Chapter VII: Part I: Of the Beautiful in Art (1)

In an extended introduction, Hegel lays the foundations of the science of the Beautiful: he defines its object, demonstrates its legitimacy, and indicates its method; he then undertakes to determine the nature and the end of art. Upon each of these points let us endeavor to state, in a brief manner, his thought, and, if it is necessary, explain it.

Æsthetics _is the science of the Beautiful_. The Beautiful manifests itself in nature and in art; but the variety and multiplicity of forms under which beauty presents itself in the real world, does not permit their description and systematic classification. The science of the Beautiful has then as its principal object, art and its works; it is the _philosophy of the fine arts_.

Is art a proper object of science? No, undoubtedly, if we consider it only as an amusement or a frivolous relaxation. But it has a nobler purpose. It will even be a misconception of its true aim to regard it simply as an auxiliary of morals and religion. Although it often serves as interpreter of moral and religious ideas, it preserves its independence. Its proper object is to reveal truth under sensuous forms.

Nor is it allowable to say that it produces its effects by illusion. Appearance, here, is truer than reality. The images which it places under our eyes are more ideal, more transparent, and also more durable than the mobile and fugitive existences of the real world. The world of art is truer than that of nature and of history.

Can science subject to its formulas the free creations of the imagination? Art and science, it is true, differ in their methods; but imagination, also, has its laws; though free, it has not the right to be lawless. In art, nothing is arbitrary; its ground _is the essence of things_; its form is borrowed from the real world, and the Beautiful is the accord, the harmony of the two terms. Philosophy recognizes in works of art the eternal content of its meditations, the lofty conceptions of intelligence, the passions of man, and the motives of his volition. Philosophy does not pretend to furnish prescriptions to art, but is able to give useful advice; it follows it in its procedures, it points out to it the paths whereon it may go astray; it alone can furnish to criticism a solid basis and fixed principles.

As to the method to be followed, two exclusive and opposite courses present themselves. The one, _empiric_ and _historic_, seeks to draw from the study of the master-pieces of art, the laws of criticism and the principles of taste. The other, _rational_ and _a priori_, rises immediately to the idea of the beautiful, and deduces from it certain general rules. Aristotle and Plato represent these two methods. The first reaches only a narrow theory, incapable of comprehending art in its universality; the other, isolating itself on the heights of metaphysics, knows not how to descend therefrom to apply itself to particular arts, and to appreciate their works. The true method consists in the union of these two methods, in their reconciliation and simultaneous employment. To a positive acquaintance with works of art, to the discrimination and delicacy of taste necessary to appreciate them, there should be joined philosophic reflection, and the capacity of seizing the Beautiful in itself, and of comprehending its characteristics and immutable laws.

What is the nature of art? The answer to this question can only be the philosophy of art itself; and, furthermore, this again can be perfectly understood only in its connection with the other philosophic sciences. One is here compelled to limit himself to general reflections, and to the discussion of received opinions.

In the first place, art is a product of human activity, a creation of the mind. What distinguishes it from science is this, that it is the fruit of inspiration, not of reflection. On this account it can not be learned or transmitted; it is a gift of genius. Nothing can possibly supply a lack of talent in the arts.

Let us guard ourselves meanwhile from supposing that, like the blind forces of nature, the artist does not know what he does, that reflection has no part in his works. There is, in the first place, in the arts a technical part which must be learned, and a skill which is acquired by practice. Furthermore, the more elevated art becomes, the more it demands an extended and varied culture, a study of the objects of nature, and a profound knowledge of the human heart. This is eminently true of the higher spheres of art, especially in Poetry.

If works of art are creations of the human spirit, they are not on that account inferior to those of nature. They are, it is true, _living_, only in appearance; but the aim of art is not to create living beings; it seeks to offer to the spirit an image of life clearer than the reality. In this, it _surpasses_ nature. There is also something divine in man, and God derives no less honor from the works of human intelligence than from the works of nature.

Now what is the cause which incites man to the production of such works? Is it a caprice, a freak, or an earnest, fundamental inclination of his nature?

It is the same principle which causes him to seek in science food for his mind, in public life a theatre for his activity. In science he endeavors to cognize the truth, pure and unveiled; in art, truth appears to him not in its pure form, but expressed by images which strike his sense at the same time that they speak to his intelligence. This is the principle in which art originates, and which assigns to it a rank so high among the creations of the human mind.

Although art is addressed to the sensibility, nevertheless its direct aim is not to excite sensation, and to give birth to pleasure. Sensation is changeful, varied, contradictory. It represents only the various states or modifications of the soul. If then we consider only the impressions which art produces upon us, we make abstraction of the truth which it reveals to us. It becomes even impossible to comprehend its grand effects; for the sentiments which it excites in us, are explicable only through the ideas which attach to them.

The sensuous element, nevertheless, occupies a large place in art. What part must be assigned to it? There are two modes of considering sensuous objects in their connection with our mind. The first is that of simple perception of objects by the senses. The mind then knows only their individual side, their particular and concrete form; the essence, the law, the substance of things escapes it. At the same time the desire which is awakened in us, is a desire to appropriate them to our use, to consume them, to destroy them. The soul, in the presence of these objects, feels its dependence; it cannot contemplate them with a free and disinterested eye.

Another relation of sensuous objects with spirit, is that of speculative thought or science. Here the intelligence is not content to perceive the object in its concrete form and its individuality; it discards the individual side in order to abstract and disengage from it the law, the universal, the essence. Reason thus lifts itself above the individual form perceived by sense, in order to conceive the pure idea in its universality.

Art differs both from the one and from the other of these modes; it holds the mean between sensuous perception and rational abstraction. It is distinguished from the first in that it does not attach itself to the real but to the appearance, to the form of the object, and in that it does not feel any selfish longing to consume it, to cause it to serve a purpose, to utilize it. It differs from science in that it is interested in this particular object, and in its sensuous form. What it loves to see in it, is neither its materiality, nor the pure idea in its generality, but an appearance, an image of the truth, something ideal which appears in it; it seizes the connective of the two terms, their accord and their inner harmony. Thus the want which it feels is wholly contemplative. In the presence of this vision the soul feels itself freed from all selfish desire.

In a word, art purposely creates images, appearances, designed to represent ideas, to show to us the truth under sensuous forms. Thereby it has the power of stirring the soul in its profoundest depths, of causing it to experience the pure delight springing from the sight and contemplation of the Beautiful.

The two principles are found equally combined in the artist. The sensuous side is included in the faculty which creates—the imagination. It is not by mechanical toil, directed by rules learned by heart that he executes his works; nor is it by a process of reflection like that of the philosopher who is seeking the truth. The mind has a consciousness of itself, but it cannot seize in an abstract manner the idea which it conceives; it can represent it only under sensuous forms. The image and the idea coexist in thought, and cannot be separated. Thus the imagination is itself a gift of nature. Scientific genius is rather a general capacity than an innate and special talent. To succeed in the arts, there is necessary a determinate talent which reveals itself early under the form of an active and irresistible longing, and a certain facility in the manipulation of the materials of art. It is this which makes the painter, the sculptor, the musician.

Such is the nature of art. If it be asked, what is its end, here we encounter the most diverse opinions. The most common is that which gives imitation as its object. This is the foundation of nearly all the theories upon art. Now of what use to reproduce that which nature already offers to our view? This puerile talk, unworthy of spirit to which it is addressed, unworthy of man who produces it, would only end in the revelation of its impotency and the vanity of its efforts; for the copy will always remain inferior to the original. Besides, the more exact the imitation, the less vivid is the pleasure. That which pleases us is not imitation, but creation. The very least invention surpasses all the masterpieces of imitation.

In vain is it said that art ought to imitate beautiful Nature. To select is no longer to imitate. Perfection in imitation is exactness; moreover, choice supposes a rule; where find the criterion? What signifies, in fine, imitation in architecture, in music, and even in poetry? At most, one can thus explain descriptive poetry, that is to say, the most prosaic kind. We must conclude, therefore, that if, in its compositions, art employs the forms of Nature, and must study them, its aim is not to copy and to reproduce them. Its mission is higher—its procedure freer. Rival of nature, it represents ideas as well as she, and even better; it uses her forms as symbols to express them; and it fashions even these, remodels them upon a type more perfect and more pure. It is not without significance that its works are styled the creations of the genius of man.

A second system substitutes expression for imitation. Art accordingly has for its aim, not to represent the external form of things, but their internal and living principle, particularly the ideas, sentiments, passions, and conditions of the soul.

Less gross than the preceding, this theory is no less false and dangerous. Let us here distinguish two things: the idea and the expression—the content and the form. Now, if Art is designed for expression solely—if expression is its essential object—its content is indifferent. Provided that the picture be faithful, the expression lively and animated, the good and the bad, the vicious, the hideous, the ugly, have the same right to figure here as the Beautiful. Immoral, licentious, impious, the artist will have fulfilled his obligation and reached perfection, when he has succeeded in faithfully rendering a situation, a passion, an idea, be it true or false. It is clear that if in this system the object of imitation is changed, the procedure is the same. Art would be only an echo, a harmonious language; a living mirror, where all sentiments and all passions would find themselves reflected, the base part and the noble part of the soul contending here for the same place. The true, here, would be the real, would include objects the most diverse and the most contradictory. Indifferent as to the content, the artist seeks only to represent it well. He troubles himself little concerning truth in itself. Skeptic or enthusiast indifferently, he makes us partake of the delirium of the Bacchanals, or the unconcern of the Sophist. Such is the system which takes for a motto the maxim, _Art is for art_; that is to say, mere expression for its own sake. Its consequences, and the fatal tendency which it has at all times pressed upon the arts, are well known.

A third system sets up _moral perfection_ as the aim of art. It cannot be denied that one of the effects of art is to soften and purify manners (_emollit mores_). In mirroring man to himself, it tempers the rudeness of his appetites and his passions; it disposes him to contemplation and reflection; it elevates his thought and sentiments, by leading them to an ideal which it suggests,—to ideas of a superior order. Art has, from all time, been regarded as a powerful instrument of civilization, as an auxiliary of religion. It is, together with religion, the earliest instructor of nations; it is besides a means of instruction for minds incapable of comprehending truth otherwise than under the veil of a symbol, and by images that address themselves to the sense as well as to the spirit.

But this theory, although much superior to the preceding, is no more exact. Its defect consists in confounding the moral effect of art with its real aim. This confusion has inconveniences which do not appear at the first glance. Let care be taken, meanwhile, lest, in thus assigning to art a foreign aim, it be not robbed of its liberty, which is its essence, and without which it has no inspiration—that thereby it be not prevented from producing the effects which are to be expected from it. Between religion, morals and art, there exists an eternal and intimate harmony; but they are, none the less, essentially diverse forms of truth, and, while preserving entire the bonds which unite them, they claim a complete independence. Art has its peculiar laws, methods and jurisdiction; though it ought not to wound the moral sense, yet it is the sense of the Beautiful to which it is addressed. When its works are pure, its effect on the soul is salutary, but its direct and immediate aim is not this result. Seeking it, it risks losing it, and does lose its own end. Suppose, indeed, that the aim of art should be to instruct, under the veil of allegory; the idea, the abstract and general thought, must be present in the spirit of the artist at the very moment of composition. It seeks, then, a form which is adapted to that idea, and furnishes drapery for it. Who does not see that this procedure is the very opposite of inspiration? There can be born of it only frigid and lifeless works; its effect will thus be neither moral nor religious; it will produce only _ennui_.

Another consequence of the opinion which makes moral perfection the object of art and its creations, is that this end is imposed so completely upon art, and controls it to such a degree, that it has no longer even a choice of subjects. The severe moralist would have it represent moral subjects alone. Art is then undone. This system led Plato to banish poets from his republic. If, then, it is necessary to maintain the agreement of morality and art, and the harmony of their laws, their distinct bases and independence must also be recognized. In order to understand thoroughly this distinction between morals and art, it is necessary to have solved the moral problem. Morality is the realization of the “ought” by the free will; it is the conflict between passion and reason, inclination and law, the flesh and the spirit. It hinges upon an opposition. Antagonism is, indeed, the very law of the physical and moral universe. But this opposition ought to be cancelled. This is the destiny of beings who by their development and progress continually realize themselves.

Now, in morals, this harmony of the powers of our being, which should restore peace and happiness, does not exist. Morality proposes it as an end to the free will. The aim and the realization are distinct. Duty consists in an incessant striving. Thus, in one respect, morals and art have the same principle and the same aim; the harmony of rectitude, and happiness of actions and law. But that wherein they differ is, that in morals the end is never wholly attained. It appears separated from the means; the consequence is equally separated from the principle. The harmony of rectitude and happiness ought to be the result of the efforts of virtue. In order to conceive the identity of the two terms, it is necessary to elevate one’s self to a superior point of view, which is not that of morals. In empirical science equally, the law appears distinct from the phenomenon, the essence separated from its form. In order that this distinction may be cancelled, there is necessary a mode of thinking which is superior to that of reflection, or of empirical science.

Art, on the contrary, offers to us in a visible image, the realized harmony of the two terms of existence, of the law of beings and their manifestation, of essence and form, of rectitude and happiness. The beautiful is essence realized, activity in conformity with its end, and identified with it; it is the force which is harmoniously developed under our eyes, in the innermost of existences, and which cancels the contradictions of its nature: happy, free, full of serenity in the very midst of suffering and of sorrow. The problem of art is then distinct from the moral problem. The good is harmony sought for; beauty is harmony realized. So must we understand the thought of Hegel; he here only intimates it, but it will be fully developed in the sequel.

The true aim of art is then to represent the Beautiful, to reveal this harmony. This is its only purpose. Every other aim, purification, moral amelioration, edification, are accessories or consequences. The effect of the contemplation of the Beautiful is to produce in us a calm and pure joy, incompatible with the gross pleasures of sense; it lifts the soul above the ordinary sphere of its thoughts; it disposes to noble resolutions and generous actions by the close affinity which exists between the three sentiments and the three ideas of the Good, the Beautiful, and the Divine.

Such are the principal ideas which this remarkable introduction contains. The remainder, devoted to the examination of works which have marked the development of æsthetic science in Germany since Kant, is scarcely susceptible of analysis, and does not so much deserve our attention.

_The first part_ of the science of æsthetics, which might be called the Metaphysics of the Beautiful, contains, together with the analysis of the idea of the Beautiful, the general principles common to all the arts. Thus Hegel here treats: _First, of the abstract idea of the Beautiful; second, of the Beautiful in nature; third, of the Beautiful in art, or of the ideal._ He concludes with an examination of the qualities of the artist. But before entering upon these questions, he thought it necessary to point out the place of art in human life, and especially _its connections with religion and philosophy_.

The destination of man, the law of his nature, is to develop himself incessantly, to stretch unceasingly towards the infinite. He ought, at the same time, to put an end to the opposition which he finds in himself between the elements and powers of his being; to place them in accord by realizing and developing them externally. Physical life is a struggle between opposing forces, and the living being can sustain itself only through the conflict and the triumph of the force which constitutes it. With man, and in the moral sphere, this conflict and progressive enfranchisement are manifested under the form of freedom, which is the highest destination of spirit. Freedom consists in surmounting the obstacles which it encounters within and without, in removing the limits, in effacing all contradiction, in vanquishing evil and sorrow, in order to attain to harmony with the world and with itself. In actual life, man seeks to destroy that opposition by the satisfaction of his physical wants. He calls to his aid, industry and the useful arts; but he obtains thus only limited, relative, and transient enjoyments. He finds a nobler pleasure in science, which furnishes food for his ardent curiosity, and promises to reveal to him the laws of nature and to unveil the secrets of the universe. Civil life opens another channel to his activity; he burns to realize his conceptions; he marches to the conquest of the right, and pursues the ideal of justice which he bears within him. He endeavors to realize in civil society his instinct of sociability, which is also the law of his being, and one of the fundamental inclinations of his moral nature.

But here, again, he attains an imperfect felicity; he encounters limits and obstacles which he cannot surmount, and against which, his will is broken. He cannot obtain the perfect realization of his ideas, nor attain the ideal which his spirit conceives and toward which it aspires. He then feels the necessity of elevating himself to a higher sphere where all contradictions are cancelled; where the idea of the good and of happiness in their perfect accord and their enduring harmony is realized. This profound want of the soul is satisfied in three ways: in _art_, in _religion_, and in _philosophy_. The function of art is to lead us to the contemplation of the true, the infinite, under sensuous forms; for the beautiful is the unity, the realized harmony of two principles of existence, of the idea and the form, of the infinite and the finite. This is the principle and the hidden essence of things, beaming through their visible form. Art presents us, in its works, the image of this happy accord where all opposition ceases, and where all contradiction is cancelled. Such is the aim of art: to represent the divine, the infinite, under sensuous forms. This is its mission; it has no other and this it alone can fulfil. By this title it takes its place by the side of religion, and preserves its independence. It takes its rank also with philosophy, whose object is the knowledge of the true, of absolute truth.

Alike then as to their general ground and aims, these three spheres are distinguished by the form under which they become revealed to the spirit and consciousness of man. Art is addressed to sensuous perception and to the imagination; religion is addressed to the soul, to the conscience, and to sentiment; philosophy is addressed to pure thought or to the reason, which conceives the truth in an abstract manner.

Art, which offers us truth under sensuous forms, does not, however, respond to the profoundest needs of the soul. The spirit is possessed of the desire of entering into itself, of contemplating the truth in the inner recesses of consciousness. Above the domain of art, then, religion is placed, which reveals the infinite, and by meditation conveys to the depths of the heart, to the centre of the soul, that which in art we contemplate externally. As to philosophy, its peculiar aim is to conceive and to comprehend, by the intellect alone, under an abstract form, that which is given as sentiment or as sensuous representation.

I. _Of the Idea of the Beautiful._

After these preliminaries, Hegel enters upon the questions which form the object of this first part. He treats, in the first place, of _the idea of the beautiful_ in itself, in its abstract nature. Freeing his thought from the metaphysical forms which render it difficult of comprehension to minds not familiar with his system, we arrive at this definition, already contained in the foregoing: the Beautiful is the true, that is to say, the essence, the inmost substance of things; the true, not such as the mind conceives it in its abstract and pure nature, but as manifested to the senses under visible forms. It is the sensuous _manifestation of the idea_, which is the soul and principle of things. This definition recalls that of Plato: the Beautiful is the _splendor of the true_.

What are the characteristics of the beautiful? First, it is infinite in this sense, that it is the divine principle itself which is revealed and manifested, and that the form which expresses it, in place of limiting it, realizes it and confounds itself with it; second, it is free, for true freedom is not the absence of rule and measure, it is force which develops itself easily and harmoniously. It appears in the bosom of the existences of the sensuous world, as their principle of life, of unity, and of harmony, whether free from all obstacle, or victorious and triumphant in conflict, always calm and serene.

The spectator who contemplates beauty feels himself equally free, and has a consciousness of his infinite nature. He tastes a pure pleasure, resulting from the felt accord of the powers of his being; a celestial and divine joy, which has nothing in common with material pleasures, and does not suffer to exist in the soul a single impure or gross desire.

The contemplation of the Beautiful awakens no such craving; it is self-sufficing, and is not accompanied by any return of the me upon itself. It suffers the object to preserve its independence for its own sake. The soul experiences something analogous to divine felicity; it is transported into a sphere foreign to the miseries of life and terrestrial existence.

This theory, it is apparent, would need only to be developed to return wholly to the Platonic theory. Hegel limits himself to referring to it. We recognize here, also, the results of the Kantian analysis.

II. _Of the Beautiful in Nature._

Although science cannot pause to describe the beauties of nature, it ought, nevertheless, to study, in a general manner, the characteristics of the Beautiful, as it appears to us in the physical world and in the beings which it contains. This is the subject of a somewhat extended chapter, with the following title: _Of the Beautiful in Nature_. Hegel herein considers the question from the particular point of view of his philosophy, and he applies his theory of the _Idea_. Nevertheless, the results at which he arrives, and the manner in which he describes the forms of physical beauty, can be comprehended and accepted independently of his system, little adapted, it must be confessed, to cast light upon this subject.

The Beautiful in nature is the first manifestation of the Idea. The successive degrees of beauty correspond to the development of life and organization in beings. Unity is an essential characteristic of it. Thus, in the mineral, beauty consists in the arrangement or disposition of the parts, in the force which resides in them, and which reveals itself in this unity. The solar system offers us a more perfect unity and a higher beauty. The bodies in that system, while preserving entire their individual existence, co-ordinate themselves into a whole, the parts of which are independent, although attached to a common centre, the sun. Beauty of this order strikes us by the regularity of the movements of the celestial bodies. A unity more real and true is that which is manifested in organized and living beings. The unity here consists in a relation of reciprocity and of mutual dependence between the organs, so that each of them loses its independent existence in order to give place to a wholly ideal unity which reveals itself as the principle of life animating them.

Life is beautiful in nature: for it is essence, force, the idea realized under its first form. Nevertheless, beauty in nature is still wholly external; it has no consciousness of itself; it is beautiful solely for an intelligence which sees and contemplates it.

How do we perceive beauty in natural beings? Beauty, with living and animate beings, is neither accidental and capricious movements, nor simple conformity of those movements to an end—the uniform and mutual connection of parts. This point of view is that of the naturalist, of the man of science; it is not that of the Beautiful. Beauty is total form in so far as it reveals the force which animates it; it is this force itself, manifested by a totality of forms, of independent and free movements; it is the internal harmony which reveals itself in this secret accord of members, and which betrays itself outwardly, without the eye’s pausing to consider the relation of the parts to the whole, and their functions or reciprocal connection, as science does. The unity exhibits itself merely externally as the principle which binds the members together. It manifests itself especially through the sensibility. The point of view of beauty is then that of pure contemplation, not that of reflection, which analyzes, compares and seizes the connection of parts and their destination.

This internal and visible unity, this accord, and this harmony, are not distinct from the material element; they are its very form. This is the principle which serves to determine beauty in its inferior grades, the beauty of the crystal with its regular forms, forms produced by an internal and free force. A similar activity is developed in a more perfect manner in the living organism, its outlines, the disposition of its members, the movements, and the expression of sensibility.

Such is beauty in individual beings. It is otherwise with it when we consider nature in its totality, the beauty of a landscape, for example. There is no longer question here about an organic disposition of parts and of the life which animates them; we have under our eyes a rich multiplicity of objects which form a whole, mountains, trees, rivers, etc. In this diversity there appears an external unity which interests us by its agreeable or imposing character. To this aspect there is added that property of the objects of nature through which they awaken in us, sympathetically, certain sentiments, by the secret analogy which exists between them and the situations of the human soul.

Such is the effect produced by the silence of the night, the calm of a still valley, the sublime aspect of a vast sea in tumult, and the imposing grandeur of the starry heavens. The significance of these objects is not in themselves; they are only symbols of the sentiments of the soul which they excite. It is thus we attribute to animals the qualities which belong only to man, courage, fortitude, cunning. Physical beauty is a reflex of moral beauty.

To recapitulate, physical beauty, viewed in its ground or essence, consists in the manifestation of the concealed principle, of the force which is developed in the bosom of matter. This force reveals itself in a manner more or less perfect, by unity in inert matter, and in living beings by the different modes of organization.

Hegel then devotes a special examination to the external side, or to beauty of form in natural objects. Physical beauty, considered externally, presents itself successively under the aspects of _regularity_ and _symmetry_, of _conformity_ to law and of _harmony_; lastly, of _purity_ and simplicity of matter.

1. _Regularity_, which is only the repetition of a form equal to itself, is the most elementary and simple form. In _symmetry_ there already appears a diversity which breaks the uniformity. These two forms of beauty pertain to _quantity_, and constitute mathematical beauty; they are found in organic and inorganic bodies, minerals and crystals. In plants are presented less regular, and freer forms. In the organization of animals, this regular and symmetrical disposition becomes more and more subordinated in proportion as we ascend to higher degrees of the animal scale.

2. _Conformity to a law_ marks a degree still more elevated, and serves as a transition to freer forms. Here there appears an accord more real and more profound, which begins to transcend mathematical rigor. It is no longer a simple numerical relation, where quantity plays the principal rôle; we discover a relation of quality between different terms. A law rules the whole, but it cannot be calculated; it remains a hidden bond, which reveals itself to the spectator. Such is the oval line, and above all, the undulating line, which Hogarth has given as the line of beauty. These lines determine, in fact, the beautiful forms of organic nature in living beings of a high order, and, above all, the beautiful forms of the human body, of man and of woman.

3. _Harmony_ is a degree still superior to the preceding, and it includes them. It consists in a totality of elements essentially distinct, but whose opposition is destroyed and reduced to unity by a secret accord, a reciprocal adaptation. Such is the harmony of forms and colors, that of sounds and movements, Here the unity is stronger, more _prononcé_, precisely because the differences and the oppositions are more marked. Harmony, however, is not as yet true unity, spiritual unity, that of the soul, although the latter possesses within it a principle of harmony. Harmony alone, as yet, reveals neither the soul nor the spirit, as one may see in music and dancing.

Beauty exists also in matter itself, abstraction being made of its form; it consists, then, in the unity and _simplicity_ which constitutes _purity_. Such is the purity of the sky and of the atmosphere, the purity of colors and of sounds; that of certain substances—of precious stones, of gold, and of the diamond. Pure and simple colors are also the most agreeable.

After having described the beautiful in nature, in order that the necessity of a beauty more exalted and more ideal shall be comprehended, Hegel sets forth the _imperfections_ of real beauty. He begins with animal life, which is the most elevated point we have reached, and he dwells upon the characteristics and causes of that imperfection.

Thus, first in the animal, although the organism is more perfect than that of the plant, what we see is not the central point of life; the special seat of the operations of the force which animates the whole, remains concealed from us. We see only the outlines of the external form, covered with hairs, scales, feathers, skin; secondly, the human body, it is true, exhibits more beautiful proportions, and a more perfect form, because in it, life and sensibility are everywhere manifested—in the color, the flesh, the freer movements, nobler attitudes, &c. Yet here, besides the imperfections in details, the sensibility does not appear equally distributed. Certain parts are appropriated to animal functions, and exhibit their destination in their form. Further, individuals in nature, placed as they are under a dependence upon external causes, and under the influence of the elements, are under the dominion of necessity and want. Under the continual action of these causes, physical being is exposed to losing the fulness of its forms and the flower of its beauty; rarely do these causes permit it to attain to its complete, free and regular development. The human body is placed under a like dependence upon external agents. If we pass from the physical to the moral world, that dependence appears still more clearly.

Everywhere there is manifested diversity, and opposition of tendencies and interests. The individual, in the plenitude of his life and beauty, cannot preserve the appearance of a free force. Each individual being is limited and particularized in his excellence. His life flows in a narrow circle of space and time; he belongs to a determinate species; his type is given, his form defined, and the conditions of his development fixed. The human body itself offers, in respect to beauty, a progression of forms dependent on the diversity of races. Then come hereditary qualities, the peculiarities which are due to temperament, profession, age, and sex. All these causes alter and disfigure the purest and most perfect primitive type.

All these imperfections are summed up in a word: the finite. Human life and animal life realize their idea only imperfectly. Moreover, spirit—not being able to find, in the limits of the real, the sight and the enjoyment of its proper freedom—seeks to satisfy itself in a region more elevated, that of _art_, or of the ideal.

III. _Of the beautiful in Art or of the Ideal._

Art has as its end and aim the representation of the ideal. Now what is the _ideal_? It is beauty in a degree of perfection superior to real beauty. It is force, life, spirit, the essence of things, developing themselves harmoniously in a sensuous reality, which is its resplendent image, its faithful expression; it is beauty disengaged and purified from the accidents which veil and disfigure it, and which alter its purity in the real world.

The ideal, in art, is not then the contrary of the real, but the real idealized, purified, rendered conformable to its idea, and perfectly expressing it. In a word, it is the perfect accord of the idea and the sensuous form.

On the other hand, the true ideal is not life in its inferior degrees—blind, undeveloped force—but the soul arrived at the consciousness of itself, free, and in the full enjoyment of its faculties; it is life, but spiritual life—in a word, spirit. The representation of the spiritual principle, in the plenitude of its life and freedom, with its high conceptions, its profound and noble sentiments, its joys and its sufferings: this is the true aim of art, the true ideal.

Finally, the ideal is not a lifeless abstraction, a frigid generality; it is the spiritual principle under the form of the living individual, freed from the bonds of the finite, and developing itself in its perfect harmony with its inmost nature and essence.

We see, thus, what are the characteristics of the ideal. It is evident that in all its degrees it is calmness, serenity, felicity, happy existence, freed from the miseries and wants of life. This serenity does not exclude earnestness; for the ideal appears in the midst of the conflicts of life; but even in the roughest experiences, in the midst of intense suffering, the soul preserves an evident calmness as a fundamental trait. It is felicity in suffering, the glorification of sorrow, smiling in tears. The echo of this felicity resounds in all the spheres of the ideal.

It is important to determine, with still more precision, the relations of the _ideal_ and the _real_.

The opposition of the ideal and the real has given rise to two conflicting opinions. Some conceive of the ideal as something vague, an abstract, lifeless generality, without individuality. Others extol the natural, the imitation of the real in the most minute and prosaic details. Equal exaggeration! The truth lies between the two extremes.

In the first place, the ideal may be, in fact, something external and accidental, an insignificant form or appearance, a common existence. But that which constitutes the ideal, in this inferior degree, is the fact that this reality, imitated by art, is a creation of spirit, and becomes then something artificial, not real. It is an image and a metamorphosis. This image, moreover, is more permanent than its model, more durable than the real object. In fixing that which is mobile and transient, in eternizing that which is momentary and fugitive—a flower, a smile—art surpasses nature and idealizes it.

But it does not stop here. Instead of simply reproducing these objects, while preserving their natural form, it seizes their internal and deepest character, it extends their signification, and gives to them a more elevated and more general significance; for it must manifest the universal in the individual, and render visible the idea which they represent, their eternal and fixed type. It allows this character of generality to penetrate everywhere, without reducing it to an abstraction. Thus the artist does not slavishly reproduce all the features of the object, and its accidents, but only the true traits, those conformable to its idea. If, then, he takes nature as a model, he still surpasses and idealizes it. Naturalness, faithfulness, truth, these are not exact imitation, but the perfect conformity of the form to the idea; they are the creation of a more perfect form, whose essential traits represent the idea more faithfully and more clearly than it is expressed in nature itself. To know how to disengage the operative, energetic, essential and significant elements in objects,—this is the task of the artist. The ideal, then, is not the real; the latter contains many elements insignificant, useless, confused and foreign, or opposed to the idea. The natural here loses its vulgar significance. By this word must be understood the more exalted expression of spirit. The ideal is a transfigured, glorified nature.

As to vulgar and common nature, if art takes it also for its object, it is not for its own sake, but because of what in it is true, excellent, interesting, ingenuous or gay, as in _genre_ painting, in Dutch painting particularly. It occupies, nevertheless, an inferior rank, and cannot make pretensions to a place beside the grand compositions of art.

But there are other subjects—a nature more elevated and more ideal. Art, at its culminating stage, represents the development of the internal powers of the soul, its grand passions, profound sentiments, and lofty destinies. Now, it is clear that the artist does not find in the real world, forms so pure and ideal that he may safely confine himself to imitating and copying. Moreover, if the form itself be given, expression must be added. Besides, he ought to secure, in a just measure, the union of the individual and the universal, of the form and the idea; to create a living ideal, penetrated with the idea, and in which it animates the sensuous form and appearance throughout, so that there shall be nothing in it empty or insignificant, nothing that is not alive with expression itself. Where shall he find in the real world, this just measure, this animation, and this exact correspondence of all the parts and of all the details conspiring to the same end, to the same effect? To say that he will succeed in conceiving and realizing the ideal, by making a felicitous selection of ideas and forms, is to ignore the secret of artistic composition; it is to misconceive the entirely spontaneous method of genius,—inspiration which creates at a single effort,—to replace it by a reflective drudgery, which only results in the production of frigid and lifeless works.

It does not suffice to define the ideal in an abstract manner; the ideal is exhibited to us in the works of art under very various and diverse forms. Thus sculpture represents it under the motionless features of its figures. In the other arts it assumes the form of movement and of action; in poetry, particularly, it manifests itself in the midst of most varied situations and events, of conflicts between persons animated by diverse passions. How, and under what conditions, is each art in particular called upon to represent thus the ideal? This will be the object of the theory of the arts. In the general exposition of the principles of art, we may, nevertheless, attempt to define the degrees of this development, to study the principal aspects under which it manifests itself. Such is the object of those considerations, the title of which is, _Of the Determination of the Ideal_, and which the author develops in this first part of the work. We can trace only summarily the principal ideas, devoting ourselves to marking their order and connection.

The gradation which the author establishes between the progressively determined forms of the ideal is as follows:

1. The ideal, under the most elevated form, is the divine idea, the divine such as the imagination can represent it under sensuous forms; such is the Greek ideal of the divinities of Polytheism; such the Christian ideal in its highest purity, under the form of God the Father, of Christ, of the Virgin, of the Apostles, etc. It is given above all to sculpture and painting, to present us the image of it. Its essential characteristics are calmness, majesty, serenity.

2. In a degree less elevated, but more determined, in the circle of human life, the ideal appears to us, with man, as the victory of the eternal principles which fill the human heart, the triumph of the noble part of the soul over the inferior and passionate. The noble, the excellent, the perfect, in the human soul, is the moral and divine principle which is manifested in it, which governs its will, and causes it to accomplish grand actions; this is the true source of self-sacrifice and of heroism.

3. But the idea, when it is manifested in the real world, can be developed only under the form of _action_. Now, action itself has for its condition a conflict between principles and persons, divided as to interests, ideas, passions, and characters. It is this especially that is represented by poetry—the art _par excellence_, the only art which can reproduce an action in its successive phases, with its complications, its sudden turns of fortune, its catastrophe and its denouement.

_Action_, if one considers it more closely, includes the following conditions: 1st. A world which serves it as a basis and theatre, _a form of society_ which renders it possible, and is favorable to the development of ideal figures. 2d. A determinate situation, in which the personages are placed who render necessary the conflict between opposing interests and passions, whence a collision may arise. 3d. An action, properly so called, which develops itself in its essential moments, which has a beginning, a middle, and an end. This action, in order to afford a high interest, should revolve upon ideas of an elevated order, which inspire and sustain the personages, ennobling their passions, and forming the basis of their character.

Hegel treats, in a general manner, each of these points, which will appear anew, under a more special form, in the study of poetry, and particularly of epic and dramatic poetry.

1. The state of society most favorable to the ideal is that which allows the characters to act with most freedom, to reveal a lofty and powerful personality. This cannot be a social order, where all is fixed and regulated by laws and a constitution. Nor can it be the savage state, where all is subject to caprice and violence, and where man is dependent upon a thousand external causes, which render his existence precarious. Now the state intermediate between the barbarous state and an advanced civilization, is the _heroic age_, that in which the epic poets locate their action, and from which the tragic poets themselves have often borrowed their subjects and their personages. That which characterizes heroes in this epoch is, above all, the independence which is manifested in their characters and acts. On the other hand, the hero is all of a piece; he assumes not only the responsibility of his acts and their consequences, but the results of actions he has not perpetrated, of the faults or crimes of his race; he bears in his person an entire race.

Another reason why the ideal existences of art belong to the mythologic ages, and to remote epochs of history, is that the artist or the poet, in representing or recounting events, has a freer scope in his ideal creations. Art, also, for the same reason, has a predilection for the higher conditions of society, those of princes particularly, because of the perfect independence of will and action which characterizes them. In this respect, our actual society, with its civil and political organization, its manners, administration, police, etc., is prosaic. The sphere of activity of the individual is too restricted; he encounters everywhere limits and shackles to his will. Our monarchs themselves are subject to these conditions; their power is limited by institutions, laws and customs. War, peace, and treaties are determined by political relations independent of their will.

The greatest poets have not been able to escape these conditions; and when they have desired to represent personages nearer to us, as Charles Moor, or Wallenstein, they have been obliged to place them in revolt against society or against their sovereign. Moreover, these heroes rush on to an inevitable ruin, or they fall into the ridiculous situation, of which the Don Quixote of Cervantes gives us the most striking example.

2. To represent the ideal in personages or in an action, there is necessary not only a favorable world from which the subject is to be borrowed, but a situation. This situation can be either indeterminate, like that of many of the immobile personages of antique or religious sculpture, or determinate, but yet of little earnestness. Such are also the greater number of the situations of the personages of antique sculpture. Finally, it may be earnest, and furnish material for a veritable action. It supposes, then, an opposition, an action and a reaction, a conflict, a collision. The beauty of the ideal consists in absolute serenity and perfection. Now, collision destroys this harmony. The problem of art consists, then, in so managing that the harmony reappears in the denouement. Poetry alone is capable of developing this opposition upon which the interest, particularly, of tragic art turns.

Without examining here the nature of the different _collisions_, the study of which belongs to the theory of dramatic art, we must already have remarked that the collisions of the highest order are those in which the conflict takes place between moral forces, as in the ancient tragedies. This is the subject of true classic tragedy, moral as well as religious, as will be seen from what follows.

Thus the ideal, in this superior degree, is the manifestation of moral powers and of the ideas of spirit, of the grand movements of the soul, and of the characters which appear and are revealed in the development of the representation.

3. In _action_, properly so-called, three things are to be considered which constitute its ideal object: 1. The general interests, the ideas, the universal principles, whose opposition forms the very foundation of the action; 2. The personages; 3. Their character and their passions, or the motives which impel them to act.

In the first place, the eternal principles of religion, of morality, of the family, of the state—the grand sentiments of the soul, love, honor, etc.—these constitute the basis, the true interest of the action. These are the grand and true motives of art, the eternal theme of exalted poetry.

To these legitimate and true powers others are, without doubt, added; the powers of evil; but they ought not to be represented as forming the real foundation and end of the action. “If the idea, the end and aim, be something false in itself, the hideousness of the ground will allow still less beauty of form. The sophistry of the passions may, indeed, by a true picture, attempt to represent the false under the colors of the true, but it places under our eyes only a whited sepulchre. Cruelty and the violent employment of force can be endured in representation, but only when they are relieved by the grandeur of the character and ennobled by the aim which is pursued by the _dramatis personæ_. Perversity, envy, cowardice, baseness, are only repulsive.

“Evil, in itself, is stripped of real interest, because nothing but the false can spring from what is false; it produces only misfortune, while art should present to us order and harmony. The great artists, the great poets of antiquity, never give us the spectacle of pure wickedness and perversity.”

We cite this passage because it exhibits the character and high moral tone which prevails in the entire work, as we shall have occasion to observe more than once hereafter.