The Basis of Beauty

SOME years ago, it was my good fortune to spend a few weeks in Athens, of which many days were given to reverie and study among the ruins of the marvelous temples on the Acropolis.

To dream in the still hours of a Hellenian dusk what these architectural wonders must have been in their golden glory of the Periclean age, if even now, in the days of their pitiful ruin and appealing nakedness, they send a thrill through one’s soul that no other man-made creations ever awakened, was, indeed, an experience never to be forgotten.

To verify the impressions and teachings of student days, and to note the absolute perfection of form and proportion, the finished refinement throughout, the exquisite delicacy of detail, and the superb majesty and dignity of the mass, made one feel that the Parthenon was well worthy of the great goddess to whom it was dedicated.

To find by actual measurement that columns which looked exactly alike in size and shape were decidedly not so; to note that the spacing between them, although appearing the same, varied materially; to observe the decided entasis on the straight-appearing shafts, and mark the gracefully swelling line of facias that gave the impression of perfect horizontality; to admire the absolute perfection of workmanship — huge blocks of marble butted together in such manner that, even to-day, it takes the keenest eye to discover the line of jointing; to find traces of brilliant color which enriched many of the marble surfaces, made one marvel at the perfection in this direction of human endeavor and expression.

As one looks westward through the Propylæa, there appears in view a grotto in a rocky hillside, which is said to have been the prison abode of Socrates the Philosopher. The native guides are enthusiastic, and talk quite convincingly on the subject; but one’s interest wanes somewhat when noting that Baedeker declares the cave to be a storagecellar hewn out of the rock by some enterprising wine-grower ages ago.

My curiosity was aroused by these conflicting opinions, and in an idle hour, when all alone, I unloosened the rusted fastenings of the heavy iron gratings of the doorway. I was at once impressed by the antiquity of the stone-walled, cell-like room, and could not doubt that it was as ancient as the sublime ruins of the temples on the rocks above. It was apparent, by the dust and disorder, that the room had not been used for any purpose, or indeed even visited, for a long time. Wind and weather had done their work: the rock was crumbling and giving way on every side. It was evident, from the freshness of some of the fissures, that a storm or earthquake had of late caused unusual damage, and that this disturbance had loosened a square stone fitted over a small opening in the wall, with an almost invisible joint, such as only the Greek master-worker knew how to fashion. What was my surprise when I discovered a papyrus roll in this little niche! It was badly damaged — a part of it turned to dust, and other parts faded and worn.

I have at last deciphered what remained. Other illegible fragments I have attempted to fill in as best I could. A very imperfect knowledge of Greek will excuse many shortcomings in this remarkable document.

I had the good fortune to discover what was once a complete record of a discussion on Art between Socrates and Plato. It, apparently, was recorded at the time and hidden for safe-keeping in the place where I found it.

May it prove to be of as much interest to you as it was to me.

PLATO. — Ictinus and Pheidias have asked me to offer you their good wishes, and they greatly regret that you could not honor us with your presence at the festival celebrating the completion of Athena’s shrine. I know you would have been gratified to hear the praise bestowed upon our good friends, the architects and artists, the creators of this most beautiful Temple in the world.

SOCRATES. — I am indeed sorry that my ill fortune kept me away, and that I had to miss the words of wisdom and praise that I well know were showered on these talented men by the foremost citizens of Athens. But tell me, Plato, why do you call this Temple the most beautiful in the world?

PLATO. — Why do you ask this question, Socrates? Do you not agree that the judges were right in bestowing the highest praise on the creators, in crowning them with laurel and pronouncing their work the most meritorious, artistically, ever conceived in our State?

SOCRATES.—Tell me then, O Plato, do you say this Temple is beautiful because the judges pronounce it so?

PLATO. —Not that altogether. The Temple appears to me very beautiful, but I was gratified that my opinion was verified by men competent to judge, by a jury of the highest attainments in the world of Art and Architecture.

SOCRATES. — Tell me then, O Plato, would you change your opinion if it did not agree with that of this expert jury?

PLATO. — If we differ on questions of Art and Architecture, I listen attentively to the arguments of the artists and architects. I doubt but little that, if I can follow the laws of good Art and Architecture which are laid down by them, I shall soon have to agree to their views.

SOCRATES. — So you shall, Plato. If a new proposition in Geometry were presented, you, as a man of education, would be able to follow the demonstrations of our friend Pythagoras and would see the truth and beauty of the new theorem; likewise would you readily understand the teachings of those who have made a study of Astronomy, Botany, and other sciences. These learned men in their demonstrations would begin with fundamental truths and lead you gradually, step by step, to the proposition before you, the truth of which could not then be questioned. But consider carefully, Plato — do you think that Ictinus could give you elemental truths as to what constitutes architectural beauty, and by these truths and by the laws that develop and base themselves on these truths, could clearly demonstrate to all reasoning men which building should be considered beautiful and which not so?

PLATO. — I must confess, Socrates, that I have not given this much thought, but it seems to me that Ictinus must be aware of, and must have followed, certain fixed rules and laws when he designed his masterpiece, and that these laws would apply to, and would establish as works of Art, all buildings conforming with them. Thus I feel certain that, among other things, he would point out to me that a void should be above a void, and that the base should be heavier than the superstructure.

SOCRATES. — Yes, Plato, he would say this; and, skilled, scholarly architect that he is, would be able to point out and prove many more of these rules and laws to which he would claim that good Architecture is subject. But if you examine them carefully, do you not find that these laws pertain to good building, and do not necessarily affect what we term the architecture of a building? You will agree with me that Architecture is distinct from building; that you may have a building structurally correct, designed in accordance with many laws and rules, without having any architectural merit. You know that Architecture is the fine art of building, and arises only when you appeal to the æsthetic sense. Thus good planning, convenient arrangements, proper construction, and the like, in a building, have not necessarily anything in common with its æsthetic or true architectural character; and these features of a building are subject to laws and rules on which we can agree. But do you know of any laws that govern Architecture, using this term in its proper sense? Can you tell me, O Plato, of any true laws that govern that all-important feature of a good building which appeals to the so-called higher sense — the æsthetic sense?

PLATO.—Surely, Socrates, there must be many of them.

SOCRATES. — Yes, Plato, there are many and conflicting canons of Art proposed from day to day. Go but to the Library and note the hundreds of manuscripts devoted to the laws of æsthetics; and when studying the fine art of building, you will find page upon page of argument, aiming to prove that true Architecture must possess fitness, proportion, harmony, repose, and so forth. I recall the proposition that that which is beautiful is true, and that which is true must be beautiful. Only yesterday, a new author elaborated on the law of Consonance: repetition with variation, the law of Trinity as exemplified by the Erechtheion.

But, Plato, are these true laws, based on elemental principles, or are they simply the ever-changing views and opinions of different men, presented with varying degrees of plausibility or assurance; dogmas which satisfy those who feel like you, but rules and canons which fall to pieces when subjected to critical analysis?

No, Plato, Art cannot, in the very nature of things, be subject to laws. If the fine art of Architecture were subject to rigid laws, it would then be the science of Architecture, as would the other arts be the sciences of Painting, Sculpture, and Music; and all who know these laws would agree without dissent on what is beautiful and what is otherwise. You could then convince the Egyptian and Persian, without prolonged argument, that Athena’s Temple is æsthetically superior to any they possess, and do it as readily as you can prove Pythagoras’s new theorem to them; but, as you know full well, some of our neighbors persist in holding that their temples are architecturally greater than those we cherish.

PLATO. — But, Socrates, these peoples are barbarians; they are but semicivilized, and their opinion in the field of Art matters but little. At the festival to-day were assembled all the great of Athens, and these all agreed to the decision of the jury.

SOCRATES. — That may be so, but does it, therefore, prove anything? If all these wise and great men had declared that the taste of sparkling wine was superior to the taste of the unfermented grape, would that have affected your judgment if you had disagreed with them?

PLATO. — No, Socrates, it would not have done so. I would have relied on my own judgment in a matter of that kind. But why do you bring up this question? Am I to understand that there is a relation between the purely physical sensations, such as the taste of food, and that higher experience which affects our æsthetic sense ?

SOCRATES.—Just so, Plato. Our good friend and great physician, Hippocrates, can show how close this relation is. He points out to us that there is but little difference in the purely physical process which makes us conscious of an impression on the organs of sight , sound, taste, or smell. He clearly shows that an impression made on the retina of the eye by the ethereal waves from the object, be it one of art or otherwise, and transmitted by an intricate system of nerves to the seat of consciousness, does not differ in its physical and mental process from the impression made by, and the concomitant consciousness of, the taste of a particle of food on the palate.

PLATO. — This seems plausible.

SOCRATES. — Yes, if you but consider, it must be so, and if we fully understood these subtle processes, it would make clear and explain much in the field of Art about which we are nowin doubt. Does it not explain the phenomenon of sound? We pronounce as harmonious those sounds or combinations of waves which, transmitted to our consciences, pass through and excite the different physical organs and nerves of hearing in such a manner as to affect them agreeably, and others as discordant and unmusical which excite these organs in a painful, unusual way, similar in process to the experience of tasting agreeable or disagreeable food, and similar to the experience, in the final analysis, of contemplating works of Art, be it Architecture, Painting, or Sculpture.

PLATO. — It would appear from what you say, Socrates, that the arts, after all, are sciences; for it is possible, as you know, to discover, by experiment in Music, for instance, what soundwaves and combinations of these are agreeable to me, and it will then be a simple matter to lay down the rules for composing beautiful music.

SOCRATES. — Quite so, Plato. This would bo the case if all ears and eyes, all nerxes and brain-cells were alike; but you know that there are no two exactly the same in different individuals. They are not the same, not constant, in one’s self from day to day. You, as well as I, have experienced, time and again, that some sensation which gave pleasure, satisfaction, and gratification only yesterday was painful and distasteful to-day, be it the taste of some food, an odor, or the contemplation of some object of art.

PLATO. — While that may be so, and your judgment and opinion may have changed, you will not deny, Socrates, that your opinion and judgment, after a long life of experience and study in all fields of human endeavor and activities, are of a higher order than those who have given but little thought to these matters.

SOCRATES. — No, Plato, I question this. Thus I doubt that my mind is as responsive to new æsthetic impressions, is as open, as it was in years gone by. I may be one of those who would condemn and get only displeasure out of unconventional work presented tomorrow by some artistic genius, unfettered by the conventions of to-day.

I should have been, through my very experience and environment, one of those who might have condemned and belittled the works of Euripides when they first appeared; and you will recall that it was the man on the street, who did not have the advantages of learning, who was first to recognize his genius and to get satisfaction and pleasure from his efforts. It was thus, as you know, with the appreciation of the taste of wine, which was first enjoyed by the slaves and servants, the master considering the grape-juice rank and spoiled when it had fermented.

PLATO. — All this seems reasonable and true, and the judgment of the cultured individual on a matter of art may or may not be a good one; but surely, Socrates, you will not question the collective judgment of the larger number of these cultured individuals. Surely, Socrates, you will accept the judgment of a large group of painters on the merits or demerits of a painting.

SOCRATES. — Let us see if I can do so. In the first place, an absolutely unqualified agreement in a matter of this kind has not come to my notice; but if it should occur, which I question, it only goes to show that the collective judgment of the group we speak of has been formed by this group, having had exactly the same environment, t he same training, the same education. This same group, under those conditions, will be in perfect accord as to the gastronomic value of any food; and it seems to me that, from this point of view, the group must be considered as on a par with the individual.

PLATO. — But surely, Socrates, if this group were to include, say, our entire nation, you would then, without question, abide by the nation’s judgment, if it agreed on what was beautiful and what was otherwise. If each and every Athenian would declare the Temple on the Acropolis to be architecturally flawless, you surely would accept that decision as final.

SOCRATES. — I doubt that I should surrender my own judgment even under these problematical conditions. Being open-minded, free from prejudice, open to conviction, I should listen to and be interested in the arguments of our neighboring communities. I should weigh their assertion that we are a barbarous people in allowing our artists and architects to cover and hide the God-given, creamy-white, translucent marble of the Temple with crude, glaring colors and pigments in the manner of the semi-civilized Egyptians. On the other hand, it would be interesting to consider and analyze the assertions of our friends the Spartans, who call us degenerate and effeminate, declaring that this condition is reflected in the over-refinement of our Art and Architecture. They criticize the very architectural features upon which we pride ourselves most. They question our good judgment in curving the lines of the stylobate, cornices, and columns, so as to make them appear straight; and, as you know, among other things, they object to the columns being of different sizes and different spacings, so as to make them appear alike, taking the position that it would be more manly and honest to build straight and truthfully and let the effect be what it may. No, Plato, I think I will hold my own opinion on what is beautiful and supreme in art—just as much so as I shall take no other individual’s opinion or group of individuals’ opinions as to what is pleasant or unpleasant to the palate.

PLATO. — I am willing to grant what you say and to agree with your position that your opinion on what is beautiful, what is pleasing to you, is such, as a matter of fact; but I accept this view because you are a man of experience, education, and culture. On the other hand, I am not interested in the opinion on matters of art of the man who lacks these qualifications.

SOCRATES. — Perhaps not, O Plato, any more so than this man of the street, if he thinks for himself, is willing to abide by your artistic judgment. Surely, Plato, when the question of gastronomic taste is concerned, I should not assume superior judgment if it differed from that of this common man. I should even be tempted to consider his unspoiled and unsophisticated taste of a higher order than mine, if he declared that the taste of plain cheese and dry bread is superior to that of the highly seasoned viands the epicure enjoys— just as you and I cannot help but question the culture of some distant nations, which our travelers assure us have reached the highest state of æsthetic development , but which eat and enjoy absolutely raw, uncleaned sea-food, and consider aged, decayed eggs a delicacy.

PLATO. — But surely, Socrates, you will not deny that we are constantly and rapidly developing and progressing in civilization and culture; and it is fair to assume that, at some future period, let us say a thousand or two generations from now, there will arise a people whose sense and appreciation of Art will be immeasurably greater than ours, and that it is probable they will discover the principles that govern their experiences in this direction.

SOCRATES. — Let us consider this, Plato. It is, of course, difficult to foreshadow, with any degree of certainty, what progress the human race, in its many different forms of development, will make. The pendulum marking each change will, I presume, swing backward and forward in years to come as it has swung in years gone by. There will be times of brutal wars, and a general concomitant disorganization and degeneration, when one will almost doubt that any development above the instincts of a savage is possible for man.

On the other hand, it is evident that at other times there will be epochs of most marvelous development in every direction of human endeavor and experience. As you know, we have had only a glance at the first page of the first book of countless volumes of knowledge, science, and philosophy, revealing to us the secrets of nature of this earth and the heavens above; the possession of only a small part of this will make our lives incomparably more full and complete than they are to-day.

For it is evident to you that both body and mind will, in time, take advantage of, and adapt themselves to, such new discoveries and experiences, and will develop accordingly. Whether, however, the heart, the finer feelings and finer sentiments will go hand in hand with this evolution is considered a debatable question by many thinkers. But assuming that it does, does this imply anything in the matter we are considering? I ask you again, Plato, do you think you would accept the palate judgment of any member of this highly developed society of some future age, unhesitatingly, if it differed from your own?

PLATO. — Should I not be forced to do so, Socrates? For you will agree that there is a two-fold direct relation and connection between a pleasant or a distasteful sensation in partaking of food and the subsequent mental and physical well-being — laying aside entirely the consideration of food-value. This fact, although recognized, is but little understood by us at this time; but I doubt not that the society of which you speak could and would discover and analyze the laws pertaining to this subtle matter. It will then be pointed out what agreeable foods have the additional merit of promoting the general well-being, and are, therefore, of the highest order. To which judgment I would agree.

It is apparent that this argument applies to the somewhat parallel experiences in the field of Art. That a painting, then, will be a great painting and a true work of art, the contemplation of which arouses certain æsthetic sentiments and feelings, but, besides that, promotes the general mental, physical, and moral well-being of the race.

SOCRATES. — Let us examine this point carefully, Plato. The judgment of the society by which you would abide is, it seems to me, likewise not based on true laws, but on man-made canons, which, in the nature of things, would be ephemeral and ever-changing, fitted only to the state of culture that may have been reached. This culture, or evolution, is, as you well know, to a great extent dependent on the immediate physical environment of a given society; and it would, for instance, be impossible to decide a difference of opinion regarding the highest value of food and drink which might arise between the equally highly developed inhabitants of the Torrid or the Arctic zone. A decided and permanent change in the composition of the air or in the amount and character of light of this earth would, you will agree, in time affect for better or for worse the physical and mental and moral condition of the members of the highly developed society we have in mind, and would necessarily nullify their established æsthetic laws. At such a time, it would be a question whether the painting you mentioned is a true work of art, the judgment based on a true law.

But, Plato, a true law would not be affected by the entire extinction of our race; and even the complete annihilation of our planet would not affect it. Any three stars or points in the Cosmos would continue to exemplify Pythagoras’s discovery of a law to which we all bow, and which, under all circumstances and conditions, remains eternally true.

Yes, Plato, if we could predict with certainty the course that will be followed in the evolution of mankind, establish the final destiny of the race; if we could dismiss the thought that Dissolution must be persistently on the heels of Evolution, we might be able to lay down rules and laws of Art that would make for, and remain constant for, the coming Superman. For it is evident that we could then point out with some degree of certainty what pleasurable art-experiences would tend to further the development of man in the ever-constant and right direction. Just as we could measure an ethical act, not only by its immediate egotistic and altruistic resultant, but also by the far-reaching ultimate effect which it would have in the promotion of the effort to reach the goal predestined for the coming races. But, I doubt, O Plato, that even Zeus, in all his infinite wisdom, should, would, or could raise the curtain of mystery and reveal the shadows of a Hades, of a possible state of Dissolution toward which the human race is ever drifting, or disclose the glorious Olympian fields of a fulfilled Evolution which it may eventually attain.

PLATO. — Your position then, as I understand, O Socrates, is that every man, no matter what his education, his training, his development, is a good judge of what is beautiful and what is not?

SOCRATES. — Yes, Plato, of that I am convinced, with the distinct understanding that this judgment holds good only in so far as he is individually concerned. If you and I differ as to the artistic merit of a painting, the beauty of a poem, or the quality of the wine we are drinking, we, as two wise men, will respect each other’s opinion, knowing full well that it cannot be changed by agreement based on scientific principles; but, on the other hand, conscious of the fact that this judgment is based on subtle, ever-changing feelings, emotions, and temperament, not subject to a cold process of reasoning.

PLATO. — I see now, O Socrates, why you, who are so well qualified through your long association with Pheidias, refused to act as one of a jury to pass judgment on the work of some of our younger sculptors.

SOCRATES. — Yes, Plato, you have followed me correctly. I deem it improper for anyone, no matter what his position may be, to pass public judgment on the artistic merit of the work of another in any field of Art. How much injustice has been done through this unfair procedure! You will remember how the unfamiliar songs of Pindar, the young poet, were laughed at, and the paintings of Polygnotus were denied hanging space by a jury of our foremost artists; and you know that now, after only a few years, most of us look upon these as the greatest works of art of our time.

PLATO. — These doctrines and teachings are revolutionary and radically different from the generally accepted views on this subject, and I doubt but little that, if they come to the ears of Meletus, he will use them to sustain his assertions that you are corrupting the Athenian youth.

SOCRATES. — Just so, Plato. We shall not publish them until a more liberal-minded generation is ready to receive them.

PLATO. — I am not certain that even at that time this would be desirable, as it seems that these views are rather discouraging and pessimistic, and will tend to lessen the appreciation and consideration we now have for all works of art and the geniuses and masters who produce them.

SOCRATES. — No, Plato, if you but consider, you will find the opposite to be the case. When the time comes that everyone, be he of high or low degree, will have absolute confidence in his

own good judgment in these matters, there will be an art-revival such as the world has never experienced. The unknown genius will have a large circle of supporters and will not be hampered and subdued by the artificial, meaningless canons of older schools. The field of Art will be enormously enlarged in all directions, when all who have the Heaven-sent ability work out their inspirations with a full and justifiable confidence in their own artistic judgment.

PLATO. — I cannot help but accept most of your views, Socrates, but they seem to me somewhat demoralizing. If we agree that the judgment of the man on the street on matters of Art is as good or as bad as yours or mine, so far as he is concerned, we must at the same time admit that all civilization, all advancement, all culture, in this direction, means but little, if anything.

SOCRATES. — Not so, O Plato: there is the greatest possible difference in the experience of these different classes of men. Do but think of it! The common man’s faculties are limited; the broadly cultured man’s are almost boundless. The one gets complete satisfaction and pleasure from the plain taste of his cheese and bread, and a very limited number of other simple foods. The truly cultured man relishes this plain food and hundreds of other dainty preparations of our skilled cooks. The everyday man enjoys the artless melody on the shepherd’s primitive flute; you and I are enraptured with the marvelous volume of harmony of the chorus and orchestra. The flaming rainbow may be but a rainbow to him, and nothing more; its heavenly glory thrills you and me to the innermost soul. Our Bacchanalian dances awaken only coarse, sensuous sentiments in him; when you and I attend them, we are charmed beyond expression by the poetry of motion and the sublime beauty of the human figure.

But the Gods are ever just, O Plato. For alas, with faculties for our greater and fuller enjoyment, there goes hand in hand the greatly increased capacity for discomfort and pain of things distasteful and ugly. The trained eye of the painter and sculptor is constantly shocked by colors and forms that do not trouble the layman; the ear of the musician is pained by notes and discords that are musical to others; the supersensitive nostrils of the cultured man are annoyed by odors that are not disagreeable to, or even noticed by, the ordinary man; the palate of the epicure rebels against tastes that are pleasant to others.

So, when we sum it all up, we find that the Gods take care of us all, no matter what our station, and, in their Heavenly wisdom, have ordained that the Sum Total of Happiness, the Sum Total of Pain and Pleasure is the same for all mortals—is the same for you and for me as it is for the very lowliest of the lowly.

PLATO. — This discussion has been of great interest and will, I doubt not, on full consideration, change my views on much that we have considered.

Let me place the record of it for safe-keeping in the secret niche you have shown me in these stone walls.