The three great directions of effort are: to work in the finite; to create in the finite the semblance3 of the infinite; to realize through effort the reality of the infinite. The vocation of the artist is to create the semblance of the spiritual relation between the parts of an empirical object. The object may be a vase or a lamp; it may be a human figure, it may be a group of dramatis personae. By introducing into the discussion of art the idea that a semblance of the spiritual relation is to be produced by the artist, we get rid at the outset of the barren formula of unity4 in variety.
Let me endeavor to elucidate5 the main ideas that flow from this definition of the spiritual aim of art.
1. The two points to be discussed are: What is meant by semblance? and What is meant by the quasi-spiritual relation as subsisting6 between the parts of a work of Art?
First, then, there is the semblance of totality. The spiritual relation is characterized by the totality of the parts related. That totality is realized only in the universal manifold. But a semblance of totality is furnished in the case of colors by the circumstance that the chromatic7 scale is cut off at the bottom and top in consequence of our inability to perceive the colors below and278 above; the musical scale likewise presents a quasi-totality, and the human figure in its contours presents a thing cut off from its surroundings, and in so far relatively8 complete in itself.
Because the spiritual relation involves the idea of the perfect totality, a relative totality, due to the accidental limitations of our sensory9 organs and power of attention, may become a semblance of the spiritual totality. I say, may become. A certain relation must be established between the parts of the relative totality in order that the semblance shall result.
One thing is clear; the subject of the work of art must possess relative completeness, and be capable of being contemplated10 as circumscribed11 and separated off. It must stand out like a tree, or like an oasis12 encircled by the desert, or like an island. The subject of art cannot be a mere13 length of cloth cut off from the fabric14 of things as they reel unceasingly from the loom15 of time—the mistake of Realism.
The point, emphasized in our third Book, namely, that an empirical substratum is to be spiritualized, and that ethics consists in spiritualizing this physical and psychical16 substratum, applies to art, but with the difference, that in the case of art the physical or psychical substratum cannot be spiritualized, but is to be made to take on the semblance of spirituality.
Now what is meant by this kind of transformation17? I can perhaps explain by using as an illustration the color scheme of a picture. The transformation appears in the difference between the colors on the palette and279 the colors on the canvas. The colors on the palette represent the empirical substratum, the natural colors; the colors seen on the canvas show the same natural tints18 after they have taken on a new or second nature.
The second nature,—in what does it consist? In the circumstance that each color on the canvas, by its juxtaposition19 and its relation to the rest, is altered in tone and value, and that all the rest are altered by it. The spiritual relation is a give and take relation actually carried out. The semblance produced in art is the illusive20 appearance of such a relation as seen by the beholder21.
We have thus set down two points—the apparent totality, and the apparent give and take relation between the parts (the second nature assumed by the parts, the illusory transformation of the substratum).
A third point involved in the second is that each part of a work of art shall remain invincibly22 individualized, despite the closeness of the relation which connects it with the rest. The individual member of a work of art may never be submerged in the whole, may never merely convey the abstract idea of unity amid variation. The “unity in variety” formula is not only empty but misleading, based on the same misconception which we have noted23 in dealing24 with Kant and with the Pantheists. The unity of a work of art consists in the reciprocal effect produced by the members on each other. Hence the more accentuated25, the more distinctive26 the members are, always provided that the reciprocal relation is maintained, the more artistically28 satisfying will be the re280sult. In this manner the work of art will be true to its essential character as a semblance of the spiritual relation.
I have thus far spoken of the form. In regard to content I have only remarked that it must be capable of relative detachment. It must also be capable of interior articulation29. The idea that an empirical substratum is to be transformed will here be found helpful in determining what is and what is not a fit subject for art. A vase or a pitcher30 is a utensil31. As such it is a detached thing. Is it capable of articulation without destroying its utility? If it is, as the beautiful vases show, it is a fit subject for art to treat. The embellishment of utensils32, of tables, chairs, etc., that is to say, the giving of artistic27 form to objects with which we bodily come into contact, is a means of casting the appearance of the spiritual relation over these objects, and thus in a fine sense making them congenial to ourselves as spiritual personalities33. This justifies34 the time spent by artist artisans on their handiwork, and also justifies our availing ourselves of their products (provided that the store set by these symbolic35 reminders36 of the spiritual relation do not divert us from the main business of life, which is to attempt to realize that relation in human intercourse). The war song sung by a primitive37 tribe is a detachable, empirical thing, and possesses natural articulation. It has its slow beginning, its gradual rise, its paroxysmic culminations38, its wild ecstasy39, its final dying down.
The love passion expressed in lyric40 form has for its281 basis the natural ups and downs, dejections and transports characteristic of that passion.
The theme of a tragedy, as Aristotle says, must have a beginning, a middle, and an end. Repetition (always with a difference), contrast, apparent triumph, defeat, and somehow a triumph in defeat—whatever may be the elements with which the tragic41 poet deals, the crude substance of them is furnished by the theme itself. And the result becomes artistic when the articulation is such that each part becomes a member of an organized whole, that is, when each part exchanges its first nature for the second nature mentioned above in connection with painting.80
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The next point of interest to consider is whether beauty is to be regarded as the invariable object of art. Relative detachment and susceptibility to articulation in the manner described are indispensable. But if tragedy is to be included, beauty cannot be the exclusive object. Lear, on the heath, the harpy daughters, Lear and Cordelia perishing together, are not beautiful objects. The task of the artist is to produce the semblance of the spiritual relation in any material which is capable of bearing that imprint42. In the great tragedies we are lifted into an exalted43 mood by the form of the work even though the subject treated evokes44 horror—perhaps because of the very contrast between the form and the subject-matter. Beauty, on the other hand, is produced when both subject-matter and form are satisfying to our needs or aspirations45. A vase is beautiful when perfectly46 adapted to its use and at the same time perfect in form. For this reason any kind of embellishment, for instance, in architecture not structurally48 in place is offensive, while on the other hand mere structural47 utility without the formal touch is mechanical. It is not true that utility itself inevitably49 flowers into beauty.
It should be added, however, that the artistic expression even of unsatisfied desires may come within the scope of beauty. The “Lycidas” is beautiful, Wordsworth’s “Laodamia” is beautiful, the Gothic form of architecture is beautiful, and so is Keats’ “Ode to the Nightingale,” and Shelley’s “Ode to the West Wind.” In such productions the adequate expression of the need itself affords relief and induces tranquillity50. The mind ceases to strive toward a beyond longed for, and rests tranquillized in the longing51 itself. That it should thus aspire52 and long, in consequence of its higher nature, and the assurance of the existence of this higher nature, as evidenced by the longing, is peace-giving.
But it is hardly possible to discuss even in the most283 cursory53 manner the subject matter or content of a work of art without drawing attention to the ideals which at various times have been expressed in art, and to the function of art in respect to these ideals. For here the grandeur54 of the great art as connected with the ultimate aim and purpose of life appears.
Art in its fictions has endeavored to present to men the solution of the problem of life, the things most worth striving for. The ideals, of course, have varied55. In the Greek epic56 the heroes contend around the walls of wind-swept Ilion. They themselves are wind-swept apparitions57. Life is short; presently they too will pass out of sight, yet their names and deeds will live after them. Fate is inscrutable. There is no ulterior meaning in things. To glitter for a time in shining armor, and then to be remembered in the song of the rhapsodists is alone worth while. It is this ideal of life that Homer records.
The romantic ideal of feudalism is reflected in the poems of chivalry58. The ideal of the English Renascence is found in Shakespeare. The religious ideals are expressed in the Hindu temples, in the Parthenon, in the medi?val cathedrals, and in the poems of Dante and Milton. The ideals of the oriental monarchs59 are visibly embodied60 in the Assyrian and Babylonian palaces; the ideal of the merchant class in the stones of Venice, in the architecture of the German and Flemish cities, etc. The plastic arts especially owe their rise and prosperity to the princely and religious ideals—to the demand for temples, churches and palaces suitable for monarchs or merchant princes to dwell and worship in. The aim of284 the artificer is to furnish a splendid setting for princes and divinities.
Mankind at different periods is in labor61 to give birth to ideals representing the purpose for which man exists, or the things that make life worth while, and art assists in bringing to the birth these ideals. It seeks to express them, and in the effort to do so it helps to develop and clarify them. This, and not merely to give pleasure, is its grand function.
In an age like the present, in which a new ideal is in the early stages of formation, art is likely to become, as in fact it has become, uncertain of its function, and hence apt to lose its direction, either turning back to the servile reproduction of past art forms, or seeking to achieve progress in the perfection of technical detail, or in the ways of subjective62 impressionism.81
The efforts of a serious artist today, in so far as he undertakes to assist in bringing to the birth a new ideal by his endeavor to express it, must necessarily be tentative, if not crude. But such as they are their worth, if wholly sincere, can hardly be overestimated63.
In the vocation of the artist, as everywhere, the three-fold reverence64 is the capital point. Reverence for the great masters, as shown not in slavishly copying them, but in understanding the qualities that made them great, and in delivering from past art the things that are to be285 reincorporated and to live on; reverence for those who in different fields are intent on the problem of art today—all this to prepare the way for future artists, for the greater art that is to come.
The relation of art to ethics, or to the spiritual life, is now sufficiently65 clear. In general it is to produce the semblance of the spiritual relation, and thereby66 to rejuvenate67 the world’s workers, to give them the joy of relative perfection, and thus to stimulate68 them to persevere69 in the real business of life, which is to approximate toward actual perfection. The specific task of the artist at its height is to enshrine in his creation the ideals of the age with respect to the ultimate purpose of human existence, and in the endeavor so to incorporate them as to assist in defining them.
The dangers of pre-occupation with art, however, must not be passed over. Just because it creates the illusion of perfection it is apt to encourage the indolence of our nature, which ever prefers to content itself with illusion, and to desist from effort. It is on this account that periods in which art greatly flourishes are apt to lead to the halting of progress and eventually to decay. A second danger is that the artist, in applying the ideal of present perfection, is in danger of selfishly subordinating other persons to himself (cf. Goethe as a notable example), or of setting up a special kind of morality for artists.82
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In a full account of the matter, the different so-called fine arts should be specifically treated from the point of view of this chapter. The particular contribution of each to the general purpose of art should be noted, the distinctions marked between painting, sculpture, poetry, etc., and in each case the kind of art which is favorable to the spiritual development of man be discriminated70 from that which is hostile to it. Plato attempted to do this in the case of music.
To summarize: What has been attempted in this chapter is a theory not of art but of the relation of art to ethics. The dominating thought is this: in a work of art each line, color, sound, word, must be irreplaceable, and on that account convincing. Each member must be indispensable in its place and the connection with the rest inevitable71. Substitute for line, color, sound, etc., a life—an ethical72 being,—conceive the members to be not a few but in number infinite, and you have the spiritual ideal, which is the reality whereof the art work is a semblance. This is the relation of art to ethics—the quality which we call in art “convincing,” in ethics we call “worth.”
NOTES
As one example architecture may be mentioned. Architecture furnishes the envelope for the social life, the dwelling73, the nest of the family, the workshops that house the vocational life, the public buildings that provide a habitation for the political life, the temples, the churches that enshrine the religious life. The relation of the enshrining dwelling to the inner social life should be the same as that of the body to the soul in sculpture. That which goes on within should be significantly indicated exter287nally. The progress of architecture will depend on its holding fast to this idea, and changing the outside as the inner life changes. Thus, we have, or are beginning to have, a conception of the family very different from that which prevailed at the time when the princely mansions74 of the Renaissance75 were built. To reproduce these princely mansions because they beautifully expressed the princely idea is a mistake. To provide a proper dwelling-place for the modern family the architect should clearly apprehend76 what functions go on in the family, what the distribution of functions should be, and the rank to be assigned to the different functions. There is to be, for instance, in addition to the ordinary requirements, provision for separate study rooms, places of retirement77, refuges of intellectual solitude78 for the adult members; a playroom for children, a place of reunion for the household religion. The formation of a number of families into a larger group (vid. supra) would help in the solution of this problem.
In like manner the conception of what a religious society should be is changing. The church-building, the Mosque79, the Synagogue, certainly no longer declare the spirit and the purpose that animate80 the new religious fellowships that are forming among us today. The progress of architecture will thus depend, not on the out of hand invention of new styles, but on a thorough understanding of the new kind of life which is to be domiciled within buildings, accepting this as the empirical substratum, and articulating it in accordance with the spiritual relation of give and take between the parts; and the architect will assist in clarifying the ideal of the new kind of life that is to be lived within the buildings by endeavoring to give it outward expression.
One more remark: The limitations opposed to the artist, for instance to the sculptor81, by the material in which he works, are a helpful illustration of one of the most important ethical truths. The material is found to be intractable to the idea. The hardness of the stone, the veins82 that run through the marble, the unpropitious qualities of the wood, are so many hin288drances to execution. The value of these hindrances83 is that they compel the artist to achieve a more definite grasp of the ideal itself. Before the attempt to carry it out into stone, the idea is apt to be vague in the mind of the artist. The same is true of every ideal conception—that of the author before he writes a book, that of the social reformer before he attempts to carry his scheme into practice. And it applies no less to the ethical ideal of life in general. The empirical analogue84 or substratum is ductile85 to a certain degree, else we could never achieve even partial success. But it is also hostile and mutinous86 in many ways, and the fact that it is so compels us to adapt our ideal to existing empirical requirements, and to make it more explicit87 in the process of adapting it.
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1 vocation | |
n.职业,行业 | |
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2 ethics | |
n.伦理学;伦理观,道德标准 | |
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3 semblance | |
n.外貌,外表 | |
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4 unity | |
n.团结,联合,统一;和睦,协调 | |
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5 elucidate | |
v.阐明,说明 | |
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6 subsisting | |
v.(靠很少的钱或食物)维持生活,生存下去( subsist的现在分词 ) | |
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7 chromatic | |
adj.色彩的,颜色的 | |
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8 relatively | |
adv.比较...地,相对地 | |
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9 sensory | |
adj.知觉的,感觉的,知觉器官的 | |
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10 contemplated | |
adj. 预期的 动词contemplate的过去分词形式 | |
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11 circumscribed | |
adj.[医]局限的:受限制或限于有限空间的v.在…周围划线( circumscribe的过去式和过去分词 );划定…范围;限制;限定 | |
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12 oasis | |
n.(沙漠中的)绿洲,宜人的地方 | |
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13 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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14 fabric | |
n.织物,织品,布;构造,结构,组织 | |
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15 loom | |
n.织布机,织机;v.隐现,(危险、忧虑等)迫近 | |
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16 psychical | |
adj.有关特异功能现象的;有关特异功能官能的;灵魂的;心灵的 | |
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17 transformation | |
n.变化;改造;转变 | |
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18 tints | |
色彩( tint的名词复数 ); 带白的颜色; (淡色)染发剂; 痕迹 | |
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19 juxtaposition | |
n.毗邻,并置,并列 | |
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20 illusive | |
adj.迷惑人的,错觉的 | |
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21 beholder | |
n.观看者,旁观者 | |
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22 invincibly | |
adv.难战胜地,无敌地 | |
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23 noted | |
adj.著名的,知名的 | |
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24 dealing | |
n.经商方法,待人态度 | |
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25 accentuated | |
v.重读( accentuate的过去式和过去分词 );使突出;使恶化;加重音符号于 | |
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26 distinctive | |
adj.特别的,有特色的,与众不同的 | |
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27 artistic | |
adj.艺术(家)的,美术(家)的;善于艺术创作的 | |
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28 artistically | |
adv.艺术性地 | |
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29 articulation | |
n.(清楚的)发音;清晰度,咬合 | |
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30 pitcher | |
n.(有嘴和柄的)大水罐;(棒球)投手 | |
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31 utensil | |
n.器皿,用具 | |
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32 utensils | |
器具,用具,器皿( utensil的名词复数 ); 器物 | |
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33 personalities | |
n. 诽谤,(对某人容貌、性格等所进行的)人身攻击; 人身攻击;人格, 个性, 名人( personality的名词复数 ) | |
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34 justifies | |
证明…有理( justify的第三人称单数 ); 为…辩护; 对…作出解释; 为…辩解(或辩护) | |
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35 symbolic | |
adj.象征性的,符号的,象征主义的 | |
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36 reminders | |
n.令人回忆起…的东西( reminder的名词复数 );提醒…的东西;(告知该做某事的)通知单;提示信 | |
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37 primitive | |
adj.原始的;简单的;n.原(始)人,原始事物 | |
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38 culminations | |
n.顶点,极点(culmination的复数形式) | |
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39 ecstasy | |
n.狂喜,心醉神怡,入迷 | |
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40 lyric | |
n.抒情诗,歌词;adj.抒情的 | |
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41 tragic | |
adj.悲剧的,悲剧性的,悲惨的 | |
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42 imprint | |
n.印痕,痕迹;深刻的印象;vt.压印,牢记 | |
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43 exalted | |
adj.(地位等)高的,崇高的;尊贵的,高尚的 | |
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44 evokes | |
产生,引起,唤起( evoke的第三人称单数 ) | |
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45 aspirations | |
强烈的愿望( aspiration的名词复数 ); 志向; 发送气音; 发 h 音 | |
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46 perfectly | |
adv.完美地,无可非议地,彻底地 | |
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47 structural | |
adj.构造的,组织的,建筑(用)的 | |
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48 structurally | |
在结构上 | |
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49 inevitably | |
adv.不可避免地;必然发生地 | |
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50 tranquillity | |
n. 平静, 安静 | |
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51 longing | |
n.(for)渴望 | |
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52 aspire | |
vi.(to,after)渴望,追求,有志于 | |
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53 cursory | |
adj.粗略的;草率的;匆促的 | |
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54 grandeur | |
n.伟大,崇高,宏伟,庄严,豪华 | |
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55 varied | |
adj.多样的,多变化的 | |
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56 epic | |
n.史诗,叙事诗;adj.史诗般的,壮丽的 | |
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57 apparitions | |
n.特异景象( apparition的名词复数 );幽灵;鬼;(特异景象等的)出现 | |
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58 chivalry | |
n.骑士气概,侠义;(男人)对女人彬彬有礼,献殷勤 | |
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59 monarchs | |
君主,帝王( monarch的名词复数 ) | |
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60 embodied | |
v.表现( embody的过去式和过去分词 );象征;包括;包含 | |
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61 labor | |
n.劳动,努力,工作,劳工;分娩;vi.劳动,努力,苦干;vt.详细分析;麻烦 | |
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62 subjective | |
a.主观(上)的,个人的 | |
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63 overestimated | |
对(数量)估计过高,对…作过高的评价( overestimate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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64 reverence | |
n.敬畏,尊敬,尊严;Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称;v.尊敬,敬畏,崇敬 | |
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65 sufficiently | |
adv.足够地,充分地 | |
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66 thereby | |
adv.因此,从而 | |
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67 rejuvenate | |
v.(使)返老还童;(使)恢复活力 | |
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68 stimulate | |
vt.刺激,使兴奋;激励,使…振奋 | |
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69 persevere | |
v.坚持,坚忍,不屈不挠 | |
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70 discriminated | |
分别,辨别,区分( discriminate的过去式和过去分词 ); 歧视,有差别地对待 | |
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71 inevitable | |
adj.不可避免的,必然发生的 | |
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72 ethical | |
adj.伦理的,道德的,合乎道德的 | |
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73 dwelling | |
n.住宅,住所,寓所 | |
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74 mansions | |
n.宅第,公馆,大厦( mansion的名词复数 ) | |
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75 renaissance | |
n.复活,复兴,文艺复兴 | |
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76 apprehend | |
vt.理解,领悟,逮捕,拘捕,忧虑 | |
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77 retirement | |
n.退休,退职 | |
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78 solitude | |
n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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79 mosque | |
n.清真寺 | |
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80 animate | |
v.赋于生命,鼓励;adj.有生命的,有生气的 | |
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81 sculptor | |
n.雕刻家,雕刻家 | |
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82 veins | |
n.纹理;矿脉( vein的名词复数 );静脉;叶脉;纹理 | |
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83 hindrances | |
阻碍者( hindrance的名词复数 ); 障碍物; 受到妨碍的状态 | |
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84 analogue | |
n.类似物;同源语 | |
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85 ductile | |
adj.易延展的,柔软的 | |
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86 mutinous | |
adj.叛变的,反抗的;adv.反抗地,叛变地;n.反抗,叛变 | |
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87 explicit | |
adj.详述的,明确的;坦率的;显然的 | |
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