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.