularity of outline
being almost invariably an indication of the effects upon
natural appearances of the reflective characteristics of man.
This can be exemplified equally from landscape gardening
and landscape painting. An artist, especially one of an
early historic period, is almost as likely to arrange bushes
and trees in symmetrical groups, if not rows, in the latter
art as in the former, provided he can find or imagine a view-
point from which this can be done; and, when depicting
living beings capable of being moved about, he is sure to
arrange them thus. Even in most imitative paintings, he
sometimes changes the outlines of hills and valleys, or, if
he cannot do this, he introduces regularity through the use
of color. When it comes to architecture, where he is left
free to design the whole appearance, regularity is usually
the main characteristic. — Idem, vi.

RELIGION AIDED BY ART {see ARTISTS VS. SEERS).

It would be a mistake to suppose, however, that art,
because different from religion, is antagonistic to it. The
truth is just the contrary. It can be said, almost without
qualification, that in all times of extreme traditionalism
and unenlightenment art has proved the only agency that,
without offending ignorance and superstition, has been
able to counterbalance their influence. It has done this
by using the forms of nature, and contenting itself with the
truth as represented in them. Guised in familar aspects,
appealing to the mind by way of suggestion which leaves
the imagination free to surmise or to deduce whatever
inference may appeal to it, the thoughts expressed in art do
not, as a rule, repel even the most prejudiced, or excite their
opposition. A man in Italy, in the thirteenth century,
would have been sent to the stake if he had made a plain
statement to the effect that a pope could be kept in hell, or a
pagan admitted to paradise. Yet when Dante pictured
both conditions in his great poem, how few questioned his
orthodoxy! So with the themes of painting and of sculp-
ture. What a rebuke to the bigotry and the cruelty of the
Middle Ages were the countless products of the arts of those
periods, pleading constantly to the eye against the savage
customs of the times for the sweet but little-practised virtues
of justice and charity ! Within our own century, too, not-
withstanding the traditions of society, the State and the

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Church, which have often exerted all their powers to~up-
hold and perpetuate slavery, aristocracy, and sectarianism,
recall how the modern novel chiefly, but assisted largely
by the modern picture, has not only changed the whole
trend of the world's thought with reference to these sys-
tems, but has contributed, more, perhaps, than any other
single cause, to the practical reorganization of them, in
accordance with the dictates of enlightened intelligence.
Notice, too, that this influence of art extends to the whole
region covered by religion, whether pertaining to this
world or to the next. In ages like our own, when men
rely chiefly upon the guidance of the conscious mind, it is
extremely difficult for them to be brought to realize that
there is any trustworthy guidance attributable to the action
of the subconscious mind. Art does not discuss this
guidance, but presupposes it. Through the results of the
subconscious mind coalescing with those of the conscious
mind it everywhere surrounds the material with the halo
of the spiritual, causing those who will not even acknowl-
edge the existence of the latter, to enter upon a practical
experience of it in ideas, and to accept, when appearing
in the guise of imagination, what they would reject if
presented in its own lineaments. So the artist, though not
a seer, always has within him the possibility of being the
seer's assistant. — Essentials of jEstheticSj iii.

Probably no art-product has ever continued to influence
ages succeeding its own, except in the degree in which it
has shown itself to be the work of a man deeply interested,
as a matter of sentiment at least, in religious, moral, social, or
intellectual problems, and in their effects upon humanity.
The oldest music that we have is all of it religious. So,
when it is not merely ethical, is the oldest poetry. This is
true not only of that which is in the Bible, and the Vedas of
India, but in the Iliad, the ^Eneid, and in all the greatest
tragedies of the Greeks. So is much of the best of modern
poetry also, — that of Dante, Racine, Spenser, Milton,
Wordsworth, Schiller, and Shakespeare. Very nearly as
large a proportion of quotations having to do with the right
conduct of life can be taken from this last poet as from
the Bible itself. Nor are they brought into his plays in-
cidentally, though they are brought in artistically, i. e.,
in such ways as to aid in the representation of the characters

Doorway of a Church in Jak, Hungary
See pages 24, 25, 82-85, I47> 148, 162, 268, 385

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 289

depicted. Yet even to aid in this, they are often so un-
necessary as to prove that their author is intentionally
availing himself of an opportunity to introduce thought of a
distinctly religious or moral tendency. — The Representative
Significance of Fornix xv.

When an artist depicts nature just as it is, if there be any
such thing as natural religion, he produces upon the mind
something of the effect of natural religion. If he depict
humanity, he produces — if there be any such thing — some-
thing of the sympathetic effect of social religion. And in
both cases he adds to the effect the influence which each has
had upon his own character, and produces, if he have any,
something of the effect of personal religion. Art combines
the influences of God in nature, God in humanity, and
God in the individual. It makes an appeal that is natural,
sympathetic, and personal; but it does all this in a way
that seems divine, because the factors of representation
are reproductions of the divine handiwork. — Essay on Art
and Education.

In the old, and by no means beautiful chapel at Prince-
ton, the faculty were never able to repress entirely certain
irreverent forms of disturbance, — like keeping step with a
Freshman when he walked to his seat. When the time
came to move into the new Marquand Chapel, some one
suggested, in a meeting of the faculty, that the students be
particularly requested and warned not to continue these
practices. After discussion, however, it was decided to
postpone action until something had been done to necessi-
tate it. Nothing ever did necessitate it. Every tendency
to disorder was, apparently, completely suppressed by a
mere change to a more aesthetic environment. — Essay on
Art and Morals: Note.

Under the pediment of the temple, the arches of the
cathedral, the dome of the mosque, always, too, in the
degree in which these are great works of art, the predomi-
nating impression is that of the universal fatherhood of
God, which all alike represent. — Essay on Art and Education.

The student of art cannot keep from learning through
personal experience how months and years of exercise in
voice and gesture, in playing music, in drawing, in painting,
in carving, give one a mastery over the physical possibilities
of the body not only, but of the mind. He is forced to

Z9

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realize as others cannot that there comes to be a time when
every sHghtest movement through which music, for
instance, passes with the rapidity of electricity from a
printed score through the mind and fingers of a performer,
is overseen and directed by mental action which, while
intelligent, works unconsciously, all the conscious powers
of the mind being absorbed in that which is producing the
general expressional effect. The student of art has thus
before him constant experimental evidence of the way in
which the higher mental nature can gain ascendency over
both the lower physical and the lower psychical nature.
He knows practically as well as theoretically in what sense it
can be true spiritually that the man who is to enter into the
kingdom of heaven, who is to become with all his powers
subject to the spirit that is sovereign there, and who is,
without conscious effort, to embody in conduct its slightest
promptings, is the man who consciously starts out with
scrupulous and often painful efforts to do the will of the
Father who is in heaven. — Idem.

RELIGION AN AID TO ART.

But a man would mistake if for these reasons he were
to suppose that art can be an entire substitute for religion.
It can no more be this in that which has to do with inspira-
tion than it can be a substitute for science in that which
has to do with investigation. In an age in which there is
little scientific accuracy, there is little artistic accuracy ; and
in an age in which there is little religious inspiration there
is little artistic. The subconscious mind works in accord-
ance with suggestion. The stimulus of religious suggestion
is needed by art in order to attain the loftiest heights of
imaginative effort. Of course this suggestion can be
experienced in the degree only in which there is a certain
practical belief in the relation of subconscious to conscious
mental action, even if there be not a clear theoretical
understanding of it. — The Representative Significance of
Forniy VII.

RELIGION AND SCIENCE AIDS TO ART.

It would be difficult, in fact, to discover a single element
necessary to success in religious or scientific endeavor
which, if held in due subordination, is really not available
in the realm of aft. Religion is an aid to it because, to
interpret the truth of nature in all its depth and breadth

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 291

of pureness and of charity, one must have a spirit capable
of being often drawn into sympathy with that which is
purest and best in nature. . . . And science, too, is an aid
to art ; and in the same category with science we must place
all those phases of life which are appropriate subjects of
investigation, everything that can enlighten man with
reference to the laws of nature or of mind, or to the histories
of either. — Idem, xiii.

RELIGION VS, ART {sce ARTISTS VS. SEERS).

Religion unfolds like a plant from within. Its germs are
of a kind hidden in nature, in the animal and in man, and
when it reaches the thoughts, words, and deeds over which
the mind exercises conscious control, it influences these in
a manner peculiar to a tendency of instinct, a prompting
of conscience, a motive to action. Of course a tendency,
a prompting, a motive, cannot be expressed outwardly
except as a man uses something like bodily speech or action
that can be heard or seen. Like art, religion, therefore,
is obliged in all forms of expression to exert more or less
of a material influence upon the material body and its
material surroundings. But in religion the essential matter
is that these material forms of expression should always
be subordinate to the promptings of the higher spiritual
nature. ... In art the conditions are different. It in-
volves no necessary subordination of the outward to the
inward. There is always a cooperation between the
two, in which sometimes the one seems the more prominent
and sometimes the other, but in no case does the mind
fail to recognize the demands of its material surroundings. ,
or to aim at conformity to these. It is the essential condi-
tion of art that it should manifest this conformity: that
it should produce a dramatic imitation, a melody, a meta-
phor, a picture, a statue, a building, whatever it may be,
which in some way emphasizes the influence of these sur-
roundings. Even as appHed to ordinary action, a man
who can be specially commended for the art which he
manifests in conversation or in conduct is not the one
who would most naturally be selected as an exemplification
of that faith which underlies the disregard of material
conditions involved often in speaking the truth, and always
in marching to martyrdom. — Idem, ix.

Religious effects are seldom produced by what are recog-

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nized clearly to be copies of mere forms. A Christian
man through his conduct, and a church through its ser-
vices, may represent the Christian life, but the moment
that the representative element in either is emphasized,
the moment that it is brought to our attention that the
man's actions, attitudes, or facial and vocal expressions
are assumed for the purpose of representing, he suggests
to us a Pharisee, if not a hypocrite. With art it is the
opposite. Its object is to represent; and the actor upon
the stage, or any imitator of real life as delineated in the
drama or the novel, or depicted in the picture or the statue,
awakens our approval in the exact degree of the unmis-
takably representative character of his performance. —
Essentials of Esthetics, iii.

RELIGIOUS vs. ARTISTIC TRUTH.

There is much religious truth in "Paradise Lost," for
instance, but there might have been just as much of this
in a poorly written prose work. What makes Milton's
religious truth artistic, is its poetic embodiment; and the
peotry is just as artistic, so far as concerns this alone in
places in which there is no suggestion of religion. — The
Representative Significance of Form, vii.

REPETITION IN ART.

Repetition and everything associated with it have
their origin in the exigencies of form. At the same time,
we cannot be reminded too frequently that all forms, as
used in art, are methods of representing thoughts or feel-
ings by rendering them more concrete and emphatic.
. . . The slightest perceptible rubbing or scratching
against any part of our body, if repeated a sufficient number
of times, will cause inflammation. The slightest perceptible
vibration that can affect the organs of hearing or sight, if
repeated with sufficient rapidity and persistency, will
produce a sound or a color, and nothing except repetition
will do this. The same is true of its use when appealing
more directly to the mind. "What a wonderfully complete
system of police signalling these Germans have!" said an
English gentleman to me in Stuttgart. "They are at it
now, as they have been for nights past." We stepped
out upon a balcony which stood high on a hillside, and
looked down upon the moon-lit city. "Listen," he said;
** first you hear a whistle off there at the railway station;

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 293

then one at the palace; then one farther up here on the hill.**
I listened ; and what I heard, and what he had heard, came
from tree-toads in the garden under us. A single note
would not have attracted his attention. It was the repeti-
tion of the notes that had filled his imagination with visions
of socialists, and the efficiency of police supervision under
a military government. — The Genesis of Art-Form, Xll.

REPRESENTATION A CHARACTERISTIC OF .ESTHETIC ART.

A few words may be in place in order to make more clear
the reason for the use of the term representative to express
the general effect produced by all the art-forms. This
term is not a new one, though it has not previously been
applied without more limitation. Nor has it been selected
in ignorance of the distinction which certain English critics
have made between what they call the representative
and the presentative arts; but in the belief that this distinc-
tion springs from misapprehension, and in its results involves
that tendency to error to which misapprehension always
leads. The way in which the term came to be chosen
was as follows. In order to simpHfy the task of art-criticism,
it seemed important to search for a single word expressive
of an effect, the presence or absence of which in any work
should determine the presence or absence in it of artistic
excellence. This word representative, without any distor-
tion of its most ordinary meanings, was found to meet the
requirements. It was found, moreover, that it could be
applied to all the art-forms considered in either of the two
relations which exhaust all their possibilities; considered, in
other words, either as expressive of thought and feeling in
the mind of the artist, or as reproducing by way of imita-
tion things heard or seen in the external world. To illus-
trate this — and from an art, too, which we are told is merely
presentative — let one be hstening to an opera of Beethoven
or Wagner, and desirous of determining the quality of the
music as conditioned by its power of expression — how can
he do this? — In no way better than by asking: first, what
phase of feeling is the music intended to represent? and,
second, does it represent what is intended? With equal
success, he can use the same questions with reference to
the story told in a ballad, the characters delineated in a
drama, the events depicted in a painting, the ideal typified
in a statue, the design embodied in a building. He can

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apply the same questions, too, to the forms considered as
imitations of things heard or seen. Handel's "Pastoral
Symphony" and the music of the Forest Scene in Wagner's
"Siegfried" express not only certain phases of feehng,
but these as influenced by certain surrounding conditions
of external nature; and though, for reasons to be given
hereafter, music is the least imitative of the arts, it is not,
for this reason, as some have claimed, merely presentative.
Such works as have been mentioned must contain at least
enough of the imitative element to represent, by way of
association, if no more, the surroundings suggested. The
same may be affirmed of the accessories or situations in
a ballad or a drama; and of the colors, proportions, or
natural methods of adapting means to ends in a painting,,
a statue, or a building.

The term representative, as thus appHed, moreover, is
appropriate not only in the sense indicated by ordinary
usage, but in the specific sense indicated by its etymology.
The peculiarity of art, and of all art, is that it not only
presents, but literally re-presents; that is, presents over
and over again in like series of movements, metaphors,
measures, lines, contours, colors, whatever they may be,
both the thoughts which it expresses and the forms through
which it expresses them. — Art in Theory, Preface.

In the volume of this series of essays entitled "Art in
Theory," an endeavor was made to show that art in
general is nature made human, and that art of the highest
character is nature made human in the highest sense. It
was pointed out that, for this kind of art, only such forms
of nature are available as are audible and visible; and
that these forms in such art are well used only when
made significant of thoughts and emotions. In accordance
with this understanding, it was maintained that all the
higher arts are representative, and this in two senses,
— representative rather than communicative of thought or
emotion in the mind of the artist, which fact causes them
to be appropriately termed the humanities ; and representa-
tive rather than imitative of that which is audible or visible
in the mind's material environment, which latter fact causes
them to be appropriately termed the arts of form, i. e., of
appearance, or aesthetic, i. e., fitted to be perceived. —
Painting, Sculpture, and Architecture as Representative
Arts, I.

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 295

{Recapitulation:) In treating of each of the arts con-
sidered separately, the discussion is begun by showing
that it is natural as well as necessary for a man to express
his thoughts and emotions through audible or visible forms ;
and that a certain method of developing these forms causes
them to be artistic. It is shown, besides, that, even before
thus developed, the forms are all of them methods of com-
municating thoughts and feelings through using, for this
purpose, certain external factors which, in themselves, are
devoid of thought or feeling; in other words, that artists,
owing to an application of the principle of association or of
comparison, reveal operations of the mind through employ-
ing, either by way of appropriation or reference, the physical
phenomena of nature; and that, for this reason, we can
understand the arts fully only so far as we consider them
as representative, on the one hand, of mental conceptions,
and, on the other, of material surroundings. In the
volumes devoted to this subject, therefore, it is shown
that it is possible for every natural method of expression
to become thus representative, at times, both of the human
mind and of external nature. The elementary factors of
expression are shown to be, in the arts of sound, intonations
and words, and, in the arts of sight, gestures, drawings,
carvings, and other objects made by hand. From these
primarily it is argued that form in representative art
is developed. The ways in which it is developed are
indicated, first, by analyzing the methods in which these
factors are made to be expressive, and observing for what
phase of representation, either mental or material, each
phase of expression is fitted; and later by observing the
general efiEect of the representation produced when the
methods and phases are combined in a completed art-form.
Expression is found to be produced through different
methods of using, in the arts of sound, duration, force,
pitch, and quality of tone, and — respectively corresponding
to these, in the arts of sight — extension, strength of line,
hue, and mixture of hues. It is from these methods that
we derive and, as affected by instinctive, reflective, or
emotive tendencies, that we appropriate for representa-
tive purposes such effects as those of movement, pause,
accent, versification, metre, tune, tone, and other char-
acteristics of rhythm and harmony of sound; and such
effects as those of size, shape, shacfing, tinting, and other

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characteristics of proportion and harmony of Hne and
color. — Proportion and Harmony of Line and Color, xxvi.

REPRESENTATION, BY MEANS OF ASSOCIATION AND COMPARI-
SON (see COMPARISON AND ASSOCIATION and WORDS,
THEIR meaning).

As thoughts and emotions cannot be heard or seen in
themselves, they cannot be presented or communicated to
another directly. They must be represented indirectly;
i. e., through the use of a medium differing from themselves
in that it can be heard and seen. This medium the mind
must find in material nature, the sounds and sights of which
it can accept, imitate, modify, and develop for the purposes
of expression, but cannot originate. While saying this,
however, it was also said that, among the sounds of nature
which may be used for artistic purposes must be included
any sounds whatever, even though traceable to men. Their
material bodies are manifestations of material nature; and,
this being so, of course the same is true of their instinctively
used, and what we may term natural, as distinguished from
artistic, vocal utterances. Among the sights of nature,
again must be included, for the same reason, any visible
movements or constructions of men; and, this being so, of
course included among them must be also their instinctively
used gestures. Owing to the imperceptible character of
that which is within our minds, all outward expressions of
this, and, therefore, all art, even of the most ordinary
kind, must exemplify the principle of representation.
But the highest art must do so most emphatically. This
is because it must give expression to processes of thought
and emotion of the highest, in the sense of the most subtle,
quality, and as these processes are the most distinctively
mental, they are the most distinctively different in essence
from any material form through which they can be expressed.
It is, therefore, particularly necessary that when used
as a vehicle for them the form should manifest this differ-
ence; and it can do so in the degree only in which it mani-
fests clearly what is its own nature as contrasted with theirs ;
in other words, in the degree only in which its representa-
tive, as contrasted with any possibly presentative character,
is particularly emphasized by being made particularly
apparent. This statement suggests that there is a connec-
tion between the use in art of the term representation, as
meaning the expression of thought and emotion, and its

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more ordinary use in the second sense mentioned in our
opening paragraph, i. e., as meaning the imitation of external
phenomena. This connection arises from the fact that
the communicative intention of the forms of expression
can be made particularly apparent in the degree only in
which the imitative character of the factors composing
the forms — that is of the sounds and sights of external
nature — is made apparent. This is the ground taken in
Chapters VI. and VIII. of " Art in Theory," which are
devoted to showing that the representation of thoughts
and emotions and of external sounds and sights necessarily
go together. An artificially shaped machine, it was said,
at once suggests the question, "What can it do?" But
a drawing or carving with a form resembling something
in nature never suggests this question, but rather, "What
did the man who drew the object think about it or of it
that he should have made a copy of it?" The principle
that renders it possible for the forms of art to represent,
in the senses just indicated, both mental processes and ma-
terial surroundings is, in general, that of correspondence. But
subordinately, there are two different, though closely related,
principles in accordance with which this correspondence may
be manifested. One principle — which is the one mainly in-
volved in the representation of thoughts and emotions — is
that of association; the other, which is mainly involved in
the representation of the appearances of nature, is that of
comparison. — Paintings Sculpture, and Architecture as Repre-
sentative Arts, I.

REPRESENTATION IN ART.

The conceptions of science are due, as we have found,
to an investigation, so far as possible, of every condition
preceding an apprehended phenomenon. Of course, what
is thus obtained can be imparted to others just as it is,
only so far as every factor entering into the knowledge
communicated has been given expression in the outward
form of communication, or, as we may say, has heen formu-
lated. On the contrary, the imagination of art draws its
ideas and constructs its ideals of a whole class of phenomena
from observing a few conditions only, which are the more
apparent ones and are taken as representative of all of them.
It is evident that what is thus obtained can be imparted
to others just as it is experienced in the mind, only so far
as these same few conditions can be given expression in the

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outward form in such ways as to exert on the minds of
others the same representative effects. — The Representative
Significance of Forrrij xii.

REPRESENTATION IN ART VS. COMMUNICATION.

Just as representation is a more appropriate term than
imitation through which to indicate the result of an artistic
reproduction of the appearances of nature, so the same
word is more appropriate than communication or any
like term through which to indicate the artistic expression
of thoughts or feelings. If this were not so, if the primary
object of art were to communicate, then would it not
do this more successfully than do other forms of expression?
But does art do this more successfully? To say nothing
of music and architecture, which all men know to be very
deficient in the matter of communicating definite informa-
tion of any kind, do poetry, painting, and sculpture give a
more satisfactory communication with reference to thought
or feeling, in the sense of indicating more clearly exactly
what a particular thought or feeling is, than do sounds and
sights as they are used in ordinary speech and writing?
The moment we ask the question, we are ready to answer.
No. A frequent effect of making any method of communica-
tion more artistic is to make it less intelligible. As a rule,
sighs, shrieks, wails, can communicate, and cause a listener
to realize, too, the particular thought or feeling to which
they give expression far more unmistakably than is possible
for a musical passage, unaccompanied by words, whatever
ma}^ be the amount of its hush, trill, force, or complexity.
As a rule, a plain, direct utterance of sentiment, or state-
ment of fact, is far more readily apprehended, if that be
all that is desired, than the most imaginative effort of
poetry. As a rule, a few objects carelessly but clearly
drawn or carved, even if as rudely as in an ancient hiero-
glyph, a few tree-trunks roughly built together for support
and shelter, can convey intelligence of their purpose much
more distinctly than works of painting or sculpture or
architecture upon which men have expended years of
labor. Were the communication of thought or feeling the
object of art, it would be a very senseless undertaking to try
to attain this object and expend years of labor upon it by
making the forms of communication from which art is
developed less communicative.

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 299

Yet, evidently, these forms of natural expression — in-
tonation, speech, drawing, coloring, constructing, — just
at the point where most satisfactory as means of com-
municating thought and feeling, lack something that art
needs. What is this? It is not difficult to tell, and is
clearly suggested by all that has been unfolded thus far
in this essay. They lack that which can be given, in
connection with expression, by the reproduction of the
effects of nature. Penmanship and hieroglyphics lack
the appearances of nature that are copied in painting and
sculpture. Prose lacks figures of speech and descriptions
that in poetry are constantly directing attention to the
same appearances; and even the elements subsequently
developed into music and architecture lack traces of a
very keen observation and extensive use of effects in
nature which would not need to be observed or used at
all, were the end in view attainable by the mere com-
munication of thought or feeling. Were communication
the end of any art, the elaboration of the forms of nature
would cease at the point where they became sufficient for
this purpose. But it does not cease there, and it does
not do so because art must express thought or feeling by
way not of communication, but of representation. — Essen-
tials of Esthetics, vii.

The method of the appeal to the mind in art is not
through direct unequivocal statements, but through in-
direct suggestive representations, which awaken interest
in order to stimulate the processes of imagination. — The
Representative Significance of Form, xiv.

What is imagination? It is the faculty of the mind that
forms images. Of course, in the degree in which the appeal
is made so definite that nothing, as we say, is left to im-
agination, it is not stimulated. Let us apply this principle
now to poetry. Words apparently convey definite mean-
ings, yet it is a fact that they can also be representative.
If not, they are merely presentative or communicative, and,
therefore, not poetic, but prosaic. To understand this
distinction is necessary to an understanding of poetic
art. Take, for instance, these verses by Longfellow.
What he wishes to say is that death may overtake the
artist before he acquires the skill on which his heart is set.
Had he merely communicated, or stated, this faot, he would

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have written prose; but he represented it, and therefore we
call what he wrote poetry, e. g.,

Art is long and time is fleeting,

And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still like muffled drums are beating
Funeral marches to the grave.

The Psalm of Life.
— Essentials of /Esthetics^ vii.

Poetry may be strictly representative of external sights
and sounds, — may confine itself to that which reproduces
for the imagination a picture; and yet may be equally and
in the highest sense representative also of those ideas and
feelings which exist in only the mind. — Idem.

No matter how perfect rhythm or rhyme one may pro-
duce through arrangements of words, the result is prose,
not poetry, unless the thought, instead of being presented
directly, is represented, as we may say, indirectly, so as to
cause it to afford virtually an argument from analogy.
Frequently, one judges of poetic excellence by the degree in
which the thoughts or emotions could not be communicated
at all unless they were thus suggested rather than stated;
by the degree, therefore, in which their essential character
is subtle, intangible, invisible — in short, spiritual. — Essay
on Art and Education.

REPRESENTATION IN ART VS. IMITATION {see IMITATION Vs).

I According to Webster, to represent means "to present
again either by image, by action, by symbol, or by sub-
stitute," and there is no possible use of natural forms in
art that cannot be included under one of these heads. Imita-
tion, which is, undoubtedly, a frequent process in art, can
be included thus ; but so can many other processes that are
not imitative. Representation has a broader applicability,
and by using this term we can get something expressing
the exact truth in all cases. An orchestral passage in an
opera, or a declamatory scene in a drama, cannot, strictly
speaking, copy or imitate, but it can represent an exchange
of thought between a demigod and a forest bird, as in
Wagner's "Siegfried," or a conversation between historic
characters as in Shakespeare's "Henry the Eighth." A
painting of a man on canvas, or a statue of him in marble,
does not, strictly speaking, copy or imitate a man, who,
actually considered, can be neither flat nor white; but it does

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 301

represent him. Columns, arches, and roofs do not, by any
means, copy or imitate, but they do represent the trunks
and branches and water-shedding leaves of the forest.
Nothing in fact that a man can make of the materials at his
disposal can, strictly speaking, copy or imitate in all its
features that which is found in nature; but he can always
represent this. — The Essentials of Esthetics, vi.

Of whatever art we may be speaking, it will not do to
say that its sole aim is to imitate nature, not even, putting
it in a milder form, that it is to reproduce the appearances
of nature. . . . The most that can be said with truth is that
the forms of nature are reproduced by the artist with the
aim of having them appeal to others as they have appealed
to himself, as they have exerted an effect upon his mind, as
they have influenced his thoughts and feelings. Of course,
in order to accomplish this aim merely, he must represent
the appearances so as to recall their state in nature, and,
where imitation is demanded, he must imitate with accu-
racy. But he would be the last in the world to acknowledge
that he has added to his work nothing originated in his
own brain, and that what he has produced is a simple
reproduction. He considers it a representation. — Art in
Theory, iv.

A like fact is true of the photograph. For the very
reason that it is an imitation, in the sense of being a literal
presentation, of every outline on which the light at the
time when it was taken happened to fall, it does not
awaken in us the kind or degree of imaginative interest
or of sympathy that we feel in paintings or statues. Un-
like the impressions that we receive from the photograph,
in gazing at these latter, we feel that we are looking through
an artist's eye, seeing only what he saw or thought fit for
us to see, and that everything in them is traceable to the
skill displayed by him in transferring what in nature is
presented in one medium into another, as in delineating
flesh and foliage through the use of color and in turning
veins and lace into marble. The same principle applies
in architecture. The man of the backwoods who came to
an early centre of civilization, and stood before the first
stone colonnade that he had seen, was not charmed with it
because it imitated so exactly the row of poles that supported
the projecting eaves of the huts which for centuries had

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been constructed by his ancestors; his delight was owing to
the fact of his perceiving in another material, exceedingly
difficult to work, that which represented the forms presented
to his view at home. — Idem.

REPRESENTATION IN BUILDING (see ARCHITECTURE,

REPRESENTATIVE, and ARCHITECTURE REPRESENTATIVE

OF thought).

REPRESENTATION IN HARMONY.

As represented in sound, it may be said that every
mood that is absolutely normal, because healthful, strong,
buoyant, joyous, or unimpeded, or, to state this in a general
way, every mood in which the conditions appear to the
mind to be satisfactory, naturally tends to harmonic expres-
sion. On the contrary, every abnormal, unhealthy,
because weak, depressed, sad, or impeded mood, or every
mood in which the conditions appear to the mind to be
unsatisfactory, because leaving conceptions in a state of
suspense, naturally tends to inharmonic expression. This
latter is what we hear, therefore, in the moaning and
crying of weakness, in the fretting and complaining of
hopelessness and misery, and in any habits of tone, like
the so-called "ministerial, " which are produced by dwelling
upon the more pathetic aspects of subjects. ... As repre-
sented in music, this inharmonic effect is expressed in what
is termed the minor interval which, while itself not abso-
lutely inharmonic — if it were so it could not be used as a
factor of musical harmony, — is, nevertheless, suggestive
of a lack of harmony ; and it is this fact that accounts for the
associations that all have with this interval. It is the
musical adaptation of that which, in speech, represents
suspense, and, therefore, the depressed and pathetic.
There are other conditions, too. . . . That for which, when
listening to a series of chords, the musical ear is in search,
is harmony. Whenever, therefore, it does not hear this,
. . . the impression conveyed is that thought and feeling
are waiting for a desired consummation that delays coming.
... It is forced, by a law of nature, to desire to have the
movements of the chords continue till the perfectly har-
monious is reached. For this reason, the chord of the
seventh augments the feeling of unrest and dissatisfaction,
and prepares the mind, by way of contrast, for the restful,
satisfying closing effect of the chord of the keynote when,

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at the next sound, the phrase is brought to a conclusion. —
Rhythm and Harmony in Poetry and Music: Music as a
Representative Art, v.

REPRESENTATION IN MELODY.

I can now recall no melody of great popularity in which
underneath all the decorative vestiture of the form, however
much the pitch may be pushed up here or pulled down there,
it is not possible to detect general outlines true to certain
first principles of vocal expression. Some melodies, indeed,
like "Comin thro' the Rye" can be talked off with absolute
fidelity to every musical note. But if melody be thus
developed from speech, the same must be remotely true of
harmony, for this, in its turn, as shown in Chapters XII. to
XV. of '* Rhythm and Harmony," is itself, in its incipi-
ency, a development of melody. — Painting, Sculpture, and
Architecture as Representative Arts, Preface.

What is true of this melody is true of almost every
melody that proves to be permanently popular. Beneath
what is sometimes great exaggeration, we can detect the
intonations natural to the speaking utterance of the senti-
ments expressed. This is the same as to say that, in such
cases, music, while in no sense imitative, is nevertheless
representative of the intonations of speech. In other
cases, it might be said to be a development of something
that lies behind the intonations of speech; and which,
though having the same cause, antedates them, i, e., a
development of humming in which almost every one, at
times, indulges. A man, in the subjective, absent-minded
condition in which he takes to humming, is usually uncon-
scious of the presence either of surrounding persons or of
sounds. He is not in a mood, therefore, either to address
the persons distinctly, or to repeat the sounds accurately.
But while this is true, it is also true that his method of
expression will necessarily, not in a specific but in a general
way, represent his surroundings. If he have ever heard,
especially if he have heard frequently, sounds like the
humming of bees, the whistling of winds or of railway
locomotives, or the notes of squirrels, quails, whippoorwills,
robins, catbirds, or of songs sung, or of exclamations or
speeches made by men and women about him, in nine cases
out of ten his own tones, at times unconsciously to himself,
but nevertheless actually, will imitate some of these sounds

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all of which, being external to himself, are, so far as he is
concerned, those of external nature. Music, therefore,
may be said to represent not only the natural intonations of
the human voice, but natural sounds coming from sources
that are not human. — Essentials of Esthetics, vi.

REPRESENTATION IN MUSIC ($66 alsO PITCH).

Some have declared it to be presentative rather than
representative, not recognizing that a use of such elements
of duration, force, pitch, and quality as enable us to distin-
guish between a love-song, a dirge, and a tragic passage
would altogether fail to convey their meaning, unless there
were something in the movement to represent ideas or emo-
tions which we were accustomed to associate with similar
movements perceived in nature. — Idem,

It is evident that music may be representative in the
ways indicated without being in any distinctive sense
imitative. All that is necessary is that its successive phases
should follow a general order similar to that to which we
have become accustomed in certain series of sounds or sights
in nature. We have noticed, perhaps, a quiet rill devel-
oped into a cataract, and this again into a quiet pool; or
a clear sky developed into a storm and this again into a
clear sky; or peace developed into war and this again into
peace; and one or the other of these series of phenomena
is suggested to us when we hear a series of musical effects
developed in what appears to be a similar order. The
reason why these or any other phenomena are suggested
is because of the principle of correspondence, which, as has
been said, underlies all methods of expression, especially
those exemplified in discoursive elocution. According
to this principle, it is instinctively felt, even when not
consciously thought, that different phases of invisible and
inaudible moods follow one another in analogy to phases
of a visible or an audible character. — Rhythm and Harmony
in Poetry and Music: Music as a Representative Art, vii.

REPRESENTATION IN MUSIC AND IN VISIBLE FORMS.

I once went over the motives of Wagner with the most
broadly cultured musician whom I knew, and I found that
while he perceived, at once, the representative elements in
what are ordinarily termed imitative passages, he failed to
perceive them, till pointed out to him, in many other
passages so unmistakably developed from the intonations of

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 305

Speech that to me they seemed to talk — of course only in the
sense of voicing the trend of emotive processes which
alone is possible to music — almost as plainly as if the
notes were words. . . . What he lacked was my twenty
years' experience in teaching the melody of speech. So
with the significance of visible form. One whose experience
has forced him, as mine has, to the conclusion that every
shape of the human body, natural or assumed, has a mean-
ing peculiar to itself, though possibly beyond even an
expert's power of interpretation, finds himself, very soon,
according to the principle of association, drawing the same
conclusion with reference to all shapes, whether human or
not human. Those who think it not essential to discuss
the general accuracy of this conclusion, as applied to all
phenomena audible or visible; or who imagine that, if true,
art has no mission in revealing and emphasizing it, have,
simply, not learned all that life is designed to teach them ; or
those who conceive that the methods through which art can
fulfil this mission can be apprehended and appreciated with-
out their stopping to think over each detail of the subject,
to examine the exemplifications of it, and to apply many
original tests of their own to it, have not yet begun to
learn the methods through which life can teach them any-
thing of deep importance. — Painting, Sculpture, and Archi-
tecture as Representative Arts, Preface.

REPRESENTATION IN POETRY, ALLOYED AND PURE (see LAN-
GUAGE, PLAIN AND figurative).

It has been said that whatever is added to representa-
tion of such a nature as to change it from pure to alloyed,
must come from the poet. This is true, and yet he may
not always be himself the primary source of these addi-
tions. He may get them either from his own mind or
from nature, — a term used here to apply to everything
external to himself. If he get them from his own mind, he
will carry into excessive development the tendency which
has been termed the instinctive, underlying ejaculatory
sounds and aU plain language; and his product will mani-
fest a preponderance of the features making up the thought
that he desires to express. If he get his additions from
nature, he will carry into excessive development the
tendency, which has been termed the reflective, underlying
imitative sounds and all figurative language; and his

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product will manifest a preponderance of the features
employed in the form for the purpose of amplifying and
illustrating his thought. The first tendency, carried to an
extreme, will leave the form void of representation, and
make it explanatory or didactic; the second will overload
it with representation, and make it florid or ornate.

Taking up these tendencies in their order, we will ex-
amine now the former of them, and first, as exemplified
in poetry modeled upon direct representation. In this
form, as we have seen, the poet uses no similes nor meta-
phors. He states precisely what he wishes to say — only
what he says, if put in the form of poetry, must represent
his thought. If it merely present this, he gives us a product
not of the ideal art of poetry, but of the practical art of
rhetoric. This latter appeals to the mind through what
Sir William Hamilton termed the elaborative faculty, and
is characterized by a particularizing of details in explanatory
words and clauses, termed amplification, — all of which
details together enable the hearer to weigh the evidence
that is offered, and to draw from it trustworthy conclusions.
Poetry, on the contrary, appeals to the representative
faculty, and is characterized by an absence of any more
details or explanatory elements than are needed in order to
form a picture, and this for the reason that nothing appeals
so strongly to the imagination as a hint. At the same
time, as poetry and rhetoric both communicate ideas,
there is a constant tendency for the one to pass into the
other, for the poet to forget that the poetical depends not
upon ideas alone, but also upon the forms given to the
ideas, — in fact, to forget that, while great poetry must
necessarily embody great thoughts, very genuine poetry,
at times, may do no more than give to the merest "airy
nothings a local habitation and a name."

We have now to examine the effects of the ornate ten-
dency, in which considerations of form overbalance those
of thought, and in which therefore there is failure because of
an excess of representation. It is simply natural for one
who has obtained facility in illustrating his ideas to overdo
the matter, at times, and to carry his art so far as to re-
illustrate that which has been sufficiently illustrated or is
itself illustrative. The first form that we need to notice,
in which this tendency shows itself, is a poetic development
and extension of what rhetoricians term the "far-fetched"

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 307

Simile, a simile in which minor points of resemblance are
sought out and dwelt upon in minute detail and at un-
necessary length. The fault in this mode of illustrating, or
representing, lies in the fact that it does not illustrate nor
represent. The poet, in writing it, has made the form an
end and not a means. His thoughts, and methods of
developing them, are suggested by the representation, and
not by that which it is supposed to represent, and which his
readers naturally expect it to represent. Accordingly, his
readers cannot distinguish the main thought from the
illustrating thought, nor this again from the re-illustrating
thought, and the whole passage is necessarily more or less
obscure. The poet has not made his subject stand forth in
clear, concrete outlines, as art should do ; but has so veneered
and besmeared it with excess of ornamentation that no
one can tell very decidedly just what his subject is. . . .

Now, suppose a man in conversation were to let his
thoughts run on in this way, deviating from the line of his
argument or description, whenever he happened to strike
a word the sense or sound of which suggested something
different from that of which he started out to speak. What
should we think of him? One of two things, — either that
he was insane, or had a very poorly disciplined mind.
Precisely this is what is represented, so far as anything is
represented, by this kind of poetry. Yet, as we all know,
the finest and highest art must represent the finest and
highest efforts of the finest and highest powers of the mind.
If this be so, then poetry modeled upon a form which is the
legitimate and natural expression of an insane or a poorly
disciplined mind, is not poetry of the finest and highest
order. — Poetry as a Representative Art, xxiv.

We will examine now the form of representation which,
in contrast to pure, has been termed alloyed. This latter,
as has been said, while following in the main the methods
of picturing the thoughts that are used in pure representa-
tion, always introduces something into the picture in ad-
dition to what would naturally be perceived in connection
with circumstances like those that are being detailed. At
first thought, it might be supposed that these additions
would not greatly impair the poetry in which we find them.
But the fallacy of this supposition will appear, when we re-
call that poetry is an art, and that all art is representative.

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It follows from this that the purer the representation, the
purer will be the art, and in the degree in which anything
is added to the representation, — anything, that is, of such
a nature that in like circumstances it could not presumably
have been perceived, — in that degree will the product be
likely to lose its artistic qualities.

Some who may not recognize the truth of this state-
ment, when viewed from a theoretical standpoint, may,
when viewed from a practical. Let us look at it in this
way then: whatever is added to the representation must
come, in the last analysis, from the artist; and from him,
when not exercising his legitimate artistic functions;
when, instead of giving us a picture of nature and man, as
he finds them, he has begun to give us his own explana-
tions and theories concerning them. Now all explana-
tion and theories, as we know, are necessarily the out
growth — if not of ignorance or superstition — at least of
the intellectual or spiritual condition of the age in which
one lives. For this reason, to a succeeding age they are
not satisfactory, even if they do not prove to be wholly
fallacious; and a work of science or philosophy that is
made up of them usually dies, because men outgrow their
need of it, and do not care to keep it alive. A work of
artistic poetry, on the contrary, lives because its pages
image the phenomena of nature, and of human life, which
can really be perceived, and most of these remain from
age to age unchanged. A writer who confines himself to
these, which alone can be used legitimately in representa-
tion, is, as Jonson said of Shakespeare, "not of an age but
for all time"; and this fact can be affirmed of men like
him alone. Out of the thousands of poems written in the
past, only those have come down to us, and are termed
classic, which are characterized by an absence of explana-
tions and theories, and a presence of that kind of representa-
tion which has here been termed pure. How important,
then, it is for the poet of the present to understand just
what the nature and requirements of this pure representa-
tion are, and what are the methods of rendering it alloyed
that should be avoided. — Ideniy xxiii.

REPRESENTATION IN SCULPTURE.

Most of the Venuses, like those of the Medici, of Dresden,
and of the Capitol, are represented in the attitude instinc-

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 309

tive to a woman surprised in a state of nature. The infer-
ence, therefore, on the part of the spectator, is clear enough.
She is thinking, and her attitude obliges the spectator to
think, of her physical appearance, or beauty. The differ-
ence between the significance expressed in such a statue and
in that of the Apollo Belvedere, who with outstretched
arms and uplifted brow seems wholly unconscious of aught
save his own godlike mission to the race, is very great.
And what is the important matter to be observed is that
this difference is owing to movement not detailed 1 ut
suggested, not such as could be represented in poetry, or
in any form of language, but such as can be represented
in a manner strictly appropriate to only painting or statu-
ary, and yet, even in this, in a manner sufficiently distinct
to render the impression of life and of a distinctive character
of life unmistakable. — The Representative Significance of
Form, XXIV.

REPRESENTATION IN SENTENCES FROM WHICH POETRY
DEVELOPS {see LANGUAGE, PLAIN AND FIGURATIVE).

Language is a form for thought, and thought implies
mental activity, a process, a series of sensations and experi-
ences, all of them exerting more or less influence upon one
another. A single idea might be represented in a single
word, but a series of ideas necessitates a series of words.
How, now, can these series of words represent, with any-
thing like accuracy, internal processes of the mind, together
with the necessary relationships and interactions that must
exist between their constituting elements? Or, to begin at
the right place, how can any series of external and material
elements, even though they do represent a process, represent
a process that takes place in thought? If we can come to
understand this, it will be easy for us to understand how,
according to a similar analogy, series of words can do the
same. Those of us who have been in countries with the
languages of which we were not familiar, have, perhaps,
improved our powers of origination, as well as started
original conceptions in the minds of those about us, through
presenting our internal processes of thought to men who
had not ears to heed our English, in the form of pantomime.
What other resource could we have, when thirsty or sleepy
or wishing to hire a hack or take a sail? But suppose
that we had been shut out from pantomime, and shut in to

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sound, how, according to the same analogy, could we have
expressed our processes of thought through the latter
medium? Had we possessed the power of rendering
intelligible to others our references to our internal sensa-
tions, as well as to external objects and operations, by the
use of exclamations, imitative sounds, and words derived
from them by association and comparison, — how could
we have combined all these elements in such a way as to
represent in sound a process of thought? Is not the answer
simple? Instead of taking two objects and joining or sepa-
rating them, could we not have taken two names for these
objects, and joined or separated these? or, if we wished to
make our meaning still more intelligible, joined the names
by putting between them an intervening exclamation expres-
sive of assimilation, or separated them by putting there an
expression of aversion? Could we not thus have repre-
sented in words what circumstances had prevented us from
representing in pantomime? Instead of emphatically
flinging ourselves on the floor, or pathetically resting our
heads upon our hands, when, tired out in the evening, we
desired to show our wish to go to bed why might we not
have exclaimed "I — bed," or "I — oh — bed"? Is not this
precisely what, though put in different forms, we have heard
the foreigner do, a hundred times, perhaps, when trying to
express in sound the thought which his ignorance of our
language prevented him from expressing fully? Is not this
precisely the method through which every child begins
the difficult process of conversation — i. e., by placing two
words together, which thus constitute a compound word;
or by uniting the two, one of which is used for the subject
of a sentence and the other for its object, by a third, which
serves the purpose of a predicate? And it is well to notice,
too, in this connection, that, whether used by a foreigner
or a child, the predicate is always the last essential factor
of a perfect sentence to be used with accuracy. "I seen
him," cried a street-boy under my window the other day;
"and I throw'd a stone at him."

While on this subject, in order to show that the use of
the exclamation for the verb in an expression like "I — oh
— bed," though, wholly supposititious, is not entirely out of
analogy with what is really done in language, it may be
interesting to recall what Max Miiller says of one of our
most common grammatical forms — it is. He tells us that

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 311

this sound can be traced back almost as far in language as
we can go. The German says ist, the Roman esty the Slave
yestCy the Greek esti, and the Hindoo asti. But asti is a
compound of the pronoun ti and the verb as, the root of
which signifies to breathe. Whatever breathes exists or
is; so that in the oldest language in which we find the
verb, it seems to be only an expression representative of the
fact, and, very probably, of the act of aspiration or breathing.
But, to return from theory to fact, we have found how
it is possible to put words together in such a way as to
indicate a process. Indeed, whenever we put them to-
gether in the right way, they necessarily do indicate this;
for in such cases we put together sentences, and sentences
invariably represent, if not physical, at least mental, pro-
cesses, the subject, as a rule, indicating the beginning of
them, the predicate the continuation of them, and the
object, if there be one, the end of them. In fact, all the
different grammatical parts of speech and modifications of
them, viewed in one light, are merely methods of repre-
senting dependencies and relationships of different parts
of whole processes, which, with more or less completeness,
are represented by the sentences. — Poetry as a Representa-
tive Art, XVI.

REPRESENTATION IN SOUND AND SIGHT IN DIFFERENT
COUNTRIES.

It is true that it is said of the melodies of speech, as
well as of the movements of gesture, such as are considered
in the present volume, that their significance differs in
different countries. But those who say this, as some
have done, imagining the statement, however true, to
involve a refutation of any principle advanced in this
series of essays, merely show how superficially they have
read them. As appUed to music, for instance, such a
statement is not made with reference to time, force, or
volume — only with reference to pitch, as used in the
inflections. But in " Rhythm and Harmony," pages 265
to 267, it is very carefully shown that the inflection is not
representative of the phraseology but of the motive ex-
pressed in the phraseology, many instances being cited in
which precisely the same phrases are rightly uttered with
exactly opposite inflections. This being understood, the
objection mentioned falls to the ground. When, for

312 AN ART-PHILOSOPHER'S CABINET

instance, for reasons which the reference just given will
indicate, an American says to you at the table, "Will you
please pass me the bread?'* with a rising inflection on
the last word, what is uppermost in his mind is to indi-
cate his acknowledgment that your action in the matter
is questionable ; and that he leaves it open for you to do
as you choose. But when an Englishman asks the same
question, as he almost invariably does, with a falling
inflection, what is uppermost in his mind is to make an
assertion with reference to his wishes, and to indicate, as,
in other matters, he is apt to do to such an extent as to
seem, at times, slightly dictatorial, that it is not open for
you to differ from him in thinking that, if you are a gentle-
man, you are expected to do as he — gently — bids you.
People of Southern Europe, even Irishmen, sometimes
end what seem positive assertions with an upward turn
of the voice. But they are not positive assertions. They
are grammatical forms of assertion as uttered by men
with habits acquired by being constantly contradicted,
or, at least, obliged to subordinate their own views to
those of others, who alone are supposed to have a right
to speak with authority. Of course, such methods of
intonation, once acquired, may be continued from father
to son by imitation. But despite the tendency to this
latter, they usually cease to be continued after social and
religious conditions change. One generation of residence
in America will train any foreigner, whatever his language,
to express his decided sentiments just as in his own land
his own babe, before learning to imitate, invariably does,
without any such questionable suggestion. Again a
Bedouin will beckon you toward himself with a quick
movement of his hand, the palm of which is not turned
up, as with us, but down. What does this form of gesture
mean? Very clearly, that the Bedouin, while he wishes
you nearer himself, is not opening his whole heart to you,
or asking you to occupy a position on a social or sympathetic
level with himself. On the contrary, unconsciously, per-
haps, he is on his guard against you and intends to keep
you in a safe and proper place. ... In fact, the character
of his gesture affords an almost positive proof of the hostile
nature of those with whom he and his fathers have for
years been accustomed to associate. — Painting, Sculpture,
and Architecture as Representative Arts, Preface.

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 313

REPRESENTATIVE EFFECTS IN ART, THEIR GENESIS (see also
EXPRESSION DEVELOPED FROM POSTURES AND GESTURES).

All forms of expression possible to art of the highest
rank are developments of a man's use, for this purpose, of
his vocal organs and of his hands. This statement at once
suggests an inquiry into the methods through which vocal
organs and hands can be made to express, or represent,
thoughts and emotions. Evidently, only after we have
ascertained this, can we be prepared to understand how the
same can be expressed in the arts developed from these
methods. — Essentials of Esthetics, xii.

REPRESENTATIVE EFFECTS IN ARTS OF HEARING (see olsO
REPRESENTATIVE EFFECTS OF PITCH and OF TONES).

On comparing the accented and unaccented syllables of
words like barbarous, murmuring, tartarize, Singsing, and
papa, we can clearly detect four elements. The accented
syllable differs slightly from the unaccented — first, in
duration: it is sounded in longer time; second, in force: it is
sounded with more energy; third, in pitch: it is sounded on a
key that, if used in music, would be relatively higher or
lower in the musical scale; and fourth, in quality: it is
sounded with more fulness or sharpness of tone. . . —
Poetry as a Representative Art, iii.

With reference to the significance of these elements,
while it is true that all, in a general way, represent, as has
been said, emotive effects, all of them represent also certain
peculiar phases of such effects. ... In discoursive elocu-
tion, duration measures the utterance — that is, it represents
the mind's measurement of its ideas, — one indication, by the
way, of the appropriateness of the poetic term, meters, or
measures, which result from giving different kinds of dura-
tion to syllables; force energizes utterance; pitch aims it;
and quality tempers it. Of the last three, again, force
imparts physique to delivery; pitch, intellectuality, and
quality, emotion or soul, by which, as has been explained, is
meant that balancing and blending of physical and intel-
lectual tendencies which manifest the degree in which the
man is master or slave of body or mind. — Idem, iii.

REPRESENTATIVE EFFECTS IN ARTS OF SIGHT.

It will be observed also . . . that each particular effect
in the elements of sight, as in those of sound, is representa-
tive; and that it is so because of an application of the

314 AN ART-PHILOSOPHER'S CABINET

principle either of association or of comparison; or, some-
times, as is frequently the case, of both of these together.
. . . We shall find, as applied to the representation of mind
— as distinguished from the representation of external
phenomena, which, being mainly imitative, usually inter-
prets itself — that the degree of extension or the size indicates
what the artist conceives to be — and, therefore, uses to
express — the degree of material and, in this sense, physical
influence; whereas the other effects indicate what he con-
ceives to be — and, therefore, uses to express — the degree of
mental influence. Of these effects, touch or handling, as
manifested in the relative strength, gradation, or regularity
of lines or their shading, naturally suggests the relative
expenditure of will-power. Pitch, as manifested in the
relative brightness either of hues or of the light that is in
them, naturally suggests the mental motive, a brilliant color
attracting the attention and a dull color doing the oppo-
site; and quality, as manifested in the relative purity or
mixture of hues, as in blues or reds as contrasted with
grays or browns, naturally suggests the mental feeling.
Thus we may say that extension measures, touch energizes,
the degree of color aims, and the quality of color tempers
the appearance; that the first determines the scope of
influence; the second, the degree of executive force; the
third, of intellection; and the fourth, of emotion or soul.
— Painting, Sculpture, and Architecture as Representative
Arts, II.

REPRESENTATIVE EFFECTS IN DURATION

What is indicated by fast time, and by vslow time ? Evi-
dently these, respectively, imitate effects in nature that
move rapidly and slowly. In addition to this, by way of
association, rapidity is indicative of moods that are joyous
or mirthful; or, as applied to special thoughts or feelings,
of such as seem deserving of only brief consideration because
they are light or trifling. Slowness, on the contrary, is
indicative of grave and serious moods, of thoughts and
feelings worthy of long consideration; therefore, of moods
of dignity and importance. In other words, duration repre-
sents the mental estimate, or degree of valuation. What has
been said hardly needs illustration. Every one can recall
the general difference in rapidity between ordinary dance-
music, as it is termed, and church music ; or between a horn-
pipe and a hymn; and he knows, too, that this difference is

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 315

determined not alone by the necessity of conforming the
music to actual outward movements, as in the dance, but
also by the fact that the dance and the hornpipe represent,
by way of association, joyous, mirthful, light, trifling moods,
and that the church music and the hymn represent the
opposite. . . . Precisely the same principles are fulfilled
in poetry. — Idem, xii.

It is evident that in elocution duration may be short
or long, or both; in the latter case making possible all
the artistic developments of metre. Both experience and
reflection show us that in the degree in which utterances
are instinctive, as they are when under the influence of
mere spontaneity, they find expression in short duration,
or — what is the same thing — in fast time. But when one
becomes conscious of surrounding influences to which he
must conform his phraseology, these put him into a reflective
mood, and under the sway of his impressions, he stops to
think — sometimes to think twice — of what he is to say,
and so uses slow time; or, to look at the subject from a
different view-point, a speaker, when not desirous of
conveying to others the impression that what he is saying
demands their serious consideration, may talk rapidly.
But when he wishes to convey the opposite impression —
that they should weigh his statements with the utmost
care, — he talks slowly. — Poetry as a Representative Art, iv.

In elocution, quantity may sometimes be prolonged at
will; in poetry, it is usually determined by the letter-sounds
forming the syllable. The rule is, that syllables composed
of short vowel-sounds, and of consonant-sounds easy to
pronounce, are short. ... A predominance of these short
sounds in the style fits it to represent comparatively un-
important ideas, . . . and, also, things that move rapidly,

A predominance, on the contrary, of decidedly long
vowel-sounds, or of consonant-sounds difficult to pro-
nounce, makes the rhythm move slowly, and fits it, there-
fore, according to the principles already unfolded, to
represent important ideas, . . . and, also, things that move
slowly. — Idem, iii.

REPRESENTATIVE EFFECTS IN EXTENSION {sCC also EMOTION

OR soul).

Not only in painting and sculpture, but in architecture
also, relatively large and small extension, corresponding

3i6 AN ART-PHILOSOPHER'S CABINET

in this regard to relatively long and short duration, have
inevitable representative effects. Either by way of associa-
tion or of comparison, or of both, they respectively indicate
what is heavy, strong, substantial, immovable, important,
influential, dignified, near, on the one hand; or else, on the
other hand, what is light, weak, unsubstantial, movable,
unimportant, uninfluential, undignified, remote. It is this
principle that causes us, when looking at objects, to think
more of a statue than of a doll, more of a cathedral than of a
cottage, more of the fingers on a statue than of the fringe on
which, perhaps, they rest, and more of the towers and
domes of a building than of its chimneys and ventilators.
The same principle applied in connection with the natural
laws of perspective, causes us to give more consideration
to the full-sized figures in the foreground of a painting
than to the minute objects in its background. If the
picture be designed to interest us in animals, this fact is
represented by large size that brings them to the front;
if in a pasture in which they are feeding, by small size
that sends them to the rear. Overbalancing foliage, with
a cherub's face just visible in it, emphasizes the prodigality
of inanimate nature. A full-sized statue, with a few
flowers about it, emphazies the preeminence of man. —
Painting, Sculpture, and Architecture as Representative
Arts, III.

Huge stones in a doorway, or huge pillars in a porch
having heavy masonry above them, are so evidently neces-
sary in order to afford the needed physical support, that it
seems as if the builder must have chosen them instinctively
rather than reflectively. But the light steel rods and bars
in suspension or cantilever bridges are so evidently indica-
tive of the results of experiment and contrivance, that we
cannot avoid the impression that they were determined
upon as the result of reflection. Often, however, the heavy
doorway or column may be so carefully carved, so minutely
divided by outlines into all sorts of details of shape, that it
suggests not only the physical but also the mental, not only
the instinctive but also the reflective; and it is then that, in
accordance with what was said on page ii, we have that
emotive manifestation universally attributed to that artistic
development of the technicalities of building which we term
architecture. — Idem, ii.

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 317

REPRESENTATIVE EFFECTS IN FORCE, ACCENT, LIGHT AND
SHADE, ETC.

The next rhythmical element of expression to be con-
sidered, is force. This is to sounds what different degrees
of light and shade are to objects of sight; and is essential
to the effects of rhythm in the same way that shading is to
those of proportion. In elocution, no one in feeble physical
health can manifest an excess of force, while, at times,
without it, his delivery may be characterized by the greatest
amount of intelligence and soul, of thought and the emo-
tion that is connected with thought. For these reasons, it
seems right to infer that force represents physique rather
than intellect or spiritual feeling ; in other words, energy that
is instinctive and connected with the physical nature rather
than anything that is reflective and connected with the psy-
chical.— Poetry as a Representative Art, v.

In the arts of sound, especially in poetry, the effects of
force and pitch usually go together. If, in a poetic foot, we
accent one syllable, we almost invariably give it a different
pitch from that of the unaccented syllable following it.
There is the same connection between the corresponding
elements in the arts of sight. When we give more force
to a color in painting by increasing the effects of light and
shade, we usually change the kind, or, what may be termed
the pitch, of the color; and though certain buildings and
statues seem to be devoid of color, we cannot, except by
using many different kinds of it, make pictures which will
reproduce with absolute accuracy such effects as have just
been attributed to relative degrees of massiveness or of
energy of touch. — Essentials of Msthetics, xiii.

REPRESENTATIVE EFFECTS IN GESTURES OF THE ARM.

There are three planes in which the stroke of a gesture
may be made. One is on a level with the breast, which is
the seat of the motive or emotive nature, or, as we may say
(see page 12), of the soul. One is below it, and one is above
it. The principle underlying the phase of thought repre-
sented by the hand, when carried to either of the three
planes, is as follows: Every soul inside of a body con-
ceives of itself as the centre of the universe, which the
horizon rims, the earth grounds, and the zenith domes.
Every man, even the least egotistic, is compelled to think
that not only the world but the universe revolves around

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himself. Perhaps he is right — who knows? If God be
really in that fourth dimension within us, and the human
soul be really a focus in which the rays from earth and
heaven meet and blend, how far is this from the truth?
But whether right or wrong, a man cannot rid himself of
this conception. When he gestures, he cannot do other-
wise than give expression to it. His hands are carried on
a level with the breast to represent what he conceives to
be on a physical, and hence, by analogy, a mental or
moral level with himself. They move before him to indi-
cate that which he really sees there, or to refer ideally to
the truth or hope that he anticipates in the future. They
move behind him to indicate that which is really behind
him, something that he has abandoned or turned from
possibly with loathing or regret; or they may refer ideally
to a condition of opinion and life beyond which he has
progressed. They move to one side to refer to some actual
physical presence there, or, ideally, if the gesture indicate
exclusion, to something that is a side issue from the
main line of thought; possibly to some course that is a
diversion from straightforward action. But if the gesture
indicate inclusion, it refers to the general and compre-
hensive. The hands are carried below the breast to repre-
sent that which one conceives to be physically, mentally,
or morally below himself; i. e., below his sight, compre-
hension, or control; to indicate a pathway, an idea that he
can understand, a power that he can master. They are
carried above the breast to represent that which he conceives
to be physically, mentally, or morally above himself;
above his sight, conception, or control; to indicate a star,
a grand idea, a mighty force.

In applying these principles, it must always be borne in
mind that the different directions taken by the gesture repre-
sent not what actually is, but what a man conceives to
be. Most of the published discussions of this subject do not
sufficiently emphasize this fact. We are told, for instance,
that good and God must receive upward gestures, and
bad and the Devil downward gestures. But this depends
entirely upon one's point of view, upon his conception.
The expression, "Get thee behind me, Satan," would
require a downward and backward gesture, because the
speaker would conceive of Satan as below and behind him-
self morally ; but the expression —

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 319

There was a Brutus once that would have brooked
The Eternal Devil to keep his state in Rome
As easily as a king —

Shakespeare: Julius CcBsar^ *., 2 —

would require an upward and forward gesture, because in
it Satan is conceived of as a foe of overwhelming force,
whom one is facing, therefore as one physically above and
before the speaker, and not by any means below or behind
him. — Painting, Sculpture, and Architecture as Representative
Arts, IX.

REPRESENTATIVE EFFECTS IN GESTURES OF THE HAND.

The first, the broadest, roundest form that the hand can
assume, represents, as nearly as any shape possible for it,
vital and physical emphasis, i. e., will-power applied to the
impression of ideas. Just as a fist threatens with a power
greater than one's own, if held above one's head; and with
one's own power, if held on a level with one's breast, so it
manifests strength of conviction and a determination to
pound the truth into an opponent, if made in connection
with a downward gesture of emphasis.

Equally evident is the meaning of the pointing finger.
It is the sharpest form that the hand can assume, and,
according to what has been said, should represent inter-
pretive mentality. This it undoubtedly does. When we
point to an object, we do so not as an exhibition of will
or emotion, but of thought. Nor do we wish others to do
anything beyond concentrating their thought upon it.
There are two forms of the gesture with the fingers and
thumb unfolded from the palm . . . namely, the closing,
in which the palm is averted, i. e., turned away from the
body, where the speaker cannot see it, and the opening, in
which the position is reversed, where the palm is held so that
the speaker can see it. The closing gesture seems to push
downward, upward, backward, forward, or sideward, as
if to keep all external things or thoughts from touching or
influencing the one who is gesturing. It seems to close
all channels of communication between him and the outside
world. The opening gesture seems prepared to give and
receive things or thoughts from every quarter; and thus to
open these channels. Both gestures, therefore, seem to
represent the motive or emotive attitude. To extend what
has been said, the closing gesture being used to reject, to
ward off, to deny, what is unpleasant, threatening, or un-

320 AN ART-PHILOSOPHER'S CABINET

truthful is used descriptively to refer to anything having
these characteristics, to anything, therefore, like a storm,
an avalanche, a disgusting sight, a foe, or any supposed
source of plotting or hostility. For an analogous reason,
as applied to abstract thought, this gesture is used by one
who is in a mood to dogmatize, to dictate, or to express any
conception, concerning which he is not in a condition to
receive suggestions from others. . . . The youngest child
never points with the palm up to things that have definite
outlines. The palm is always down. It is not an open
question how one shall conceive of a particular horse or
dog; and so the closing gesture with the index finger shuts
out all appeal. The mind of the speaker cannot be satisfied
unless the hearer conceives of these objects just as he
does. . . .

The opening gesture indicates exactly the opposite.
Being used to welcome or impart what is pleasant, interest-
ing, or important, it naturally refers, in a descriptive
way, to any thing or thought having these characteristics,
to anything conceived of, therefore, as being freely given
or received like a gift or purchase, or like friendship, joy,
knowledge, prosperity, or blessedness. As accompanying
an expression of abstract thought, this gesture is in place
whenever one submits an opinion as an open question for
others to consider and to decide as they may deem fit. It
is the gesture, therefore, of inquiry, persuasion, and appeal.
The pointing finger, too, when the palm is in the position
of an opening gesture, does not mean the same as when it is
in the position of the closing gesture. In the former case
it does not point merely to definite objects; it points to open
possibilities. — Essentials of JEsthetics, xiii.

REPRESENTATIVE EFFECTS IN HUMAN FORMS.

After cautioning the reader to bear in mind that few
individual forms manifest the features of any one type
exclusively, it will suffice to say that, according to the prin-
ciples of physiology and phrenology, roundness of form or
feature, i. e., curvature, represents the degree of vital or
physical power; that sharpness, i. e., angularity, represents
the degree of mental or interpretive power ; and that length
represents the degree of motive or emotive power, i. e.
the degree of that self-control or lack of it which is some-
times termed moral power. ... If we separate the sugges-

'* The Descent from the Cross," by Rubens
See pages, 73, 82, 88, 89, gi, 162, 331, 385

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 321

tions of different parts of the body, the torso seems best to
represent the vital or physical; the extremities, especially
the head and hands, to represent the mental or interpretive,
as, for instance, in the hand-gesture; and the chest, shoulders,
elbows, and knees, to represent the motive or emotive, as,
for instance, when one is excited or embarrassed. Facial
expression seems based upon the principle that the chin
and lower lip best represent the vital or physical; the eye-
brows and forehead best represent the mental or inter-
pretive; and the nose and eyes best represent the motive
or emotive. The movements of these features to repre-
sent particular conceptions correspond, when the head
is lifted or lowered or turned sideways, to the arms; and
when the countenance is contracted, expanded, or drawn
down, to the hands. — Idem, xiii.

REPRESENTATIVE EFFECTS IN HUMAN POSTURES.

Now let us consider, as related to representation, the
action of a man's body. We shall find that, in the degree
in which his expression is instinctive in the sense of being
spontaneous and unconscious, because uninfluenced or
unimpeded by conditions that come from without, his gait,
postures, and gestures all tend to assume the forms of free,
large, graceful curves. But in the degree in which his
expression is reflective, in the sense of being made responsive
and calculating in order to meet conditions from without,
especially in the degree in which these conditions check,
impede, and embarrass him, and make him conscious of
this fact, or self-conscious, as we say, — in this degree we
shall find that his bearing is stiff, constrained, and awkward,
imparting to all his movements a tendency to assume the
forms of straight lines and angles. Both these extremes
are emotive, as is all human expression; but sharp angles and
short curves will give way to straighter lines and longer
curves in the degree in which outside conditions do not
wholly overcome a man's spontaneity, but cause him to
make his instinctive promptings reflective, as in exerting
the moral influence of confident assertion, or enthusiastic
persuasion. But angles will predominate in the degree
in which he is conscious of interference, as in supposed
opposition, whether this be mental, or material or both
together, as in fighting. The latter condition will double
up his frame and throw his neck, elbows, knees, and hips

2X

322 AN ART-PHILOSOPHER'S CABINET

into shapes that will make his form the best possible repre-
sentation of what can be described by only the term angu-
larity; yet from this appearance in such cases, curves are
never entirely absent.

REPRESENTATIVE EFFECTS IN NATURAL OUTLINES.

So much for the meaning of outlines assumed by the
body. Now let us notice how, as manifested not in the
human form but in the inanimate appearances of nature
surrounding it, similar outlines are fitted to represent, and
so to awaken, corresponding conceptions in the mind of the
spectator. The curve has been ascribed to the instinctive,
or, as we may term it, the physically normal action of the
human form. Is there any truth in the supposition that
similar appearances external to man may be ascribed to
sources similar in character? Why should there not be?
The eye itself is circular, and the field of vision which it
views, at any one moment, always appears to be the same.
So does the horizon and the zenith, and so, too, do most of the
objects that they contain — the heaving mountain, the rising
smoke or vapor, the rolling wave, the gushing fountain, the
rippling stream, even the bubbles of its water and the
pebbles of its channel, and everj'- tree, plant, and animal,
whether at rest or in motion. For this reason, curves,
wherever seen, necessarily suggest more or less of that
which is normal, or, as applied to natural animate life, of
that which has the buoyancy, freedom, and joyousness
which we instinctively associate with the possession of this.

The straight line with its accompanying angles we have
found to be produced by a man chiefly as a result of the
reflective action of his mind. How is it with similar effects
in the appearances surrounding him? Do not rectangles
with their straight, parallel sides, as in buildings and in so
many other objects made by men, invariably suggest
results of construction, and, therefore, of reflection expended
upon them? Nor are such suggestions confined to objects
with reference to which a man's interference with the
normal action of nature is unmistakable. By way of
association, the horizontal hilltop, the sharply perpendicular
cliff, the pointed peak, cause us to think and often to say
that they look precisely as if a man had been at work upon
them, leveling or blasting. Few natural objects, indeed,
have outlines absolutely straight or angular; but always, in

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 323

the degree in which they are so, the impression naturally
produced by curves, which is that of a growth outward
from normal vitality within, is lessened. We feel that life
has in some way been literally blasted. As a rule, it is the
great convulsions of nature, whether produced by fire, frost,
wind, or earthquake, that leave behind them, if their pro-
gress can be traced at all, such results of crystallizing,
cracking, and rending, as are manifested in straight lines
and angles. No wonder, therefore, that wherever seen they
are associated in our minds with the work of extraneous force
acting upon the forms from the outside, as the volcano does
when it rends the rocks and throws the lava through and
over them, and as the tempest does, when it bends the trees
and tears off their branches.

Now let us consider the possibilities of emotive effects
between these two extremes of form. When, notwith-
standing curves or angles, the general appearance of a
shape approximates that of straight, parallel lines, it must
be then that the appearance is most suggestive of reflective
influences. This being so, in the degree in which the lines
are long and absolutely straight, they must suggest reflec-
tion or thought of the most unchanging as well as distinctive
character, as in persistence, seriousness, or dignity. Now
notice that these straight lines may tend to be either hori-
zontal or vertical. Does it require any argument to show
that, if horizontal, they are suggestive of persistence,
seriousness, or dignity in repose, and, if vertical, of the same
in activity. What is so firmly fixed in position as a long
straight beam, lying fiat on the ground ; and what is so hard
to get or easy to keep in position as the same placed verti-
cally? It is strictly in accordance with the principle of
correspondence, therefore, that the former should represent
restfulness, and the latter difficulty overcome by effort,
and, if through human agency, by human effort, or by that
in the soul which makes the effort possible. For this
reason, therefore, as well as because, by pointing upward,
it carries the thought upward (which is the ordinary way
of explaining the effect), the vertical line may be said to
represent aspiration and elevation of aim. Of course, too,
because composed of lines very nearly vertical, sharp angles
pointing upward, as in Gothic window-caps and spires,
represent the same. Observe, too, how in this architectural
style the parallelism of the vertical lines repeats and em-

324 AN ART-PHILOSOPHER'S CABINET

phasizes the emotive effect due to their directions, and
augments it by regularity.

Curves and angles, when their lines are greatly broken,
suggest the changing and transient, and also, when crossed,
the complex. Because complex, they are perplexing; and
provided they are nevertheless disposed in such ways as
to render the fact of some design indisputable, they are
exciting, as far as lines can be so, to the imagination, con-
stantly stimulating it, as they do, to solve the mystery of
their mode of arrangement. Such being their effects, one
would expect to find the natural forms characterized by
them proving more exciting to the emotions than those
already considered. And when we examine the appear-
ances about us, is not this exactly what we do find? Is
it not when complicated curves and angles outline natural
trifles that they fascinate and make men imitate them in
their curios? Is it not when curves, straight lines, and
angles join in natural forms of grander import, when the
tree and bush are wreathed about the precipice, when
the dome-like mountain and the rolling cloud lift above
the sharp peak and cloven crag, and far below them lies the
flat plain or lake, — is it not then, in connection with such
combinations, that the most exciting appeal is made through
the emotions to the imagination ?

That the facts are as here suggested, will be evident to
any one who will make a careful study of the subtle effects
upon the mind of different scenes in nature, and of the
imitations of them in art. In this place a good way,
perhaps, of discovering the representative capabilities of
these different appearances, is to recall the use that is made
of them by the landscape gardener. Is it not a fact that,
in case he desire to direct attention to the beauty of nature in
itself, i. e., to the capabilities of nature with the least possible
suggestion of the intervention of a human mind, — that in
this case his plans will develop into gradually rising mounds
and circuitous drives, winding among trees and shrubs
planted in clusters but not in rows? On the contrary, if he
desire to produce a distinctly different impression, causing
thought to revert from nature to man, either to the artist
who has arranged things as they are, or to the resident or
visitor for whose convenience or guidance they have been
so arranged, then will he not plan for distinctly different
effects, as in the long avenue bordered with its rows of

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 325

trees, or in the terrace, or the hedge, or the flower garden
with straight and rectangular pathways? Or, once more, if
he desire to produce more emotional impressions by means
of which the observer may be drawn more into sympathy
with his designs and the ingenuity of them, will he not
make more use of variety and contrast, combining the
winding walks of the ramble with sharp angles, perpen-
dicular rocks with rounded moss banks, or shooting cata-
racts with still pools?

Is it strange that similar principles should apply to
painting and sculpture? They are equally applicable
when constructing buildings. The most ordinarily accepted
classification made of the different styles of these is accord-
ing to their bridging of openings or spaces by straight lines,
curves, or angles, which three methods are supposed to
indicate the differences between the architecture of the
Greek horizontal entablature, of the Byzantine or Roman-
esque round arch, and of the Gothic pointed arch. But
notice that straight lines abound in all these forms, the
horizontal ones in Greek architecture being no more promi-
nent than the vertical ones in Gothic architecture. It is
well to observe, too, that of all architecture appealing to
the emotions the latter does this in the most powerfully
effective way, for the reason not often noticed that in it
alone is it possible to blend all the possibilities of outline.
Sometimes there are no curved forms at all in Greek build-
ings. Sometimes, too, there are no sharp forms in Byzan-
tine or the allied Romanesque buildings. But in Gothic
buildings there is invariably a blending of both. More-
over, as if also to emphasize the existence of each, both are
developed to excess, the curves being made particularly
round and the angles particularly sharp.

Now what is the architectural significance of a predomi-
nance of each of these methods of bringing outlines to-
gether, namely, through curves, through angles, or through
both in combination? Is this difficult to determine? To
begin with, what is the shape most instinctively produced
by the creatures below man, when they indulge in con-
struction? What is the shape of ant-hills, birds* nests, or
beavers* dams? What is the shape of that which a man
constructs in the forest when he breaks off the limbs of
the trees, and, binding them together, builds himself
something in which to sleep? Rounded, curved, is it not?

326 AN ART-PHILOSOPHER'S CABINET

The huts represented in Chapter XX. of this book are all
symmetrical, and so would be recognized at once as pro-
ducts of man; but which of them should we be most likely
to imagine to have been constructed by some more intelli-
gent animal? .... The same principle holds good with
reference to buildings of a more elaborate character;
though it must not be overlooked that, in the degree in
which any forms are artificially elaborated they come to
have complex and therefore (see page ii) stronger emotive
effects. But, as applied to the predominating or germinal
shapes in such buildings, is it not true that the impression
conveyed by any rounded arch, as in a bridge for instance,
is that the small stones available have been made to span
the space under it in accordance with a natural law which
needs only to be perceived by the builder in order to be
instinctively fulfilled by him? And if this be so, is it not
logical to infer that all such forms can cause one to asso-
ciate their appearance with a fulfilment of natural law?
Do not their curved outlines make Figs. 40 and 43 look as
if, according to natural law, they grew into shape in a sense
not true of Fig. 42? Possibly, therefore, there is a reason
why rounded doorways and bending domes should have
seemed to so many in so many different lands appropriate
to represent not only, as stated on page 38, a place in which
crowds are expected to gather, but also a centre from which
emanates the authority of law, either civil, as from a state
capitol or courthouse, or spiritual, as from a cathedral.

Again when we find buildings showing no such desire
to accommodate the methods of construction to the re-
quirements of natural law, as is apparent in the round
arch, but rather a determination, on the part of a man, to
erect something designed by himself without any special
regard for these requirements, as is the case wherever we
see a predominance of straight lines and angles, then is it
not true that the impression mainly conveyed is that of a
form due to human reflection ? Moreover, if, in connection
with this general impression, the predominating lines be
horizontal, and the angles flat, so as to produce, so far as
angles can, an effect of horizontality, is it not true that,
combined with the seriousness and dignity suggested by
straight lines, they represent repose? ... If, on the con-
trary, the predominating lines be vertical, and the angles,
by being sharp, aid the effect of verticality, is it not true

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 327

that, "combined with the seriousness and dignity suggested
by straight lines, they represent elevation of soul or aspira-
tion?

Once more, when we look at buildings in which the
curves as well as straight lines are prominent, or in which
curves, straight lines, and angles, all three, are prominent,
can we not perceive a more aesthetic emotive effect than in a
building in which the curves are greatly subordinated?
And in buildings in which either curves, angles, or straight
lines are combined in excess of what are needed, as is often
the case in both Greek and Gothic architecture, where
columns, entablatures, or arches, are introduced and are all
shaped alike evidently for the purpose of ornament alone,
and to enhance, by way of correspondence, the appearance
of artistic unity, then is it not true that the forms represent
a special appeal to the aesthetic emotions? — Painting,
Sculpture, and Architecture as Representative Arts, v.

REPRESENTATIVE EFFECTS OF COLOR AS INFLUENCED BY

LIGHT (^see also color as perceived by the eye
and HARMONY OF color).
Let us notice now the representative possibilities of color.
We can best come to understand these by considering what
color represents in extreme cases. When there is no light
there is no color. When there is little light, we can see
forms, but not colors, except as they seem to be very dim
and dark. In this condition, the mind is not greatly inter-
ested in them nor aroused to thought by them ; so far as they
affect the appearance of nature, they are not, as a rule,
satisfactory, interesting, cheering, or inspiring, but, on
the contrary, they sometimes cause depression and even
solicitude. With more light, however, the outlines and
colors become more visible, bright, and varied; and not
only the satisfaction but the excitation derivable from
them is increased? These effects continue to be enhanced
up to the time, if it ever arrive, when the colors are no
longer distinguishable, for the reason that the light has
become too dazzling. But at this point the disagree-
ableness of the effect is produced, not because attention
is aroused too slightly, but too greatly, as, for instance,
by the direct rays of the sun or by a flash of lightning. In
all cases, however, even in these last, notice the additional
excitation to the emotions produced by variety. Sunlight

328 AN ART-PHILOSOPHER'S CABINET

or lightning is never so vivid as when made to contrast
sharply with absolute darkness, as in a cave or a cloud.
Nor is a bright red or yellow ever so effective as when
placed directly against a dull blue-green or indigo. We
may say, therefore, that, as a rule, dark colors — or shades
of them which result when the colors as determined by the
spectrum, are mixed with black — as also unvarying colors,
are less exciting to the emotions than are bright and varied
ones. — Essentials of /Esthetics, xiii.

REPRESENTATIVE EFFECTS OF COLORS (sce olso REPRESENTA-
TIVE EFFECTS OF TONES).

For the purpose not merely of indicating the unity of
method in different parts of this system, but also for the
purpose of accomplishing that for which this unity of
method is intended to be serviceable, it seems well in this
place to try to interpret the meanings of the colors through
what we know of the meanings of the different elocutionary,
musical, or poetic tones. Of these tones, the normal and
orotund are musical and unmixed. It will be shown pres-
ently that the two, respectively, correspond to the cold
and the warm colors. . . .

We will take up, first, the distinction between the
normal — sometimes called the pure — tone and the oro-
tund. In elocution, the former is not necessarily a culti-
vated tone, but the latter, the orotund, is. The former
therefore suggests the natural, and the latter the artistic.
Is not the same true with reference to the classes of color
to which these have been said to correspond? Just as
the normal tone is that of ordinary natural intercourse,
are not the cold colors, the greens, blues, and purples,
those of ordinary natural life? Is it not true that for
nine-tenths of all the time, nine-tenths of all the surfaces
of the globe — i. e., the lakes, skies, hills, forests, fields,
rocks, distant and near — are robed in these colors? The
warmer colors, the reds, oranges, and yellows, appear
occasionally in nature in the sunset sky, the autumn foliage,
the hues of flowers, the plumage of birds, and the coating
of animals; but it is remarkable how seldom they appear
at all, how little surface, comparatively, they cover when
they do appear, how infrequently they appear in their
full intensity, and how universally, when they do appear
in this, they are considered exceptional and worthy of

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 329

remark. They certainly are not nature's normal colors.
Man cannot dye anything bluer or greener than he can
often see in the sea and sky and forest; but nowhere
in the world can he raise a red or orange flag that will
not instantly be recognized as something different from
anything in nature, and, therefore, as something that is
signaling the presence of man. Hence the use of these
colors, especially of red, by surveying parties, and on
railways, piers, and battle-fields. Such colors are the
ones that are most suggestive of human interference. As
used in art, therefore, they are the colors representing the
condition upon which the thought and feeling of the artist
have had the greatest influence.

With these facts, however, we need also to bear in mind
that which is a logical inference from what was said on
page 254, namely, that all very low and uniform shades,
even if of yellows, oranges, and reds, have a quieting
effect, and all very high and — because contrasts emphasize
one another, and most contrasts of cold colors are warm
— all contrasting tints, even if of purples, blues, and greens,
have an exciting effect. To compare these conditions
with those of pitch in elocution and music, this, if low and
monotonous, indicates what is serious, grave, dignified,
and self-controlled, and, if high and varied, the opposite.
Does it require an argument to show how perfectly these
analogies are carried out as applied to colors? Do we not
all recognize the more exciting and exhilarating effects
of these when full of brightness, and also, in connection
with this, of contrast? Who has not noticed the difference
in influence between a lawn and a fiower-bed? or between
a room decorated with evergreens and the same decorated
with chrysanthemums? or between a uniformly clouded
gray sky, and a sky lighted up with the diversified glories of
the sunset? or between the dulness and monotony of a
business street when the shop-entrances are hung with
dingy clothing for sale, or the sidewalks filled with people
in dark business suits, and the same streets when hung with
bright and varied flags on a gala day, or crowded with
throngs decked out in the gay and checkered trappings of
a carnival or holiday parade? Of course, uniformity of
color, like uniformity of outline — as in parallelism, — pro-
duces a certain seriousness and dignity of effect; and any
procession, the members of which are dressed alike and

33© AN ART-PHILOSOPHER'S CABINET

march~alike, will produce something of these irrespective
of the quality of the coloring. But there is a vast difference
between the degree of seriousness and dignity in the effect
of a procession of priests and nuns robed in black or gray in a
funeral or at church, and in that of militia uniformed in
bright colors on a holiday or in a theatre. In the latter case,
it is impossible to conceive that any child, or a crowd of any
kind, should require explanation, aside from those suggested
by color alone, to arouse them to excitement and enthusi-
asm. There was philosophy as well as fancy, therefore, un-
derlying the former use of red in the costumes of soldiers.
Nothing in the way of color can surpass red in effective-
ness. This fact has been explained according to the prin-
ciple of association. It has been said that red is the color
of blood and of fire, and suggests them. But does it sug-
gest them to the bull and other animals whom it excites
to fury? In these cases does it not act physically? Physi-
cists agree that there is no color that agitates the optic
nerve so violently. There seem to be, therefore, just as
in the case of outlines, principles both of association and
of nature which cause certain colors, and, to a less degree,
all colors, when at their brightest, to be representative of
emotive excitation, and certain other colors, and, to a less
degree, all colors in their lower tones, to be representative
of the opposite.

All the great facts of nature are felt long before they
are formulated. When the man born blind expressed his
conception of the color red by saying that it was like the
sound of a trumpet, he uttered not a poetic but a literal
truth. Just as red is the color that is farthest removed
from the ordinary colors of nature, the blast of the trum-
pet is the sound that is farthest removed from the ordinary
sounds of nature. All pastoral symphonies abound in
passages executed by the flutes and clarionets, and the
violins and other stringed instruments. With the music
produced by these, it seems natural to associate the sounds
produced by the sighing and whistling of the wind, the
rushing and dashing of the waters, and the occasional
piping of a bird and the lowing of an animal. The drum and
cymbal, too, may remind one of the exceptional thunder
of the storm, or the roll of the earthquake. But when the
flutes and stringed instruments give way to the trumpet
and allied instruments, then we feel that man is asserting

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 33i

his influence in the scene, and we listen, almost instinc-
tively, for the sound of his tramping feet. It is only man
that marches. It is only man that wages war, and it is
only in martial music and in the expression of the passion
of conflict and the pride of triumph that the blasts of the
trumpet, announcing, as they do, more distinctively than
any other musical sounds, the power and presence of the
human being, realize to the full their representative mis-
sion. No wonder that even a blind man, at the end of the
play, just as the curtain drops on the victorious conquerors,
should be able to imagine how there should be an aesthetic
connection between the brilliant climax that is heard and
the brilliant colors in the costumes and flags which are
described to him as surrounding these conquerors and
waving above them.

The same principles must apply, of course, to the sig-
nificance of color as used in painting and architecture.
In the ordinary portraits of great men, in such paintings
as Raphael's "School of Athens," the seriousness and
dignity of the subjects are such that we do not feel the
need in the pigments of much brightness or contrast. But
whenever anything is intended to produce, primarily, a
powerful impression, whether gay or grave in tendency,
the contrary is sometimes true. Hence one reason why
Rubens with his high and varied coloring is so transcen-
dency great in such representations of profound excitement
as in the "Lion Hunt" and "The Descent from the Cross,"
and is so correspondingly gross in subjects of a lighter char-
acter, as in some of those in the Old Pinakothek at Munich.

But there is another reason for this fact, and, in connec-
tion with it, there is another confirmation of the general
truth of the statements just made. It may be recognized
by noticing the effects produced by colors upon pictures
of the human countenance. So far as this latter is more
than a mass of lifeless flesh, so far as it is something fitted
to be transfused and transfigured by the seriousness of
intelligence and the dignity of spirituality, is there any
doubt that it should be represented in colors neither very
brilliant nor greatly varied? May there not be a sense in
which it is a literal fact that the blue veins of the aristocrat
are far more suggestive of sentiment and soul behind them,
not only than the bloated flush of the inebriate, but even
than the ruddy hues of the peasant ? . . .

332 AN ART-PHILOSOPHER'S CABINET

So, too, in sculpture. Is it not universally recognized
that statues of dark gray, blue, or black marble, granite,
or bronze, as in the case of some of the Egyptian remains,
while fitted for subjects presented in proportions suf-
ficiently large to secure great seriousness and dignity of
effect, are much less appropriate than pure white marble
for subjects of the same general character when presented
in the proportions of life ? And is it not equally true that
subjects of a lighter character and smaller size are far more
appropriately represented in the warmer-colored bronzes?

In architecture, outHne has usually more to do with
effects than has color. Yet here, too, few fail to recognize
the influence of the latter. Who can be insensible to the
congruity between the seriousness, gravity, and dignity
of impression produced by blue shades of gray or even of
white, as they loom before us in the outlines of the cathedral,
or of the large public edifice? But who finds it agreeable
to have the same conceptions associated with buildings
designed for domestic purposes? Observe how cold, as
we very appropriately say, and therefore how devoid of
that which is homelike and inviting, is the impression some-
times produced by the blue-gray or white of a mansion, as
contrasted with the appearance of a house constructed of
material in which there is a more liberal admixture of the
warm hues, as in stone or brick of a yellow, orange, or brown
shade. And what of the warm colors when used with
contrasts? Is there any one who is not conscious of the
joyous, gay, and exhilarating suggestions imparted by the
bright and varied tints that invite one to the pavilion of
the park or the veranda of the seaside cottage ? The same
principle, of course, is exemplified in interiors. Cold colors
on the walls, an exclusive or excessive use of blue, or of
green, will always affect the sensitive like the clouds of a
lowery day, while the warmer colors, used either wholly or
in part, will correspondingly enliven them. No one can
deny the impressiveness of the gray of the stone arches
that bend over the "dim religious light" of the church.
But even the effect of this needs to be counteracted by
warm colors in the chancel; and would be wholly out of
place in a theatre. — The Essentials of Esthetics, xiii.

REPRESENTATIVE EFFECTS OF COLORS WHEN MIXED.

Now let us consider the mixed as distinguished from the
pure colors. Going back, for a moment, co mixed tones^

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 333

the first of them that was mentioned was the aspirate.
This, as was said, is a whisper, and its characteristic is an
absence of any tone whatever. Of course, that which, in
the realm of color, corresponds to an absence of tone
must be, according to its degree of intensity, black or
white, or else some gray quality formed by mixing the
two. The whisper, in its forcible form, the analogue of
which, in the realm of sight, would be black, indicates
apprehension, as in fright; and in its weaker form, the
analogue of which, in the realm of sight, would be white,
indicates interest, as in the secrecy of a love-scene. In
both forms the whisper adds feeling to the tone, which, as
a rule, is usually uttered, if not simultaneously with it, at
least before or after it. This tone, of course, considered
irrespective of the whisper that is joined with it, must
resemble either the normal or the orotund. If it resemble
the normal, the forcible whisper causes it to have that pas-
sive effect of apprehension characterizing the expressions of
awe and horror represented in the mixed quality which
is termed pectoral. If the tone resemble the orotund, the
forcible whisper causes it to have that active effect of
apprehension characterizing the expression of hostility
represented in the mixed quality which is termed guttural.

In the realm of sight, nothing could be perceived if
everything were absolutely black. Black, therefore, as
well as white, must always be blended with other shades.
When blended thus, the effect of being side by side is
much the same as of actual mixture. At a slight distance,
we cannot tell whether the appearance is owing to the
latter or merely to the fact that two shades happen to be
near together. Now bearing this in mind we may say
that the effect of black, when blended with the cold colors,
corresponds to that of pectoral quality, and, when blended
with the warm colors, corresponds to that of guttural
quality.

Notice, first, the combinations of black with the cold
colors. In such cases the black, of course, must be very
prominent, and, merely to render the objects depicted
clearly perceptible, it must be offset in some places by
cold colors of comparatively light tints. But where light
tints are blended with absolute black, there must be some
violent contrasts. Violent contrasts of themselves, as
shown on page 194, represent excitation. Excitation,

334 AN ART-PHILOSOPHER'S CABINET

however, in connection with blackness, — to go back to
what was said, on page 193, of the effects of Hght from
which we have developed those of pigments — ^is excita-
tion in connection with more or less indistinctness causing
perplexity and involving apprehension. At the same
time, as this apprehensive excitation is connected with
the cold colors, it is passive, or, as one might say, chilling
and benumbing, rather than active, or, as one might say,
heating and inflaming. For this reason its effects seem
appropriately compared to those of awe and horror repre-
sented b}^ the pectoral quality. Of course, color alone,
without other means of expression, can only approximate
a representation of these; but let the outlines justify it,
and what hues, mixed with those of the countenance, can
make it so ghastly as dark blue and green; or can make
the clouds of heaven so unheavenly as very dark blue; or
the sod of the earth so unearthly as dark blue-green; or
anything so deathlike and appalling as these colors used
with excessive contrasts of light and shade? Is it any
wonder that it is with these combinations that Gustave
Dor6 produces most of the harrowing effects in his series
of pictures illustrating Dante's ''Inferno?"

Now let us add black to yellow, orange, or red, either
mixing the two or placing them side by side, and notice
the effect. As said before, the very dark shades cannot,
in painting, be used exclusively. If they be, the out-
lines cannot be made clearly perceptible. But to use
black in connection with the lighter tints, introduces that
variety which, as said on page 194, always increases the
excitation of the effect. Warmth, in connection with
black, or, as explained in the last paragraph, with apprehen-
sive excitation, — emotive heat causing active resistance
to that which is dreaded, — does not this describe, as nearly
as anything can, a condition attendant upon hostility such
as is represented to the ear by the guttural tone. In the
case of the warm colors, too, still more than in that of
the cold, nature seems to have enforced the meanings of
the combinations so that we shall not mistake them.
Yellow and black, orange and black, red and black, or,
in place of black, very dark gray, green, blue, or purple,
which are allied to black, — is there a particularly veno-
mous insect or beast, or appearance of any kind, from
a bee, or snake, or tiger, to the fire and smoke of a con-

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 335

flagration, or the lightning and cloud of a storm, in which
we do not detect some presence of these combinations?
No wonder, then, that so often in former times, at least,
soldiers wore them on their breasts when girded for the
contests of the battle-field !

The whisper, in its weaker form, was said to represent
not apprehension, but a more or less agreeable degree of
interest. Of course, the weaker form of a negation of
color, at its extreme, must be represented by white. As
applied to tones, there is no separate term of designation
for this whisper when added to normal or orotund quality.
Elocutionists merely speak of an aspirated normal or oro-
tund, saying that, when aspirated, feeling is added to
the effect of each. Let us recall now combinations of
white with blue, green, or purple. Is there any diffi-
culty in recognizing how closely the result corresponds
to that which is produced by an aspirated normal tone?
We have all seen such combinations in summer costumes,
as well as in tents and awnings over windows or verandas.
In such cases, is there not a more exhilarating effect pro-
duced by them than could be produced by white alone?
or by one of these colors alone? Yet, at the same time,
is not the effect far cooler, and, in this sense, less exhilara-
ting, than is produced by combinations of white with red,
orange, or yellow?

In these latter we have, as has been said, that which
corresponds to the effect of the aspirated orotund, — the
tone used in earnest advocacy or description of some-
thing which is felt to be in itself of profound interest.
Think of the combinations of white with these warmer
colors. Could any language better than that just used
designate their peculiar influence? What than they are
more exhilarating or entrancing in the decorations of
interiors, or in banners and pageants? — Painting, Sculpture^
and Architecture as Representative Arts, xi.

REPRESENTATIVE EFFECTS OF PITCH IN MUSIC AND POETRY

(see also pitch and verse melody and harmony).
In accordance with the principle of correspondence, the
conditions of pitch high or low, or its movements in direc-
tions upward or downward in the musical scale, seem to
be in exact analogy with correlated conditions and directions
with which we are all familiar in the external world of space

336 AN ART-PHILOSOPHER'S CABINET

about us; and, like them, to indicate the mental aim or
motive. When, for instance, one is elated, he holds his
head high, and his movements are varied like those of a
buoyant schoolboy. When one is depressed, his head
bends downward and his movements are few. It is the
same with the utterances. A soaring birds sings in a high
and changing key, a crouching man threatens, or a dog
growls in a low and monotonous key. High and varied
tones, therefore, seem to represent elation of spirit, or that
which is felt to be elevating in its influence; and low and
uniform tones represent depression of spirit, or that which
is felt to be impressive.

The same is true with reference to movements in the
directions of pitch. Its tendency, when two or more tones
at different pitch are heard in succession may be upward
or downward, or both upward and downward. In the last
case, as in the circumflex inflection, there is merely a
combination of the meanings in the other two cases, and we
need not consider it here. (See the author's "Orator's
Manual," pp. 56-59.) When directed upward or down-
ward, pitch follows laws applicable to all movement.
Men lift their bodies, limbs, and feet, when they start to
do something. They let their hands fall at their sides
and sit down or lie down, when they get through with
what they have to do. The lungs rise in inspiration and
fall in expiration. So with voices in speaking. Their
sounds rise when a man feels inspired to begin to say
something, e. g., "If so, I will go." They fall when the
inspiration is over, because he has ended saying this, e. g.,
"If so, I will g6." In other words, upward and downward
movements of pitch represent the mental motive. The
voice rises when one is moved to open, and falls when
moved to close, the expression of an idea. It must be
borne in mind, however, that these directions of pitch
depend upon the relations of utterance to the sense, and
not merely to the sentence. If the sense does not close
or open where the sentence does, the tones may fall before
its close and rise at its end, e. g./'l will gd, if so," "Will
you go?" Nd, I will not, if he's there."

We may extend, and, at the same time, explain this by
saying that the voice rises for the purpose of opening or
broaching an idea; that is to say, for the purpose of point-
ing away from the thought immediately expressed, i. e.,

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 337

when one is inclined to consider the utterances merely
anticipative or indecisive^ in the sense of being in them-
selves subordinate, insignificant, trite, negative, or question-
able, as contrasted with something that is expected to
be, or that has been, expressed by the falling inflection.
On the contrary, the voice falls for the purpose of closing
or completing an idea; that is to say, for the purpose of
pointing to the thought immediately expressed, i. e,, when
one is inclined to consider the utterances conclusive or
decisive, in the sense of being in themselves interesting,
important, noteworthy, affirmative, or positive. It falls
whenever it gives its sentence in the sense either of having
completed the expression of a sentiment or of having
uttered something sententiously. ...

That similar principles apply to the movements of pitch
in the melody of music, we might infer as a result of con-
sidering the subject theoretically. But we can not only
infer it, but perceive it as a result of a practical study of
facts. Notice the following text,^ which was connected
with the notation of the Gregorian chants, written in the
sixth century. . . . These chants to which, or through which,
all modern music is traceable, were deliberately composed
in order to be representative, and nothing else.

It might be supposed that there would be nothing in
poetic form corresponding to these upward and down-
ward movements. But, as a fact, any metre causing a
line to begin with an unaccented syllable, or to end with
an accented syllable, produces, in what are termed the
tunes of verse, — unless, as sometimes, the sense requires
a different inflection, — the effect of an upward move-
ment. Therefore, this metre naturally suggests the antici-
pative, indecisive, subordinate, questionable effect of the
upward inflection.

On the other hand, a line beginning with an accented,
or ending with an unaccented syllable, produces the final,
decisive, interesting, important, affirmative effect of the down-
ward movement or inflection. — Essentials of ^thetics, xii.

REPRESENTATIVE EFFECTS OF TONES IN POETRY AND MUSIC.

The last elocutionary element, the influence of which
upon poetic form we have to consider, and the second

* Containing directions for singing so as to indicate a comma, a
period, an interrogation mark, etc.

33Si AN ART-PHILOSOPHER'S CABINET

that has to do with the tunes of verse, is quality; or, as it
is sometimes called, on account of that to which it corre-
sponds in painting, tone-color. Its different varieties are
determined by the relative proportions in which noise and
music are combined in them; or, in other words, by the
different actions of the organs of utterance in causing
more or less of the breath, while leaving the lungs, to be
vocalized and rendered resonant.

What different kinds of quality are fitted to represent,
it needs but little observation to discover It certainly is
not physical energy. When Patti passes from a loud to a
soft, or from an abrupt to a smooth tone, she changes
greatly the kinds of energy, but her voice still retains the
same Patti-quality. Nor does quality represent mere
intellectuality. A man, without changing in the least an
habitual nasal or wheezing quality, may give every inflec-
tion needed in order to represent the merely mental phases
of that which actuates him. But if we frighten him
severely, we may make it impossible for him to use any
other sound than a whisper; if in connection with this,
we anger him, he will hiss; or, if at length he recover his
voice, he will use the harsh, jarring, interrupted hard-^o:
quality of tone, termed the guttural; or, if that which he
would repel be too great to make anger appropriate, it
may widen and stiffen his throat so as to produce the hollow,
almost inarticulate indication of awe and horror given by
what is termed the pectoral quality. Release him now
from the influence of affright, anger, or horror, and put
him into a gently satisfied mood, and he will use his nearest
approach to pure quality. Stir him then to profound
emotion, inspired by what is deeply satisfying, and all his
vocal passages will expand again, and he will produce his
nearest approach to the full, round, resonant quality termed
orotund.

For these reasons, it seems indisputable that quality
represents the feelings, the temper, the spiritual condition
of the higher emotive nature, — what I have termed the
soul, by which is meant, as needs scarcely be said again,
the principle of life holding body and mind together — influ-
encing and influenced by both. The soul communicates
with the external world never wholly through the instinc-
tive nature, nor wholly through the reflective, but always
through one of the two modified by its connection with the

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 339

other. The quality of sound, therefore, represents the qual-
ity of the feeling that vivifies the soul. This feeling, on its
physical side, and with its most physical coloring, gives us,
first, the serpent-like hissing aspirate; next, with an intellect-
ual coloring, the guttural quality ; and last, with an emotional
coloring, the pectoral. On its intellectual side, it gives us
first, with a physical coloring, the soft whispering aspirate;
next, with an intellectual coloring, the pure quality; and last,
with an emotional coloring, the orotund. Of these six forms
of quality, the first four are classed in a general way as
impure, because there is in them more breath or noise than
vocal tone or music; and the last two are classed as pure.

The first three again refer to what one v/ishes to repel:
the hissing aspirate indicating feelings like affright, amaze-
ment, indignation, and contempt; the guttural, as has been
said, hostility; and the pectoral, awe or horror. The last
three refer to what, if not wholly satisfactory, at least,
excites in one no movement aimed against it. The soft
whisper indicates feelings like surprise, interest, or solici-
tude; the tone termed distinctively the pure represents
gentle contemplation of what may be either joyous or sad;
and the orotund, deep delight, admiration, courage, or determi-
nation, as inspired by contemplation of the nohle or grand.

All these different qualities can be given by good elocu-
tionists when vocalizing almost any of the consonants or
vowels; but the poet for his effects must depend upon
the sounds necessarily given to words in ordinary pro-
nunciation. For instance, certain consonants, called
variously aspirates, sibilants, or atonies, viz. : h, s, z, w, sh,
wh, th, p, t, f, are aspirate in themselves; that is, we are
obliged to whisper when we articulate them. Therefore
in poetic effects, considered aside from those that are
elocutionary, the aspirate must be produced by using
words containing some of these consonants; and, if it be
the repellent aspirate or the hiss, by using also consonants
giving guttural effects, like g, j, ch, and r. — Poetry as a
Representative Art, xi.

As in the cases of duration, force, and pitch, so all these
forms of quality, too, have their correspondences in effects
of nature as manifested in other departments. Applied
to effects of water, for instance, a rushing stream would
represent the harsh aspirate, a rocky stream the guttural.

340 AN ART-PHILOSOPHER'S CABINET

a roiled stream the pectoral, a rippling stream the gentle
aspirate, a clear stream the pure, and a full, deep stream
the orotund.

That analogies exist between quality as used in elocu-
tion and in music, scarcely needs to be argued. As pro-
duced by the human voice, there can be no radical
differences between possibilities in speaking and in singing ;
and, as produced by constructed musical instruments, it
is inevitable that the mind should associate with each
certain representative features, and should determine them
by the resemblance, or supposed resemblance, of their
artificial tones to the quality of some tone natural to the
human voice, or else produced in some other way in nature.
In determining these resemblances, too, one would be
influenced, of course, by the uses which, as a rule, are
made of the particular instruments which he is hearing.
It is undoubtedly owing to associations of this kind that
we read of the stirring tones of the fife and drum, the solemn
tones of the organ, the purity and softness of the flute, the
gayety and triumph of the trumpet, the woe and complaint
of the bassoon, the pathos and humaneness of the violin.
When, for instance, in listening to an opera, we hear pre-
dominantly the clash of the cymbals or rattle of the kettle-
drums, associated, as these usually are, with the sharper
tones of the metallic instruments, we know that the sounds,
as in the last act of Mozart's '* Don Juan," where hell is sup-
posed to await the hero, represent, according to the degrees
of their intensity, not only the startling, but the hostile and
menacing effects which, in the human voice, we associate with
guttural quality. If any action of the play must follow
what we hear, we expect to see some violent conflict full
of malignity and peril. When the predominating sounds
are those of the bass drums and the lower, more hollow
tones of either the wind or the stringed instruments, we
know that, as in the orchestration which in Wagner's
** Siegfried" accompanies the hero's encounter with the
dragon, they represent the presence of that which inspires
to awe and horror such as, in the human voice, we asso-
ciate with the pectoral quality. The resemblance to this
tone in its milder forms is undoubtedly that which imparts
a solemn effect to the music of the church organ. When,
again, the predominating sounds are those of the wood
instruments — the clarinet, the flute, even, to some extent,

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 341

the organ — we feel that these represent the gentle, passive
contemplation, sad or joyous, which, in elocution, is indi-
cated by pure quality. . . .

When, instead of the wooden wind instruments, we hear
the metallic, either as in the organ or in trumpets and
instruments of similar character, we feel that these repre-
sent the more profound emotions, the admiration, enthu-
siasm, courage, determination, that we are accustomed to
associate with elocutionary orotund quality. To such
music we expect to see troops march on to the stage, as
in the Soldiers' Chorus in Gounod's "Faust," giving vent
to their confidence in anticipation of victory, or to their
joy in view of its accomplishment. Once more, when we
hear the stringed instruments we recognize that it is their
peculiar function to impart intensity of feeling, just as is
true of the elocutionary aspirated quality. Hence, the
reason for the use of the violins in that scene in Wagner's
"Meistersinger" which takes place in the house of Hans
Sachs; or in the Venus music of his " Tannhauser " ; or
in the waltz music of Gounod's "Faust." Just as in the
case of the elocutionary aspirate, too, so here the effects of
these stringed instruments may partake of those of any of
the other instruments. Not only when associated, as in
orchestral music, with the instruments that have been
mentioned, but even when not associated with these, the
sharper tones of the strings suggest the aspirated guttural,
their lower hollow tones the aspirated pectoral, their struck
t^nes, as in the piano, the guitar, and the harp, the aspi-
rated pure, and their tones as produced by the bow, the
aspirated orotund. — Rhythm and Harmony in Poetry and
Music: Music as a Representative Art, vi.

"representative significance of form" (analysis of

THE book).

"The Representative Significance of Form" begins
with the presumption that form, even as it exists in nature,
always represents some significance; and that it is from
nature, therefore, that, directly or indirectly, a man derives,
in the main, the conceptions which he embodies in art. The
methods of deriving such conceptions are first considered,
and then it is shown how each class of conceptions may be
represented in each of the different arts. Advancing from
that which is more elementary to that which is more com-

342 AN ART'PHILOSOPHER'S CABINET

plex, there are treated in this way the conceptions of space,
time, existence, matter, movement, force, arrangement,
operation, method of operation, organism, Hfe, import,
and, finally, of the infinite, the eternal, and the absolute,
together with conceptions of truth in the abstract and in the
concrete, as embodied either in formulae or in action. In
all cases it is shown that significance and form necessarily
go together. After this, the different emphasis which the
ways of blending the two give to the one or to the other is
shown to distinguish artistic from religious truth, and also
from scientific; and the various conditions, methods, and
purposes are unfolded, in connection with which develop-
ment and expression are given to each of the three. In
accordance with the distinctions thus made, it is then
pointed out that, as manifested in art, the basic principle
of the religious tendency prompts to the instinctive, spon-
taneous, spiritual subordination of form to significance,
which we have in the sublime and the grand, the most
artistic expression of which is in epic art; that the basic
principle of the scientific tendency prompts to the reflec-
tive, responsive, materialistic equipoise of significance and
form, found in the picturesque and the simple, the most
artistic expression of which is in realistic art; and that
the basic principle of the distinctively artistic tendency
prompts to the instinctively reflective, emotive, and ideal-
istic subordination of significance to form, found in the
brilliant and the striking, the most artistic expression of
which is in dramatic art. The same three respective
tendencies, considered both in their tragic and their comic
phases, are shown to be at the basis also of the more im-
portant subdivisions of epic, realistic, and dramatic art;
after ample illustrations to exemplify and confirm which
propositions, the book closes by finally indicating as
developed from the same tendencies certain expressional
differences, as well as correspondences, between the arts
of Music, Poetry, Painting, Sculpture, and Architecture —
Recapitulation in Proportion and Harmony, xxvi.

RHETORICIANS, AS COLLEGE PRESIDENTS.

At that time, the presidents of all our prominent colleges
— men like Nott, Griffin, Hopkins, Woods, Wayland, Lord,
Kirkland, Humphrey, Finney — were rhetoricians, if not, as
was the case with many of them, elocutionists. The

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 343

whole curriculum was made a unity by aiming it in the
direction of expression, which certainly is a wise thing to
do, if the problem of education be, as has been stated in this
paper, how to get knowledge not into the mind, but out of it.
— Essay on the Literary Artist and Elocution.

rhyme, its influence on the mind {see verse an '
element).

It is evident, from what has been said, that the chief
effect of rhyme, or the recurrence of similar sounds at the
ends of lines, is to introduce into the verse the element of
sameness. This sameness of itself, as has been intimated
in another place, increases the effects of versification by
directing attention to the ends of the lines and thus sepa-
rating them. Besides this, especially when the rhymes are
used at like intervals, as is generally the case, they tend
to give unity to the form. Their influence in this regard
is precisely analogous to that of the cadences and half
cadences, which, coming at the ends of musical phrases,
give the effect of unity to musical composition. . . .

Like these similarly ending cadences and half cadences
in music, rhymes furnish a framework about which, or
rather within which, all the other form-elements of the
verse are brought together. This is the reason why it is
easier for beginners to write poetry in rhymes than in
blank verse. All successful verse must have form, and
rhymes of themselves tend to give it this. Not only so,
but — what is of main importance in our present treatment
of the subject — they serve equally to furnish a framework
for the poetic thought. The rhyming words, especially the
last of two or three that rhyme, always appear to be especi-
ally emphatic. In fact, they seem to add to the emphasis
in almost every possible way. They augment the effects of
duration or quantity, because at the end of the line, where
the rhyme usually is, the voice, as a rule, pauses; of force,
because rhyming syllables, at least the last ones in which a
sound is repeated, appear to be pronounced more strongly
than others; of pitch, because, as we have found, where the
vowel-sounds are the same, the pitch seems the same; and of
quality, as we shall find, because the likeness of the rhyming
syllables necessarily attracts attention. For all these
reasons, rhymes necessarily tend to thrust into prominence
the ideas expressed in them. . . . They convey the impres-
sion, therefore, that something important has been said;

344 AN ART-PHILOSOPHER'S CABINET

and if they ^ occur frequently, they suggest that many
important things have been said, and said in a short time,
or — what is equivalent to this — that the thought in the
poem is moving on rapidly, an effect that could not be
produced by the same words arranged differently. — Poetry
as a Representative Art, x.

RHYMES, EFFECTS OF.

To perceive parallelism in unrhymed blank verses, it is
often necessary to see them printed; but in successive lines
ended with the same sounds, the ear recognizes it at once. —
Rhythm and Harmony in Poetry and Music, ix.

Placed, as they are, at the ends of lines, they serve to
separate these, one from the other, and to emphasize the
element of form in their composition. They do this, more-
over, by satisfying the distinctively artistic tendency of the
mind to compare and classify effects that are alike, indicat-
ing clearly the length of each line, and which lines are meant
to correspond. — Idem, viii.

RHYTHM (see also ACCENT, PROPORTION, PROPORTION AND
RHYTHM, and VERSE, CLASSIC VS. MODERN).

Art did not originate rhythm nor the satisfaction deriv-
able from it. Long before the times of the first artists,
men had had practical experience of its pleasures. Long
before the age of poetry, or music, or dancing, or even of
fences or schoolboys, the primitive man had sat upon a
log and kicked with his heels, producing a rhythm as per-
fect, in its wa}^ as that of his representatives of the present
who in Africa take delight in stamping their feet and
clapping their hands, and in America in playing upon drums
and tambourines, in order to keep time to the movements of
dancers and the tunes of singers.

When we come to ask why rhythm should be produced
thus, either by itself or in connection with poetry or
music — in short, why it should be, as seems to be the case,
a natural mode of expression, we cannot avoid having it
suggested, at once, that it corresponds to a method char-
acterizing all natural movement whatever, whether appeal-
ing to the eye or ear, or whether produced by a human
being or perceived in external nature. There is rhythm
in the beating of our pulses, in the alternate lifting and
falling of our chests while breathing, in our accenting
and leaving unaccented the syllables of our speech, in our

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 345

pausing for breath between consecutive phrases, and in
our balancing from side to side and pushing forward one
leg or one arm and then another, while walking. There
is rhythm in the manifestations of all the life about us,
in the flapping of the wings. of the bird, in the changing
phases of its song, even in the minutest trills that make
up its melody, and in the throbbings of its throat to utter
them; in the rising and falling of the sounds of the wind,
and of the swaying to and fro of the trees, as well as in
the flow and ebb of the surf on the seashore, and in the
jarring of the thunder and the zigzag course of the lightning.
In fact, rhythm seems to be almost as intimately associated
with everything that a man can see or hear, as is the beating
of his own heart with his own life. Even the stars, like the
rockets that we send toward them, speed onward in paths
that return upon themselves, and the phrase "music of the
spheres " is a logical as well as a poetical result of an endeav-
or to classify the grandest of all movements in accordance
with a method which is conceived to be universal. No
wonder, then, that men should feel the use of rhythm to be
appropriate in art-products modeled upon natural products.
No wonder that, connected as it is with natural movement
and life and the enjoyment inseparably associated with life,
it should seem to the civilized to be — what certainly it seems
to the uncivilized — an artistic end in itself.

Nor is this view of it suggested as a result merely of
superficial observation. It is substantiated by the more
searching experiments of the scientists. There have been
discovered, for instance, in addition to the regular beat
of the heart, and independent of it, rhythmical contrac-
tions and expansions of the walls of the arteries, increasing
and decreasing at regular intervals the supply of blood.
Such processes . . . may be checked by cutting the nerves
connecting . . . the vaso-motor system; and this fact is
taken to indicate that there is a rhythmic form of activity in
the nerve-centres themselves. . . . The rhythmic character
of nerve-action seems to indicate a possibility of the same in
mental action. Acting upon this suggestion, Dr. Thaddeus
L. Bolton, Demonstrator and Fellow in Clark University,
conducted, a few years ago, a series of interesting experi-
ments. "The first and most important object" of these
experiments is said to have been to determine "what the
mind did with a series of simple auditory impressions, in

346 AN ART-PHILOSOPHER'S CABINET

which there was absolutely no change of intensity, pitch,
quality, or time-interval." As a result it was found that,
out of fifty who were asked to listen to clicks produced by
an instrument prepared for the purpose, two alone failed
to divide these clicks into groups, the number in each group
being determined, mainly, by the relative rapidity with
which the clicks were produced. The groups were usually
of twos or threes, though, with greater rapidity, they passed
into groups of fours, sixes, and eights, always, however, when
the members were many, with a tendency to divide into
twos, threes, and fours. It was found, moreover, that,
whenever a second, third, or fourth click was made louder
than the others, the inclination to divide the clicks into
corresponding groups of twos, threes, or fours was increased.
— The Essentials of Esthetics, xvi.

Rhythm is an effect produced by a consecutive series
of sounds, or multiples of sounds, which, in themselves,
may be varied and complex; but each series of which is of
like duration. In other words, it is a result, as is every-
thing that is artistic, of grouping according to some one
principle — to that of time in this case — the like partial
effects of unlike complex wholes. ^ — Rhythm and Harmony in
Poetry and Music, v.

Speech we find composed of syllables each uttered with an
individual stress, which separates it from other syllables;
but, more than this, we find that every second or third
syllable is apt to be accented, and, largely because ac-
cented, is apt to be prolonged more than are the other
syllables. The reason for the accent is physiological.
The vocalized breath flows through the throat — as water
through the neck of a bottle — with what may be termed
alternate active and passive movements. The former of
these movements is that which, in every second, third,
fourth, or fifth syllable, produces the accent. In our
language all words of more than one syllable have come
to have an accent that is fixed — as distingushed from
variable, which may be affirmed of words in the French;
and all our monosyllabic articles, prepositions, and conjunc-
tions are unaccented, unless the sense very clearly demands
a different treatment. These two facts enable one to
arrange any number of our words so that the fixed accents

' See page 89 of this volume.

'QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS '347

shall fall, as natural utterance demands that it should, on
every second, third, fourth, or fifth syllable. . . . Let us turn
to speech again. Here we find that certain smaller groups
composed of combined accented and unaccented syllables
are themselves combined into larger groups, which are
separated from other larger groups of the same composite
character by the necessity experienced of pausing at certain
intervals in order to draw in the breath. . . . Nature,
therefore, furnishes speech with two characteristics, —
accents after every two, three, four, or five syllables, and
pauses after every four, six, eight, nine, ten, twelve, or more
syllables. Those who have read the former volumes of
this series are now asked to recall what was said in "The
Genesis of Art-Form," with reference to the necessity uni-
versally experienced by the mind of conceiving of effects
— so as to have a clear apprehension of them — as a unity;
also . . . that grouping to be effective in securing a general
result of unity, must be made in accordance with the
principle of comparison, i. e., of putting like with like, — a
principle which in science leads to classification, and in art
to the analogous results of composition.' . . . Accent thus
used has a tendency to form the larger rhythmic groups,
such as are developed into poetic lines, before it forms the
smaller ones, such as are developed into measures. The
effect of each accent is that of one click, and, no matter
whether many unaccented syllables or none come between
the accented ones, a certain number of the latter, so long as
all are separated by like intervals of time, constitute one
group such as forms one line of verse.

Br6ak, br^ak, br^ak,

On thy c61d gray st6nes, oh s6a.

And I woUld that my t6ngue could litter

The th6ughts that arise in m^.

Break, Break, Break — Tennyson.

Later, however, but only later, it is perceived that the
effect of each syllable too is that of one click, and that, by
attaching a certain fixed number of unaccented syllables
to each accented one, smaller groups can be formed, such as
constitute poetic measures. That this is the natural order
of development of the tendencies that lead to lines and
measures, can be confirmed by the slightest observation of

» See page 89 of this volume.

34S AN ART-PHILOSOPHER'S CABINET

ordinary talking and reciting. In these we always find an
inclination to introduce the accented syllables with approxi-
mate regularity. This inclination needs only a little
artistic development, and they can be introduced with
absolute regularity. When this has been done, the form
seems made up of equal parts determined by the emphasized
syllables. — Idem, ii.

"rhythm and harmony" (analysis of the book).
In the volume entitled ' ' Rhythm and Harmony in Poetry
and Music," as also in the present volume, this method of
putting like with like, as modified by the conditions of
variety everywhere characterizing the materials with which
art has to work, is shown to be at the basis of all the different
developments of form as form with which the art of our
times is acquainted. Rhythm and proportion are traced
to effects produced by a grouping, of which the mind is
conscious, of like or allied measurements, or multiples of
measurements, in time or space; and harmony, whether of
spoken words, of musical notes, of outlines, or of colors, is
traced to a grouping, of which the mind is not conscious, of
like or allied measurements, or multiples of measurements, in
vibratory movements. To exemplify the truth of this
statement, as evinced in every detail of the forms of these
arts, has necessitated much explanation and no little repeti-
tion. But these are excusable if they have suggested any
important considerations not before recognized. For
instance, the latest, and perhaps the best, book produced in
our country which discusses poetic form, is developed from
the same limited conception of it indicated in the definition
of Poe in his essay on "The Poetic Principle," namely,
"the rhythmical creation of beauty." No one would say
that in "Rhythm and Harmony in Poetry and Music"
there is any lack of thoroughness in the treatment of rhythm
in poetry or of its various applications and possibilities, —
to say nothing of the freshness of the treatment, owing to
the circumstance that a year before the book was published,
the scientific investigations that suggested, perhaps, the
most important conclusions in it had not been made. At
the same time, no one can read that book carefully and not
recognize that harmony, too, as distinctly differentiated
from rhythm, plays as noteworthy a part in the general
effects of poetry as in those of music; that, different as are

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 349

both factors and effects as used in poetic and in musical
harmony, nevertheless, the methods of it in both arts
illustrate identical principles. That an analogous fact is
true, not only in these arts, but also in painting, sculpture,
and architecture, has been shown in the present volume,
concerning the line of thought in which, however, nothing
need be added here. — Proportion and Harmony, xxvi.

RHYTHM AND PROPORTION, DETERMINED BY EQUAL SUB-
DIVISIONS (see also proportion).
Rhythm is a result of making, by series of noises, or
strokes, certain like divisions of time — small divisions, and
exact multiples of them in large divi.sions. But the moment
that the smaller divisions become so numerous that the
fact that they exactly go into the larger divisions is no
longer perceptible — as, often, when we hear more even than
eight or ten notes in a musical measure, or more than three
or four syllables in a poetic foot, — the effect ceases to be
rhythmical. A like fact is true of proportion. Owing to
the very great possibilities and complications of outlining,
as in squares, angles, and curves, its laws are intricate and
difficult to apply; but, as is shown in the volume of the
author entitled, "Proportion and Harmony of Line and
Color in Painting, Sculpture, and Architecture," the effects
of proportion all result, in the last analysis, from exact
divisions and subdivisions of space in every way analogous
to the divisions and subdivisions of time that produce
rhythm. — Essentials of Esthetics, ii.

rhythm and proportion important AND COMPLEX (see also
proportion).
In this life, it usually takes very little to start that which
may develop into very much. Rhythm is apparently of
little importance. If one knew nothing about art, what
could appear more absurd than for an intelligent man to
think it worth while, when wishing to say something, to
count the syllables that he utters, so that they shall reveal
exact divisions and subdivisions of time, such as the negro
makes when be beats his hands and feet for dancers? Yet
it is out of this simple method of counting, that art has
developed the most important element in the form of
poetry, as well as an element extremely important in the
form of music. When we come to examine the different
combinations of effects attributable to rhythm, we find that

350 AN ART-PHILOSOPHER'S CABINET

we are by no means dealing with a subject so simple as at
first appeared. The same is true of proportion. Before
deciding, for instance, that a foot or a nose is dispropor-
tionately large or small, it must be compared not only
with other feet and noses, but with the sizes of all the other
surrounding features in the animal or man in which it
appears. The same feature may look too large with small
surroundings, and too small with large ones. Indeed, the
number and variety of measurements that any extensive
knowledge or application of proportion involves are almost
incalculable. When we try to determine exactly what it is
that causes its results to be satisfactory, in the human form
. . . then we begin to perceive that this characteristic, as
is true of every other entering into the effects of beauty,
is capable of complexities as well as possibilities almost
infinite. — Proportion and Harmony of Line and Color, ii.

Savages and young children with no musical training,
and their elders who have no ability to appreciate changes
in quality or pitch, all show appreciation of rhythm. Noth-
ing could be more perfect than that in the poetry of Pope,
Scott, or Byron. Yet it is said that neither of these was
able to distinguish one tune from another. So with many
dancers. One need not be able to follow a tune as a tune, in
order to keep time to its rhythm. — Rhythm and Harmony
in Poetry and Music, vi.

SCIENCE AIDED BY ART {seC also IMAGINATION AS AIDING

science).
Many scientists have a subtle, even a pronounced dis-
belief, in that arrangement of nature in accordance with
which matter and mind, knowledge and surmisal, always
move forward on parallel planes with the mind and its
surmisal some distance ahead. Their disbelief is owing to a
lack of imagination, and this is often owing to a lack of the
kind of culture which they might derive from giving atten-
tion to some phase of art. And yet the majority of them,
perhaps, believe that art is a mere adjunct to intellectual
training, — an ornamental adjunct, too, introducing, like
the carving on the keystone of an arch, what may be
interesting and pretty, but is not essentially useful. This
is a mistake. In important particulars, it may be said that
art is not the carving on the keystone, but the keystone

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 351

itself, without which the whole arch would tumble. — Essay
on Art and Education,

SCIENCE AS AN AID TO ART {see also ART, BREADTH OF,
GENIUS AND LEARNING, and INFORMATION).

Art is a development of natural tendencies, of which we
are not always conscious. As a rule, it is only after science
has brought these to light that they are recognized as
sustaining the relationship, which they do, to the forms in
which they have developed. — Rhythm and Harmony in
Poetry and Music, iii.

SCIENCE FOLLOWING THE LEADING OF ART {see also ART, THE
CONNECTING LINK).

Pythagoras was studying music when he began the
discovery of the laws of sound, and Leonardo and Chevreul
were studying art when they made their contributions to
the understanding of color ; and, though the time has now come
when those composing the advancing army of science have
moved into every remotest valley of the invaded country,
apparently needing no longer any leadership of the kind, they
never would have begun their advance unless, like the hosts
of almost every conquering army, they had at first marched
behind a standard that in itself was a thing of beauty. —
Essay on Art and Education.

SCIENCE vs. ART {see also ARTISTIC vs. SCIENTIFIC MENTAL

action).

What causes the difference in aim between one who
devotes himself to science and one who devotes him-
self to art? This: the scientist must be an informer, the
artist a performer. Science develops the powers of under-
standing and increases knowledge. Art develops the
powers of expression or execution, and increases skill. —
Essay on Artistic vs. Scientific Education.

Science and art are different, and they satisfy different
mental cravings, one demanding stimulus for knowledge
and the other for imagination. Nor was there ever a time
when the normal mind did not demand both. To suppose
that it can be satisfied with one of them is like supposing
that thirst can be assuaged by giving food. — The Representa-
tive Significance of Form, xxvi.

SCIENCE vs. ART IN EDUCATION.

No man can use his eyes, ears, memory, as science necessi-
tates, to say nothing of his powers of analysis and generaliza-

352 AN ART-PHILOSOPHER'S CABINET

tion, without learning a very great deal. But think how
much more he can learn, when he is forced into the repe-
titious and conscientious practice which is always necessary
before one can acquire that skill which is essential to success
in art. — Essay on Art and Education.

SCULPTURE, GREEK, BASED ON MODELS {see olso MODELS, and
OBSERVATION VS. THEORY).

One fact always affords a strong argument in support of
the theory that Greek sculpture was produced mainly by
an application of mathematical principles, and this is the
conventional character of the face of the statue. With few
exceptions, the nose, mouth, eyes, and forehead all show the
results of the same relative measurements ; and the question
is asked very pertinently. If the face were conventional
why was not the form also? To answer this question,
makes it necessary to direct attention to something which
we moderns find it difficult to understand, . . . that char-
acter and thought are expressed in the whole human figure.
Of this, the face forms a very small part. If we be in
circumstances where we can see the whole figure, there, by a
necessary law of the mind, we think mainly of that which
occupies the main part of the field of vision. If we have
analyzed our own thoughts, when witnessing a scene in
which the clothing of the performers was less ample than
that allotted by our standards of civilization, — an athletic
exhibition, or the bathing of boys on the seashore, — we
shall recall that those with the finest forms and most grace-
ful movements invariably attracted our attention and won
our admiration, no matter how ugly may have been their
countenances. In such circumstances, we scarcely seem to
notice countenances at all. . . . Many beautiful forms that
served as models for the Greek artists were undoubtedly
surmounted by ugly faces. The Greek did not believe
in ugliness anywhere; and for this reason, in place of the
faces that he found, he may have substituted his conven-
tional face, probably itself a copy of some face which com-
mon opinion had pronounced beautiful. Moreover, by
using this face and no other, he would avoid giving offense
to those who might desire to have him reproduce their
countenances as well as forms. Besides this, too, large
numbers of his statues represented gods, and it would
scarcely have been considered appropriate had he repre-

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 353

sented these by using a literal portrait of a living person.
Once more, it must not be supposed, even though it be
admitted that the Greek used models freely, that he was
often content to have all the parts of any one statue literally
reproduce all the parts of any one model. On the contrary,
the history of the best period of his art is a record of changes
in forms, as these were developed with more or less gradual-
ness, the one from the other. . . . There is another considera-
tion which, in studying the proportions of the human body,
necessitates taking the observation of nature for the point
of departure. This is the fact that different forms of men,
even when conforming to accepted standards, or conforming
sufficiently to be all equally well proportioned, differ in
their measurements. . . . Such variations may be ascribable
to differences not only in occupation, age, and sex, but also
in temperament, — the mental, the vital, and the motive
which are respectively expressive of very different intel-
lectual and physical traits, each tending to a different general
contour. — Proportion and Harmony of Line and Color, vii.

SCULPTURE, SUBJECTS OF {see PAINTING l'^. SCULPTURE,

THEIR subjects).

SCULPTURE SUGGESTING MOVEMENT.

Statuary is the representation of arrested movement, not
of movement in itself; and to work upon the supposition
that it is the latter is to deviate from the legitimate purpose
of the art. At the same time, the statue must suggest that
some movement has taken place or is to do so. The opposite
tendency can be made too prominent only at the expense of
impressions of intelligibility and animation. That which
was meant for a statue will then become, like many of the
monuments of our public men, merely an effigy, — as if,
forsooth, its object were to remind one, above all things,
that the man is dead! — The Representative Significance of
Form, XXIV.

SELECTION, IN ART WORK.

One of the most interesting things in this world is an
ant-hill. We come upon it in a grass-plot, or a rocky waste,
or a field of loam of a certain hue or texture, and it usually
consists of a gathering together, grain by grain, of materials
and colors not interesting in themselves, yet made so by
being selected from surrounding ones. Man has a way of
making things interesting through an exercise of a similar
33

354 AN ART-PHILOSOPHER'S CABINET

faculty of selection. That from which he selects usually
comprises two elements — substance and appearance; more
strictly, substance not having form and substance having
it, or needing to be made to have it in order to be that for
which it is of value. It is with this latter, with substance
having form, that art is concerned. — Essay on Teaching in
Drawing.

SENTIMENT CHARACTERISTIC OF ART-APPRECIATION {sec dlso
ARTISTIC natures).

A slight attempt to recall the foremost trait of expres-
sion distinguishing any man who has given himself to the
study and production of art will verify by facts this con-
clusion of Schiller. Is it not true that artists and poets,
and often even mere admirers of music, painting, sculp-
ture, or poetry, are persons given above all things to
sentiment? Can we not perceive this sometimes in their
very gaits and gestures, in the involuntary waverings of
their lips, in the unconscious bewilderment of their eyes?
Does not the very sight of them often make us feel that
they are men who have been exhilarated, if not intoxi-
cated, by drinking in thoughts that brim above the com-
monplace; that they are men whose moods are loyal to
an all-pervading sovereignty of soul? Can we not often
detect, behind all that they do or say, the spiritual force
of unseen ideality, the unselfishness of non-material pur-
pose, the virtue of uncompelled industry, the enthusiasm
that revels amid dim twilights of inquiry and starry mid-
nights of aspiration? How different is their mien from
that of those who manifest none of their vaguer, softer
qualities, but pride themselves upon the fact that they
are sharp! And, verily, too often they are sharp, their
very visages whittled to a point like snow-ploughs on a
wintry track that always draw attention downward and
cleave through paths that chill. The brightness of their
eyes is that of diamonds that are used only to cut, the
summons of their voices that of trumpets that are ever
blowing of their own sufficiency. No radiance of a spiritual
light that streams from inward visions is haloed from
the one. No call toward a sphere too subtle to be heralded
by aught except "the still small voice" is echoed from the
other. What is lacking in the methods of mental action of
men like these, as every one who knows the highest possi-

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 355

bill ties of art can testify, is the kind of culture which leads
to the conception within and the expression without of
sentiment — not sentimentality, which is always selfish, as
well as a caricature, and an effect not based upon facts; but
vigorous rranly sentiment, something rooted deep in com-
mon-sense but yet not common; rather its uncommon
development when the material branch and leaf, grown up-
ward, burst into that which sheds the fragrance of the
spirit's flower. — Essentials of Msthetics, iii.

SERENADE.

It is mainly, too, by the contrast afforded between a
realm known only to the soul and one apprehended only
by the senses; by the transition from the subjectivity
of dreaming to the objectivity of listening, that such
transcendent sweetness is sometimes imparted to the
serenade at midnight, and also to the songs of the birds
at daybreak. — The Representative Significance of Form, xii.

SIGNIFICANCE AND FORM IN ART (sce also FORM AND SIG-
NIFICANCE, also FORM VS. significance).
Art involves the representation not merely of significance
nor merely of form; and those who wish to further its
interests cannot do so by directing the energies of the artist
exclusively to either. The captain of a yawl tossed by
ocean waves might as well urge every one on board of it
to rush to one side of it or to the other, and expect to reach
his landing without capsizing. — Painting, Sculpture, and
Architecture as Representative Arts, XV.

The two tendencies of art thus exemplified, and the
constant inclination of the mind, when perceiving the
deficiency in the one, to turn altogether away from it to that
which, when regarded in itself alone, causes equal deficiency
in the other, make one feel, at times, as if it were wellnigh
hopeless to try, as has been attempted in these volumes, to
introduce into the conceptions of American artists and
critics even a beginning of that balance between the two
which always characterizes the highest art, — that of ancient
Hellenism, for instance, which was equally careful to repro-
duce only the ideal in thought and only the beautiful in
form. I have concluded that nothing could more certainly
accomplish the desired end than a practical recognition of
the relationship of art both to religion on the one hand and
to science on the other, together with a recognition of the

356 AN ART-PHILOSOPHER'S CABINET

natural limitations to art which such a double relationship
necessarily involves. — The Representative Significance of
Form, Preface.

Depending partly upon outward form, which mainly
requires a practice of the method pursued in classic art,
and partly upon the thought or design embodied in the
form, which mainly requires a practice of the method
pursued in romantic art, these artistic effects appeal partly
to the outward senses and partly to the inward mind; and
only when they appeal to both are the highest possibilities
of any art realized. — Art in Theory, iii.

We judge of others by ourselves. We judge of their art
by the art which is possible to ourselves. While great art
requires great breadth of view and distance of aim, the
majority of men are not great. Their views are narrow,
and their goals are near them. When their attention is
directed to significance, they forget to attend to the require-
ments of form; and when attention is directed to form, they
forget about significance. That which they themselves do,
they naturally suppose that everybody must do. Human
nature being what it is, they naturally come to think too that
this is what everybody ought to do. For, unless they are
to admit that they, themselves, are not entitled to rank
with artists of the foremost class, what can be allowed to
determine excellence in art except their own standards?
At periods like the beginning of the nineteenth century, or
in countries like England or Germany, where value in art
is mainly thought to be determined by significance, this is
that for which they aim; and in the degree in which they
are forced to recognize that there can be no accurate re-
production of appearances without thorough study of the
methods of the best artists, and facility acquired by per-
sistent practice, they will be anxious to convince them-
selves and to persuade others that mastery in significance
can compensate for a lack of mastery in technique. On
the other hand, at a period like the present, and in countries
like France and our own, where value in art is mainly
thought to be determined by success in reproducing appear-
ances, they will aim to do this; and, in the degree in which
they are forced to recognize that significance cannot be
given to an art-product without great constructive exercise
of imagination and invention, they will be anxious to

'^ QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 357

believe for themselves, and to persuade the world, that
success in technique can compensate for success in render-
ing the product significant. . . . But is it a fact that attention
to significance is inconsistent with an equal degree of atten-
tion given to form? Why should this be the case? In
poetry a metaphor or simile is not less but more successful
in the degree in which to the representation of the thought
involved it adds fidelity to the scene in nature by a com-
parison with which this thought is represented. — Paintings
Sculpture, and Architecture as Representative Arts, xiii.

SIGNIFICANCE, AN ELEMENT OF THE FORM DEVELOPED BY

ART.

The general, if not the aesthetic, public, upon whose
judgment the rank of the art-work must ultimately depend,
know and care little about technique, except so far as it
has enabled the artist to secure for his product a certain
satisfactory representative effect. But this effect depends
in some cases as much upon what may be termed the
expressional norm chosen for the nucleus of development,
as upon the method of its development; in other words,
as much upon that which is significant in the work as upon
that which is excellent in its form. Successful art is always
the insignia with which the play-impulse decorates that
which, before the decoration, has shown in practical relations
its right to receive it. Just as a successful drama is an
artistic development of imagination at play with the
words of natural conversation; so a successful melody is
a development of the same at play with the intonations of
natural conversation; and a successful picture, of the same
at play with the outlines and colors of natural scenes.
What imagination does is to elaborate the form, this
being accomplished in our own day through carrying out
the laws of complicated systems of rhythm, harmony,
drawing, or coloring. But the forms that art, if high art,
in each case elaborates, are forms of expressing thought
and emotion. — Idem, Preface.

SIGNIFICANCE IN ART {see also FORM AND SIGNIFICANCE).

By significance in art is meant its mental as distinguished
from its material effects, whether these material effects
be produced by the external form itself, or by the image
of this form which reflectively appears in imagination;
and thought and emotion are effects as inseparable in

358 AN ART-PHILOSOPHER'S CABINET

mental experience as perception and feeling are in the
experience of the senses. Indeed, in the term humanities,
so often applied to the arts, we may recognize a conception
equally suggestive of the sources of understanding and of
sympathy. These arts address not only the senses and
the sense-influenced imagination, but, through them, the
whole range of the mind's activities. — The Representative
Significance of Form, i.

SIGNIFICANCE IN ART-FORM

Thoughts and emotions are stirred to activity when the
eye perceives objects, just as inevitably as rays of light
surround a match when it is struck. Inseparably, in such
cases two elements of interest are present. One is the
result of the effect perceived by the eye; the other, of the
effect experienced in the mind. This latter effect consists
of imaginative processes which, according to the methods
unfolded in Chapter I., are suggested by way of association
or of comparison. It is when faces appear to be thinking
or feeHng something, when figures, alone or in connection
with other figures, appear to be doing something, when
fields, houses, hills, waves, clouds, give indications of cul-
ture, comfort, convulsion, storm, or sunshine, whatever it
may be, — it is then, and in the exact degree in which this
is so, that the objects in connection with which we have
these suggestions prove most interesting. The worth of a
diamond is measured by the quantity and quality of the
light emitted by it. The worth of an object of perception
is measured by the quantity and quality of "that light
which never was on sea or land" — in other words, by the
amount and character of thought and emotion which it
awakens.

If this be so — and who can deny itP^why does it not
follow that the art which represents these visible objects
can be successful in the degree only in which it represents
also the thought or emotion upon which so much of their
interest depends? Such certainly must be the conclusion
of all except those who pretend to hold a theory which
even they themselves do not seem to understand, namely
that, given the art-form, the art-thought appropriate
for it will be suggested necessarily. As a critic of "Art in
Theory" took occasion to say: "Art is simply, wholly,
and entirely a matter of form. . . . The best critical

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 359

opinion, nowadays, assumes the identity of the art-form
with the art-meaning." The only trouble with this an-
swer is that, in the sense in which one would naturally
interpret it, it is not true. All art-significance must be
expressed through art-form; but precisely the same natural
form selected for art-imitation may convey a very different
quality of significance according to the treatment given it
by the artist. One thing that he can always do, is to
arrange features so as to make them express what he wishes
them to express. It is always possible for him to analyze
and separate a form charming in itself from a significance
which could make it still more charming. He can paint a
face in such a passive condition that it will appear to have
no mind behind it; or he can rouse his model to reflection
or laughter, or imagine for himself the results of these, and
transfer from the face to his canvas only such colors and
outlines as give one a glimpse of the soul. Still more can
he do the same when it is possible, in accordance with the
principles of pantomime, to arrange for his purposes the
pose of the whole figure; and the result may be rendered
yet more effective through the opportunities afforded by
the mutual relations, each to each, which may be indicated
through the poses of several figures. The same principle
applies also to landscapes. It is one thing to represent the
material effects of sunshine and storm, and another thing to
represent their mental effects, — the effects which they have
upon the imagination; and a painter can content himself
with doing the first, or, if he choose, he can do both. This
is not to say that, if he do merely the former, his product
will have no significance. Wherever there is form there
is some significance, if only because there is a lack of it.
What is meant by the ground taken in this paragraph is
that unless the artist have it in mind to represent signifi-
cance, his work, as a rule, will reveal only such as is of trifling
importance, such as has no distinctive meaning; and art
that is not distinctive in a direction in which it might be
so, is not art of a high quality. — Paintings Sculpture^ and
Architecture as Representative Arts, xiii.

SIGNIFICANCE IN PAINTING.

, The world in general judges of subjects by the possibilities
of significance in them. There are both greater opportunity
and necessity for manifesting thought and emotion in

36o AN ART-PHILOSOPHER'S CABINET

connection with a landscape than with a dish of fruit or a
vase of flowers; and in connection with human figures than
with landscapes. Of course, many pictures of fruits and
flowers are superior, as works of art, to many pictures of
human figures; but in case of equal skill displayed in the
representation of form, the art- work ranks highest which
necessitates thought and emotion of the highest quality.
This principle enables us to rank as subjects not only
flowers and fruits below landscapes, and landscapes below
human figures, but to rank below others certain products
representing exactly the same objects. For instance,
flowers, oranges, grapes, apples, or wine or beer in a glass,
■ — all these may be portrayed so skillfully as to be exceedingly
artistic. But it is easy to perceive that the appeal of the
picture as a thing of significance may be differently deter-
mined by different circumstances. A vase of flowers
represented as being in a room upon the sill of a closed
window, beyond which, outside the house, can be seen
snowdrifts and frost-laden trees ; or fruits and viands repre-
sented as heaped upon a table where nevertheless a half-
empty plate and glass and an unfolded napkin give evidence
that some one has already partaken of all that he wishes,
with, perhaps, a window near by, through which a half-
starved face of a child is wistfully peering, — arrangements
like these, or hundreds of a similar character, which might
be thought out or felt out, would put thought and emotion
into the picture; and thus make it representative of these.
Can anybody deny that pictures thus made significant by
means of arrangement, if equally well executed, would rank
higher than pictures merely imitative? — Essentials of
JEstheticSy vii.

When we see a party of children, we may be interested
in them on account of the symmetrical outlines of their
forms, or of the glow of health in their faces. But there
are other considerations that may increase our interest.
One is the fact that we see them doing something which
their actions indicate. Another is that they are expressing
something which their countenances indicate; and, still
another, that they are children whom we know and love.
Nor is it true that any of these latter considerations, which
increase our interest, necessarily interfere with the degree

^QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 361

of interest excited in us by their grace or beauty of form. —
Painting, Sculpture, and Architecture as Representative Arts,

XV.

A picture of a child represents by way of association any
child, and therefore causes a mother, upon seeing it, to
recall instinctively her own child, and, doing so, to take
an interest in it. But in the degree in which the picture,
besides this, represents her child by way of comparison — ■
in the degree in which agreement in each detail of sex,
age, size, dress, and countenance satisfies her critical reflec-
tive powers, in this degree will the interest awakened in
her pass into emotion. The same principle applies to
scenery. Owing to their associations with some particular
lake or mountain, certain persons are instinctively interested
in a painting of any lake or mountain. But the distinctively
emotional effects of the picture are always increased in the
degree in which all the details, the more men reflect upon
them, are perceived to resemble those of the particular
lake or mountain with which they have associated it. So
with sculpture and architecture. Because of the principle
of association, certain persons cannot avoid an instinctive
tribute of reverence when they enter any chapel and stand
before the statue of any saint. But let the chapel or statue
either in its general form or in certain of its details — as of
flowers, leaves, symbols, etc., — recall, distinctly, by way
of comparison, that particular chapel or personality with
which they associate it, and their reverence will be the result
of a deeper phase of emotion. Thus we find both logic and
experience confirming from a new point of view what was
said in "Art in Theory" with reference to the importance
in high art of having the art-form represent both mental
conceptions — to represent which alone it would need
merely to suggest a certain association of ideas — and also
audible or visible material phenomena, to represent which
alone, it would need merely to manifest imitation. — Idem, i.

"He is what I call a vulgar painter," said a critic, some
time ago, when speaking of an artist. "Are you getting
ethical in your tastes?" was asked. "Not that," he
answered, "but don't you remember that picture of a little
girl by Sargent in the National Academy Exhibition last
year? You couldn't glance at it, in the most superficial
way, without recognizing at once that it was a child of high-

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toned, probably intellectual, spiritually-minded, aristo-
cratic parentage and surroundings. Now, if the man of
whom I was speaking had painted that child, he could
not have kept from making her look like a coarse-haired,
hide-skinned peasant." It is easy to perceive that, if
this criticism were justifiable, the fault indicated would
be largely owing to the failure of the artist to recognize
the thoughts and feelings that men naturally associate
with certain appearances of line and color. It would
be largely owing to the fact that he had never learned
that the round, ruddy form of the vital temperament that
blossoms amid the breeze and sunshine of the open field
has a very different significance from the more complex
and delicate curves and colors that appear where the
nervous temperament is ripened behind the sheltering
window-panes of the study. An artist believing in sig-
nificance merely enough to recognize the necessity of
representing it in some way could, with a very few thrusts
of his knife, to say nothing of his brush, at one and the
same time relieve the inflammation of chapped cheeks,
and inject into the veins some of the blue blood of aristo-
cracy.— Essentials of Esthetics, v.

SIGNIFICANCE IN POETRY.

Think of the literary prospects of a country, of the
possibilities of its receiving any inspiring impulses from its
poets at a period when new authors, writing with the
acknowledged motive of Dante, Milton, or Wordsworth,
would, for this reason and for no other reason, fail to com-
mend themselves to the leaders of literary opinion! Yet
one who has followed the views expressed in what may be
termed the professional critical journals of our country,
would not be far astray in claiming that this accurately
describes our own condition. The same France from
which we have derived the notion that significance is not
essential to painting, has also taught us, and the lesson
has been accepted and subtly assimilated so as to become,
almost unconsciously to ourselves, a part of the literary
belief of some of us, that it is not essential, either, to poetry.
In fact. Max Nordau's statement in "Degeneration,"
that "The theory of the importance of form, of the intrinsic
value of beauty in the sound of words, of the sensuous
pleasure to be derived from sonorous syllables without

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 363

regard to their sense, and of the uselessness and even harm-
fulness of thought in poetry has become decisive in the
most recent development of poetry," could be applied to
France not only but to our own country. . . .

The reason why such writers fail to comprehend that
which is true of representative significance, is easy enough
to understand. Art is a complex subject. Significance is
no more essential in it than is technique; and the mere
rudiments of this it takes years to master. As both Goethe
and Longfellow have told us, the pathway to art, even if
by this we mean merely the art of versifying, or of coloring
with proficiency, is long. Unfortunately for many it is so
very long that before they are fairly in sight of its termi-
nation they have apparently lost sight of everything else. —
Paintings Sculpture and Architecture as Representative Arts,
Preface.

SIGNIFICANCE NECESSARY IN ART.

Effects, though beautiful in nature, are wrongly used in
the highest art, if they be used on the supposition that,
even in their most insignificant features, they are not
vehicles of expression. A painting ranks higher than a
photograph and a play than a phonograph mainly because
one can read the thought, share the emotion, and sym-
pathize with the purpose behind not only its general con-
ception but every minutest part — every line or word —
through which the conception is presented. It is illogical
to argue that this fact does not rule out of the domain of
high art a very large proportion of what artists and critics
of less delicate aesthetic sensibility — not to say sense —
fancy that some cannot stomach merely because they have
no artistic taste. — The Essentials of Esthetics, xviii.

SIGNIFICANCE VS. THE FORM IN ART.

There is a clear distinction, the recognition of which is
philosophically essential, between the effects of a form
physically fitted to produce a certain physiological result in
the ear or the eye, as do some of the phenomena of tone
or of color, or else artistically fitted to produce a certain
psychological result or image in imagination, — there is a
clear distinction between these effects and the implicit or
suggestive, rather than explicit or arbitrary, effects upon
thought or emotion, which, invariably, when the mind
perceives art's real or imagined outlines, seem to surround

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these outlines as by a halo. This halo of thoughts and
emotions surrounding the natural form as represented in
the art-product, or surrounding the image of this product
as represented in imagination, constitutes what will be
termed the representative significance. — The Representative
Significance of Form, i.

It is not significance that makes a picture ordinary: this
merely makes it a picture rather than a product of decora-
tive art. That which makes it ordinary is the form in
which the significance is presented. To change a theological
essay into a "Paradise Lost," it would not be necessary to
drop the significance: that could be kept; but it would be
necessary to change the form. — Essay on Art and Education.

SIMPLICITY AND COMPLEXITY.

Simplicity is the door through which alone intelligence can
enter into the complex. — Proportion and Harmony, Preface.

SINCERITY IN ART {sce ARCHITECTURE, FRAUD IN, and

ornament).

The term sincerity indicates one's conception that the
artist has employed material which really is what it seems to
be, — wood, if it seem wood; stone, if it seem stone; iron, if
it seem iron. Sincerity even discards, at times, the use
of paint, on the ground that it conceals the genuine sub-
stance. So, too, owing in part also to the intrinsic beauty
of the graining of almost any kind of wood, the same
principle has led to a method of finishing this so as to reveal
its natural character. It is useless to do more than point
out that, as illustrated in all these cases, sincerity is merely
one way of applying the broader general principle that
architecture should represent nature. — Painting, Sculpture,
and Architecture as Representative Arts, xxi.
singing together.

Do you know that there is a theory that the tendency of
singing is to cause the hearts and pulses of all those joining
in the music, even listening to it, to beat in unison? — to
cause the currents of life in the veins, nerves, brains, even
souls of those affected by it, to move according to similar
methods? — in fact, to produce an inner as well as an outer
harmony. — Suggestions for the Spiritual Life, xx.
singleness of aim in art.

Even though one be not a German, then, he may be
inclined to think, at times, that there is philosophy as

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 365

well as comfort in the German's way of listening to classic
music in a plain beer-hall, with the outlines of that but
half revealed behind the fumes of tobacco. We may con-
clude, too, that there is artistic tact as well as adherence
to custom in the twilight vesper services of the cathedral,
where the choir is hidden in the gallery, and about one is
nothing distinctly visible save the mighty arches of the
nave looming in misty forms above, and the vague outlines
of the multitude bowing beneath it. . . . Art, like everything
else that is human, is effective, for one thing, in the degree
in which its efforts are directed toward one aim that is
made distinct and separate from all else whatever, whether
appealing to the ear or to the eye. Why could there not
be, if not a style, at least a mode of rendering music in
the future, which should be to that of the present what
the most thrilling choral of the cathedral is to the most
trivial chorus of the barroom? — The Representative Signifi-
cance of Forniy xxvi.

SKILL, HOW ACQUIRED {see also DRILL, INSPIRED, THE, AND
THE ARTISTIC, and PRACTICE, ITS EFFECTS).

Skill can be acquired only through practice; and this
practice, like that of one learning to play on a musical
instrument, always involves thought and labor expended
not upon completed results but upon certain analyzed
elements. — Essay on Artistic vs. Scientific Education.

SKILL WITH REVISION NEEDED IN ART.

Those who confound religious with what is termed artistic
inspiration, will almost necessarily estimate musicians,
actors, poets, orators, and even sculptors, painters, and
architects by the unconscious facility which they manifest
in conception and execution. But, though owing to the
pliability of his conscious nature to subconscious influence,
the artist does, in certain moods, manifest this facility, it
is not too much to say that no product of genius has ever,
even in such moods, sustained itself on a high, artistic
level, except as a result of much previous study and practice
which has developed skill; nor, even then, has work thus
produced been able to satisfy the highest demands of art,
unless it has been very carefully and consciously revised.
This is a fact essential to recognize, but very difficult to get
into the minds either of the young who wish to become
artists, or of the general public, or even of critics upon

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whom both artists and the public depend for instruction. —
The Representative Significance of Form, vii.

SKY-SCRAPERS {see also ARCHITECTURE, EXPRESSIVE OF
CHARACTER, and MORALITY AS INFLUENCED BY

architecture).

No one can deny that it is representative. The trouble is
that it does not represent what is agreeable or inspiring. It
represents, alas, New York. It represents the commercial
spirit entirely overtopping the aesthetic and sanitary in
general; and the religious and domestic, as manifested by
the church and house to the left, in particular. In more
senses than one it represents selfishness and greed, en-
tirely throwing into the shade beauty, health, kindness,
rationality, and safety. Were it possible for any artistic
motive to appeal to our legislatures, they would pass laws
enabling owners of churches and houses afflicted as are
these at the left of this picture, to obtain from any one
erecting a building like the tall one, damages of an amount
to render its erection impossible. Beautiful building as it
is, considered only in itself, it makes worse than wasted
every penny ever expended for the purpose of giving the
adjoining buildings architectural dignity or value.

Of course, nobody can imagine that our legislators will
ever be influenced by aesthetic considerations. But they
might be reached by other considerations. To say nothing
of preventing risk to life through earthquake or conflagra-
tion in edifices, fireproof too often only in name, some
law should be found to prevent robbing one's near neighbors
of sunshine and health, as well as one's distant neighbors of
real estate values, which a less grasping appropriation of for-
tunately situated lots would distribute more generally. In
fact, the conditions are such that it would not be strange
if, at no distant date, the practical and moral aspects of the
subject, aside from the aesthetic, would so appeal to public
sentiment that offices and hotels in these high buildings
would be as much avoided as now they are sought.

It may be urged that high building cannot be prevented
in this country, because it is free. But it is not free — for
those who interfere with even the convenience, not to say
the rights, of others. There is a law in certain states of
Germany that no fagade can be higher than the width of
the street which it faces. Some such law passed in our

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 367

own States, in order to secure health and safety, would do
this not only, but probably attain also the desired aesthetic
end. Architects, assured that no building could exceed
a certain height, would be quite certain to prevent other
buildings from overtopping their own, by seeing that
theirs were carried up to the exact limits of possibility.
Were this done, our streets would have a uniform sky-
line. Meantime, while legislation falters, why should not
the aesthetic considerations influence individuals? Why
should not those interested in the development of new
streets have introduced into the deeds sold a prescribed
height beyond which facades should not be carried? Or,
to enlarge the question, and this in a practical direction,
why should not trustees of institutions of learning pass
laws prescribing not only the sky-line, but the color and
style of new buildings erected by benefactors. — Paintings
Sculpture^ and Architecture as Representative Arts, xix.

SMALL CAUSES OF GREAT RESULTS.

A wave breaking upon the seacoast with its spray dash-
ing up to sparkle in the sunshine has a grand and beautiful
effect. But what makes the wave? — An innumerable
number of little springs hidden in obscure places in the
mountains. In the little springs there are no waves. But
there would be none anywhere, were it not for the cumula-
tive effects of all the springs together. So with great
achievements in art. They are the cumulative effects of
little degrees of knowledge and skill, started in thousands
of obscure places, and apparently wasted as they sink into
depths of greater obscurity. Special attainments in this
world are based, as a rule, upon general attainments. That
which towers high must have broad foundations. — Essay
on Teaching in Drawing.

SMALL PERFECTION NECESSARY FOR GREAT PRODUCTS.

Probably, Homer would not have stood where he does in
the history of poetry, had he not spent his entire mature
life in traveling about the country, and repeating and,
therefore, constantly and inevitably revising his Iliad and
Odyssey. In fact, as every artist — but, unfortunately
not every critic — knows, it is largely in the subtle small
points that a superior production differs from an inferior
one. It is these that determine the quality of the work,
that make it fine-grained, and cause the difference between

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the products of a master and of an amateur. The great
logician never drops a single link that will strengthen the
chain of his argument. The melody and rhythm of every
line of the great poem pulse with the living presence of the
artistic ideal that inspires the whole. The great painting
can stand the test of the microscope. * * Turner never passes
his brush over one thousandth of an inch," says Ruskin,
*' without meaning." — Suggestions for the Spiritual Life, xiv.

SPIRIT OF THE AGE, AS EXPRESSED IN ART {see also GENIUS

and SUBCONSCIOUS mental action).
If there be anything which, very often, the higher arts
are distinctly not, it is the expression of the spirit of their
age. Greek architecture of the fourth century before
Christ, and Gothic of the thirteenth after him, may have
been this; although even they were developments of what
had been originated long before. But all the unmodified
examples of Greek or Gothic architecture produced since
then — and at certain periods they have abounded to the
exclusion of almost every other style of building — have
been expressions not of the age in which they were produced,
but of that long past age in which their models were pro-
duced. The same in principle is true in all the arts. The
forms most prevalent in poetry, painting, sculpture, even in
music, are always more or less traditional, determined,
that is, by the artists of the past. As, in its nature, the
traditional is not essentially different from the historic, it is
doubtful whether these conditions will not continue in the
direct degree in which, in the study of art, this latter is
made to dominate; and it is not at all doubtful whether the
criticism calling itself historic is not belying its title when . . .
it ignores the historic fact that forms, which logically ought
to develop according to the spirit of an age, very often,
owing to a servitude to conventionality that interferes with
a free expression of originality, do not so develop. — Art in
Theory y Preface.

spiritual development traceable to art.

Nor is there a statue or a painting which depicts natural
life, especially human life, as we are accustomed in our own
day to see it — yet notice that this argument could not
apply, even remotely, to anything approaching deformity
or vulgarity — but every curve or color in it seems to frame
at times the soul of one to be loved, not by another, but by

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 369

ourselves; and, so far as Providence sends spiritual develop-
ment through imparting a sense of sympathy with friend,
brother, sister, father, mother, wife, or child, there, in the
presence of art, that development for a while is experienced.
— Essay on Art and Education.

SPIRITUAL IN ART RELATED TO THE SUBCONSCIOUS.

To say nothing of religion — what a revival of art there
might be, in an age which many deem too materialistic to
be at all poetic, if only what is unfolded in these pages with
reference to the subconscious and the spiritual could be
widely recognized to be true! — The Representative Signifi-
cance of Form, Preface.

SPIRITUAL SUGGESTIVENESS OF ART.

Notice how important is any agency that can lift people
who have no theories admitting the possibility of inspiration,
into a practical realization of it. This is what art does.
Through the results of the subconscious mind, coalescing,
as we shall find by-and-by, with those of the conscious
mind, it everywhere surrounds the material with the halo of
the spiritual, causing the minds that will not even acknow-
ledge the existence of the latter, to enter upon a practical
experience of it in ideas, and to accept, when appearing in
the guise of imagination, what they would reject if presented
in its own lineaments. So in an age like our own, art may
do a large part of the work peculiar to religion. The artist
though not a seer always has within him the possibility of
being the seer's assistant. No wonder therefore that those
not versed in making discriminations should identify the
poets with the prophets. Perhaps the majority of all
expressions to which we attribute inspiration are, in their
form, poetical ; and there is no truth so exalted, so infinite,
eternal, absolute, that the artist, by reproducing the forms
about him, cannot suggest it to imagination; nor any truth
so spiritual and unfamiliar, or capable of being realized
in only so remote a future, that he cannot present this
truth in forms in which many minds, however prejudiced
and material their tendencies, will not be glad to welcome
it. — Idem, vii.

STANDARDS OF CRITICISM {see CRITICISM, EFFECTS OF, ORIG-
INALITY AND ECCENTRICITY, and TASTE, STANDARDS OF).

As a restdt of having or acknowledging no standard,
about all that criticism can attempt is to observe a poem,
24

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a painting, or a building, and praise it, in case it resembles
some other product of a like kind — say by a Tennyson, a
Corot, or some Greek or Gothic builder — which has been
previously praised by some other critic. Judgments
formed according to this method either exalt imitation in
production into artistic excellence, as well as imitation in
opinion into critical acumen; or else, because there seems
some defect in such conceptions, they confound in their
search for the opposite of imitation the indications of mere
eccentricity with those of genuine originality. Meantime,
the art either imitative or eccentric that is developed by
such conceptions continues to prove satisfactory to men
so long only as the temporary fashion that occasions it con-
tinues in vogue. There is not a library, or picture gallery,
or street, or campus of any size in this country, that is not
filled almost to overflowing with modern compositions
which were extravagantly praised by the foremost authori-
ties of a few years ago, but which to-day are acknowledged
to be well-nigh worthless as specimens of art; and the
sorriest feature of the condition is that this race toward
worthlessness is still going on between many upon whose
works enormous sums of money, to say nothing of un-
deserved and misguiding laudations, are now being lavishly
expended. — Proportion and Harmony of Line and Color,

XXVI.

So long as the author of this series of volumes, upon the
principle of "Live and let live," refrains, as he has always
consistently done, from personal attacks upon artists and
critics and patrons of art, to some of whom, in his own
conceptions, he is now very definitely referring, he cannot
be rightly accused of being willing to attain notoriety in
that easiest way possible in our own age, — at the expense
of others; even if he cannot expect to be recognized as
one who, in all that he has written, has been mainly anxious
to be helpful to them. But whatever they may think, he is
certain that he will prove helpful in reality, in case he suc-
ceeds in doing no more than directing attention to the fact
that the conditions of art that have just been described must
always continue so long as opinion or performance is based
upon the conception that there can be no approximately
definite standards. And if this be so, it is not being theoreti-
cal but practical, to maintain that in art, as in all other
departments of life, these standards can be discovered.

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 371

We can find that upon which everything else on the earth's
surface rests, if only we can get down deep enough. We
can find the basic method of art, if only we can do the
same. To find this, has been the object of these volumes.
Nor is it assuming too much to hope that the physiological
as well as the psychical investigations of the present day
have been carried so far that no further discoveries, much
as they may add by way of confirmation to the theories
here unfolded, will necessitate any material change in their
general trend. — Idem, xxvi.

STUDY AS RELATED TO ARTISTIC INSTINCT.

We shall find here a noteworthy illustration of the fact,
often exemplified, that the last result reached through
artistic methods is not essentially different from that which
in certain circumstances antedates any study of art what-
ever.— Rhythm and Harmony in Poetry and Music, iii.

STYLE, NEEDED IN PRESENTING SUBSTANCE.

A howling mob summoned by a cry for help may bring
together substance to protect those in danger. But the
coming sound of martial music, and the tread of disciplined
troops, will be more likely to adjust the matter in a style
that will recall the feeling of nationality, the authority of
government, and the supremacy of law, thus reestablishing
permanent order. In this utilitarian age, we might get
along without certain poetical rhapsodies of literature;
but our practical arguments cannot afford to be without
those forms of language which, by giving stimulus and
suggestion, like the sparkle and flash that sometimes shoot
out from an electric current, light up the course of thought
on either side of the straight line of logic. It is not enough
to show men the grounds of an opinion. Grounds may
contain nothing beyond sand and gravel. To recognize
and realize and relish all that there is in the world of proof,
men need to know something of the glaciers of its moun-
tains, the verdure of its valleys, the fragrance of its flowers.
— Essay on Fundamentals of Education.

SUBCONSCIOUS MENTAL ACTION IN ART (sce olso GENIUS,
PERSONALITY, AND UNIVERSALITY, and SPIRIT OF THE AGE).

What is it to be affected by the ''zeit geist, " the "spirit of
the times, * * of which we so often hear ? What is it to be * * the
spokesman of one's age " ? What is it to be able, in the par-
ticular individualizations of art, to express the universal?

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What is it to be able, while depicting the phases of the pres-
ent, to foretell the unfoldings of the future? All these
things, every one admits to be characteristic of the great
artist. But what are they all, except so many proofs of
his possessing a subconscious mind, delicately suscep-
tible to influences exerted by other minds surrounding
him, and moving forward with him, — possibly, as in cases
of prevision, already borne beyond him? Finally, what
is the very substance of the art-product which we term a
work of imagination? What is it but a result, the general
outlines of which are taken from real objects or events in
the external world, yet the significant substance of which
is built out of the v/ell-nigh infinite variety of material which
has been stored in the subconscious mind? And when
we consider the forgotten experiences that have invariably
been brought to light, in order to be combined into the
result, we have no difficulty in recognizing that art is not
nature, but nature as mirrored in the mind, — mainly in the
subconscious rather than in the conscious, — a fact which
will be perceived to be true both of the simplest ele-
mentary exercise of comparison in which a single thing
perceived reminds one of another single thing previously per-
ceived, and equally true also of that more complex and
most difficult exercise of constructive imagination in which
a composite series of things perceived reminds one of
another composite series previously perceived. — The Rep-
resentative Significance of Form, vii.

SYMPATHIES, ART APPEALING TO THE.

Plays and novels that make us spend hours with people
such as we never meet, or meet only to avoid; and statues
and pictures equally objectionable, do not represent for us
real life as we know it, and cannot appeal, therefore, to our
sympathies as art should. — Essay on Art and Morals.

SYMPATHY AND ORIGINALITY.

One who is to preserve his own originality, and yet,
at the same time, derive from the forms and suggestions
of nature the same conceptions that others derive from
them; one who is to have the personal force to incorporate
in a form peculiar to himself that phase of truth, natural
or spiritual, which most readily commends itself to all,
must evidently be a man of sensibility, as well as of ration-
ality, a man able to sympathize as well as to infer. . . .

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 373

Only such a man can be controlled by his surroundings, and
yet manifest the freedom from control which is essential to
that play of the mind which is characteristic of all imagina-
tive results. — The Representative Significance of Form, xiv.

sympathy, appeal of art to {see personal and
sympathetic).
As human beings, men crave sympathy not merely with
the voluntary movements of their minds but often with
the involuntary. But the universe which surrounds them
is a constant mystery and source of speculation. They
believe that there are causes for its forms and movements,
spiritual meanings back of its material symbols. Yet
these are apprehended only vaguely, looming dimly,
as they do, from the regions of the unseen. Accordingly
when a work of art, produced by one whose subconscious
or hidden intellection is able to commune with these regions,
embodies these vague views of men in material forms,
appealing in such ways as to reveal to each one's conscious-
ness the truthfulness of his previous unformed apprehen-
sions, it is inevitable that his soul should experience
intense satisfaction. He feels that his own views have been
confirmed by another's intellect not alone but, at the same
time, have been felt also by another's heart. This recogni-
tion of the sympathetic appeal of art gives us one reason
why those susceptible to its influence — and who would
trust the critical insight or appreciation of any man who
was not? — are often, especially in early life, so completely
mastered by the significance of certain art-products.
Sometimes, in wandering through a gallery, they come
upon some painting or statue, and are so wonderfully
thrilled by it that they sit and watch it till the tears come,
and the room grows dim, and hours pass by, of which they
are unconscious; and when, in the end, they arouse them-
selves and leave the place, they wish for no further sight,
each other seeming vulgar and profane beside that holy
thing with which, for the time, they seem to have come in
contact. — Idem.

TASTE {see also culture as related to taste).

Mention, perhaps, should be made of taste, a term in

common use, indicative of that within the mind enabling

one to recognize an artistic effect, and to judge in some

way of its quality. The term originated in an adaptation

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to a feeling in the mind of that which can be actually experi-
enced in only one of the senses, and this a lower sense. As
originally used, too, taste indicated a passive state; but
even when referring to the lower sense it may indicate an
active. A cook whose taste is good can prepare a dish to
the taste of others. In a similar way, in art, the word may
indicate a man's appreciation and also his application of the
laws of beauty. Again, when referring to the lower sense,
men are said to have a natural and a cultivated taste; and
the same is true with reference to their attitude toward
beauty.

As applied to the whole range of artistic effects, the rela-
tion of taste to the aesthetic nature seems to be precisely
that of conscience to the moral nature, and of judgment to
the intellectual. Enlighten a man's soul, his conscience
will prompt to better actions; increase his wisdom, his judg-
ment will give better decisions. According to the same
analogy, cultivate his aesthetic nature, — i. e.y improve the
accuracy of his ear or eye, his knowledge of the different
appearances of life, or of modes of each life, — and his taste
will be cultivated and improved. He may never reach a
position where he can know what is absolutely beautiful
any more than what is absolutely right or wise; but he may
be constantly approaching nearer such a knowledge.
Hence, as applied to art, the old adage, "De gustibus non
est disputandum, " is not, in every sense, true. — Essentials
of Esthetics, ii.

TASTE, DISCREPANCIES IN, JUDGING OF HUMAN PROPORTIONS.

The fact that the whole human form and every part of it
owes the beauty which we recognize in it largely to its
representation of a certain phase of significance, furnishes
the best possible explanation for those discrepancies in
taste, which are nowhere more apparent than in the judg-
ments which different persons, equally cultivated, form
with reference to precisely the same human proportions.
These judgments differ because men differ in their views of
adaptability and fitness, and in the recollections which
they associate with persons characterized by certain
features; but more than all, because they differ in their
feelings of companionship with those possessing traits
which these features represent. Owing to one or the
other of these reasons, there are, for all of us, certain forms

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 375

SO adjusting themselves into the framework of vision and
mind that they fit into what men term their ideals as into
a vise, and hold sympathy spellbound. Certain movements
in these forms seem regulated to such a rhythm that, in
unison with it, all our currents of vein and nerve leap from
the heart and brain and thrill along their courses. They
do so very likely because of the operation of those universal
laws of vibration, the connection between which and the
effects of beauty was suggested in Chapter XII., and also in
Appendix I. of "Art in Theory." But the exact reason lies
deeper in nature than any plummet dropped by human
means can fathom. We cannot know the cause any more
than what, when all conductors are in place, speeds the
impulse of an electric current. We only know that a reason
exists at all because of the results which we experience.
Just as certain organs of the ear or eye respond and glow
with a sense of complete freedom and delight in the presence
of certain harmonious elements or combinations of sounds
or sights, so does the spirit as a whole. There may be some
so constituted physically, or so incapable of analyzing what
they feel, that they confound this apprehension of beauty,
which only we are now considering, with something less
pure and elevating. But those who have never made
their souls the servants of their bodies, and whose aesthetic
as well as ethical natures have, therefore, developed nor-
mally, are aware that the influence which flows from
beauty and beauty alone is different in kind from any-
thing debasing, and allied to that which is wholly spiritual.
It is not without strength in extreme youth, nor lost in
old age, and in its power to give delight and even to arouse
romance, it is stronger, often, when exerted by man upon
man and woman upon woman, than when exerted by one
upon another of another sex. These aesthetic effects, when
they reveal their sources through the outward forms in which
they are expressed and embodied, do this mainly through
what we term the proportions. What if these latter in them-
selves be merely a collection of like or related measurements ?
Is this not exactly what we should expect of anything the
effects of which can be ultimately traced to vibrations?
Cannot the same be affirmed not only of the minute waves
that underlie results in melody and harmony of tone, but even
of the larger waves of rhythm? And, if without rhythm
there can be no effective music or poetry, how should

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there be effective painting or sculpture without proportion?
— Proportion and Harmony, vii.

TASTE, STANDARDS OF, IN ART {see also CRITICISM, EFFECTS
OF, and STANDARDS OF CRITICISM).

Just as moral or intellectual character is shown by the
way in which the balance is maintained between conflicting
material and spiritual motives appealing to the conscience or
the judgment, so artistic character is shown by the way in
which the balance is preserved between the physiological
and psychological requirements of art. To a great extent,
as has been shown, the former requirement follows fixed
natural laws, as is the case, in fact, with everything merely
material; but the latter requirement depends upon the
range of thought and feeling characteristic of the mind of
the individual artist as a result of his temperament or ex-
perience. While therefore two artists may equally preserve
the balance of which mention has just been made, they
can never do it in exactly the same way. The psycho-
logical contribution, in each case, must be different. It
seems to be mainly for this reason that some argue that
there can be no standard of taste. But the same kind of
logic would lead one to conclude that there can be no
standard of right for conscience or judgment. It is un-
doubtedly a fact that moral and intellectual standards are
actually accepted to an extent and in a sense that is not
true of those of taste. But why is this the fact? — Why
but because the decisions of conscience and judgment
lead to actions; and actions always have some tendency
to become injurious to others. Therefore, for mutual
protection, men have agreed to accept conventional codes
and creeds, and to abide by them. Artistic taste, on the
contrary, does not, as a rule, lead to actions, or at least
not directly; and accordingly it is not supposed to be injurious
and is not treated as such. In it the expression of person-
ality, and with this of originality, is left unfettered. Spiritu-
ally considered, the artist is almost the only freeman. But
the fact that he is this is due, more than to anything else,
to the lucky accident of his not happening to be engaged
upon that which has a direct practical, utilitarian bearing.
There is nothing in the condition to rid him of the obligation
to endeavor, at least, to discover and to fulfil certain artistic
principles, any more than the fact of living where no con-

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 377

ventional creeds or codes had been framed, would rid one of
the obligation to endeavor, at least, to discover and to fulfil
the principles of truth and righteousness. — Art in Theory ^

XIV.

TASTE, WHEN DEGENERATE.

What kind of taste is being cultivated to-day?' It is safe
to say that, twenty-five years ago, no American publishers
of respectable standing would have allowed their imprint
to appear on the same page with the artistic vulgarities
which our foremost firms are now flaunting upon one's
eyes from the posters and even covers of their periodi-
cals; nor, if so flaunted, would any one, old enough to live
outside a nursery, have looked at such effects a second
time. But now they are supposed to commend them-
selves to the taste of several millions of people, many
of whom, after the schooling that they have received through
gradations downward to the present low level, are actually
expected to think them interesting and, if critics, to speak
of them as artistic! Nor is there any commercial excuse
for this abuse of artistic opportunity. It seems to be owing
to sheer esthetic wantonness irresponsibly debauching
popular taste. — Painting, Sculpture, and Architecture as
Representative Arts, xii.

TEACHERS AND BEES.

Not all the bees in a hive have to do with developing the
queen-bee. Yet one appears every season, and this because
of the work of all. Meantime, they all have also contri-
buted to the provisioning, the comfort, the prosperity, and
the sweetness of the whole corporate life. So with teachers
of drawing in primary schools. — Essay on Teaching in
Drawing.

TEACHERS, QUALIFICATIONS OF, IN ELOCUTION.

Some decry all physicians on the ground that they kill
off their patients. But this is true, as a rule, only of
quacks. There are certain physicians who benefit their
patients; and the same is true of some elocutionists. If
those called upon to select the latter would only exercise a
little common-sense, it might be true of almost all of them.
A man's credentials for such a position should be examined.
Has he studied the art, and with whom? Has he had
experience in teaching, and with what results ? More than

'This was printed in 1895.

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that, what kind of a man is he in himself? Has he good
judgment and insight? Has he modesty, so that he will
give his pupils merely what they need, not what he thinks
that he himself needs in order to increase their regard for
him? Above all, has he the artistic temperament? — that
supremacy of instinct over reflection and that flexibility,
mental and physical, which enable a man to remain master
of himself and of his material, notwithstanding any amount
of the latter with which instruction and information may
have surrounded him? How does he himself, in his own
reading and speaking, manifest the results of the system
that he purposes to teach? — Essay on Elocution in the
Theological Seminary.

TECHNIQUE {see FORM AND SIGNIFICANCE, FORM, STUDY OF,
FORM VS. SIGNIFICANCE, and SIGNIFICANCE VS. FORM).

In the degree in which he comes to take an interest in
his work, he will begin to perceive the fascination that there
may be in the study of form as form; and no man ever
became an artist or able to appreciate art in any department,
until he had begun to perceive this. The young seldom
perceive it. They are more apt to feel suppressed than
stimulated by talk with reference to fine discriminations in
the selection of words, or artistic ingenuity in the arrange-
ment of them. Always ready to admit in a general way the
value of style, in trying to detect its qualities for themselves
they are apt to use tools too big and bungling to discover
any except superficial excellences. Like the savage, they
stand agaze at the huge, the loud, and the coarse; they fail to
notice the delicate, the gentle, and the fine. They believe
in the realm of the telescope, not of the microscope; in
that which can wing itself among the clouds, not in that
which must watch and walk while keeping the motive
power of flight alive. They forget that the eagle has eyes,
as well as pinions; and that the keenness of his sight does
not prevent him from soaring, but prevents him, when he
soars, from losing himself. — Essay on the Literary Artist
and Elocution.

TECHNIQUE AND NATURE (see FORM AND SIGNIFICANCE and
NATURAL EFFECTS REPRODUCED IN ART).

When technique is mastered, and its results become auto-
matic, they, themselves, though not those of nature in its pri-
mary sense, become those of a second or acquired nature;

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 379

and, in this condition, the highest compliment possible
for them, as well as the highest tribute to their success, is
given when they are termed natural. — Essay on the Function
of Technique.

TECHNIQUE IN PAINTING SUBORDINATED TO REPRESENTATION.

When one enters a gallery, the work of the great master
is most likely to be that which, at first glance, might be
mistaken for a mirror reflecting nature outside the window;
in other words, a work, in which technique, however perfect
in itself, has been carefully subordinated to the requirements
of representation. — Idem.

TECHNIQUE IN POETRY.

It is not strange that one who has thoroughly at com-
mand the resources of the music of verse like Swinburne,
or of suggestive ellipses like Browning, or of picturesque
details like Morris, should occasionally, in the heat and
exuberance of his creative moods, push his peculiar excel-
lence altogether beyond the limits of legitimate art; but
it is strange that the critics who make it their business to
form cool and exact estimates of literary work, should so
seldom have sufficient insight to detect, or courage to reveal,
wherein lie the faults that injure the style of each, and how
they may be remedied. How can criticism be of any use
except so far as in a kindly way it can aid in the perfecting
of that on which it turns its scrutiny? And yet it is doubt-
ful whether, amid all the eulogy and abuse which have
greeted all the works of Robert Browning, any one, in
private or in print, has ever told him plainly what those
faults are — all so easy to correct, — but for which the man
with the greatest poetic mind of the age would be — what
now he is not — its greatest poet. And if criticism of this
kind is needed by authors who have attained his rank, how
much more by those who, with the imitative methods of
inexperience, are always prone to copy unconsciously, and
usually to exaggerate, the weak rather than the strong
points of the masters! Many a young writer, doing this
at that critical period of his life when a lack of stimulus and
appreciation may wholly check one's career, has failed,
notwithstanding great merits. All his ability in other
directions has not compensated for his ignorance of the
requirements of poetic technique. — Poetry as a Representa'
live Art, xiv.

38o AN ART-PHILOSOPHER'S CABINET

TEMPERAMENT AS INFLUENCING ART-PRODUCTS {See alsO
ARTISTIC VS. SCIENTIFIC MENTAL ACTION, and GENIUS).

The artist is one who, owing to temperament or training,
is able, to an exceptional extent, to manifest in speech or
action the results of his subconscious intellection. What
does he obtain through this form of intellection? Sur-
misals, which, sometimes, as has been shown, correspond
to the absolute truth. Nevertheless, even if they do, he
obtains this truth in those forms only in which his own
temperament, as influenced by his training, is able to in-
terpret, and, according to the method indicated, to frame into
an ideal the scenes or sounds that suggest the truth. And
what does he communicate? Nothing again but his own
surmisals, interpretations, or ideals. Moreover, if he be a
genuine artist, producing nothing but effects which represent
those of nature, he communicates his surmisals in such forms
only as cause others, as a result of their own imaginings, to
make similar surmisals. The artist therefore interprets na-
ture according to his own temperament, and causes others to
interpret it as he does. — The Representative Significance of
Form, XIV.

THEORIES, MADE TO SUIT OUR OWN PRACTICE.

The truth is that art-theories, like religious creeds, are
framed not so much for the purpose of adjusting conditions
to the demands of truth, as of advocating the conditions,
whether of truth or of falsehood, which the framers recognize
to be their own. The majority of us, though usually uncon-
scious of the fact, would rather keep all the world below us
than, by pointing to a level higher than our own, risk having
someone discovered there who, instead of ourselves, has
attained it. — Essay, on the Function of Technique.

THOROUGHNESS, AMERICA'S NEED AND MUSIC'S INFLUENCE

ON.

Thoroughness as a characteristic of mental process
or material production is very greatly needed among our
people. We have qualities that, in certain directions, seem
sometimes capable of taking its place, — an unusual develop-
ment of intuition, insight, ingenuity, and power of initiative.
Nine times out of ten, perhaps, when an American jumps
to a conclusion, he can make a successful landing; but the
wise ought always to bear in mind the fact that a single
slip, at a critical moment, may lose a whole race.

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 381

Is there nothing to awaken reflection in the fact that
Germany, the one country in which there has been not only
the highest but the most universal development of musical
culture, is also the one country universally acknowledged
to stand without a rival as an exemplification of the results
of thoroughness in all forms of scholarship? Is there not
something in this fact to suggest a patriotic as well as an
aesthetic reason for desiring to promote in our own land
every form in which music can be studied? — Essay on
Music as Related to Other Arts.

TIME (see REPRESENTATIVE EFFECTS IN DURATION, and

rhythm).

TRADITIONALISM AND MATERIALISM, AS AFFECTED BY ART

(see also religion aided by art and spiritual

SUGGESTIVENESS OF ART).

It would be a mistake, however, to suppose that, be-
cause not directly an aid to religion, art is not indirectly
so, and this even where strictly confined to its own sphere.
In ages like our own, when men rely chiefly upon the
guidance of the conscious mind, it is extremely diffictdt
for them to be brought to realize that there is any trust-
worthy guidance attributable to the action of the sub-
conscious mind. Those in this state may be divided into
two classes. One class of them holds that many years ago
this inspirational form of guidance prevailed, but that
now it does not. They believe in inspiration that was,
but not in inspiration that is. They prize highly that which
was once received in this way. But, so far as concerns
a similar method of receiving the truth now, their own
spiritual instincts are not allowed to guide them even to
the extent — which might involve no great changes of
opinion — of interpreting the spirit of the old according to
the form of the new. The result is what is termed tradi-
tionalism; and it is needless to argue that the tendency of
this is to cause the mind to hold on to that which has
formerly been conceived, and to hold on so firmly as often
to be prejudicial to development, and even to activity, of
thought. The other class maintains that there never was,
and never can be anything worth regarding in this inspi-
rational form of guidance. They deem nothing trustworthy
except that which results solely from the action of the
conscious mind. This leads to what is termed materialism ;

382 AN ART-PHILOSOPHER'S CABINET

and, so far as it has its perfect work, it is still more deaden-
ing to effort and ideality than is traditionalism. — The Re-
presentative Significance of Form, vii.

TRAINING, PHYSICAL AND MENTAL (see also DRILL, INSPIRED,
PRACTICE, ITS EFFECTS, and SKILL, HOW ACQUIRED).

Training can do much more for artistic development
than some suppose. It can produce facility not only
in outward expression, giving the singer, orator, or actor a
flexible voice or a graceful body, or the musician, painter,
or sculptor dexterity in the use of fingers, brush, or chisel.
It can produce facility in the methods of inward prepara-
tion for expression, enabling the mind to draw at will
from the subconscious resources that which is the subject-
matter of artistic invention and inspiration. — The Repre-
sentative Significance of Forniy xiii.

TRUTH (see ART AND BEAUTY, and NATURE TRUTH TO).
TRUTH AND THOUGHT REVEALED IN NATURE.

Here is a rose-bush. When it begins to grow, it is small
and weak and simple. As it develops, it becomes large and
strong and complex. So does every other plant in nature;
so does a man ; so does a nation ; so does all humanity ; so,
as far as we can know, does the entire substance that develops
for the formation of our globe. One mode of operation, one
process, we find everywhere. If this be so, then to the
ear skilled to listen to the voice in nature, what is all the
universe but a mighty auditorium — in which every tale is
reechoed endlessly beneath, about, and above, through
every nook of its grand crypts and aisles and arches? But,
again, if all created things bear harmonious reports with
reference to the laws controlling them, what inference
must follow from this? In view of it, what else can a
man do but attribute all these processes, one in mode, to
a single source? — and, more than this, what can he do but
accept the import of these processes, the methods indi-
cated in them, the principles exemplified by them, as
applicable to all things, — in other words, as revelations of
the universal truth? So the poet finds not only thought
in nature, but also truth. — Poetry as a Representative Art,

XXVIII.

UGLINESS IN ART (see ART AND BEAUTY).

Nor need it be supposed that what has been said en-
dorses the mistaken view that any subject which is "natu-

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 383

ral" is legitimate for artistic treatment. The truth seems
to be that ugliness, simply because it is repulsive, is not
legitimate in art except so far as, by way of contrast,
as in the case of shadows which throw that which they
surround into brighter relief, the ugliness enhances the
beauty to which it is kept in manifest subordination.
What the particular phases of this beauty shall be must
be determined, of course, by the taste of the artist. But
their effectiveness will depend upon his powers of observa-
tion and his study of the analogies of nature. Beauty is
never so attractive as when it appears in the dignity attach-
ing to the creative proportions there; truth is never so
operative as when it manifests the sanction of the laws
of the Creator that are there embodied. — The Representative
Significance of Form, xii.

UNITIES, THE LAW OF, IN DRAMATIC ART.

Harmony of effects among different elements of signifi-
cance in form as they appeal to recollection, association,
or suggestion, is due mainly to perceiving that the objects
made to go together are such as we are accustomed to
think of as going together. For instance, this phase of
harmony is fulfilled in an opera or poem, when all the
scenes or events representing a certain country or period
conform strictly to the conditions of each. It was this
that was sought to be fulfilled in the old law of criticism
ascribed to the Greeks, enjoining that a drama should
contain only as much as might be supposed to take place in
the time given to the representation, or, at most, in one day,
and in one place, and with one kind of action, by which
latter was meant with either tragic or comic situations,
but not with both. This "law of the unities" of time,
place, and action, as it is called, although it cannot be
applied universally, is based at least upon a true principle.
Brevity, local color, and directness are always elements of
artistic excellence. — Art in Theory, xiii.

However acceptable this "law of the unities" may have
been to the ancient Greeks, who were less interested than
people of our day in the analysis of motives and the develop-
ment of character, it does not allow sufficient comprehen-
siveness for the purposes of modem literary art, least of all
of the dramatic. Anything in art is right which enhances
an effect legitimate to the product in which it is used. In

384 AN ART-PHILOSOPHER'S CABINET

order to show the results of the influences at work in motives
and character, length of time is often indispensable. So,
too, is change of place; while the incongruous association
of tragedy and comedy in the action, not only prevents
monotony, but, as universally in the case of contrast,
increases the distinctive impression of both. Imaginative
people never have so strong an inclination to laugh as at a
funeral, and tears never flow so freely as immediately after
a burst of merriment. — The Genesis of Art-Form, ix.

UNITY, EFFECT OF, IN MUSIC.

Where consecutive single notes are used, we are best satis-
fied if all or a large number of those that are essential to
the same melody are produced by an instrument of the
same kind, thus fulfilling the principle, of putting like
elements of sound together. For instance, even were it
possible, we should hardly take pleasure in hearing a first
note of a melody sounded on a violin, a second on a flute,
a third on a pianoforte, etc., and this because the effect
would lack congruity, which is the first condition enabling
the mind to compare the qualities of successive tones, and
thus perceive unity in them. If, however, instead of
consecutive single notes, we hear consecutive chords, then,
provided the same part be played in consecutive chords by
the same instrument, the more numerous the kinds of instru-
ments used, the more pleasure, as a rule, do we receive.
A chorus, accompanied by an orchestra, is usually more
enjoyable than a single voice accompanied by a piano, and
the latter is more enjoyable than a voice unaccompanied by
any instrument. The reason is that in the chord of the
orchestra the ear recognizes, and is able to compare, a much
larger number of like or allied effects. Moreover, as all
these instruments are sounded in successive chords, their
music continues to preserve from note to note the same
general compound quality, notwithstanding the variety
caused by differences of pitch in the notes of each chord and
of successive chords. It is because the effect of tmity,^
together with that of the greatest possible variety, is at-
tained in this complex form of music as in no other, that the
orchestra and chorus combined is sometimes supposed to
exemplify the highest possibilities of the art. — Rhythm and
Harmony in Poetry and Music, xiii.

* See page 89 of this volume.

The Laocoon Group
See pages 73, 82, 88, 162, 230-232, 280, 281, 309,318-321

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 385

UNITY IN iESTHETIC SYSTEMS NECESSITATES A COMMON
ART-CHARACTERISTIC.

If for instance we emphasize the fact that art reproduces
the appearances of nature, we thrust sculpttire and painting
into prominence. We term these "the fine arts," and
music or poetry on the one hand, and architecture on the
other, are classed in the same company only by a doubtful
courtesy which allows them to cling to the skirts of the
former. If, again, we emphasize the fact that the arts are
human, in that they are means of communicating thought
and feeling, then literature and poetry are unduly exalted.
Nor does the emphasis of either fact do justice either to
music or to architecture. But is it not surmisable that
each of these facts should result from some other fact, and
that this fact should be equally recognizable in the repro-
duction of forms in nature and in the expression of the
formative thought and feeling in the artist's mind? If so,
is it not evident that we can classify all the arts according
to the one fact, and arrange them according to the influence
upon each art of each of the other two facts, and that, thus
doing, we can find a place somewhere where each art, when
so arranged, can stand without danger of having the qualities
that render it artistic either exaggerated or belittled? —
Art in Theory, iv.

UNITY IN ALL ART-WORKS {see CLASSIFICATION AS THE
FOREMOST ART-METHOD, and PAGE 89).

UNITY IN ARCHITECTURE, SUGGESTED BY CONTINUITY.

Every one must have observed occasionally in connection
with mouldings and buttresses, with divisions and cappings
of windows and porches, with external and internal arches
and ridgepoles of roofs, gables, and ceilings, but especially
in connection with the sides of towers and spires, and with
innumerable ornamental details, outlines that seem to
suggest, at least, a desire to point the thought away to
another feature of principal interest with which they are
organically connected. . . . Undoubtedly it would add to
the effects of buildings if more were made of this possi-
bility, as might easily be done by bestowing a little more care
upon the arrangements of the necessary lines and arches.
Certain it is that, in any art, the mind, in glancing along
in the direction to which an outline thus related points,
takes pleasure in finding other lines continuing it or converg-

9S

386 AN ART-PHILOSOPHER'S CABINET

ing somewhere with it, and, even without consciousness of
the reason, derives from this arrangement impressions both
of principality^ and unity ^ in connection with the whole,
which nothing else could give. — The Genesis of Art-Form,
XI.

VASE {see ELLIPTIC lanceolate).
VENUS {see representation in sculpture).

VERSE AN ELEMENT OF ARTISTIC UNITY.

What is verse? A little reflection will reveal that every
known phase of it is a method of causing the flow of the
words as they present themselves in time, to be interrupted
sufficiently and with sufficient regularity to convey an
impression like that produced when like objects appear side
by side in space. Lines, feet, alliteration, assonance,
rhyme, — all have the effect of retarding or preventing an
absolute change; and thus of causing the composition to
manifest not movement only, but unity of movement.
Consider, for instance, the lyric. Its thought usually moves
on very impetuously. The artistic requirement in its mode
of expression, therefore, is that it manifest, in some way,
that there is unity in the movement. But how can this be
done better than by arranging the sounds in certain like
groups, indicating unity of method? And how can we
find like groups more clearly indicated than in the regular
recurrence of accents, as in feet, or of tones as in allitera-
tion or assonance, and especially as in rhymes at the ends
of lines. These latter, in particular, cause the thought,
at like intervals, to pause, as it were, and to connect the
sound heard with another like sound that preceded it. A
similar impression is also conveyed when successive stanzas
end with a like refrain or chorus. . . . Without them, the
thought of the lyric might often seem to roll forward as
lifelessly and with as little evidence of organism as a log.
These make it step and fly, — give it a regularly recurring
motion like that of a living creature. — The Representative
Significance of Form, xxii.

VERSE, CLASSIC VS. MODERN {see ACCENT and rhythm).

It may be asked, have we not derived our system of
versification from that of the classic languages, and was
this not based upon quantity rather than upon accent?
Certainly; but, while observing these facts let us observe

» See page 89 of this volume.

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 387

also that the classic system was not an elementary but a
late development of rhythm. . . . Poetic measures, as
we have found, result, primarily, from force given to syl-
lables at regular intervals of duration. But careful observa-
tion will reveal that, as a rule, the application of this
force necessarily involves also an increase in the duration
of the accented syllable. This increase is made in speech
unconsciously ; in music it is made consciously ; and that this
was the case in the classic metres, furnishing one proof,
which is confirmed by others, that they were results of an
effort to intone verses — i. e., to make music of them. But
besides this let us notice another fact. As accent is
necessarily accompanied by an increase in quantity, it is
impossible that our own metres also, though determined
by accent, should not manifest some traces of the influence
of quantity. — Rhythm and Harmony in Poetry and Music, 11.

In constructing verse the Greeks and Romans subordinated
accent to quantity. Unlike ourselves, if in composing
they came to a word in which long quantity and the ordi-
nary accent did not go together, they seem always to have
been at liberty to disregard the accent, and occasionally,
too, they could change the quantity. In fact, they could
change both quantity and accent in order to produce a
rhythmic effect when chanting, analogous to that which
we produce when reading. Our poets, on the contrary,
have gone back to the primitive methods, antedating those
of Greece, and base the rhythms of their verse on the
accents of speech. The result, as compared with the
language of our prose, is more natural than that reached by
the other method ; and in its way is fully as artistic. Nor, in
other regards, is English inferior to the classic tongues in its
capabilities for artistic treatment. Owing to an extensive
use of terminations in nouns, articles, pronouns, adjectives,
and verbs, in order to indicate different grammatical rela-
tionships, the Greeks and Romans could change the order
of words in a sentence without changing its meaning. In
their language, "The dog ate the wolf," with slightly
varied terminations, could read, "The wolf ate the dog."
For this reason, they could alter their phraseology, in
order to accommodate it to the requirements of metre, as
is not possible for us ; and so far they had an advantage
over us. Nevertheless, for some reason, when they came

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to put their words into verse, as every schoolboy who
tries to scan knows, they produced a language which,
like the present French poetic diction, sounded unlike
that of conversation. Even supposing, with some scholars,
that in reading they did not scan their verses as we do now,
nor even chant them invariably, as some infer was the case,
their poetic language was not the same as their spoken
language. Aristotle tells us, when mentioning things
which it is legitimate for the poet to do, that he can invent
new words, that he can expand old ones, either by lengthen-
ing vowels or by adding syllables, that he can contract
them by shortening vowels or omitting syllables, and that
he can alter them in various other ways. Spenser and
others since him have applied similar methods to English
poetic diction; but, at present, such changes, except in
rare instances, are not considered admissible, and this
because they are recognized to be unnecessary. The fact
that they are not admissible in our language, and were
admissible in the classic languages, proves that, in one
regard at least, our language is superior to them as a
medium of metre. — Idem, ii.

In the classic languages metre was determined by the
quantities or relative lengths of the vowel-sounds or con-
sonant-sounds composing the syllables. Our own language
is not spelled phonetically, and therefore we fail to notice
the effect of similar elements in it. Yet they are present
to a greater extent than we ordinarily suppose, as will be
brought out clearly when we come to consider quantity,
especially that which is used in the English hexameter.
Any one acquainted with the subject, knows that it is a
mistake to hold that quantity has nothing whatever to
do with the movements of ovir metres, and an analogous
mistake, probably, would be made in supposing that the
emphasis of ordinary pronunciation had nothing whatever
to do with the classic metres. — Poetry as a Representative
Arty II.

verse, its genesis {sec poetry vs, music, genesis of

each).
We all must have noticed that a child too young to talk,
a foreigner using a language unknown to us, a friend speak-
ing at such a distance from us that his words are indistin-
guishable, can all reveal to us, with a certain degree of

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 389

definiteness, the general tenor of their thoughts. Their
tones, aside from their words, enable us to understand
such facts as whether they are hurried or at leisiure, elated
or depressed, in earnest or indifferent, pleased or angered.
This is so because these facts are directly represented
by their intonations. Developed with design, these may
be made to resemble those of the foremost actors and
orators. Hence the art of elocution. Developed without
design, they instinctively come to imitate those of the
people with whom one most associates. Scotchmen,
Irishmen, Englishmen, and Americans can all be distin-
guished by the different ways in which they utter the same
phrases. No two of them will emphasize precisely alike a
simple expression such as "I can't go there to-day."

Not only men of different nations can be distinguished
thus, but even different individuals. Any one well known
to us can be recognized in the dark by what we term
his voice, by which we mean his method of using his voice ;
the way, peculiar to himself, of pausing at certain intervals
and hurrying at others, of sliding his sounds up and down
on certain syllables and phrases, and also, perhaps, of
giving in certain places an unusual stress or quality of tone.
AH these methods impress his individuality on everything
that he has to say. When he becomes a public speaker,
his peculiarities in these regards become still more marked.
Unconsciously, if not consciously, he develops them so that,
in his delivery, similar intonations recur with a certain
degree of regularity; in other words, he comes to have what
may be termed a rhythm and a tune of his own. The
reason why he comes to have these is, undoubtedly, . . .
owing to a natural tendency to economize labor. Just as the
swinging of the hands enables one to walk more easily, so
what may be termed the swinging of the tones enables one to
talk more easily. So, also, as we shall find by-and-bye, do
verse and measure, to which these intonations naturally
lead. The two together separate the words and syllables,
and make them accord with the natural actions of the
lungs and throat.

But let us waive this thought, until we reach it in its
proper place. Before the age of books those who prepared
literature published it by repeating it in public. Every
man who did this had, of course, his own peculiarities of
utterance, which, as he continued to repeat his produc-

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tions, he would cultivate and render more and more
peculiar; just as is the case to-day with the venders who
cry in our streets, the clerks who read in our courts, and
the priests who intone the services in our churches. These
peculiarities, moreover, would be shown not only in the
elocution of the reciter, but in the arrangement of his
words and sentences, so as to fit them to his elocution.
At the outset, every literary man would have his own
style of delivery and composition, and confine himself to
it. But after a little, just as men of the same districts,
and preachers and exhorters of the same religious sects —
Quakers, Methodists, or Episcopalians — imitate one an-
other; so these public reciters would drift into imitation.
Before long, too, it would be found that one style of expres-
sion, or form of words, was better suited for one set of
ideas, and another for another set; so, in time, the same
reciter would come to use different styles or forms for
different subjects. Only a slight knowledge of history is
needed in order to prove that this is what has actually
taken place. Pindaric metre, and possibly Homeric, as
also the Alcaic and Sapphic stanzas of the Greeks, were
used first by the poets whose names they bear; but to-day
they are used by many others who find them the best forms
through which to express what they wish to write.

But to return to our line of thought. A further develop-
ment in the direction already indicated, would cause these
reciters after a time to use versification, so that their
rhythms and the variations in them might be more clearly
marked; and still later, that the precise length of their
verses might be apparent, as well as to assist the memory
in retaining them, they would use rhymes. Further
developments in the direction of rhythm and tune, intro-
ducing greater variety in both, and making the tones more
and more sustained, would lead to the singing of songs —
that is, to poetry set to musical melody. — Idem, ii.

VERSE, ITS PHYSICAL BASIS (see ACCENT and rhythm) .

The elements of all verse as well as of elocutionary forms,
can be traced to the physical requirements of the organs
of speech, and to these not as they are used in singing, but,
distinctively, in talking. One can sing without suggesting
any thing that can be developed into verse or rhythm; but
it is impossible for him to talk, without suggesting what can

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 391

be developed into both. In order to recognize the truth of
this statement, we have merely to listen to a man talking.
As we do so, two characteristics of speech will at once
attract our attention. One is the pause or cessation of
sound, following groups of syllables which form phrases
or sentences, containing anywhere from two to a dozen
words; the other is the accent, given to every second, third,
or fourth syllable. . . .

The pause results, primarily, from the construction of
the human lungs; the accent, from that of the human
throat. The speaker checks his utterance in order to
breathe; he accents it because the current of sound — in
talking, but not in singing — flows through the vocal pas-
sages in a manner similar to that in which fluid is emptied
from the neck of a bottle — i. e., with what may be termed
alternate active and passive movements. . . .

It is only necessary to observe these facts in order to
recognize that the line in verse, at the end of which, when
regularly constructed, the reader necessarily pauses, is an
artistic development of the phrase, which we find in all
natural conversation. In fact, Aristotle, in his "Rhetoric,"
seems to hint at some such a development in prose, for he
says the period must be divided into clauses, easily pro-
nounced at a breath el dvixvsuaToq. It is generally ac-
knowledged that the principal mental process involved in
art-construction is comparison. This causes all men, both
consciously and unconsciously, both for convenience and
pleasure, to take satisfaction in putting like with like.
The moment this tendency is applied to groups of sylla-
bles separated by pauses, it leads men to place, if possible,
a like number of syllables in each group, and thus have
between the pauses like intervals of time. But an arrange-
ment of this kind is the primary characteristic of verse. —
Ideniy II.

VERSE, MELODY AND HARMONY OF {see HARMONY IN POETRY,
REPRESENTATIVE EFFECTS OF PITCH, and PITCH).

The poetic effects, corresponding to the rising and falling
of the voice, especially as used in the inflections, will now
be examined. There is a sense in which these movements
of the voice enter into the pronunciation of every syllable
containing more than one letter-sound. In uttering, for
example, the word an, the sound of the a is at a different

392 AN ART-PHILOSOPHER'S CABINET

pitch from that of the n. In talking rapidly, however,
the two sounds seem usually uttered, not in succession but
simultaneously. Their effects, therefore, when combined,
are analogous, not to those of musical melody, but of har-
mony, and of these much more closely than at first might
be supposed. In flexible, well-trained voices, belonging
to those familiar with the relations of musical tones, there
is a tendency to sound the two at such intervals of pitch
from each other as to form a true musical chord. One
reason why vocal culture increases the sweetness and
resonance of the speaking voice is because it enables one to
sound distinctly all the elements of tone needed, in order
to produce this speech-harmony.

The rising and falling of the voice with which we have
to deal now, however, are not those subtle ones allying
speech to harmony, but those more obvious ones which
give it a very apparent melody. The effects in poetry
corresponding to elocutionary inflections, are produced
by the same arrangements of the syllables in the line that
we have already noticed when considering metre. In our
language, as a rule, — a rule which the elocutionist, of
course, can violate in order to produce what for him are
the more important effects of delivery, — an accented sylla-
ble is sounded on a key higher than an unaccented one.
To illustrate this, in the ordinary pronunciation of cdnjure,
meaning to practise magical arts, the con is sounded higher
than the jure; but in conjUre meaning to summon solemnly,
the con is sounded lower. Therefore, if a line of poetry
end with an accented syllable, or have what is termed a
masculine ending, the voice in pausing on this, as it generally
does at the end of a line, will pause, as a rule, on a key higher
than that on which it has uttered the preceding syllable.

For similar reasons, if a line close with an unaccented
syllable, having what is termed di feminine ending; or begin
with an accented syllable, the effect is that of a constant re-
petition of the falling inflection. In fact, the Greeks, though
arriving at their result through a different process, actually
termed lines ending thus catcdectic or falling. — Idem, ix.

Probably few have noticed to what an extent pitch enters
as a factor into the effects of poetry. They know in a
general way, of course, that in early modes of communi-
cating thought, intonations, like gestures, were almost as
significant as words; but they do not realize that the

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 393

$ame is true in our own day, least of all that changes in
pitch are and always must be elements entering into the
significance of the effects produced by poetic rhythm.
They know, again, if at all acquainted with the history of
the art, that there was a time when poetry was associated
with both dancing and music. It was so, as we are told,
in the time of King David, who, on one occasion, at least,
danced as well as sang his psalms before the ark. In
Greece, not only lyric but dramatic poetry was chanted,
and often accompanied by the Ij^re. As late as the sixteenth
century, declamation accompanied by music, flourished
in England and in Italy. In the latter country it then
passed into the opera, which did not follow, as some sup-
pose, but preceded all that is noteworthy in the develop-
ment of the pure music, unaccompanied by words, of
modem times. In our own day, however, when poetry is
merely read, the movements of the waltz, the polka, the
sonata, the symphony, seem to belong to an art so different,
that it is difficult to conceive that it was once appropriate
to speak of ballad poetry, because the Italian ballare
meant to dance, or of a sonnet, because the lute was
sounded while poetry was being chanted. The truth is,
however, that even to-day, also, poetry and music are
allied. As has been said already, the chanting of verse
was not originally the cause of its tunes, but the result of
them, springing from an endeavor to develop artistically
the tunes natural to speech. These tunes our poetry,
notwithstanding its present separation from music, still
retains. They differ from those of music, yet are analogous
to them. Let us consider the more important of the
resemblances and differences between the two. — Idem, viii.

VIBRATION, AS RELATED TO TONE AND COLOR (see also
HARMONY and HARMONY OF COLOR).

That which separates the phenomena of rhythm and, as
will be shown in another place, of proportion from those
of harmony is the fact that, of the divisions of time or of
space respectively causing effects of rhythm and proportion,
the mind is directly conscious; whereas of the divisions
causing the effects of harmony, the mind is not conscious,
and has come to know of them only indirectly, as a result
of the investigations of science. These investigations
have discovered that, back of the outer ear which is

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shaped so as to collect the sound, and back of the drum
too, is an inner ear filled with a pellucid fluid in which
float the extremities of the acoustic nerve. Under the
influence of impulses of sound from without, the drum is
made to vibrate. Its vibrations are communicated to the
fluid behind it, and, through this, they set into motion one
or more of the delicate organs of sensation — minute pendu-
lous rods and also ossicles that rub together. It is only
when the vibrations are very frequent — some say sixteen
in a second of time — that the ear derives from them the
impression of any sound whatever. As they increase in
frequency, and, at the same time, lessen in size, the sound
becomes higher in pitch, its mere loudness depending not
on the relative rate of vibrations, but upon the violence of
the stroke producing them. When at last, the vibrations
become too frequent for the ear to be aware of them — as
when there are forty thousand of them, as some say, in a
second of time — the effect upon the ear is the same as if there
were no vibrations at all, and the sensation of sound is
conveyed no longer. Very similar to the operations that
take place in the ear, when recognizing pitch, are those that
take place in the eye when recognizing color. Passing
through the pupil of the outer eye and the transparent
crystalline lens behind it, rays from objects of sight reach
the vitreous humor which extends to the retina, an expan-
sion of the optic nerve. The effect of color in this is con-
sidered to be a result — but exactly how produced scientists
are not as yet agreed — of certain vibrations of the organism.
As in the case of sound, too, less frequent vibrations cause one
hue and more frequent vibrations cause another. — Rhythm
and Harmony in Poetry and Music y vii.

VIBRATORY THEORY, APPLIED TO MIND AS WELL AS MATTER

{see also arts, the, as influenced by nature and mind) .
Effects causing rhythm and proportion, which are con-
sciously measured by the mind, and those causing harmony
of sound and color, which are not consciously measured, —
these effects having been discovered by science to be the
same in principle, it is argued that all aesthetic effects are
the same in principle. Moreover, it has been discovered
that not only do the nerves of the eye and ear vibrate as
affected by sound and sight, and communicate to the brain
intelligence of particular degrees of pitch and hue as deter-

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 395

mined by the rates and sizes of the vibratory waves, but
it has been proved beyond a doubt that the nerves con-
stituting the substance of the brain vibrate also, and
thus give rise to thoughts and feeHngs; and, not only so,
but that the vibrations of the nerves in particular parts
of the brain give rise to thoughts and feelings of a particular
character; such, for instance, as those connected with
particular exercises of memory in recalling general events
or specific terms. This fact has been ascertained through
various observations and experiments in connection with
the loss or removal of certain parts of the brains of men
or animals, or with the application of electricity to certain
systems of nerves accidentally or artificially exposed or else
naturally accessible. Of course, such discoveries tend to the
inference that all conscious mental experience whatsoever,
precisely as in the case of sensations excited in the organs
of the eye and ear, are effects of vibrations produced in the
nerves of the brain. If this inference be justified, the line of
thought that we have been pursuing apparently justifies
the additional inference that all conscious mental experi-
ences of the beautiful are effects of harmonious vibrations
produced in the nerves of the brain. . . . There are many
facts that warrant us in holding it. In holding it, however,
let us not neglect noticing, as do many of its advocates,
certain other facts. Through the experiments of mesmerism
and hypnotism, it has come to be acknowledged that the
outer senses can be completely deadened and yet the inward
processes of intelligence kept in a state of activity ; and not
only so, but that sometimes, merely at the mental suggestion
of an operator, irrespective of any appeal to the eye or ear,
irrespective therefore of any possible vibrations in the
ether or air to account for vibratory effects upon the physical
organs of the senses, the one operated upon is made to see
pictures and to hear music. In fact, do we not all have
experiences of a realization of the same conditions in our
dreams? Now, in such cases, either actual physical vibra-
tions take place in these organs, or else they do not take
place for the simple reason that they are not necessary to
the result ; and whichever of these theories we adopt, we are
forced to the conclusion that the effects of beauty are
dependent upon influences operating in what we understand
to be the sphere of the mind. They are awakened there
by the mesmerizer irrespective of any appeal through the

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outer senses, and, when awakened, they operate so power-
fully that they produce either actual vibrations in the
senses, or if not, at least results identical with those caused
by actual vibrations. Assuming now what it does not
seem possible to doubt — namely, that the existence of
these vibrations constitutes the substance of that of which
we are conscious in aesthetic effects; that these vibrations
are, so to speak, indispensable to the operation of the
battery of the brain, which without them cannot communi-
cate their peculiar influence to intelligence, — what are
we to infer, when we find that they can be set in motion
not only from the physical side, but — as in cases of hypnot-
ism, telepathy, dreams about music and painting, etc. —
from the non-physical side? — what but that on this latter
side also the same vibrations exist, or, if not so, a force
capable of causing the same; and that the sphere in which
we are mentally conscious of the vibrations, or the sphere of
personal consciousness, as we may call it, occupies a region
between the material and what we may term — because we
cannot conceive of it as otherwise — the immaterial? Add
to this another fact universally admitted, which is that
vibrations harmonious in the sense that has been explained
are particularly agreeable, whereas inharmonious vibrations
are particularly disagreeable; and why have we not, from
modern science, a suggestion of the possibility of there being
exact truth in the theory of Pythagoras and the earlier
Greeks, who held that the mode of life, so far as it is normal,
true, divine, blissful, is not only physically but spiritually a
mode of harmony, a mode fitted to produce a literal
"music of the spheres"? As has been said, our minds
are conscious of experiencing from a world which we can
see and hear harmonious effects which are identical with
effects coming from a world of which we can only think
and feel. Now if by scientific analysis we can ascertain
the method through which they come from the one, why
have we not a right to argue that it is through the same
method that they come from the other? Nor does it
necessarily lessen the force of this argument to point out
— if indeed this can be satisfactorily done — that the sensa-
tions of music cannot be communicated from the imma-
terial side to those who have been born deaf, nor the
sensations of color to those who have been born blind.
These facts prove simply an absence of the needed condi-

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 397

tions, an absence, that is, of a nerve-battery sufficiently
developed to be able to record vibrations physically re-
cognizable only through the eye or ear, without which
battery the mind as limited by its present physical sur-
roundings can, perhaps, be made distinctly conscious of
nothing. — Idem, xii.

These questions, however, concerning the possibility
of exciting to mental processes in other ways than through
the senses, pertain to psychology rather than to aesthetics.
Whether or not, as some think, this possibility implies the
existence of a spirit capable of acting independently of the
body though now temporarily connected with it, there is
no doubt that, in view of the influence which the vibrations
of the nerves undoubtedly have upon mental processes, as
well as the mental processes upon the nerves, the supposi-
tion is rational that the mental processes themselves,
together with whatever may be their organic sources, are
in some way subject — ^just as are heat, magnetism, and
electricity, which certainly approach them in subtlety —
to the same laws of vibration, the harmony of the effects
of which produces the sensation of beauty in the senses.
So rational, too, is the supposition, that no system of
aesthetics can afford to ignore it. This would be just as
injudicious, to use no stronger term, as to treat it, in our
present state of uncertainty with reference to it, as the sole
determining consideration. In this system nothing will be
found inconsistent with the universal applicability of the
vibratory theory, though its spiritual aspects will be
recognized as resting upon no more infallible foundation
than an argument from analogy. — Idem, xii.

VOICE-BUILDING

Voice-building is the only known way in which to give
an uncultivated rustic the tones of a gentleman, or of
training growing lungs to draw blood into every part of
them, and, through doing this, into every part of the brain.
It does seem strange that materialists, of all men, should not
recognize how much this blood is needed. There is no
subtly philosophical, only a physiological reason, why many
a student too dull to take interest in other branches has
been led through elocution to discover interest in them,
and, ultimately, to develop not only brightness but bril-
liancy.— Essay on Fundamentals in Education.

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VOICE-CULTURE, ITS MENTAL EFFECTS.

Even the department of English devoted to vocal culture
has to do with more than merely giving the strenuous but too
often uncultured country lad who comes to college the
accent and bearing of refinement, desirable as would be
this result alone. It is a theory of one of the Oriental cults
that to make a man spiritual — in the sense of having an
imaginative and inventive mind — you must first teach him
how to breathe, because spirit and air — or breath — are one
and the same. This explanation is not scientific, but the
effort to represent it as such will not appear wholly absurd
when we recall men like Beecher, Phillips, Guthrie, and
Spurgeon, who, according to their own accounts, began
their careers by learning how to breathe, and only subse-
quently developed their imaginative and inventive powers,
until the results became, as Beecher expresses it, **as easy
as to breathe." The truth seems to be that when one
habitually clarifies the blood in every cell of his lungs — and
about every man that I have ever known needs to learn
how to do this — he does the same with the blood in every
cell of his brain. This makes all of the brain active. If
you could make it all sufficiently active you would have
genius. Every man would be a genius, if only he could
combine the fever-like glow which sets imagination on fire
with the healthful steadiness of pulse which keeps the
reason cool. — Essay on Artistic vs. Scientific Education: Note.

VOICE, NOT WHOLLY EXPRESSIVE OF CHARACTER.

Not three weeks ago, I read an article in a paper supposed
to represent a knowledge of the conditions of culture,
attempting to show that the quality of the voice does not
depend upon methods of breathing, but entirely — not partly
as everybody admits — upon character. I once had a pupil
who, when a babe, had dropt upon his head and spine,
with the practical result of telescoping his lungs and keep-
ing his chin very near his abdomen. Though a dwarf, he was
anxious to be a speaker; but it took a full year of hard
practise for him to learn to make, in a satisfactory way, a
single elementary vowel-sound. Two years later, he had a
voice more sweet, rich, and powerful than any man in his
large class. I refuse to believe that the change was owing
to a change in his character. Nor will I admit that, de-
formed as he was, his organs of expression were in need of

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 399

reformation in any sense not true of those of scores of his
fellows whose lungs, if not actually telescoped, had cells
as effectually shut up as if this were the case. The light in a
cathedral, after nightfall, when shining through the unhewn
stone and wooden beams that occupy the space where will
be the rose window, as yet unfinished, does not give expres-
sion to the Gothic character of the building; nor can it give
this, until the work of art has chiseled the stone, and filled
the interspaces with delicate tracery and color. A similar
relationship often exists between the result of elocutionary
art and the expression of human character. — Essay on The
Literary Artist and Elocution.

WALL, WHEN NOT REPRESENTING SUPPORT.

The objection to the whole is, that the wall of a building
should represent support. This square form does not
represent the method of support; nor does it, apparently,
support anything itself. Therefore it appears to be a sham.
Moreover, it produces mental perplexity. It causes one
to ask: What, exactly, is the shape of the roof? and, even
though this can be guessed, to ask again: How is such a
roof affixed to such a wall? — Paintings Sculpture, and
Architecture as Representative Arts, xviii.

WORDS, THEIR MEANING AS DETERMINED BY ASSOCIATION
AND COMPARISON {see also LANGUAGE, PLAIN AND FIGUR-
ATIVE; POETRY, ITS language; REPRESENTATION IN
POETRY, and REPRESENTATION IN SENTENCES.

We shall find it possible to class all combinations of
words under two heads, corresponding to those under
which we have already grouped single words. The first
class includes those depending for their meaning upon the
principle of association, and the second, those depending
upon the principle of comparison. To get our bearings here,
let us recall briefly that it has been said, with reference to
the first class of words, that the times and circumstances in
which a certain exclamatory sound like mama or papa is
used, cause men, on account mainly of its associations, to
accept it as a word, meaning what it does; and that later,
after a vocabulary has been partly formed, the same
principle of association causes them to ally something for
which they have a name with some other thing, and to use
the same name for both, as when they call towns or imple-
ments after their founders or inventors. It has been said

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again, with reference to the second class of words, that a
certain sound proceeding from an object perceived by men is
imitated by their vocal organs, and, on account of the
comparison between the two sounds, the one that they
have produced is accepted as a name for that which origi-
nally produced it, as when cuckoo is adopted as a term of
designation for a certain bird ; and that later, after a vocabu-
lary has been partly formed, the same principle of comparison
causes them to perceive that some conception for which
they have a term, is like some other conception, and to
apply the same term to it also, as when they use the word
clear to refer both to the atmosphere and to the mind.

In accordance with the analogy of these two methods
of determining the meanings of words, when used singly,
we shall find that we determine also their meanings when
used conjointly, i. e., either by the associations which,
when combined in phrases and sentences, the words sug-
gest, or by the comparisons which they embody. To
illustrate this, suppose that one says: "Their cultivated
conversation and attire interfered with the effects of their
depravity." The sentence, so far as concerns its meaning,
is perfectly intelligible, and this because we have learned
to associate with each of the words used, cultivated, conver-
sation, attire, etc., a certain definite conception; and
this conception comes up before the mind the moment
that we hear them. But now, suppose the same thought
is expressed, as in this sentence of Goldsmith: "Their
finery threw a veil over their grossness." In this latter
case, neither the word finery, nor threw, nor veil, nor gross-
ness, has precisely the meaning that we are accustomed
to associate with it. We do not understand the sentence
precisely, until we consider it as a whole, and then not
until we consider that the whole expresses a comparison.
In other words, the sentence means what it does, not mainly
on account of the ordinary associations of its words, but on
account of the comparison which it embodies. Take an-
other pair of sentences which perhaps will illustrate this
difference more clearly. Let one wish to express an
unfortunate change in the character of a man hitherto
honest. He may say that "His integrity is impaired by
severe temptation"; and in this case the meaning will be
obvious, because men associate definite meanings with the
words integrity, impaired, severe, and temptation. Instead

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 401

of using this language, however, the man may select words
indicating a comparison, and a series of comparisons. He
may make a picture of his idea, representing the process of
the change in character, by describing the process of an
analogous change in nature. He may say: ** His upright-
ness bends before some pressing blast." Notice how much
more definitely we perceive the comparison, the picture, in
uprightness than in integrity, in bends than in impaired, in
pressing than in severe, in blast than in temptation. In this
last sentence, we perceive at once, as in a picture, the
character that stood straight up, the clouds that gathered,
the storm that burst, and the ruin that ensued. The
immaterial process is represented literally in the material
one, and only in connection with this latter have words like
bends, pressing, and blast any relevancy. — Poetry as a
Representative Arty xvi.

WORDS, THEIR MEANINGS AS DETERMINED BY THE PRINCIPLE
OF REPRESENTATION.

In forming words by comparison, as by association,
terms applicable literally to material conceptions alone
come to refer after a time to those that are immaterial.
Take words, for instance, describing the operations of the
mind. We say that a man's thoughts are pure, clear,
mixed, muddled, or clouded, and that he expresses and im-
presses them upon others; but only to material things like
water, wine, or the atmosphere, can the former class of
terms be applied literally; and only into or out of a mate-
rial thing can another, and this only a material thing, be
literally pressed. Evidently terms of this kind are used as
a result of comparing the mental to the material pro-
cess, to which in some regards it is analogous. Were it
not possible to symbolize the one process in the other, it
is obvious that many things which we desire to communi-
cate, would remain forever unexpressed. We see, there-
fore, how essential to the very existence of language
is this power which enables us to figure or picture an object
or operation through referring to something which, though
like it in some respects, is wholly different from it in
others; as different from it as the paint and canvas of a
portrait are from the flesh and blood of the person por-
trayed. We see, too, how the element of representation,
which is essential to all art, is a factor in the very consti-

m» AN ART-PHILOSOPHER'S CABINET

tution of language from which poetic art is developed.
We see also how the means of representation are furnished
mainly by the objects and operations of nature; and this
not only by those appealing to the ear, the sounds of which
can be imitated, but also by those appealing to the eye, the
appearance of which suggests words like express and impress.
— Idem, XV.

Revelations, multiplied by almost the whole number of
words employed, must flash light through all the hidden
depths that underlie the surface forms of one's vernacular,
before he can understand them, and use them with absolute
appropriateness. Especially is this so in the case of the
words with which we are now dealing, — the words formed
as a result of comparison; because these contain, far more
decidedly than those derived from association, a representa-
tive or picturesque — what grammarians term a figurative
— element. — Idem, xv.

WORDS, WHEN FOREIGN TO A LANGUAGE USUALLY UNPOETIC
{see ANGLO-SAXON).

The lack of representative power in the majority of
words introduced from foreign languages, is probably
one reason why, from Homer to Shakespeare, poets have
ranked high who have written at an early stage in the
history of a nation's language, before it has become cor-
rupted by the introduction of foreign words and phrases.
It may furnish one reason, too, why Dante, near the end
of his life, thought fit to deliver lectures to the people of
Ravenna upon the use of their vernacular. It may explain
why Goethe, at the beginning of his career, turned his
back upon the fashionable French language, and gave
himself to the cultivation of the neglected tongue of his
fatherland. At any rate, it does explain, as has been said
before, why most of the great poets of England, from
Chaucer to Tennyson, have been distinguished among
other things for their predominating use of words derived
from the Anglo-Saxon. These words still exist in our
tongue; and fortunately, notwithstanding the natural ten-
dency of all words to grow less poetic, they have lost little
of their original significance and force; because side by
side with them there exist other words, almost synony-
mous, derived mainly from Latin sources. The fact that
these latter by common consent are used almost exclusively

QUOTED CRITICAL COMMENTS 403

for the technical purposes of science, philosophy, and
trade, thus leaving the Anglo-Saxon terms to the slighter
changes and deteriorations that take place in literature,
may furnish the best reason that we have for hoping that
this composite language of ours will continue to be for
centuries in the future, as it has been in the past, perfectly
fitted to give form to the grandest poetry. — Idem, xvii.

WRITING, ITS STYLE DETERMINED BY THAT OF SPEAKING.

In the early ages, the styles of both orators and story-
tellers grew out of the methods of speech. When the story-
tellers became artists, they turned the requirements of
accent and inhalation into measure and line, and thus
developed verse. All verse, even of an epic, died with its
composer, unless its peculiar fitness for recitation caused
succeeding minstrels to echo it down the ages; and even a
lyric died unless its lines, when they were read, could sing
themselves into a song so full of sweetness that the world
could not forget it. — Essay on The Literary Artist and
Elocution.

THE END.

A Companion-Book to "An Art-Philosopher's Cabinet"

A Poet's Cabinet, being passages mainly poetica^ from the
works of George Lansing Raymond. Selected and
arranged according to subject by Marion Mills Miller,
Litt.D., editor of ** The Classics, Greek and Latin," etc.
With illustrations by Howard Chandler Christy. 8vo.

net, $1.50

"A wide range of topics, under appropriate heads, and their classification is in
alphabetical order, thus making the work convenient for reference. . . . Editors,
authors, teachers, public speakers, and many others will find it a useful volume,
filled with quotable passages in astonishing numbers when it is remembered that
they are the work of a single author. '* — Hartford (Conn.) Times.

"This Poet's Cabinet is the best thing of its class — that confined to the works
of one author — upon which our eyes have fallen, either by chance or purpose. We
can't help wishing that we had a whole book-shelf of such volumes in our own
private library." — Columbus (O.) Journal. .

"Those familiar with the literary activities of George Lansing Raymond will
welcome this cyclopedia of quotations. . . That it should be possible to prepare a
book of this kind containing 448 pages and without the inclusion of a commonplace
and still less of a banality, is a tribute that few writers have earned. " — San Francisco
Argonaut.

"A very interesting volume, for one can find something worth while by turning
at random to any of the pages." — Boston (Mass.) Globe.

"This book is one to place by the side of our Bartlett, Ballou, Brewer, Edwards,
Little, and other compends of prose and verse for the convenience of those who would
|point a moral or adorn a tale.' We know not how much Mr. Miller had to omit
in his course of selecting this tasteful tribute to his teacher's merit, but we do find,
much to admire and nothing to criticise in the result." — Worcester (Mass.) Gazette,

"The number and variety of the subjects are almost overwhelming, and the
searcher for advanced or new thought as expressed by this particular philosopher has
no difficulty in coming almost immediately upon something that may strike his fancy
or aid him in his perplexities. To the student of poetry and the higher forms of
literature, it may be understood that the volume will be of distinct aid. " — Utica (N.
Y.) Observer.

"To study the works of any one man so that we are completely familiar with his
ideas upon all important subjects — if the man have within him any element of
greatness — is a task which is likely to repay the student's work. . . . This fact makes
the unique quality of the present volume . . . quotations which deal with practically
every subject to be found in more general anthologies." — Boston (Mass.) Advertiser,

" Dr. Miller's task in selecting representative extracts from Professor Raymond's
works has not been a light one, for there has been no chaff among the wheat, and
there was an ever-present temptation to add bulk to the book through freedom
in compilation. He thought best, however, to eliminate all but the features which
revealed the rich rare soul and personality of the poet, and each quotation is a
gem." — Albany (N. Y.) Times-Union.

"The book contains a careful and authoritative selection of the best things which
this brilliant man of letters has given to tne literary world. . . . The compiler has
done fine work . . . one cannot turn a page without coming across some quotation
which fits in for the day with the happiest result. Dr. Raymond's satire is keen but
kindly, his sentiment sweet and tender, and his philosophy convincing and useful.'*
' — Buffalo Courier.

"Everybody who knows anything about literature, knows, of course, that Dr.
Raymond is a philosopher as well as poet ... no mere rhymester, no simple weaver
of ear-tickling phrases and of well measured verse and stanza. There is pith as well
as music in his song ... all breathing power as well as grace. " — Brooklyn (N. Y.)
Citizen.

"A large volume of quotations from the writings of a single author must neces-
sarily present matter of higher literary quality and bear the impress of original
thought on essential themes to a larger degree than any mere compendium from the
works of many authors. ... His poetry and prose are rich in epigrarn and his
manner of expressing an inspiring thought in a line or a word lends itself with pecul-
iar advantage to this form of work — quotations for reference. " — Troy (N. Y.) Times.

"That a poet should have published so great a volume of verse that an anthology
or a book of brief extracts from his work should serve to fill 400 pages is, we should
say, almost a unique performance and condition . . . and might easily be supposed
to induce the reader to desire a more extensive acquaintance." — St. Louis (Mo.)
Republic.

G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS. New York and London. Pnbllshera

PROFESSOR RAYMOND'S POETICAL BOOKS

A Life in Song;. 16rao, cloth extra, gilt top . . . . $1.25

"An age-worn poet, dying amid strangers in a humble village home, leaves the
record of his life in a pile of manuscript poems. These are claimed by a friend and
comrade of the poet, but, at the request of the cottagers, he reads them over before
taking them away .... This simple but unique plan, . . . forms the outline of
a remarkably fine study of the hopes, aspirations, and disappointments of . . . an
American modern life. . . . The volume will appeal to a large class of readers by
reason of its clear, musical flexible verse, its fine thought, and its intense human
interest." — Boston Transcript. -rr ^ i_ ^

"Mr. Raymond is a poet, with all that the name implies. He has the true fire-
there is no disputing that. There is thought of an elevated character, the diction is
pure, the versification is true, the meter correct, and . . . affords innumerable quota-
tions to fortify and instruct one for the struggles of life. " — Hartford Post.

" Marked by a fertility and strength of imagination worthy of our first poets. .^ .
The versification throughout is graceful and thoroughly artistic, the imagery varied
and spontaneous, . . . the multitude of contemporary bardlings may find in its
sincerity of purpose and loftiness of aim a salutary inspiration. " — The Literary World

"Here, for instance, are lines which, if printed in letters of gold on the front of
every pulpit, and practised by every one benind one, would transform the face of the
theological world. . . . In short, if you are in search of ideas that are unconven-
tional and up-to-date, get a 'Life in Song,' and read it." — Unity.
Ballads, and Other Poems. 16mo, cloth extra, gilt top . $1.25

"The author has achieved a very unusual success, a success to which genuine poetic
power has not more contributed than wide reading and extensive preparation. The
ballads overflow, not only with the general, but the very particular, ^truths of
history." — Cincinnati Times.

" A work of true genius, brimful of imagination and sweet humanity." — The Fireside
(London).

"Fine and strong, its thought original and suggestive, while its expression is the
very perfection of narrative style." — The N. Y. Critic.

■'Proves beyond doubt that Mr. Raymond is the possessor of a poetic faculty which
is worthy of the most careful and conscientious cultivation." — N. Y. Evening Post.

"A very thoughtful study of character. . . great knowledge of aims and motives
... Such as read this poem will derive from it a benefit more lasting than the
mere pleasure of the moment." — The Spectator (London).

The Aztec God, and Other Dramas. 16nio, cloth extra, gilt top $1.25

"The three dramas included in this volume represent a felicitous, intense, and
melodious expression of art both from the artistic and poetic point of view. . . .
Mr. Raymond's power is above all that of psychologist, and added thereto are the
richest products of the imagination both in form and spirit. The book clearly
discloses the work of a man possessed of an extremely fine critical poise, of a culture
pure and classical, and a sensitive conception of what is sweetest and most ravishing
in tone-quality. The most delicately perceptive ear could not detect a flaw in the
mellow and rich music of the blank verse. " — Public Opinion.

"As fine lines as are to be found anywhere in English. . . . Sublime thought
fairly leaps in sublime expression. ... As remarkable for its force of epigram
as for its loftiness of conception. " — Cleveland World. ^

"... Columbus one finds a piece of work which it is difficult to avoid injuring
with fulsome praise. The character of the great discoverer is portrayed grandly and
greatly. ... It is difficult to conceive how anyone who cares for that which is
best in literature . . . could fail to be strengthened and uplifted by this heroic
treatment of one of the great stories of the world." — N. Y. Press.

Dante and Collected Verse. 16mo, cloth extra, gilt top . $1.25

" Epigram, philosophy, history — these are the predominant elements . . . which
masterly construction, pure diction, and lofty sentiment unite in making a glowing
piece of blank verse." — Chicago Herald.

" The poems will be read with keenest enjoyment by all who appreciate literary
genius, refined sentiment, and genuine culture. The publication is a gem through-
out."— New Haven Leader.

"The poet and the reformer contend in Professor Raymond. When the latter
has the mastery, we respond to the justice, the high ideals, the truth of all he says —
and says with point and vigor — but when the poet conquers, the imagination soars.
. , , The mountain poems are the work of one with equally high ideals of life
and of song." — Glasgow (Scotland) Herald.

"Brother Jonathan can not claim many great poets, but we think he has 'struck
oil,' in Professor Raymond." — Western (England) Morning News.

"This brilliant composition . . . gathers up and concentrates for the reader
more of the reality of the great Italian than is readily gleaned from the author of the
Inferno himself." — Oakland Enquirer.

G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS. New York and London. Pnbltshers

PROFESSOR RAYMOND'S WORKS

Pictures in Verse. With 20 illustrations by Maud Stumm.
Square 8vo, in ornamental cloth covers . $ .75

"Little love poems of a light and airy character, describing pretty rustic scenes.
or domestic interiors. ... As charming for its illustrations as for its reading
matter." — Detroit Free Press.

"Simple songs of human every-day experience . . . with a twinkle of homely
humor and a wholesome reflection of domestic cheer. We like his optimistic senti-
ments, and unspoiled spirit of boyishness when he strikes the chord of love. It is
all very true and good." — The Independent.

The Mountains about Williamstown. With an introduction
by M. M. Miller, and 35 full-page illustrations from
original photographs; oblong shape, cloth, gilt edges.
Net $2.00 postpaid

"The beauty of these photographs from so many points of vantage would of itself
suffice to show the fidelity and affection with which Professor Raymond pursued the
theme of his admirably constructed poems. The introduction by his pupil, friend,
and associate is an exhaustive study. No better or more thorough review could be
written of the book, or more clearly point out the directness and power of Professor
Raymond's work. . . . Arnong his many books none justifies more brilliantly
the correctness and charm of his rhetorical instruction, or his facility in exemplifying
what he commends." — Hartford (Conn.) Courant.

"The poems all show Dr. Raymond's perfect art of expression, his deep and relig-
ious love of nature, and his profound reverence for the landscape he celebrates.
Every New Englander will appreciate the volume, and Williams College men can
ill afford not to possess it." — Portland (Me.) Evening Express.

"They show a keen ear for rhythm, felicity of phrase, exquisite taste, a polished
style, and often exalted feeling. Mr. Raymond's students . . . and those who
have read his book upon the principles that underlie art, poetry, and music will be
interested in this clothing, in concrete form, of his poetic theories. . . . Dr.
Miller makes in his Introduction a long and lucid discussion of these. " — New York
Times.

"The men of Williams College especially owe him a debt of gratitude that can
never be paid." — Troy (N. Y.) Record.

"The many full-page illustrations give lovely vistas of the Berkshires and of
the stream-silvered valleys they guard. Sometimes philosophic, sometimes purely
imaginative, through all the verse runs a high patriotism and a love of beauty and
humanity which uplifts and strengthens. " — Boston Transcript.

" Verse that often suggests Bryant in its simplicity and dignity. That is surely a
sound model for nature poetry. Large and finely produced photographs bring the
mountains vividly before the reader. This is not a book to read in the subway; but
lying on the sunny side of a stony wall when the leaves are bursting in spring, it
will surely appeal. " — Brooklyn Eagle. )

Modern Fishers of Men. i2mo, cloth, gilt top . $1.00

" This delightful novel is written with charming insight. The rare gift ofjcharacter
delineation the author can claim in full. . . . Shrewd comments upon life and
character add spice to the pages." — Nashville Tennessean.

" Deals with love and religion in a small country town, and under the facile pen
and keen humor of the author, the various situations . . . are made the most of
. . . true to the life. " — Boston Globe.

"Such a spicy, racy, more-truth-than-fiction work has not been placed in our
hands for a long time. " — Chicago Evening Journal.

" A captivating story, far too short . . . just as fresh and absorbing as when the
author laid down his pen . . . that was before typewriters. " — Denver Republican.

"Essentially humorous, with an undercurrent of satire .... also subtle char-
acter delineation, which will appeal strongly to those who have the perceptive facul-
ties highlv developed." — San Francisco Bulletin.

"The book is delightful .... in several ways very remarkable." — Boston
Times.

" A distinct surprise lies in this little story .... of 1879 .... so strongly
does it partake of the outlook and aim of the new church of to-day." — Washington
Star

"In 'Modern Fishers of Men,' one sees that the Men and Religion Forward
Movement existed before it began." — The Watchman, Boston.

"Pleasant reading for those whom sad experience has led to doubt the possibility
of a real community uplift with lasting qualities. The story is brightened With a
Quiet but none the less hearty humor. " — Cincinnati Times.

O4 P. PUTNAM'S SONS. New York and London. Pobllshara

ProfessorRaymond's System of COMPARATIVEiESTHETICS

I. — Art in Theory. 8vo, cloth extra $1.75

" Scores an advance upon the many art criticisms extant .... Twenty brilliant
chapters, pregnant with suggestion. " — Popular Science Monthly.

"A well grounded, thoroughly supported, and entirely artistic conception of art
that will lead observers to distrust the charlatanism that imposes an idle and super-
ficial mannerism upon the public in place of true beauty and honest workmanship. "
— The New York Times.

" His style is good, and his logic sound and . . . of the greatest possible service
to the student or artistic theories." — Art Journal (London).

II.— The Representative Significance of Form. 8vo, cloth extra $2.00

"A valuable essay. . . . Professor Raymond goes so deep into causes as to
explore the subconscious and the unconscious mind for a solution of his problems,
and eloquently to range through the conceptions of religion, science and metaphysics
in order to find fixed principles of taste. ... A highly interesting discussion. " —
The Scotsman (Edinburgh).

"Evidently the ripe fruit of years of patient and exhaustive study on the part of a
man singularly fitted for his task. It is profound in insight, searching in analysis,
broad in spirit, and thoroughly modern in method and sympathy. " — The Universalist
Leader.

"Its title gives no intimation to the general reader of its attractiveness for him, or
to curious readers of its widely discursive range of interest .... Its broad range
may remind one of those scythe-bearing chariots with which the ancient Persians
used to mow down hostile files. " — The Outlook.

III. — Poetry as a Representative Art. 8vo, cloth extra . $1,75

"I have read it with pleasure, and a sense of instruction on many points." —
Francis Turner Palgrave, Professor of Poetry, Oxford University.

"Dieses ganz vortrefifliche Werk. " — Englischen Studien, Universitat Breslau.

"Ah acute, interesting, and brilliant piece of work. ... As a whole the essay
deserves unqualified praise." — N. Y. Independent.

IV,— Painting, Sculpture, and Architecture as Representative Arts.
With 225 illustrations. Svo $2.50

"The artist will find in it a wealth of profound and varied learning; of original,
suggestive, helpful thought . . . of absolutely inestimable value. " — The Looker-on.

"Expression by means of extension or size, . . . shape, . . . regularity in
outlines .... the human body . . . posture, gesture, and movement, . . . are
all considered. ... A specially interesting chapter is the one on color." —
Current Literature.

"The whole book is the work of a man of exceptional thoughtfulness, who says
what he has to say in a remarkably lucid and direct manner. " — Philadelphia Press.

v.— The Genesis of Art Form. Fully illustrated. Syo . . $2.25

"In a si)irit at once scientific and that of the true artist, he pierces through the
manifestations of art to their sources, and shows the relations intimate and essential,
between painting, sculpture, poetry, music, and architecture. A book that possesses
not only singular value, but singular charm." — N. Y. Times.

"A help and a delight. Every aspirant for culture in any of the liberal arts, includ-
ing music and poetry, will find something in this book to aid him. " — Boston Times.

"It is impossible to withhold one's admiration from a treatise which exhibits in
such a large degree the qualities of philosophic criticism." — Philadelphia Press.

VI,— Rhythm and Harmony in Poetry and Music, Together with
Music as a Representative Art. Svo, cloth extra . $1.75

"Professor Raymond has chosen a delightful subject, and he treats it with all the
charm of. narrative and high thought and profound study." — New Orleans States.

"The reader must be, indeed, a person either of supernatural stupidity or of
marvelous erudition, who does not discover much information in Prof. Raymond's
exhaustive and instructive treatise. From page to page it is full of suggestion. "-=•
The Academy (London).

VII.— Proportion and Harmony of Line and Color in Painting,
Sculpture, and Architecture. Fully illustrated. Svo. $2.50

" Marked by profound thought along lines unfamiliar to most readers and thinkers.
. . . When grasped, however, it becomes a source of great enjoyment and exhil-
aration. . . . No critical person can afford to ignore so valuable a contribution to
the art-thought of the day." — The Art Interchange (N. Y.).

"One does not need to be a scholar to follow this scholar as he teaches whila
seeming to entertain, for he does both. " — Burlington Hawkeye.

" The artist who wishes to penetrate the mysteries of color, the sculptor who desires
to cultivate his sense of proportion, or the architect whose ambition is to reach to a
high standard will find the work helpful and inspiring." — Boston Transcript.

G, P. PUTNAM'S SONS, New York and London. Publishers

TEXT-BOOKS BY PROFESSOR RAYMOND

The Essentials of -Esthetics. 8vo. Illustrated. Net, $2.50

This work, which is mainly a compendium of the author's system of Comparative
^Esthetics, previously published in seven volumes, was prepared by request, for a
text-book and for readers whose time is too limited to study the minutiae of the
subject.

"It can hardly fail to make talent more rational, genius more conscious of the
principles of art, and the critic and connoisseur better equipped for impression,
judgment, or appraisement. " — N. Y. Times.

"In spite of all that has been written on the subject from widely contrasted
standpoints, this manual has distinct claims on students. " — The Standard (London).

"His evidence is clear and straightforward, and his conclusions eminently scholarly
and sound. " — Vanity Fair (London.)

"In his scientific excursion, he makes hard things easy to the lay mind. The
serious student of art cannot fail to find the book interesting, and in certain import-
ant matters convincing." — Manchester (England) Guardian.

"This book is a valuable contribution to an important subject which mav help
us to understand more fully not only that a picture, or a poem, or a musical com-
position is good, but also why it is good, and what constitutes its excellence. " — The
Christian Register (Boston).

"So lucid in expression and rich in illustration that every page contains matter of
deep interest even to the general reader. " — Boston Herald.

"Dr. Raymond's book will be invaluable. He shows a knowledge both extensive
and exact of the various fine arts, and accompanies his ingenious and suggestive
theories by copious illustrations." — The Scotsman (Edinburgh).

"The whole philosophy underlying this intelligent art-criticism should be given
the widest possible publicity. " — Boston Globe.

The Orator's Manual. i2mo . . $1.20

A Practical and Philosophic Treatise on Vocal Culture, Emphasis, and Gesture,
together with Hints for the Composition of Orations and Selections for Declamation
and Reading, designed as a Text-book for Schools and Colleges, and for Public
Speakers and Readers who are obliged to Study without an Instructor, fully revised
with important Additions after the Fifteen Edition.

"It is undoubtedly the most complete and thorough treatise on oratory for the
practical student ever published." — The Educational Weekly, Chicago.

"I consider it the best American book upon technical elocution. It has also
leanings toward a philosophy of expression that no other book written by an Ameri-
can has presented." — Moses True Brown, Head of the Boston School of Oratory.

"The work is evidently that of a skilful teacher bringing before students of oratory
the results of philosophical thinking and successful experience in an admirable form
and a narrow compass." — /, W. Churchill, Professor of Homiletics, Andover Theo-
logical Seminary.

"I have long wished for just such a book. It is thoroughly practical, and descends
into details, really helping the speaker." — J. M. Hoppin, D.D., Professor of Hom-
iletics, Yale.

"The completeness, exactness, and simplicity of this manual excite my admira-
tion. It is so just and full of nature."— A. T. McGill. D.D.. LL.D., Professor of
Homiletics, Princeton.

The Writer (with Post Wheeler, Litt.D.) i2mo. $IhOO

A Concise, Complete, and Practical Text-book of Rhetoric, designed to aid in the
Appreciation, as well as Production of All Forms of Literature, Explaining, for the
first time, the Principles of Written Discourses by correlating them to those of Oral
Discourse. Former editions fully revised.

"A book of unusual merit. A careful examination creates the impression that the
exercises have been prepared by practical teachers, and the end in view is evidently
to teach rather than to give information. "—rA« Pacific Educational Journal.

"The pupil will forget he is studying rhetoric, and will come to express himself for
the pure pleasure he has in this most beautiful art." — Indiana School Journal.

" It reaches its purpose. While especially valuable as a text-book in schools, it is
a volume that should be in the hands of every literary worker." — StcUe Gazette,
Trenton, N. J. ......

" The treatment is broader and more philosophical than in the ordinary text-book.
Every species of construction and figure is considered. The student has his critical
and literary sense further developed by . . . the best writings in the language used
to illustrate certain qualities of style. " — The School Journal.

G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS. New York and London. Pabllshera

other Books by Professor Raymond

The Psychology of Inspiration. 8vo, cloth. Net, $1.40;
by mail, $1.53.

The book founds its conclusions on a study of the action of the human mind when
obtaining and expressing truth, as this action has been revealed through the most
recent investigations of physiological, psychological, and psychic research; and the
freshness r.nd originality of the presentation is acknowledged and commended by
such authorities as Dr. J. Mark Baldwin, Professor of Psychology in Johns Hopkins
University, who says that its psychological position is "new and valuable"; Dr.
W. T. Harris, late United States Commissioner of Education and the foremost
metaphysician in the country, who says it is sure "to prove helpful to many who
fincl themselves on the border line between the Christian and the non-Christian
beliefs"; and Dr. Edward Everett Hale, who says that "no one has approached the
subject from this point of view." He characterizes it, too, as an "endeavor to
formulate conceptions that almost every Christian to-day believes, but without know-
ing why he does so. " As thus intimated by Dr. Hale, the book is not a mere con-
tribution to apologetics — not a mere defense of Christianity. It contains a formula-
tion of principles that underlie all rational interpretation of all forms of revealed
religion. These principles are applied in the book to Christian doctrine, faith, and
conduct; to the services, discipline, and unity of the church; and to the methods of
insuring success in missionary enterprise. It strives to reveal both the truth and the
error that are in such systems of thought as are developed in AGNOSTICISM,
PRAGMATISM, MODERNISM, THEOSOPHY. SPIRITUALISM, AND CHRIS-
TIAN SCIENCE.

The first and, perhaps, the most important achievement of the book is to show
that the fact of inspiration can be demonstrated scientifically: in other words, that
the inner subconscious mind can be influenced irrespective of influences exerted
through the eyes and the ears, i. e., by what one sees or hears. In connection with
this fact it is also shown that, when the mind is thus inwardly or inspirationally
influenced, as, for example, in hypnotism, the influence is suggestive and not dicta-
torial. As a result, the inspired person presents the truth given him not according
to the letter, but according to the spirit. His object is not to deal with facts and impart
knowledge, as science does. This would lead men to walk by sight. His object is
to deal with principles, and these may frequently be illustrated just as accurately by
apparent, or, as in the case of the parable, by imagined circumstances, as by actual
ones. For this reason, many of the scientific and historical so-called "objections"
to the Bible need not be answered categorically. Not only so, but such faith as it is
natural and right that a rational being should exercise can be stimulated and devel-
oped in only the degree in which the text of a sacred book is characterized by the
very vagueness and variety of meaning and statement which the higher criticism
of the Bible has brought to light. The book traces these to the operation and re-
quirements of the human mind through which inspiration is received and to which
it is imparted. Whatever inspires must appear to be, in some way, beyond the grasp
of him who communicates it, and can make him who hears it think and train him to
think, in the degree only in which it is not comprehensive or complete; but merely,
like everything else in nature, illustrative of that portion of truth which the mind
needs to be made to find out for itself.

"A book that everybody should read . . . medicinal for prof est Christians, and
full of guidance and encouragement for those finding themselves somewhere between
the desert and the town. The sane, fair, kindly attitude taken gives of itself a
profitable lesson. The author proves conclusively that his mind — and if his, why
not another's? — can be at one and the same time sound, sanitary, scientific, and
essentially religious." — The Examiner, Chicago.

"The author writes with logic and a 'sweet reasonableness' that will doubtless
convince many halting minds. It is an inspiring book." — Philadelphia Inquirer.

"It is, we think, difficult to overestimate the value of this volume at the present
critical pass in the history of Christianity." — The Arena, Boston.

" The author has taken up a task calling for heroic effort, and has given us a volume
worthy of careful study. . . . The conclusion is certainly very reasonable." —
Christian Intelligencer, New York.

"Interesting, suggestive, helpful," — Boston Congregationalist.

"Thoughtful, reverent, suggestive." — Lutheran Observer, Philadelphia.

"Professor Raymond is a clear thinker, an able writer, and an earnest Christian,
and his book is calculated to be greatly helpful to those in particular who, brought up
in the Christian faith, find it impossible longer to reconcile the teachings of the
Church with the results of modern scientific thought." — Newark ( N. J.) Evening
News.

FUNK & WAGNALLS COMPANY, Pubs., New York and Londoa

OTHER BOOKS BY PROFESSOR RAYMOND

Fundamentals in Education, Art, and Civics: Essays and
Addresses. 8vo, cloth. Net, $1.40; by mail, $1.53

"Of fascinating interest to cultured readers, to the student, the teacher, the poet,
the artist, the musician, in a word to all lovers of sweetness and light. The author has
a lucid and vigorous style, and is often strikingly original. What impresses one is
the personality of a profound thinker and a consummate teacher behind every
paragraph." — Dundee Courier, Scotland.

"The articles cover a wide field and manifest a uniformly high culture in every
field covered. It is striking how this great educator seems to have anticipated the
educational tendencies of our times some decades before they imprest the rest of us.
He has been a pathfinder for many younger men, and still points the way to higher
heights. The book is thoroughly up-to-date." — Service, Philadelphia.

Clear, informing, and delightfully readable. Whether the subject is art and
morals, technique in expression, or character in a republic, each page will be found
interesting and the treatment scholarly, but simple, sane, and satisfactory . . . the
story of the Chicago fire is impressingly vivid." — Chicago Standard.

"He is a philosopher, whose encouraging idealism is well grounded in scientific
Btudy, and who illuminates points of psychology and ethics as well as of art when
they come up in the course of the discussion. " — The Scotsman, Edinburgh, Scotland.

"A scholar of wide learning, a teacher of experience, and a writer of entertaining
and convincing style." — Chicago Examiner.

"'The Mayflower Pilgrims' and 'Individual Character in Our Republic' call for
unstinted praise. They are interpenetrated by a splendid patriotism. " — Rochester
Post-Express.

"Agreeably popularizes much that is fundamental in theories of life and thought.
The American people owe much of their progress, their optimism, and we may say
their happiness to the absorption of just such ideals as Professor Raymond stands
for." — Minneapolis Book Review Digest.

"They deal with subjects of perennial interest, and with principles of abiding
importance, and they are presented with the force and lucidity which his readers
have come to look for in Dr. Raymond." — Living Age, Boston.

Suggestions for the Spiritual Life — College Chapel Talks.

8vo., cloth. Net $1.40; by mail, $1.53

"Sermons of more than usual worth, full of thought of the right kind, fresh,
strong, direct, manly. . . . Not one seems to strain to get a young man's atten-
tion by mere popular allusions to a student environment. They are spiritual,
scriptural, of straight ethical import, meeting diflSculties, confirming cravings,
amplifying tangled processes of reasoning, and not forgetting the emotions. " — Hart-
ford Theological Seminary Record (Congregationalist).

"The clergyman who desires to reach young men especially, and the teacher of
men's Bible Classes may use this collection of addresses to great advantage. . . .
"The subjects are those of every man's experience in character building . . . such a
widespread handling of God's word would have splendid results in the production
of men." — The Living Church (Episcopalian).

"Great themes, adequately considered. . . . Surely the young men who
listened to these sermons must have been stirred and helped by them as we have
been stirred and helped as we read them. " — Northfield (Mass.) Record of Christian
Work (Evangelical).

"They cover a wide range. They are thoughtful, original, literary, concise,
condensed, pithy. They deal with subjects in which the young mind will be inter-
ested." — Western Christian Advocate (Methodist).

. "Vigorous thought, vigorously expressed. One is impressed by the moderation
and sanity of the teachings here set forth and scholarly self-restraint in statement.
Back of them is not only a believing mind, but genuine learning and much hard
thinking." — Lutheran Observer.

" Though most of the addresses were prepared over forty years ago . . . no
chapter in the book seems to be either 'old-fogyish' or 'unorthodox.' " — The Watch-
man (Boston, Baptist). . .

"The preacher will find excellent models for his work and stimulating thought . . .
attractively presented and illustrated. . . . The addresses are scholariy and
especially adapted to cultivated minds. They show evidence of intimate acquaint-
ance with modern science and sympathy with modern ideas." — Springfield (Mass.)
Republican. . .

"Beautiful and inspiring discourses . . . embody the ripe conviction of a mind
of exceptional refinement, scholarship, and power ... a psychologist, a phil-
osopher, and a poet. " — N.Y. Literary Digest. „ nt-f .. .

" Never was such a book more needed by young men than jnst now... — Pkuadel-
phia Public Ledger.

FUNK & WAGNALLS COMPANY, Pubs. New York and Londoa.

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