Inasmuch as the function of painting is so without restriction concerned with the ideal aspect and the details of its subject-matter, it follows of course that it gives us quite as little opportunity to make definite statements of universal validity as to adduce specific facts which can always without exception be accepted as true of it. We must, however, not rest satisfied with what I have already discussed in respect of the principle of the content, the material and the artistic treatment, but make a further effort, however much we leave on one side all that confronts us in its multifold variety, still to subject certain aspects, that most emphatically enlist our attention, to further examination.
2. PARTICULAR MODES OF THE DEFINITION OF PAINTING
The different points of view, according to which we have to undertake this closer characterization, may be already anticipated from our previous discussion. They refer once more to the content, the material and the artistic treatment.
First, as to content, we have no doubt found the content of the romantic type of art offer the most adequate subject-matter; we must, however, inquire further what specific portions we should select from the entire wealth within this type as pre-eminently adapted to the art of painting.
Secondly, we have already made ourselves fairly cognisant with the principle of the sensuous material. We have now to define more narrowly the forms, which may be expressed on the level surface by means of colouring, in so far as the human form and other facts of Nature have to be made visible in order that the ideality of Spirit may be thereby disclosed.
Thirdly, we have a similar question with regard to the definite character of the artistic conception and presentation, which corresponds to the different character of the content thus itself similarly differentiated, producing thereby different types or schools of painting.
(a) I have already at an earlier stage recalled the fact that the ancients have had excellent painters, but added thereto the statement that the function of painting is only completely satisfied by the way of looking at things and the type of art which is referable to the emotional life and which is actively asserted in the romantic type of art. What appears, however, to contradict this from the point of view of content is the fact that at the very culminating point of Christian painting, during the age of Raphael, Rubens, Correggio, and others, we find that mythological subjects are used and portrayed in part on their own merits, and in part for the decoration and allegorization of great exploits, triumphs, royal weddings, and so forth. In this sense Goethe, for example, has once more borrowed from the descriptions of Philostratus of the pictures of Polygnotus, and, assisted by his imaginative powers as a poet, has added a novel freshness to such subjects for the painter's benefit. If, however, such contributions further imply the demand that subjects of Greek mythology and saga, or scenes, too, from the Roman world, for which the French at a certain period of their painting have evinced a great inclination, should be conceived and portrayed in the definitive mood and significance attached to them by the ancient world we can only object generally that it is impossible to recall to life this past history, and what is peculiarly appropriate to the antique is not wholly compatible with the art of painting. The painter must consequently create from such material an entirely different result, must import therein a totally different spirit, other emotions and modes of seeing things than those present to the ancients, in order to bring such a content into accord with the real problems and aims of painting. For this reason also the circle of antique material and situations is not that which painting has elaborated in a consequential process; rather it is an aspect of it which has been passed over as alien to its material, and which has first to be essentially remodelled. I have several times insisted that painting has before all to seize that, the presentment of which it can, in deliberate contrast to sculpture, music, and poetry, master by means of external form. And this is pre-eminently the self-concentration of Spirit, which is denied to sculpture, while music again is unable to make the passage to the external appearance of ideality, and poetry itself can merely render visible the bodily presence in an incomplete way. Painting, on the contrary, is still in a position to unite both aspects. It can express the entire content of soul-life in an external form, and is consequently bound to accept for its essential content the emotional depth of the soul no less than the particular type of character and its specific traits in its deepest impression—in other words intensity of feeling and ideality in its differentiation, for the expression of which definite events, conditions, and situations not only must appear as the explanatory source of individual character, but the specific individuality must disclose itself as a part of the moulded form of the soul and physiognomy, rooted therein, and entirely taken up into the external embodiment.
In order to express generally this ideality of soul we do not require that ideal self-subsistency and largeness[249] of the classical type we have previously dealt with, in which individuality persists in immediate accord with the substantive core of its spiritual essence and the physical characteristics of its bodily presentment; to quite as little extent will suffice to the manifestation of this soul-life Nature's ordinary hilarity, that Greek geniality of enjoyment and blissful absorption in its object; rather true depth and self-revelation of spiritual life presupposes that the soul has worked its way through its emotions, its forces, its whole inward life, has overcome much, has suffered and endured much anguish or misery of spirit, and yet in all these divisions has retained its sense of unity and come back to the same out of them. The ancients no doubt also place before us in the mythos of Hercules a hero, who after many troubles receives his apotheosis, and enjoys among the gods the repose of blessedness; but the labours which Hercules accomplishes are purely external, and the bliss, which he obtains as a reward, is merely a tranquil cessation from labour; and the ancient rune, that Zeus will have brought his empire to its consummation by his efforts, he, that is the greatest hero of Greece, has not accomplished. Rather the end of the rule of these self-subsistent gods then commences for the first time, where we find man overcomes the dragons and serpents of his own breast, the obstinacy and stubbornness of the soul's native realm rather than the living dragons and serpents of Nature. Only thereby will Nature's gladsomeness attain to that loftier cheerfulness of the spirit, which is perfected in its passage through the negative phase of division, and finally secures an infinite satisfaction through such travail. The feeling of blitheness and happiness must be glorified and expanded in real blessedness. For happiness and content still retain an association with external conditions which partake of Nature's contingency. In blessedness, however, that happiness, which is still related to immediate existence, is left behind, and the entire content is made one with the inner life of soul. Blessedness is a satisfaction which is an attained result, and is thereby justified; it is the gladness of a victory, the emotion of a soul which has essentially set at nought what is sensuous and finite, and thereby thrust from itself the care which lurks for ever in ambush. Blessed is the soul, which has, it is true, experienced both conflict and pain, but come victorious through its troubles.
(α) If we now inquire what is the nature of the actual Ideal in this content we shall find it to be the reconciliation of the individual soul with God, who in His human manifestation has Himself traversed this passage of sorrows. The substantive ideality[250] can only be that of religion, the peace of self-consciousness, which only feels itself truly satisfied, in so far as it is concentrated in its own substance, has broken its earthly heart, has raised itself above the purely natural conditions of finite existence, and in this exaltation has secured an inward life of universal significance, an ideal union in and with God Himself. The soul wills itself, but it finds the object of its will in something other than itself, in its particularity; it thereby gives itself up in its opposition to God, in order to find itself again and its joy in Him. This is the vital character of Love, the soul's function in its truth, that is religious love purged of mere desire, which communicates to Spirit reconciliation, peace, and blessedness. It is not the enjoyment and delight of the actual love of living nature, but rather one that is devoid of passion, nay, one that is without inclination, a tendency of the soul, a love in fact which on the side of Nature is identical with death, and is such a state, so that the actual relation as earthly bond and relation of man to man floats before us as a thing of the Past, which essentially has no consummation in its usual existing form, but carries within itself the defect of its temporality, and as such prepares the way for an exaltation to something beyond it, which is found to be at the same time a conscious state and enjoyment of a love that is without yearning and sensuous desire.
It is this character which gives to us the soulful, intimate, and more elevated Ideal, which we find now in the place of the tranquil greatness and self-subsistency of the antique. No doubt the divinities of the classical Ideal were not without a trait of sombre grief, a negative replete with fateful import, which is as it were the shadow of a cold Necessity passing over these blithesome figures, which remain, however, secure in their substantive divinity and freedom, their simple greatness and might. The freedom of Love, however, is not a freedom of this kind, being more instinct with soul-life, for the reason that it subsists in a relation between soul and soul, and spirit to spirit. This inward glow enkindles the ray of bliss made actual in the soul, a love, which in suffering, and the extremest loss not merely can discover comfort or independence therefrom, but in proportion to the depth of its suffering can feel the more profoundly therein the reality and assuredness of its love, making clear the mastery of its own essential substance in that suffering. In the Ideal of the ancients on the contrary we find no doubt, independently of that trait of a tranquil sorrow already indicated, the expression of the pain of noble natures, as for instance in the case of Niobe and Laocoon. They do not betake themselves to lamentation and despair, but adhere to their greatness and loftiness of spirit; but this self-continency remains empty; their suffering, their pain is likewise the conclusion of the matter. In the place of reconcilement and satisfaction we can only have an austere resignation, which, without suffering entire collapse, surrenders that upon which it had previously laid hold. It is not the base that is crushed[251]; no rage, no contempt or vexation is expressed; but despite of it all the loftiness of this type of individuality is nought but an inflexible self-continency[252], an endurance of destiny that is without relief, in which the nobility and pain of the soul do not appear as reconciled in fulfilment. In the romantic love of religion we find for the first time the expression of blessedness and freedom. This union and satisfaction is by nature concrete in a spiritual sense, for it is the feeling of Spirit which is made cognizant of its unity in something other than itself. And for this reason we find necessary here, if the content presented is to be complete, two aspects, in so far as the reduplication of spiritual personality is necessary to love's appearance. It reposes upon two independent individuals who possess, however, the sense of their intrinsic union. With this union, however, the negative condition is always at the same time connected. In other words Love belongs to the soul's condition; the subject of such a conscious state is, however, this independently self-stable[253] heart, which to experience love must bid good-bye to itself, surrender itself and sacrifice the unyielding focus of its individual isolation. It is this sacrifice which constitutes the motive principle of Love, the life and emotion of which is bound up wholly in a self-surrender. In consequence of this, if notwithstanding a man retains his consciousness of self in an act of such surrender, and just in this very annihilation of his personal independence attains to a truly positive self-subsistency, in that case he has left him at least in the feeling of this unity and its supreme happiness the negative aspect, the movement of Love's principle, not so much in a sense of sacrifice, as of a blessedness undeserved, which in despite of himself permits him still to feel his assured identity at unity with itself. The movement is the feeling of the dialectical contradiction, namely, to have surrendered personality and yet to remain in self-subsistent unity, a contradiction which is present in Love and eternally resolved in it.