[247] Chapter II:
The Forms of Works of Fine Art
The Notion of
Form
“Form” Is an
Analogical Term
If
we are ever to think clearly about the problem of “form” in art
we have to realize that this word has many meanings; it is an
analogical, not a univocal term.
In
the broad sense of the word, “form” is relative to “matter,”
so that whenever we have some sort of material, some elements or
parts put together in a sort of an order, arrangement, or structure,
we may call that structure “form.” In this broad sense, all the
nine kinds of accidents […] are “forms,” because all of them
give some kind of order to the thing in which they exist.
Among
the accidents, however, the one which most truly deserves the name of
“form” is quality, the category which answers the
question, “What kind of thing is it?”
Hence
among the kinds of quality the proper sensible qualities of
things which directly affect our different senses may be called
“forms.” Color is the form of things perceived by our
eyes, sound the form of things perceived by our sense of
hearing. Of these, [248] color and sound especially deserve to be
called “forms” because it is by sight and hearing that we can
best discriminate one kind of thing from another.
In
the last chapter (see page 242) we saw that color and sound are forms
of the common matter of the fine arts; the reason for this is that
they give different qualities to paint, or glass, or stone, or to
vibrating strings and columns of air. But although they are forms of
the common matter, they are themselves the proper
matter of the fine arts.
The Most Proper
Sense of the Word “Form”
Although
the term “form” may be used in these broad senses to apply to any
accident, and particularly to any kind of quality, in the strictest
sense it belongs only to one species of quality, namely, to figure.
If
we ask most people what “form” means, they will spontaneously
answer: “shape” or “figure”; and they will probably be
thinking of the shape or figure of a beautiful woman. Thus “form”
means “figure.” If we wish to distinguish the connotations of the
two words, we may say that “form” means a perfect regular
figure. Figure and form are kinds of qualities, but they are
qualities very closely related to quantity, and may be defined as
follows:
Definition:
a figure is a quality which is the boundary of a quantity.
Thus
in geometry we construct and study such figures as the straight line,
the curved line, the triangle, the polygon, the circle, the cube, and
the sphere. Each of these is a quantity having a definite boundary.
For example, the circle is an area (quantity) bounded by a curved
line equidistant at every point from the center. These boundaries of
quantity are its figure, and this figure is not itself quantity but a
quality of quantity; it is a form of the quantity.
Closely
connected with quantity and figure are four other categories: place,
position, vestition, and timing […]. If I draw the
figure of a triangle on a sheet of paper, I can put it in various
places on the page. I can also turn it in various positions;
for example, with the vertex upward or downward. Similarly, the human
[249] figure may be in various places, and in various positions
(sitting, standing, lying down), and it may also be clothed
(vestition) in “form-fitting” or in baggy garments.
Finally, as the hands of a clock move through various positions on
the dial, we can mark out parts of time to correspond with the
parts of the circular figure; or as a runner speeds to his goal, we
can mark off parts of the time to correspond with his progress along
a straight line. Thus timing and the other categories we have
just mentioned are closely related, and we can think of a series of
events in time as arranged in a sort of pattern or figure.
Thus
“form” strictly means figure, but it may also be applied
to other categories closely connected with quantity. Quantity and the
other categories which we have just mentioned all provide a
foundation for the various relations […] of equality and
inequality, similarity and dissimilarity, nearness and distance,
before and after, so that in describing figure we must also take into
account these various relations.
We
often refer to figure in painting, sculpture, or architecture as a
“pattern” or a “design.” In music the analogous arrangement
of different tones in time may be called by the same names.
Design Is Essential
to Fine Art
It
should now be evident that a work of fine art that does not have form
in the sense of good design could not possibly achieve its purpose. A
work with poor design would lack the most basic type of beauty. It
might have expensive materials, beautiful colors, or rich sounds; it
might portray an interesting subject, or tell a moving story, but it
would lack form. It would be the material of a work of art as
a pile of bricks is the material of a building, but it would not be
the completed work. A girl may be healthy without being very
beautiful.
Oddly
enough, many people miss this point. Girls are sometimes admired for
beauty who really do not have it. A girl with bright eyes, a glowing
complexion, or a pleasant manner is often thought beautiful, although
actually she does not have regular features nor a good figure.
Similarly, in judging works of art many people are inclined to think
that a work of art is good if it has bright colors, or if [250] it is
about some subject that they personally like. A man who likes hunting
is likely to think that a brightly colored photograph of the woods is
a fine work of art; and a woman who likes children is likely to think
that a picture of a sweet baby painted in lovely pastel shades is a
masterpiece.
This
is not unnatural, and we need not object to people enjoying bright
colors and pleasant subjects. But we must recognize that it is not
the work of art itself they are enjoying, but merely something
accidental to it. That is why the opinions of the public and the
opinions of experts in matters of art sometimes seem so far apart.
The public cannot understand why a prize at an exhibition should be
given to a rather dull looking picture of some apples on a table
cloth, while a flashy picture of a beautiful girl is passed over by
the judges. The difference is principally in the fact that the judges
are looking for the form of a work of art, and in the picture
of the apples they find a most complicated and interesting design,
while in the flashy picture of the girl they find very little design
at all.
The
public, on the other hand, has perhaps not learned to look for design
and probably does not even realize that it is the very essence of
art. Good design may be greatly aided by brilliant, beautiful colors,
and it should tell us something interesting and human (as we will see
below); but without it all the colors and subject-matter in the world
cannot produce a work of art. The same is true of music; brilliant or
rich sounds, or easily memorized tunes, or a great deal of lively and
noisy rhythm does not make a good piece of music, nor does the fact
that the music is patriotic, or romantic, or tells a clever story.
Without musical form or design such music is like a collection of
pretty silks and laces that has not been cut and sewn to make a
dress. It is the possible material of a work of art and nothing more.
Abstract Art
It
is the growing recognition of this true conception of art that has
led to the surprising development of abstract painting and
pure music in the last fifty years, a development which has
outraged the public and which they find it very difficult to regard
as anything but “insane art,” or “boiler-factory music.” In
an abstract painting [251] or sculpture the artist gives us a pure
design which seems devoid of all meaning (“What in the world is it
supposed to be?”) and which frequently is devoid of appeal in color
or careful finish (“A child could do as well!”). By giving us a
work which seems “crude,” sketchy, unfinished, the artist is
trying to get us to forget about the mere superficial qualities of
color and neatness, and by not picturing anything definite he is
trying to get us to concentrate on the pattern. It is rather like a
football coach deciding that the crowd is becoming more concerned
about the hot-dogs, the pennants, the chrysanthemums, the marching
bands, the majorettes, the cheer-leaders, and the mascots than about
the game of football itself; so he decides to cut them all out and
give the spectators nothing but a hard-played game by a team in dirty
uniforms. The public would not like that, but the real sport fans
wouldn’t mind at all. They would be happy to concentrate on the
game. In similar fashion abstract art and pure music are intended to
be works of fine art cut down to the essentials with little appeal to
the ignorant public, but with a very direct and strong appeal to
those who really know what art is all about.
Significant Form
We
have just given the case for abstract art, but we hasten to add that
the public is not altogether mistaken in its astonishment at this
type of art. The figure or shape or design of things is only an
accident. The human mind, however, is made to know reality,
and the accidents of things, although real, are only the most
superficial aspect of reality. Reality consists of things, of
substances which exist in themselves. Accidents cannot exist
in themselves but have reality only because they exist in substances.
Until our mind penetrates accidents and grasps the substances of
things it is unsatisfied. Perhaps at a circus or fair you have bought
a paper cone full of pink “cotton-candy” spun out of sugar, and
you remember that when you bit into it you found it was hardly more
than slightly sweet air. The world of accidents is just as
unsubstantial to the appetite of our mind.
Accidents
are the natural signs […] of the substantial nature in which
they exist. A man’s color, height, shape, weight, [252] etc., are
the outward signs of his human nature. When our senses take in these
accidents our mind at once begins to try to read their meaning and to
discover what they signify. Of all the accidents those which are most
significant to us are the figure, the sounds, and the
motions of things. If we see the shadow of a dog, hear its
bark, or see it streak across the lawn after a rabbit, we recognize
it immediately and we understand what its nature is.
So
habitual is it for us to read the natures of things through their
figures that when we sit idly watching the shifting forms of the
clouds or the fire, or when a psychologist shows us an ink-blot, we
immediately see in these random shapes the likeness of animals or
human faces. The same is true of sounds, for if we listen to the wind
or the waterfall for some time, or the sound of the wheels of the
train on the track, they may begin to suggest words and voices to us.
The tendency of children or of insane or delirious adults to see
figures in the shadows and hear voices in the wind is only an
exaggeration of a universal human tendency to seek for meanings in
every shape and sound.
A
form which quickly reveals a nature and which thus acts as an
effective sign is a significant form, in contrast to one which
seems meaningless. The reason we resent abstract painting and music
is that it seems to promise a meaning which we can never discover.
Purely abstract art is inhuman, because it offers us a mere surface,
a flow of phenomena instead of the reality we naturally crave.
It
certainly is legitimate for the mathematician to abstract from all
reality except the accident of quantity, because he is a scientist,
and science sometimes gains by sacrificing depth for the sake of
exactitude […]. The artist, too, may feel that by making his
picture very mathematical he is gaining in clarity of form what he is
losing in richness of content, but this sacrifice becomes too great
when nothing but mathematical pattern is left. The history of art
shows that cultures like that of the Jews or the Mohammedans (who,
for fear of idolatry, banished the use of representation in art and
confined themselves to abstract designs) did not achieve artistic
greatness.
[253] The
Function of Emotion
Emotion and
Abstraction
As
a matter of fact, the abstract art of today is really not so abstract
as it appears. Most of it actually has some meaning or significance
because it conveys emotion. Very little music has even
attempted to reproduce natural sounds (except as an incidental
novelty); yet music does convey emotion, and has a rich emotional
meaning. In an analogous way, visual design which seems to resemble
nothing in particular may have a definite emotional content, and may
convey a sense of joy or gloom, agitation or serenity. If it were not
so, then architectural designs would not convey any mood to us—and
they obviously do. Who has not felt the sense of serenity in the
façade of the Parthenon, or the sense of prayer in the interior of
the cathedral of Chartres? Abstract painting is a visual design which
signifies emotion in somewhat the same way as music does.
What
then about pure music, which seems to be free of any obvious
emotional content? When we listen to the music of Bach, we do not
sense, to be sure, the same violent and obvious emotions as in a
piece by Tschaikovsky [sic], or Wagner. We say that the music seems
“intellectual.” The reason for this lies in the fact that there
are two kinds of emotion. Some emotions are so violent that they
carry us along, blinding our intelligence and clarity of thought.
Other emotions are controlled, measured by our intelligence, kept in
balance and harmony by our thought. Such emotions do not blind us,
but rather sharpen our intelligence and help us to think more
acutely.
This
is not a difference in the intensity of emotion, but in its
discipline. Controlled emotion can be much more profound and intense
than sentimental, dissipated emotion. Many people who compare the
music of romantic composers like Wagner to classical composers like
Mozart and Bach at first find the classical music “cold,”
“intellectual,” a mere pattern of sounds; but after they know it
better they come to see that it signifies most intense and deep
emotion.
How Can a Design
Have Emotional Significance?
Granted
that “abstract” designs and musical patterns often signify
emotion, it is rather difficult to explain how this can be. We need
to recall what an emotion is:
Definition: An emotion is a movement of our sense
appetites toward an object presented to the imagination as pleasant
or away from an object as presented to the imagination as unpleasant,
with an accompanying physical change.
So, for instance,
when we imagine a delicious dish of food we have a hungry impulse
that moves us toward it, and we feel our stomach begin to get active
and our mouth begin to water. […]
In
order to signify these emotions by a musical pattern we need to
produce a series of notes that move toward or away from sounds that
are pleasant and unpleasant. A pattern of concordant or related notes
seems pleasant, a pattern of unrelated notes seems unpleasant. The
pleasant pattern seems restful and suggests a state of bodily
relaxation; the unpleasant pattern is disturbing and indicates bodily
tension. When a design is suggested but not completed, then we are in
a state of anticipation and tension until it is completed. In this
way a piece of music is a constant alternation between the building
up and tearing down of a musical design, and this movement to and
from an expected pattern or order signifies the emotions. If we see
an expected design dissolving or incomplete, the emotions of sorrow
are signified; if we see it building up in spite of obstacles, the
emotions of joy are signified.
In
dancing we have a similar alternation of visual patterns. In
painting, sculpture, or architecture there is no actual movement, and
at first it might appear that they could never signify the flow of
emotion. But every motion begins and ends in rest, and in a static
design it is possible to indicate that a motion is about to begin, or
has just ended, by showing a design which is not quite complete, but
suggested. Hence a picture in which a design seems to be dissolving
or ready to fall apart suggests something sorrowful, and a picture in
which the design seems just to be arriving at completion suggests
triumph and joy.
[255] Ugliness and
Beauty
We can now understand why a work of art, if it is to have emotional
meaning, must not be simply a perfect geometrical design or pattern;
why it must contain something which is imperfect, incomplete, ugly,
and disordered. It is not possible to present the pleasant in an
effective and intense way without also suggesting the unpleasant, or
at least the less pleasant. A piece of music which was all sweet
chords, or a picture which had a perfect balance of pure colors,
would seem emotionally empty because they would not suggest to us the
movement of emotions from the unpleasant to the pleasant. A story
with no villain, no conflict, no danger is bound to be insipid. That
is why good works of art at first sight sometimes seem shocking or
strange or depressing. It is because we have noticed the unpleasant
element, and have not yet perceived how this unpleasant element is
present only as a means to intensify the emotional movement toward
the pleasant. The apparent disorder exists only to bring us to a
profound order, just as in the universe sin and sorrow exist only to
awaken us to the pursuit of true happiness.
This does not mean, however, that there must always be something ugly
for there to be something beautiful. God is Beauty without ugliness
of any sort because he is Eternal Beauty. But creatures arrive at
beauty and goodness only by a long journey, and every journey not
only has a goal, but also a place of departure. We journey toward
Beauty only by leaving ugliness behind.
Natural Signs of Emotion
It may appear very surprising that we are able to read the emotional
meaning of a piece of music or a design just by looking or listening
to it, even when we have had no training in these arts. And yet
people spontaneously understand the joyfulness or sadness of a great
deal of music and design. The reason is that we are naturally
inclined to read this visual or musical language of the emotions
because the appearance of our bodies and the sound of our voices are
natural signs of our emotional states.
Even a small child soon learns to read its mother’s emotions from
her facial expression, from her calm or nervous gestures, and from
the tone of her voice. When we watch a fine actor we are amazed to
[256] see how his body and his voice seem to reveal his interior
feelings by their slightest changes. Thus the human body in its
movements, postures, expressions indicates the interior tension or
repose that accompany emotion (see definition above, page 254), and
so does the human voice which is so affected by the muscular tensions
of the face, throat, and chest, and by our breathing.
When our body is in repose (standing or sitting easily), it forms a
perfect symmetrical pattern; and so, in a similar state, does our
face. When we are moved by emotion, this pattern is disturbed and
goes through a series of shifting appearances until we return to
repose. In dancing or acting we see this alternation of repose and
movement. The voice also has its rest and repose, silence or a clear,
even tone. When we are moved, the voice rises or falls, grows
stronger or weakens, and then returns again to repose. It follows,
then, that the pattern of design or of music of which we have been
speaking is natural to man, so from our acquaintance with the human
body and voice we quickly come to read this natural language.
Imitation in the Fine Arts
Art as Imitation
We can now understand the famous saying of the great Greek
philosopher, that art is imitation.
In Greek the word is mimesis, the
same word from which comes our word “mimic.” No
doubt Aristotle particularly had in mind the actor who mimics or
imitates a character in a story. He
says, however, that music also is imitative (Politics,
VIII, 1340a, 19), because it so subtly portrays the emotions. By this
he means that the work of art is a significant form, as we have
already explained, not that it is a photographic copy of the
appearance of something. If he
had meant the latter he certainly could not have cited music as an
obvious example of imitation, since music is no obvious likeness of
anything.
Some
have argued that “imitation” was taken by Aristotle to mean that
the artist does for his work of art what nature does for the things
it produces. According to this theory, just as nature helps
the seed to grow into a beautiful tree, so the artist develops a
design from [257] some germinal idea and embodies it in his material.
It is perfectly true that human art does imitate nature in this way,
but this is true of all arts—of farming, of medicine, of
engineering, of teaching—and would not be especially characteristic
of the fine arts. Yet Aristotle uses the term “imitation” as the
specific difference of the fine arts to define them in contrast to
these other arts.
Aristotle tells us himself (Poetics,
IV, 1448b, 4 ff.) that the fine arts are imitations in the sense that
they lead us to knowledge. By
comparing the work of art with the thing it imitates we come to know
something which we did not know before. How is that possible? How do
we come to know by comparing the picture of a man with a man?
We can understand the answer to this
question if we recall that we human beings learn to define things by
comparing similar things and then
noticing the differences. It is in this way that we come to
distinguish between what is essential and important and what is
accidental and insignificant. Hence when an actor “imitates” or
mimics someone else, we first make a comparison between two persons
who are unlike each other (the actor and the one he imitates) and
then we notice their similarity, the tricks of gesture, gait,
expression, and pronunciation which make them startlingly similar.
When
we recognize this similarity
we are very interested, because previously we had never realized the
distinctive personality of the person who is being imitated. But when
we see these traits put on by an entirely different
person, we see them plainly and clearly and appreciate them as we
never appreciated them before. The mimic has said to us, so to speak:
“Here is the very essence of Mr. So-and-So. Now
you know what Mr. So-and-So is really like, although you never
realized it before.”
An imitation, therefore, is just the
opposite of a photographic copy. The
photograph is the unselective
reproduction of the mere appearance
of a thing. An imitation is the selection
of a significant form,
of those appearances which reveal the nature or essence of something.
A photograph is made by a machine that is without intelligence. An
imitation is the work of an intelligent man who
sees through the accidents to the substantial reality of things and
produces a sign that enables us to do the same. That is why a melody,
[258] or an abstract painting, can be a true imitation, although they
are far from a mechanical reproduction of anything. Between the
melody or the design and the emotion which they imitate, there is a
real similarity, a selective and interpretative likeness of movement
and pattern existing in utterly different materials.
The Scope of Imitation
Emotion and Action
Up to this point we have shown how even when works of painting or
music seem very abstract or “non-objective” they may actually
imitate the emotions. But emotions do not exist of themselves, they
exist in human beings. It is the human being who is a substance,
and emotion is only one of his activities. Nor is it the highest
human activity. Man fully lives, not merely in feeling and suffering,
but rather in thinking, willing, loving, choosing a course of action,
and executing it. Furthermore, it is not merely in some passing
experience that he truly lives; rather it is in his habitual,
deliberate way of life that his character and personality are truly
realized. If art were confined to imitating man’s emotions, it
would be able to show us only a very fleeting and superficial aspect
of reality.
Hence it is that in poetic works, which are the fullest and most
complete type of art, the writer does not merely portray emotion
(this is paramount only in lyric poetry, see page 216), but deals
with human action, that is, with human life as a whole. The scope of
the imitation of a poetic work, therefore, extends beyond emotion to
the whole of man’s nature and life, and to the world in which he
lives.
The Scope of Music
Is it possible for the arts which do not use words to go beyond
emotions in their work of imitation? It would seem that music cannot
go further, unless it is united to words or drama as in a song or
opera. Music represents emotion, and in that emotion we sense the
control of reason and of virtue which gives that emotion its own
balance and symmetry. But music alone can never tell us the objects
of these emotions (the thoughts), nor the characters that feel them,
nor the situation that provokes them.
[259] In hearing a piece of music we witness someone’s noble
sorrow, or exultant joy, but we do not know who it is that feels
these emotions, nor why. On this account music is very limited in its
scope, although it compensates for these limitations by its extreme
subtlety and power in imitating what it can imitate. The words of a
poet or the expressions of an actor fall far short of music when it
comes to imitating the shades and changes of feeling.
It is for this reason that music is so often used in connection with
other arts, along with words, or as an accompaniment to acting or
dancing. This is also the reason why it has such intense appeal to
people of deep emotions, while it may seem tedious and empty to those
who are more interested in the other aspects of life.
Limitations of the Other Arts
Architecture, which has been called “frozen music,” has even
narrower limitations. It cannot show the shift or changes of emotion,
but only a certain mood or atmosphere of grandeur, or peace, or
comfort, or whatever it may be. It may be said to imitate a habitual
state of character or emotion, rather than the emotion itself.
Abstract design has these same limitations, and in spite of the great
fashion at the moment for such designs, we may be sure that people
and artists will soon tire of so limited a medium. Abstract design
has neither the power of music, nor the scope of representational
art.
Why is it so popular at present? Partly, it would seem, as a reaction
to the mechanical, materialistic, photographic ideal of art which is
so prevalent in our mechanical age, but mainly because the artists of
today are very ignorant of the fulness [sic] of reality. Like so many
experts, they are narrow specialists and they find nothing to imitate
which they know well except their own emotions. It is well known that
among writers lyric poetry is the one field in which the young writer
can excel, since it requires a minimum of knowledge and experience
with life, and only a sufficient sensitivity on the part of the young
poet. Abstract painting and sculpture are the lyric form of the
visual arts, and today’s artists, cut off from the fulness [sic] of
life by their lack of education and general culture, tend to devote
themselves to it. This is by no means all their own fault; it is
largely due [260] to the fact that in modern life the fine arts have
lost their social function and have become very narrow […].
Acting and dancing have a much wider scope, since vision is the most
informative of all our senses. Before the “talking picture” was
invented, the silent movies had proved that it is possible to go very
far in telling an effective story without words. Nonetheless,
everyone is aware that the silent movies were very limited in their
dramatic scope. Without words it was difficult to express the shades
of motivation, and the story had to be confined to very broad simple
effects. The same is true of the ballet which can tell a simple story
and express the related emotions very clearly—more clearly than can
a play. Yet a ballet becomes confusing if the story takes on any
complication or subtlety of plot, character, or thought.
In painting and sculpture even motion is eliminated. Hence these arts
cannot effectively tell a story. The efforts of some painters to
suggest a story in a picture is more clever than successful. To be
sure, the technique of the comic-strip may be tried. In Chinese
painting, in illustrations for manuscripts and books, in some
primitive Italian and Flemish painting, and in certain large groups
of mural paintings, successful efforts have been made to portray the
separate incidents of a story in a succession of pictures. Even here,
however, each picture has to have an interest of its own, and a
single picture conveys a story only feebly.
The Imitative Function of These Arts
What these arts can do is to portray the repose that completes
precedes action, and by showing this repose as imperfect to suggest
the action which is coming to rest or about to begin. In the famous
Greek statue of the discus thrower, for example, we see the athlete
poised to release the discus. In Michelangelo’s statue of Moses we
see the great lawgiver just about to rise from his seat in righteous
anger. In the “Winged Victory” in the Louvre we see the goddess
of victory just coming to rest on the prow of a ship and ready to
fold her wings, and in Michelangelo’s Pietà we see Our Lady
gazing in silent grief after receiving the body of her Son. The
history of Egyptian and Greek sculpture or of the painting of the
Renaissance shows the gradual development of the art by which the
artists learned to [261] suggest, in a static design, this beginning
or coming to rest of motion. In the later periods of Greek and
Renaissance art this skill was so abused that the static design was
destroyed by motions too violent for successful portrayal without
actual acting or dancing.
The Matter of the Arts as Limiting Principle
In fine, each of the arts tends to be limited in its scope by the
effective possibilities of the matter. It pertains to the perfection
of these arts to widen their scope, but not to do violence to it. The
great musician tries to give a dramatic and intellectual quality to
his music. The painter and sculptor attempt to suggest action in
repose. The poet seeks to give a vivid pictorial and sound impression
in his poem. All, however, if they respect their own art, will not
attempt to compete with the other arts, nor try to do within the
limits of one material what could be better done in another.
The musician who tries to paint a picture or tell a story, the
painter who tries to turn his poem into a piece of music or a
painting—all are striving to do the impossible, and thereby
violating the nature of their own art.
Objects of Imitation
Since an imitation receives its form from the object imitated, we
need now to ask: what objects are imitated by the fine arts? The
answer must be given in terms of two principles:
1. An artist should seek to imitate what is most beautiful in itself
insofar as he can.
2. But he is limited in this by the kind of matter he uses.
The Beauty of the Divine
If we consider the first principle, then, of course, the most
beautiful of all things is the One God in the three divine Persons.
God’s Being is seen especially in the Father, his Truth especially
in the Son, and his Goodness in the Holy Spirit. Since beauty is a
kind of goodness (namely, the good of knowledge), the Beauty of God
is seen especially in the Holy Spirit. Since beauty is the splendor
of truth, it is especially especially as the Holy Spirit is the very
splendor of the Word of God that he is Beauty.
[262] After God the most beautiful reality is the Triumphant Church
(taking its Head and its members together) as it will be after the
last judgment. This Church will then include all glorified rational
creatures and the whole glorified physical universe as its temple.
The damned in hell will remain to render this glory more clearly, in
the same way that something of ugliness remains in a work of art as
the sign of the catharsis achieved. In this Church our divine Saviour
[sic] and Our Lady are most beautiful. By reason of his human nature,
our Lord, who is a divine Person, is fitted to our knowledge, and is
thus most beautiful to us. But even more evident than the beauty of
our Lord as man is his sublimity, whereas his beauty is
found most clearly for us in Our Lady, who so perfectly resembles
him. Our Lord’s beauty appears especially in his actions, his life,
since it is by these that his Person is manifested to us. For this
reason the history of the Church (and in it the story of our Lord’s
life) is the most beautiful of dramas. The life of Christ is also
strongest in its catharsis, since we can completely identify
ourselves with him who has become our brother, and his life moves
from the extremes of sorrow to those of perfect joy. It is in the
Sacrifice of the Cross and in the Resurrection that this catharsis
attains its goal.
The Beauty of the Human
Among other human beings, the saints, who most resemble Christ, are
most beautiful; and their heroic actions, especially martyrdom, share
the tragic power of his own life. But it is particularly in the Holy
Sacrifice of the Mass (which is a sacramental imitation of the
Sacrifice of Calvary, truly re-presenting it) that this beauty is
found at its highest.
It is also found, however, in the humble life of the home where he
lived in Nazareth, and in his daily contacts with weak humanity. In
these incidents is found the comic spirit, ranging from the burning
satire of his exposure of the Pharisees, to the gentle humor with
which he dealt with his disciples. The sublime sorrow of his life,
however, prevents the comic from being seen there fully, but it is
fully evident in the life of his members in the Church, who alone of
men can afford to laugh at themselves. The sublimity of our Lord’s
life, on the other hand, is fully seen only in the entire panorama
[263] of history outlined in the Bible and filled in by the details
of secular histories.
The Chief Object of Imitation
Thus it is human action (whether tragic or comic) which is the
chief object of imitation in fine art. For this is the highest object
which appears perfectly adapted to our understanding and sympathy,
and hence the one which produces in us the most perfect purification
of our emotions (catharsis, see pages 152 ff.) and the most
perfect contemplation of the beautiful. Divine things and cosmic
things are represented, but as they are reflected in human action, as
its law and goal. When we see human life in relation to its ultimate
consequences beyond this life, in its relation to God and the society
of the universe, we have a tragic vision. When we see human
life in relation to the less consequential affairs of everyday life
in human society, we have the comic vision. In the former the
catharsis is more profound, because it is a lasting joy attained by
conquering sorrow. In the latter the joy attained is less perfect and
final; it is the commonplace joy of daily life.
When we consider things below man we consider them as ordered to man
and reflecting human life, as similar to man and sharing in his
beauty or ugliness. Sometimes they appear as obstacles to his action
(hence as ugly), sometimes as the instruments and appropriate setting
of his action (hence as beautiful). Such humble things also have a
sublime aspect, since they reflect the cosmic order of which man is
not the highest part. They suggest to us man’s subordination to the
Creator who made both man and ant. Thus in looking at apples on a
table, not only do we see a design, but also a reflection of man in
his daily domestic life, and, further still, a reflection of the
mystery of the universe in which man finds himself as a part. Seeing
the reality of the apples in sunlight we realize that the world is
not our work, but the work of someone greater than ourselves whose
art is infinite.
Consequently, the landscape painting, the still-life, the picture of
animals, the poetic description of the weather, are subordinate and
minor objects of imitation in art which take their meaning from their
relation to human life and to God.
[264] The Division of the
Fine Arts
Since human action is the principal object of imitation in the arts,
especially as it reflects the divine action, we can now consider how
we can give a classification of the fine arts. We can do this by
seeing the ways in which this object can best be imitated in the
different materials of words, color, or musical tone, which we have
seen are the proper matter of the fine arts. The division rests on
the three possible objects of imitation: action, character,
thought, and on the three possible kinds of matter: words,
musical design (which includes both melody and rhythm), and
visual design (spectacle). Words and musical design must
include movement, but visual design may be either moving or
static. Words have their significance by convention,
musical and visual design by the natural expressiveness of the human
voice and body.
Finally, the difference between the dramatic and non-dramatic
manner is basically a difference between the joint use of the arts to
produce a synthetic work (in which human action is represented on the
stage in all its aspects) and the individual work of poetics (where
the other arts are omitted). Thus Aristotle’s division of the arts
(Poetics, I) according to objects, means, and manner is
observed in the following division:
Classification of the Fine Arts
A. The synthesis of the fine arts, the drama:
Definition: The drama is a work of fine art whose form
is the representation of human acts in their relation to
divine and human law, along with the characters who act and
their thoughts about their acts,
and whose matter is words, along with moving musical
and visual designs whose significance is derived from the
natural significance of the human voice and body in repose and
motion.
B. The individual fine arts, each of which produces a part of
the drama but which may produce independent works:
I: Literature (poetics):
A poetic work excels in representing the element of thought by
means of conventional signs or words, along with spoken
musical design.
II: Music:
A musical work excels in representing character as it shows
itself in emotion, by means of a pattern of sounds.
III: Visual Art:
1. Dancing excels in representing character as it shows itself
in the movements of the human body, by means of a visual design
using such movements.
2. Painting and sculpture excel in representing character as
it shows in the repose of the human body, by means of a visual
design using this repose.
3. Architecture and the crafts provide an appropriate setting or
instruments for human motion or repose, by a visual design
adapted to these.
---
Source: Fr. Benedict M. Ashley,
The Arts of Learning and Communication: A Handbook of the Liberal Arts (Eugene, OR: Wipf & Stock, 2009), 247–264.
