Critique of Judgment (Meredith, tr.)

It seems a strange fact that the works which have exerted the greatest and most permanent influence are those of which it is most difficult to give a final and conclusive interpretation. Is it that the philosophic mind merely amuses itself looking for the answers to riddles the solution of which destroys the interest, so that it is not so much misinterpretation as explanation that great philosophers have to fear? Or is it that philosophers propose questions which depend upon higher categories than those of common understanding, with the natural result that their point of view is but imperfectly comprehended by lesser minds? Or is it simply that the works that have exerted most influence are those which are most comprehensive and many-sided, and that different critics seize upon different aspects of the whole, and throw the emphasis on different points?

It is not necessary to attempt to answer these questions generally, or further than affects Kant’s Aesthetics. Certainly no work has exerted an equal influence on the subsequent history of aesthetics, and yet it has been most variously interpreted. However, while critics differ as to Kant’s meaning on many essential points, they seem to be mostly agreed that the chief source of strength in the work lies in its comprehensiveness and its method. How they have been able to arrive at this conclusion in the face of their own criticisms, is a different matter. For they have for the most part attempted to show that the work as a whole involves an important modification of Kant’s fundamental position of critical idealism, and that in its different parts it betrays considerable hesitation and vacillation of opinion on vital questions, and, moreover, frequently falls into flagrant inconsistency.

vi The present volume, in seeking to give some assistance to students in so much of Kant’s Critique of Judgement as deals with the problems of aesthetics, aims particularly at suggesting interpretations which may help to free Kant’s argument from such charges—without, however, in any way implying that Kant is likely to be followed entirely on all points on which his meaning is understood.

Certainly the comprehensiveness of Kant’s account is one of its most striking features. Its chief merit does not lie in the number of interesting and illuminating observations which are made—for in the great majority of these Kant was anticipated—but in the number of different points of view which are coordinated, and the divergent rays of thought which are brought into a common focus. It is not so much Kant’s views on this or that question that are calculated to impress the reader, as their systematic connexion, and the feeling that behind each of them lies the entire strength of his whole critical philosophy. It is this that makes a sympathetic critic especially anxious to reconcile apparent inconsistency between positions of any importance.

Kant is, further, frequently charged with begging the point at issue. But he neither begged the points which most of his critics suppose to be those in issue, nor did he attempt to prove them in the usual manner. The originality of his method consisted in the way in which he changed the issue from a question of fact and actuality to one of mere possibility. Thus in his aesthetics he never begged the question that there are pure aesthetic judgements in the peculiar sense in which he uses the term. He adopted the course of formulating the conception of a pure aesthetic judgement and of proving that such a judgement is possible. If it was objected that no one had ever laid down a pure aesthetic judgement as conceived by him, then he was willing to take the credit of having invented such judgements. It would not, for instance, affect his argument if we were to suppose, let us say, that Whistler viiwas the first artist that painted a picture deliberately addressed to a pure aesthetic judgement as defined in the Analytic of the Beautiful.

But the above is only the most striking and significant feature of Kant’s method. In the elaboration of details, and even the construction of the edifice which he raised on the original foundations laid down, he was able, like some others among the greatest philosophers, to strike upon a method which endowed his works with a sort of independent life that enabled them to grow and develop in import after quitting his hands. The secret of this method seems to lie in the composition itself taking the form of a gradual unfolding of meaning. The ambition of most writers seems to be to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, the moment they put pen to paper. They are too impatient to keep anything in reserve, and struggle to say the last word before they have said the first. But with Kant it is quite different. He makes sure of saying the first word first. He tries to tell the truth and nothing but the truth, but seems reluctant to allow more of the truth to escape his lips than answers the particular question with which he is dealing at the time. He never imagines that a fluent pen can overtake great truths by sheer speed. His advance is a steady progress. In each step forward he seems borne along with the momentum of his previous progress. This momentum is never checked. The work is finally let go with all its accumulated force. Hence, after a century, Kant’s critical philosophy seems to have gathered strength and developed in meaning in its descent to us.—That Kant consciously pursued this method of advancing his inquiry only gradually, is not alone clear from a general study of his works, but is also occasionally apparent in passages that almost savour of affectation.

Closely associated with and largely dependent upon Kant’s method is his peculiar manner of exposition. He is, of all philosophers, with the possible exception of Plato, the most viiidramatic. He writes his critiques as if they were plays; the books being acts and the sections different scenes. He introduces faculties upon the stage as if they were so many dramatis personae, and lets them betray their character chiefly by the part they play. He raises problems, complicates them, and withholds the solution, awaiting some unexpected dénouement. He seeks to sustain interest by always leaving an outstanding difficulty, and delights in working his way out of apparently inextricable situations. However artistic such a mode of exposition may be, and however suitable in the case of a critique such as Kant’s, which is offered as the only avenue of escape from the difficulties which beset the theories of others, it is naturally a source of difficulty to the reader.

What is meant may be made clearer by an illustration. In §40, Kant starts a problem as to how it comes about that when we lay down a judgement of taste we exact agreement from every one else as if it were a sort of duty. An empirical interest—the natural inclination of men towards society—is first brought on the stage and bids fair to solve the whole problem in a very simple manner. It is particularly successful in explaining the course of the evolution of art. Then it is curtly dismissed just because it is empirical. In the next scene an intellectual interest is introduced. Bad things are at once said about the artist behind his back; he is confused with mere virtuosi; and the intellectual interest, whose high character is beyond question, begins to confide in us on the subject of hints it has heard, and suggestions that have been given to it, of the objective reality of the ideas of reason. Having, apparently, solved the problem by reference to these hints and suggestions, the intellectual interest takes its leave of us; impressing upon us that its only concern is with the beauty of nature, and that it has nothing whatever to do with the beauty of art, which only attracts the empirical interest-—the villain of the play. The scene is then changed, and, to our amazement, art is discovered calm and self-confident, and occupies the boards for the remainixder of the act. But before the curtain falls we get one most important clue—Beauty, whether it be beauty of nature or of art, is the expression of aesthetic ideas. The beauty of nature and of art stand on the same footing—except in respect of an admittedly rare feeling for the beauty of nature, which is akin to the emotion aroused by the sublime. The intellectual interest only discredited itself by its disparagement of art. When the curtain rises for the next and last act, the great problem of the antinomy of taste engages attention. Aesthetic ideas and genius, the source of art, make an important entry and leave no doubt as to the character of the solution. Then, in a thrilling scene (§ 58), a completely different complexion is given to the evidence that was adduced by the intellectual interest, and a neat compliment is paid to art. In the next scene the problem which the empirical and intellectual interests both attempted to solve is expressly solved without regard to either. The true explanation of the reference to duty is to be found, not in any supervening interests, empirical or intellectual, but only by means of transcendental criticism, which finds in the judgement of taste an a priori bearing of the practical upon the theoretical faculty. Then, in the next and final scene, the critique of taste is made to reveal a transition from the whole Critical Philosophy to the Anthropology; for taste, as a common sense of mankind, is shown to look to a standard which can only be set by a concrete human society in which the moral and intellectual basis of man’s nature is realized empirically. This dénouement finally explains the entry of the empirical and intellectual interests. On the one hand, neither taste nor art is to be explained empirically. Their foundations are laid in what is the true dynamic of man’s evolution. On the other hand, the intellectual interest was wrong in looking to nature as a mere given external thing. But then, art is not an art destined merely to produce symbols of luxury for the possession of the few. It is an art that is to be the heritage of the human brotherhood, and a bond of union between the more and less xcultured sections of the community. Art must become a second nature.

The above illustration has been selected because it serves to explain the source of the number of inconsistencies which hasty readers, and some deliberate critics, discover in Kant’s. account. Ignoring his peculiar style, they persist, despite all consequent difficulties, in supposing that the above-mentioned problem was solved by the intellectual interest. As a result they find that art is introduced in quite an irrelevant manner, that the definition of beauty which places that of nature and of art on the same footing cannot be reconciled with previous statements, and that the references to the ‘hints’ and ‘suggestions’ as to the objective reality of ideas of reason show that Kant almost completely abandoned his position of critical idealism. But a critic who believed in Kant’s sanity would surely be compelled to look round for another interpretation, were he to develop the further inconsistencies which he would have to admit. For besides the inconsistencies that would be involved in solving the problem in two different ways—first by a supervising intellectual interest, and then by an underlying unity of all our faculties—and of solving it in the first case by reference to an interest that excites a feeling that has only the same sort of modality as that of judgements upon the sublime, it would be quite impossible that the fundamental reference to duty admitted to exist in all judgements of taste—whether they refer to objects of nature or of art—could be explained by reference to an interest which is expressly stated only to attach to the beauties of nature. Thus we see the irony involved in making the intellectual insist on being wholly unconcerned with the beauty of art.

In the second of the introductory essays I have ventured upon a conjecture which is opposed to current assumptions. Kant is thought to have written the Critique of Judgement from the first section to the last in a continuous, straightforward, and regular manner. The only sections that any of the critics have xisuspected of being due to an after-thought are those devoted to the consideration of art—a supposition which seems to depend upon a complete misinterpretation of the work, and which has been finally disposed of by the historical researches of Dr. Otto Schlapp and the materials of investigation which he has brought under notice in his excellent work. There seems to be, however, considerable ground for supposing that the entire form of the Analytic of the Beautiful, with its analysis of the judgement of taste into four co-ordinate moments of quality, quantity, relation, and modality, was an after-thought that only occurred to Kant after he had written § 59,—and possibly only after he had completed his draft of the whole Critique.—It is not, however, suggested that disinterestedness, universality and necessity were not recognized from the first, but only that finality, apart from an end, was originally regarded as the principle of the judgement of taste, that disinterestedness was treated in the same way as independence from charm and emotion, and that universality and necessity were regarded as the logical peculiarities of the judgement that showed its dependence upon an a priori principle and made a deduction necessary. It is suggested that the change made the addition of §§ 2 to 8 and 18 to 22 necessary, with the result that §§ 30-38 appear full of mere repetitions.

I am afraid that the introductory essays are hardly introductory in the usual sense of the word. They suppose that the reader has some general knowledge of Kant’s critical philosophy, and that he has not alone read the Critique of Judgement but has advanced sufficiently far to have encountered difficulties in its interpretation. Consequently they deal chiefly with points open to some difference of opinion. I would, therefore, ask the reader who has not already made a study of Kant’s Aesthetics to read the translation and notes before reading the essays.

I have experienced considerable difficulty in keeping the notes within reasonable limits. That being so, the space devoted to extracts from Kant’s British predecessors may be xiithought excessive. But I have no sympathy whatever with the tone adopted towards British philosophers by most of the English adherents of the Kantian and Hegelian schools. It seems to me absurd to dismiss an English philosopher of the Association school, for instance, with a wave of the hand, just because he happens not to be occupied with what, from a transcendental point of view, is the question. Thus a recent, and in the main excellent, English work devoted to the history of aesthetics seems to treat Alison’s Essays on Taste as a joke. It is, therefore, with particular pleasure that I give, in one of the notes, an extract from Alison’s work in which he carefully distinguishes the agreeable from the beautiful, and appropriates the word delight to signify the pleasure in the latter. Doubtless the historian above referred to fully appreciates the merit of the sections in Kant’s Critique in which the same distinction is elaborated.—It is, of course, one thing to ask, why any particular object is considered beautiful instead of the reverse. It is another thing to inquire, what is the significance for the mind of the predicate ‘beautiful’. The former is concerned with the quality of the copula in actual judgements: the latter with the import of the predicate in possible judgements. If the majority of British writers were more successful in dealing with the former question than with the latter, those who have been most successful in their treatment of the latter have generally left considerable difficulties outstanding in respect of the former. Hence the student of the history of aesthetics should impartially hear all sides.

The translation was originally made from Hartenstein’s edition, but was subsequently revised from the new edition of Kant’s works published by the Königlich Preussische Akademie der Wissenschaften—of the existence of which I, unfortunately, only became aware shortly before sending the work to press. Where I have departed from the reading given in this edition I have called attention to the fact in the notes. Through this edition I also learned of the existence of Dr. Schlapp’s valuable xiiiwork, and was further induced to procure a copy of the extremely suggestive work of Hermann Cohen, whom previously I had only known by name. Had I become acquainted with these works at an earlier date I should have devoted less attention to critics with whose writings—however valuable in themselves—I feel less in sympathy. I am indebted for much assistance to the English translation of the Critique of Judgement by Dean Bernard, and the French translation by M. Barni. For a copy of the latter work, which I found it difficult to procure, I am indebted to the courtesy partly of Dean Bernard and partly of Dr. O’Sullivan, F.T.C.D.

My thanks are due in a very special manner to my friend Professor H. S. Macran, F.T.C.D., whom I consulted on any emendations of the text which occurred to me (most of which, however, the new edition of Kant’s works showed to have been anticipated) and who, for the time, laid his own work aside to read over the proof of the translation. I am indebted to his careful reading for the correction of many errors and for many useful suggestions. Mr. H. H. Joachim kindly read a large part of the translation in manuscript, and has read the proofs of the essays and notes; I owe much to his judicious criticisms. For various criticisms, information and suggestions, I must also thank Mr. A. C. Meredith, K.C., Herr Otto Krautwurst, Dr. J. R. O’Connell, and Dr. Petchell. In preparing the work for the press, and in revising the Index, I have been greatly assisted by my wife.

Where Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason or his Ethics are referred to, the pages given are those of the translation of the former by J. M. D. Meiklejohn, and of the latter (the Critique of Practical Reason, &c.) by Dr. Abbott (fourth edition). In each case the volume and page of the new German edition of Kant’s works are also given in brackets.

‘Philosophy—unless it be in an historical manner—cannot be learned; we can at most learn to philosophize.’¹ This remark has more or less truth according to the conception which we form of philosophy. But, at all events, it has always this minimum of truth, that there is no method that can teach us how to devise a new method of philosophical investigation, or raise a new problem. The points of view from which philosophies originate are not deduced by any mere logical process of reasoning. They spring up from the man himself—from that self in which the intellectual and moral faculties are united. They express his critical attitude—his reaction against the world of thought in which he finds himself: in short, his personality.

But the fact that the art of devising new standpoints is one that cannot be learned, does not absolve the student of a philosophical system from the duty of seeking the fundamental standpoint of the system before him. On the contrary, it is against this that he must himself react; or, at least, if he is not to be himself the author of a new system, it is this that he has to appreciate and adopt as his own. It must be the especial and primary object of his critical reflection.

But the student, unfortunately, is not generally favoured by philosophers themselves with much assistance in the task of discovering the dominant point of view, or motive, of their systems. Philosophies are staged, and the public are allowed to witness the performance from their seats, but no facilities are given to those who would penetrate behind the scenes. This may seem unreasonable. But the unreasonableness lies in the way the grievance is stated. The ideas that operate at the back of the minds of philosophers, when working out their systems, are rather the sources than the proper objects of their criticism. The power of standing back from those ideas, xviiiand evaluating them, is what gives birth to new systems. Thus it is that the history of philosophy is a process of criticism.

Kant, however, might be thought to be more than usually obliging in this respect. For certainly he seems to give us the fullest instructions as to the method and object of his criticism. He seeks for those fundamental presuppositions of the mind which are synthetic, or constructive, a priori. He discovers, in this way, how far our knowledge has its source in the mind itself, and how far it is dependent on a given material. This enables him to establish science, aesthetic sensibilities, and ethics on secure foundations.

But what we have to look for is the presupposition which underlies all this criticism—the conviction which was too dear to the mind of Kant to permit of his calling it in question. To find this out, we must inquire what position always satisfied Kant, i. e. when he thought he had completely made out his case—notwithstanding that he had stated no explicit premiss assigning to such a position the value which he allowed it. Now the central position which obviously satisfied Kant, in the above manner, in the Critique of Pure Reason, was that the categories of understanding were justified or deduced on being shown to be the conditions of the possibility of experience. Kant thought he had proved his case once he had shown that the categories were the only means by which the mind, as concerned with knowledge, could exercise its appropriate function of making the material given to it something for it. At least the above was the positive side of Kant’s case. But the negative side is even more instructive. Having shown that the categories enabled understanding to exercise its appropriate function, the only other point that he sought to make good was that the exercise of this function did not conflict with the exercise of any other proper function of the mind. With this object in view he sought to show that knowledge was something distinct and completely sui generis. For this purpose he proved that knowledge was restricted to phenomena. Hence it did not touch things-in-themselves, which were thus saved to provide scope for the exercise of the appropriate function of the practical faculty. This latter function, again, was sui generis—it in no way concerned our knowledge of things. Thus, function plus restriction was always Kant’s ultimate test of validity.

Now, the conception which obviously underlies all this analysis, is that of the mind as a system with various special xixfaculties, all combining harmoniously in a teleological unity. Thus, as Kant says, ‘reason is, in regard to the principles of cognition, a perfectly distinct, independent unity, in which, as in an organized body, every member exists for the sake of the others, and all for the sake of each, so that no principle can be viewed, with safety, in one relationship, unless it is, at the same time, viewed in relation to the total use of pure reason’.¹ Kant is nowhere more explicitly himself than in this remark. But we have not to look beyond the Introduction to the Critique of Judgement itself to find abundant evidence of the teleological point of view from which Kant regarded the mind.

Now to what faculty, according to Kant, does the teleological conception belong? It belongs to judgement. The standpoint of Kant’s Critique was (consistently enough) the a priori standpoint of the critical faculty. It is with the reflective judgement, therefore, rather than with reason, that Kant’s critical philosophy is most intimately connected. This is not alone true of the Critique, but of the transcendental philosophy as a whole. Its point of view (as opposed to its subject-matter) is as obviously that of judgement and the conception of teleological unity (which looks out towards reason) as Hegel’s is that of reason and the unity of the syllogism. Further, if judgement may be regarded as intermediate between understanding and reason, then critical philosophy may be regarded, by analogy, as standing between science and morals. While with Hegel, as with the Greeks, philosophy occupies a most exalted position, with Kant its position is comparatively humble. Hence the obtrusive modesty of Kant’s philosophy that is so irritating to many readers.

These facts invest the Critique of Judgement with a very special interest. But, despite its importance, that Critique was only an after-thought. We must, therefore, consider how Kant was able to recognize any teleological unity in our faculties, a priori, before he saw the necessity for a Critique of Judgement.—Now the radical distinction which Kant had drawn between the faculties of the mind, was that between the theoretical and the practical faculty. This is a distinction between the Subject which is known in its external manifestation in a system of relations, and the Subject as the ultimate source of action, and, therefore, as in antithesis to the mere system of relations, and, accordingly, as a substantia noumenon. For the xxmind as a whole, it takes the place of the distinction between a particular faculty and that through which the principles of that faculty acquire a specific content. Now, for the theoretical faculty concepts of nature are legislative, and these belong to the understanding. For the practical faculty the concept of freedom alone is legislative, and this concept has its abode in reason. Each of these legislations were represented as perfectly distinct. How, then, was Kant able to recognize any teleological unity whatever between our faculties a priori, or to regard them as constituting a system of faculties? Were they not simply negatively related?

Where two things are so related that each in turn presupposes the other, then this mutual presupposition indicates that the distinction is not ultimate. There must be some underlying unity, whether we can definitely conceive that unity or not. Now, it would appear that the worlds of nature and of freedom presuppose each other in this way. For the Critique of Pure Reason shows that the theoretical faculty only escapes self-contradiction, on the assumption that the world of nature is a mere phenomenal world. Further, ideas of reason were shown to have a regulative function in experience, and so far to belong to the theoretical faculty, and yet these ideas point beyond the limits of experience to a supersensible world, which is the world with which the concept of freedom is concerned. Then, looking at the matter broadly, it appeared impossible to see how the theoretical faculty could legislate for objects that had to be known, unless these were only to be known as phenomena. But, besides all this, the concepts of understanding, which are legislative in respect of nature, were only justified as the conditions of the possibility of an experience that is mine. The I, as a Subject that wills to have experience, is, therefore, the ultimate foundation of validity. There is no answer to the sceptic who denies this act of will. On the other hand, freedom at once presupposes something to be realized, and this presupposes a nature in which it is to be realized. Also the Critique of Practical Reason showed that our free will would be a will that could will nothing, unless nature was used as the type of the moral law which founds on freedom. It is, in short, only in nature that freedom can give itself any meaning.

Thus we see how Kant, before he saw the necessity of the Critique of Judgement, was able to recognize the systematic xxiconnexion between the theoretical and the practical faculties. But could he now discover some capacity of the mind which essentially owes its existence to the connexion of those faculties, some capacity, that is to say, which only belongs to the mind because it is a mind which possesses a theoretical and a practical faculty between which harmony prevails? Could he further discover that the mind, in that capacity, has a faculty which, by virtue of the very conception of the harmonizing and reconciliation of the differences that for the other faculties were ultimate (even though criticism might show that the harmony was presupposed), is able to make something its own, i. e., to be constitutive a priori? It is obvious that if he could the critique of that faculty would itself exhibit the systematic connexion of our faculties a priori, the distinction between which it presupposed, and at the same time complete the work, and substantiate the point of view, of the whole critical philosophy. The required discovery was made as the result of an analysis of the nature of reflective or critical judgement.

But Kant does not seem to have been prompted towards this discovery by the perception of any lacuna in his system, or by any abstract consideration of the course taken by his previous critiques. It was due to the converging results of different lines of thought, arising from the consideration of different concrete problems, viz. those of aesthetics and of organic life. Kant would never have discovered the lacuna if he had not had the means of filling it ready at hand.

Now the Critiques of Pure Reason and of Practical Reason had only dealt with the faculties of cognition and desire. But there is yet another faculty of the mind, that, namely, of the feeling of pleasure and displeasure. To the latter belongs all that gives warmth and colour to the world. Is this nothing for us as rational beings? Once we pass out of the cold regions of science and morality, do we find ourselves merely on the level of the lower animals?

This depends on the possibility of discovering some intellectual presupposition capable of giving the rule to the feeling of pleasure. It is in the light of this idea, and as an investigation of this problem, that Kant approached the study of aesthetics.

Here now lies the secret of the success of Kant’s'treatment of aesthetics. We have seen that a philosophy, to be worthy of the name, must have a standpoint of its own from which its xxiicriticism is directed. It must be the source of the meaning of the problem which it creates. In the same way aesthetics must discover for itself some point of view from which it can make its analysis. The supreme merit of Kant’s aesthetics lies in the fruitfulness of his point of view, the comprehensive survey which it enabled him to take of the subject, and the systematic connexion of his account as a whole. As for particular observations on the subject, there is hardly a single one which it is not possible to parallel from earlier works even in our own language. But no one writer was able to say more than a fraction of what Kant said, for they lacked a comprehensive point of view from which to co-ordinate the different aspects of the subject and bring them to a common focus.

There is probably no subject in which the construction of the problem is more difficult than in the case of aesthetics, or which reminds us more forcibly of the fact that it is harder to ask questions, that are worth asking, than to answer them. Even the selection of the subject here seems difficult. Why make aesthetics the object of investigation, instead of the beautiful and sublime, or taste and genius, or art? We are at once conscious that we must approach the subject with a prejudice in order to definitely mark it out. But, until we have done this, how can we state its problem?

From what has been said it may be inferred at once that Kant’s Critique of Aesthetic Judgement is not a contribution to concrete criticism as conceived, for instance, by such a writer as Walter Pater. According to the latter: ‘To define beauty, not in the most abstract, but in the most concrete terms possible, to find, not a universal formula for it, but the formula which expresses most adequately this or that special manifestation of it, is the aim of the true student of aesthetics.’ It would be difficult to say whether such concrete criticism can be anything more than a mere criticism of one art by another. Certainly the most concrete and most intimate criticism of a work of art is a better work. Apart from such criticism, which could not constitute aesthetics, it would appear that all criticism must be to some extent abstract. If, as Plato said, art is but a third remove from the truth, then, in the same sense, the criticism that says that it is so, would seem at least a fourth remove. At all events, Walter Pater’s statement as to what is the ‘true aim of the student of aesthetics’ would, if fortified by argument, be a contribution rather to abstract xxiiithan to concrete criticism, and one may be pardoned for regarding the Foreword to the Studies in the Renaissance as more germane to the problems that come under the consideration of the true student of aesthetics, than the Studies themselves—however admirable these may be in other respects.

It follows, also, that the primary value of any work on aesthetics lies in the way it handles the philosophic problem which it sets before itself. If, in any particular case, it aspires to have an intimate bearing on art, then let the artists give their verdict. If artists are entitled to be indifferent to philosophies of art, then this indifference is a recognition of the independent locus standi of such philosophies. As far as a philosophy of art is concerned, its philosophic value is more important than any influence it may have upon art.

All this is frankly admitted by Kant. His investigation of the faculty of taste, he says, is not ‘undertaken with a view to the formation or culture of taste (which will pursue its course in the future as in the past independently of such inquiries)’, but is ‘merely directed to its transcendental aspects’.

But ought we not to look for a standpoint from which results might be obtained capable of exerting an influence upon art, provided such a standpoint is possible? Every school of art seems to have its theory of the meaning and function of art. Hogarth, Reynolds, Goethe, Schiller, Wagner, William Morris, and Whistler are all men whose views upon art come under the consideration of a history of aesthetics. Did not their theories influence their art? Or was not their art, at all events, associated with their theories? An artist enters into art as a man, whole and entire, and, therefore, as something of a philosopher. Art is, in fact, itself a kind of criticism of nature. Does not the point of view of such criticism stretch back from presupposition to presupposition into the domain of philosophy? If so, must not a theory of art be possible in which philosophers and artists can meet on common ground and to their mutual advantage?

Kant makes no attempt to answer this question. He neither seeks to furnish such a theory of art nor to inquire whether any such theory is possible. It may be remarked, however, that the greatest monuments of German literature rose amid the flames of critical controversy, and, further, that much of what Kant says in the course of his Critique is such as, if true, must be of interest to art. But, doubtless, the artist will weigh xxivthis truth for himself—a process which he hates performing under the eye of the philosopher.

Such being the general character of Kant’s Aesthetics we may return to the consideration of his special manner of approaching the subject. We have seen that he did not advance upon it directly. He began with the investigation of a problem the bearing of which was only shown in the sequel, viz., the problem of finding an a priori principle that was constitutive in respect of feeling. How, now, was he to find a clue to the discovery of some such principle?

In search of such a clue Kant adopted the natural course of comparing the two earlier Critiques. As what was desired was some intellectual presupposition, he looked back to see which logical faculties had already contributed a priori principles, and whether there was any spare logical faculty remaining over, and, as it were, awaiting some special employment. Now while the Critique of Pure Reason dealt with the whole rational faculty, so as to provide for negative as well as positive results, it turned out that the only faculty that was constitutive a priori in respect of what is theoretical, i. e. what can be known by us, and that was thus capable of establishing science in a positive or constructive manner, was understanding. In the Critique of Practical Reason Kant found that reason alone was constitutive a priori in the practical sphere. What, then, about judgement? Without going very deeply into the matter—merely beating about for a suggestion—it seemed to Kant as if judgement stood in much the same relation to understanding and reason as the feeling of pleasure and displeasure stands to the faculty of cognition on the one hand and the faculty of desire on the other. So far it had not appeared as constitutive a priori in any respect. It had been dealt with, no doubt, in the Critique of Pure Reason as a logical faculty of subsumption. Its employment had been considered in the case where a universal is given, and its function is to subsume a particular under it—where, in other words, it was simply determinant. If, however, it is the particular that is given, then judgement would seem to stand in need of some principle of its own to guide it in a search for the proper universal.

In the latter case judgement is not determinant but reflective. Now, has this reflective judgement got a special principle of its own? That it has seems implied by the commonest critique. We see everywhere the importance of the attitude xxvof mind with which questions are approached, or which even originates the question itself. This attitude which determines the line of thought, this cast or frame of men’s minds, is something quite different from the stock of their available conceptions. It is not itself a conception that affords knowledge of anything, but it is rather something that makes men have recourse to certain conceptions. It is essentially a prejudice—and prejudice makes the man. Is there, then, any prejudice in the nature of an original and underlying principle of general critical reflection, which, as such, may be justified?

Kant approached the consideration of this question by looking back on the Critique of Pure Reason and contemplating the magnitude of the task of building up a scientific world-picture.

Now, for anything that the Critique of Pure Reason had said, a concrete body of science, containing a vast multiplicity of particular empirical laws subordinated one to another and arranging themselves in a system, might be impossible for us. Nature could easily get the better of us by means of an irreducible heterogeneity. True, the Critique of Pure Reason had dealt with a system of laws, and with the regulative employment of ideas of reason, but it had not justified us in assuming that we should find nature such as to give us scope for such employment. It had furnished us with no principle that would lead us to employ the ideas regulatively, but only showed us how we might employ them in that way, supposing there was anything to make us believe that such employment would be attended with success. Kant had not recognized the presupposition of judgement under which ideas are regulatively employed.

Now Kant does not here undertake to prove that nature must be such, or that it is such, that we may be able to know it, not alone as nature in general and in what concerns its mere possibility, but as a system containing a may-be endless multiplicity of particular laws. He merely shows that we are entitled to set to work on the assumption that nature, in its particular laws, is ordered according to a plan adapted to our faculties of cognition, because only in this way can we hope to build up the concrete body of science, and because this principle does not determine anything, but is a mere guiding principle. It is a principle that is completely sui generis, for it ‘is neither a concept of nature nor of freedom, since it attributes nothing at all to the Object, i. e. to nature, but only represents the unique mode in which we must proceed xxviin our reflection upon the objects of nature with a view to getting a thoroughly interconnected whole of experience, and so is a subjective principle, i. e. maxim, of judgement For this reason, too, just as if it were a lucky chance that favoured us, we are rejoiced (properly speaking relieved of a want) when we meet with such systematic unity under merely empirical laws: although we must necessarily assume the presence of such a unity, apart from any ability on our part to apprehend or prove its existence’.¹ For ‘only so far as that principle applies can we make any headway in the employment of our understanding in experience, or gain knowledge’.² As above remarked, we see function plus restriction regarded as the guarantee of validity.

‘Now the concept of an Object, so far as it contains at the same time the ground of the actuality of this Object, is called its aid, and the agreement of a thing with that constitution of things which is only possible according to ends, is called the finality of its form. Accordingly the principle of judgement, in respect of the form of the things of nature under empirical laws generally, is the finality of nature in its multiplicity.’³

Now it is precisely because this principle of the finality of nature is the principle of a merely reflective judgement, that we look upon it, as above stated, ‘as if it were a lucky chance that favoured us, ... where we meet with such systematic unity under merely empirical laws’ and so ‘are rejoiced’.⁴ It is, in other words, ‘contingent, so far as we can see, that the order of nature in its particular laws, with their wealth of at least possible variety and heterogeneity transcending all our powers of comprehension, should still in actual fact be commensurate with these powers;’⁵ and, therefore, the discovery of that order, being the business of our understanding, the attainment of our aim is coupled with a feeling of pleasure.

Having thus discovered the special principle of judgement, and having shown how its successful application in the study of nature, in the interests of concrete science, is attended with a feeling of pleasure, Kant found himself in a position to turn to a direct consideration of the aesthetic problem. But before doing so he thought it advisable, to prevent ail possibility of misinterpretation, to reiterate in the strongest terms the essential ideality of the principle. ‘Yet this presupposition of xxviijudgement is so indeterminate on the question of the extent of the prevalence of that ideal finality of nature for our cognitive faculties, that if we are told that a more searching or enlarged knowledge of nature, derived from observation, must eventually bring us into contact with a multiplicity of laws that no human understanding could reduce to a principle, we can reconcile ourselves to the thought.’¹ A ‘pluralistic universe’, to use Professor James’s phrase, is conceivable. Still, of course, we listen more gladly to others who hold out a more hopeful view.

We have seen above that the concept of the finality of nature, exhibited in the systematic connexion of its empirical laws, is attended with a feeling of pleasure. But in this case the feeling of pleasure is not itself a representation of finality. The pleasure is, in fact, only one arising out of a consciousness of the attainment of a certain aim. But suppose that a feeling of pleasure were immediately bound up with the apprehension of the form of an object, so as to constitute an aesthetic representation of its finality, we should then have a mode of representation that was quite unique. Now the way in which the representation of an object stimulates our cognitive faculties is essentially bound up with the apprehension of the form of the object. It is, in fact, the mere subjective side of the apprehension, i. e. the way we receive the object in respect of our cognitive faculties. It is the finality of the form of the Object for our cognitive faculties—our sense, in other words, of the way in which our cognitive faculties are stimulated to lively and harmonious activity. But such a sense is just what we mean by a sense of pleasure. In the light, therefore, of our conception of finality we may form an estimate of objects that has intellectual significance, by means of the pleasure or displeasure that is immediately bound up with the apprehension of their form. The possibility of such an estimate merely presupposes (apart from the adoption of the requisite standpoint) that there are objects which excite our faculties to a lively and harmonious activity; and, as the harmonious activity of imagination and understanding is a general prerequisite of knowledge, it follows that if nature is such that it can be known, it must at the same time afford a field for the exercise of such an aesthetic judgement. Now, if the beauty of nature be just what is meant by such an aesthetic representation of finality, then the representation of the beauty of nature is something xxviiiwhich, if we choose to attend to the mere form of the representation of objects, we can at once build up for ourselves out of data necessarily to hand. Nothing that any scientist can say as to the causes of the particular forms which we consider beautiful can prevent our exercising such a mode of pure aesthetic judgement and looking at the forms just as they strike the eye, and without any thought of how they were produced, or how they are connected with other forms; and nothing that any moralist can say can prevent our contemplating those forms without any reference to actual ends.

The conception of finality, therefore, lays the foundation of a distinctive pleasure which has meaning for us, not alone as animal beings, but as rational also—a pleasure that springs into existence upon our paying attention to the mere form of the representation of objects.

The distinction between the reflective and the determinant judgement is what determines the nature of the transition which Kant effected from pure theoretical to pure practical reason, and the critical character of this transition, which in no way disturbed the fundamental distinction between concepts of understanding and ideas of reason, gives the key to the character of Kant’s whole critical philosophy. But as the effect of that transition is to show, and show more clearly than was shown in either of the earlier Critiques, that the result of the Critique of the whole province of the mind is to make critical philosophy point beyond itself to a unity to which it never completely attains, it has naturally happened that critics who have laid more stress on the unity indicated than on the critical restrictions placed on the employment of the concept of such a unity have regarded the Critique of Judgement simply as a stepping-stone to Hegel. Ignoring the importance of the work for the consistent interpretation of Kant’s philosophy from his own standpoint, and utterly neglecting the independent value which it possesses by reason of its treatment of the specific problems with which it deals, they have practically labelled it ‘Transition from Kant to Hegel’. A prevalent belief that this estimate is substantially correct seems to account for the comparative neglect of the work in England—for those who are not Hegelians naturally do not much care about a mere transition to him, and those who are Hegelians are not sufficiently so to have freed themselves from the national love for ‘net results’, or to trouble themselves about mere transitions, further than to know xxixthat they are there, as the ‘net result’ of the system seems to require. Probably it was with the idea of counteracting this tendency that the author of The Critical Philosophy of Kant, who seems to have been an excellent Hegelian, devoted his entire labours to the transition, and left Hegel himself to his brother professors—a unique example of division of labour among philosophers.

If the object of the present volume were to hold a brief for Kant’s system as against that of Hegel, perhaps the most judicious course to adopt, would be to rely entirely on Mr. M^cTaggart’s recent Commentary on Hegel’s Logic, and to urge that the acknowledged errors of Hegel lead inevitably back to Kant. For, strange to say, if, as was said above, Professor Caird, who wrote on Kant, was a devoted admirer of Hegel, Mr. M^cTaggart, who writes on Hegel, is at heart a Kantian.

One of the many criticisms of a distinctly Kantian flavour to be found in Mr. M^cTaggart’s lucid and suggestive work is directed to the important point of the absoluteness of Hegel’s Absolute Idea. ‘In this category the dialectic ends, and we reach, according to Hegel, the absolute truth, so far as it can be reached by pure thought. The proof that this is the final form of pure thought must always remain negative. The reason why each previous category was pronounced not to be final was that in each some inadequacy was discovered, which rendered it necessary, on pain of contradiction, to go beyond it. Our belief in the finality of the absolute idea rests on our inability to find such inadequacy. Hegel’s position will hold good, unless some future philosopher shall discover some inadequacy in the absolute idea which requires removal by means of another category.’¹

Here we plainly see the subjective misgivings of the true Kantian. Kant would not deny an absolute idea capable of effecting the reconciliation which Hegel requires. On the contrary he would say that his antinomies, and the whole tendency of his critical philosophy, pointed in that direction, but then he would draw a distinction between that idea itself and what it is for us. He would say that for us (except in a practical way) it is incapable of effecting any reconciliation. Now Mr. M^cTaggart’s criticism involves the admission that the absolute idea, as it is for us, may not be adequate to what it is xxxfor some future philosopher—and, presumably, a possible superman may attain to what is still further beyond our reach. If this view be accepted it certainly necessitates a considerable abatement of the claims of Hegel’s absolute idea. It means that the absolute idea may only be absolute in name and on paper. All that we can be sure of having definitely reached is the idea which for us is the ultimate reconciling idea. The true absolute idea is turned into a mere horizon of pure thought—an horizon which may retreat before the advances of some future philosopher.

However, it may still be urged that, even with these qualifications, Hegel’s absolute idea is far more concrete than any idea of unity attained by Kant. Whether it is or not would, apparently, depend upon whether the absolute idea has a content in which the inadequacy of the preceding categories is actually transcended, or whether it does no more than merely posit a content that would transcend that inadequacy. As Mr. M^cTaggart is not satisfied with Hegel’s account of the content of the absolute idea, and further objects that he does not indicate ‘any concrete state known to us’ in which the absolute idea is ‘exemplified’, it would seem that the point is one upon which a Kantian could put up a good fight.

Mr. M^cTaggart, however, makes a suggestion of his own as to the state of consciousness which would exemplify the absolute idea. He says it is love. By this he does not mean that love which is generally said to be blind, but a love in which both the ideas of the true and the good are absorbed. It seems to be something even more than that of which the poet speaks as ‘harmonizing this earth with what we feel above’. But, whatever is meant by the term, it hardly contains such a clear reconciliation of Kant’s kingdoms of nature and of freedom as would put the critical philosophy out of court.—As for the remarks in Hegel’s Philosophy of Religion upon which Mr. M^cTaggart relies, the fact that they occur in that work, and that Hegel places Philosophy above Religion, clearly show how Hegel himself would have viewed the suggestion.

The various criticisms which Mr. M^cTaggart passes on Hegel’s absolute idea, viz. that the content of the absolute idea cannot only be the method, that the proof that it is the final form of pure thought must always remain negative, and that Hegel does not show in what state of consciousness it is exemplified, are not three distinct and independent criticisms. xxxiThe second and third are dependent upon the first. They all proceed from the fact that Mr. M^cTaggart’s modesty will not allow him to recognize das absolute Wissen as a positive state of his own consciousness. Hence, like a true Kantian, he seeks to represent it to himself symbolically as love.

But if we accept Hegel’s own statement as to the content of the absolute idea, we must look at the question somewhat differently. He says, ‘It is certainly possible to indulge in a vast amount of senseless declamation about the absolute idea. But its true content is only the whole system of which we have been hitherto studying the development.’ If, therefore, we would form an estimate of the difference between Hegel’s absolute idea and the supersensible unity of which Kant speaks, it is necessary for us, instead of starting off with senseless declamation about the absolute idea, to observe, first of all, the dialectical movement of the lower categories, as dealt with by Hegel, towards the absolute idea, and to contrast this, not so much with the distinctions emphasized by Kant, which are generally quite valid within the limits which he was entitled to assign them, as with his refusal to reconsider those previous distinctions in the light of final results issuing from the review of the whole province of the mind, and also with that deliberate restriction of the significance and application of such unifying principles as his original analysis had brought to his notice, which was bound to stultify any such reconsideration and render it quite abortive. The method of Hegel’s Logic is such that the absolute idea can afford to be simply ‘the specific consciousness of the value and currency of the moments of its development’. The absolute idea has the strength of the whole system of the Logic behind it as its content, and it is only the final illumination of that content. But the moment Kant’s supersensible unity is reached it turns its back on all that has gone before, and has, therefore, to postulate some unknowable content to perform the miracle of reconciliation. For reconciliation there must be;—the whole effect of Kant’s Critique is to show this, and the only question is whether this reconciliation is beyond our powers of comprehension or not.

But, even admitting that such reconciliation is not beyond our powers of comprehension, the critical philosophy must be allowed a very large measure of validity by the true Hegelian. For the true Hegelian will recognize the value of a system which forbids our indulging in senseless declamation about the xxxiiabsolute idea until we have thoroughly comprehended what it means, until we have clearly followed the process by which it is reached, and until we are fully alive to its, content. He will not be satisfied with describing Kant as a mere dualist and entering upon prolonged controversies as to whether he consistently maintained that position. But he will duly appreciate the significance of a philosophy which, regarding the absolute idea as out of the reach of our intelligence, treats it for certain purposes as a mere idea, and attempts no more than a critical unification from a teleological standpoint. For he will acknowledge the position which teleology occupies in the Logic, and he will see how far it is capable of doing duty for the absolute idea, in a system of philosophy which aims at pointing to a reality beyond itself.

The critical philosophy of Kant has, in fact, certain important practical advantages over Hegel’s philosophy. These advantages explain the great popularity of Hegel—for who among the public are going to be serious with philosophy? From the writings of a number of novelists and essayists, who probably never read a line of his works, through the press, and down from the pulpit, Hegelianism has descended upon the masses. No matter how concrete the problem, or how small the company present, there is sure to be at least one of the number bent on evaporating the whole meaning of the discussion in the flames of the Hegelian Dialectic. On the other hand, the philosophy of Kant, while it has, no doubt, exerted a vast influence on the progress of thought, and especially on the development of philosophy, has never been popular. Of the many men one meets who have studied Kant as part of their university course, one finds many who admit that they never understood him, or who say that they think his theories attractive but quite untenable, or who regard the whole system as absurd; but one never finds one who is heart and soul, and without any reservation, a Kantian. But we can hardly keep out of the way of Hegelians—Hegelians heart and soul, and ready to devote their lives to him. The reason lies in the fact that Kantian philosophy, which is difficult to understand at all, does not readily lend itself to any misinterpretation that is likely to be attractive. The study of Kant could hardly lead any one to accept conclusions from his writings which are not excellent so far as they go. Kant misunderstood is repellent; and partial understanding does not, merely because xxxiiipartial, lead one to adopt an attitude of mind the very reverse of what Kant intended. Hegel, on the other hand, is still more difficult to understand, but a misunderstanding is quite easy and, unfortunately, most attractive. A person has only to assent to the platitude that there are two sides to every question—as there are to a railway station—to be delighted to find he is a Hegelian and a very broad-minded man. He then proceeds to work out the system by effacing all relative values. But the philosophy of Hegel is essentially concrete. The true Hegelian will, therefore, wish to see the distinction of certain essential values clearly recognized. His desire will be that Hegel may become most unpopular. He will welcome the demand for a return to Kant. For, if a true Hegelian, he must have satisfied himself as to the meaning of that demand, and the reason for it.

Let us, then, do what we can to make Hegel unpopular, at least with the general reader. What then is to be said of chains with weak links? All the links in the category of quantity are alleged by leading Hegelians to be in an unsound condition. Others are supposed to have completely rusted away.

Or, what shall we say of Hegel’s Philosophy of Nature? Why has no translation of this work been offered to the English public with whom, chiefly, Hegel is now popular? Mr. Wallace’s apology affords an eloquent commentary. ‘This is a province of which the present-day interest would be largely historical, or at least bound up with historical circumstances.’ But, of course, it is not the province itself that, at the present day, is merely of historical interest. The only way we can now study Hegel’s Philosophy of Nature is with the help of Herbert Spencer. Hegel’s work might advisedly have been prefixed with this warning: ‘Here the absolute idea has let itself go. Now precisely because, first, it is the absolute idea that has let itself go, and, secondly, because it has let itself go, it follows that any philosophy of nature, as I attempt to follow it out, must only be regarded as tentative, provisional, and merely illustrative of the true philosophy of nature. Should any scientist happen to glance over these pages he may, perhaps, find something in them to awaken in him a consciousness of the meaning of his work and the result of his investigations, but, once he has read the book, let him lay it aside—nay, even as scientist entirely forget it—and plunge whole-hearted into xxxivthe study of the laws of nature.’ The most that Hegel’s Logic can do is to supply that arrangement of the categories which gives meaning to the reference to a higher and lower implied in the very term evolution. But so little available is it for deducing a priori any of the facts or laws of nature, that if we are told that nature as a whole is not to be regarded as advancing steadily forward, or even as advancing forward in waves like the in-coming sea, but is either, as a whole, in a constant state of equilibrium, or else only moving backwards and forwards like a pendulum, the latter theories could be quite as easily reconciled with Hegel’s Logic as the former.

But there does not seem any reason for supposing that Hegel would not himself admit that his Philosophy of Nature was, for the most part, tentative, provisional, and merely illustrative. Just because his philosophy was essentially concrete, it was in process of becoming obsolete while being written. We require a succession of Hegels to keep his philosophy true. In fact, so far is it from being a distinguishing feature of Hegel’s philosophy that he supposed that a complete and adequate philosophy of nature could be worked out once and for all, that it is rather Kant who seems to be chiefly distinguished both from Aristotle and Hegel by his peculiar conception of a sort of abstract Metaphysics of Nature and of Morals that could be elaborated and definitely completed for all time.

Whether Hegel is in the main right as against Kant depends on how his transition to the absolute idea, his account of its import, and his conception of philosophy are to be regarded. If the absolute idea itself may keep retreating before the advances of future philosophers, then Kant was right in treating it as a mere idea, i. e. a limit unattainable in the series to which knowledge is confined, and he was amply justified in refusing to go back and reconsider previous results in the light of that idea. If, on the other hand, Hegel was substantially correct in his account of the absolute idea and of das absolute Wissen, then in theory he was right as against Kant, and the question as to whether it is worth while attempting to keep his provisional, tentative, and illustrative philosophy of nature up to date, or whether it is sufficient to content ourselves with science, a knowledge of the results of the Logic, and a glance at Hegel’s Philosophy of Nature as an illustration of his meaning, seems to be a question to be decided by extraneous considerations.

xxxv Science, art, and morals have, in any case, a long life to live out in that apparent independence allowed them by their respective categories. This is sufficient to justify the procedure of a critical philosophy that keeps them distinct, examines their fundamental presuppositions, and attempts no more than a critical transition from nature to freedom and the mere indication of a supersensible substrate of all our faculties. From a practical point of view, at all events, Kant’s philosophy has considerable advantages just because it is somewhat abstract. It provides a point of view that presents a world-picture accurate in all essentials. No doubt its mere police duties have been much ridiculed, but there never was a time when those duties better deserved to be appreciated. If critical philosophy discharges those duties, then, if true so far as it goes, it is sufficient to satisfy the general demand for a philosophy on the part of men coming under the influence of modern enlightenment. In fine, it is either sustainable, on the ultimate issue, as against Hegel, or, if not, then it at least provides a valuable substitute, as and when required, for the absolutely true philosophy which, after all, is the world itself, in its whole compass and evolution, thoroughly and clearly recognized as concrete mind.

However, as these essays are solely concerned with the views of Kant, and not with a comparison of his views and those of Hegel, it may be advisable to conclude with an extract which gives his own statement of his position on the subject we have been considering:—

‘Philosophy is the system of all philosophical cognition. We must use this term in an objective sense, if we understand by it the archetype of all attempts at philosophizing, and the standard by which all subjective philosophies are to be judged. In this sense philosophy is merely the idea of a possible science, which does not exist in concreto, but to which we endeavour in various ways to approximate, until we have discovered the right path to pursue—a path overgrown by the errors and illusions of sense—and the image we have hitherto tried to shape in vain, has become a perfect copy of the great prototype. Until that time we cannot learn philosophy—it does not exist; if it does, where is it, who possesses it, and how shall we know it? We can only learn to philosophize; in other words, we can only exercise our powers of reasoning in accordance with general principles, retaining at the same time the right of investigating xxxvithe sources of these principles, of testing, and even of rejecting them.

‘Until then our conception of philosophy is only a scholastic conception—a conception, that is, of a system of cognition which we are trying to elaborate into a science; all that we at present know, being the systematic unity of this cognition, and consequently the logical completeness of the cognition for the desired end. But there is also a cosmical conception (conceptus cosmicus) of philosophy, which has always formed the true basis of this term, especially when philosophy was personified and presented to us in the ideal of a philosopher. In this view, philosophy is the science of the relation of all cognition to the ultimate and essential aims of human reason (teleologia rationis humanae), and the philosopher is not merely an artist—who occupies himself with conceptions, but a law-giver—legislating for human reason. In this sense of the word, it would be in the highest degree arrogant to assume the title of philosopher, and to pretend that we had reached the perfection of the prototype which lies in the idea alone.’¹

When Kant determined to include a Critique of Aesthetic Judgement as part of his critical undertaking he did not find himself compelled to turn his attention to an uncongenial subject. This is abundantly proved by his early essay entitled Observations on the Feeling of the Beautiful and Sublime.¹ But although his interest was undoubtedly immediate and independent, his personal knowledge and appreciation of art was almost entirely confined to literature. Here he was specially attracted by the English poets, and, in particular, by Pope, Milton, and Young.

Whatever may be made of the admission in the above essay that the standpoint was not that of a philosopher but merely of an observer, Kant at first, and for a considerable time, regarded the subject as one only to be treated empirically. This may be seen from his note, in the first edition (1781) of the Critique of Pure Reason, objecting to Baumgarten’s use of the word aesthetics. ‘The Germans’, he says, ‘are the only people who at present use this word to indicate what others call the critique of taste. At the foundation of this term lies the disappointed hope, which the eminent analyst, Baumgarten, conceived, of subjecting the criticism of the beautiful to principles of reason, and so of elevating its rules into a science. But his endeavours were vain. For the said rules or criteria are, in respect to their sources, merely empirical, consequently never can serve as laws a priori, by which our judgement in matters of taste is to be directed. It is rather our judgement which forms the proper test as to the correctness of the principles.’² In the second edition (April, 1787) Kant qualified this statement by xxxviiiinserting the word ‘chief’ before ‘sources’ and ‘determinate’ before ‘laws’. This shows the turning-point in his views on the subject. Shortly after, in a letter to Schütz dated June 25, 1787,¹ he states his intention of proceeding at once to the consideration of the fundamental principles of the critique of taste. A letter of December 28, 1787,² to Reinhold, announces that this work, under the title of the Critique of Taste, was then in manuscript, and expresses the hope that it will be ready by the following Easter. In a further letter of March 7, 1788,³ also to Reinhold, he hopes, despite his unaccustomed duties as rector of the university, to deliver his Critique of Taste by Michaelmas, and thus to complete his critical undertaking. Writing again to Reinhold on May 12, 1789,⁴ he refers to the work as ‘the Critique of Judgement (of which the Critique of Taste forms part)’, and the publication is deferred to the Michaelmas following. The last postponement, to Easter, 1790, was made in a letter to Reinhold of December 1, 1789.⁵

The only one of the above letters that contains more than a bare reference to the progress of the work is that of December 28, 1787, to Reinhold. The relevant portion of this letter is aptly quoted by Caird. It reads: ‘I may now assert, without making myself liable to the charge of conceit, that the further I proceed in my course, the less apprehensive do I become that I shall be obliged to renounce, or, to any important extent, to modify my system. This is an inward conviction, which grows upon me as, in my progress to new investigations, I find it not only maintaining its harmony with itself, but also suggesting ways of dealing with any difficulty that may arise.⁶ For, when at times I am in doubt as to the method of inquiry in regard to an object, I only need to cast back a glance upon my general list of the elements of knowledge, and of the faculties of mind implied therein, in order to get new light upon my procedure. Thus, I am at present engaged in a Critique of Taste, and have been in this way led to the discovery of another kind of a priori principles than I had formerly recognized. For the faculties of the mind are three; the faculty of knowledge, the feeling of pleasure and pain, xxxixand the will. I have discovered a priori principles for the first of these in the Critique of Pure Reason, and for the third, in the Critique of Practical Reason; but my search for similar principles for the second seemed at first fruitless. Finally, however, the systematic connexion, which the analysis of the theoretical and practical reason has enabled me to discover in the human mind,—a systematic connexion which it will be sufficient employment for the rest of my days to admire, and where possible, to explain,—put me on the right track; so that now I recognize three parts of philosophy, each of which has its own a priori principles. We can now, therefore, securely determine the compass of knowledge, which is possible in this way, as including the three departments of theoretical philosophy, teleology, and practical philosophy, of which, it is true, the second will be found the poorest in a priori grounds of determination. I hope by Easter to be ready with this part of philosophy, under the name of the Critique of Taste, which is already in writing, but not quite prepared for the press.’¹

As we have already seen, the Critique of Judgement was not published for nearly three years after the date of the above letter. It would be interesting to know how far the later Critique of Aesthetic Judgement corresponded with the Critique of Taste which was then in manuscript, and how far Kant’s conception of the third part of his philosophy was subsequently enlarged. Caird remarks that in the three years the work ‘had extended much beyond the scope which he here (in the above letter) gives it, and had become not merely a Critique of Taste but a Critique of Judgement’,² and he speculates on the reasons of the change. This seems to imply an under-estimate of the significance of the letter. The letter shows that Kant had recognized judgement as a separate faculty with a priori principles, had connected that faculty with the feeling of pleasure and displeasure, and had regarded the work as constituting a third part of philosophy, called Teleology. The only remark in the letter which is inconsistent with the subsequent Introduction to the Critique of Judgement is the admission of three departments of philosophy. In Section III of that Introduction he allows no more than two, and it is only transcendental Critique that is divided into three parts. It is plain that Kant had already regarded his work as potentially xla Critique of Judgement. According to the letter of March 7, 1788, it was to complete his critical undertaking. The work must have recognized the connexion between the aesthetic judgement and the teleological judgement, and also the application of the principle of judgement to the multiplicity of the laws of nature. The reflective judgement must have been distinguished from the determinant judgement But, on the other hand, despite the fact that the third part of his philosophy, viz. Teleology, was to be furnished in the work, the reference to it as a Critique of Taste, and the change of the title to ‘the Critique of Judgement (of which the Critique of Taste forms part)’, mentioned in the letter of May 12, 1789, would seem to make it clear that it did not contain a Critique of Teleological Judgement Further, although it may have contained an Introduction dealing with most of what was dealt with in the subsequent Introduction, that Introduction can hardly have been the one preserved in part by Beck,¹ for the latter expressly refers to the Critique of Judgement, and was thus presumably written between the dates of the letters of March 7, 1788, and May 12, 1789. Still there seems a difficulty in saying that Kant recognized the scope of the application of the reflective judgement and yet regarded a mere Critique of Taste as competent to furnish the third part of his philosophy.

Perhaps the solution to the difficulty may be found in the remarks in the Preface and the Section VII of the Critique of Judgement, and in the fragment of the original Introduction, which show that Kant regarded the Critique of Taste as the one essential portion of a critique of judgement, on the ground that it is only in respect of the feeling of pleasure and displeasure that the faculty of judgement contains a principle that is constitutive a priori. It is doubtful, therefore, that Kant’s views greatly broadened after his letter of December 28, 1787. At that date he probably contemplated a work on the teleological judgement, but intended to publish the Critique of Taste separately. But, at the same time, his views on the scope of the contemplated work on the teleological judgement were probably imperfectly developed, and much of the delay in the publication must certainly be attributed to the elaboration of the second part of the Critique of Judgement.

xli Kant’s views generally matured so gradually that it is difficult to suppose that the Critique of Taste, which Kant, when writing the above letter, expected to be able to publish with little alteration, did not contain most of what was subsequently contained in the Critique of Aesthetic Judgement The dependence of beauty on the representation of finality apart from an end must certainly have been recognized. The peculiar universality and necessity of the judgement of taste must have been exhibited. Then, although the work is called a Critique of Taste, the treatment of the sublime was almost certainly included. Indeed, it would seem probable that the sections on the sublime underwent very slight alteration. The analysis which they contain is very much more psychological and less critical than the Analytic of the Beautiful. Probably the general character of the treatment of the beautiful originally bore a much closer resemblance to the Analytic of the Sublime. The emphasis on the point that the sublime implies a Quantity of the object, whereas the beautiful implies a certain Quality, though not inconsistent with Kant’s later views, is a reference to the categories of a kind that possibly dates back to the original Critique of Taste. Then, as a Critique to be compared with the earlier Critiques, the work must have included a Deduction and an Antinomy of Taste.

In what direction, then, are we to look for a substantial and material growth in Kant’s Critique of the Aesthetic Judgement? Was the Critique of Taste but slightly altered? Some critics have suggested that the sections on art were an afterthought. This seems to imply a complete misinterpretation of the work. The sections on art must date from the same draft as the great majority of the sections. Besides, an attack on the leaders of the Sturm und Drang movement was almost certainly meditated from the start, and it is only in the sections on art that this attack is openly delivered. Also the table at the end of the Introduction appears in the fragment of the original Introduction, and Kant could hardly have allowed the prominent position there given to art, and yet have omitted from his Critique of Taste all discussion of fine art. We are thus left with the Analytic of the Beautiful in respect of its general scheme and arrangement, and the last few sections of the Dialectic, as the portions of the work which probably differ most from anything contained in the original Critique of Taste.

That some of the last sections of the Dialectic of Aesthetic xliiJudgement were added to an earlier draft, whether it be that to which Kant refers in the letter of December 28, 1787, or a later draft, seems not at all improbable. It is noticeable that the last paragraph of Remark II appended to § 57 casts retrospective glances and might quite appropriately have concluded an earlier draft. A similar observation applies to the last paragraph of § 58. Very possibly § 58 was added as a concluding section to the Critique of Aesthetic Judgement during the progress of the Critique of Teleological Judgement. Kant refers to it in the footnote in §67. Whether this footnote and § 58 were written after § 67 or not, it would be hard to say.

If we suppose that §§59 and 60 were added after a stage when either Remark II to § 57 or § 58 had formed the conclusion of the Critique of Aesthetic Judgement, we should then be led to infer a stage in the development of Kant’s views at which he gave increased importance to the influence of the moral faculty. It seems quite natural to suppose that his attention was first directed to the reference to the theoretical faculty, and that his earlier remarks on the relation of the aesthetic judgement and of fine art to the moral faculty were all of the kind that we find in §§ 16 and 52.¹ But, when his idea of representing the Critique of Judgement as furnishing a transition from the theoretical to the practical sphere developed, Kant naturally sought to trace out a more intimate and critical connexion, and thus came to regard the form of the aesthetic judgement itself as the result of an a priori bearing of the practical upon the theoretical faculty. The position adopted in § 59 would naturally suggest to Kant that he ought to treat the disinterestedness² of the judgement of taste as its first moment. Then the two logical peculiarities, universality and necessity, might be regarded as the second and fourth moments, with finality apart from an end as the third. This would give a correspondence with the table of the categories xliiiwhich would be very acceptable. The result would be that most of what had appeared in the earlier draft would be incorporated under the head of the third moment. Certainly if Kant had not already thought out the arrangement of the four moments corresponding to the categories of Quality, Quantity, Relation, and Modality, the points of the analogy which he traces in § 59 would naturally suggest the idea.

However, the suggestion that the division of the Analytic of the Beautiful into four moments corresponding to the four kinds of categories was an afterthought, is by no means one that recommends itself at first view. As the work stands the arrangement would suggest to us that it was part of Kant’s original and ground plan. It forms such a prominent feature of the Critique that it is what is chiefly—almost exclusively—dealt with in the accounts of Kant’s Aesthetics to be found in most Histories of Philosophy. The comparison of aesthetic with logical judgements, and the reference to the table of categories, are just what we should expect from Kant; and a student of Kant, especially if familiar with the Prolegomena, naturally feels that he could himself have anticipated it. Is it likely, then, that what we could easily anticipate ourselves was with Kant only an afterthought?

There is a flaw in this argument. If a comparison of aesthetic with logical judgements and a reference to the table of categories could have enabled Kant at once to deduce the four moments, then the argument would be unanswerable. But we have only to look at the different definitions of the beautiful framed in accordance with the four heads of categories, to see that a mere regard to the logical functions of judgement could not, of itself, have enabled Kant to discover the four moments—whatever the footnote to § 1 may suggest. A mere regard to the logical functions of judgement would not, of itself, give the point of view from which the connexion was to be effected. But, if Kant had not at first recognized the four moments as such, and if he was then led to consider the capital points of the analogy of the judgement of taste, as he had already described it, with the moral judgement, we can easily understand how, at that stage, looking, as he naturally would, to the table of categories, he was first able to recognize four of the characteristics of the judgement of taste as constituting four moments, and to speak of them as sought with the guidance of the logical functions of judgement.

xliv Further, the objection in the argument under consideration would appear much more convincing if it were not possible to show that Kant was able to institute a comparison between aesthetic and logical judgements, and to cast an eye on the table of categories, quite independently of the arrangement of the four moments. The comparison between aesthetic and logical judgements, which a student of Kant would naturally look for, may be found in the Deduction. In § 31 Kant states that the judgement of taste has a double and, in fact, logical peculiarity—a peculiar universality and necessity. This announcement sounds strange after the full discussion in the four moments. Kant goes on to say: ‘The solution of these logical peculiarities, which distinguish a judgement of taste from all cognitive judgements, will, of itself, suffice for a Deduction of this strange faculty, provided we abstract at the outset from all content of the judgement, viz. from the feeling of pleasure, and merely compare the aesthetic form with the form of objective judgements as prescribed by logic.’¹ These peculiarities are nothing but those exhibited in the second and fourth moments. Had they not already been arrived at by the very comparison in question? It seems difficult to suppose that Kant wrote this paragraph after he had elaborated the four moments and written the footnote to § 1. Hence, not alone was it possible for Kant to institute the comparison without any reference to the four moments as such, but he actually did so, and did so in such a way that the complete disregard of the earlier discussion is, of itself, sufficient to excite suspicion.

Then, as to a reference to the table of categories, we derive some assistance by looking to the Analytic of the Sublime and the Deduction—portions of the work suggested to be among the earliest. In the Analytic of the Sublime Kant refers, in the opening paragraph of § 24, to four moments of the judgement upon the sublime, exactly corresponding to the four moments of the judgement of taste (and which, by the way, were used to define the beautiful specifically), but he merely, in this one paragraph, superimposes this arrangement upon another arrangement which underlies the whole exposition of the sublime as actually given, and which follows the table of the categories from quite a different point of view. What is more, Kant, in several incidental remarks, looks back at the beautiful from this different point of view. Thus he observes that the delight xlvin the case of the beautiful is associated with the representation of quality, whereas in the sublime it is associated with that of quantity. If one were to read the Critique of Judgement for the first time and begin with the Analytic of the Sublime, and to pass over the first paragraph of § 24, and were to conjecture for oneself what Kant had regarded as the characteristic of the beautiful corresponding to the category of quality, one would surely say that its quality consisted in its being a feeling of pleasure associated with the representation of a certain quality of the object. We are, therefore, not justified in supposing that a regard to the table of categories must have led Kant from the first to recognize the four moments as eventually exhibited.

So much for the objections that immediately occur against the assumption that the division of the Analytic of the Beautiful into four moments may have been an afterthought. It may now be worth while to examine more fully what arguments may be brought forward in favour of the assumption. For it cannot fail to be of interest to know what were the latest developments¹ of Kant’s thoughts in the elaboration of his system; and, further, the majority of any arguments that could be suggested would naturally take the form of a reference to difficulties in the work that would appear less serious if the hypothesis were accepted, so that it would hardly be possible to make out a good case for the assumption without at the same time giving some assistance in the interpretation of the work.

In looking for such arguments we should first search for all references to the moments appearing elsewhere than in the Analytic of the Beautiful itself, and, having done so, we should consider whether they are more than could be expected to have been subsequently inserted. We should then look to see if any of the positions adopted by Kant elsewhere than in the Analytic of the Beautiful seem to pay regard to, or stand in any systematic connexion with, the arrangement of the moments, and, if not, we should then consider if Kant fails to pay regard to that arrangement in any place where such a regard might xlvihave been expected. After this we might consider what additions to the early part of the work were necessitated by the change, and whether this would have the effect of making any of the later portions of the work appear surcharged with repetition. In this connexion we should particularly look for repetitions of the proof of what was, owing to the additions, proved already, and for any casual indications in Kant’s language suggesting the idea that he was approaching for the first time what, in fact, had been dealt with previously. Then, further, it would be likely that the changes introduced would lead to some inconsistencies with older portions of the work. Any such inconsistencies Kant would, of course, attempt to remove. But if any escaped his notice their discovery would be very suggestive. Next, the endeavour to utilize in the new arrangement as many as possible of the original sections might easily lead to a want of symmetry and balance, and we should look to see if such a want is betrayed. Lastly, we should consider whether the omission of any sections which would have to be regarded as inserted in consequence of the new arrangement would cause any unnatural breaks in the line of thought, and leave gaps which in the original form could not easily have been filled. It may be remarked that it would be antecedently quite probable that we should obtain from the above suggested inquiries results that, supposing the hypothesis were false, would completely disprove it, whereas, supposing it were correct, we could hardly expect any discovery that would amount to a conclusive proof. Hence, in favour of the hypothesis, merely negative as well as positive results may be taken into consideration. However, we shall see that it is hardly necessary to press this point, as all the results seem to converge, to some extent at least, in the same direction. The different points may now, at the expense of some slight repetition, be mentioned in order.

(1) It is difficult to form an idea of the probable frequency of references, outside the Analytic of the Beautiful, to the moments eo nomine. But the arrangement is so striking, and the casual reference, either to the exposition of the moments of the beautiful, or to a particular moment as such and such a moment, would seem so natural, that we should at least expect a few. But we find none, either in the fragment of the original Introduction or in the Critique of Judgement—except that in the first paragraph of § 24. It is, then, a strange coincidence that xlviithis solitary reference occurs in a passage which we have the strongest independent reasons for supposing to have been subsequently inserted.

(2) Nowhere outside the Analytic of the Beautiful does Kant adopt any position, or make any analysis, in which he seems to have had the four moments, as such, present to mind. But in several places where we might have expected him to have paid some regard to that division he completely fails to do so.

(a) Thus, as the function of genius is to produce what taste is to judge beautiful, and as it is genius that gives the rule to art, we should have expected that a systematic writer, like Kant, would have endeavoured to exhibit a certain parallelism between his statement of the fundamental characteristics of genius and his arrangement of the four moments of the judgement of taste. But he makes no attempt to do so.

(b) The definitions of the beautiful given in the four moments are all (as many critics have shown) in the nature of paradoxes. Hence we should have expected Kant to exhibit four antinomies of taste. Not alone does he not do so, but he makes no effort to anticipate the reader’s natural query as to why he should look back to the two logical peculiarities specified in the Deduction instead of the four peculiarities given in the Analytic.

(c) When in § 59 Kant came to trace out the analogy between judgements of taste and moral judgements the natural and proper course for him to adopt would be simply to follow the four moments accurately and faithfully. But what he does is to pick up the points of resemblance from the work as it would appear if what are here regarded as the added sections were omitted. The first point, that the judgement is immediate, looks back to § 1 and the remarks at pp. 69, l. 16, and 135, l. 25. The second point may be regarded as taken from whatever section of the original draft first dealt with independence from interest. This may have been a section including the first paragraph in § 2 and appearing in close conjunction with §§ 11 and 13. It is noticeable that the second paragraph, which would have to be regarded as added, calls attention to the extreme importance of the proposition, and introduces the significant change from independent of interest to disinterested, i. e. from a reference merely to the category of negation to a reference to the category of limitation. Then, universality is mentioned after the freedom of the imagination (which looks principally to the General Remark on the First Section of the Analytic), xlviiiand thus corroborates the assumption that originally universality was first dealt with in the Deduction.

(3) If Kant only determined on the division of the Analytic into four moments after he had made a complete draft of the Critique of Taste, then the contents of the third moment could be provided from the sections of the original draft, but, for the other moments, especially the second and fourth, he would have to draw on the Deduction. The unusual amount of repetition in the work has been pointed out by critics with no particular theory to serve. This repetition will be found to be almost entirely a repetition of the contents of the second and fourth moments. Then, at the close of the General Remark on the Exposition of Aesthetic Reflective Judgements, Kant prepares for a discussion of universality and necessity in a manner which would be almost inexplicable if the second and fourth moments had been written at the time. Similarly, the last paragraph of § 29, which is devoted to the modality of the judgement upon the sublime, refers to the modality of aesthetic judgements (in general) in a manner which suggests preparation for a first discussion. Again, when Kant arrives at the discussion of universality in § 32 he completely ignores the second moment, and gives illustrations which would have seemed more appropriate in the second moment where the subject was actually first discussed. Then, the whole argument in the Deduction, from § 31 to § 38, is mere repetition. This is most important. Kant states that the sublime requires no deduction, because its exposition is a sufficient deduction, and that a deduction is only necessary in the case of the beautiful. Doubtless the exposition of the beautiful, as it originally stood, did not involve the deduction, but the exposition of the four moments contains every essential point to be found in §§ 31 to 38. This result of the new division evidently escaped Kant. Or, did it altogether escape him? When the work was sent to press § 30 was headed ‘Third Book. Deduction of Aesthetic Judgements’. Then, at the last moment, Kant ordered the heading ‘Third Book’ to be struck out. This alteration was made so late that, in the first edition, it could only appear in the table of errata. This suggests that Kant sought to minimize the importance of the deduction.

(4) There seem to be a few inconsistencies which may be attributed to the change of plan.

(a) The discussion in § 13 on charm and emotion would more appropriately fall under the head of the first moment. xlixThis is shown from its own reasoning, viz. that interest destroys the judgement of taste, and that, therefore, the judgement of taste cannot be determined by charm or emotion. That an explicit definition of a pure judgement of taste should have been first given in the third moment, and that this definition should look to freedom from charm and emotion, instead of to freedom from interest, seems strange.¹

(b) The General Remark on the First Section of the Analytic purports to give the result of the previous analysis. But it is quite misleading in the exclusive emphasis which it throws on the third moment. The first sentence, in particular, seems inconsistent with the last of § 22.

(c) The statement that the exposition of the beautiful does not contain its deduction is, as already indicated, inconsistent with the fact that the deduction only contains repetitions.²

(d) The inconsistencies between the exposition of the sublime, as given, and the opening paragraph of § 24 have already been referred to, and will be dealt with more fully in the fourth essay.

(5) (a) There is a want of symmetry and balance between the third moment and the others. The contents of the third moment, with the general Exemplification in § 14, are just what we might expect if it contains the whole substance of the original exposition.

(b) The treatment of the sublime, even in its method, which is mainly psychological, is quite out of keeping with the Analytic of the Beautiful. A similar remark applies to the treatment of the laughable in § 54.

(6) If the headings to the moments are struck out, and also the definitions of the beautiful following the different moments, and, further, the different sections which, on the assumption under consideration, must be regarded as added, viz. §§ 2 (part of which might be reinserted in §11), 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 18, 19, 20, 21, and 22, with, of course, the footnote to § 1, there would be absolutely nothing in the exposition of the beautiful as it would then stand, or (except for the opening paragraph of § 24) in the rest of the work, to show the least trace of the removal. Nowhere in the sequel would the argument fail for want of lanything proved in these sections. Further, the sequence of thought in the mutilated exposition would appear surprisingly natural. In § 1 (which is purely introductory and does not belong specially to the first moment) the reference to the ‘regular and appropriate (Zweckmassiges) building’ would gain by proximity to §§ 9 and 10, and similarly, § 17 by closer proximity to the Analytic of the Sublime. The General Remark at the end of § 22 would also seem a more adequate summary. That all this should be so is, certainly, an extraordinary coincidence.

If, in addition, we further remove §§ 59 and 60, which, it is suggested, were added some time previous to the remodelling of the Analytic of the Beautiful, we should then get a work which would still read quite naturally from beginning to end, and which, while far less deep and worthy of the critical spirit of Kant, would present decidedly fewer difficulties to his critics.

If no one of the above arguments, taken singly, is conclusive, it is submitted that their cumulative effect is practically coercive.

The object of Kant’s Analytic of the Beautiful is to formulate the conception of a pure judgement of taste. His argument is wholly independent of any psychological analysis. He relies on the meaning of a pure judgement of taste, and on the fact that its significance is what it is, whether any one should lay down such a judgement or not. His concern is not with actual judgements but with judgements that are possible—though he does seek to show that a regard to such possible judgements is implied in the claims commonly put forward on behalf of judgements of taste.

With Kant the pure judgement of taste is, therefore, an ideal. Here we see the essential distinction between his position and that of his predecessors, and how in the Critique of the Aesthetic Judgement he was able to effect a revolution similar to that which he effected by the Critique of Pure Reason, and which he compared to the revolution in astronomy brought about by Copernicus. Wolff, and Baumgarten, as well as many others, had seen that in the representation of beauty there is a striving after an ideal. But they sought the ideal outside judgement itself in some perfection of the object. As against these philosophers Kant showed that there was nothing distinctive in judgements of that kind. The proviso that the perfection should be thought in a confused way was futile. A judgement which concerns what is objective does not cease to be logical (i. e. a cognitive judgement) by being confused. Kant, accordingly, placed the ideal in the form of the judgement itself, and changed the question from one of what the object ought to be, to one of what judgement in respect of the beautiful ought to be. Purity of judgement was substituted for perfection of the object.

What Kant attempts, then, in the Analytic of the Beautiful, is to formulate the conception of a pure aesthetic judgement as one completely distinct and sui generis. Hence, when in the liicourse of his argument he distinguishes the beautiful from the agreeable and the good, we are not to regard the definition of the beautiful as formulated independently of this distinction, but we are to regard the beautiful as something which ought to be defined so as to be distinguished in this way. The distinction proves the definition, provided the required judgement is at least possible. The latter question, which is dealt with in the Deduction, is, as stated in the last essay, completely disposed of in the exposition. This may be seen by examining the connexion of the moments. No doubt if the first moment is admitted the second may be deduced from it, and so on with the succeeding moments. There is, however, a difficulty as to the possibility of the first moment, and this difficulty is only met by the second moment, which, in turn, raises a further difficulty, and so on with the other moments. In other words, each moment presupposes the succeeding moment, and so on till we reach the idea of a sensus communis as the final presupposition.

Thus the first moment emphasizes the disinterestedness of the judgement of taste. But we can only free ourselves from conditions of merely private validity by putting ourselves in thought in the position of every one else and making the voice with which we speak a universal voice. Again, the universal standpoint which we adopt, and the universal voice with which we speak, is only possible by our confining our attention to what is communicable to others. A universal point of reference for feeling—since the judgement of taste is to be a mere aesthetic judgement—must, therefore, be sought on the cognitive side—for only what belongs in some way to cognition can be communicated to others. This can only be found in the harmony of imagination and understanding, as a general requisite for all cognition. It is only through the immediate value which we set upon the universal communicability of the feeling of the quickening of our faculties by their mutual accord, that we are able to divest ourselves of the mediate interest that attaches to what is agreeable to the senses. But, again, the universal communicability of the above feeling presupposes a common sense. The judgement of taste is, accordingly, given out as an instance of the judgement of a common sense, and thus claims exemplary validity. But have we reason for presupposing a common sense? This is the question which Kant undertakes to answer in § 21. His argument is that in preliiisupposing a common sense we are presupposing no more than is presupposed if we assume that knowledge of objects is possible and communicable. If, then, knowledge of objects is communicable, we have ready to hand all the data requisite for judgements of taste, including a basis for a subjective preference for different objects. For different objects must lend themselves differently to the task of imagination which has to synthesize the given manifold of sense, and this synthesis, again, may be more or less stimulating to the understanding. Lastly, it is the presupposition of a common sense that enables the subjective necessity of the judgement of taste to be represented as objective.

The foregoing observations will enable us to understand another feature of Kant’s Analytic of the Beautiful which might otherwise occasion some difficulty. In considering the moments of the judgement of taste, Kant regards the moments of that judgement statically and not dynamically, that is to say, he merely considers the import and bearings of the estimate formed of the object, and says nothing of the mental evolution which leads to our adopting the standpoint from which alone such an estimate is possible. The reason for this is that, as already stated, he is merely formulating an ideal—the idea of a possible pure judgement of taste—and so is only concerned with the judgement in its final and perfect form. Thus the evolution of actual judgements of taste from impure to pure falls outside the scope of his inquiry.

After these few preliminary remarks we may deal more specifically with the different moments. Probably, as already suggested, Kant was first led to consider the aesthetic judgement from the side of our cognitive faculties, and so began by distinguishing it from a cognitive judgement, while showing at the same time that it had a reference to our faculty of cognition generally. The consideration of the analogy between the beautiful and the morally good may, however, have influenced him to make a change in his plan, and to regard the judgement primarily from the point of view of the will. At all events, as the account stands, disinterestedness is the feature of which Kant says the judgement upon the beautiful takes cognizance in the first instance.

This important moment of the judgement upon the beautiful was by no means an original discovery on the part of Kant. It had been noted, more or less clearly, by Thomas Aquinas. livMoses Mendelssohn, as Ueberweg points out, drew attention to the same characteristic in his Morgenstunden: ‘It is usual to distinguish in the soul the cognitive faculty from the faculty of desire, and to include the feelings of pleasure and displeasure under the latter. It seems to me, however, that between knowing and desiring lies approving, the satisfaction of the soul, which is, strictly speaking, far removed from desire. We contemplate the beautiful in nature and in art, without the least motion of desire, with pleasure and satisfaction. It appears the rather to be a particular mark of the beautiful, that it is contemplated with quiet satisfaction, that it pleases, even though it be not in our possession, and even though we be never so far removed from the desire to put it to our use. It is not until we regard the beautiful in relation to ourselves and look upon the possession of it as a good, that the desire to have, to take to ourselves, to possess, awakes in us—a desire which is very widely distinguished from enjoyment of the beautiful.’¹ But certainly the clearest and most emphatic statement of the disinterestedness of the delight in the beautiful, previous to that by Kant, had been made by Hutcheson long before the publication of Mendelssohn’s Morgenstunden: ‘Many of our sensitive perceptions are pleasant and many painful immediately, and that without any knowledge of the cause of this pleasure or pain, or how the objects excite it, or are the occasions of it; or without seeing to what farther advantage or detriment the use of such objects might tend: nor would the most accurate knowledge of these things vary either the pleasure or pain of the perception, however it might give a rational pleasure distinct from the sensible; or might raise a distinct joy, from a prospect of farther advantage in the object, or aversion, from an apprehension of evil.’² Again, ‘the pleasure does not arise from any knowledge of principles, proportions, causes, or of the usefulness of the Object: but strikes us at first with the idea of beauty: nor does the most accurate knowledge increase this pleasure of beauty however it may superadd a distinct rational pleasure from prospects of advantage, or from the increase of knowledge. And farther, the ideas of beauty and harmony, like other sensible ideas, are necessarily pleasant to us, as well as immediately so; neither can any resolution of our own, nor any prospect of advantage lvor disadvantage, vary the beauty or deformity of an object: for as in the external sensation no view of interest will make an object grateful, nor view of detriment, distinct from immediate pain in the perception, make it disagreeable to the sense; so, propose the whole world as a reward, or threaten the greatest evil, to make us approve a deformed object, or disapprove a beautiful one; dissimulation may be procured by rewards or threatenings, or we may in external conduct abstain from any pursuit of the beautiful, and pursue the deformed; but our sentiments of the forms, and our perceptions would continue invariably the same’.¹ And again, ‘Had we no such sense of beauty and harmony; houses, gardens, dress, equipage, might have been recommended to us as convenient, fruitful, warm, easy; but never as beautiful.’² Other similar passages might be quoted, but it is unnecessary, as Hutcheson is quite as emphatic on the point as Kant. This moment was, in fact, so familiar to British writers that in a philosopher of such slight importance as Nettleton we find the observation:—‘The productions of nature and art, when they come under our survey and contemplation, do many of them excite a pleasing admiration: they are no sooner brought into our view, but they affect us with pleasure directly, and immediately, without our reflecting on the reason they do so, and without their being considered with relation to ourselves; or as advantageous in any other respect, even where there is no possession, no enjoyment or reward, but barely seeing and admiring. These objects are therefore called beautiful.’³

The originality of Kant, therefore, is not to be sought in the discovery of this moment of the judgement upon the beautiful, or, in fact, in the discovery of any other moment. It is rather to be sought in the setting of the account, and its systematic connexion with the work as a whole. We must even widen our view so as to look beyond the Critique of Judgement to the other Critiques, and see in this moment the first indication of the judgement of taste as a judgement betraying an influence of the practical upon the theoretical faculty, resulting in an a priori standpoint. It is quite easy to write a work on aesthetics which merely catalogues a number of interesting features to which attention must be paid, or which fixes on one feature and subordinates everything else to it lviwithout any due regard to true proportions, but the difficulty lies in preserving a correct perspective. So it is rather in the co-ordination of the different moments than in the statement of the moments themselves that we must look for the chief merit of Kant. A similar merit, however, must not be altogether denied to Hutcheson, whose Inquiry is a work admirably knit together and constructed on a plan which Kant may have found extremely suggestive.

By way of explanation of the first moment of the judgement of taste we may refer to a suggestive parallel to be found in Aristotle’s account of Friendship in the Nichomachean Ethics. First there is the spurious type of friendship that is based on utility. Men may be well-disposed towards one another on account of the advantage which each derives from the other. Brought together by this or other means they may further derive pleasure from each other’s society. Here each is well-disposed towards the other, because the other contributes to his pleasure, and this is the second type of friendship. It is spurious because, as Kant would say, it is determined by an interest. But in true friendship a man does not love his friend because of anything he derives from his existence, but for himself alone and for what he is. A friend, in the true sense, may be useful, and his society will naturally give pleasure, but no accounts are kept on either side in these matters. For the friend is not loved became of anything derived from him, but simply as another self (an alter ego). Here it is to be observed that it is not necessary for the friend originally to have been useful or to have contributed to the other’s pleasure—though these relations do often lead to true friendship. He may never have been useful, and any pleasure derived from his society may only have been derived after he became a friend and as the natural result of his being so—for however independent true friendship may be of pleasure as a determining ground, all will admit that true friendship is itself a source of the greatest pleasure.

The meaning of disinterestedness is, however, perhaps nowhere more generally appreciated than in connexion with the laughable. Here, although a joke may tell against a person, and although something in which he has a lively interest forms the subject-matter of the joke, still we expect him to be able to dissociate himself from personal interests and enjoy it simply as a joke. Hence nothing is regarded as giving greater lviievidence of mental detachment than the ability to take a joke against oneself good-humouredly. A man who can do this at once gains our esteem, for he clearly separates his true self from any mere external self that could become the object of laughter. Thus Socrates rose up during a performance of the Clouds to let the Athenians see what was being ridiculed on the stage,—by that very act putting himself beyond the reach of satire.

Kant does not devote much space to illustrating what he means by disinterestedness, and his definition of interest as ‘the delight which we combine with the representation of the existence of an object’ is too abstract to be suggestive to the general reader—though, in the case of the laughable we all recognize that a good story is a good story whether it is really true or not. The definition was, however, necessitated, and appeared subsequently in the Metaphysic of Morals: ‘The pleasure which is not necessarily connected with the desire of the object, and which, therefore, is at bottom not a pleasure in the existence of the object of the idea, but clings to the idea only, may be called mere contemplative pleasure or passive satisfaction. The feeling of the latter kind of pleasure we call taste.’¹ However, the remark that a judgement which is in the least tinged with interest is ‘very partial and not a pure judgement of taste’ helps to bring out the significance of the characteristic.

But the best way to understand what is meant by an interested judgement is to go to a picture gallery in company with an average woman or business man and to note the reasons given for the preference of particular works.² Whenever a work of art is approved on grounds that depend upon the way in which the subject-matter of the work appeals to the critic because of his character, the approval is obviously partial. Similarly, not to be able to see beauty in a work of art because the subject seems in itself mean or low betrays an lviiiinterested judgement. The artist makes ‘all things beautiful in their time’.

The second moment further defines the beautiful as that which, apart from a concept, is represented as the Object of a universal delight. Kant shows that this moment may be deduced from the preceding. For since abstraction has been made from all private conditions the ground of the delight must be sought in what is universal. If the judgement is thought as disinterested it must also be thought as universally valid.

But it is easy to see that a disinterested judgement as a positive act, presupposes the adoption of a universal standpoint. It is only by putting ourselves in thought in the position of every one else, and by substituting an impersonal judgement for one that is merely personal, that our delight can be disinterested.

Again, as our claim to universal validity is based on the belief that our delight, being disinterested, must rest on what may be presupposed in every one else, it is clear that this moment presupposes the third and fourth, which determine this ground more precisely. Thus, in characterizing the universality as that of a universal voice, Kant expressly states that he is reserving the question as to what it is upon which this voice relies.

The claim to universal validity is what alone explains why beauty is referred to as if it were a property of the Object, and as if the judgement by which it is asserted were logical. Were it not for this claim everything that pleased apart from a concept would simply be called agreeable. The great crux for a purely empirical theory is the fact that it would be a contradiction in terms to say of a beautiful object, ‘It is beautiful to me.’ If I only mean to say that it pleases me, there is no sense in my calling it beautiful.

Hence our actual aesthetic judgements, whether they do in fact meet with universal agreement or not, must rest upon the idea of the ‘possibility of an aesthetic judgement capable of being at the same time deemed valid for everyone’. How far we are justified in forming such an idea is a matter considered in the subsequent moments, but for the present it is clear that if we are to estimate objects in respect of a pure disinterested delight we can only do so by speaking with a universal voice, and by thus laying down our judgement as an lixinstance of some rule, which, however, is not to be determined by concepts.

The way in which the second moment presupposes the third is indicated by Kant himself. If we are to speak with a universal voice the determining ground of our judgement must be something which is universally communicable. But ‘nothing is capable of being universally communicated but cognition and representation so far as appurtenant to cognition. For it is only as thus appurtenant that the representation is objective, and it is this alone that gives it a universal point of reference with which the power of representation of every one is obliged to harmonize’.¹ Now if this point is clearly comprehended we may at once, and apart from any psychological observations whatever, deduce the next step of the argument. For we have seen that there must be a reference to cognition, and, at the same time, the determining ground of the judgement, having to be aesthetic, must be ‘merely subjective, that is to say, is to be conceived independently of any concept of the object’.² Hence there is nothing left for this determining ground to be but ‘the mental state that presents itself in the mutual relation of the powers of representation so far as they refer a given representation to cognition in general’.²

‘Now a representation, whereby an object is given, involves, in order that it may become a source of cognition at all, imagination for bringing together the manifold of intuition, and understanding for the unity of the concept uniting the representations’.² Hence—still remembering that the judgement is to be aesthetic, and that, therefore, no definite concept is to be presupposed—the determining ground may be more clearly expressed as ‘the mental state present in the free play of imagination and understanding (so far as these are in mutual accord, which is a requisite for cognition in general)’.²

This position is obviously reached by purely abstract considerations, and not from any assured fact that we are conscious of the mutual accord of imagination and understanding engaged in free play, and that it is this that we attend to in our judgements of taste. Kant’s argument is that if the delight in the beautiful is to be disinterested we must speak with a universal voice, and if we are to speak with a universal voice the determining ground must, somehow or other, be that above described.

lx But how are we to become conscious in a judgement of taste, of a reciprocal subjective common accord of the powers of cognition? As the judgement of taste is to be aesthetic this can only be indirectly through sensation. ‘The quickening of both faculties (imagination and understanding) to an indefinite, but yet, thanks to the given representation, harmonious activity, such as belongs to cognition generally, is the sensation whose universal communicability is postulated by the judgement of taste.’¹

Here, however, we must be careful to guard against an ambiguity in the expressions ‘a sensation of’ or ‘a feeling of’. These sensations and feelings are commonly, and quite properly, specified and denominated by reference to representations which they accompany, or by reference to what is regarded as producing them. In this way we may speak of a sensation of the harmony of imagination and understanding, when all we mean is an effect, in the way of sensation, regarded as produced by such harmony. So, too, we may even speak of a feeling of our ‘supersensible sphere’ when we mean the feeling that accompanies the conviction that we have a supersensible sphere. But by persons who do not think clearly these same expressions are used in such a way as to elevate mere indefiniteness of thought to the rank of a special faculty. Thus we hear of ‘a sense of perfection’, a ‘felt unity,’ a ‘feeling of harmony’ and an ‘instinctive sense’ of this or that, where something which could only be thought is, instead of being recognized as only thought in an obscure or confused way, supposed to be immediately revealed by sense or feeling as a faculty of some sort of superior intuition. But, as Kant points out on more than one occasion, the distinction between clear and confused is merely logical, and an objective judgement does not become subjective by its determining ground being confused or obscure. So when Kant says ‘a sensation of’ or ‘a feeling of’ we must remember that he never intends to throw upon sensation or feeling the burden of immediately revealing an objective relation.

But while ‘an objective relation can, of course, only be thought, yet in so far as, in respect of its conditions, it is subjective, it may be felt in its effect upon the mind, and, in the case of a relation (like that of the powers of representation to a faculty of cognition generally) which does not rest on any lxiconcept, no other consciousness of it is possible beyond that through sensation of its effect upon the mind—an effect consisting in the more facile play of both mental powers (imagination and understanding) as quickened by their mutual accord’.¹ Thus the relation of the powers of representation to a faculty of cognition generally is one which cannot be revealed to us through cognition at all, but only indirectly through feeling, namely, by means of a sensation of its effect upon the mind. But this sensation does not itself immediately testify to its origin—and it is for this reason that we must be so careful that in our judgement of taste we are attending only to the form of the Object; for it is only a consciousness that we have abstracted from everything else that enables us to determine the significance and import of the sensation. If the sensation involved an immediate consciousness of the harmony of imagination and understanding then the judgement about the beautiful would depend upon an immediate intuition, and the complicated questions considered by Kant would not arise at all.

If, however, for the expression ‘the sensation of the effect upon the mind’ of the harmony of imagination and understanding we substitute the expression ‘consciousness of the harmony of imagination and understanding’, understood in the most pregnant sense of which the words are capable, it is easy for us to find in the Critique of Aesthetic Judgement an abandonment by Kant of his most fundamental positions.

Thus Professor Caird argues: ‘Now knowledge results from an activity of the understanding, which in the manifold brought together by imagination, recognizes the unity of a definite conception. To say, therefore, that we have a consciousness of the harmony of these activities, is to say that, prior to the judgement in which particular and universal,—image of perception, and general conception,—are distinguished and referred to each other, we have a consciousness which cannot be said to be distinctly either perception or conception, yet which contains both implicitly in one; a consciousness of the particular as yet undivided from the consciousness of the universal. The judgement of taste thus issues out of an immediate consciousness of the object, which is not mere perception, but has the universality of the conception involved in it. Now, we know how Kant repudiated the idea of a “perceptive understanding”, in which the difference of conception and perception either lxiidoes not exist, or is entirely transcendental and reconciled’,¹ &c, &c.

We may now consider a problem the solution of which Kant says is the key to the Critique of Taste. In a judgement of taste is it the feeling of pleasure or the estimating of the object that is prior?

Certainly the reader might have been excused for inferring from some of the earlier passages in the Critique that the pleasure in the object was the ground of the estimate of the object as beautiful, and that all that the judgement has to do is to declare this pleasure to be universally valid. Thus in Section VII of the Introduction Kant says: ‘When the form of an object (as opposed to the matter of its representation, as sensation) is, in the mere act of reflecting upon it, without regard to any concept to be obtained from it, estimated as the ground of a pleasure in the representation of such an Object, then this pleasure is also judged to be combined necessarily with the representation of it, and so not merely for the Subject apprehending this form, but for all in general who pass judgement. The object is then called beautiful; and the faculty of judging by means of such a pleasure (and so also with universal validity) is called taste.’² Here the expression ‘the faculty of judging by means of such a pleasure’ is somewhat ambiguous, and might, at first, lead one to suppose that the pleasure was the ground of the judgement, instead of being, as it really is, the adjudication of taste itself—which adjudication is merely expressed in the judgement that the object is beautiful.

But we must remember that the problem of the Critique of Taste was to find an a priori principle that gives the rule to the feeling of pleasure. The object must please because it is beautiful, instead of being judged beautiful because it pleases. If the pleasure were to be the antecedent, then the judgement of taste would have nothing to do but to affirm its universal communicability. But such an affirmation would be self-contradictory; ‘for a pleasure of that kind would be nothing but the feeling of mere agreeableness to the senses, and so, from its very nature, would possess no more than private validity, seeing that it would be immediately dependent on the representation through which the object is given.’³

A passage in the original draft of the Introduction contains lxiiiin some ways, the clearest statement of Kant’s meaning. ‘If, that is to say, the reflection upon a given representation precedes the feeling of the pleasure (as the determining ground of the judgement), then the subjective finality is thought prior to being felt in its effect, and the aesthetic judgement belongs to that extent—that is, in respect of its principles—to our higher faculty of cognition, and, in fact, to our power of judgement, under the subjective, and yet, at the same time, universal conditions of which the representation of the object is subsumed.’¹

Thus, where an object is considered beautiful, we have, first, on the one hand, the given object, and, on the other, the reflective judgement—the four moments of which are the subject of Kant’s analysis—directed to that object. Then we have, negatively, an abstraction from everything but the form of the Object, and, positively, the contemplation of this form. This contemplation strengthens and reproduces itself, and we have a sensation of a certain mental state, which sensation is at once referred, as effect, to the harmony of imagination and understanding, and, being at once so referred, becomes at once a feeling of pleasure—a sense of the bearing of the sensation upon the whole state of the mind.

In the above account it should, of course, be understood that the ‘sensation of the effect upon the mind’ does not first exist in an indeterminate manner and then become subsequently determined as a feeling of pleasure. Just because the finality is thought before it is felt in its effect, the sensation is at once a feeling of pleasure. The priority is only logical.

An object is, therefore, judged beautiful or not, according as the reflexion upon it results in a feeling of pleasure or displeasure. Yet it is not this pleasure, but ‘the universal capacity for being communicated incident to the mental state in the given representation which, as the subjective condition of the judgement of taste, must be fundamental, with the pleasure in the object as its consequent’.² In other words the source of the pleasure is the interpretation which we put on the sensation.

What was substantiated in the course of the above discussion leaves little to be said to complete the statement of the third moment. For pleasure is ‘the consciousness of the causality of a representation in respect of the state of the Subject as one tending to preserve a continuance of that state,’³ while displeasure lxivis ‘that representation which contains the ground for converting the state of the representations into their opposite (for hindering or removing them).’¹ Now pleasure, as above defined, had to be an aesthetic representation of the relation of the form of the object to the harmony of imagination and understanding as a general prerequisite of cognition. Hence beauty, as that in which pleasure so defined, and restricted to such a reference (in order that it may be universally communicable), is felt, can only be ‘the subjective finality in the representation of the object’. For the idea of such finality is no more than the idea of the ground of pleasure, as above defined, in a case where the causality has to refer to the relative bearing of the powers of representation.

If in contemplating a beautiful object we have no immediate consciousness of the harmony of imagination and understanding, a reference to this harmony, by way of an interpretation, may seem to be introduced into our estimate of the object by a process of reasoning far too subtle and refined for the reflective judgement. The reference to imagination may, doubtless, seem quite natural, but it may be thought to be exacting too much to ask the reflective judgement to work out a reference to a harmony of imagination and understanding in the way Kant has done.

The answer to this criticism will explain why the harmony of imagination and understanding seems so immediately felt, and why the assumption of our immediate consciousness of it is so readily attributed to Kant. We have seen that before finality is felt in its effect, it is thought. Now ‘we only apply the term “final” to the object on account of its representation being immediately coupled with the feeling of pleasure: and this representation itself is an aesthetic representation of the finality’.² But, before the feeling of pleasure is connected with the representation of the object, necessity is thought. The difficulty about the reference to understanding arose from the fact that the fourth moment, which was presupposed as far back as the second, had not yet been considered.

Here an instructive passage from the Anthropology may be quoted: ‘The universal validity of this pleasure, which is that by which choice with taste (choice of the beautiful) is differentiated from choice by means of mere organic sensation (choice of what is merely subjectively pleasing), i. e. choice of what is lxvagreeable—involves the concept of a law. For only on this concept of a law can the validity of the delight for those who estimate the object be universal. But the faculty of representing the universal is understanding’.¹

Hence, if a claim to universality and necessity lies at the very root of the idea of a judgement upon the beautiful, the reference to understanding is not far to seek. It is this implied reference, and this alone, that makes us refer what we feel to the object as if it belonged to it as a logical predicate, and makes us call the object beautiful instead of being content to speak for ourselves individually.

Let us be clear on this point. Before we feel any pleasure in the beautiful, we determine to adopt a disinterested attitude, we intend to speak with a universal voice and to claim necessity for our judgement, and we think a possible conformity of the object to our faculties of cognition. Such is the reflective judgement which we direct to the contemplation of the form of the object, and with the trend of consciousness, as this contemplation strengthens and reproduces itself, we get the feeling of pleasure. This pleasure, being immediately felt on reflection upon the mere form of the object, seems inevitable, and so answers to our forethought necessity. And as we immediately connect the pleasure with the object, we also transfer the inevitability to the form of the object. Hence we seem to feel a certain inevitability about the form of what is beautiful. It seems to come to us charged with the meaning for us of which we are immediately conscious—and, if we are philosophers, we may even begin to think we have a perceptive understanding.

Hence we see that there is no difficulty as to the reference to understanding. For in directing the judgement of taste to the given object we are already prepared to regard its particular form as one to be chosen out of an infinity of possible forms according to some rule. But the only rule that can be present—the only rule in respect of which the harmony of imagination and understanding can be judged—is one which cannot be formulated, and which, of course, cannot be immediately felt as a rule. It is a rule which can only be exemplified. Hence exemplary validity is what we claim for our judgement of taste. But how are we justified in claiming exemplary validity?

The claim to necessity put forward on behalf of the judgement lxviof taste is only put forward subject to a condition. To entitle us to make the claim we have to assume a common sense as a subjective principle that determines, by means of feeling only, and not by concepts, and yet with universal validity, what pleases or displeases. This is not to be taken as an external sense of any kind but, as we have already seen, only as ‘the effect arising from the free play of our cognitive faculties’. Unless we refer the pleasure or displeasure to such a sense there is no foundation whatever for our claim. The judgement of taste can only be laid down, therefore, under presupposition of a common sense. But, when once we do make this presupposition, we are then entitled to regard the pleasure which we immediately experience in contemplating the form of an object (which in itself is only a pleasure recognized as experienced under such circumstances) as a consciousness of the harmonious working of imagination and understanding, and as depending upon a relation which is necessarily valid for all men. All that this judgement of taste has to go upon is the abstraction from everything but the form of the object, and the sensation of the stimulation of the mind—that this representation of the object strengthens and maintains itself. All else consists of presupposition and of interpretation which we read into the facts.

Under the presupposition of this common sense the necessity of the universal assent thought in a judgement of taste is, although subjective, represented as objective. In itself ‘common sense is a mere ideal norm’. But ‘with this as presupposition, a judgement that accords with it, as well as the delight in an Object expressed in that judgement, is rightly converted into a rule for every one’.¹ But this rule does not mean ‘that every one will fall in with my judgement, but rather that every one ought to agree with it’.¹ It must further be remembered that, being justified in assuming this principle, no number of mistakes as to the correct subsumption under it in particular cases can do away with the general right of laying down judgements as examples of its correct application.

‘But does such a common sense in fact exist as a constitutive principle of the possibility of experience, or is it formed for us as a regulative principle by a still higher principle of reason, that for higher ends first seeks to beget in us a common sense? Is taste, in other words, a natural and original faculty, or is it only the idea of one that is artificial and to be acquired by us, lxviiso that a judgement of taste, with its demand for universal assent, is but a requirement of reason for generating such a consensus, and does the “ought”, i. e. the objective necessity of the coincidence of the feeling of all with the particular feeling of each, only betoken the possibility of arriving at some sort of unanimity in these matters, and the judgement of taste only adduce an example of the application of this principle? These are questions which as yet we are neither willing nor in a position to investigate. For the present we have only to resolve the faculty of taste into its elements, and to unite these ultimately in the idea of a common sense.’¹

It is at this point that the real difficulties of the Critique of the Aesthetic Judgement may be said to begin. These difficulties, however, do not arise from the fact that Kant nowhere directly answers the most important question above raised, but rather from the fact that so many different points of view have been opened to us that we may well feel at a loss to know where to throw the chief emphasis.

This difficulty is at once brought home to us by the first sentence of the ‘General Remark’ that immediately follows the passage above quoted.

It says: ‘The result to be extracted from the foregoing analysis is in effect this: that everything runs up into the concept of taste as a critical faculty by which an object is estimated in reference to the free conformity to law of the imagination.’ Had we been left to ourselves, should we not have been more inclined to say, ‘Everything runs up into the concept of taste as a sensus communis’? If not, then, later on, §§39 and 40 would strongly tempt us to take that view. From these sections we learn that taste is a kind of common sense, namely, the sensus communis aestheticus and one which more properly deserves the name of a common sense than does sound understanding, as the sensus communis logicus. This common sense is, further, a social faculty, a public sense. Then, on finding taste defined (and in a position which makes the definition most emphatic) as ‘the faculty of forming an a priori estimate of the communicability of the feelings that, without the mediation of a concept, are connected with a given representation’,² we should naturally suppose that we had come upon the definition that superseded all others. We might easily think we had discovered the single point of view from which the lxviiiwhole Critique was to be interpreted. From this point of view we could quite understand the relevancy of the lengthy discussion of art—for art and science as we know from the Critique of the Teleological Judgement and from the Anthropology, are the great humanizing influences. Further, the statement in the solution of the Antinomy of Taste, to the effect that the determining ground of the judgement of taste ‘lies, perhaps, in the concept of what may be regarded as the supersensible substrate of humanity’,¹ would be quite in accordance with our expectations. Lastly, we should probably feel finally assured that our interpretation had followed the true lines when, in the concluding section, we read that ‘humanity signifies, on the one hand, the universal feeling of sympathy, and, on the other, the faculty of being able to communicate universally one’s inmost self—properties constituting in conjunction the befitting social spirit of mankind, in contradistinction to the narrow life of the lower animals’.²

None of the above passages, however, is stronger or more suggestive than the following: ‘The empirical interest in the beautiful exists only in society. And if we admit that the impulse to society is natural to mankind, and that the suitability for and the propensity towards it, i. e. sociability, is a property essential to the requirements of man as a creature intended for society, and one, therefore, that belongs to humanity, it is inevitable that we should also look upon taste in the light of a faculty for estimating whatever enables us to communicate even our feeling to every one else, and hence as a means of promoting that upon which the natural inclination of every one is set.’³

But then, the above passage is followed by this remark: ‘This interest indirectly attached to the beautiful by the inclination towards society, and, consequently, empirical, is, however, of no importance for us here. For that to which we have alone to look is what can have a bearing a priori, even though indirect, upon the judgement of taste.’⁴

Hence we see that the definition which one might be tempted to regard as one that superseded all the others, was, though extremely important, framed mainly with a view to bringing out the point of attachment for the empirical interest in the beautiful. In one sense—as an actual faculty developed by lxixculture and as the means of judging beauty, taste is the product of social evolution, and, in this sense, it is the above definition which we must keep in mind. The aesthetic estimate of the beautiful presupposes a common sense, and it is as a sensus communis aestheticus that taste is the means of judging of the beautiful.

If, on the other hand, we ask what is the meaning and significance of beauty, and how it can become an object of intellectual interest, then it is to the four moments of the judgement of taste that we must look. Thus it is in respect of these moments that beauty is ‘the symbol of morality’,—These different moments, again, are of different importance from further different points of view.

Thus it is the second and fourth moments that mark the transcendental significance of the judgement of taste, and call for a critical examination of that faculty.

The first moment indicates most clearly the influence of the practical faculty. It shows what the judgement of taste is to be, and defines its essential meaning for the self. If we consider, solely on its own account, the attitude of mind adopted by the aesthetic reflective judgement, then this moment is of paramount importance, and the other moments appear as the means by which this attitude gives effect to itself. Hence, as Kant says, it is to this moment that the judgement of taste ‘pays regard in the first instance’. So in the concluding sections of the Critique, when the ultimate significance of beauty for man is considered, it is chiefly this moment that is in view.

But if we look to what beauty is as something referred to the object, as if it were a predicate belonging to it, then the third moment is the most important. It is this moment that defines what it is that is stated, though only as a subjective relation, about the given object. Since all judgements of taste refer to a given object, and as what seems to have objective import is of supreme value to the popular mind, it is by this moment, generally misinterpreted, that most readers are chiefly attracted. Thus every one who knows anything about Kant is able to tell us that he said that beauty was ‘purposiveness without purpose’—supposing, all the while, that he meant a vague (beautifully vague) sense of perfection—which is precisely what he did not mean. Purposiveness without purpose, or, rather, finality apart from an end, is only a pleasure projected into a given lxxobject and depending upon a peculiar mode of interpreting the sensation of its effect upon the mind. For these reasons the examination of this moment is also of the utmost importance for the critique of taste as a part of general critical philosophy.

If, now, we could understand how the empirical and intellectual sides of the problem are related we should then be able to see all the different points of view in their systematic connexion. How far this is possible will be considered in the later essays.

In the early essay entitled Observations on the Feeling of the Beautiful and Sublime, Kant clearly regarded beauty and sublimity as standing on a level of perfect equality, and, as it were, in polar opposition. All the familiar objects of our aesthetic faculty were distinguished according as they partake of the one character or of the other. Thus, the night is sublime, the day beautiful. The sublime moves us, the beautiful charms. The sublime and the beautiful are as masculine and feminine.

The above account is easy to follow; but the same cannot be said of that furnished in the Critique of Judgement. No doubt in the last paragraph of Section VII of the Introduction, Kant gives a succinct statement of the ground of the division of the Critique of Aesthetic Judgement into two parts corresponding to the beautiful and sublime. But the statement, unfortunately, is full of difficulty.

The one clear and unambiguous point which it contains, is that the distinction corresponds to the distinction between a finality on the part of objects in relation to the reflective judgement in the Subject, and a finality on the part of the Subject in respect of objects, and also to the distinction between the concepts of nature and of freedom. But even the significance of this one clear point is obscured by the fact that the above distinctions seem to underlie the actual treatment, not alone of the beautiful and the sublime proper, but of the beautiful and the whole of the second book of the Analytic—which latter includes the sublime proper, the Deduction of judgements of taste, the sections on art, and the Remark devoted to the laughable. It was suggested above that Kant’s reason for insisting so emphatically upon the removal of the heading ‘Third Book’, at the beginning of § 30, may have been lxxiidue to a desire to minimize the importance of the Deduction, which had become mere repetition. If this explanation is not accepted, then it seems obligatory to find some strong bond of connexion between the judgement upon the sublime and the rest of the contents of the book entitled ‘Analytic of the Sublime’; and, in any case, since Kant might have substituted such a heading as ‘Appendix to the Analytic of Aesthetic Judgement’, it seems advisable to do so. On the other hand, it is difficult to weigh the exact force of the last sentence of the Remark preceding §30, which describes what follows as constituting the remainder of the Analytic of Aesthetic Judgement This certainly separates what follows from the Analytic of the judgement upon the sublime, or the sublime proper. But then, it is only suggested that there is a connexion between the sublime and the rest of the contents of the book in which it is contained, and not that the treatment of art, for instance, belongs to the Analytic of the sublime proper.

The next point of difficulty in the above-mentioned passage lies in the fact that the distinctions upon which the division into the beautiful and sublime is based are stated to be implied in ‘susceptibility to pleasure arising from reflection on the forms of things (whether of nature or of art)’. As the sublime is not a pleasure arising from reflection on the forms of things, and, further, is not, according to Kant, to be sought in works of art, this can only mean susceptibility to beauty. But if this susceptibility suggests the distinctions upon which the division into the beautiful and sublime is based, this can only be because the pure judgement of taste and the feeling of the sublime depend upon two factors, both of which are presupposed by susceptibility to beauty.

Again, Kant speaks of the ‘finality on the part of the Subject, corresponding to the concept of freedom, in respect of the form, or even formlessness of objects’. The words ‘in respect of the form’ ought, strictly, to refer only to objects that are beautiful. If it does, then Kant must have regarded the sublime as an extension of the finality of the Subject to meet even the case where the object is formless. No doubt Kant does use such expressions as ‘even where it is regarded as formless’ and ‘since it may be formless’, when speaking of objects that occasion a feeling of the sublime. But that hardly goes so far as to speak of a finality on the part of the Subject, in the case of the sublime, in respect of the form of objects.

lxxiii Lastly, Kant tells us that ‘the result is that the aesthetic judgement is referred, not merely as a judgement of taste to the beautiful, but also, as springing from a higher intellectual feeling (Geistesgefühl) to the sublime’. Of course the feeling of the sublime is a Geistesgefühl, but does Kant refer to Geist in a pregnant or in a colourless sense? He might have said ‘a feeling of respect’ or ‘a feeling of the supersensible sphere of the mind’.

The passage which has been under consideration is obviously more important, on the question of the systematic relation of the beautiful and sublime, than any which occur in the treatment of the specific judgement upon the sublime, where the points of resemblance and difference between the beautiful and sublime proper are enumerated. But it is so full of ambiguities that it leaves us in doubt as to whether the distinction between the finality of Objects and the finality of the Subject, and between concepts of nature and of freedom, is intended merely to explain the distinction between the judgement of taste and the feeling of the sublime, or between the former and the whole contents of the second book of the Analytic. The first is, doubtless, the more obvious interpretation, and that which suggests itself on a first reading. But the result of its adoption is to leave the account of art, of beauty as the expression of aesthetic ideas, and of the laughable, out of all systematic connexion with what would then have to be regarded as the only essential portions of the Analytic, viz. the Analytic of the beautiful and the Analytic of the judgement upon the sublime. The second interpretation may seem farfetched, but it has the advantage of introducing clearness into Kant’s account as a whole. It leads to the inference that he arrived at his distinction between the pure judgements upon the beautiful and sublime by his usual process of abstraction and refinement of analysis. First contemplating the concrete unity of the beautiful work of art, in which all factors or elements are presupposed, he seems to arrive at the distinction between judging and producing. The artist must select out of the many forms projected by his imagination that one which accords with taste; for the work has to be judged beautiful. Relatively to the judgement of taste the object estimated is always a given form. How it is produced, or what is the origin of the content of the judgement, is another question. The importance for Kant’s Critique of this distinction between the lxxivgiven beautiful form and the productive activity of imagination is obvious. For it is only so far as a finality on the part of the given form of the objects is implied that a Deduction is necessary. Hence in the Analytic of taste Kant not alone abstracts from all content so far as it is the product of art, but he selects as the typical cases of beautiful forms those that relatively to art are given or immediate. These would include fundamental or elementary art-forms, if such there be, like Hogarth’s line of beauty. Here a finality of the given form for the reflective judgement is supposed, and taste has merely to interpret the object from its own standpoint in order to estimate it as beautiful. Aesthetic ideas are not called into play at all, except in so far as we regard the standpoint of the judgement of taste, according to which the given form is interpreted after the analogy of art, as the a priori form of the aesthetic idea. But, looking now to the other side of the question, that, namely, of production, it is apparent that the simplest case of production is where the object is formless, and where, therefore, no finality is supposed on its part; and where, on the other hand, the finality is developed in a mere act of judgement. Such is the case with the judgement upon the sublime, which does not imply ‘a representation of any particular form in nature, but involves no more than the development of a final employment by the imagination of its own representation’.¹ So we get a judgement upon the sublime which is the exact correlative of the judgement of taste as a mere judgement in respect of the finality of a given form for the reflective judgement. Both the factors or elements thus suggested having been analysed, Kant proceeds to a Deduction of the judgement of taste, and does so as a preliminary to the consideration of those concrete cases of beautiful objects which are complicated by the factor of a finality of the Subject, answering to the concept of freedom, but which are only thus complicated by combination with what requires no Deduction in respect of its function.

Unless some such interpretation of Kant’s position is adopted his account is open to serious objections. Thus, in particular, it might be urged that previous to the Deduction of judgements of taste Kant’s account of the beautiful is most formal and abstract, but, as soon as he has succeeded in justifying the judgement of taste, he proceeds to enrich his previously poverty-stricken conception with an abundant content, and to lxxvmake it as concrete as possible. This would mean that he only succeeded in his deduction, because he undertook it at a point when there was as yet nothing to deduce. It was easy to give a Deduction of judgements of taste, it might be said, when taste was only required to estimate the harmony of imagination and understanding as the general pre-requisite of knowledge, but could Kant have given an equally valid Deduction after beauty had been described as the expression of aesthetic ideas? It is submitted that this objection is unanswerable, unless we adopt the view that the description of beauty as the expression of aesthetic ideas is a fuller and more concrete description of beauty, but one in which the additional reference is only to freedom and the finality of the subject, in respect of which no deduction is required.

But let us, for the present, lay the above question of interpretation to one side, and consider what is perhaps the chief difficulty in Kant’s account of the sublime proper. Perhaps its solution may help us. The judgement upon the sublime lays claim, like that upon the beautiful, to necessity and universal validity. Now it is clear that the necessity does not attach to anything beyond the ground of the feeling aroused by the ideas of reason. No account whatever is taken of the occasion that excites the feeling. Does the same apply to the universality? In the case of the mathematically sublime the occasion is something estimated as an absolute measure, beyond which no greater is possible subjectively (i. e. for the judging Subject). Is the judging Subject here supposed to estimate with universal validity? Is he to speak with a universal voice in respect of the occasion? The difficulty may be put in another way. Kant shows that sublimity only resides in the mind, not merely in the sense that the finality is subjective (which is also true in the case of beauty), but in the sense that it is only the idea of reason that can be called sublime, and that we only call an object of nature sublime by a subreption. Now, does Kant mean that we make no claim whatever, in our judgement, as to that subreption, or as to that which, by the subreption, we call sublime? The full force of the difficulty will be felt on considering the following passage: ‘The pleasure in the sublime in nature, as one of rationalizing contemplation, lays claim also to universal participation, but still it presupposes another feeling, that, namely, of our supersensible sphere, which feeling, however obscure it may be, has a moral foundation. But there is absolutely no lxxviauthority for my presupposing that others will pay attention to this, and take a delight in beholding the uncouth dimensions of nature (one that in truth cannot be ascribed to its aspect, which is terrifying rather than otherwise). Nevertheless, having regard to the fact that attention ought to be paid upon every appropriate occasion to this moral birthright, we may still demand that delight from every one; but we can do so only through the moral law, which, in its turn, rests upon concepts of reason.’¹ Here it is obvious that the word ‘appropriate’ involves a difficulty. Does the faculty of estimating the sublime ‘select’ or ‘choose’ the appropriate occasion? May we differ as much as we like in respect of what is an appropriate occasion? When we claim universal agreement as to our delight in the sublime can we claim it for that delight as experienced hic et nunc? It is to be observed that the phrase ‘universal participation’ differs from any previously used. Does it mean the same as ‘universal communicability’?

To say that no claim is made in respect of the implied judgement ‘This is an appropriate occasion’, would seem to come to this, that, when I give way to my emotion, and claim universal participation for it, my whole claim is satisfied, so far as individual agreement is concerned, if the person to whom I unburden my soul replies: ‘Well, personally, I think it a very poor show; but of course I quite understand what you mean—I have often had the same feeling myself. The idea you refer to is most certainly sublime, but it does not thrust itself on my consciousness just at the present moment.’

Either the particular occasion must drop out of count altogether, or else we must claim universal agreement in respect of it. This claim must be made unless I am prepared merely to say the occasion is an occasion for me. Kant does not suggest any such restriction.

Moreover, if the particular occasion is to drop out of count, what becomes of the reflective judgement? Apart from the particular occasion there is no particular instance subsumed under the rule. Unless universal agreement is claimed as to the occasion it is not claimed for the judgement upon the sublime as an aesthetic reflective judgement.

It is, in other words, only the occasion that distinguishes one judgement upon the sublime from another. Kant says that the judgement upon the sublime is a singular judgement. If the lxxviireference to the occasion drops out, then it is certainly singular, for there is only one such judgement in respect of the mathematically sublime, viz. ‘The infinite is sublime’, and one in respect of the dynamically sublime, viz. ‘Our moral nature is sublime’!

Further, if Kant did not consider that universal agreement was claimed in respect of the appropriate occasion, what is he preparing for in § 25, when he says: ‘But, despite the standard of comparison being merely subjective, the claim of the judgement is none the less one to universal agreement; the judgements: “That man is beautiful” and “He is tall” do not purport to speak only for the judging Subject, but, like theoretical judgements, they demand the assent of every one’? No doubt what is simply asserted, without qualification, to be great is not thereby asserted to be sublime, but is it not akin to it? Does it afford a transition to the true sublime? If not, then why do we always couple with this representation ‘a kind of respect’?

These appear to be the principal difficulties in the way of supposing that no claim is made in respect of the occasion as an appropriate occasion for all men. However, equally serious difficulties present themselves if we suppose that such a claim is made. For if the occasion is to be appropriate, not for me alone, but for all men, then what is only an aesthetic reference must be attributed to the object as if it were a logical predicate. To say that the occasion is appropriate for all men involves the immediate displeasure, out of which the pleasure in the sublime emerges, being connected with the representation of that occasion in just the same way as pleasure is connected with the representation of the object called beautiful. For the object is not so devoid of form that we cannot refer to it as ‘it’. As it was this immediate synthesis of pleasure, with the representation of the object, that necessitated all the elaborate critical investigation undertaken in the case of the beautiful, Kant would have had as much trouble with the displeasure in the case of the occasion of the sublime as he had with the pleasure in the case of the beautiful. He would have avoided no complication by removing sublimity from nature to the ideas of reason.

But Kant believed that he escaped one very considerable difficulty as the result of the position which he took up in the case of the sublime. For, since in the case of the beautiful there is an immediate synthesis of the feeling of pleasure with the representation of the form of the object, which synthesis is proclaimed to be universally valid, it follows that judgements lxxviiiupon the beautiful require a Deduction. But no such Deduction is required for judgements upon the sublime. The reason given is that ‘the sublime in nature is improperly so called, and that sublimity should, in strictness, be attributed merely to the attitude of thought, or, rather, to that which serves-as basis for this in human nature. The apprehension of an object otherwise formless and in conflict with ends supplies the mere occasion for coming to a consciousness of this basis; and the object is in this way put to a subjectively final use, but it is not represented as subjectively final on its man account and because of its form. (It is, as it were, a species finalis accepta, non data.) Consequently the exposition we gave of judgements upon the sublime in nature was at the same time their deduction. For in our analysis of the reflection on the part of judgement in this case we found that in such judgements there is a final relation of the cognitive faculties which has to be laid a priori at the basis of the faculty of ends (the will), and which is therefore itself a priori final. This, then, at once involves the deduction, i. e. the justification of the. claim of such a judgement to universally necessary validity’.¹ Now, if the judgement upon the sublime exhibits the two logical peculiarities exhibited by judgements of taste, and set out in §§32 and 33, then it is bound to require a deduction. Hence, if Kant was consistent, the judgement upon the sublime must be distinguished from that upon the beautiful in respect of at least one of these peculiarities. It most certainly cannot be distinguished in respect of the second. Further, it cannot be distinguished in respect of the first if we go beyond the ideas of reason and make the occasion so far relevant as to require agreement for a judgement declaring that the delight should be felt hic et nunc. Hence it would seem that when Kant says that no deduction is required in the case of judgements upon the sublime, this amounts to an authoritative statement that any question of choosing an appropriate occasion, with universal validity, for experiencing a feeling of the sublime does not belong to the analytic of the sublime.

Further, it is quite evident that ideas of reason and the emotion accompanying the representation of sublimity are incompetent to enable us to estimate the occasion with universal validity. Kant has, no doubt, described with great minuteness the process by which a particular manifestation of nature is made the occasion of a feeling of the sublime. But, to take lxxixthe case of the mathematically sublime, this process cannot be regarded as of universal validity unless the power of comprehension by the imagination is the same for all men. If, when I look at the Pyramids, my imagination gets over-strained at the last tier, then I get a feeling of the sublime. But how can I promise myself that the American at my side may not have a power of comprehension that enables him to go one better? In the case of the dynamically sublime the same is even more apparent. Here judgements may be quite as pure as any judgements upon the sublime can be, and yet to claim universal validity in respect of any judgement as to the appropriateness of the occasion would be too absurd to have been required by Kant. A landsman will think the ocean sublime when a seaman only thinks the water a bit choppy. Then in this age we have all got so accustomed to getting safe out of the way of motor cars and electric trams and the like, that the mere sight of what would overpower our physical resistance rarely gives us a thought. A hurricane which would merely overwhelm us is nothing—it should be able to blow trains over bridges and lift up motor cars like bits of paper.

We have seen that Kant’s view, that judgements upon the sublime require no deduction, forces us to suppose that the claim to universal agreement in the case of such judgements must be confined to the ground of the delight, and cannot be extended to the occasion. We arrive at a similar result by considering the statement in the opening paragraph of § 24, in which Kant says that the Analytic of the sublime will follow the same course as that of the beautiful. ‘For, the judgement being one of the aesthetic reflective judgement, the delight in the sublime, just like that in the beautiful, must in its Quantity be shown to be universally valid, in its Quality independent of interest, in its Relation subjective finality, and the latter, in its Modality, necessary.’ But now, if we look back to the Analytic of the beautiful we find that these moments were not used to define the aesthetic reflective judgement generically, but the judgement upon the beautiful specifically. If, then, the moments which defined the beautiful are also to be the moments of the judgement upon the sublime, how is the sublime to differ in respect of its form from the beautiful? If we examine both cases we shall see that the marked distinction lies in the fact that the necessity in the case of judgements in respect of the beautiful presupposes a sensus communis. But lxxxa similar presupposition will be involved in the case of the judgement upon the sublime, unless the import of the judgement stops short with the ideas of reason. Once the appropriate occasion is supposed to be chosen as appropriate for all men, then a sensus communis is required, and, therefore, taste.

It is quite evident, however, that the task of such a sensus communis would be an incomparably lighter one in the case of judgements upon the sublime than in the case of those on the beautiful. For in the case of the sublime it is only a negative condition that has to be satisfied. In the case of the mathematically sublime we need only compare our judgements with the possible judgements of others so far as to make sure that what we refer to is so great that if anything were added to it it would be something which the imagination of no man could grasp in a whole of intuition. In the case of the dynamically sublime we need only be certain that the might which we are considering is such that no man could resist, or, we may add, harness it to his powers.

In the case of the beautiful the reference to the appropriateness of the occasion is essential: in the case of the sublime what is essential is the reference to ideas of reason—the expansion of the soul. The occasion is supposed to be accepted by all men and the question to be merely one of susceptibility for ideas. But if the question of the appropriateness of the occasion were raised, and if it were persisted in, then it is difficult to see how it could be decided except by a reference to taste. If a person goes into raptures over what Whistler called ‘a very foolish sunset’, does not this betray bad taste—a ‘universal communicability’ to be confirmed and authenticated, not by the few who are right, but by a vulgar and middle class plebiscite? But certainly the judgement is not wrong as a judgement upon the sublime. No want of susceptibility for ideas is shown, and no deficient sense of the sublime.

How, in fact, can a judgement upon the sublime, as such, go wrong? For ‘we readily see that nothing can be given in nature, no matter how great we may judge it to be, which, regarded in some other relation, may not be degraded to the level of the infinitely little, and nothing so small which in comparison with some still smaller standard may not for our imagination be enlarged to the greatness of a world. Telescopes have put within our reach an abundance of lxxximaterial to go upon in making the first observation, and microscopes the same in making the second.’¹ This is why Kant did not follow Burke in regarding the infinitely little as a distinct kind of sublime. Burke’s infinitely little is a microcosm in which the imagination can lose itself just as in the macrocosm. Just because nothing in nature is truly sublime, anything may serve as an appropriate occasion. If a person lays down a judgement upon the sublime on an occasion which we regard as inappropriate, we do not lay down a counter-judgement upon the sublime (for there is no such thing), but we lay down a judgement of taste, and say the person has bad taste, and, in consideration of this conflict, we laugh at his judgement upon the sublime as ridiculous. We do not say that he is wanting in soul, but that he should keep it under better control—under the wholesome restraint of good taste.

Here, then, is the solution of the dilemma which we have been considering. The judgement upon the sublime, as an aesthetic judgement, must accept in each case the colour of the occasion, and it must implicitly postulate universal agreement as to this occasion. But, at the same time, it is entitled to ignore any question of choice, because, in so far as it is a mere judgement upon the sublime, it cannot go wrong. The supersensible, as substrate, underlies the whole of nature as phenomenon. All occasions are in themselves equally appropriate. Even in the case of the dynamically sublime the might of nature

The above interpretation is supported by passages in the Anthropology. ‘Beauty is what alone belongs to aesthetic estimating so far as taste is concerned; the sublime, no doubt, also belongs to aesthetic estimating, but not for taste. But the representation of the sublime may and ought to be in itself beautiful; for otherwise it is uncouth, barbaric, and in bad taste. Even the presentation of the evil or ugly (e.g. the form of death in the personification of it given by Milton) can and must be beautiful.’² So again, ‘The sublime is, no doubt, the lxxxiicounterpoise (Gegengewicht) but not the contrary (Widerspiel) of the beautiful; because the effort and attempt to raise oneself to the apprehension (apprehensio) of the object arouses in the Subject a feeling of his own proper greatness and power; while, on the other hand, the representation of the mental process in a description or presentation can and must always be beautiful. For otherwise the astonishment would be a repulsion, which is very different from admiration as a mode of estimating in which we do not weary of astonishment.’¹

In connexion with the above statements we must further remember that Kant held that the sublime is not to be sought in works of art. ‘If the aesthetic judgement is to be pure (unmixed with any teleological judgement which, as such, belongs to reason), and if we are to give a suitable example of it for the critique of aesthetic judgement, we must not point to the sublime in works of art (e.g. buildings, statues, and the like) where a human end determines the form as well as the magnitude; nor yet in things of nature, which in their very concept import a definite end (e.g. animals of a recognized natural order), but in rude nature merely as involving magnitude.’²

It is significant that the last-quoted passage occurs immediately after Kant had illustrated his analysis of the sublime by the special consideration of two instances of objects of art, viz. the Pyramids and St. Peter’s in Rome. Evidently a convincing concrete example of the sublime is somewhat difficult to find for the Critique of aesthetic judgement. But Kant gets over all difficulties by selecting a work of art that is admirably suited to conceal any difficulty as to appropriateness of the occasion, and by then appending the above warning. Just consider the excellence of the illustration. Although the judgement upon the sublime is required to abstract from all form and shape of the object, the Pyramids have a very definite form and shape, and stand on the desert with nothing but the blue sky above and behind. The object is thus well marked off, and there is no doubt as to what we, and those whom we expect to agree in our judgement, are to look at. Then there is a correct distance from which the object is to be viewed. Everything ready, we begin our survey. Fortunately the object happens to be divided into successive tiers, as if made for the successive apprehension by the imagination. Naturally we begin to take them in tier by tier—otherwise we are not lxxxiiiplaying the game. Then, if our imagination breaks down, say, one tier before we get to the top, we experience a feeling of the sublime. Having thus given the appearance of inevitability to the procedure of the imagination by selecting a work of art, Kant says we are only to seek the sublime ‘in rude nature as merely involving magnitude’. How can we avoid the conclusion that he is here, consciously or unconsciously, seeking to conceal a difficulty that besets the choice of an appropriate occasion? Further, there does not seem to be any way of justifying this concealment except by admitting the difficulty, and by, at the same time, admitting that the judgement upon the sublime is, as such, entitled to ignore it. The latter admission can only be made on the ground that theoretically every occasion is appropriate, for theoretically we may always abstract from everything but magnitude, which, having regard to the infinite divisibility of matter, is always great. It is irrelevant for the Critique of the sublime that, empirically, the occasion which we select may be inappropriate and an offence against good taste.

There is a section in the Analytic of the Beautiful which must always be considered in connexion with the Analytic of the Sublime. It is entitled ‘The Ideal of Beauty’. If we read it carefully we shall see that it forms a connecting link between the Analytic of the Beautiful and that of the Sublime, and that it might just as suitably be incorporated into the Analytic of the Sublime under the heading: ‘The presentation of the sublime in the human form.’ This presentation, as we have learned from the Anthropology, ‘can and must be beautiful.’ In that section it is obvious that Kant had Greek sculpture mainly in view, and that is also precisely what he is contemplating when he speaks of the presentation of the sublime in ‘works of art (e.g. buildings, statues, and the like)’. Thus we see that, just as when we leave the pure judgement upon the sublime, as, empirically, perhaps, we must do, we become involved in questions of taste; so when we leave the pure judgement upon the beautiful we must recognize the presence of the sublime.

Hence, after considering all the passages that seem to bear on the question, we come to the same conclusion as was already suggested by the analysis of the passage in the Introduction, in which Kant gives his reasons for dividing the Analytic into two main parts. The distinction which Kant had in view is an important one for his critical investigation; lxxxivnamely, that between the judgement of taste as critical, and the judgement upon the sublime as depending upon a Geistesgefühl produced by the conscious finality of the Subject, answering to the concept of freedom. In the former case the object of the aesthetic judgement appears as chosen, and the question is as to what it is in the object that makes us choose it, and we find that it is because it presents a form which the imagination can regard as one which, if it were left to itself, it would freely project. In the latter case the aesthetic judgement has aesthetically no object (for the ideas of reason are not, in the abstract, aesthetic objects); it has only an occasion which appears as merely accepted, and the question is as to what faculty of the mind enables us to accept it. This faculty we find to be that of ideas, which imagination only serves negatively, and by the opportunity which it affords of letting us see the inadequacy of every standard of sense. But, just because the judgement upon the sublime can only maintain itself by virtue of the occasion which makes it this particular judgement, while, on the other hand, its whole meaning is to depreciate the occasion, as a mere thing of nature, and beyond all comparison below the dignity of the sublime, it contains an inherent contradiction. This explains the advance in the definitions which Kant gives of the sublime. In order to save the aesthetic character of the judgement it is necessary to allow that although nature is not sublime, and although ‘in a literal sense, and according to their logical intent, ideas cannot be presented still the sublime may be described as ‘an object (of nature) the representation of which determines the mind to regard the elevation of nature beyond our reach as equivalent to a presentation of Ideas’.¹ Thus, after all, the immeasurability and invincibility of nature may be regarded as sublime. But it is easy to see that the substitution of a reference to the Unerreichbarkeit der Natur in the place of one to the Unerreichbarkeit der Idee is only justified by an analogy between the physical superiority of nature and the spiritual superiority of reason. The sublime, which only resides in the mind, is symbolized by the immeasurability and invincibility of nature. But in the sequel we learn that symbolism is the basis of beauty as the expression of aesthetic ideas. Further, Kant advances even beyond the above definition when he says that ‘simplicity (artless finality) is, as it were, the style that nature adopts in the sublime’.² lxxxvFor nature can only adopt a style—even that of artless finality—in so far as it is like art, and so far as nature appears like art it is beautiful. Thus we see a convergence of results due to the fact that the judgements upon the beautiful and sublime, abstractly considered, are the respective points of departure for two lines of critical investigation dealing with the component factors of what Kant calls ‘poetry’. For ‘a product composed with soul and taste may be given the general name of poetry’.¹

The reader will probably find little difficulty in Kant’s account if he studies § 49 and the first Remark at the end of §57. In both these places Kant discusses most minutely the distinction between the rational idea and aesthetic ideas, both of which have their seat in reason. We have, in fact, only to concentrate our attention on the main problem, viz. the attempt to find a rendering for ideas in terms of sense, to see that the sublime and beauty, as the expression of aesthetic ideas, may be reduced to a common denominator. In the sublime there is a failure on the part of Geist to find an adequate sensuous expression for ideas. So all we get is a mere Geistesgefühl—an unsatisfied thirst for expression. Still the very recognition of the failure of imagination in its greatest efforts is regarded as negatively a presentation of ideas. But in beauty imagination is put to a positive use by means of symbolism.² Here the function of the aesthetic idea is, just as before, to make us look out towards the supersensible. It is, further, from this point of view that Kant solves the antinomy of taste.

But the beautiful as dealt with in the Analytic of the Beautiful is only described formally, as the object of the mere critical faculty of taste. From this point of view it is the conformity to law of the imagination in its freedom that is considered. How the freedom of the imagination is procured is not a problem to be solved in the part of the work devoted to the consideration of the finality of the Object for the reflective judgement in the Subject, in accordance with the concept of nature.

Beauty may thus be considered quite formally, as the object of the mere critical reflective judgement, and thus as opposed to the sublime; or it may be considered in the concrete, as lxxxvithe expression of aesthetic ideas, in which case the factor that first made its appearance in the judgement upon the sublime is allowed its full importance. Kant, in fact, does not scruple, in one of the illustrations which he gives of the employment of aesthetic ideas, to speak of these ideas as spreading through the mind a number of sublime feelings.¹

Professor Caird was, therefore, quite correct in elaborating the reference to reason implied in Kant’s account of the beautiful. But he confuses the different standpoints adopted in the two books of the Analytic. The beautiful as the object of the mere critical faculty of taste (the discipline of genius) depends upon the harmony of imagination and understanding. Here what is essential is regarded as given. But, if we then examine the content of that given object, we must recognize the influence of reason.² It is reason that gives imagination that freedom in which it harmonizes with understanding. Kant was certainly justified in separating these different questions, the distinction between which was so important for his Critique.

Before leaving the question of the relation of the sublime to the beautiful, a word must be said on Kant’s view that more culture is requisite to enable us to pass a judgement upon the former than to pass one upon the latter. Looking at the statement apart from its connexion with Kant’s peculiar line of argument, it is absolutely indefensible. The very Pyramids of Egypt, by which Kant illustrates the sublime, testify to its historical inaccuracy. But when we inquire into what Kant exactly means by this statement, we find that it is completely explained by the distinction above emphasized. In the case of the beautiful we are asked to consider taste, quite abstractly, as the mere faculty of estimating the conformity to law of the imagination in its freedom, and to exclude from our consideralxxxviition all questions as to what is implied in our attempting to lay down judgements of taste and in our seeking to detach ourselves from the interest of sense, even where that interest is flattered; and, further, to exclude all questions as to the production of the beautiful, and, therefore, all reference to aesthetic ideas and the important part played by them; and, furthermore, to pay no heed to the ultimate significance of beauty as the symbol of the morally good. These abstractions being made, the mere susceptibility for ideas requisite to enable us to estimate the sublime is regarded as postulating more than mere taste. Hence, although we cannot expect universal agreement in the case either of our judgements upon the beautiful or the sublime unless we credit others with some degree of culture, still in the former case ‘since judgement there refers the imagination merely to the understanding, as the faculty of concepts, we make the requirement as a matter of course, whereas in the case of the latter, since the judgement refers the imagination to reason, as a faculty of ideas, we do so only under a subjective presupposition (which, however, we believe we are warranted in making), namely, that of the moral feeling in man’.¹

In the Analytic of the Sublime we entirely miss the peculiar line of argument that makes the Analytic of the Beautiful so characteristically Kantian, and which the opening paragraph of § 24 would lead us to expect. While wonderfully rich in suggestion and penetrating in psychological analysis, the course of the argument rarely seems inevitable a priori. Its predominantly psychological character has, however, made it attractive to readers who have little sympathy with an argument that attempts to ignore the existence of empirical psychology even in an investigation that has our aesthetic faculty for its object.

In the opening paragraph of § 24, which has all the appearance of a new patch on an old garment, Kant states that the exposition will begin with Quantity as first moment instead of Quality. This ought to mean that the universal validity of the delight would be treated first, and, after that, its disinterestedness. Further, this is what it does mean, so far as this paragraph lxxxviiiis concerned—as appears from the summary of the moments which it contains. However, the Quantity with which the exposition begins is something quite different. What it is appears not alone from § 25 but from § 23. ‘The beautiful in nature is a question of the form of the object, and this consists in limitation, whereas the sublime is to be found in an object even devoid of form, so far as it immediately involves, or else by its presence provokes, a representation of limitlessness, yet with a superadded thought of totality. Hence the delight is in the former case coupled with the representation of Quality, but in this case with that of Quantity.’ It is with Quantity in this sense that Kant begins his exposition.

At the outset Kant insists upon the necessity of a distinction between the mathematically and the dynamically sublime arising from the fact that it ‘involves as its characteristic feature a mental movement’, whereas in taste the mind is in restful contemplation. From § 27 we learn that ‘this movement (especially in its inception) may be compared with a vibration, i. e. with a rapidly alternating repulsion and attraction produced by one and the same Object’. We also learn from § 54 that a similar movement is the characteristic feature of the laughable. However, what Kant had principally in mind in emphasizing the importance of a mental movement was, that in the case of the sublime, there being no finality on the part of the given object, it had to be produced through ideas of reason in the very process of judgement itself. There is, therefore, an essential reference to production in the wide sense of the word.

A movement being involved, and having to be estimated as subjectively final, it is referred through the imagination either to the faculty of cognition or to that of desire. The finality is estimated in respect of these faculties and is thus attributed to the Object either as a mathematical or as a dynamical affection of the imagination. Thus the distinction turns on the way the imagination is affected—a point more clearly brought out in the General Remark: ‘if we enlarge our empirical faculty of representation (mathematical or dynamical) with a view to the intuition of nature’; and, again, ‘an object the aesthetic estimating of which strains the imagination to its utmost, whether in respect of its extension (mathematical) or of its might over the mind (dynamical).’ In other words, the distinction turns on the way in which what occasions the sense of our own sublimity is produced.

lxxxix We have, then, two different judgements in respect of the sublime, each of which is distinct and entire. Hence each judgement should exhibit all the four requisite moments. But §§ 26, 27, 28, and 29 clearly follow the sequence of the categories of Quantity, Quality, Relation, and Modality, and the sections that contemplate the mathematical categories are devoted to the mathematically sublime, and the sections that contemplate the dynamical categories are devoted to the dynamically sublime. Thus it should be noted that § 27 is headed ‘Quality of the delight in our estimate of the sublime’, although the section only deals with the mathematically sublime, and § 2.9 is headed ‘Modality of the judgement on the sublime in nature’, although it is only the modality of the dynamically sublime with which it deals.¹ Further, subjective finality naturally and properly appears as the a priori principle of the judgement upon the sublime in general, and is accordingly referred to both in the treatment of the mathematically sublime and of the dynamically sublime, and § 28, which has evidently the category of Relation in view, does not look to this as exhibited in finality but as exhibited in nature as might. Finality is, therefore, not treated as simply brought out by one of four moments, but, as was probably the case in the original treatment of the beautiful, as the principle of the judgement. Hence it is quite evident that the treatment of the sublime follows a plan radically different from that of the beautiful, and it seems impossible to escape the conclusion that the opening paragraph of § 24 was added after a complete revision of the treatment of the beautiful made it apparent that the judgement upon the sublime, being an aesthetic judgement, was amenable to a similar analysis.

We now come to the particular consideration of Kant’s exposition of the mathematically sublime. Here, instead of attempting to arrive at a definition from a priori considerations, Kant starts with the definition, ‘Sublime is the name given to what is absolutely great.’ As he gives no indication of how he arrives at this definition from which he draws the most important consequences, this seems equivalent to making his major premiss the proposition, ‘the sublime, as the meaning of the xcword implies, is what is absolutely great,’ or ‘Sublime is a name which is admitted on all sides to be confined to what is absolutely great’. Such a starting-point is eminently uncritical.

The greatness of the sublime is a greatness comparable to itself alone, and so can only be found in our ideas. Hence the sublime may be also defined as that in comparison with which all else is small. But, as we have seen, everything in nature may be degraded to the level of the infinitely little, or enlarged to the greatness of a world. How, then, can anything in nature be regarded even as an appropriate occasion for awakening in us a sense of the sublime? Once we have grasped the true meaning of sublimity, why should we be more struck with the Victoria Falls than with the Salmon Leap at Lucan? The ideas of reason are always with us, and, in itself, a sand-heap is sufficient to strain a vivid imagination.

At the outset it is obvious that this question cannot be answered by pointing to anything in nature considered positively. The consciousness of the sublime can only be wakened in us by something that makes us recognize the idea of reason as that to which the given fails to attain. But, admitting this, still, if nothing in nature is absolutely great, how can the not-being of one object do more than the not-being of another?

The answer to this question Kant finds in the empirical limitations of a faculty of imagination which is necessary for the estimation of magnitude. All estimation of magnitude is, in the last resort, aesthetic, i. e. the fundamental measure must be a quantum which the imagination grasps in a single intuition. But ‘to take in a quantum intuitively in the imagination so as to be able to use it as a measure, or unit for estimating magnitude of numbers, involves two operations of this faculty: apprehension (apprehensio) and comprehension (comprehensio aesthetica). Apprehension presents no difficulty, for this process can be carried on ad infinitum; but with the advance of apprehension comprehension becomes more difficult at every step and soon attains its maximum, and this is the aesthetically greatest fundamental measure for the estimation of magnitude. For if the apprehension has reached a point beyond which the representations of sensuous intuition in the case of the parts first apprehended begin to disappear from the imagination as this advances to the apprehension of yet others, as much, then, is lost at one end as is gained at the other, and for comprexcihension we get a maximum which the imagination cannot exceed’.¹

The recognition that this maximum is a limit for the imagination (in respect of its power of comprehension) is the first step towards a consciousness of the sublime. But what leads to the recognition of this maximum as a limit? It must be another faculty which can exceed this limit. ‘If now a magnitude begins to tax the utmost stretch of our faculty of comprehension in an intuition, and still numerical concepts (in respect of which we are conscious of the boundlessness of our faculty) call upon the imagination for aesthetic comprehension in a greater unit, the mind gets a sense of being aesthetically confined within bounds.’² Reason then steps in at the point at which imagination recoils upon itself, ‘in its fruitless efforts to extend this limit,’³ and it brings with it the idea of the absolute totality that even the progressive apprehension of the imagination, which can be carried on ad indefinitum, cannot exhaust. In this way the failure of imagination brings with it a consciousness of the supremacy of reason.

But it is by no means an unwarranted intrusion on the part of reason to step in at the above juncture. For ‘the idea of the comprehension of any phenomenon whatever, that may be given to us, in a whole of intuition, is an idea imposed upon us by a law of reason, which recognizes no definite, universally valid measure except the absolute whole.’⁴ Nothing short of this absolute whole could be termed absolutely great.

‘Now the greatest effort of the imagination in the presentation of the unit for the estimation of magnitude, involves in itself a reference to something absolutely great, consequently a reference also to the law of reason that this alone is to be adopted as the supreme measure of what is great.’⁵ Hence the failure of imagination brings with it a ‘feeling of our incapacity to attain to an idea that is a law for us,’⁴ i. e. respect. The feeling of the sublime in nature is, therefore, a ‘respect for our own vocation.’⁵ It is, accordingly, ‘at once a feeling of displeasure, arising from the inadequacy of imagination in the aesthetic estimation of magnitude to attain to its estimation by reason, and a simultaneously awakened pleasure, arising from this very judgement of the inadequacy of the greatest faculty of sense being in accord with ideas of reason, so far as the effort to xciiattain to these is for us a law.’¹ ‘But the judgement itself all the while steadily preserves its aesthetic character, because it represents, without being grounded on any definite concept of the Object, merely the subjective play of the mental powers (imagination and reason) as harmonious by virtue of their very contrast. For just as in the estimate of the beautiful imagination and understanding by their concert generate subjective finality of the mental faculties, so imagination and reason do so here by their conflict—that is to say they induce a feeling of our possessing pure and self-sufficing reason, or a faculty for the estimation of magnitude, whose pre-eminence can only be made intuitively evident by the inadequacy of that faculty which in the presentation of magnitudes (of objects of sense) is itself unbounded.’²

In the course of the analysis of which the above is a slight sketch Kant makes a suggestive observation in connexion with the respective powers of apprehension and comprehension belonging to the imagination: ‘The comprehension of the successively apprehended parts at one glance is a retrogression that removes the time-condition in the progression of the imagination, and renders co-existence intuitable.’² Kant hardly seems to have made sufficient of this point. Our power of comprehension by the imagination, limited though it be, still enables us partly to realize the coexistence in a single present moment of a world in space, the parts of which it would take endless time to apprehend. The power of comprehension, no doubt, plays a very important part in our estimate of the sublime, but it does not seem necessary to call upon it further than to bring home to us a sense of coexistence. The sense of the sublime does not seem to come to us generally at a point at which the effort towards comprehension breaks down. We seem to start with the recognition, in a vague way, of something occupying the field of vision. Then we begin to gradually apprehend it, and we go on, and it may be that we greatly exceed what we could comprehend, in all its parts, in a single glance of the mind. It is, in fact, impossible to say at what point comprehension ends; and our sense of the sublime does not seem dependent upon any definite perception of the attainment of its maximum. It comes to us with the feeling: ‘That is all there.’ We look out on the broad Atlantic Ocean, and we see wave behind wave, and the mind faints in its flight before it xciiireaches where that same ocean is now, in the present moment in which we draw our breath, washing the shores of America. Or we look, let us say, through a telescope at Saturn ploughing its way through the regions of space, and, if we think of its distance, then the feeling of the sublime seems to come with the realization of the fact that it is there, with us, in the same moment of time. What exists with us at the present moment shares physical reality with us, is actual just as we are actual; and it would seem to be a representation of an immensity coexisting with ourselves, and thus dwarfing our physical being to insignificance, that, with a terrible sense of reality beyond ourselves, makes us fall back upon the ideas of reason that are the absolute measure of all reality. We might, accordingly, say that what occasions the sense of the sublime is that which forces us to think what is wholly beyond us in space as immediately present with us in time.—Here it may be remarked that what we can comprehend in one moment in the imagination never seems to the imagination to be wholly beyond us, but rather to belong to our surroundings. Hence the maximum for comprehension seems rather the minimum for what we call sublime.

Before leaving the consideration of the mathematically sublime it may be well to comment upon a curious criticism of Kant’s account by M. Basch. In the Table of Contents to his work we read: ‘Kant is wrong in requiring absolute greatness for the mathematically sublime: relative greatness is sufficient. The introduction of the idea of the infinite is absolutely useless.’ On turning to the pages in which M. Basch enlarges on this criticism we further find that he represents Kant as holding that the relatively great is sufficient in the case of the dynamically sublime. Both Kant’s accounts, however, agree in this respect. The idea of reason is great beyond all comparison, but it is sufficient if that which occasions the sense of the sublime is so great as to tax the utmost stretch of the powers of comprehension of the imagination. M. Basch is, however, more plausible in regarding the intrusion of the idea of reason—the infinite—as gratuitous. The point at which this idea makes its entry in Kant’s account is indicated in the paragraph beginning, ‘The mind, however, hearkens now to the voice of reason,’¹ &c. But unless this account is accepted as substantially accurate, how are we to explain that the feeling of the sublime is a pleasure, and not merely a displeasure? How xcivcan we find any joy in our own physical existence being dwarfed to nothing, unless we fall back upon reason? Of course Kant’s account of what the voice of reason urges upon us may seem somewhat subtle, but this is the case with every expression in philosophical terms of the most common psychological process. The voice of reason will speak in a different language to the philosopher, the poet, the painter, the musician—they will hear it every man in his own tongue, wherein he was born.—Perhaps Kant’s account may seem less artificial if we take a passage from Wordsworth’s lines on Tintern Abbey, in which we may clearly discern, in a poetic form, the infinite, the appropriate occasion, i. e. the manifestation for the imagination, and the sense of mental elevation:

We may also quote a passage from Shelley’s Prometheus Unbound) in which we may almost hear him accepting Kant’s premisses, but arguing that there is also a sublime in respect of the process of time, and, moreover, not merely of time past, but of the representation of time to come.

As in the case of the mathematically sublime, Kant begins his account of the dynamically sublime with a definition: ‘Might is a power which is superior to great hindrances. It is xcvtermed dominion if it is also superior to the resistance of that which itself possesses might. Nature considered in an aesthetic judgement, as might that has no dominion over us, is dynamically sublime.’

It will be remembered that in the case of the mathematically sublime the estimate of the greatness of nature that occasioned the feeling of the sublime was effected through the effort of the imagination to grasp the given manifold in a whole of intuition. In the case of the dynamically sublime the estimate is effected through the representation of our incapacity to resist the might. of nature, and, therefore, through our representation of it as fearful or awe-inspiring. But this estimate of sublimity can only arise when we feel assured of our own immediate safety, for otherwise the instinct to self-preservation determines us to action and not to contemplation. But when we see ourselves safe the instinct is merely in play, and simply serves as the point of reference for our immediate representation of the object as fearful. But even the mere representation of it as fearful is the representation of it as an object of displeasure which moves us to look towards a higher security, and so the ‘recognition of our physical helplessness as beings of nature’ reveals ‘a faculty of estimating ourselves as independent of nature and discovers a pre-eminence above nature that is the foundation of a self-preservation of quite another kind from that which may be assailed and brought into danger by external nature. This saves humanity in our own person from humiliation, even though, as mortal men, we have to submit to external violence. In this way, in our aesthetic judgement, external nature is not estimated as sublime so far as exciting fear, but rather because it challenges our power (one not of nature) to regard as small those things of which we are wont to be solicitous (worldly goods, health, and life); and hence to regard its might (to which in these matters we are no doubt subject) as exercising over us and our personality no such rude dominion that we should bow down before it, once the question becomes one of our highest principles and of our asserting or forsaking them. Therefore nature is here called sublime, merely because it raises the imagination to a presentation of those cases in which the mind can make itself sensible of the appropriate sublimity of its own estate even above nature’.¹

The first point that naturally strikes one in the above account xcviis that reason is made to step in with far less provocation than in the case of the mathematically sublime. If we regard an object as fearful and, at the same time, feel assured of our immediate safety, then the most that can be said is that we may call in ideas of reason, and we may experience a sense of sublimity; but our doing so is by no means inevitable,¹ and so we cannot promise ourselves an agreement on the part of others that depends upon their doing so. The sense of displeasure at the fearfulness of the object may be followed by no more than a pleasant sense of physical security. Further, it seems possible that even a certain degree of complacency in our feeling towards the object may be attained by merely adopting a scientific point of view. Thus, without any appeal to moral ideas, the gentleman in The Mikado was able to say:

But, passing from these points, and taking a case when we do get a sense of the sublime, it is doubtful whether Kant attributed sufficient importance to our seeing ourselves safe. He seems to have treated this sense of security as if it were only necessary because if we were actually in a state of fear we could not play the part of a judge of the sublime. This is to make it a mere negative condition of a disinterested judgement, which must in the first instance be calm and free. Granted that we recognize the safety of our position as a negative condition, Kant does not seem to think, or certainly does not expressly say, that our aesthetic judgement takes note of anything but the greatness of the might of nature which would overpower us were we thrown in its way. Now, in the first place, it seems doubtful if we ever estimate nature as dynamically sublime unless the might, besides being intensively great, dominates a fairly considerable field within which we can imagine ourselves, not alone overcome, but as beyond the reach of help. A burning fiery furnace heated seven times is not sublime if a couple of jumps would get us clear of the flames. xcviiThe might must be supreme in the whole field which we regard as the surroundings of our imagined position. Then, in the second place, it would seem that we must represent our present position of security as one beyond reach of that might. Then this sense of removal and safety beyond the reach of the world of danger seems to suggest to the mind that higher security which no might of nature can possibly assail. In other words, it wOuld seem that we use our recognition of the security of our position as a symbol of a higher security. Cowper has some lines that bring out this point of view.

In the case of the dynamically sublime we are conscious of being ourselves removed beyond reach of what is regarded as fearful: in the mathematically sublime we are conscious of something beyond our reach which is not regarded as fearful otherwise than simply as being beyond us. In the former case the idea of reason merely falls back and recoils upon itself: in the latter case it is rather what we represented as beyond ourselves that falls into and is absorbed in the idea. Thus in the former case the attitude towards the phenomenal world is purely negative, whereas in the latter case the idea becomes at least the intelligible substrate of the world as phenomenon. Hence in the case of the mathematically sublime it is only by insisting upon confining the word ‘nature’ to nature as phenomenon that we can continue to refuse to call nature (not the particular phenomenon of nature) sublime. For this reason the mathematically sublime seems to stand higher than the dynamically sublime: whereas the latter seems in a sense the more fundamental. The judgement upon the mathematically sublime seems, formally, only to differ from the judgement upon the beautiful in that its subject is not an object of nature but a quite impersonal reference. Thus we xcviiisay that ‘this’ or ‘that’ object is beautiful, but we only say ‘it is’ sublime. The subject is a mere presence. The response to the call for a greater objectification of this presence is the beautiful. Aesthetic ideas ‘seek to approximate to a presentation of rational concepts (i. e. intellectual ideas), thus giving to these concepts the semblance of objective reality.’¹

Lastly, the sublime may be said to be the point of divergence of art and philosophy. Hence it marks the point at which philosophy is always in danger of becoming mere poetry, and poetry in danger of becoming mere philosophy. The essential difference between art and philosophy lies in the method.

We have seen that in the Analytic of the Beautiful Kant only attempted to formulate the conception of a pure judgement of taste. The moments of the judgement were considered merely statically. But why should we concern ourselves about pure taste? What is the source of the value we set upon it? What is the dynamic of its evolution?

This question may also be put in the form: How are we justified in exacting agreement with our judgement of taste as if it were a duty? In attempting an answer we must bear in mind the comprehensive definition of taste which Kant gives in § 40: ‘Taste is the faculty of forming an a priori estimate of the communicability of the feelings that, without the mediation of a concept, are connected with a given representation.¹

‘Supposing, now, that we could assume that the mere universal communicability of our feeling must of itself import an interest for us (which is more than we are entitled to infer from the character of a mere reflective judgement), we should then be in a position to explain how the feeling in the judgement of taste comes to be exacted from every one as a sort of duty.’¹

But does not this bring us face to face with an insuperable difficulty? It belongs to the essential nature of a judgement of taste to be disinterested. Can this disinterestedness, then, be called into existence by means of an interest?

Moreover, even supposing that we can have an interest in disinterestedness, is this appeal to interest necessary? May not the exercise of our faculty of disinterested reflection be undertaken as mere play? For, even though nothing but mere play is involved, yet, if the play is one in which we find an copportunity for expressing our inmost selves, and if this expression is, in fact, the meaning of the play itself, then it must be something to us, and the pleasure which it excites is a higher pleasure. This value which we set upon the pleasure seems sufficient to justify our exacting agreement with our judgement as a sort of duty. Of course, we do not expect others to take up a disinterested standpoint when their vital interests are at stake, any more than we expect a man to appreciate the sublime on an occasion when he himself is in imminent peril, but where no personal issue of importance is involved we do expect a man to be able to lay aside his empirical self—his ‘muddy vesture of decay’—and look at things from a standpoint that shows that he was at least born to be free. We think that a man ought to be able to draw his pleasure from what belongs to his higher rather than his lower nature, and that even in what concerns sense—in that which he has in common with the lower animals—he ought to be able to make his body the keyboard of the soul.

But, if nothing more than play is involved, do we not deceive ourselves when we imagine that one kind of play is more noble and elevated than another because of its reference to moral ideas? Is not the requirement of agreement on the part of others as a sort of duty merely part of the game? Of course, if others consent to play the game they, too, must obey the rules, but are they not quite entitled to stand out without incurring anything but mere playful censure? So far as play is play it is non-moral. From a moral point of view, then, how can the play be better or worse because a quasi-moral character is required to play it? When we fancy ourselves elevated because the play of our imagination is directed to the rendering of moral ideas in terms of sense, are we not like children playing Church on the Sabbath, and thus simply deluding ourselves into the idea that we are very virtuous? Is there any such thing as a quasi-moral value?

We may put this in another way. Kant has made it quite clear that, while taste involves a reference to the cognitive faculties, it contributes nothing to the knowledge of the Object. Must he not now make it equally clear that, while taste also involves a reference to the moral faculty, the possession of it contributes nothing to the moral character of the Subject? Taste pays a graceful compliment to both science and morality, but science and morality must be alike indifferent to its ciattention. If science can expect no more from taste than a bon mot, morality need expect nothing better from taste than what is comme il faut. If taste has a value for man, the foundation of this value must not be sought in man as a scientist or in man as a moral being. What, then, is the broad platform upon which taste moves freely? What is its true point of attachment in man? It would seem difficult to see any thing in man that would satisfy the conditions but his human nature itself. Certainly if ‘humanity signifies, on the one hand, the universal feeling of sympathy, and, on the other, the faculty of being able to communicate universally one’s inmost self—properties constituting in conjunction the befitting social spirit of mankind, in contradistinction to the narrow life of the lower animals’,¹ we should have in humanity something that would be intrinsically capable of being the true home of taste. This would also explain its double reference. For we can only communicate what stands in some connexion with knowledge. Also what is our inmost self—the supersensible substrate or humanity—but the moral idea? Could beauty then be simply the mouthpiece of the supersensible substrate of humanity? Could it be the language of a voice that comes from the soul of man, and which only man as man, whole and entire, can hear? Perhaps these reflections may help us to understand the development of Kant’s argument, perhaps not. At all events we must follow it closely.

Having suggested that the problem might be solved by showing that the universal communicability of our feeling must of itself import an interest for us, Kant disposes of the difficulty of connecting an interest with what is in itself intrinsically disinterested: ‘Abundant proof has been given above to show that the judgement of taste by which something is declared beautiful must have no interest as its determining ground. But it does not follow from this that after it has once been posited as a pure aesthetic judgement, an interest cannot then enter into combination with it. This combination, however, can never be anything but indirect. Taste must, that is to say, first of all be represented in connexion with something else, if the delight attending the mere reflection upon an object is to admit of there being further conjoined with it a pleasure in the real existence of the object (as that wherein all interest consists).’²

‘Now this ‘‘something else” may be something empirical, such as an inclination proper to the nature of human beings, or it may be something intellectual, as a property of the will whereby it admits of rational determination a priori. Both of these involve a delight in the existence of an Object, and so can lay the foundation for an interest in what has already pleased of itself and without regard to any interest whatever.’¹

It would seem, therefore, that the empirical and intellectual interests in question may appropriately be termed supervening, as opposed to determining, interests.

The point of attachment for the empirical interest is at once apparent from the definition of taste above quoted. Its social value is obvious. For ‘if we admit that the impulse to society is natural to mankind, and that the suitability for and the propensity towards it, i. e. sociability, is a property essential to the requirements of man as a creature intended for society, and one, therefore, that belongs to humanity, it is inevitable that we should also look upon taste in the light of a faculty for estimating whatever enables us to communicate even our feeling to every one else, and hence as a means of promoting that upon which the natural inclination of every one is set’.²

This point of view enables Kant to indicate, in a general way, his view as to the probable course of the evolution of art as an empirical phenomenon in society. ‘At first only charms, e. g. colours for painting oneself (roucou among the Caribs and cinnabar among the Iroquois), or flowers, mussel-shells, beautifully coloured feathers, then, in the course of time, also beautiful forms (canoes, clothes, &c.), which convey no gratification (i. e. delight) of enjoyment, become of moment in society and attract a considerable interest. Eventually, when civilization has reached its height, it makes this work of communication almost the main business of refined inclination, and the entire value of sensations is placed in the degree to which they permit of universal communication. At this stage, then, even where the pleasure which each one has in such an object is but insignificant and possesses of itself no conspicuous interest, still the idea of its universal communicability almost indefinitely augments its value.’³

A follower of Darwin and Spencer might be able to supplement the above sketch with a great wealth of additional detail, but he could hardly quarrel with its substantial accuracy. So far as the account goes it is excellent. What more can be required but an industrious accumulation of facts? The poor Caribs and Iroquois must not monopolize attention. The habit noted in their case must be carefully noted in the case of a hundred and one other primitive tribes. Then a close study of the lower animals must be undertaken with a view to tracing back the history of the ‘Expression of the Emotions’ to our remote progenitors. From beauty as the expression of aesthetic ideas we must look back to, and beyond, the grin of our ape-like progenitors. If transcendental philosophy fixes its eye on the idea to which nature can never attain, so, too, the lens of science is focussed on infinity.

Kant’s insistence upon aesthetic representation as play, his further determination of this play as expression, his emphasis of its social value as such expression, his suggestions as to the course of its empirical evolution, and the consequent connexion of the transcendental with the empirical point of view constitute no mean contribution to aesthetics. But he continues: ‘This interest, indirectly attached to the beautiful by virtue of our inclination towards society, and consequently empirical, has however no importance for us here’.¹ How can we account for this sudden collapse of the empirical interest? At the close of § 40 Kant apparently pledged himself to connect some interest with the universal communicability of feeling and to explain the reference to duty in this way. Has he not done all that he proposed to do? Undoubtedly this empirical interest is only indirectly attached to the beautiful. But Kant has already stated that the combination with an interest can never be anything but indirect. Certainly the peremptory rejection of this interest, after what Kant has said about it, is very dramatic.

Kant does not give a very full explanation of the cause of the failure of the empirical interest. To do so would be inartistic; it would spoil the development of the plot. The only reason he gives for the rejection of its claims is that ‘that to which we have alone to look is what can have a bearing, even though indirect, upon the judgement of taste a priori’. civThis would seem to suggest that the empirical interest has made out an excellent case, but has been non-suited on a technical point—its inherent incapacity to succeed as a mere empirical interest. It is perhaps a hysteron proteron to assign a value to taste as concerned with universal communicability of feeling by appealing to a mere inclination to society. Can we not look behind that mere inclination? What is its source? Perhaps all that was wrong with the proposed connexion was that it was not made deep enough. Certainly Kant had nothing but what was good to say of the empirical interest till he came to his objection that it is empirical. But this is apparent on its very face; and so, unless the empirical interest calls attention to something of importance, the objection might have been taken at once and the whole discussion dispensed with.—Here we may recall Kant’s remarks on the psychological observations of Burke and other acute men, which, he says, may always afford material for a higher investigation. Perhaps the manner in which taste attracts the empirical interest discovers a popular and natural estimate of taste of which Kant avails himself as an introduction to his own critical account.

The empirical interest being dismissed from the stage, its place is taken by an intellectual interest, i. e. an interest springing from a property of the will whereby it is capable of being determined a priori by reason. This intellectual interest only attaches to the beauty of nature and always indicates the germ of a good moral disposition. But no such indication of mental elevation is afforded by an interest in works of art, for it is always possible for this interest to be due merely to motives of vanity and other empirical inclinations.

Kant’s position that no intellectual interest attaches to the beauty of art is not one that readily commends itself to us. We are naturally tempted at first to attribute it partly to the influence of Rousseau, and partly to Kant’s inadequate appreciation of art, and to regard it as inconsistent with the rest of his account. We recall with pleasure the expression of a different view in the words of the good Sir Philip Sidney in his excellent Apologie for Poetry: ‘Neyther let it be deemed too saucie a comparison to balance the highest point of mans wit with the efficacie of Nature; but rather give right honour to the heavenly Maker of that maker: who having made man in his own likeness, set him beyond and over all the works of that cvsecond nature, which in nothing he sheweth so much as in Poetrie; when with the force of a divine breath, he bringeth things forth far surpassing her doings.’ Similar remarks, in a more modern form, are made by Professor Caird: ‘Such an interest [Kant holds] cannot accompany the beautiful in art; for the work of art is not a found but an arbitrarily produced harmony of the object with the spirit of man. To this it may fairly be answered that if, as Kant himself contends, it is reason, working as nature in man, that produces the objects of fine art, it should interest reason at least as much to find a sensuous expression of itself in the natural world as remoulded by the spirit, as to find it in mere nature. In Kant’s view we may see an evidence of his tendency to hold apart the spheres of nature and freedom, even while he seeks to find a harmony between them. For, if the principle of nature is that which more fully manifests itself in human life, the art which ‘mends nature’ will be recognized as itself a higher nature.’¹

In the above criticism we see an evidence of Professor Caird’s tendency to represent two philosophers as absolutely irreconcilable, even while he seeks to find a harmony between them. His suggestion that according to Kant we can find beauty in mere nature is somewhat startling. ‘Self-subsisting natural beauty’, says Kant, ‘reveals to us a technic of nature, which shows it in the light of a system ordered in accordance with laws the principle of which is not to be found within the range of our entire faculty of understanding. This principle is that of a finality relative to the employment of judgement in respect of phenomena, which have thus to be assigned, not merely to nature regarded as purposeless mechanism, but also to nature regarded after the analogy of art. Hence it gives a veritable extension, not, of course, to our knowledge of the Objects of nature, but to our conception of nature itself—nature as mere mechanism being enlarged to the conception of nature as art—an extension inviting profound inquiries as to the possibility of such a form.’² The intellectual interest in the beauty of nature, therefore, does not attach to the existence of an object as an object of mere nature, but to it as an object of nature regarded after the analogy of art, so that it becomes, as we see later, the mouthpiece of spirit and ‘speaks cvito us figuratively in its beautiful forms’. If Professor Caird had not been in such a hurry to get to Hegel, and had waited to read the last paragraph of § 42, he could hardly have failed to see that the beauty of nature which attracts an intellectual interest is not a beauty of mere nature but of ‘the natural world as remoulded by the spirit’ in which reason finds ‘a sensuous expression of itself’. The fact is that Professor Caird did not himself believe in the possibility of nature being really remoulded by the spirit, except on canvas. That is where he differed from Kant.

However, it must be admitted that the explanation which Kant gives of the ground of the intellectual interest is so vague as to be almost unintelligible. The most important part of his statement is as follows: ‘But, now, reason is further interested in ideas (for which in our moral feeling it brings about an immediate interest) having also objective reality. That is to say, it is of interest to reason that nature should at least show a trace or give a hint that it contains in itself some ground or other for assuming a uniform accordance of its products with our wholly disinterested delight (a delight which we cognize a priori as a law for every one without being able to found it upon proofs). That being so, reason must take an interest in every manifestation on the part of nature of some such accordance. Hence the mind cannot reflect upon the beauty of nature without finding its interest engaged. But this interest is akin to the moral.’¹ For what particular idea or ideas is objective reality sought? Do the words following ‘that is to say’ qualify what is meant by objective reality? How may the ‘some ground or other’ be more explicitly determined? Further, we may remember that the simplicity of the Deduction was said to be due to the fact that it was not called upon to verify the objective reality of a concept. Surely this explanation is too vague to be intended by Kant for a final explanation.

But as Kant doubtless intended us to speculate as to the ground upon which the intellectual interest relies, it may be worth while doing so. Perhaps Wordsworth may be taken as a representative of the man with the germ of a good moral disposition. He proclaims:

This passage seems to suggest some wise disposition on the part of the Author of things to which the finality of the form of the beautiful object is due; and, no doubt, if the real existence of beautiful objects could confirm a belief in a realism of the finality of nature we could then understand the source of the good man’s interest. But we shall find that § 58 completely rules out this ground.

But, perhaps, there are some other men with quasi-moral dispositions who may give us some help in elucidating the source of the intellectual interest in the beautiful. Mr. Balfour strenuously supports the belief ‘that somewhere and for some Being there shines an unchanging splendour of beauty, of which in Nature and in Art we see, each of us from our own standpoint, only passing gleams and stray reflections, whose different aspects we cannot now co-ordinate, whose import we cannot fully comprehend, but which at least is something other than the chance play of the Subjective sensibility or the far-off echo of ancestral lusts.’¹ Certainly the ‘somewhere and for some Being’ reminds one of Kant’s ‘some ground or other’, and the ‘passing gleams and stray reflections’ only seems poetic for ‘show a trace or give a hint’. Unfortunately, however, Mr. Balfour, eloquent as he certainly is in the above passage, outdoes Kant in elusiveness. Then, as he places nature and art on the same level his view can give us little help. Evidently he does not consider that the real existence of beautiful objects in nature, as distinguished from art, affords any special confirmation of his belief. Indeed the passage seems to amount to no more than a statement that for some reason or other he believes what Kant proves, viz. that the representation of beauty involves a priori a reference to something supersensible. Where he differs from Kant is that he regards this as a ‘mystical creed’ that points—heaven knows where. One wonders whether a writer who gives vent to such views also believes in an absolute joke cviiiof the universe, which somewhere and for some Being gleams with incessant humour; or whether he merely believes that our sense of the ludicrous implies an appreciation of the significance of ideas of reason and a love of freedom—and of a freedom, moreover, to which human beings are endeavouring to give effect in a society regulated by laws intended, and sometimes merely intended, to promote that freedom.

Perhaps, however, we might arrive at a more satisfactory explanation of the intellectual interest in the beauty of nature from the lines of Tennyson:

The beautiful object might be regarded as a microcosm reflecting the macrocosm, and the good man might easily imagine that in perceiving its beauty he was seeing, ‘as through a glass darkly,’ something of what ‘God and man is’. The beautiful object is to be contemplated ‘as it is in apprehension prior to any concept’, and, so, its beauty might be supposed to be some obscure vision corresponding to the idea of absolute totality which is the unattainable limit of discursive knowledge. Indeed, many good men have doubtless taken an intellectual interest in the beauty of nature on this ground; but, as Kant rejected the supposition of an intellectual intuition, he must have thought that the intellectual interest might be given a more secure foundation.

Is there, then, any other possible explanation of the ground of the interest in question? ‘When Southey’s read and Wordsworth understood’ we cannot help making a suggestion of our own. In the case of landscapes there is a given harmony which we can easily account for by the fact that the whole is seen under the same atmospheric conditions. But in the case of many plants there is a harmony which is more suggestive. If we go into a greenhouse and look at twenty varieties, say, of geraniums, we may observe how the leaves of each plant harmonize with its flower. Take the leaf of one variety and place it near the flower of a plant of a different variety, and it will appear quite out of tone. In fact, after making a few such cixexperiments, one becomes convinced that if a flower and a leaf were taken from each of the twenty plants, and if they were all mixed together, one could then give each flower its own leaf with nothing to guide one but mere taste. Or go to the Natural History Museum in London and look at the hundreds of humming-birds in the cases there, and the same conviction will surely arise of a wonderful colour harmony in organic nature strangely answering to our subjective mode of judging. Thus the artificers of ladies’ hats need only consult a farm-yard to get a hint for their marvellous creations. They may be quite sure that nature will not go wrong in its colour schemes. And yet our eyes are here the supreme arbiters of right and wrong. Now it certainly seems difficult to understand what deep connexion there can be between the physiological causes of the actual colours, not alone in geraniums and humming-birds, but apparently in all organisms (for although we may not like the colour of some plants or animals this is not because of any colour discord), on the one hand, and the physiological causes of our colour sense, on the other. Yet, unless we wish to accept a mystical creed, we must suppose that nothing is here involved but a law of mere nature. This law of nature, whatever it may be, is such as to ensure the existence of objects in nature that meet with our disinterested approval; and its character with respect to our taste is something more than we should be entitled to expect a priori. Just as nature might, as Kant says, be such that we could not know it in detail, so, also, it might be such as only to get uglier and uglier at every turn. If some things in nature may be ugly, then why not everything? Hence, just as the correspondence of nature in its particular forms with the subjective requirements of our cognitive faculties is deemed contingent, and so gives rise to a feeling of pleasure which is connected with an interest, so it might be said that the perception of the beauty of nature shows a trace or gives a hint ‘that it contains in itself some ground or other for assuming a uniform accordance of its products with our wholly disinterested delight’, and that, as this is to be deemed contingent, it gives rise to a pleasure connected with an interest.

But of all the explanations suggested this is the most palpably unsatisfactory. For all we have done is to find some trace of a ground for generalizing the representation of the aesthetic finality of nature. As far as the pleasure in the representation of that finality is concerned, we have only cxthe disinterested delight in the beautiful as already dealt with. We are as far as ever from the ground of the supervening intellectual interest in the existence of beautiful objects in nature. Doubtless these may give us some reason for expecting to find beauty fairly regularly diffused throughout nature; but why should that be of interest to us unless we already have an interest in the beauty of nature? We can make nothing out of this explanation unless we fall back on a teleological assumption. Also there is this further objection to the explanation, viz. that, if correct, it would not show why the intellectual interest gives any clearer indication of a quasi-moral disposition than is given by mere taste.

In all the above attempts at an explanation of the intellectual interest in the beauty of nature it has been assumed that because that interest essentially requires that the object should be nature’s handiwork, its explanation must ultimately be found in a regard to what external nature is, and not to what we are, or to anything realized in us. But on such an explanation, would not the intellectual interest be entirely misplaced? The whole tendency of Kant’s account has been to throw the emphasis on what the judging Subject is, and what taste implies. Beauty is not a property of the object. If the intellectual interest were to attach to the existence of the object of nature because of what it is as such a natural object, the whole tenor of Kant’s Critique would be changed. The Deduction, rightly or wrongly, seemed to show that if nature is such that a concrete experience is possible it cannot avoid containing objects that we can regard as beautiful—provided we have taste. But the aesthetic judgement can give nature credit for everything requisite for the possibility of a concrete experience. What the intellectual interest of an intelligent Kantian must look to is rather some working unanimity of sentiment in mankind, sufficient to be regarded as at least a partial realization of the idea of a common sense—which idea Kant suggested in § 22 might be merely a regulative idea the function of which is to produce such unanimity. If the beauty of nature could show a trace or give a hint of some measure of realization of that idea—of some harmonizing of nature and freedom in ourselves, of some deep significance of humanity—we would then be able to see more clearly the thread of consistency running through Kant’s account.

In the last paragraph of § 42 Kant seems to point us to an cxiexplanation on these lines. ‘The song of birds tells of joyousness and contentment with their existence. So, at least, we interpret nature, whether such be its intention or not. But it is the indispensable requisite of the interest which we here take in beauty, that the beauty should be that of nature.’ So everything turns on the way we interpret nature. Provided that we are sufficiently agreed as to our mode of interpretation to enable us to objectify our representation and regard the beauty as if it were a predicate belonging to the object, physical nature may keep its secret to itself. The intellectual interest depends here upon what is ‘as it were a language in which nature speaks to us and which has the semblance of a higher meaning’.¹

The ideality of this process is clearly apparent. Is it, then, possible to explain the intellectual interest when the beauty of nature is considered from this point of view? ‘The semblance of a higher meaning’ in the language in which nature speaks to us no doubt explains why the interest is intellectual. But how is that higher meaning derived? The explanation of this is to be found in the analogy between the judgement of taste and the moral judgement. Kant does not enter upon a full analysis of this analogy until § 59, but it is referred to towards the close of § 42 in a paragraph in which Kant gives two clear grounds of the intellectual interest. These two grounds must now be considered.

The analogy between the judgement of taste and the moral judgement not alone explains why the interest in the beauty of nature is intellectual, but also why it is an interest in the real existence of the object. ‘The analogy in which the pure judgement of taste, that, without relying upon any interest, gives us a feeling of delight, and at the same time represents it a priori as proper to mankind in general, stands to the moral judgement that does just the same from concepts, is one which, without any clear, subtle, or deliberate reflection, conduces to a like immediate interest being taken in the objects of the former judgement as in those of the latter.’² Thus the love of the object of nature is a mere extension of the analogy in which the judgement of taste stands to the moral judgement, i. e. as the judgement of taste is to the moral judgement, so is the intellectual interest in the beauty of nature to the interest immediately produced by moral ideas. This extension is quite cxiinatural. For the bearing of the practical upon the theoretical faculty, which the form of the judgement of taste implies, implies also an original movement of the mind which is re-started on reflection upon the above-mentioned analogy, and is carried on, ‘without any clear, subtle, or deliberate reflection,’ in its usual course, so as to produce an immediate interest in the object. The immediate interest in the beauty of nature is, on this interpretation, a mere play of the moral faculty, though one implying a disposition akin to the moral. This explanation has the merit of bringing us back to the fundamental concept of play. On the other hand, it seems to be a play which mature reflection, which is ‘clear, subtle, and deliberate’, might leave for the amusement of more youthful minds.

But Kant has a further explanation. ‘In addition to this there is our admiration of nature which in her beautiful products displays herself as art, not as mere matter of chance, but, as it were, designedly, according to a law-conforming arrangement, and as finality apart from an end. As we never meet with such an end outside ourselves, we naturally look for it in ourselves, and, in fact, in that which constitutes the ultimate purpose of our existence—the moral side of our being. (The inquiry into the ground of the possibility of such a natural finality will, however, first come under discussion in the Teleology.)’¹ This is a completely different explanation of the ground of the intellectual interest. It has the advantage of extreme seriousness. If the man with the germ of a good moral disposition finds reason for believing in such a natural finality, his interest in the beauty of nature will be strong and persistent, and will be quite different from any that he takes in works of art. But then, the consideration of this point of view, which depends upon an assumption the correctness of which was declared in the Remark to § 38 to be very doubtful, is properly relegated to the Teleology. For Kant to attach importance to the intellectual interest in the beauty of nature and to base it upon this ground would be fatal to his whole account Hence it is definitely ruled out of order in § 58.

Now are these two clear and distinct grounds of the intellectual interest in the beautiful of nature two new grounds, over and above the one in the preceding paragraph which referred to the ‘trace’ and ‘hint’ and the ‘some ground or other’, and cxiiiwhich we found so elusive? It would seem clear that they are not intended to be additional. Kant begins by stating the ground in a purposely vague and indefinite manner, so as to cover both his own explanation and the explanation of those who have not arrived at his critical standpoint. He then provisionally clears up the explanation by letting it diverge in two opposite directions, just as he allowed his main account to diverge into the consideration of an empirical and an intellectual interest. These two explanations represent the double explanation that would be given by one who failed to grasp Kant’s own central position. They are without any inner connexion whatever.

But Kant must restore the unity of the point of view indicated in the ground as first stated. How can this be done? It will be observed that the first of the two substituted explanations looks to the form of the judgement of taste upon the object of nature, the second to its content. Again, the former merely connects the interest with the disinterested delight of the individual in the object—though the words ‘and at the same time represents it a priori as proper to mankind in general’ suggest the possibility of a wider view. The latter, also, connects the interest merely with a purpose supposed to take effect in the world of physical nature. It takes no note of nature in us. Both explanations, therefore, entirely pass over the essential character of taste as a social faculty. If, now, Kant could bring the form and content of the judgement of taste into a more intimate union, and also restore the importance of universal communicability of feeling, there would then seem to be a prospect of his being able to give a clearer and more satisfactory explanation of the ground of the intellectual interest in beauty.

But although Kant returns upon the main point discussed in these sections, he does not anywhere else expressly attempt a more satisfactory explanation of the ground of that interest. This seems a difficulty in the way of supposing, as is here done, that the question is not completely disposed of in § 42. Having regard to the important position of art in the Critique, should not any depreciation of art at the expense of nature be justified on the clearest grounds?

But there does not seem to be any reason for jumping to the conclusion (as somehow one naturally does at first) that it was art which Kant intended to depreciate by his proof that cxivthe beauty of art is not the object of an intellectual interest. It is rather the intellectual interest which is depreciated. For what was the problem that the intellectual interest had to solve? We may recall Kant’s statement: ‘Supposing, now, that we could assume that the mere universality of our feeling must of itself import an interest for us, we should then be in a position to explain how the feeling in the judgement of taste comes to be exacted from every one as a sort of duty.’ An attempt at such an explanation was first made with the empirical interest. It was readily connected with the universal communicability of our feeling, but it failed because it was only empirical. So Kant turned to the intellectual interest. This fails to cover the ground. It only applies in the case of the beauty of nature: but the judgement of taste exacts agreement from every one, as a sort of duty, just as much in the case of works of art as in the case of objects of nature. Then, further, it was not immediately obvious how the intellectual interest was to be connected with universal communicability of feeling.

But there is an additional reason why the intellectual interest could not solve the problem. For this interest would itself be something which we should have to require others to take. ‘We regard as coarse and low the habits of thought of those who have no feeling for beautiful nature.’¹ In requiring this feeling we have only the same ground to go on as in the modality of judgements upon the sublime. Feeling is, in fact, the word which Kant appropriated to the case where the sublimity of the mind is concerned. But the requirement in the case of judgements upon the sublime is only made under presupposition of the moral feeling in man, whereas in the case of judgements of taste it is made ‘as a matter of course’. It would, then, be absurd to attempt to explain the latter requirement by one of the former kind.

The intellectual interest, therefore, fails to solve the main problem. Still, as might be expected from the fact that it arises from reflection on beauty, its consideration materially advances the argument.

For, in the first place, it rebuts the presumption arising from the often worthless character of virtuosi in taste, that not only is the feeling for the beautiful ‘specifically different from the moral feeling (which as a matter of fact is the case), but also cxvthat the interest which we may combine with it, will hardly consort with the moral, and certainly not on grounds of inner affinity’.¹

Then, further, it shows definitely that the interest arises upon the reflection on an analogy which the judgement of taste bears to the moral judgement. This at once invites deeper investigation.

Then it also sets the beauty of nature in a new light. Taste of itself only regards the finality.of the object for the mind. But the feeling for beautiful nature brings the beauty of nature into line with the sublime and art. It depends upon a reflection which recognizes Geist in the beauty of nature. Hence it directs attention to the finality of the mind in respect of objects. Once this is brought into view, even the charms of nature, which had been expressly laid aside, are seen in a new light.² Taste regards the beautiful object as merely given: feeling for the beautiful betrays a consciousness of the source from which it is derived. It is just because the beautiful object as merely judged by taste seems to be merely given, and to come from without, that it is so important to show how and why reason can find its interest engaged by it. On the other hand, it would be absurd to look for an interest of reason in the sublimity of the mind—and the case of art is in much the same position. But of course particular existing works of art stand on a different footing.

The consideration of the intellectual interest in the beauty of nature supplies the Critique with a motive for pursuing the investigation of the specific content of the judgement of taste. The form of that judgement involves an interpretation of the given object. This interpretation in general, and the particular form of the object, was not shown to have the essence of its import in the character of the interpretation introduced by us. But the intellectual interest fastens on the definite given concrete object. Can our mode of interpretation, of which the third moment of the judgement of taste expresses the mere general or abstract concept, give this concrete form its meaning? Does the essence of beauty lie in symbolism, as a natural art of mankind?³ Is nature a mere keyboard on which art plays cxvithe music of the soul? At all events it is quite evident that the intellectual interest necessitates a full investigation of how beauty is produced. We have learned that nature is only beautiful when it looks like art. What is this art that is read into nature? Is it a concrete art? Does beautiful nature only look like art in the sense that it betrays, let us say, some regularity which we interpret on the analogy of art in general, or does it look like an art the concept of which increases with each new beauty which we recognize? Is it art that has furnished the standard literature of that language in which beautiful nature speaks to us, and of which the Analytic of the Beautiful has given us the grammar? Finally, does art imitate nature so as to leave us no further than where we were, or can nature be regarded as imitating art?

Our estimate of Kant’s consistency depends largely on the answer which we suppose that he intends to give to these questions. For the present we can say this much: that if art were intended to be entirely subordinated to the beauty of nature, and if the intellectual interest were also to be taken as solving the main problem which Kant has before him, then it would be difficult to see what problem remains outstanding and awaiting final solution. The discussion of art would at least seem gratuitous—as critics generally think it is. They represent Kant as proceeding to the discussion of art hot-foot upon a section which completely depreciates its significance. But according to the view here put forward what has been done is to show that the main problem is one not to be solved by any mere supervening interest. Yet these interests imply a reflection upon beauty, and the possibility of their attaching to beauty affords an instructive commentary upon its inner meaning. Each interest fastens on a partial truth, and thus the investigation paves the way for Kant’s critical account.

A completely satisfactory statement of the true ground of the distinction between the beauty of nature and the beauty of art is not given. Its ground has only been analysed sufficiently for the purpose in hand. When art has been discussed we may learn something that throws additional light upon it. In the meantime it may be sufficient to note that what Kant is contrasting with interest in the beauty of nature is not interest in art itself (whatever this may mean apart from an impulse cxviito express oneself through the medium of art), but an interest in the real existence of particular works of art—things which may be collected and possessed by the individual. The contrast would, doubtless, be less sharp if what were considered was art that is regarded as the possession of all men of culture, as, for instance, Shakespeare’s plays or the poems of Homer, or—well, if we seek for a more universal heritage than this, do we not simply come to the beauty of nature? It speaks to us in the mother-tongue of the race.

Kant’s treatment of fine art is intimately connected with the distinction which he drew between technically and morally practical rules. It may be remembered that the first section of the Introduction was devoted to a full discussion of this distinction; and the draft of the original Introduction begins in the same way.¹ The distinction corresponds to that between natural concepts and the concept of freedom. Hence we may expect that, since art is assigned a position intermediate between nature and freedom,² the rules of fine art will occupy a like intermediate position between rules technically and rules morally practical, and afford a sort of transition from the one to the other. We should further expect that genius, if it be the source of the rules of fine art, must be the result of a bearing of the practical upon the theoretical faculty, operating in man as a maker.

The various characteristics of fine art, as given by Kant, are, in fact, derived systematically and from a priori considerations just as much as the moments of the judgement of taste. Fine art is gradually defined so as to be distinguished alike from what is technically practical and from what is morally practical. It is to be something specific. Further, if Kant can show that his conception of fine art is simply the conception of an art occupying such a distinct position, he has proved all he requires to prove, provided he can show that such a fine art is possible. If others choose to call something fine art which differs in no essential manner from the art of a practical carpenter or bootmaker, they are at liberty to do so. It is absurd to quarrel over names. But if there is a specific kind of art, with such and such characteristics, then it seems more rational to reserve the special name for that which is distinct.

The source of the possibility of a fine art, as above described, cxixKant finds in the conception of a free play of the cognitive faculties. Here, however, a difficulty presents itself. If this play is directed to the production of something, then how is its character of play preserved? If, on the other hand, it is not directed to the production of anything, how can it be art? In the one case we would seem to get a mere mechanical art, in the other a mere product of chance. Kant’s argument takes the form of devising an escape from this dilemma.

That it must be possible to reconcile a certain mechanical side of fine art with its freedom is apparent from the fact that fine art requires a certain mechanism. For, without this, ‘the soul) which in art must be free, and which alone gives life to the work, would be bodyless and evanescent.’¹ ‘The thought of something as end must be present, or else its product would not be ascribed to art at all, but would be a mere product of chance.’² Hence, despite the fact that the possibility of fine art depends upon a freedom in the play of our cognitive faculties, it is necessary to set out from the proposition that ‘art has always got a definite intention of producing something. Were this “something”, however, to be mere sensation (something merely subjective), intended to be accompanied with pleasure, then such product would, in our estimation of it, only please through the agency of the feeling of the senses. On the other hand, were the intention one directed to the production of a definite object, then, supposing this were attained by art, the object would only please by means of a concept. But in both cases the art would please, not in the mere estimate of it, i. e. not as fine art, but rather as mechanical art.’³ The statement that fine art has a mechanical side, however, does not mean that fine art itself is in any sense a mechanical art, but merely that something academic constitutes the essential condition of the art.⁴ There is an essential reference to the ‘concept of what the thing is intended to be,’⁵ with the result that perfection must be taken into account. What saves fine art from being itself a mechanical art is that it ‘displays itself, not so much in the working out of the projected concept, as rather in the portrayal, or expression of aesthetic ideas containing a wealth of material for effecting that intention.’⁶ Hence, ‘fine art, as such, must not be regarded as the product of understanding and science, but of genius, and must, therecxxfore, derive its rule from aesthetic ideas, which are essentially different from rational ideas of determinate ends.’¹ Thus, although fine art is directed to the production of something, ‘it is nature (the nature of the individual), and not a set purpose, that in products of genius gives the rule to art (as the production of the beautiful).’²

In the course of the above argument Kant touches on a point of considerable importance, and deals with it in a characteristic manner. Every one is agreed that fine art must have the appearance of nature. This is generally taken to mean that fine art is imitative. But Kant attaches a different meaning to the statement. Fine art must be like nature in a way that concerns itself as fine art—it must be natural. What makes it like nature in this sense is ‘the presence of perfect exactness in the agreement with rules prescribing how alone the product can be what it is intended to be, but with an absence of laboured effect (without the academic form betraying itself)’.³ Art, so far as merely imitative, is only mechanical art; whereas fine art is the art of genius.

‘As to the element of science in every art—a matter which turns upon the truth in the presentation of the Object of the art—while this is, no doubt, the indispensable condition (conditio sine qua non) of fine art, it is not itself fine art. Fine art, therefore, has only got a manner (modus), and not a method of teaching (methodus). The master must illustrate what the pupil is to achieve, and how achievement is to be attained, and the proper function of the universal rules to which he ultimately reduces his treatment is rather that of supplying a convenient text for recalling its chief moments to the pupil’s mind, than of prescribing them to him. Yet, in all this, due regard must be paid to a certain ideal which art must keep in view, even though complete success ever eludes its happiest efforts.’⁴

Thus Kant arrives at the conception of fine art as something absolutely distinct and sui generis. Its rules do not point to anything that can be done simply by the adjustment of means to the required end, nor yet to anything that can be done because it ought to be done. The possibility of art depends rather upon the free play of the cognitive faculties. Hence the rules of fine art are not rules prescribed. The rule ‘cannot cxxibe one set down in a formula and serving as a precept—for then the judgement upon the beautiful would be determinable according to concepts. Rather must the rule be gathered from the performance, i. e. from the product’.¹

But while the required distinctive character of fine art was the point which Kant had ultimately in view, he had a more immediate consideration to guide him. His previous analysis of the judgement of taste showed him at once the lines which his investigation must take. For the product of fine art has to be estimated as beautiful. Hence its treatment must dispose of two primary questions. It must be shown, namely, first, how the conformity to law is obtained, and, secondly, how the freedom of the imagination is assured.

Some surprise may be felt at the fact that Kant makes no attempt to connect the several characteristics of genius with the four moments of aesthetic judgement. He only appears to have aimed, in this respect, at showing a parallelism between his account of genius and his account of the third moment of the judgement of taste. This want of correspondence, so far as explicit treatment is concerned, may, however, be explained if the hypothesis is accepted that the co-ordination of the four moments was a late change introduced into the work. Still, if Kant’s account of genius is satisfactory, it ought to be possible to arrange the different cardinal points in his account so as to exhibit the required uniformity.

Now, just as the major premiss of the Analytic of the Beautiful is that the judgement of taste ‘is not a cognitive judgement, consequently not logical, but aesthetic’, so the major premiss of Kant’s argument in the exposition of genius is that genius is fundamentally distinguishable from any mere ability to imitate or learn from another. And just as the judgement of taste, as aesthetic, rests upon feeling, so genius, as a productive faculty, rests upon the free play of the cognitive faculties.

Hence the first property of genius is originality. Now, at first sight, there certainly does not appear to be any such intimate connexion between originality and disinterestedness as would lead us to think that the former is for the productive faculty of genius what the latter is for the faculty of aesthetic judgement. Disinterestedness is essentially impersonal and looks to what is universal, whereas originality seems cxxiito imply something individual and peculiar to the Subject. But originality which consists in singularity is far from being the originality of genius. Of course, the man of genius is singular in the sense of being a rare phenomenon, but this is not what is meant when the man of genius is supposed to be singular—besides, even disinterestedness, however impersonal, is anything but common. What is usually meant when singularity (understood as more than mere idiosyncrasy) is associated with the conception of genius, is a unique relation of the faculties involving the abnormal development of some at the expense of others.¹ But such pathological genius is not true genius, for it only concerns the development of those faculties which genius employs as its instruments. An abnormal memory may be of great service to a genius; but it does not constitute genius—though, with equal natural memory, the genius will exhibit a better memory than other men, because he sees things in their proper connexions. Similarly, very acute natural powers of observation may be very useful to a genius; but they do not make a man a genius—though, given good natural powers of this kind, the genius can best employ them, since he knows what he is looking for. Again, delicate sensibility and an emotional temperament may aid artistic genius; but they do not of themselves provide the source of inspiration—though the artistic genius may feel more intensely than others, because his ‘self’ is as deep as humanity. The so-called eccentric genius is not a real genius. Genius is, in fact, precisely what he lacks. He has singularity but not personality. If, then, we admit Kant’s conception of personality, and recognize that its foundation lies in the idea of freedom and autonomy, it will be easy to see the connexion between disinterestedness and originality, since both are similarly associated with personality. Each alike evidence the bearing of the practical upon the theoretical faculty.

Disinterestedness implies detachment. But genius also seems to depend on something that enables a man to lose himself in his work, to get absorbed in it, and yet in so doing to develop a higher self. The genius disengages himself from what is particular, and especially from his own empirical self. The genius breaks away from his immediate surroundings and ceases to be merely one of the many. So he understands the cxxiiimany better than they understand themselves. For he can stand back from himself and know himself. The supreme maxim of genius is ‘know thyself’.

However, sincerity is so generally recognized as a characteristic of genius, as original, that it is perhaps unnecessary further to argue the point that the moment of the judgement of taste with which originality should be connected is the one that immediately indicates the influence of the moral side of man’s being. Creations of the mind which do not owe their origin in any way to the spiritual faculty in man—to the idea of freedom, and to disinterested love of the truth—are only products of mechanical operations, of associations of ideas, or even of mere lucky accidents.

It may further be remarked that the originality of genius does not betray itself so much in saying this or that new thing, as in the adoption of a higher point of view, which gives a broader outlook and enables everything to be seen in new bearings. Also, the original genius is of all men the one who in his work is least actuated by a desire to be original—and, in fact, his way is generally more or less prepared before him. True originality can look after itself. The sincere lover of the truth can hardly avoid being original. Thus the artist who does not surrender himself to the first whim of his fancy, but, after having been an apprentice, becomes a critic of the progress of art, is bound to emphasize his own standpoint in respect of the history of art.

When engaged upon particular works, the man of genius seems like one who in a forest has climbed to some eminence, from which he sees whence he has come and whither he is going. Thus he never loses himself in detail; for he sees all the details as parts of a whole of which he is master.

Against the above view it may be urged that the difference between originality and disinterestedness corresponds to that between the first two of the three maxims of common human understanding which Kant discusses in § 40. The first of these maxims is to think for oneself: the second is to think from the standpoint of every one else. But the originality of genius implies far more than merely thinking for oneself. ‘Even though a man weaves his own thoughts or fancies, instead of merely taking in what others have thought, and even though he go so far as to bring fresh gains to art and science, this does not afford a valid reason for calling such a man of brains, and often great cxxivbrains, a genius.’¹ If disinterestedness is compared with the second of the above maxims, the originality of genius should rather be compared with the third: always to think consistently. This maxim, Kant says, ‘is the hardest of attainment, and is only attainable by the union of both of the former, and after constant attention has made one at home in their observance.’² The first of the three maxims is ‘the maxim of understanding, the second that of judgement, the third that of reason’.² Self-consistent thought, therefore, implies not merely thinking for oneself, but a certain detachment from self. It is this that ensures that the self for which one thinks is really worth thinking for.

From the fact that the originality of genius does not depend upon any mere peculiarity of the artist, but upon the freedom of a detached ego and the autonomy of the Subject that gives a new rule to art, we may infer its next characteristic, viz. that it is through nature in the Subject that genius gives the rule to art This nature in the Subject seems to correspond to the universal voice with which the judgement of taste speaks. Further, the conception of genius as nature in the Subject explains the possibility of the originality of genius as the function of a detached ego, which has begun by the will to be free, in just the same way as the claim to speak with a universal voice explains the possibility of a disinterested judgement of delight.

The transition to what we may regard as the characteristic of genius, answering to the third moment of the judgement of taste, is indicated by Kant himself in the following passage: ‘The mental powers whose union in a certain relation constitutes genius are imagination and understanding. Now, since the imagination, in its employment on behalf of cognition, is subjected to the constraint of the understanding and the restriction of having to be conformable to the concept belonging thereto, whereas aesthetically it is yet free to furnish of its own accord, over and above that agreement with the concept, a wealth of undeveloped material for the understanding, to which the latter paid no regard in its concept, but which it can make use of, not so much objectively for cognition as subjectively for quickening the cognitive faculties, and hence also indirectly for cognitions, it may be seen that genius properly consists in the happy relation, which science cannot teach nor industry learn, enabling cxxvone to find out ideas for a given concept, and, besides, to hit upon the expression for them—the expression by means of which the subjective mental condition induced by the ideas as the concomitant of a concept may be communicated to others, This latter talent is properly that which is termed soul.’¹ The net result is that genius is constituted by a happy relation of the imagination and understanding, and gives the rule, not to science, but to fine art as a product in which the faculties are engaged in free play. It is as so constituted that genius is the source of finality apart from an end.

The further characteristic of genius, that its originality is an exemplary originality, obviously corresponds to the fourth moment of the judgement of taste. ‘Genius … is the exemplary originality of the natural endowment of an individual in the free employment of his cognitive faculties. On this showing, the product of a genius (in respect of so much in this product as is attributable to genius and not to possible learning or academic instruction) is an example, not for imitation (for that would mean the loss of the element of genius and just the very soul of the work), but one to be followed by another genius—one whom it arouses to a sense of his own originality in putting freedom from the constraint of rules so into force in his art that for art itself a new rule is won—which is what shows a talent to be exemplary.’²

We saw that the four moments of the judgement of taste led up to the sensus communis as the ultimate presupposition. In the same way the different characteristics of genius point to reason and the intelligible basis of human nature. ‘Rule and precept are incapable of serving as the requisite subjective standard for that aesthetic and unconditional finality in fine art which has to make a warranted claim to being bound to please every one. Rather must such a standard be sought in the element of mere nature in the Subject, which cannot be comprehended under rules or concepts, that is to say, the supersensible substrate of all the Subject’s faculties (unattainable by any concept of understanding), and, consequently, in that which forms the point of reference for the harmonious accord of all our faculties of cognition—the production of which accord is the ultimate end set by the intelligible basis of our nature. Thus alone is it possible for a subjective and yet universally cxxvivalid principle a priori to lie at the basis of that finality for which no objective principle can be prescribed.’¹

Lastly, corresponding to the comprehensive definition of taste (§ 40) as a faculty for estimating what makes our feeling in a given representation universally communicable without the intervention of a concept, we have the comprehensive definition of genius as the faculty of aesthetic ideas.

Beauty, whether it be beauty of nature or of art, is the expression of aesthetic ideas, and genius is the faculty of aesthetic ideas—these are the propositions that sum up the result of Kant’s Analytic. Kant has steadily advanced to this position, and, once attained, he never retreats from it.

The division of the fine arts, upon which Kant enters after his discussion of the faculties requisite for their production, has not had the good fortune to commend itself to his critics.

Professor Caird’s curt dismissal of all Kant’s remarks on the subject as having ‘nothing that is worthy of special mention’ reflects the general opinion. This unfavourable reception seems partly due to the fact that Kant himself says in a note that his division ‘is not put forward as a deliberate theory but is only one of various attempts than can and ought to be made’, and partly to the analogy which, according to his usual practice, he employs as a guiding principle, and which seems in some respects fanciful.

As to the first point we may say that if the account contained nothing but the above short note it would still contain something worthy of mention. In systematic divisions Kant generally felt himself quite at home, and he was not in the habit of claiming any indulgence for them. But he was too far-seeing to stake much on a division of the fine arts. He recognized that it was quite impossible for the division to be made completely a priori. For it must take the medium of communication into account, and this is a posteriori material.² Besides, the particular stage at which regard is paid to this material is more or less arbitrary. Kant, looking, no doubt, to cxxviithe empirical origin of the existence of the fine arts, preferred to attend first to the vehicle of communication, and work up to the relative preponderance of the essential elements of a fine art as such. But he foresaw the possibility of other divisions. And, in fact, his attempt has been followed by a multitude of others which have come, as it were, at the bidding of his words ‘which can and ought to be made’. Though the authors of these attempts have not been as cautious or modest as Kant in estimating their value, none of them have been successful in attracting a large following. Hegel’s division into Symbolic, Classic, and Romantic, which is perhaps the best known, has the advantage of depending upon a principle which can be followed into the particular arts themselves by a process of involution and so made to represent progressive stages in these arts themselves.

As to the apparently fanciful analogy upon which Kant relies, it will be seen that this soon slips into the background and was mainly introductory to a reference to the distinction between thought, intuition, and sensation. In this distinction lies the real nerve of Kant’s division.

As beauty is the expression of aesthetic ideas, the first point to which one naturally looks is the mode of expression by which these ideas are communicated. Now, if we remember what was said in § 41 as to the empirical interest in the beautiful, we shall see good reason for looking behind the development of the fine arts to speech as the original mode of expression. Even here the need for something further than words betrays itself. Something moves in the man beyond the mere concept. And so before language becomes that powerful organ of expression into which it develops in poetry, the word is supplemented by gesture and tone. Only by means of the conjunction of these three is the speaker able to communicate himself completely—not merely as a thinking, but also as a feeling subject. By availing himself of those three channels of communication he is able to convey thought, intuition, and sensation concurrently and in their united force to others. In this primitive struggle after expression, in which man first exhausts all the available resources of his body to communicate the thought and feeling that is too large for utterance by the language at his command, may we not find foreshadowed the various channels that a finer art has devised, as nature became a more and more subservient material in the hands of man? For the artist uses external cxxviiinature as an extension of the body that is immediately organic to his soul.

The justification for framing a division of the fine arts generally on the basis of an analogy to the modes of expression adopted in speaking, and the precise significance of that analogy, are apparent from a consideration of the justification in the case when the analogy seems most far-fetched, viz. that in which formative art is brought under a common head with gesture in speaking. For through the outward forms of which this art avails itself ‘the soul of the artist furnishes a bodily expression for the substance and character of his thought, and makes the thing itself speak, as it were, in mimic language’.

The analogy adopted by Kant results in a division of the fine arts into three classes: (1) the arts of speech; (2) the formative arts, or those for the expression of ideas in sensuous intuition; (3) the arts of the beautiful play of sensations (as external sense impressions). Here, as well as in the remarks devoted to the individual arts, we see that what Kant has in view is the faculty of thought, intuition, or sensation, as the case may be, to which the artist primarily addresses himself in communicating himself to others.

It is not here necessary to follow Kant through all the subdivisions of these different heads. The important point to observe is the essential bearing that the introductory remarks with which the section begins have upon all that follows. Here, after grouping together the beauty both of nature and of art, Kant points out the distinction, already familiar to us, that in the case of fine art the idea ‘must be excited through the medium of a concept of the object, whereas in beautiful nature the bare reflection upon a given intuition, apart from any concept of what the object is intended to be, is sufficient for awakening and communicating the idea of which that Object is regarded as the expression’. All Kant’s observations on the particular arts turn on the extent to which the concept of the product leaves room for the expression of aesthetic finality. If this had been more clearly perceived Kant’s treatment would probably have been better appreciated.

The extent to which the above considerations dominate Kant’s representation of the essential distinction between the different arts is perhaps best illustrated by his comparison of sculpture and architecture. Sculpture ‘presents concepts of things corporeally, as they might have existed in nature (though cxxixas fine art it pays regard to aesthetic finality)’. On the other hand, ‘Architecture is the art of presenting concepts of things which are possible only through art, and the determining ground of whose forms is not nature but an arbitrary end, yet with the intention still in view of presenting them at the same time with aesthetic finality.’ For this reason not alone ‘temples, splendid buildings for public concourse, or even dwelling houses, triumphal arches, columns, mausoleums, &c., erected as monuments, belong to architecture’, but also household furniture may be added to the list, ‘on the ground that adaptation of the product to a particular use is the essential element in a work of architecture. On the other hand a mere piece of sculpture, made simply to be looked at and intended to please on its own account is, as a corporeal presentation, a mere imitation of nature, though one in which regard is paid to aesthetic ideas.’ This at once recalls Kant’s remarks in § 16 in which the beauty of ‘a building (such as a church, palace, arsenal, or summerhouse)’ is described as dependent beauty, and distinguished from the free beauty, such as that of ‘delineations à la grecque, foliage for framework or on wall papers, &c.’ The latter ‘represent nothing—no Object under a definite concept’. Also all music which is not controlled by a definite theme is placed in this latter category.

Thus the final distinction which Kant had in view in working out his division was that between free and dependent beauty. This is apparent from the observations on each of the particular arts. From this point of view architecture and music are the opposite poles of fine art. Between these, as the typical instances respectively of dependent and free arts, we have what are generally called the imitative arts. Here the dependence is merely subjective, and not as in architecture objective; it is merely one upon an external reference, and not upon an internal end. On these lines we might divide the arts into those that are (1) dependent upon an internal end, i. e. objectively dependent; (2) dependent upon an external reference which the Subject freely assigns to the product, i. e. subjectively dependent; (3) free or independent. The grouping of the several arts on this principle would, however, differ somewhat from that given by Kant. Thus, for instance, rhetoric, as having essentially in view the purpose of persuasion, would (if included in the division at all) come under the same heading as architecture. For each of these arts is alike cxxxobjectively dependent. They merely pay regard to aesthetic finality.

Following the division of the arts, Kant has some remarks on the combination of different fine arts in one and the same product. They contain little of interest, and conclude with what seems an unfortunate paragraph, containing a sermon on the necessity of bringing the fine arts either proximately or remotely into combination with moral ideas apart from which they only serve for diversion. If this is merely intended to anticipate the position that beauty is the symbol of the morally good, then it may be passed over as merely misleadingly worded, but if it is meant (which presumably it is not) to suggest that fine art should have a moral intention, then it is in flagrant contradiction with all that is best in what Kant has said about the freedom of the beauty both of nature and of art. If, on the other hand, the observations are intended as an estimate of art from a moral standpoint, as is perhaps the case, then art must take the censure in silence—unless it retorts that if moral ideas are not brought either proximately or remotely into combination with the aesthetic, they, in turn, are dull and prosy.

The moralizing strain started in the above section is pursued into a section which seems somewhat inappropriately headed, ‘Relative aesthetic worth of the several fine arts.’ The tension is, however, relieved in § 54 by a discussion of the laughable.

Laughter, according to Kant, is ‘an affection arising from the sudden conversion of a strained expectation into nothing’. This does not mean that if a man were to have a strained expectation of being left well off by some rich relative, and those expectations were to be reduced to nothing when the will was read, this reduction of his expectations to nothing would result in an outburst of laughter on his part. The account is explained by the words immediately preceding: ‘Something absurd (something in which, therefore, the understanding can of itself find no satisfaction) must be present in whatever is to raise a hearty convulsive laugh.’ The strained expectation is a developing play of the imagination similar to that occasioned by a beautiful object, in which case, however, the play strengthens and maintains itself owing to a harmony of imagination and understanding. The play of imagination in the case of the beautiful must be such that the understanding receives no shock. But in the case of what is laughable it does receive cxxxithis shock by reason of the presence of something absurd, and the lively process of thought is suddenly stopped. The imagination then builds up the representation anew, but the same result follows. This mental movement is accompanied by a corresponding internal movement of the body; for all our thoughts have some movement in the bodily organs associated with them. In this connexion Kant does not forget to refer to the effects of tickling. His whole account strikingly anticipates that of Herbert Spencer. According to the latter, ‘laughter naturally results only when consciousness is unawares transferred from great things to small—only when there is what we call a descending incongruity.’ With Herbert Spencer the physiological phenomenon of laughter is the equivalent of the nerve-force liberated by the cessation or slowing down of the previously animated thought-processes, and is thus brought under the general law of the conservation of energy.

Kant’s account, while good so far as it goes, fails to do justice to his own standpoint. For all the four serious moments of the judgement of taste enter gravely, not, of course, into laughter as a physiological phenomenon, but into the reflective judgement which estimates something as laughable. We refer the predicate ‘laughable’ to an object, as if it were a logical predicate, just as much as we do the predicate ‘beautiful’. We have, in fact, only to look at the definitions of the beautiful drawn from each of the four moments to see that they could all serve equally for definitions of the laughable, except that the third would require modification, owing to the fact that here the finality apart from an end arises out of the conflict of imagination and understanding. Perhaps Kant felt diffidence about going too closely into the nature of the laughable, as he could hardly regard it as the symbol of the morally good. But then (if it must be connected with something moral), might he not have regarded it as the symbol of our original sin, which a disinterested judgement finds has something to say for itself—at least aesthetically? Or might he not have regarded it as due to a sense of the superiority of reason to those artificial laws and restrictions which are thought to be necessary in order to enable us to realize our freedom in society?

It may be observed that there could be no strained expectation in the play of imagination in the case of what is laughable, nor, much less, anything to make us go back on that play and try it over again, unless the play had a certain subjective cxxxiivalidity—a semblance of truth. This, then, must come into conflict with what is objectively valid as estimated according to some adopted standard of truth. Hence a classification, so far as this is possible, of the different standards according to which truth is generally estimated, combined with a classification of the different kinds of purely subjective validity (as dependent on association of ideas, language, customs, &c.) with which the imagination supports itself, would furnish a basis for a classification of things laughable, so far as depending upon something absurd. But it must be remembered that, when ideas are adopted as the standard, the greatest absurdity is often the world of mere understanding (which takes itself so seriously, as if it were the whole truth), and this may, therefore, be ranked on the same level as what is purely subjective.

The difficulties presented by Kant’s account of art have, so far as possible, been glossed over in the brief outline above given. Some of these, no doubt, turn on mere verbal inconsistencies, but others are serious difficulties of interpretation. They must now engage our attention. In some cases they seem to arise owing to Kant deserting his own use of terms for that attributed to opponents, and, in particular, the leaders of the Sturm und Drang movement. In other cases they appear to be due to his changing his point of view from the possibility of things to things as they generally exist. But the more important difficulties arise from his not explicitly drawing the apparent consequences of his statements.

If we compare the opening paragraphs of §§ 16 and 51 we would seem entitled to infer that the beauty of nature and the beauty of art are related to one another as free and dependent beauty. But on a closer view there appears to be a complete parallelism. So far as fine art has nothing for its object but the expression of aesthetic ideas, i. e. so far as it is a fine art, it is free, and its product a free beauty. The precise function of genius and aesthetic ideas is to make art free. Fine art is always free within certain limits; but some arts are more free (i. e. less restricted by the concept of an object) than others. In § 16 Kant goes so far as explicitly to admit the existence of some free beauties of art. For instance, ‘delineations à la grecque, foliage for framework or wall papers, &c., have no essential meaning. They represent nothing—no object under a definite concept, and are free beauties.’ The same applies to music which is not controlled by any definite theme, and cxxxiiialso to ‘mere aesthetic painting, which has no definite theme’. Hence, within fine art itself, we get a complete advance from architecture, as the most dependent beauty, to the above as quite free.

Such being the position of art we may see at once that nature has no advantage to boast of on the score of freedom. Landscapes, in the strict sense, belong to art, and beautiful views are so devoid of form that they are not to be counted among the free beauties of nature. In fact it seems that we do not get a free beauty of nature at all unless a concept is present. But if a concept is present then there is imminent danger of the beauty being merely dependent, as in the case of a human being or any of the higher animals. Flowers, shells, and birds practically exhaust Kant’s list of the free beauties of nature. But even here we must be careful to abstract from any knowledge of botany and zoology which we may happen to possess. Crystals might, perhaps, also put forward a claim, but their purely mathematical regularity is greatly against them. The beauty of nature, therefore, is not in general any more free than that of art. Further, if we take a dependent beauty of nature, such as a human being, and also take a dependent beauty of art, such as his portrait, it would seem that of the two the latter may be the more free, i. e. if it pays more regard to the expression of aesthetic ideas.

Another point to which attention may be called is the misleading manner in which Kant sometimes substitutes an attack on what he dislikes in place of a serious theory. Thus his remarks on rhetoric are unfortunate. He might with advantage have discussed the element of fine art in rhetoric, but to define it in the worst possible sense and then denounce it because of the uses to which it may be put seems absurd. Then his statement of the favourable way in which poetry compares with rhetoric is by no means penetrating. ‘In poetry everything is straight and above board. It shows its hand; it desires to carry on a mere entertaining play with the imagination, and one consonant, in respect of form, with the laws of understanding; and it does not seek to steal upon and ensnare the understanding with a sensuous presentation.’¹ It is the very fact that poetry only proclaims a mere play with ideas that makes it so insidious. It is useless for it to protest its innocence when it is so continually quoted on serious matters. Why, cxxxivthere was a time when no speech in Parliament was thought complete without a quotation from the classics. A successful quotation used to be able almost to turn a general election. Its insistence that it is to be taken as part of the contract that no reliance is to be placed on its representations is generally only part of the fraud itself.

Similarly, Kant shifts about from criticisms of painting and music as conceived by him, and as they ought to be according to his theory, to painting and music as he was acquainted with them. Kant’s own view evidently was that the colour in painting was a mere extraneous charm unless the whole might be regarded as a colour arrangement exhibiting a harmony of colours in which true unity of form was to be found. This much one can say with absolute certainty: that Whistler’s conception of painting is simply the conception of painting as it ought to be conceived according to Kant’s views. Thus Whistler says: ‘My picture of a Harmony in grey and gold is an illustration of my meaning—a snow scene with a single black figure and a lighted tavern. I care nothing for the past, present, or future of the black figure, placed there because the black was wanted at the spot. All that I know is that my combination of grey and gold is the basis of the picture.’ If Whistler’s painting came up to this high ideal, then it was a free beauty of art as conceived by Kant. Kant laughed at the colouring in the pictures which had come under his notice. Their colour was a mere extrinsic charm that only served ‘to make the form more intuitable’—like the colouring of different countries on a map. Colouring which has no higher meaning than this might be dispensed with. Take the gaudy thing away—cover it up lest it blind true aesthetic judgement—was the criticism of the philosopher of Königsberg. We can imagine Whistler applauding the verdict.

Some difficulty may be found in Kant’s statement that ‘in a would-be work of fine art we may often perceive genius without taste, and in another taste without genius’. It is obvious, however, that Kant here uses the word genius in a special sense. For taste is one of the faculties that are required to constitute genius. Kant not alone states this explicitly, but he shows how genius involves taste: ‘Genius properly consists in the happy relation, which science cannot teach nor industry learn, enabling one to find out ideas for a given concept, and besides, to hit upon the expression for them—cxxxvthe expression by means of which the subjective mental condition induced by the ideas as the concomitant of a concept may be communicated to others.’¹ Hence, when Kant says that we may see genius without taste in a work of art he is using the word in the sense attributed to opponents—in which sense he says that genius may produce original nonsense. As Kant only spoke of a would-be work of fine art, so also he only intended to speak of so-called genius.

But, with this explanation of the sense in which he used the term genius, what is the significance of the remark? Kant’s conception of genius and of the relation between genius and taste is obviously dominated by his conception of taste as a social faculty and art as a social product, and by his conception of the relation of the individual to society. By genius Kant seems, in this connexion, to mean the productive imagination of the individual operating in conjunction with the foundation of human nature in him. Human nature, the whole heritage of the race, descends upon the man of genius, and he receives it into himself, not so as to overpower his individuality, but so as to give his individuality force and truth. The man of genius is the man who can accept nature’s bounty without being crushed under the burden of the gift.

The man of genius is at once ‘the heir of all the ages’ and also ‘in the foremost files of time’. Every work of art of any importance is both a recapitulation and an advance. So far as it has to be the former it requires taste; so far as it has also to be the latter it requires genius. Hence, precisely because genius is nature in the Subject, and because it controls itself by taste, i. e. keeps in touch with the general advance, it is qualified to become, and always is in process of becoming, a mere common-sense of mankind. Every genius adds to the patrimony of the race. The taste of to-day was the vision of buried genius—genius that has fertilized the soil out of which it grew and in which it was laid to rest. It is here as with thought generally—

cxxxvi Now the man whose capacity just falls short of that of the genius may betray his deficiency either in respect of humanity or in respect of individuality. In the former case he feels that his originality would be cramped by too close a study of those who have preceded him, or, at all events, he allows the individual bent of what we may call his genius to assert itself before he has mastered the works of his predecessors. He strikes out a path of his own, and is fertile in production, but he is always in danger of becoming merely eccentric. If the taste of the world is formed upon correct models, he is liable to be completely ignored; for the public will be quicker to perceive his defects and the extent to which he falls short of the masters whom they admire, than to recognize the worth of what is original in his contributions. But it is practically impossible for a man, no matter how great his originality, to produce anything of any worth whatsoever in total disregard of the productions of others. What the man whom we have in view generally does is to absorb what is most congenial to him in the works of his contemporaries, and to catch the spirit of his own society, or even of his own age, so far as original, and in that case he is generally rewarded with widespread, though not with enduring popularity. His original contribution soon becomes absorbed by a later and more comprehensive genius. The irony of his fate is that, having ignored history, he himself becomes of mere historical importance.

On the other hand, the man of deficient individuality finds his productive capacity checked by the contemplation of what has already been produced. He exhausts himself in the appreciation of others. In his lifetime he is recognized by those who know him as a man of extreme culture and refinement. The irony of his fate is that, having devoted himself to history, he himself is of no historical importance.

Closely connected with the above is Kant’s consideration of the question as to whether in a work of art more stress should be laid upon genius or taste. Here again we might at once object that where there is genius there must also be taste. Kant seems to anticipate the objection by turning the question into one of the respective importance of fertility and originality of ideas, and of judgement which secures an accordance of imagination with the conformity to law of the understanding. Kant decides in favour of judgement, i. e. taste, which is what is fundamental. It may be thought that in coming to this cxxxviidecision he was merely influenced by antagonism to the leaders of the Sturm und Drang movement. But that Kant had more in his mind than this would appear from his statement that taste ‘introduces a clearness and order into the plenitude of thought, and in so doing gives stability to the ideas, qualifies them at once for permanent and universal approval, for being followed by others and for a continually progressive culture’.¹ Here we can plainly see that what attracted Kant was the sobriety of true genius, and the security of tenure which it enjoys by virtue of a happy reciprocal relation between the individual and the general social development of the race.

But it is really quite impossible to press such a comparison in the case of two factors both of which are absolutely indispensable. Using genius in the loose sense of mere ‘fertility and originality of ideas’, it may be said that taste without genius is more often met with than genius without taste. Indeed taste without genius seems not uncommon in the case of art of a more or less decadent character. Thus the somewhat insipid canvases of Guido Reni seem fairly typical of taste without genius (at least of the high order possessed by his predecessors). But it is not so easy to find examples of genius, even in the limited sense of ‘soul’, without taste. This may be partly explained on the ground that Kant is so absolutely justified in specially condemning genius without taste, that the works which might have shown us what genius without taste is like have been strangled in their birth and condemned out of existence. Taste is, in fact, such an indispensable requisite of a work of fine art that if it is wholly absent we can recognize nothing. The most one can do is to take a man of genius whose good taste may often be questioned and compare him with another who is lacking in genius but hardly to be blamed on the score of deficient taste. Thus, in the paintings of Watts we may occasionally be offended by a certain ‘Cabaret de l’Enfer’ or ‘Cabaret du Ciel’ effect, and we may ask if this is worse than the more deficient genius of Leighton. But it is doubtful if such questions are worth answering. Much turns on the degree of genius present and how far taste is deficient; and, in any case, even if the question could be decided in particular cases, it would seem impossible to generalize the answers.

Perhaps Kant should have said that the question of the cxxxviiirelative importance of genius and taste in a work of art only arises in the case of the man of genius working under definite conditions in which the true light of his genius sometimes fails or becomes uncertain. If the happy relation of imagination and understanding is disturbed or endangered, should he rather think of the loss of force from putting a restraint upon his imagination, or of his mode of expression not being a truly exemplary vehicle of communication to express the idea that stirs within him? Thus framed, the question cannot be answered in the abstract. We may readily pardon Shakespeare for not always showing the restraint of Sophocles, in whom genius and taste were perfectly balanced, but, at the same time we can hardly fail to wish that in such a passage as that in which he compares the lunatic, the lover, and the poet, he had curbed the ‘inimitable rush of his spirit’ before he reached the lines—

On the practical question Kant says all that can be said. An offence against taste ‘is always a blemish’, but we must be ready to pardon those ‘deformities which the genius only suffered to remain, because they could hardly be removed without loss of force to the idea’.¹ It is in these remarks that Kant approaches the question on the proper plane.

Difficulties of a more serious character arise out of the sharp distinction which Kant draws between judging and producing the beautiful. ‘For estimating beautiful objects, as such, what is required is taste; but for fine art, i. e. the production of such objects, one needs genius.’² Now there is, of course, no difficulty in distinguishing between judging and producing, between being a critic and an artist. The distinction is a real distinction, and a convenient and necessary one. But how far does the critical faculty presuppose the artistic faculty, and vice versa?

At the outset it may be said that the above passage is by no means unambiguous on the question which we have now in view. We may see this at once if we ask ourselves whether Kant means that if genius were absolutely non-existent in the race we might have taste and enjoy the beauty of nature just as we do at present.

cxxxix Before endeavouring to find out what light Kant has thrown on this question we may shortly consider the matter for ourselves. That there is a valid distinction between the critical and the productive capacity, so far at least as to give meaning to the assertion that something evidences more of the one than the other, is unquestionable. Between mere judging of the beautiful and the highest creative art we can, in fact, find an intermediate art which is certainly more creative than the former and less so than the latter. An actor or a performer of music is certainly an artist.¹ He has to interpret, and he puts something of himself into his rendering. But while an actor may in a sense create a part, he creates at the instance of a suggestion given him by another. The performer of a piece of music also differs from his appreciative audience by more than mere technical skill. A musician who had to conduct a performance of Salome or Electra would undoubtedly require a certain amount of something intermediate between taste and genius to enable him to perform the task successfully. But to say that he required genius of the same order as that of Strauss would be as absurd as to rank Jebb with Sophocles.

It is, in fact, the different degree of creative power required that alone can explain the fact that while women have equalled men in the art of acting, and have competed with them in performing music, there has never been a really great female dramatist or composer of music. The education of women in music, which has always been expected from them as an accomplishment, has certainly not been neglected—as most of us know to our cost. What has been the result? They are rapidly beginning to abandon the pursuit altogether, and now that a few of them have turned to science and other such soulless occupations, the sex which could never produce a Mozart, a Beethoven, or a Wagner has readily produced a Madame Curie—a striking confirmation of Kant’s opinion that a scientist, even such as Newton, cannot rank as a genius with the great creators of art.²

But if there is a wide distinction between composing a great musical work and performing it, we may a fortiori admit the difference between the creative power of the composer and cxlthe taste of a musical audience merely competent to appreciate it. But how far is that taste the product of genius? Must not the great composer first create his works of art and then educate the taste requisite to appreciate them? That this is to a large extent the case is a matter of common experience.

But admitting that it is artistic genius that forms and educates taste in the case of music, is not taste much more independent of genius in the case of the beauty of nature? That the beautiful landscapes which we see in nature are largely the creations of Ruysdael, Constable, Turner, and their successors must surely be conceded, but what about the flowers, birds, and sea-shells of which Kant speaks? Would it not be a hysteron proteron to say that feathers and shells and such-like things were not recognized to be beautiful until primitive man used them to decorate himself? Was it not precisely because they were regarded as beautiful that they were used for the purpose of decoration? In attempting to answer this question there are two important points that must be borne in mind. First, there is the distinction which Kant has properly explained between what is regarded as agreeable because pleasant to the senses, and what is estimated as beautiful. No doubt primitive man did not decorate himself with feathers until he found such things agreeable to the senses: but this is a very different thing from saying that he did not decorate himself until he attained that degree of self-consciousness implied by anything approaching a pure judgement of taste. It would hardly be an extravagant hypothesis to suppose that it was the practice of decorating himself with such things that helped the transition from the mere recognition of such things as agreeable to the judgement that they were beautiful. Then, secondly, not merely painting or decoration but also poetry must be taken into account, and, further, poetry must be understood in a wide sense so as to include description in language generally. When we bear these points in mind we may see strong reasons for supposing that we do not first judge things to be beautiful and then seek to find an expression for them, but that we judge them to be beautiful because of our consciousness at least of the possibility of finding an expression for them. Unless this view is adopted there does not appear to be any intimate connexion between the appreciation of the beautiful and the creative work of art, deeply as the latter has obviously influenced the former in the field of experience open cxlito our immediate observation. The preferable alternative is to recognize that the impulse which impels an artist to produce works of art is implied in the mere judgement that anything is beautiful.

We have already seen that the distinction between the merely critical faculty of taste and the productive faculty of soul is the fundamental distinction which lies at the basis of the division of the Analytic into that of the Beautiful and that of the Sublime, and that in the Analytic of the Beautiful Kant entirely abstracted from the latter faculty. But this distinction does not negative the supposition that beauty always presupposes soul, and that apart from soul there would be no beauty for us to estimate.

Kant’s statement that for estimating beautiful objects, as such, what is required is taste, but for fine art, i. e. the production of such objects, one needs genius, does not really touch on the above point. For the beautiful object which has to be estimated may be a work of art, in which case soul is, to begin with, presupposed on the part of the producer of the work. Here the object owes its beauty to aesthetic ideas, and unless these are appreciated by the critic, taste could not find any beauty in the work. Thus in § 17 Kant recognizes that even for estimating ideal beauty ideas of reason and great imaginative power are required.

Undoubtedly, when Kant says that in a work of art taste is more important than genius because it is in respect of the former that it deserves to be called beautiful, whereas in respect of the latter it deserves rather to be called inspired or full of soul, he seems to imply that taste has nothing to do with the soul in a work of art. But the whole discussion of art certainly implies that genius is required in order that a work of art may be beautiful even for mere taste. How, then, can this position be reconciled with the former statement? The only way that suggests itself is by saying that there Kant was thinking of that degree of originality that is required in every work of art. A work of art may be beautiful, at least in a popular sense, although it is most commonplace. But what is now commonplace may only be soul that has become the substratum of mere taste. But a work of art must have life, and must be estimated with regard to the progress of art.

cxlii But has soul anything to do with the beauty of nature? It would seem that here again we can only answer in the negative if we insist that in a society in which a certain degree of culture is attained the individual is not to be credited with soul if all that he possesses is the mere common property of all. Otherwise we must recognize that soul is required in order that any one should even think of laying down a pure judgement of taste. The very form of the judgement that anything is beautiful implies the interpretation of what is given after the analogy of art, and therefore an indeterminate poetic sense. The only difference between the poet and the man who says of an object, ‘Isn’t it beautiful!’ is that the former is definitely articulate. The mere judgement, ‘That is beautiful’, is poetry. It is certainly not very advanced poetry, but it is better than the lines of the man who after spending a week at Niagara wrote,—

So much for the soul implied in the mere attempt to lay down a judgement of taste. But is not soul also required in order that an object of nature should exhibit that finality for the cognitive faculties which is the condition of its being regarded as beautiful? There seems no reason for not taking Kant’s statements that ‘Genius is the faculty of aesthetic ideas’ and that ‘Beauty (whether it be beauty of nature or of art) may in general be called the expression of aesthetic ideas’ as final and decisive. It implies that all beauty is ultimately the product of soul. No distinction is here made between the beauty of nature and the beauty of art. Neither is any such distinction drawn in the solution of the antinomy of taste. The solution of that antinomy seems to lie in a common soul that forms the supersensible substrate of humanity. But this position is in no way inconsistent with Kant’s statements in the Analytic of the Beautiful. From the first it was recognized that the form of the beautiful object must appear charged with meaning for us. Only in this way can it stimulate the mind and produce the sensation of the quickening of the mental faculties. But whence is this meaning derived? In the most elementary case it would seem that all we are conscious of in the form is that the imagination easily grasps and reproduces it. This of itself indicates a finality for the mind, i. e. the cxliiiconception of beauty can attach even to that minimum, and give it importance. Here soul only appears to be involved in so far as it is implied in the mere effort to lay down a judgement of taste. Such beauty is the fundamental beauty to which all art refers back. But even here Kant is careful to point out that it is the productive and not the mere reproductive imagination that is concerned. This seems to mean that the form is one upon which we dwell and which sustains and reproduces itself owing to its being one which we would ourselves mentally produce. Unless we admit that soul and aesthetic ideas afford an explanation of what is meant by the productive imagination, then we must admit that the statement that imagination ‘is to be taken as productive (as originative of arbitrary forms of possible intuitions)’, which is put forward in such a way as to control the interpretation of the entire analytic of the beautiful, is practically unintelligible, for Kant would then have left the mode of production wholly unexplained. But it seems more natural to suppose that the explanation was merely postponed for treatment in the discussion of art, and precisely because the productive imagination means the artistic imagination—and that Kant returns to the point in passages like the following: ‘The imagination (as a productive faculty of cognition) is a powerful agent for creating, as it were, a second nature out of the material supplied to it by actual nature.’¹ Or again, ‘If, now, we attach to a concept a representation of the imagination belonging to its presentation, but inducing solely on its own account such a wealth of thought as would never admit of comprehension in a definite concept, and, as a consequence, giving aesthetically an unbounded expansion to the concept itself, then the imagination here displays a creative activity, and it puts the faculty of intellectual ideas (reason) into motion—a motion, at the instance of a representation, towards an extension of thought, that, while germane, no doubt, to the concept of the object, exceeds what can be laid hold of in that representation or clearly expressed.’²

The passage immediately preceding the last quoted is also important. Kant there says, ‘And it is, in fact, precisely in the poetic art that the faculty of aesthetic ideas can show itself to full advantage.’ With this we must read the remarks on poetry at the beginning of § 53. Why, now, does Kant append cxlivto the above statement the remark, ‘This faculty, however, regarded solely on its own account, is properly no more than a talent (of the imagination)’? It is not for the purpose of cutting down the significance of what was just said, but mainly in order to refer the faculty of aesthetic ideas back to the productive imagination of which he spoke in the Analytic of the Beautiful. Symbolism in the Critique of the Aesthetic Judgement plays a part analogous to that of schematism in the Critique of Pure Reason.

Hence we may infer that Kant would thoroughly agree with the lines of Wordsworth, which are as true as anything ever written on the subject of Aesthetics:—

The judgement upon the beautiful has always a content in which soul must appear, as otherwise there would be no aesthetic finality. But, as already shown, this does not obliterate the distinction between taste and genius. The progressive culture of society implies a reciprocal relation between the individual and society. It is one thing for the individual merely to respond to the influences around him and be a man of culture and refinement, and another thing for him to be himself an influence. Most men merely possess the common soul of the society in which they live. It is a mistake to suppose that they have different souls just because they have separate suits of clothes, separate houses, and different personal anecdotes. But in some few men the soul which is fostered by culture becomes individual, blossoms into fresh life, and fructifies. Ce sont les immortels!

It may be well to warn the reader who is not familiar with Kant’s other Critiques that in the Dialectic he is not to expect to find any additions to the analysis of beauty, sublimity, and art already furnished. The Dialectic follows upon the completion of the Analytic; But what the reader is to expect is a proof that Kant’s explanation affords the only avenue of escape from the difficulties attaching to other accounts. As such, his explanation will naturally acquire a deeper significance. Though nothing is added to the analysis, the meaning of the analysis itself will probably become more apparent. The reader may hope for a clearer insight into the dominant motive of the Analytic. Thus, while he is not to look for any further definition of beauty eiusdem generis or co-ordinate with the definition of beauty as the expression of aesthetic ideas, he should be prepared to find an explanation of what beauty, as the expression of aesthetic ideas, is from the point of view of transcendental criticism. He must, in short, be ready to look back on all that has gone before from the standpoint of the teleological unity of all our faculties a priori.

The dialectic of taste, or, rather, of the Critique of taste, is exhibited in an antinomy—a pair of antithetical propositions setting forth conflicting principles that underlie every judgement of taste, each of which may be supported by valid considerations. This conflict forces us to adopt a higher point of view from which these different principles may be reconciled. The antinomy is stated by Kant in the following terms:—

‘1. Thesis. The judgement of taste is not based upon concepts; for, if it were, it would be open to dispute (decision by means of proofs), 2. Antithesis. The judgement of taste is based on concepts; for otherwise, despite diversity of judgement, there could be no room even for contention in the matter (a claim to the necessary agreement of others with this judgement).’¹

Now if determinate concepts of the understanding were the only concepts of which we could take account in the thesis and antithesis, the conflict between the propositions would be irremovable. The thesis is quite correct in stating that the judgement of taste is not based on such concepts. But besides such concepts there is the transcendental rational concept of the supersensible, which is at once intrinsically undetermined and undeterminable. A reference to such a concept as this is certainly required by the judgement of taste in order to explain the ‘enlarged reference on the part of the representation of the Object (and at the same time on the part of the Subject also), which lays the foundation of an extension of judgements of this kind to necessity for every one.’¹ The proof of the antithesis does not go beyond the proof of a reference to such a concept, and, it being one that does not admit of determination by intuition and that affords no knowledge of anything, the conflict disappears.

Here, now, an objection naturally occurs. The reason for assuming a reference of the judgement of taste to some concept, even though only an indeterminate one, was that this was the only means of saving the claim of that judgement to universal validity. Now it is easy to see that a determinate concept would save that claim, but is a mere indeterminate concept, as of the supersensible, equally efficacious? Undoubtedly we all have the rational concept of the supersensible slumbering within our breasts, and we think of it as the intelligible substrate of all sensible intuition, but, if we cannot connect it in any way with particular representations, why is it referred to in one case more than another? We know how Kant rejected the idea of an intellectual intuition. But is not that precisely what we require here? Does not Kant here tacitly assume an intellectual intuition? If not, how does the judgement of taste differ from that upon the sublime, which, as we saw, also looks to the rational concept of the supersensible?

But Kant is prepared for us on this point. We have forgotten that the essential feature of the aesthetic idea is that it is a product of the Imagination, and that it is one ‘which serves the above rational idea, as a substitute for logical presentation, but with the proper function, however, of animating the mind by opening out for it a prospect into a field of kindred reprecxlviisentations stretching beyond its ken’.¹ It is through the aesthetic idea, which is the counterpart of the rational idea, that the required reference is effected.

Hence Kant supplements the above solution of the antinomy with a further explanation of aesthetic ideas addressed specially to meeting the above difficulty. ‘Ideas, in the most comprehensive sense of the word, are representations referred to an object according to a certain principle (subjective or objective), in so far as they can still never become a cognition of it. They are either referred to an intuition, in accordance with a merely subjective principle of the harmony of the cognitive faculties (imagination and understanding), and are then called aesthetic; or else they are referred to a concept according to an objective principle and yet are incapable of ever furnishing a cognition of the object, and are called rational ideas. In the latter case the concept is a transcendent concept, and, as such, differs from a concept of understanding, for which an adequately answering experience may always be supplied, and which, on that account, is called immanent. An aesthetic idea cannot become a cognition, because it is an intuition (of the imagination) for which an adequate concept can never be found. A rational idea can never become a cognition, because it involves a concept (of the supersensible), for which a commensurate intuition can never be given. Now the aesthetic idea might, I think, be called an inexponible representation of the imagination, the rational idea, on the other hand, an indemonstrable concept of reason. The production of both is presupposed to be not altogether groundless, but rather, (following the above explanation of an idea in general,) to take place in obedience to certain principles of the cognitive faculties to which they belong (subjective principles in the case of the former and objective in that of the latter).’²

The consideration of the antinomy concludes with a comparison of the antinomies in the case of each of the higher faculties. They are all shown to have one result, viz. they force us to take cognisance of a supersensible substrate of the given Object as phenomenon.

The result of the account is to bring three ideas into evidence; and these show the nature of the bridge with which this Critique attempts to connect the realms of nature and of freedom. ‘Firstly, there is the supersensible in general, cxlviiiwithout further determination, as substrate of nature; secondly, this same supersensible as principle of the subjective finality of nature for our cognitive faculties; thirdly, the same supersensible again, as principle of the ends of freedom, and principle of the common accord of these ends with freedom in the moral sphere.’¹

It can hardly be said that Kant’s mode of arriving at the antinomy is very convincing. He obviously approaches the question with a lively recollection of the discussion of the problem of a standard of taste so familiar in the works of English writers—notably Hume and Home, both of whom refer to the proverbial saying that there is no disputing about taste. Subsequently, no doubt, he refers the thesis and antithesis respectively to the two peculiarities of the judgement of taste dealt with in §§ 31, 32, and 33. The universality and necessity are, however, treated together so that only one antinomy results. But in the four moments universality and necessity are quite distinctly separated. Here, again, we see the standpoint of the four moments ignored. But we can, in fact, construct two antinomies corresponding to the two peculiarities as first given in § 31, and in such a way as to answer to the second and fourth moments of the judgement of taste. Thus from the first peculiarity we get:—

Thesis. The judgement of taste is not based upon concepts. For otherwise the predicate ‘beautiful’ would belong to the object as a logical predicate, and the judgement of taste would be logical, not aesthetic.

Antithesis. The judgement of taste must depend upon a concept. For otherwise its universal communicability would be inexplicable.

Solution. Undoubtedly the judgement of taste is not based on determinate concepts. This satisfies the thesis. Then the universal communicability does undoubtedly involve a reference to cognition. But the reference in the case of the judgement of taste is merely to the harmony of the cognitive faculties, of which we are only conscious through the sensation of the quickening of our faculties.

Thesis. There is no rule or standard of taste. For otherwise we could determine objectively by means of proofs cxlixwhether an object is beautiful or not. But the judgement of taste is merely aesthetic.

Antithesis. There must be some rule or standard of taste. For otherwise there would be an end to approval or censure of taste as correct or incorrect. To say that ‘every one has his own taste’ would be the last word on the subject. But this would be subversive of the very meaning of taste, which implies that we have a right to praise or blame taste as good or bad.

Solution. The function of a rule or standard of taste is performed by a sensus communis which is a mere ideal norm. The judgement of taste is laid down as an example of the judgement of this sensus communis and has, therefore, only exemplary validity attributed to it.

The antinomy of taste, as treated by Kant, arises from the paradoxical character of the judgement of taste as displayed in the two peculiarities. These two peculiarities point to two distinct paradoxes (or else Kant was wrong in separating them in the second and fourth moments), and therefore we should get two corresponding antinomies. Why does Kant only give one? The most plausible answer seems to be, that the separation of universality and necessity, which are the joint signs of a priority, is somewhat artificial, and that when Kant framed the antinomy he did not regard them as two distinct moments of the judgement of taste.

But, further, the paradoxical character of the judgement of taste is not confined to the two peculiarities, or, in other words, to the second and fourth moments. The first and third moments also involve paradoxes. This may be seen from the definition of the beautiful appended to each, and is indicated by the words ‘apart from any interest’ and ‘apart from any representation of an end’ which take the place of the words ‘apart from any concept’ which appear in the definitions appended to the second and fourth moments. Antinomies might therefore be also framed in their case. It is, in fact, in a solution to an antinomy arising out of the fourth moment that Kant should answer the questions raised in § 22 as to the ultimate nature of the sensus communis which was there left as an outstanding problem.

It is to be observed that Kant does not suggest the possibility of an antinomy in the case of the judgement upon the sublime. Yet it would not be difficult to collect passages from which, combined with what Kant says is necessary to clgive rise to an antinomy, we might be led to expect one. Why then is none given? Or rather, why does the possibility of one not seem to have even occurred to Kant? Apparently the answer lies in the fact that with him the sublime is only to be found in the mind of the judging Subject, and that the object of nature is a mere occasion for awakening the mind to a sense of its own proper sublimity. There seems, then, to be nothing paradoxical in the reflective judgement in the case of the sublime not determining the object, for it does not even apply to it the aesthetic predicate. The antinomy of taste forces us, according to Kant, to look to the rational idea of the supersensible, and, as the judgement upon the sublime itself begins with the recognition of this idea, it is already where the solution of the antinomy of taste ends.

But is there not a latent antinomy in the very conception of a faculty of reflective judgement which relies upon ideas of reason, and which yet purports to pass different singular aesthetic judgements? We may, at the expense of some repetition, suggest the following:—

Thesis. Sublimity must be referable to nature. For otherwise the judgement upon the sublime could not be aesthetic. The judgement would have no relevant content but the ideas of reason, which would always be the same. Hence the most that there could be would be one judgement upon the mathematically sublime and one upon the dynamically sublime, and these would simply involve an abstract intellectual recognition of the supremacy of reason. If, on the other hand, the ‘occasion’ that excites a sense of the sublime is given importance in order to distinguish one judgement upon the sublime from another, and if universal agreement is claimed with regard to the occasion, then there is as much ground for applying the predicate ‘sublime’ to the object, as there is for so applying the predicate ‘beautiful’ in judgements of taste.

Antithesis. Sublimity cannot be referable to nature. For nature can never be adequate to ideas of reason, and it is precisely the recognition of the inadequacy of nature that gives us the sense of the sublime. To refer the sublime to nature would therefore be a contradiction.

Solution. The supersensible in the subject and the supersensible substrate of nature as phenomenon, the thing-in-itself, may be at bottom one and the same; and the judgement upon the sublime regards them as so. Nature as phenomenon is clicertainly not sublime; but in respect of its supersensible substrate it is sublime in such of its phenomena as bring home to us a consciousness that these phenomena are only phenomena of a thing-in-itself. Any phenomenon of nature is intrinsically capable of awakening this consciousness in us, for nothing but inadequacy is required, and any question as to appropriateness is properly a question of taste.

It is customary to find fault with Kant for his technicalities, his somewhat scholastic distinctions and logical divisions, and his methodical arrangements, which Schopenhauer has called ‘architectonic amusements’. Whether such objections are in general justified or not, the Dialectic of taste would seem to gain in clearness if its contents were brought into closer connexion with the four moments. The four moments involve four distinct paradoxes; and the solution of the one antinomy given by Kant leaves outstanding difficulties awaiting solution from the appropriate standpoint of the Dialectic. Additional explanation is, in fact, furnished in a scattered way in the different sections of the Dialectic and in the Remarks to § 57 and in the Appendix. That this Appendix, which is headed ‘The Methodology of Taste’ (although Kant states that the division of a Critique into a doctrine of elements and a doctrine of method is inapplicable to a critique of taste), should contain matter which throws considerable additional light on the problem of the Dialectic is in itself sufficiently anomalous to show the confused arrangement of Kant’s treatment of that problem.

The final explanation of the paradox involved in the first moment is to be found in § 59, which treats of beauty as the symbol of morality. In the treatment of the first moment the difficulty was solved by a transition to the second moment, and so on till the final presupposition of the sensus communis was reached. But, now that all the characteristics of the judgement of taste have been completely analysed, what is the ultimate explanation of how the beautiful can be an object of delight apart from any interest? Of course this explanation must lie in some reference to the practical faculty. But, just as the reference of the judgement of taste to the theoretical faculty, emphasized in the third moment, was not one through concepts but only a reference to the harmony of imagination and understanding in general, so in the case of the practical faculty the reference is not through desires or interest, but is only a reference to the practical faculty generally. The form of the cliijudgement of taste is to be regarded as the result of a bearing of the practical upon the theoretical faculty, which is to be explained by the teleological unity, of all our faculties a priori. The moments of the judgement of taste constitute beauty the symbol of the morally good.

Kant, however, does not refer expressly to the moments of the judgement of taste, and, in tracing out the points of the analogy between that judgement and the moral judgement, seems, as pointed out above,¹ to collect the characteristics from a draft containing a different arrangement.

The conception of beauty as the symbol of the morally good is not in the least prejudicial to the distinction between the beautiful and the good. In noting the points of the analogy Kant is careful also to call attention to the points of difference. Further, the judgement upon the beautiful is in no way determined by a moral interest. It is, in fact, the disinterestedness of the judgement of taste—its freedom from all interest, including even that in the morally good—that first of all qualifies it to be the symbol of the morally good.

But, on the other hand, the analogy does point to a supersensible ground ‘in which the theoretical faculty gets bound up into unity with the practical in an intimate and obscure manner’.² It supplies an answer to the question as to why beauty is anything to us. It explains the significance of beauty, and the reason we set a value upon it. For the capacity of forming a clear judgement of taste evidences a degree of mental detachment that implies a certain evolution of soul. Hence with the pleasure in the beautiful ‘the mind gets at once a sense of a certain ennoblement and elevation above sensibility to pleasure from impressions of sense, and also appraises the worth of others on the score of a like maxim of their judgement’.² In this way ‘taste makes, as it were, the transition from the charms of sense to habitual moral interest possible without too violent a leap’.

Beauty being constituted as the symbol of the morally good, the judgement upon beauty is legislative. It is not determined by any concept of what the object is. This would be heteronomy. But the judgement of taste founds on the autonomy of the Subject. Yet this autonomy of the Subject does not make the judgement a mere private judgement. It is through the adoption of a universal standpoint that the autonomy is cliiiobtained. The delight in the judgement of taste is a free favour with which the object is received, and the autonomy founds upon what is the supersensible substrate of human nature. This explains the universal voice with which the judgement of taste purports to speak.

The autonomy of the Subject proves the idealism of the finality in estimating the beautiful in nature and in art. This ‘is the only hypothesis upon which the critique can explain the possibility of a judgement of taste that demands a priori validity for every one (yet without basing the finality, represented in the Object, upon concepts)’.¹ The discussion of this subject has an intimate bearing on § 42.

It will be remembered that in § 42, in which an attempt was made to explain, by reference to an intellectual interest, how the agreement required by a judgement is exacted as a duty, one of the grounds upon which that interest was based depended on teleological considerations. ‘In addition,’ said Kant, ‘there is our admiration of nature, which in her beautiful products displays herself as art, not as mere matter of chance, but as it were designedly, according to a law-conforming arrangement as a finality apart from an end. As we never meet with such an end outside ourselves, we naturally look for it within ourselves, and, in fact, in that which constitutes the ultimate end of our existence—the moral side of our being. (The inquiry into the ground of the possibility of such a natural finality will, however, first come under discussion in the Teleology.)’²

The discussion promised in the Teleology looks back to and quotes from § 58—thus connecting §§ 42 and 58. The man with the germ of a good moral disposition may, no doubt, base his interest in the beauty of nature upon teleological considerations, but if that interest is to explain the problem of the aesthetic judgement the critique of that faculty must see that the interest is well founded. In the Remark to § 38 Kant said, ‘But if the question were: How is it possible to assume a priori that nature is a complex of objects of taste? the problem would then have reference to teleology, because it would have to be regarded as an end of nature belonging essentially to its concept that it should exhibit forms that are final for our judgement. But the correctness of this assumption may still be seriously questioned, while the actual existence of beauties of nature is patent to experience.’³ In § 58 the clivtwo rival interpretations of subjective finality are clearly stated. ‘Either such subjective finality is, in the first case, a harmony with our judgement pursued as an actual (intentional) end of nature (or of art), or else, in the second case, it is only a supervening final harmony with the needs of our faculty of judgement in its relation to nature and the forms which it produces in accordance with particular laws, and one that is independent of an end, spontaneous and contingent.’¹ The former of these interpretations would be one of realism; the latter of idealism. The distinction between these interpretations has nothing to do with the explanation of beauty by reference to perfection. That explanation has long since been ruled out. The question now is whether or not the admittedly subjective finality of beauty is to be explained by reference to final causes.

No doubt ‘the beautiful formations displayed in the kingdom of organic nature plead eloquently on the side of the realism of the aesthetic finality of nature in support of the plausible assumption that beneath the production of the beautiful there must lie a preconceived idea in the producing cause—that is to say, an end acting in the interests of our imagination’.¹ These forms seem chosen as it were with an eye to our taste. But reason, with its maxim forbidding a useless multiplication of principles, sets itself against this unnecessary assumption. And further, nature produces forms which we consider beautiful in cases where we must regard it as a mere mechanism following its own laws in complete indifference to us. To illustrate this Kant enters upon a lengthy, but most relevant, discussion of the process of crystallization. Do the threads of ice that form at angles of 60° in freezing water come together in this way to please the eye of man? Similarly in the case of organic nature, ‘without at all derogating from the teleological principle by which an organization is judged, it is readily conceivable how, with the beauty of flowers, of the plumage of birds, of Crustacea, both as to their shape and their colour, we have only what may be ascribed to nature and its capacity for originating in free activity aesthetically final forms, independently of any guiding ends, according to chemical laws, by the deposit of the material requisite for the organization.’²

‘That nature affords us an opportunity for perceiving the inner finality in the relation of our mental powers engaged in the estimate of certain of its products, and, indeed, such a clvfinality as, arising from a supersensible basis, is to be pronounced necessary and of universal validity, is a property of nature which cannot belong to it as its end, or rather cannot be judged by us to be such an end. For otherwise the judgement that would be determined by reference to such an end would found on heteronomy, instead of founding on autonomy and being free, as befits a judgement of taste.’¹ In short, the finality rests upon the play of imagination in its freedom. ‘It is we who receive nature with favour, and not nature that does us a favour.’

In fine art this idealism is still more clearly apparent. For, ‘that the delight arising from aesthetic ideas must not be made dependent upon the successful attainment of ends (as an art mechanically directed to results), and that, consequently, even in the case of the rationalism of principle, an ideality of ends and not their reality is fundamental, is clearly apparent from the fact that fine art, as such, must not be regarded as a product of understanding and science, but of genius, and must therefore derive its rule from aesthetic ideas, which are essentially different from rational ideas of determinate ends.’²

In considering the two clear grounds into which Kant analysed the basis of the intellectual interest in the beauty of nature we saw reason for expecting that Kant’s solution of the problem of how agreement in the judgement of taste is exacted as a duty would give each of these grounds its true weight.³ In the definition, or rather evaluation, of beauty as the symbol of the morally good, Kant has done so in respect of the first. In the case of the second he has now done so by making the teleological unity of all our faculties a priori the ultimate point of reference for the subjective finality of beauty.

Just as the reference in a judgement of taste to the theoretical and to the practical faculty is represented by Kant as general and indeterminate, so also the reference to Teleology is as general and indeterminate as possible. Aesthetic sensibility involves the revelation of no mystery of nature: it involves no deep insight into the hidden meaning of things—whatever the Critique of Taste may disclose in respect of our own nature. In adopting this position Kant was well advised. The realm of feeling extends over the broad and dusky demesnes of a twilight consciousness. It is in this realm that poetry has its clviimmediate truth. But the inspiration of poetry has a higher source. Poetry looks back upon that realm and returns to it. It is only one who has looked out towards ideas of reason that can re-enter into the twilight, and there allow his dreams to take mystic shape in its half-seen forms. The early epics of the race all point back to a heroic age. But they were not written in the age described; for to itself that age was not heroic. Were this otherwise, fine art would not be the creation of genius, but merely of a kind of feminine instinct—from which it must be carefully distinguished, as, on the other hand, from an intellectual intuition. The originality of the man of genius (in the case of fine art) consists in his capacity for detaching himself from feeling, which he then possesses as his empire.

It is certainly difficult to distinguish the ultimate explanation which Kant gives of the claims of judgements of taste from that which he gives of the modality of the judgement upon the sublime. In the latter case he said, ‘But the fact that culture is requisite for the judgement upon the sublime in nature (more than for that upon the beautiful) does not involve its being an original product of culture and something introduced in a more or less conventional way into society. Rather is it in human nature that its foundations are laid, and, in fact, in that which, at once with common understanding, we may expect every one to possess and may require of him, namely, a native capacity for the feeling for (practical) ideas, i. e. for moral feeling.’¹ So again, ‘The pleasure in the sublime in nature, as one of rationalizing contemplation, lays claim also to universal participation, but still it presupposes another feeling, that namely of our supersensible sphere, which feeling, however obscure it may be, has a moral foundation.’²

In the above passages Kant certainly implies that taste is merely founded on common human understanding, and does not in any way presuppose ‘a native capacity for the feeling for (practical) ideas, i. e. for moral feeling’, nor any recognition of our ‘supersensible sphere’, nor any feeling that has ‘a moral foundation’. Further, it implies that not much culture is required.

But we have now seen that Kant places the import of beauty in the fact that it is the symbol of the morally good. From this he derives the justification of the claims of the judgement of taste. ‘Only in this light (a point of view natural to every one, clviiand one that every one exacts from others as a duty) does it give us pleasure with an attendant claim to the agreement of every one else, upon which the mind gets a sense of a certain ennoblement and elevation above sensibility to pleasure from impressions of sense, and also appraises the worth of others on the score of a like maxim of their judgement. This is that intelligible to which taste … extends its view.’¹ Thus again he says, ‘Even common understanding is wont to pay regard to this analogy; and we frequently apply to beautiful objects of nature or of art names that seem to rely on the basis of a moral estimate.’²

It is difficult, at first sight, to reconcile these passages. The feeling of the beautiful does require a ‘native capacity (Anlage) for the feeling for (practical) ideas’. However, the feeling for the sublime really requires something more than this. It requires an actual frame of mind akin to the moral.

Thus understood, it is not the modality of the judgement upon the beautiful that is indistinguishable from the modality of the judgement upon the sublime, but rather the modality of the intellectual interest in the beauty of nature, described in §42. If Kant had accepted this intellectual interest as the ultimate explanation of the claim to universal agreement in judgements of taste, which is exacted as a duty, then he would have fallen into hopeless contradiction with the passages in which he distinguished the modality of the judgements upon the sublime and the beautiful. But that he does not do so is apparent from the mere fact that in § 59, in which the problem is expressly solved, the claims of the judgement of taste are in no way confined to the beauty of nature as opposed to that of art. Hence, the passages above quoted will be easily reconciled if it is possible to distinguish the feeling for the beauty of nature which is dependent upon an intellectual interest, from the pleasure in a judgement upon the beautiful, the claims of which judgement are only justified because beauty is the symbol of the morally good.

As we have already seen, the intellectual interest in the beauty of nature is the result of a popular critique. It discovers and brings to light the latent significance of beauty. Further, it presupposes a disposition of mind akin to the moral. Transcendental critique also brings to light the latent significance of beauty, but finds this significance in the supersensible in which clviiithe theoretical faculty and the practical are bound up into unity in an intimate and obscure manner. The reference is not to the moral faculty simpliciter, but to the supersensible as the point of reference for the common accord of all our faculties. Hence, although beauty is, in its ultimate import, the symbol of the morally good, and although taste is, in the last resort, ‘a critical faculty directed to the rendering of moral ideas in terms of sense,’ still appreciation of the beautiful in no way postulates a disposition akin to the moral. Taste does not necessarily concern itself with the moral faculty further than to avail itself of a reference to that faculty, in order to give freedom to the imagination which would otherwise not be able to get beyond the mere object of nature. In a judgement of taste, accordingly, the moral faculty is merely in play. This is the solution which Kant himself gives to the difficulty. ‘As a matter of fact a feeling for the sublime in nature is hardly thinkable unless in conjunction with a frame of mind resembling the moral. And though, like that feeling, the immediate pleasure in the beautiful in nature presupposes and cultivates a certain liberality of thought, i. e. makes our delight independent of any mere enjoyment of sense, still it represents freedom rather as in play than as exercising a law-ordained function.’¹

But if the moral faculty is merely in play in the judgement of taste, what gives seriousness to the duty to agree in that judgement? The answer seems to be that the play is one in which we express ourselves. Here there are two points to be considered. That the play is one which is qualified to be an expression of ourselves is due to the introduction of the moral faculty. But that the expression is an expression of ourselves makes the reference to duty something more than mere play. It is moral ideas that give expressiveness to the expression, and it is the expression that gives seriousness to the reference to duty.

Hence the ultimate explanation of the modality of the judgement of taste must lie in something that allows each of the factors expression and self its true value; and this ‘something’ must also solve the problem as to the true nature of the sensus communis. What is sought can be nothing else but humanity. For ‘humanity signifies on the one hand the universal feeling of sympathy, and on the other the faculty of being able to conmunicate universally one’s inmost self—properties constituting in conjunction the befitting sociability of mankind, clixin contradistinction to the narrow life of the lower animals. There was an age and there was a race in which the active impulse towards a social life regulated by laws—what converts a people into a permanent community—grappled with the vast difficulties presented by the momentous problem of bringing freedom (and hence equality also) into union with constraining force (more that of respect and dutiful submission than of fear). Such must have been the age and such the people that first discovered the art of reciprocal communication of ideas between the cultivated and the uncultivated sections of the community, and how to bridge the difference between the amplitude and refinement of the former and the natural simplicity and originality of the latter—in this way hitting upon that mean between higher culture and the modest worth of nature that forms for taste also, as a universal sense of mankind, that standard which no universal rules can supply’.¹

This account enables us to understand to some extent why Kant thought that the judgement upon the sublime implies more culture than a judgement upon the beautiful. In the case of the sublime the distinction between judging and producing does not hold. The sublime has to be produced in the mere judgement itself. But in the case of the beautiful there is that distinction and, therefore, the distinction between genius and taste. For, although, in ultimate analysis, the critical judgement of taste does imply the production of a standard, still that standard is not necessarily the production of the individual judging subject. If the individual can acquire something as member of a society, which he could not acquire through his own unaided resources, and if genius can win something for the race, then art maybe a humanizing influence and may beget in others the standard by which it is to be judged, and may discover how to bridge the difference between the higher culture and the modest worth of nature. Still it would seem that the individual must have arrived at a considerable degree of culture through general social influences before acquiring anything approaching a pure and refined taste. A judgement upon the beautiful that presupposes less culture than a judgement upon the sublime proper, must be the judgement of a taste that requires the addition of the charm of sense, which Kant allows may be added to the beauty of form to win over a taste that is as yet crude and uncultured. clxTaste can be cultivated more than a sense of the sublime, and it runs through a much more complicated course of evolution. There is an uncultured taste, which is still taste and may be cultivated; whereas the judgement upon the sublime from the first presupposes culture. Once genius has given beauty a id, even the uncultured may call some ‘flowers, shells, and birds’ beautiful, and may find that their judgements meet with a responsive agreement.

For the birth of taste in society—for crude and uncultured taste—the moral faculty is only implied so far as a human society presupposes the moral substrate of human nature. At whatever stage in the development of the race man may, from a biological point of view, be regarded as having become a man, still from the point of view of what we call humanity he only joins the human brotherhood upon the development of a certain social and moral tendency of his nature. The Naturanlage henceforth marks the destiny of the race. It points forward to the ideas of reason which alone render its development intelligible.

What for taste intermediates between nature and freedom is humanity, which only belongs to man as a social being. This enables us to understand the meaning of common sense as a concrete faculty. It implies, on the one hand, the Naturanlage of the race, and, on the other hand, freedom and ideas of reason, as the light of social evolution, and, in particular, as the dominant influence in the formation of the conception of a possible pure judgement of taste. Both of these are united in what is further implied, viz. an actual social community, which has attained to a stage of culture, and in which the influence of the practical upon the theoretical faculty has resulted in well-established habits of thought, and in a certain community of feeling.

Art requires leaders of the progress of culture, and is a great humanizing influence, while, in turn, it presupposes some existing degree of culture. Also, that society to which taste looks for agreement with its judgement is, of course, not the mere product of art. Social development is rather due to the same influences that are recognizable in art, only operating on a larger scale. The development of the sensus communis is itself furthered by general social conditions. Doubtless the reciprocal relations of the influences here brought into play are difficult to understand. The problem involved is that of social clxiprogress, and it is the difficulties of that problem that complicate the problem of the relation of taste and genius. Hence we see that the Critique of Aesthetic Judgement affords a sort of transition from general Critical Philosophy to Pragmatic Anthropology.

We may, therefore, appropriately quote a few passages from the Anthropology bearing on the social aspect of man’s nature. ‘Man is determined by his reason to be in society with man, and in society to make himself, by means of art and science, a cultured, civilized, and moral being.’¹ ‘With all other animals the single individual can attain all that it has in it to become, but with man only the genus.’² ‘Hence the human race can only work out its way by progress, in a succession of countless generations, to the fulfilment of his vocation.’³ In this social life ‘the private sense (of individuals)’ must be reconciled with the ‘common sense (of all united)’.⁴ In the state, freedom and law must be intermediated by dominion—as it is in a Republic.⁵ It is, in fact, part of the character of the human species ‘to feel itself intended by nature for a cosmopolitan society. This intrinsically unattainable idea is, however, not a constitutive principle, … but only a regulative principle, to make us diligently pursue this idea as the destiny of the human race, not without a reasonable presumption of a natural tendency towards it’.⁶

Thus we see the systematic connexions of Kant’s view that the beautiful is estimated in respect of the free conformity to law of the imagination, and why he was so severe on the leaders of the Sturm und Drang movement for not recognizing the importance of rules in art. The Sturm und Drang movement had, as we know, a political aspect. Kant clearly recognized this, and his aesthetics have a certain political colour. In art there must be a balance between the conservative and radical tendencies.

The man of genius must be the man of his age. He belongs to the age, but as the truth of the age. He must be at once a fulfilment and a prophecy. Hence it is only posterity that can set the seal on the genius as the true man of his age, which it does in recognizing the age as the age of the man.

We ought now to be in a position to answer the questions clxiiin respect of the sensus communis left over from the Analytic of the Beautiful. The idea of a sensus communis is for taste and art just what the idea of a cosmopolitan society is for politics and social progress. It is not ‘a constitutive principle of the possibility of experience’ but is ‘formed for us as a regulative principle by a still higher principle of reason that for higher ends first seeks to beget in us a common sense’. Further, considered in the concrete, it is not ‘a natural and original faculty’. It is, in fact, a faculty that is ‘artificial, and to be acquired by us’, in the sense that the ‘imputation of a universal assent’ contained in a judgement of taste is ‘but a requirement of reason for generating such a consensus’, and in the sense that ‘the ought, i. e. the objective necessity of the coincidence of the feeling of all with the particular feeling of each’ only betokens ‘the possibility of arriving at some sort of unanimity in these matters’, so that the judgement of taste only adduces ‘an example of the application of this principle’. On the other hand, it is so far not merely artificial that we have, as in the case of the idea of a cosmopolitan society, ‘a reasonable presumption of a natural tendency towards it.’

That a sensus communis is a faculty which is not merely to be acquired by us is evidenced by the beauties of nature. As a regulative idea it is something unattainable—a limit. But there is an actual taste which manifests a degree of approximation to that idea. ‘The actual existence of beauties of nature is patent to experience.’¹ As we can only estimate this beauty by referring to what imagination ‘if it were left to itself would freely project in harmony with the general conformity to law of the understanding’, these beauties, so far as we are able to regard them as merely given to us, betray a certain measure of reconciliation between the idea of freedom and nature. They bear witness to the supersensible substrate of humanity as a soul infused into external nature.

As the actual existence of what betrays a certain degree of realization of the idea is naturally an object of intellectual interest, it follows that one who has even the germ of a good moral disposition must take an interest in the beauty of nature so far as he finds himself able to receive it as a beauty of nature, i. e. as given to him, and not as the mere creation of his own poetic fancy,

The beauties of nature which Kant regarded as capable of giving this evidence were such objects as certain flowers, shells, and birds. Here the imagination is tied down to a definite given form, and yet every normal individual regards them as beautiful. If a Peter Bell sees nothing more in ‘a primrose by a river’s brim’ than a mere ‘yellow primrose’ then the man with ‘a germ of a good moral disposition’ is entitled to regard Peter Bell as disassociating himself from the human brotherhood and as beyond the pale of that social community that awaits the day of the coming of the ‘cosmopolitan society’. The judgement of taste, though it claims universal assent, never looks beyond the pale of that society. Even for taste, with its universal voice, there is a hell to which some seeming members of the race may condemn themselves. Therefore in the case of some objects of nature we get something to which, as beauty with real existence, we may reasonably enough allow our intellectual interest to attach.

What are called ‘beautiful views of nature’ stand, according to Kant, on quite a different footing. Landscapes, as the creation of ‘aesthetic painting that has no definite theme (but by means of light and shade makes a pleasing composition of atmosphere, land, and water)’¹ are, no doubt, very beautiful, and the products of a very high art. But nature does not contain landscapes. They are not for the masses—or, at least, they were not so in Kant’s time. For him the ‘aesthetic painting’ of a Constable, Turner, Corot, Monet, or a Whistler was, for the most part, only the idea of a possible kind of painting that would present truly beautiful compositions of elements drawn from nature, and not mere charming views of nature. He did not live to see the day when every public holiday would find the art galleries of all large cities crowded with representatives of a class that have ‘the force and truth of a free nature sensible of its proper worth’—members of the human brotherhood to which those great masters addressed their message and looked for universal agreement. Till that day came, and till it bore its fruit, Kant refused to clxivallow us to call nature beautiful in its broader and less studied aspects.

But, even with this extension, is there any warrant for confining the beauty of nature to those of its aspects which are interpreted by the art of painting? Whether Kant intended any such restriction or not, it certainly seems implied in most of his instances of the beauty of nature, e.g. ‘the beautiful forms of a wild flower, of a bird, of an insect’. The song of birds is an exception, and is contrasted with songs of the human voice sung to music. However, it would seem a caricature of music to compare the songs of birds and music as corresponding beauties of nature and of art. The beauty of a bird’s song has its origin in poetry rather than in music. In the General Remark on the Analytic, however, certain dispositions of mind are referred to as beautiful, and the application of the term sublime is very extensive. Is there, then, a wide field of natural beauty answering to poetry? And, if so, may such natural beauty be the object of an intellectual interest?

The moment this question is asked the source of the difficulty becomes apparent. We call a poem beautiful. But although we may hear in nature

still nature does not, properly speaking, contain poems. There is a difficulty as to how we can mark off in nature any objects corresponding to the beauties of poetry. Yet we think that in poetry there must be some reference, immediate or remote, to nature. For, otherwise, what is the subject-matter of poetry? It cannot be exclusively the realm of freedom.

This difficulty does not easily strike us in the case of sculpture and painting in which ‘figures in space are used for the expression of ideas’. There we can, or think we can, point out the very objects that we regard as beautiful. We think that we have something definite that we may either regard as a mere object of nature or as a beautiful object just as we please, and that in each case we are speaking of precisely the same object. But we have clearly seen that even in painting the difficulty arises in the case of landscapes—since nature, as mere nature, does not contain landscapes.

clxv Perhaps, then, we were not warranted in supposing that Kant (who does not seem to have sufficiently considered this precise point) would have allowed us under any circumstances (no matter how popular the ‘aesthetic painting’ to which he refers might become) to speak of beautiful landscapes in nature, or of an intellectual interest in them. Very well—let landscapes be excluded on the ground that a landscape is a mere synthesis of the artistic imagination, and that its unity only exists from the point of view of art. Is, then, a bunch of violets a beautiful object of nature? On the same reasoning we ought to say that it is only a collection of beautiful natural objects. But single out one particular modest violet. Can it plead a good case to be regarded as a beauty of nature? How has it been tom from the stem, and severed from the rest of the plant? Why not rather consider the violet as flower, stem, leaf, root, and all? Perhaps, because we are accustomed to speak of beautiful violets, and this is not all included in what we call to mind when we speak of a violet. But what does the imagination conjure up when we speak of beautiful violets? Is it

Or (may the poets forgive us!) is it a bunch of violets? Surely it is not one solitary violet lying bare on the table ready to be dissected by some botanist.

The fact is that in speaking of beauties of nature Kant pays a covert regard to natural concepts in a way that was not justifiable, seeing that the aesthetic judgement must not be determined by concepts. An object of nature is a synthesis of the manifold in accordance with categories of the understanding. Now, in order to connect the principle of the aesthetic judgement upon the beauty of an object with the principle of the finality of nature for our cognitive faculties, upon which is founded the principle of the specification of nature, Kant seems to have assumed that the imagination employed upon the synthesis of the manifold for the purpose of cognition, and the imagination merely engaged in grasping some content in a single intuition for the purpose of an aesthetic judgement, was so far identical in its operation as to mark out the same clxviidentical object for both purposes. Thus the object of the aesthetic judgement, he says, is the object as it is in apprehension prior to any concept. But, as above suggested, why should this object be a single violet and not a bunch of violets? The objects to which our concepts refer are not produced by any mere synthesis of the imagination. They presuppose a frequently elaborate analysis. This is sometimes overlooked. Thus Mill’s Inductive Logic supposes that the bird is in the hands, and that nothing remains but to put salt on its tail. The trouble, however, is to get the bird into one’s hand. But the aesthetic judgement may be quite satisfied to hear the bird singing in the bush. Even then it may not confine its attention specially to the bird. Thus Kant says, ‘What is more highly esteemed of poets than the nightingale’s bewitching and beautiful note, in a lonely thicket on a still summer evening by the soft light of the moon?’¹ This is a very pretty picture indeed—but entirely a work of art. For it is not suggested that it is the moon that makes the nightingale sing, or the nightingale that makes the moon shine. But it is suggested that they are both essential parts of this beauty of nature.

It is, therefore, quite open to us to contend that, in the strict sense, there are no free beauties of nature. For if the subject of the aesthetic judgement is not to be determined by reference to concepts, it can only be a coincidence that the artistic whole to which an aesthetic judgement points should be a subject denoting what may also be regarded as an object of nature to be determined by logical predicates.

But if there are no beauties of nature, then what are there? There are beauties of the synthesis of nature and freedom. Or, it is sufficient to say, there is an aesthetic synthesis of nature and freedom. It is to the existence of this synthesis, regarded as of universal validity, that the intellectual interest attaches.

The particular works of art which are produced by the man of genius are only specimens of the art whereby he effects a deeper and more intimate synthesis. Such works may be the object of an empirical interest, but it is the synthesis of nature and freedom that can alone attract an intellectual interest.

Except in the case of poetry and painting it is difficult to point to a logical subject capable of being used to denote the clxviitrue artistic synthesis, and, therefore, of being singled out as the object of the intellectual interest. But it is always possible to consider how far the sensus communis itself is not merely an idea, but an actual community of feeling and judgement in mankind. Hence a certain intellectual interest is bound up with the recognition of the enduring popularity of those monuments of art which have met with the approval of all ages; and, accordingly, in reading the works, say, of Homer, we experience a delight which supervenes upon pure aesthetic appreciation, for this appreciation becomes at once associated with a conviction of the permanent reality of a human nature which is not mere nature and not mere freedom.

But even in the case of poetry our intellectual interest has more upon which it can fasten than the evidences of a settled taste afforded by the wide and lasting popularity of certain works. Kant has some interesting remarks on the comparative merits of the statesman and the general. The aesthetic judgement, he says, unhesitatingly decides in favour of the latter. We may infer that Kant’s estimate of Napoleon would have been that as an aesthetic figure he was incomparable. Napoleon himself had evidently a passion for dramatic effect, and no one seems to have realized better the extent to which popularity and power depend upon a successful appeal to the aesthetic faculties. But to ensure the success of such an appeal one must be an artist oneself, and most great men have been great artists. It was as an artist that Napoleon made as much out of Waterloo and his ‘Last Phase’ as out of his greatest victories. But although a general appeals more to the imagination than a statesman, still Gladstone and Bismarck showed what the latter can do. Then, as an emperor, the present Kaiser has displayed no mean talent as an artist. However, it is not necessary to labour the point. As Shakespeare has said,

This does not simply mean that, from a poet’s point of view, the world is capable of being regarded as a stage, and the people in it as players. It is because the world is a stage that it is so interesting; and the people are actors, and treat themselves as such. Even the restless criminal is a would-be actor who feels that society has denied him his part. Give almost clxviiiany criminal an exciting part, where conspicuous honesty and fair dealing would contribute to dramatic effect, and he will display honesty and fair dealing. It is also the artistic impulse that is the factor generally overlooked in the analysis of ambition. In affairs of love it has an equally important rôle. Half the quarrels and reconciliations of lovers take place with a view to dramatic effect.

English writers were the first to clearly recognize how all this plays into the hands of morality. To have ever present to mind what sort of a figure one cuts in a particular action tends in general to prevent one from doing what is base, and is a powerful incentive to do what is generally esteemed. Undoubtedly the action that results has not a purely moral source. But in leading to actions that are materially right, it prepares the way for those that are formally right. We may further even suspect that many of those who resolutely do what they believe to be right, regardless of what others may think, are considerably strengthened in their resolve by a sense of the sublimity of such action. And, to descend to a lower level, those who profess to despise public opinion are generally very proud of the fact.

Architecture passes out of the sphere of mere art, and becomes invested with the character of nature, when it begins to enter into the life of a city or people—for the term nature is not confined to mere physical nature. An Englishman for whom Westminster Abbey was simply a fine piece of architecture would not be worthy of the name. He takes an intellectual interest in its existence, and would regard its destruction as a national calamity. To say that, since it is a work of art, he can only take an empirical interest in it, whereas he may take an intellectual interest in the so-called silver Thames, is certainly false psychology. But it is only so because Westminster Abbey, as the object of his aesthetic judgement, is not a mere piece of architecture. A city, with its cathedral and beautiful public buildings, is no more an arbitrarily produced product than society itself. It is the recognition of this that alone explains the intense feeling experienced when visiting some great city of whose life and history we know something. To account for our feelings by pointing simply to historic associations would be absurd; for those associations would be of little or no meaning apart from aesthetic sensibilities. In the same way it would be a mistake to attempt to explain the clxixfeeling that arises, over and above the delight connected with the mere judgement of taste, when a cathedral is visited, by reference to strong religious emotion; for the strong religious emotion draws considerable support from the aesthetic faculty.

There is, perhaps, no art that does more to give to the people of a community a common mental background than architecture. The individual minds of the inhabitants of Cologne are, doubtless, coefficients of the cathedral. It was due to a keen insight into the aesthetic factor in human nature that the Jews were directed to go once a year to Jerusalem, and the Mohammedans to make pilgrimages to Mecca.

But, apart from the direct evidences of the influence of our aesthetic faculty, it may be said that whatever betrays in a sensible form a measure of reconciliation between nature and freedom is something in which we may see an expression of humanity, and in which the soul of man, thirsting for expression, may take an intellectual interest. ‘The happy union in one and the same people of the law-directed constraint belonging to the highest culture with force and truth of a free nature sensible of its proper worth’ could not be something the concept of which is necessary in order that taste may be established on a firm basis, unless it were something of which art may give a symbolic interpretation, and, therefore, unless it were a beauty of nature, answering to the beauty of art, and capable of attracting an intellectual interest.

Perhaps the higher socialism of to-day is an endeavour after the ‘happy union’ above referred to, and, if so, we may be able to regard any evident traces of its beneficial results as some fulfilment of the prophecy of music.

That this is the direction in which we should look for some trace or suggestion of the realization of what is more especially symbolized in music, will readily be allowed by those who admit the truth of Spencer’s eloquent account of its function, A quotation of his words on this subject will form a fitting conclusion to these Essays.

‘Thus if, as we have endeavoured to show, it is the function of music to facilitate the development of this emotional language, we may regard music as an aid to the achievement of that higher happiness which it indistinctly shadows forth. Those vague feelings of unexperienced felicity which music arouses—those indefinite impressions of an unknown ideal life which it calls up, may be considered as a prophecy, to the clxxfulfilment of which music is itself partly instrumental. The strange capacity which we have for being so affected by melody and harmony may be taken to imply both that it is within the possibilities of our nature to realize those intense delights they dimly suggest, and that they are in some way concerned in the realization of them. On this supposition the power and the meaning of music become comprehensible; but otherwise they are a mystery.

‘We will only add that if the probability of those corollaries be admitted, then music must take rank as the highest of the fine arts—as the one which, more than any other, ministers to human welfare. And thus, even leaving out of view the immediate gratifications it is hourly giving, we cannot too much applaud the progress of musical culture which is becoming one of the characteristics of our age.’¹

The faculty of knowledge from a priori principles may be called pure reason, and the general investigation into its possibility and bounds the Critique of pure reason. This is5 permissible although ‘pure reason’, as was the case with the same use of terms in our first work, is only intended to denote reason in its theoretical employment, and although there is no desire to bring under review its faculty as practical reason and its special principles as such. That Critique is, then, an10 investigation addressed simply to our faculty of knowing things a priori. Hence it makes our cognitive faculties its sole concern, to the exclusion of the feeling of pleasure or displeasure and the faculty of desire; and among the cognitive faculties it confines its attention to understanding and its a15 priori principles, to the exclusion of judgement and reason, (faculties that also belong to theoretical cognition,) because it turns out in the sequel that there is no cognitive faculty other than understanding capable of affording constitutive a priori principles of knowledge. Accordingly the Critique which sifts20 these faculties one and all, so as to try the possible claims of each of the other faculties to a share in the clear possession of knowledge from roots of its own, retains nothing but what understanding prescribes a priori as a law for nature as the complex of phenomena—the form of these being similarly furnished a priori. All other pure concepts it relegates to the25 rank of ideas, which for our faculty of theoretical cognition are transcendent: though they are not without their use nor redundant, but discharge certain functions as regulative principles. 4For these concepts serve partly to restrain the officious pretensions of understanding, which, presuming on its ability to supply a priori the conditions of the possibility of all things which it is 5:168capable of knowing, behaves as if it had thus determined these bounds as those of the possibility of all things5 generally, and partly also to lead understanding, in its study of nature, according to a principle of completeness, unattainable as this remains for it, and so to promote the ultimate aim of all knowledge.

Properly, therefore, it was understanding—which, so far as10 it contains constitutive a priori cognitive principles, has its special realm, and one, moreover, in our faculty of knowledge—that the Critique, called in a general way that of Pure Reason, was intended to establish in secure but particular possession against all other competitors. In the same way reason, which15 contains constitutive a priori principles solely in respect of the faculty of desire, gets its holding assigned to it by the Critique of Practical Reason.

But now comes judgement, which in the order of our cognitive faculties forms a middle term between understanding20 and reason. Has it also got independent a priori principles? If so, are they constitutive, or are they merely regulative, thus indicating no special realm? And do they give a rule a priori to the feeling of pleasure and displeasure, as the middle term between the faculties of cognition and desire, just as under25standing prescribes laws a priori for the former and reason for the latter? This is the topic to which the present Critique is devoted.

A Critique of pure reason, i. e. of our faculty of judging on a priori principles, would be incomplete if the critical ex30amination of judgement, which is a faculty of knowledge, and, as such, lays claim to independent principles, were not dealt with separately. Still, however, its principles cannot, in a system of pure philosophy, form a separate constituent part intermediate between the theoretical and practical divisions, but may when35 5needful be annexed to one or other as occasion requires. For if such a system is some day worked out under the general name of Metaphysic—and its full and complete execution is both possible and of the utmost importance for the employment of reason in all departments of its activity—the critical5 examination of the ground for this edifice must have been previously carried down to the very depths of the foundations of the faculty of principles independent of experience, fest in some quarter it might give way, and, sinking, inevitably bring with it the ruin of all.10

5:169 We may readily gather, however, from the nature of the faculty of judgement (whose correct employment is so necessary and universally requisite that it is just this faculty that is intended when we speak of sound understanding) that the discovery of a peculiar principle belonging to it—and some15 such it must contain in itself a priori, for otherwise it would not be a cognitive faculty the distinctive character of which is obvious to the most commonplace criticism—must be a task involving considerable difficulties. For this principle is one which must not be derived from a priori concepts, seeing that20 these are the property of understanding, and judgement is only directed to their application. It has, therefore, itself to furnish a concept, and one from which, properly, we get no cognition of a thing, but which it can itself employ as a rule only—but not as an objective rule to which it can adapt its judgement, because,25 for that, another faculty of judgement would again be required to enable us to decide whether the case was one for the application of the rule or not.

It is chiefly in those estimates that are called aesthetic, and which relate to the beautiful and sublime, whether of nature or30 of art, that one meets with the above difficulty about a principle (be it subjective or objective). And yet the critical search for a principle of judgement in their case is the most important item in a Critique of this faculty. For, although they do not of themselves contribute a whit to the knowledge of things,35 6they still belong wholly to the faculty of knowledge, and evidence an immediate bearing of this faculty upon the feeling of pleasure or displeasure according to some a priori principle, and do so without confusing this principle with what is capable of being a determining ground of the faculty of desire, for the latter5 has its principles a priori in concepts of reason.—Logical estimates of nature, however, stand on a different footing. They deal with cases in which experience presents a conformity to law in things, which the understanding’s general concept of the sensible is no longer adequate to render intelligible or explic10able, and in which judgement may have recourse to itself for a principle of the reference of the natural thing to the unknowable supersensible and, indeed, must employ some such principle, though with a regard only to itself and the knowledge of nature. For in these cases the application of such an a priori15 principle for the cognition of what is in the world is both possible and necessary, and withal opens out prospects which are profitable for practical reason. But here there is no immediate reference to the feeling of pleasure or displeasure. But this is precisely the riddle in the principle of judgement that20 necessitates a separate division for this faculty in the Critique, 5:170—for there was nothing to prevent the formation of logical estimates according to concepts (from which no immediate conclusion can ever be drawn to the feeling of pleasure or displeasure) having been treated, with a critical statement of its25 limitations, in an appendage to the theoretical part of philosophy.

The present investigation of taste, as a faculty of aesthetic judgement, not being undertaken with a view to the formation or culture of taste, (which will pursue its course in the future, as in the past, independently of such inquiries,) but30 being merely directed to its transcendental aspects, I feel assured of its indulgent criticism in respect of any shortcomings on that score. But in all that is relevant to the transcendental aspect it must be prepared to stand the test of the most rigorous examination. Yet even here I venture to35 7hope that the difficulty of unravelling a problem so involved in its nature may serve as an excuse for a certain amount of hardly avoidable obscurity in its solution, provided that the accuracy of our statement of the principle is proved with all requisite clearness. I admit that the mode of deriving the5 phenomena of judgement from that principle has not all the lucidity that is rightly demanded elsewhere, where the subject is cognition by concepts, and that I believe I have in fact attained in the second part of this work.

With this, then, I bring my entire critical undertaking to10 a close. I shall hasten to the doctrinal part, in order, as far as possible, to snatch from my advancing years what time may yet be favourable to the task. It is obvious that no separate division of Doctrine is reserved for the faculty of judgement, seeing that with judgement Critique takes the place of Theory; but, follow15ing the division of philosophy into theoretical and practical, and of pure philosophy in the same way, the whole ground will be covered by the Metaphysics of Nature and of Morals.

Philosophy may be said to contain the principles of the rational cognition that concepts afford us of things (not merely,5 as with Logic, the principles of the form of thought in general irrespective of the Objects), and, thus interpreted, the course, usually adopted, of dividing it into theoretical and practical is perfectly sound. But this makes imperative a specific distinction on the part of the concepts by which the principles of this10 rational cognition get their Object assigned to them, for if the concepts are not distinct they fail to justify a division, which always presupposes that the principles belonging to the rational cognition of the several parts of the science in question are themselves mutually exclusive.15

Now there are but two kinds of concepts, and these yield a corresponding number of distinct principles of the possibility of their objects. The concepts referred to are those of nature and that of freedom. By the first of these a theoretical cognition from a priori principles becomes possible. In respect of such20 cognition, however, the second, by its very concept, imports no more than a negative principle (that of simple antithesis), while for the determination of the will, on the other hand, it establishes fundamental principles which enlarge the scope of its activity, and which on that account are called practical.25 Hence the division of philosophy falls properly into two parts, quite distinct in their principles—a theoretical, as Philosophy of Nature, and a practical, as Philosophy of Morals (for this is what the practical legislation of reason by the concept of 9freedom is allied). Hitherto, however, in the application of these expressions to the division of the different principles, and with them to the division of philosophy, a gross misuse of the terms has prevailed; for what is practical according to concepts of nature has been taken as identical with what is practical5 according to the concept of freedom, with the result that 5:172a division has been made under these heads of theoretical and practical, by which, in effect, there has been no division at all (seeing that both parts might have similar principles).

The will—for this is what is said—is the faculty of desire10 and, as such, is just one of the many natural causes in the world, the one, namely, which acts by concepts; and whatever is represented as possible (or necessary) through the efficacy of will is called practically possible (or necessary): the intention being to distinguish its possibility (or necessity) from the15 physical possibility or necessity of an effect the causality of whose cause is not determined to its production by concepts (but rather, as with lifeless matter, by mechanism, and, as with the lower animals, by instinct).—Now, the question in respect of the practical faculty: whether, that is to say, the20 concept, by which the causality of the will gets its rule, is a concept of nature or of freedom, is here left quite open.

The latter distinction, however, is essential. For, let the concept determining the causality be a concept of nature, and then the principles are technically-practical; but, let it be a25 concept of freedom, and they are morally-practical. Now, in the division of a rational science the difference between objects that require different principles for their cognition is the difference on which everything turns. Hence technically-practical principles belong to theoretical philosophy (natural30 science), whereas those morally-practical alone form the second part, that is, practical philosophy (ethical science).

All technically-practical rules (i. e. those of art and skill generally, or even of prudence, as a skill in exercising an influence over men and their wills) must, so far as their35 10principles rest upon concepts, be reckoned only as corollaries to theoretical philosophy. For they only touch the possibility of things according to concepts of nature, and this embraces, not alone the means discoverable in nature for the purpose, but even the will itself (as a faculty of desire, and consequently a5 natural faculty), so far as it is determinable on these rules by natural motives. Still these practical rules are not called laws (like physical laws), but only precepts. This is due to the fact that the will does not stand simply under the natural concept, but also under the concept of freedom. In the latter10 connexion its principles are called laws, and these principles, with the addition of what follows from them, alone constitute the second or practical part of philosophy.

The solution of the problems of pure geometry is not 5:173allocated to a special part of that science, nor does the art of land-15surveying merit the name of practical, in contradistinction to pure, as a second part of the general science of geometry, and with equally little, or perhaps less, right can the mechanical or chemical art of experiment or of observation be ranked as a practical part of the science of nature, or, in fine, domestic,20 agricultural, or political economy, the art of social intercourse, the principles of dietetics, or even general instruction as to the attainment of happiness, or as much as the control of the inclinations or the restraining of the affections with a view thereto, be denominated practical philosophy—not to25 mention forming these latter into a second part of philosophy in general. For, between them all, the above contain nothing more than rules of skill, which are thus only technically practical—the skill being directed to producing an effect which is possible according to natural concepts of causes and effects.30 As these concepts belong to theoretical philosophy they are subject to those precepts as mere corollaries of theoretical philosophy (i. e. as corollaries of natural science), and so cannot claim any place in any special philosophy called practical. On the other hand the morally practical precepts,35 11which are founded entirely on the concept of freedom, to the complete exclusion of grounds taken from nature for the determination of the will, form quite a special kind of precepts. These, too, like the rules obeyed by nature, are, without qualification, called laws,—though they do not, like the latter, rest on5 sensible conditions, but upon a supersensible principle,—and they must needs have a separate part of philosophy allotted to them as their own, corresponding to the theoretical part, and termed practical philosophy.

Hence it is evident that a complex of practical precepts10 furnished by philosophy does not form a special part of philosophy, co-ordinate with the theoretical, by reason of its precepts being practical—for that they might be, notwithstanding that their principles were derived wholly from the theoretical knowledge of nature (as technically-practical rules).15 But an adequate reason only exists where their principle, being in no way borrowed from the concept of nature, which is always sensibly conditioned, rests consequently on the supersensible, which the concept of freedom alone makes cognizable by means of its formal laws, and where, therefore, they are morally-practical, i. e. not merely precepts20 and rules in this or that interest, but laws independent of all antecedent reference to ends or aims.

The employment of our faculty of cognition from principles, and with it philosophy, is coextensive with the applicability of a priori concepts.

Now a division of the complex of all the objects to which those concepts are referred for the purpose, where possible, of30 compassing their knowledge, may be made according to the 12varied competence or incompetence of our faculty in that connexion.

Concepts, so far as they are referred to objects apart from the question of whether knowledge of them is possible or not, have their field, which is determined simply by the relation5 in which their Object stands to our faculty of cognition in general.—The part of this field in which knowledge is possible for us, is a territory (territorium) for these concepts and the requisite cognitive faculty. The part of the territory over which they exercise legislative authority is the realm (ditio) of10 these concepts, and their appropriate cognitive faculty. Empirical concepts have, therefore, their territory, doubtless, in nature as the complex of all sensible objects, but they have no realm (only a dwelling-place, domicilium), for, although they are formed according to law, they are not themselves legis15lative, but the rules founded on them are empirical, and consequently contingent.

Our entire faculty of cognition has two realms, that of natural concepts and that of the concept of freedom, for through both it prescribes laws a priori. In accordance with20 this distinction, then, philosophy is divisible into theoretical and practical. But the territory upon which its realm is established, and over which it exercises its legislative authority, is still always confined to the complex of the objects of all possible experience, taken as no more than mere phenomena, for25 otherwise legislation by the understanding in respect of them is unthinkable.

The function of prescribing laws by means of concepts of nature is discharged by understanding, and is theoretical. That of prescribing laws by means of the concept of freedom30 is discharged by reason and is merely practical. It is only in the practical sphere that reason can prescribe laws; in respect of theoretical knowledge (of nature) it can only (as by the understanding advised in the law) 5:175deduce from given laws their logical consequences, which still always remain restricted35 13to nature. But we cannot reverse this and say that where rules are practical reason is then and there legislative, since the rules might be technically practical.

Understanding and reason, therefore, have two distinct jurisdictions over one and the same territory of experience.5 But neither can interfere with the other. For the concept of freedom just as little disturbs the legislation of nature, as the concept of nature influences legislation through the concept of freedom.—That it is possible for us at least to think without contradiction of both these jurisdictions, and their appropriate10 faculties, as coexisting in the same Subject, was shown by the Critique of Pure Reason, since it disposed of the objections on the other side by detecting their dialectical illusion.

Still, how does it happen that these two different realms do not form one realm, seeing that, while they do not limit each15 other in their legislation, they continually do so in their effects in the sensible world? The explanation lies in the fact that the concept of nature represents its objects in intuition doubtless, yet not as things-in-themselves, but as mere phenomena, whereas the concept of freedom represents in its Object what is20 no doubt a thing-in-itself, but it does not make it intuitable, and further that neither the one nor the other is capable, therefore, of furnishing a theoretical cognition of its Object (or even of the thinking Subject) as a thing-in-itself, or, as this would be, of the supersensible—the idea of which has certainly to be in25troduced as the basis of the possibility of all those objects of experience, although it cannot itself ever be elevated or extended into a cognition.

Our entire cognitive faculty is, therefore, presented with an unbounded, but, also, inaccessible field—the field of the super30sensible—in which we seek in vain for a territory, and on which, therefore, we can have no realm for theoretical cognition, be it for concepts of understanding or of reason. This field we must indeed occupy with ideas in the interest as well of the theoretical as the practical employment of reason, but in35 14connexion with the laws arising from the concept of freedom we cannot procure for these ideas any but practical reality, which, accordingly, fails to advance our theoretical cognition one step towards the supersensible.

Albeit, then, between the realm of the natural concept, as the5 sensible, and the realm of the concept of freedom, 5:176 as the supersensible, there is a great gulf fixed, so that it is not possible to pass from the former to the latter (by means of the theoretical employment of reason), just as if they were so many separate worlds, the first of which is powerless to exercise influence on10 the second: still the latter is meant to influence the former—that is to say, the concept of freedom is meant to actualize in the sensible world the end proposed by its laws; and nature must consequently also be capable of being regarded in such a way that in the conformity to law of its form it at least15 harmonizes with the possibility of the ends to be effectuated in it according to the laws of freedom.—There must, therefore, be a ground of the unity of the surpersensible that lies at the basis of nature, with what the concept of freedom contains in a practical way, and although the concept of this ground neither theoreti20cally nor practically attains to a knowledge of it, and so has no peculiar realm of its own, still it renders possible the transition from the mode of thought according to the principles of the one to that according to the principles of the other.

The Critique of Judgement as a means of connecting the two parts of philosophy in a whole

The Critique which deals with what our cognitive faculties are capable of yielding a priori has properly speaking no realm in respect of Objects; for it is not a doctrine, its sole business30 being to investigate whether, having regard to the general bearings of our faculties, a doctrine is possible by their means, 15and if so, how. Its field extends to all their pretensions, with a view to confining them within their legitimate bounds. But what is shut out of the division of Philosophy may still be admitted as a principal part into the general Critique of our faculty of pure cognition, in the event, namely, of its containing5 principles which are not in themselves available either for theoretical or practical employment.

Concepts of nature contain the ground of all theoretical cognition a priori and rest, as we saw, upon the legislative authority of understanding.—The concept of freedom contains10 the ground of all sensuously unconditioned practical 'precepts a priori, and rests upon that of reason. Both faculties, therefore, besides their application in point of logical form to principles of whatever origin, have, in addition, their own peculiar jurisdiction 5:177in the matter of their content, and so, there being15 no further (a priori) jurisdiction above them, the division of Philosophy into theoretical and practical is justified.

But there is still further in the family of our higher cognitive faculties a middle term between understanding and reason. This is judgement, of which we may reasonably presume by20 analogy that it may likewise contain, if not a special authority to prescribe laws, still a principle peculiar to itself upon which laws are sought, although one merely subjective a priori. This principle, even if it has no field of objects appropriate to it as its realm, may still have some territory or other with a certain25 character, for which just this very principle alone may be valid.

But in addition to the above considerations there is yet (to judge by analogy) a further ground, upon which judgement may be brought into line with another arrangement of our powers30 of representation, and one that appears to be of even greater importance than that of its kinship with the family of cognitive faculties. For all faculties of the soul, or capacities, are reducible to three, which do not admit of any further derivation from a common ground: the faculty of knowledge, the feeling35 16of pleasure or displeasure, and the faculty of desire.¹ 5:178For the 17faculty of cognition understanding alone is legislative, if (as must be the case where it is considered on its own account free of confusion with the faculty of desire) this faculty, as that of theoretical cognition, is referred to nature, in respect of which alone (as phenomenon) it is possible for us to prescribe laws by5 means of a priori concepts of nature, which are properly pure concepts of understanding.—For the faculty of desire, as a higher faculty operating under the concept of freedom, only reason (in which alone this concept has a place) prescribes laws a priori.—Now between the faculties of knowledge and10 desire stands the feeling of pleasure, just as judgement is intermediate between understanding and reason. Hence we may, provisionally at least, assume that judgement likewise contains an a priori principle of its own, and that, since pleasure or displeasure is necessarily combined with the faculty15 of desire (be it antecedent to its principle, as with the lower desires, or, as with the 5:179higher, only supervening upon its determination by the moral law), it will effect a transition from the faculty of pure knowledge, i. e. from the realm of concepts of nature, to that of the concept of freedom, just as in its logical20 employment it makes possible the transition from understanding to reason.

Hence, despite the fact of Philosophy being only divisible into two principal parts, the theoretical and the practical, and despite the fact of all that we may have to say of the special25 principles of judgement having to be assigned to its theoretical part, i. e. to rational cognition according to concepts of nature: still the Critique of pure reason, which must settle this whole question before the above system is taken in hand, so as to substantiate its possibility, consists of three parts: the Critique30 18of pure understanding, of pure judgement, and of pure reason, which faculties are called pure on the ground of their being legislative a priori.

Judgement in general is the faculty of thinking the particular as contained under the universal. If the universal (the rule, principle, or law,) is given, then the judgement which subsumes the particular under it is determinant. This is so even10 where such a judgement is transcendental and, as such, provides the conditions a priori in conformity with which alone subsumption under that universal can be effected. If, however, only the particular is given and the universal has to be found for it, then the judgement is simply reflective.15

The determinant judgement determines under universal transcendental laws furnished by understanding and is subsumptive only; the law is marked out for it a priori, and it has no need to devise a law for its own guidance to enable it to subordinate the particular in nature to the universal.—But20 there are such manifold forms of nature, so many modifications, as it were, of the universal transcendental concepts of nature, left undetermined by the laws furnished by pure understanding a priori as above mentioned, and for the reason that these laws only touch the general possibility of a nature, (as an object of25 sense,) that there 5:180must needs also be laws in this behalf. These laws, being empirical, may be contingent as far as the light of our understanding goes, but still, if they are to be called laws, (as the concept of a nature requires,) they must be regarded as necessary on a principle, unknown though it be to30 us, of the unity of the manifold.—The reflective judgement which is compelled to ascend from the particular in nature to the universal, stands, therefore, in need of a principle. This 19principle it cannot borrow from experience, because what it has to do is to establish just the unity of all empirical principles under higher, though likewise empirical, principles, and thence the possibility of the systematic subordination of higher and lower. Such a transcendental principle, therefore, the reflective5 judgement can only give as a law from and to itself. It cannot derive it from any other quarter (as it would then be a determinant judgement). Nor can it prescribe it to nature, for reflection on the laws of nature adjusts itself to nature, and not nature to the conditions according to which we strive to10 obtain a concept of it,—a concept that is quite contingent in respect of these conditions.

Now the principle sought can only be this: as universal laws of nature have their ground in our understanding, which prescribes them to nature (though only according to the15 universal concept of it as nature), particular empirical laws must be regarded, in respect of that which is left undetermined in them by these universal laws, according to a unity such as they would have if an understanding (though it be not ours) had supplied them for the benefit of our cognitive faculties, so20 as to render possible a system of experience according to particular natural laws. This is not to be taken as implying that such an understanding must be actually assumed, (for it is only the reflective judgement which avails itself of this idea as a principle for the purpose of reflection and not for determining25 anything); but this faculty rather gives by this means a law to itself alone and not to nature.

Now the concept of an Object, so far as it contains at the same time the ground of the actuality of this Object, is called its end, and the agreement of a thing with that constitution of30 things which is only possible according to ends, is called the finality of its form. Accordingly the principle of judgement, in respect of the form of the things of nature under empirical laws generally, is the finality of nature in its multiplicity. In other words, by this concept nature is 5:181represented as if an under3520standing contained the ground of the unity of the manifold of its empirical laws.

The finality of nature is, therefore, a particular a priori concept, which has its origin solely in the reflective judgement. For we cannot ascribe to the products of nature anything like5 a reference of nature in them to ends, but we can only make use of this concept to reflect upon them in respect of the nexus of phenomena in nature—a nexus given according to empirical laws. Furthermore, this concept is entirely different from practical finality (in human art or even morals), though it is10 doubtless thought after this analogy.

The Principle of the formal finality of Nature is a transcendental Principle of Judgement.

A transcendental principle is one through which we15 represent a priori the universal condition under which alone things can become Objects of our cognition generally. A principle, on the other hand, is called metaphysical, where it represents a priori the condition under which alone Objects whose concept has to be given empirically, may become further20 determined a priori. Thus the principle of the cognition of bodies as substances, and as changeable substances, is transcendental where the statement is that their change must have a cause: but it is metaphysical where it asserts that their change must have an external cause. For in the first case25 bodies need only be thought through ontological predicates (pure concepts of understanding), e. g. as substance, to enable the proposition to be cognized a priori; whereas, in the second case, the empirical concept of a body (as a movable thing in space) must be introduced to support the proposition, although,30 once this is done, it may be seen quite a priori that the latter predicate (movement only by means of an external cause) 21applies to body.—In this way, as I shall show presently, the principle of the finality of nature (in the multiplicity of its empirical laws) is a transcendental principle. For the concept of Objects, regarded as standing under this principle, is only the pure concept of objects of possible empirical cognition5 5:182generally, and involves nothing empirical On the other hand the principle of practical finality, implied in the idea of the determination of a free will, would be a metaphysical principle, because the concept of a faculty of desire, as will, has to be given empirically, i. e. is not included among transcendental10 predicates. But both these principles are, none the less, not empirical, but a priori principles; because no further experience is required for the synthesis of the predicate with the empirical concept of the subject of their judgements, but it may be apprehended quite a priori.15

That the concept of a finality of nature belongs to transcendental principles is abundantly evident from the maxims of judgement upon which we rely a priori in the investigation of nature, and which yet have to do with no more than the possibility of experience, and consequently of the knowledge20 of nature,—but of nature not merely in a general way, but as determined by a manifold of particular laws.—These maxims crop up frequently enough in the course of this science, though only in a scattered way. They are aphorisms of metaphysical wisdom, making their appearance in a number of rules the25 necessity of which cannot be demonstrated from concepts. ‘Nature takes the shortest way (lex parsimoniae); yet it makes no leap, either in the sequence of its changes, or in the juxtaposition of specifically different forms (lex continui in natura); its vast variety in empirical laws is, for all that, unity under a few30 principles (principia praeter necessitatem non sunt multiplicanda)’; and so forth.

If we propose to assign the origin of these elementary rules, and attempt to do so on psychological lines, we go straight in the teeth of their sense. For they tell us, not what happens,35 22i. e. according to what rule our powers of judgement actually discharge their functions, and how we judge, but how we ought to judge; and we cannot get this logical objective necessity where the principles are merely empirical. Hence the finality of nature for our cognitive faculties and their employment, which5 manifestly radiates from them, is a transcendental principle of judgements, and so needs also a transcendental Deduction, by means of which the ground for this mode of judging must be traced to the a priori sources of knowledge.

Now, looking at the grounds of the possibility of an 5:183experience,10 the first thing, of course, that meets us is something necessary—namely, the universal laws apart from which nature in general (as an object of sense) cannot be thought. These rest on the categories, applied to the formal conditions of all intuition possible for us, so far as it is also given a priori. Under these15 laws judgement is determinant; for it has nothing else to do than to subsume under given laws. For instance, understanding says: all change has its cause (universal law of nature); transcendental judgement has nothing further to do than to furnish a priori the condition of subsumption under the concept20 of understanding placed before it: this we get in the succession of the determinations of one and the same thing. Now for nature in general, as an object of possible experience, that law is cognized as absolutely necessary.—But besides this formal time-condition, the objects of empirical cognition are deter25mined, or, so far as we can judge a priori, are determinable, in divers ways, so that specifically differentiated natures, over and above what they have in common as things of nature in general, are further capable of being causes in an infinite variety of ways; and each of these modes must, on the concept of30 a cause in general, have its rule, which is a law, and, consequently, imports necessity: although owing to the constitution and limitations of our faculties of cognition we may entirely fail to see this necessity. Accordingly, in respect of nature’s merely empirical laws, we must think in nature a possibility of35 23an endless multiplicity of empirical laws, which yet are contingent so far as our insight goes, i. e. cannot be cognized a priori. In respect of these we estimate the unity of nature according to empirical laws, and the possibility of the unity of experience, as a system according to empirical laws, to be contingent.5 But, now, such a unity is one which must be necessarily presupposed and assumed, as otherwise we should not have a thoroughgoing connexion of empirical cognition in a whole of experience. For the universal laws of nature, while providing, certainly, for such a connexion among things generically,10 as things of nature in general, do not do so for them specifically as such particular things of nature. Hence judgement is compelled, for its own guidance, to adopt it as an a priori principle, that what is for human insight contingent in the particular (empirical) laws of nature contains nevertheless unity15 of law in the synthesis of its manifold in an intrinsically possible experience5:184—unfathomable, though still thinkable, as such unity may, no doubt, be for us. Consequently, as the unity of law in a synthesis, which is cognized by us in obedience to a necessary aim (a need of understanding), though recognized20 at the same time as contingent, is represented as a finality of Objects (here of nature), so judgement, which, in respect of things under possible (yet to be discovered) empirical laws, is merely reflective, must regard nature in respect of the latter according to a principle of finality for our cognitive faculty,25 which then finds expression in the above maxims of judgement. Now this transcendental concept of a finality of nature is neither a concept of nature nor of freedom, since it attributes nothing at all to the Object, i. e. to nature, but only represents the unique mode in which we must proceed in our reflection30 upon the objects of nature with a view to getting a thoroughly interconnected whole of experience, and so is a subjective principle, i. e. maxim, of judgement. For this reason, too, just as if it were a lucky chance that favoured us, we are rejoiced (properly speaking relieved of a want) where we meet with such35 24systematic unity under merely empirical laws: although we must necessarily assume the presence of such a unity, apart from any ability on our part to apprehend or prove its existence.

In order to convince ourselves of the correctness of this5 Deduction of the concept before us, and the necessity of assuming it as a transcendental principle of cognition, let us just bethink ourselves of the magnitude of the task. We have to form a connected experience from given perceptions of a nature containing a maybe endless multiplicity of empirical10 laws, and this problem has its seat a priori in our understanding. This understanding is no doubt a priori in possession of universal laws of nature, apart from which nature would be incapable of being an object of experience at all. But over and above this it needs a certain order of nature in its par15ticular rules which are only capable of being brought to its knowledge empirically, and which, so far as it is concerned, are contingent. These rules, without which we would have no means of advance from the universal analogy of a possible experience in general to a particular, must be regarded by20 understanding as laws, i. e. as necessary—for otherwise they would not form an order of nature—though it be unable to cognize or ever get an insight into their necessity. Albeit, then, it can determine nothing a priori 5:185in respect of these (Objects), it must, in pursuit of such empirical so-called laws,25 lay at the basis of all reflection upon them an a priori principle, to the effect, namely, that a cognizable order of nature is possible according to them. A principle of this kind is expressed in the following propositions. There is in nature a subordination of genera and species comprehensible by us:30 Each of these genera again approximates to the others on a common principle, so that a transition may be possible from one to the other, and thereby to a higher genus: While it seems at the outset unavoidable for our understanding to assume for the specific variety of natural operations a like number of35 25various kinds of causality, yet these may all be reduced to a small number of principles, the quest for which is our business; and so forth. This adaptation of nature to our cognitive faculties is presupposed a priori by judgement on behalf of its reflection upon it according to empirical laws. But under5standing ail the while recognizes it objectively as contingent, and it is merely judgement that attributes it to nature as transcendental finality, i. e. a finality in respect of the Subject’s faculty of cognition. For, were it not for this presupposition, we should have no order of nature in accordance with empirical laws, and,10 consequently, no guiding-thread for an experience that has to be brought to bear upon these in all their variety, or for an investigation of them.

For it is quite conceivable that, despite all the uniformity of the things of nature according to universal laws, without which15 we would not have the form of general empirical knowledge at all, the specific variety of the empirical laws of nature, with their effects, might still be so great as to make it impossible for our understanding to discover in nature an intelligible order, to divide its products into genera and species so as to20 avail ourselves of the principles of explanation and comprehension of one for explaining and interpreting another, and out of material coming to hand in such confusion (properly speaking only infinitely multiform and ill-adapted to our power of apprehension) to make a consistent context of experience.25

Thus judgement, also, is equipped with an a priori principle for the possibility of nature, but only in a subjective respect. By means of this it prescribes a law, not to nature (as autonomy), but to itself (as heautonomy), 5:186to guide its reflection uponnature. This law may be called the law of the specification of30 nature in respect of its empirical laws. It is not one cognized a priori in nature, but judgement adopts it in the interests of a natural order, cognizable by our understanding, in the division which it makes of nature’s universal laws when it seeks to subordinate to them a variety of particular laws. So35 26when it is said that nature specifies its universal laws on a principle of finality for our cognitive faculties, i. e. of suitability for the human understanding and its necessary function of finding the universal for the particular presented to it by perception, and again for varieties (which are, of course, common5 for each species) connexion in the unity of principle, we do not thereby either prescribe a law to nature, or learn one from it by observation—although the principle in question may be confirmed by this means. For it is not a principle of the determinant but merely of the reflective judgement. All that is10 intended is that, no matter what is the order and disposition of nature in respect of its universal laws, we must investigate its empirical laws throughout on that principle and the maxims founded thereon, because only so far as that principle applies can we make any headway in the employment of our under15standing in experience, or gain knowledge.

The Association of the Feeling of Pleasure with the Concept of the Finality of Nature

The conceived harmony of nature in the manifold of its20 particular laws with our need of finding universality of principles for it must, so far as our insight goes, be deemed contingent, but withal indispensable for the requirements of our understanding, and, consequently, a finality by which nature is in accord with our aim, but only so far as this is25 directed to knowledge.—The universal laws of understanding, which are equally laws of nature, are, although arising from spontaneity, just as necessary for nature as the laws of motion applicable to matter. Their origin does not presuppose any regard to our cognitive faculties, seeing that it is only by their30 means that we first come by any conception of the meaning of a knowledge 5:187of things (of nature), and they of necessity apply 27to nature as Object of our cognition in general. But it is contingent, so far as we can see, that the order of nature in its particular laws, with their wealth of at least possible variety and heterogeneity transcending all our powers of comprehension, should still in actual fact be commensurate with5 these powers. To find out this order is an undertaking on the part of our understanding, which pursues it with a regard to a necessary end of its own, that, namely, of introducing into nature unity of principle. This end must, then, be attributed to nature by judgement, since no law can be here prescribed10 to it by understanding.

The attainment of every aim is coupled with a feeling of pleasure. Now where such attainment has for its condition a representation a priori—as here a principle for the reflective judgement in general—the feeling of pleasure also is deter15mined by a ground which is a priori and valid for all men: and that, too, merely by virtue of the reference of the Object to our faculty of cognition. As the concept of finality here takes no cognizance whatever of the faculty of desire, it differs entirely from all practical finality of nature.20

As a matter of fact, we do not, and cannot, find in ourselves the slightest effect on the feeling of pleasure from the coincidence of perceptions with the laws in accordance with the universal concepts of nature (the Categories), since in their case understanding necessarily follows the bent of its own25 nature without ulterior aim. But, while this is so, the discovery, on the other hand, that two or more empirical heterogeneous laws of nature are allied under one principle that embraces them both, is the ground of a very appreciable pleasure, often even of admiration, and such, too, as does not wear30 off even though we are already familiar enough with its object. It is true that we no longer notice any decided pleasure in the comprehensibility of nature, or in the unity of its divisions into genera and species, without which the empirical concepts, that afford us our knowledge of nature in its particular laws, would35 28not be possible. Still it is certain that the pleasure appeared in due course, and only by reason of the most ordinary experience being impossible without it, has it become gradually fused with simple cognition, and no longer arrests particular attention.—Something, then, that makes us attentive in our5 estimate of nature to its finality for our understanding—an endeavour to bring, where possible, its heterogeneous laws under higher, though still always empirical, laws—is required, 5:188in order that, on meeting with success, pleasure may be felt in this their accord with our cognitive faculty, which accord10 is regarded by us as purely contingent. As against this a representation of nature would be altogether displeasing to us, were we to be forewarned by it that, on the least investigation carried beyond the commonest experience, we should come in contact with such a heterogeneity of its15 laws as would make the union of its particular laws under universal empirical laws impossible for our understanding. For this would conflict with the principle of the subjectively final specification of nature in its genera, and with our own reflective judgement in respect thereof.20

Yet this presupposition of judgement is so indeterminate on the question of the extent of the prevalence of that ideal finality of nature for our cognitive faculties, that if we are told that a more searching or enlarged knowledge of nature, derived from observation, must eventually bring us into contact with25 a multiplicity of laws that no human understanding could reduce to a principle, we can reconcile ourselves to the thought. But still we listen more gladly to others who hold out to us the hope that the more intimately we come to know the secrets of nature, or the better we are able to compare it with30 external members as yet unknown to us, the more simple shall we find it in its principles, and the further our experience advances the more harmonious shall we find it in the apparent heterogeneity of its empirical laws. For our judgement makes it imperative upon us to proceed on the principle of the con3529formity of nature to our faculty of cognition, so far as that principle extends, without deciding—for the rule is not given to us by a determinant judgement—whether bounds are anywhere set to it or not. For while in respect of the rational employment of our cognitive faculty bounds may be definitely5 determined, in the empirical field no such determination of bounds is possible.

That which is purely subjective in the representation of an Object, i. e. what constitutes its reference to the Subject, not to the object, is its aesthetic quality. On the other hand, that which in such a representation serves, or is available, 5:189for the determination of the object (for the purpose of knowledge), is15 its logical validity. In the cognition of an object of sense both sides are presented conjointly. In the sense-representation of external things the Quality of space in which we intuite them is the merely subjective side of my representation of them (by which what the things are in themselves as Objects is left20 quite open), and it is on account of that reference that the object in being intuited in space is also thought merely as a phenomemon. But despite its purely subjective Quality, space is still a constituent of the knowledge of things as phenomena. Sensation (here external) also agrees in expressing25 a merely subjective side of our representations of external things, but one which is properly their matter (through which we are given something with real existence), just as space is the mere a priori form of the possibility of their intuition; and so sensation is, none the less, also employed in the cognition30 of external Objects.

But that subjective side of a representation which is incapable of becoming an element of cognition, is the pleasure or displeasure connected with it; for through it I cognize nothing in the 30object of the representation, although it may easily be the result of the operation of some cognition or other. Now the finality of a thing, so far as represented in our perception of it, is in no way a quality of the object itself (for a quality of this kind is not one that can be perceived), although it may be in5ferred from a cognition of things. In the finality, therefore, which is prior to the cognition of an Object, and which, even apart from any desire to make use of the representation of it for the purpose of a cognition, is yet immediately connected with it, we have the subjective quality belonging to it that is10 incapable of becoming a constituent of knowledge. Hence we only apply the term ‘final’ to the object on account of its representation being immediately coupled with the feeling of pleasure: and this representation itself is an aesthetic representation of the finality.—The only question is whether such15 a representation of finality exists at all.

If pleasure is connected with the mere apprehension (apprehensio) of the form of an object of intuition, apart from any reference it may have to a concept for the purpose of a definite cognition, this does not make the representation referable to20 the Object, but solely to the Subject. In such a case the pleasure can express nothing but the conformity of the Object to the cognitive faculties brought into play in the reflective 5:190judgement, and so far as they are in play, and hence merely a subjective formal finality of the Object. For that apprehen25sion of forms in the imagination can never take place without the reflective judgement, even when it has no intention of so doing, comparing them at least with its faculty of referring intuitions to concepts. If, now, in this comparison, imagination (as the faculty of intuitions a priori) is undesignedly30 brought into accord with understanding, (as the faculty of concepts,) by means of a given representation, and a feeling of pleasure is thereby aroused, then the object must be regarded as final for the reflective judgement. A judgement of this kind is an aesthetic judgement upon the finality of the Object, which35 31does not depend upon any present concept of the object, and does not provide one. When the form of an object (as opposed to the matter of its representation, as sensation) is, in the mere act of reflecting upon it, without regard to any concept to be obtained from it, estimated as the ground of a pleasure in the5 representation of such an Object, then this pleasure is also judged to be combined necessarily with the representation of it, and so not merely for the Subject apprehending this form, but for all in general who pass judgement. The object is then called beautiful; and the faculty of judging by means of such10 a pleasure (and so also with universal validity) is called taste. For since the ground of the pleasure is made to reside merely in the form of the object for reflection generally, consequently not in any sensation of the object, and without any reference, either, to any concept that might have something or other in15 view, it is with the conformity to law in the empirical employment of judgement generally (unity of imagination and understanding) in the Subject, and with this alone, that the representation of the Object in reflection, the conditions of which are universally valid a priori, accords. And, as this accordance20 of the object with the faculties of the Subject is contingent, it gives rise to a representation of a finality on the part of the object in respect of the cognitive faculties of the Subject.

Here, now, is a pleasure which—as is the case with all pleasure or displeasure that is not brought about through the25 agency of the concept of freedom (i. e. through the antecedent determination of the higher faculty of desire by means of pure reason)—no concepts could ever enable us to regard as necessarily connected with the representation of an object. It must always be only through 5:191reflective perception that it is30 cognized as conjoined with this representation. As with all empirical judgements, it is, consequently, unable to announce objective necessity or lay claim to a priori validity. But, then, the judgement of taste in fact only lays claim, like every other empirical judgement, to be valid for every one, and,35 32despite its inner contingency this is always possible. The only point that is strange or out of the way about it, is that it is not an empirical concept, but a feeling of pleasure (and so not a concept at all), that is yet exacted from every one by the judgement of taste, just as if it were a predicate united to the cog5nition of the Object, and that is meant to be conjoined with its representation.

A singular empirical judgement, as, for example, the judgement of one who perceives a movable drop of water in a rock-crystal, rightly looks to every one finding the fact as10 stated, since the judgement has been formed according to the universal conditions of the determinant judgement under the laws of a possible experience generally. In the same way one who feels pleasure in simple reflection on the form of an object, without having any concept in mind, rightly lays claim to the15 agreement of every one, although this judgement is empirical and a singular judgement. For the ground of this pleasure is found in the universal, though subjective, condition of reflective judgements, namely the final harmony of an object (be it a product of nature or of art) with the mutual relation of20 the faculties of cognition, (imagination and understanding,) which are requisite for every empirical cognition. The pleasure in judgements of taste is, therefore, dependent doubtless on an empirical representation, and cannot be united a priori to any concept (one cannot determine a priori what object25 will be in accordance with taste or not—one must find out the object that is so); but then it is only made the determining ground of this judgement by virtue of our consciousness of its resting simply upon reflection and the universal, though only subjective, conditions of the harmony of that30 reflection with the knowledge of objects generally, for which the form of the Object is final.

This is why judgements of taste are subjected to a Critique in respect of their possibility. For their possibility presupposes an a priori principle, although that principle is neither a cognitive35 33principle 5:192for understanding nor a practical principle for the will, and is thus in no way determinant a priori.

Susceptibility to pleasure arising from reflection on the forms of things (whether of nature or of art) betokens, however, not only a finality on the part of Objects in their relation to the5 reflective judgement in the Subject, in accordance with the concept of nature, but also, conversely, a finality on the part of the Subject, answering to the concept of freedom, in respect of the form, or even formlessness, of objects. The result is that the aesthetic judgement refers not merely, as a judgement of10 taste, to the beautiful, but also, as springing from a higher intellectual feeling, to the sublime. Hence the above-mentioned Critique of Aesthetic Judgement must be divided on these lines into two main parts.

There are two ways in which finality may be represented in an object given in experience. It may be made to turn on what is purely subjective. In this case the object is considered20 in respect of its form as present in apprehension (apprehensio) prior to any concept; and the harmony of this form with the cognitive faculties, promoting the combination of the intuition with concepts for cognition generally, is represented as a finality of the form of the object. Or, on the other hand, the representa25tion of finality may be made to turn on what is objective, in which case it is represented as the harmony of the form of the object with the possibility of the thing itself according to an antecedent concept of it containing the ground of this form. We have seen that the representation of the former kind of finality rests30 on the pleasure immediately felt in mere reflection on the form of the object. But that of the latter kind of finality, as it refers 34the form of the Object, not to the Subject’s cognitive faculties engaged in its apprehension, but to a definite cognition of the object under a given concept, has nothing to do with a feeling of pleasure in things, hut only with understanding and its estimate of them. Where the concept of an object is given,5 the function of judgement, in its employment of that concept for cognition, consists in presentation (exhibitio), i, e. in placing beside the concept an intuition corresponding to it. Here it may be that our own imagination is the agent employed, as in the case of art, 5:193where we realize a preconceived concept of an10 object which we set before ourselves as an end. Or the agent may be nature in its technic, (as in the case of organic bodies,) when we read into it our own concept of an end to assist our estimate of its product, In this case what is represented is not a mere finality of nature in the form of the thing, but15 this very product as a natural end.—Although our concept that nature, in its empirical laws, is subjectively final in its forms is in no way a concept of the Object, but only a principle of judgement for providing itself with concepts in the vast multiplicity of nature, so that it may be able to take its20 bearings, yet, on the analogy of an end, as it were a regard to our cognitive faculties is here attributed to nature. Natural beauty may, therefore, be looked on as the presentation of the concept of formal, i. e. merely subjective, finality and natural ends as the presentation of the concept of a real, i. e. objective, finality.25 The former of these we estimate by taste (aesthetically by means of the feeling of pleasure), the latter by understanding and reason (logically according to concepts).

On these considerations is based the division of the Critique of Judgement into that of the aesthetic and the teleological30 judgement. By the first is meant the faculty of estimating formal finality (otherwise called subjective) by the feeling of pleasure or displeasure, by the second the faculty of estimating the real finality (objective) of nature by understanding and reason.35

35 In a Critique of Judgement the part dealing with aesthetic judgement is essentially relevant, as it alone contains a principle introduced by judgement completely a priori as the basis of its reflection upon nature. This is the principle of nature’s formal finality for our cognitive faculties in its particular (empirical)5 laws—a principle without which understanding could not feel itself at home in nature: whereas no reason is assignable a priori nor is so much as the possibility of one apparent from the concept of nature as an object of experience, whether in its universal or in its particular aspects, why there should be objective ends of10 nature, i. e. things only possible as natural ends. But it is only judgement that, without being itself possessed a priori of a principle in that behalf, in actually occurring cases (of certain products) contains the rule for making use of the concept of ends in the interest of reason, after that the above transcen15dental 5:194principle has already prepared understanding to apply to nature the concept of an end (at least in respect of its form).

But the transcendental principle by which a finality of nature, in its subjective reference to our cognitive faculties, is represented in the form of a thing as a principle of its20 estimation, leaves quite undetermined the question of where and in what cases we have to make our estimate of the object as a product according to a principle of finality, instead of simply according to universal laws of nature. It resigns to the aesthetic judgement the task of deciding the conformity of25 this product (in its form) to our cognitive faculties as a question of taste (a matter which the aesthetic judgement decides, not by any harmony with concepts, but by feeling). On the other hand judgement as teleologically employed assigns the determinate conditions under which something30 (e.g. an organized body) is to be estimated after the idea of an end of nature. But it can adduce no principle from the concept of nature, as an object of experience, to give it its authority to ascribe a priori to nature a reference to ends, or even only indeterminately to assume them from actual ex3536perience in the case of such products. The reason of this is that in order to be able merely empirically to cognize objective finality in a certain object, many particular experiences must be collected and reviewed under the unity of their principle.—Aesthetic judgement is, therefore, a special faculty of estima5ting according to a rule, but not according to concepts. The teleological is not a special faculty, but only general reflective judgement proceeding, as it always does in theoretical cognition, according to concepts, but in respect of certain objects of nature, following special principles—those, namely, of a10 judgement that is merely reflective and does not determine Objects. Hence, as regards its application, it belongs to the theoretical part of philosophy, and on account of its special principles, which are not determinant, as principles belonging to doctrine have to be, it must also form a special part of the15 Critique. On the other hand the aesthetic judgement contributes nothing to the cognition of its objects. Hence it must only be allocated to the Critique of the judging Subject and of its faculties of knowledge so far as these are capable of possessing a priori principles, be their use (theoretical or20 practical) otherwise what it may—a Critique which is the propaedeutic of all philosophy.

Understanding prescribes laws a priori for nature as an Object of sense, so that we may have a theoretical knowledge of it in a possible experience. Reason prescribes laws a priori for freedom and its peculiar causality as the supersensible in the Subject, so that we may have a purely practical know30ledge. The realm of the concept of nature under the one legislation, and that of the concept of freedom under the other, are completely cut off from all reciprocal influence, that they might severally (each according to its own principles) exert upon the other, by the broad gulf that divides the super3537sensible from phenomena. The concept of freedom determines nothing in respect of the theoretical cognition of nature; and the concept of nature likewise nothing in respect of the practical laws of freedom. To that extent, then, it is not possible to throw a bridge from the one realm to the5 other.—Yet although the determining grounds of causality according to the concept of freedom (and the practical rule that this contains) have no place in nature, and the sensible cannot determine the supersensible in the Subject; still the converse is possible (not, it is true, in respect of the knowledge of nature,10 but of the consequences arising from the supersensible and bearing on the sensible). So much indeed is implied in the concept of a causality by freedom, the operation of which, in conformity with the formal laws of freedom, is to take effect in the world. The word cause, however, in its application to15 the supersensible only signifies the ground that determines the causality of things of nature to an effect in conformity with their appropriate natural laws, but at the same time also in unison with the formal principle of the laws of reason—a ground which, while its possibility is impenetrable, may20 still be completely cleared of the charge of contradiction that it is alleged to involve.¹ The effect in accordance with 38the concept of freedom is the 5:196final end which (or the manifestation of which in the sensible world) is to exist, and this presupposes the condition of the possibility of that end in nature (le. in the nature of the Subject as a being of the sensible world, namely, as man). It is so presupposed a priori, and with5out regard to the practical, by judgement. This faculty, with its concept of a finality of nature, provides us with the mediating concept between concepts of nature and the concept of freedom—a concept that makes possible the transition from the pure theoretical [legislation of understanding] to the pure practical10 [legislation of reason] and from conformity to law in accordance with the former to final ends according to the latter. For through that concept we cognize the possibility of the final end that can only be actualized in nature and in harmony with its laws.

Understanding, by the possibility of its supplying a priori15 laws for nature, furnishes a proof of the fact that nature is cognized by us only as phenomenon, and in so doing points to its having a supersensible substrate; but this substrate it leaves quite undetermined. Judgement by the a priori principle of its estimation of nature according to its possible particular laws20 provides this supersensible substrate (within as well as without us) with determinability through the intellectual faculty. But reason gives determination to the same a priori by its practical law. Thus judgement makes possible the transition from the realm of the concept of nature to that of the concept of freedom.25

In respect of the faculties of the soul generally, regarded as higher faculties, i. e. as faculties containing an autonomy, understanding is the one that contains the constitutive a priori principles for the faculty of cognition (the theoretical knowledge of nature). The feeling of pleasure and displeasure is provided30 for by the judgement in its independence from concepts and from sensations that refer to the determination of the faculty 5:197of desire and would thus be capable of being immediately practical. For the faculty of desire there is reason, which is practical without mediation of any pleasure of whatsoever35 39origin, and which determines for it, as a higher faculty, the final end that is attended at the same time with pure intellectual delight in the Object.—Judgement’s concept of a finality of nature falls, besides, under the head of natural concepts, but only as a regulative principle of the cognitive faculties—although5 the aesthetic judgement on certain objects (of nature or of art) which occasions that concept, is a constitutive principle in respect of the feeling of pleasure or displeasure. The spontaneity in the play of the cognitive faculties whose harmonious accord contains the ground of this pleasure, makes the concept in question,10 in its consequences, a suitable mediating link connecting the realm of the concept of nature with that of the concept of freedom, as this accord at the same time promotes the sensibility of the mind for moral feeling. The following table may facilitate the review of all the above faculties in their systematic unity.¹15

If we wish to discern whether anything is beautiful or not, we do not refer the representation of it to the Object by means of understanding with a view to cognition, but by means of the imagination (acting perhaps in conjunction with understanding) we15 refer the representation to the Subject and its feeling of pleasure or displeasure. The judgement of taste, therefore, is not a cognitive judgement, and so not logical, but is aesthetic—which means that it is one whose determining ground cannot be 42other than subjective. Every reference of representations is capable of being objective, even that of sensations (in which case it signifies the real in an empirical representation). The one exception to this is 5:204the feeling of pleasure or displeasure. This denotes nothing in the object, but is a feeling which the5 Subject has of itself and of the manner in which it is affected by the representation.

To apprehend a regular and appropriate building with one’s cognitive faculties, be the mode of representation clear or confused, is quite a different thing from being conscious of10 this representation with an accompanying sensation of delight. Here the representation is referred wholly to the Subject, and what is more to its feeling of life—under the name of the feeling of pleasure or displeasure—and this forms the basis of a quite separate faculty of discriminating and estimating, that15 contributes nothing to knowledge. All it does is to compare the given representation in the Subject with the entire faculty of representations of which the mind is conscious in the feeling of its state. Given representations in a judgement may be empirical, and so aesthetic; but the judgement which is pro20nounced by their means is logical, provided it refers them to the Object. Conversely, be the given representations even rational, but referred in a judgement solely to the Subject (to its feeling), they are always to that extent aesthetic.

The delight which determines the judgement of
taste is independent of all interest.

The delight which we connect with the representation of the real existence of an object is called interest. Such a delight, therefore, always involves a reference to the faculty of desire,30 either as its determining ground, or else as necessarily implicated with its determining ground. Now, where the question is 43whether something is beautiful, we do not want to know, whether we, or any one else, are, or even could be, concerned in the real existence of the thing, but rather what estimate we form of it on mere contemplation (intuition or reflection), if any one asks me whether I consider that the palace I see before5 me is beautiful, I may, perhaps, reply that I do not care for things of that sort that are merely made to be gaped at. Or I may reply in the same strain as that Iroquois sachem who said that nothing in Paris pleased him better than the eating-houses. I may even go a step further and inveigh with the vigour of10 a Rousseau against the vanity of the great who spend the sweat of the people on such superfluous things. Or, in fine, I may 5:205quite easily persuade myself that if I found myself on an uninhabited island, without hope of ever again coming among men, and could conjure such a palace into existence by a mere wish,15 I should still not trouble to do so, so long as I had a hut there that was comfortable enough for me. All this may be admitted and approved; only it is not the point now at issue. All one wants to know is whether the mere representation of the object is to my liking, no matter how indifferent I may be to the real20 existence of the object of this representation. It is quite plain that in order to say that the object is beautiful, and to show that I have taste, everything turns on the meaning which I can give to this representation, and not on any factor which makes me dependent on the real existence of the object. Every25 one must allow that a judgement on the beautiful which is tinged with the slightest interest, is very partial and not a pure judgement of taste. One must not be in the least prepossessed in favour of the real existence of the thing, but must preserve complete indifference in this respect, in order to play30 the part of judge in matters of taste.

This proposition, which is of the utmost importance, cannot be better explained than by contrasting the pure disinterested¹ 44delight which appears in the judgement of taste with that allied to an interest—especially if we can also assure ourselves that there are no other kinds of interest beyond those presently to be mentioned.

That is agreeable which the senses find pleasing in sensation. This at once affords a convenient opportunity for condemning and directing particular attention to a prevalent confusion of the double meaning of which the word ‘sensation’ is capable.10 All delight (as is said or thought) is itself sensation (of a pleasure). Consequently 5:206everything that pleases, and for the very reason that it pleases, is agreeable—and according to its different degrees, or its relations to other agreeable sensations, is attractive, charming, delicious, enjoyable, &c. But if this is15 conceded, then impressions of sense, which determine inclination, or principles of reason, which determine the will, or mere contemplated forms of intuition, which determine judgement, are all on a par in everything relevant to their effect upon the feeling of pleasure, for this would be agreeableness in the20 sensation of one’s state; and since, in the last resort, all the elaborate work of our faculties must issue in and unite in the practical as its goal, we could credit our faculties with no other appreciation of things and the worth of things, than that consisting in the gratification which they promise. How this is25 attained is in the end immaterial; and, as the choice of the means is here the only thing that can make a difference, men might indeed blame one another for folly or imprudence, but never for baseness or wickedness; for they are all, each accord45ing to his own way of looking at things, pursuing one goal, which for each is the gratification in question.

When a modification of the feeling of pleasure or displeasure is termed sensation, this expression is given quite a different meaning to that which it bears when I call the representation of5 a thing (through sense as a receptivity pertaining to the faculty of knowledge) sensation. For in the latter case the representation is referred to the Object, but in the former it is referred solely to the Subject and is not available for any cognition, not even for that by which the Subject cognizes itself.10

Now in the above definition the word sensation is used to denote an objective representation of sense; and, to avoid continually running the risk of misinterpretation, we shall call that which must always remain purely subjective, and is absolutely incapable of forming a representation of an object, by the15 familiar name of feeling. The green colour of the meadows belongs to objective sensation, as the perception of an object of sense; but its agreeableness to subjective sensation, by which no object is represented: i. e. to feeling, through which the object is regarded as an Object of delight (which involves20 no cognition of the object).

Now, that a judgement on an object by which its 5:207agreeableness is affirmed, expresses an interest in it, is evident from the fact that through sensation it provokes a desire for similar objects, consequently the delight presupposes, not the simple judgement25 about it, but the bearing its real existence has upon my state so far as affected by such an Object. Hence we do not merely say of the agreeable that it pleases, but that it gratifies. I do not accord it a simple approval, but inclination is aroused by it, and where agreeableness is of the liveliest type a judgement30 on the character of the Object is so entirely out of place, that those who are always intent only on enjoyment (for that is the word used to denote intensity of gratification) would fain dispense with all judgement.

That is good which by means of reason commends itself by its mere concept. We call that good for something (useful) which only pleases as a means; but that which pleases on its5 own account we call good in itself. In both cases the concept of an end is implied, and consequently the relation of reason to (at least possible) willing, and thus a delight in the existence of an Object or action, i. e. some interest or other.

To deem something good, I must always know what sort of10 a thing the object is intended to be, i. e. I must have a concept of it. That is not necessary to enable me to see beauty in a thing. Flowers, free patterns, lines aimlessly intertwining—technically termed foliage,—have no signification, depend upon no definite concept, and yet please. Delight in the beautiful15 must depend upon the reflection on an object precursory to some (not definitely determined) concept. It is thus also differentiated from the agreeable, which rests entirely upon sensation.

In many cases, no doubt, the agreeable and the good seem20 convertible terms. Thus it is commonly said that all (especially lasting) gratification is of itself good; which is almost equivalent to saying that to be permanently agreeable and to be good are identical. But it is readily apparent that this is merely a vicious confusion of words, for the concepts appro25priate to these expressions are far 5:208from interchangeable. The agreeable, which, as such, represents the object solely in relation to sense, must in the first instance be brought under principles of reason through the concept of an end, to be, as an object of will, called good. But that the reference to delight is30 wholly different where what gratifies is at the same time called good, is evident from the fact that with the good the question 47always is whether it is mediately or immediately good, i. e. useful or good in itself; whereas with the agreeable this point can never arise, since the word always means what pleases immediately—and it is just the same with what I call beautiful.

Even in everyday parlance a distinction is drawn between5 the agreeable and the good. We do not scruple to say of a dish that stimulates the palate with spices and other condiments that it is agreeable—owning all the while that it is not good: because, while it immediately satisfies the senses, it is mediately displeasing, i. e. in the eye of reason that looks10 ahead to the consequences. Even in our estimate of health this same distinction may be traced. To all that possess it, it is immediately agreeable—at least negatively, i. e. as remoteness of all bodily pains. But, if we are to say that it is good, we must further apply to reason to direct it to ends, that is, we15 must regard it as a state that puts us in a congenial mood for all we have to do. Finally, in respect of happiness every one believes that the greatest aggregate of the pleasures of life, taking duration as well as number into account, merits the name of a true, nay even of the highest, good. But reason20 sets its face against this too. Agreeableness is enjoyment. But if this is all that we are bent on, it would be foolish to be scrupulous about the means that procure it for us—whether it be obtained passively by the bounty of nature or actively and by the work of our own hands. But that there is any intrinsic25 worth in the real existence of a man who merely lives for enjoyment, however busy he may be in this respect, even when in so doing he serves others—all equally with himself intent only on enjoyment—as an excellent means to that one end, and does so, moreover, because through sympathy he shares30 all their gratifications,—this is a view to which reason will never let itself be brought round. Only by what a man does heedless of enjoyment, in complete freedom and independently of what he can procure passively from the hand of nature, does he give to his existence, as the real existence of a 5:209person, an35 48absolute worth. Happiness, with all its plethora of pleasures, is far from being an unconditioned good.¹

But, despite all this difference between the agreeable and the good, they both agree in being invariably coupled with an interest in their object. This is true, not alone of the agree5able, § 3, and of the mediately good, i. e. the useful, which pleases as a means to some pleasure, but also of that which is good absolutely and from every point of view, namely the moral good which carries with it the highest interest. For the good is the Object of will, i. e. of a rationally determined faculty of10 desire). But to will something, and to take a delight in its existence, i. e. to take an interest in it, are identical.

Both the Agreeable and the Good involve a reference to15 the faculty of desire, and are thus attended, the former with a delight pathologically conditioned (by stimuli), the latter with a pure practical delight. Such delight is determined not merely by the representation of the object, but also by the represented bond of connexion between the Subject20 and the real existence of the object. It is not merely the object, but also its real existence, that pleases. On the other hand the judgement of taste is simply contemplative, i. e. it is a judgement which is indifferent as to the existence of an object, and only decides how its character25 stands with the feeling of pleasure and displeasure. But not even is this contemplation itself directed to concepts; for the 49judgement of taste is not a cognitive judgement (neither a theoretical one nor a practical), and hence, also, is not grounded on concepts, nor yet intentionally directed to them.

The agreeable, the beautiful, and the good thus denote three different relations of representations to the feeling of5 pleasure and displeasure, as a feeling in 5:210respect of which we distinguish different objects or modes of representation. Also, the corresponding expressions which indicate our satisfaction in them are different. The agreeable is what gratifies a man; the beautiful what simply pleases him; the good what is10 esteemed (approved), i. e. that on which he sets an objective worth. Agreeableness is a significant factor even with irrational animals; beauty has purport and significance only for human beings, i. e. for beings at once animal and rational (but not merely for them as rational—intelligent beings—but only for15 them as at once animal and rational); whereas the good is good for every rational being in general a proposition which can only receive its complete justification and explanation in the sequel. Of all these three kinds of delight, that of taste in the beautiful may be said to be the one and only disin20terested and free delight; for, with it, no interest, whether of sense or reason, extorts approval. And so we may say that delight, in the three cases mentioned, is related to inclination, to favour, or to respect. For favour is the only free liking. An object of inclination, and one which a law of reason imposes25 upon our desire, leaves us no freedom to turn anything into an object of pleasure. All interest presupposes a want, or calls one forth; and, being a ground determining approval, deprives the judgement on the object of its freedom.

So far as the interest of inclination in the case of the30 agreeable goes, every one says: Hunger is the best sauce; and people with a healthy appetite relish everything, so long as it is something they can eat. Such delight, consequently, gives no indication of taste having anything to say to the choice. Only when men have got all they want can we tell who among35 50the crowd has taste or not. Similarly there may be correct habits (conduct) without virtue, politeness without good-will, propriety without honour, &c. For where the moral law dictates, there is, objectively, no room left for free choice as to what one has to do; and to show taste in the way one carries5 out these dictates, or in estimating the way others do so, is a totally different matter from displaying the moral frame of one’s mind. For the latter involves a command and produces a need of something, whereas moral taste only plays with the objects of delight without devoting itself sincerely to any.10

Taste is the faculty of estimating an object or a mode of representation by means of a delight or aversion apart from any interest. The object of such a delight is called beautiful.15

The beautiful is that which, apart from concepts, is represented as the Object of a universal delight.20

This definition of the beautiful is deducible from the foregoing definition of it as an object of delight apart from any interest. For where any one is conscious that his delight in an object is with him independent of interest, it is inevitable that he should look on the object as one containing a ground25 of delight for all men. For, since the delight is not based on any inclination of the Subject (or on any other deliberate interest), but the Subject feels himself completely free in respect of the 51liking which he accords to the object, he can find as reason for his delight no personal conditions to which his own subjective self might alone be party. Hence he must regard it as resting on what he may also presuppose in every other person; and therefore he must believe that he has reason for demanding a similar5 delight from every one. Accordingly he will speak of the beautiful as if beauty were a quality of the object and the judgement logical (forming a cognition of the Object by concepts of it); although it is only aesthetic, and contains merely a reference of the representation of the object to the Subject;—because10 it still bears this resemblance to the logical judgement, that it may be presupposed to be valid for all men. But this universality cannot spring from concepts. For from concepts there is no transition to the feeling of pleasure or displeasure (save in the case of pure practical laws, which, however, carry an15 interest with them; and such an interest 5:212does not attach to the pure judgement of taste). The result is that the judgement of taste, with its attendant consciousness of detachment from all interest, must involve a claim to validity for all men, and must do so apart from universality attached to20 Objects, i. e. there must be coupled with it a claim to subjective universality.

Comparison of the beautiful with the agreeable and the good by means of the above characteristic.25

As regards the agreeable every one concedes that his judgement, which he bases on a private feeling, and in which he declares that an object pleases him, is restricted merely to himself personally. Thus he does not take it amiss if, when he says that Canary-wine is agreeable, another corrects the30 expression and reminds him that he ought to say: It is agreeable to me. This applies not only to the taste of the tongue, the palate, and the throat, but to what may with any one be agreeable to eye or ear. A violet colour is to one soft and 52lovely; to another dull and faded. One man likes the tone of wind instruments, another prefers that of string instruments. To quarrel over such points with the idea of condemning another’s judgement as incorrect when it differs from our own, as if the opposition between the two judgements were logical,5 would be folly. With the agreeable, therefore, the axiom holds good: Every one has his own taste (that of sense).

The beautiful stands on quite a different footing. It would, on the contrary, be ridiculous if any one who plumed himself on his taste were to think of justifying himself by10 saying: This object (the building we see, the dress that person has on, the concert we hear, the poem submitted to our criticism) is beautiful for me. For if it merely pleases him, he must not call it beautiful. Many things may for him possess charm and agreeableness—no one cares about that; but when15 he puts a thing on a pedestal and calls it beautiful, he demands the same delight from others. He judges not merely for himself, but for all men, and then speaks of beauty as if it were a property of things. Thus he says the thing is beautiful; and it is not as if he counted on others agreeing in his judgement20 of liking 5:213owing to his having found them in such agreement on a number of occasions, but he demands this agreement of them. He blames them if they judge differently, and denies them taste, which he still requires of them as something they ought to have; and to this extent it is not open to men to say:25 Every one has his own taste. This would be equivalent to saying that there is no such thing at all as taste, i. e. no aesthetic judgement capable of making a rightful claim upon the assent of all men.

Yet even in the case of the agreeable we find that the30 estimates men form do betray a prevalent agreement among them, which leads to our crediting some with taste and denying it to others, and that, too, not as an organic sense but as a critical faculty in respect of the agreeable generally. So of 53one who knows how to entertain his guests with pleasures (of enjoyment through all the senses) in such a way that one and all are pleased, we say that he has taste. But the universality here is only understood in a comparative sense; and the rales that apply are, like all empirical rules, general only, not5 universal—the latter being what the judgement of taste upon the beautiful deals or claims to deal in. It is a judgement in respect of sociability so far as resting on empirical rules. In respect of the good it is true that judgements also rightly assert a claim to validity for every one; but the good is only repre10sented as an Object of universal delight by means of a concept, which is the case neither with the agreeable nor the beautiful

In a judgement of taste the universality of delight is only represented as subjective.15

This particular form of the universality of an aesthetic judgement, which is to be met with in a judgement of taste, is a significant feature, not for the logician certainly, but for the transcendental philosopher. It calls for no small effort on his part to discover its origin, but in return it brings to light20 a property of our cognitive faculty which, without this analysis, would have remained unknown.

First, one must get firmly into one’s mind that by the 5:214judgement of taste (upon the beautiful) the delight in an object is imputed to every one, yet without being founded on25 a concept (for then it would be the good), and that this claim to universality is such an essential factor of a judgement by which we describe anything as beautiful that were it not for its being present to the mind it would never enter into any one’s head to use this expression, but everything that pleased without30 a concept would be ranked as agreeable. For in respect of the agreeable every one is allowed to have his own opinion, and no one insists upon others agreeing with his judgement of 54taste, which is what is invariably done in the judgement of taste about beauty. The first of these I may call the taste of sense, the second, the taste of reflection: the first laying down judgements merely private, the second, on the other hand, judgements ostensibly of general validity (public), but5 both alike being aesthetic (not practical) judgements about an object merely in respect of the bearings of its representation on the feeling of pleasure or displeasure. Now it does seem strange that while with the taste of sense it is not alone experience that shows that its judgement (of pleasure or displeasure10 in something) is not universally valid, but every one willingly refrains from imputing this agreement to others (despite the frequent actual prevalence of a considerable consensus of general opinion even in these judgements), the taste of reflection, which, as experience teaches, has often enough to15 put up with a rude dismissal of its claims to universal validity of its judgement (upon the beautiful), can (as it actually does) find it possible for all that, to formulate judgements capable of demanding this agreement in its universality. Such agreement it does in fact require from every one for each of its judgements20 of taste,—the persons who pass these judgements not quarrelling over the possibility of such a claim, but only failing in particular cases to come to terms as to the correct application of this faculty.

First of all we have here to note that a universality which25 does not rest upon concepts of the Object (even though these are only empirical) is in no way logical, but aesthetic, i. e. does not involve any objective quantity of the judgement, but only one that is subjective. For this universality I use the expression general validity, which denotes the validity of the reference of30 a representation, not to the cognitive faculties, but to the feeling of pleasure or displeasure for every Subject. (The same expression, however, may also be employed for the logical quantity of the judgement, 5:215provided we add objective universal 55validity, to distinguish it from the merely subjective validity which is always aesthetic.)

Now a judgement that has objective universal validity has always got the subjective also, i. e. if the judgement is valid for everything which is contained under a given concept, it is5 valid also for all who represent an object by means of this concept. But from a subjective universal validity, i. e. the aesthetic, that does not rest on any concept, no conclusion can be drawn to the logical; because judgements of that kind have no bearing upon the Object. But for this very reason the aesthetic10 universality attributed to a judgement must also be of a special kind, seeing that it does not join the predicate of beauty to the concept of the Object taken in its entire logical sphere, and yet does extend this predicate over the whole sphere of judging Subjects.15

In their logical quantity all judgements of taste are singular judgements. For, since I must present the object immediately to my feeling of pleasure or displeasure, and that, too, without the aid of concepts, such judgements cannot have the quantity of judgements with objective general validity. Yet by taking20 the singular representation of the Object of the judgement of taste, and by comparison converting it into a concept according to the conditions determining that judgement, we can arrive at a logically universal judgement. For instance, by a judgement of taste I describe the rose at which I am looking as25 beautiful. The judgement, on the other hand, resulting from the comparison of a number of singular representations: Roses in general are beautiful, is no longer pronounced as a purely aesthetic judgement, but as a logical judgement founded on one that is aesthetic. Now the judgement, ‘The rose is30 agreeable’ (to smell) is also, no doubt, an aesthetic and singular judgement, but then it is not one of taste but of sense. For it has this point of difference from a judgement of taste, that the latter imports an aesthetic quantity of universality, i. e. of validity for every one which is not to be met with35 56in a judgement upon the agreeable. It is only judgements upon the good which, while also determining the delight m an object, possess logical and not mere aesthetic universality; for it is as involving a cognition of the Object that they are valid of it, and on that account valid for every one.5

In forming an estimate of Objects merely from concepts, all representation of beauty goes by the board. There can, therefore, be no rule according to which any one is to be compelled to recognize anything as beautiful. Whether 5:216a dress, a house, or a flower is beautiful is a matter upon which one declines10 to allow one’s judgement to be swayed by any reasons or principles. We want to get a look at the Object with our own eyes, just as if our delight depended on sensation. And yet, if upon so doing, we call the object beautiful, we believe ourselves to be speaking with a universal voice, and lay claim15 to the concurrence of every one, whereas no private sensation would be decisive except for the observer alone and his liking.

Here, now, we may perceive that nothing is postulated in the judgement of taste but such a universal voice in respect of delight that is not mediated by concepts; consequently, only20 the possibility of an aesthetic judgement capable of being at the same time deemed valid for every one. The judgement of taste itself does not postulate the agreement of every one (for it is only competent for a logically universal judgement to do this, in that it is able to bring forward reasons); it only imputes25 this agreement to every one, as an instance of the rule in respect of which it looks for confirmation, not from concepts, but from the concurrence of others. The universal voice is, therefore, only an idea—resting upon grounds the investigation of which is here postponed. It may be a matter of uncertainty whether30 a person who thinks he is laying down a judgement of taste is, in fact, judging in conformity with that idea; but that this idea is what is contemplated in his judgement, and that, consequently, it is meant to be a judgement of taste, is pro57claimed by his use of the expression ‘beauty’. For himself he can be certain on the point from his mere consciousness of the separation of everything belonging to the agreeable and the good from the delight remaining to him; and this is all for which he promises himself the agreement of every one—a claim5 which, under these conditions, he would also be warranted in making, were it not that he frequently sinned against them, and thus passed an erroneous judgement of taste.

Investigation of the question of the relative priority in a judge10ment of taste of the feeling of pleasure and the estimating of the object

The solution of this problem is the key to the Critique of taste, and so is worthy of all attention.

Were the pleasure in a given object to be the antecedent,15 and were the 5:217universal communicability of this pleasure to be all that the judgement of taste is meant to allow to the representation of the object, such a sequence would be self-contradictory. For a pleasure of that kind would be nothing but the feeling of mere agreeableness to the senses, and so, from20 its very nature, would possess no more than private validity, seeing that it would be immediately dependent on the representation through which the object is given.

Hence it is the universal capacity for being communicated incident to the mental state in the given representation which,25 as the subjective condition of the judgement of taste, must be fundamental, with the pleasure in the object as its consequent. Nothing, however, is capable of being universally communicated but cognition and representation so far as appurtenant to cognition. For it is only as thus appurtenant that the repre30sentation is objective, and it is this alone that gives it a universal point of reference with which the power of representation of every one is obliged to harmonize. If, then, 58the determining ground of the judgement as to this universal communicability of the representation is to be merely subjective, that is to say, is to be conceived independently of any concept of the object, it can be nothing else than the mental state that presents itself in the mutual relation of the powers of5 representation so far as they refer a given representation to cognition in general The cognitive powers brought into play by this representation are here engaged in a free play, since no definite concept restricts them to a particular rule of cognition. Hence the10 mental state in this representation must be one of a feeling of the free play of the powers of representation in a given representation for a cognition in general. Now a representation, whereby an object is given, involves, in order that it may become a source of cognition at all, imagination for bringing together15 the manifold of intuition, and understanding for the unity of the concept uniting the representations. This state of free play of the cognitive faculties attending a representation by which an object is given must admit of universal communication: because cognition, as a definition of the Object with which20 given representations (in any Subject whatever) are to accord, is the one and only representation which is valid for every one.

As the subjective universal communicability of the mode of representation in a judgement of taste is to subsist apart from the presupposition of any definite concept, it can be25 nothing else than the mental state present in the 5:218free play of imagination and understanding (so far as these are in mutual accord, as is requisite for cognition in general): for we are conscious that this subjective relation suitable for a cognition in general must be just as valid for every one, and consequently30 as universally communicable, as is any determinate cognition, which always rests upon that relation as its subjective condition.

Now this purely subjective (aesthetic) estimating of the object, or of the representation through which it is given, is 59antecedent to the pleasure in it, and is the basis of this pleasure in the harmony of the cognitive faculties. Again, the above-described universality of the subjective conditions of estimating objects forms the sole foundation of this universal subjective validity of the delight which we connect with the5 representation of the object that we call beautiful.

That an ability to communicate one’s mental state, even though it be only in respect of our cognitive faculties, is attended with a pleasure, is a fact which might easily be demonstrated from the natural propensity of mankind to10 social life, i. e. empirically and psychologically. But what we have here in view calls for something more than this. In a judgement of taste the pleasure felt by us is exacted from every one else as necessary, just as if, when we call something beautiful, beauty was to be regarded as a quality of the object forming part15 of its inherent determination according to concepts; although beauty is for itself, apart from any reference to the feeling of the Subject, nothing. But the discussion of this question must be reserved until we have answered the further one of whether, and how, aesthetic judgements are possible a priori.20

At present we are exercised with the lesser question of the way in which we become conscious, in a judgement of taste, of a reciprocal subjective common accord of the powers of cognition. Is it aesthetically by sensation and our mere internal sense? Or is it intellectually by consciousness of our25 intentional activity in bringing these powers into play?

Now if the given representation occasioning the judgement of taste were a concept which united understanding and imagination in the estimate of the object so as to give a cognition of the Object, the consciousness of this relation30 would be intellectual (as in the objective schematism of judgement dealt with in the Critique). But, then, in that case the judgement would not be laid down with respect to pleasure and displeasure, 5:219and so would not be a judgement of taste. But, now, the judgement of taste determines the Object,35 60independently of concepts, in respect of delight and of the predicate of beauty. There is, therefore, no other way for the subjective unity of the relation in question to make itself known than by sensation. The quickening of both faculties (imagination and understanding) to an indefinite, but yet, thanks to5 the given representation, harmonious activity, such as belongs to cognition generally, is the sensation whose universal communicability is postulated by the judgement of taste. An objective relation can, of course, only be thought, yet in so far as, in respect of its conditions, it is subjective, it may be felt in10 its effect upon the mind, and, in the case of a relation (like that of the powers of representation to a faculty of cognition generally) which does not rest on any concept, no other consciousness of it is possible beyond that through sensation of its effect upon the mind—an effect consisting in the more15 facile play of both mental powers (imagination and understanding) as quickened by their mutual accord. A representation which is singular and independent of comparison with other representations, and, being such, yet accords with the conditions of the universality that is the general concern of understanding,20 is one that brings the cognitive faculties into that proportionate accord which we require for all cognition and which we therefore deem valid for every one who is so constituted as to judge by means of understanding and sense conjointly (i. e. for every man).25

OF JUDGEMENTS OF TASTE: MOMENT OF THE RELATION OF THE ENDS BROUGHT UNDER REVIEW IN SUCH JUDGEMENTS

Let us define the meaning of ‘an end’ in transcendental terms (i. e. without presupposing anything empirical, such as the 5:220feeling of pleasure). An end is the object of a concept so far as this concept is regarded as the cause of the object (the real ground of its possibility); and the causality of a concept in10 respect of its Object is finality (forma finalis). Where, then, not the cognition of an object merely, but the object itself (its form or real existence) as an effect, is thought to be possible only through a concept of it, there we imagine an end. The representation of the effect is here the determining ground of15 its cause and takes the lead of it. The consciousness of the causality of a representation in respect of the state of the Subject as one tending to preserve a continuance of that state, may here be said to denote in a general way what is called pleasure; whereas displeasure is that representation which contains the20 ground for converting the state of the representations into their opposite (for hindering or removing them).

The faculty of desire, so far as determinable only through concepts, i. e. so as to act in conformity with the representation of an end, would be the will. But an Object, or state of mind,25 or even an action may, although its possibility does not necessarily presuppose the representation of an end, be called final simply on account of its possibility being only explicable and intelligible for us by virtue of an assumption on our part of a fundamental causality according to ends, i. e. a will that30 would have so ordained it according to a certain represented 62rule. Finality, therefore, may exist apart from an end, in so far as we do not locate the causes of this form in a will, but yet are able to render the explanation of its possibility intelligible to ourselves only by deriving it from a will. Now we are not always obliged to look with the eye of reason into what we5 observe (i. e. to consider it in its possibility). So we may at least observe a finality of form, and trace it in objects—though by reflection only—without resting it on an end (as the material of the nexus finalis).

The sole foundation of the judgement of taste is the form of finality of an object (or mode of representing it).

Whenever an end is regarded as a source of delight it always imports an interest as determining ground of the judgement on the object of pleasure. Hence the judgement of taste cannot15 rest on any subjective end as its ground. But neither can any representation of an objective end, i. e. of the possibility of the object itself on principles of final connexion, determine the judgement of taste, and, consequently, neither can any concept of the good. For the judgement of taste is an aesthetic and20 not a cognitive judgement, and so does not deal with any concept of the nature or of the internal or external possibility, by this or that cause, of the object, but simply with the relative bearing of the representative powers so far as determined by a representation.25

Now this relation, present when an object is characterized as beautiful, is coupled with the feeling of pleasure. This pleasure is by the judgment of taste pronounced valid for every one; hence an agreeableness attending the representation is just as incapable of containing the determining ground of the judge30ment as the representation of the perfection of the object or the concept of the good. We are thus left with the subjective 63finality in the representation of an object, exclusive of any end (objective or subjective)—consequently the bare form of finality in the representation whereby an object is given to us, so far as we are conscious of it—as that which is alone capable of constituting the delight which, apart from any concept, we5 estimate as universally communicable, and so of forming the determining ground of the judgment of taste.

To determine a priori the connexion of the feeling of10 pleasure or displeasure as an effect, with some representation or other (sensation or concept) as its cause, is utterly impossible; for that would be a causal relation which, (with objects of experience,) is 5:222always one that can only be cognized a posteriori and with the help of experience. True, in the15 Critique of Practical Reason we did actually derive a priori from universal moral concepts the feeling of respect (as a particular and peculiar modification of this feeling which does not strictly answer either to the pleasure or displeasure which we receive from empirical objects). But there we were further20 able to cross the border of experience and call in aid a causality resting on a supersensible attribute of the Subject, namely that of freedom. But even there it was not this feeling exactly that we deduced from the idea of the moral as cause, but from this was derived simply the determination of the will. But the25 mental state present in the determination of the will by any means is at once in itself a feeling of pleasure and identical with it, and so does not issue from it as an effect. Such an effect must only be assumed where the concept of the moral as a good precedes the determination of the will by the law;30 for in that case it would be futile to derive the pleasure combined with the concept from this concept as a mere cognition.

Now the pleasure in aesthetic judgements stands on a similar 64footing: only that here it is merely contemplative and does not bring about an interest in the Object; whereas in the moral judgement it is practical. The consciousness of mere formal finality in the play of the cognitive faculties of the Subject attending a representation whereby an object is given, is5 the pleasure itself, because it involves a determining ground of the Subject’s activity in respect of the quickening of its cognitive powers, and thus an internal causality (which is final) in respect of cognition generally, but without being limited to a definite cognition, and consequently a mere form of the sub10jective finality of a representation in an aesthetic judgement. This pleasure is also in no way practical, neither resembling that from the pathological ground of agreeableness nor that from the intellectual ground of the represented good. But still it involves an inherent causality, that, namely, of preserving15 a continuance of the state of the representation itself and the active engagement of the cognitive powers without ulterior aim. We dwell on the contemplation of the beautiful because this contemplation strengthens and reproduces itself. The case is analogous (but analogous only) to the way we linger on20 a charm in the representation of an object which keeps arresting the attention, the mind all the while remaining passive.

Every interest vitiates the judgement of taste and robs it of its impartiality. This is especially so where instead of, like the interest of reason, making finality take the lead of the feeling of pleasure, it grounds it upon this feeling—which is what always happen in aesthetic judgements upon anything so30 far as it gratifies or pains. Hence judgements so influenced can either lay no claim at all to a universally valid delight, or 65else must abate their claim in proportion as sensations of the kind in question enter into the determining grounds of taste. Taste that requires an added element of charm and emotion for its delight, not to speak of adopting this as the measure of its approval, has not yet emerged from barbarism.5

And yet charms are frequently not alone ranked with beauty (which ought properly to be a question merely of the form) as supplementary to the aesthetic universal delight, but they have been accredited as intrinsic beauties, and consequently the matter of delight passed off for the form. This10 is a misconception which, like many others that have still an underlying element of truth, may be removed by a careful definition of these concepts.

A judgement of taste which is uninfluenced by charm or emotion, (though these may be associated with the delight in15 the beautiful,) and whose determining ground, therefore, is simply finality of form, is a pure judgement of taste.

Aesthetic, just like theoretical (logical) judgements, are20 divisible into empirical and pure. The first are those by which agreeableness or disagreeableness, the second those by which beauty, is predicated of an object or its mode of representation. The former are judgements of sense (material aesthetic judgements), the latter (as formal) alone judgements25 of taste proper.

5:224 A judgement of taste, therefore, is only pure so far as its determining ground is tainted with no merely empirical delight. But such a taint is always present where charm or emotion have a share in the judgement by which something is30 to be described as beautiful.

Here now there is a recrudescence of a number of specious 66pleas that go the length of putting forward the case that charm is not merely a necessary ingredient of beauty, but is even of itself sufficient to merit the name of beautiful. A mere colour, such as the green of a plot of grass, or a mere tone (as distinguished from sound or noise), like that of a violin, is5 described by most people as in itself beautiful, notwithstanding the fact that both seem to depend merely on the matter of the representations—in other words, simply on sensation, which only entitles them to be called agreeable. But it will at the same time be observed that sensations of colour as well as of10 tone are only entitled to be immediately regarded as beautiful where, in either case, they are pure. This is a determination which at once goes to their form, and it is the only one which these representations possess that admits with certainty of being universally communicated. For it is not to be15 assumed that even the quality of the sensations agrees in all Subjects, and we can hardly take it for granted that the agreeableness of a colour, or of the tone of a musical instrument, which we judge to be preferable to that of another, is given a like preference in the estimate of every one.20

Assuming with Euler that colours are isochronous vibrations (pulsus) of the aether, as tones are of the air set in vibration by sound, and, what is most important, that the mind not alone perceives by sense their effect in stimulating the organs, but also, by reflection, the regular play of the impressions, (and25 consequently the form in which different representations are united,)-—which I, still, in no way doubt—then colour and tone would not be mere sensations. They would be nothing short of formal determinations of the unity of a manifold of sensations, and in that case could even be ranked as intrinsic30 beauties.

But the purity of a simple mode of sensation means that its uniformity is not disturbed or broken by any foreign sensation. It belongs merely to the form; for abstraction 67may there be made from the quality of the mode of such sensation (what colour or tone, if any, it represents). For this reason all simple colours are regarded as beautiful so far as pure. Composite colours have 5:225not this advantage, because, not being simple, there is no standard for estimating whether5 they should be called pure or impure.

But as for the beauty ascribed to the object on account of its form, and the supposition that it is capable of being enhanced by charm, this is a common error and one very prejudicial to genuine, uncorrupted, sincere taste. Neverthe10less charms may be added to beauty to lend to the mind, beyond a bare delight, an adventitious interest in the representation of the object, and thus to advocate taste and its cultivation. This applies especially where taste is as yet crude and untrained. But they are positively subversive of the15 judgement of taste, if allowed to obtrude themselves as grounds of estimating beauty. For so far are they from contributing to beauty, that it is only where taste is still weak and untrained, that, like aliens, they are admitted as a favour, and only on terms that they do not violate that beautiful20 form.

In painting, sculpture, and in fact in all the formative arts, in architecture and horticulture, so far as fine arts, the design is what is essential. Here it is not what gratifies in sensation but merely what pleases by its form, that is the fundamental25 prerequisite for taste. The colours which give brilliancy to the sketch are part of the charm. They may no doubt, in their own way, enliven the object for sensation, but make it really worth looking at and beautiful they cannot. Indeed, more often than not the requirements of the beautiful form30 restrict them to a very narrow compass, and, even where charm is admitted, it is only this form that gives them a place of honour.

All form of objects of sense (both of external and also, mediately, of internal sense) is either figure or play. In the35 68latter case it is either play of figures (in space: mimic and dance), or mere play of sensations (in time). The charm of colours, or of the agreeable tones of instruments, may be added: but the design in the former and the composition in the latter constitute the proper object of the pure judgement of taste. To5 say that the purity alike of colours and of tones, or their variety and contrast, seem to contribute to beauty, is by no means to imply that, because in themselves agreeable, they therefore yield an addition to the delight in the form and one on a par with it. The real meaning rather is that they make10 this form more clearly, definitely, and completely 5:226intuitable, and besides stimulate the representation by their charm, as they excite and sustain the attention directed to the object itself.

Even what is called ornamentation (parerga), i,e. what is15 only an adjunct, and not an intrinsic constituent in the complete representation of the object, in augmenting the delight of taste does so only by means of its form. Thus it is with the frames of pictures or the drapery on statues, or the colonnades of palaces. But if the ornamentation does not itself enter into20 the composition of the beautiful form—if it is introduced like a gold frame merely to win approval for the picture by means of its charm—it is then called finery and takes away from the genuine beauty.

Emotion—a sensation where an agreeable feeling is pro25duced merely by means of a momentary check followed by a more powerful outpouring of the vital force—is quite foreign to beauty. Sublimity (with which the feeling of emotion is connected) requires, however, a different standard of estimation from that relied upon by taste. A pure judgement of30 taste has, then, for its determining ground neither charm nor emotion, in a word, no sensation as matter of the aesthetic judgement.

Objective finality can only be cognized by means of a reference of the manifold to a definite end, and hence only through5 a concept. This alone makes it clear that the beautiful, which is estimated on the ground of a mere formal finality, i. e. a finality apart from an end, is wholly independent of the representation of the good. For the latter presupposes an objective finality, i. e. the reference of the object to a definite end.10

Objective finality is either external, i. e. the utility, or internal, i. e. the perfection, of the object. That the delight in an object on account of which we call it beautiful is incapable of resting on the representation of its utility, is abundantly evident from the two preceding articles; for in that case, it would not 5:227be an15 immediate delight in the object, which latter is the essential condition of the judgement upon beauty. But in an objective, internal finality, i. e. perfection, we have what is more akin to the predicate of beauty, and so this has been held even by philosophers of reputation to be convertible with beauty,20 though subject to the qualification: where it is thought in a confused way. In a Critique of taste it is of the utmost importance to decide whether beauty is really reducible to the concept of perfection.

For estimating objective finality we always require the con25cept of an end, and, where such finality has to be, not an external one (utility), but an internal one, the concept of an internal end containing the ground of the internal possibility of the object. Now an end is in general that, the concept of which may be regarded as the ground of the possibility of the30 object itself. So in order to represent an objective finality in a thing we must first have a concept of what sort of a thing it is to be. The agreement of the manifold in a thing with this 70concept (which supplies the rule of its synthesis) is the qualitative perfection of the thing. Quantitative perfection is entirely distinct from this. It consists in the completeness of anything after its kind, and is a mere concept of quantity (of totality). In its case the question of what the thing is to be is regarded5 as definitely disposed of, and we only ask whether it is possessed of all the requisites that go to make it such. What is formal in the representation of a thing, i. e. the agreement of its manifold with a unity (i. e. irrespective of what it is to be) does not, of itself, afford us any cognition whatsoever of10 objective finality. For since abstraction is made from this unity as end (what the thing is to be) nothing is left but the subjective finality of the representations in the mind of the Subject intuiting. This gives a certain finality of the representative state of the Subject, in which the Subject feels itself quite15 at home in its effort to grasp a given form in the imagination, but no perfection of any Object, the latter not being here thought through any concept. For instance, if in a forest I light upon a plot of grass, round which trees stand in a circle, and if I do not then form any representation of an end, as that20 it is meant to be used, say, for country dances, then not the least hint of a concept of 5:228perfection is given by the mere form. To suppose a formal objective finality that is yet devoid of an end, i. e. the mere form of a perfection (apart from any matter or concept of that to which the agreement relates, even though25 there was the mere general idea of a conformity to law) is a veritable contradiction.

Now the judgement of taste is an aesthetic judgement, i. e. one resting on subjective grounds. No concept can be its determining ground, and hence not one of a definite end.30 Beauty, therefore, as a formal subjective finality, involves no thought whatsoever of a perfection of the object, as a would-be formal finality which yet, for all that, is objective: and the distinction between the concepts of the beautiful and the 71good, which represents both as differing only in their logical form, the first being merely a confused, the second a clearly defined, concept of perfection, while otherwise alike in content and origin, all goes for nothing: for then there would be no specific difference between them, but the judgement of taste5 would be just as much a cognitive judgement as one by which something is described as good—just as the man in the street, when he says that deceit is wrong, bases his judgement on confused, but the philosopher on clear grounds, while both appeal in reality to identical principles of reason. But I have already10 stated that an aesthetic judgement is quite unique, and affords absolutely no, (not even a confused,) knowledge of the Object. It is only through a logical judgement that we get knowledge. The aesthetic judgement, on the other hand, refers the representation, by which an Object is given, solely to the Subject,15 and brings to our notice no quality of the object, but only the final form in the determination of the powers of representation engaged upon it. The judgement is called aesthetic for the very reason that its determining ground cannot be a concept, but is rather the feeling (of the internal sense) of the20 concert in the play of the mental powers as a thing only capable of being felt. If, on the other hand, confused concepts, and the objective judgement based on them, are going to be called aesthetic, we shall find ourselves with an understanding judging by sense, or a sense representing its objects25 by concepts—a mere choice of contradictions. The faculty of concepts, be they confused or be they clear, is understanding; and although understanding has (as in all judgements) its rôle in the judgement of taste, as an aesthetic judgement, its rôle there 5:229is not that of a faculty for cognizing an object,30 but of a faculty for determining that judgement and its representation (without a concept) according to its relation to the Subject and its internal feeling, and for doing so in so far as that judgement is possible according to a universal rule.

A judgement of taste by which an object is described as beautiful under the condition of a definite concept is not pure.

There are two kinds of beauty: free beauty (pulchritudo vaga), or beauty which is merely dependent (pulchritudo5 adhaerens). The first presupposes no concept of what the object should be; the second does presuppose such a concept and, with it, an answering perfection of the object. Those of the first kind are said to be (self-subsisting) beauties of this thing or that thing; the other kind of beauty, being attached10 to a concept (conditioned beauty), is ascribed to Objects which come under the concept of a particular end.

Flowers are free beauties of nature. Hardly any one but a botanist knows the true nature of a flower, and even he, while recognizing in the flower the reproductive organ of the15 plant, pays no attention to this natural end when using his taste to judge of its beauty. Hence no perfection of any kind—no internal finality, as something to which the arrangement of the manifold is related—underlies this judgement. Many birds (the parrot, the humming-bird, the bird of paradise), and20 a number of Crustacea, are self-subsisting beauties which are not appurtenant to any object defined with respect to its end, but please freely and on their own account. So designs à la grecque, foliage for framework or on wall-papers, &c., have no intrinsic meaning; they represent nothing—no Object under25 a definite concept—and are free beauties. We may also rank in the same class what in music are called fantasias (without a theme), and, indeed, all music that is not set to words.

In the estimate of a free beauty (according to mere form) we have the pure judgement of taste. No concept is here pre30supposed of any end for which the manifold should serve the given Object, and which 5:230the latter, therefore, should represent—an incumbrance which would only restrict the 73freedom of the imagination that, as it were, is at play in the contemplation of the outward form.

But the beauty of man (including under this head that of a man, woman, or child), the beauty of a horse, or of a building (such as a church, palace, arsenal, or summer-house), pre5supposes a concept of the end that defines what the thing has to be, and consequently a concept of its perfection; and is therefore merely appendant beauty. Now, just as it is a clog on the purity of the judgement of taste to have the agreeable (of sensation) joined with beauty to which properly only the10 form is relevant, so to combine the good with beauty, (the good, namely, of the manifold to the thing itself according to its end,) mars its purity.

Much might be added to a building that would immediately please the eye, were it not intended for a church. A figure15 might be beautified with all manner of flourishes and light but regular lines, as is done by the New Zealanders with their tattooing, were we dealing with anything but the figure of a human being. And here is one whose rugged features might be softened and given a more pleasing aspect, only he20 has got to be a man, or is, perhaps, a warrior that has to have a warlike appearance.

Now the delight in the manifold of a thing, in reference to the internal end that determines its possibility, is a delight based on a concept, whereas delight in the beautiful is such as does25 not presuppose any concept, but is immediately coupled with the representation through which the object is given (not through which it is thought). If, now, the judgement of taste in respect of the latter delight is made dependent upon the end involved in the former delight as a judgement of reason,30 and is thus placed under a restriction, then it is no longer a free and pure judgement of taste.

Taste, it is true, stands to gain by this combination of intellectual delight with the aesthetic. For it becomes fixed, and, while not universal, it enables rules to be prescribed for35 74it in respect of certain definite final Objects. But these rules are then not rules of taste, but merely rules for establishing a union of taste with reason, i. e. of the beautiful with the good—rules by which the former becomes available as an intentional instrument in respect of the latter, for the purpose5 of bringing that temper of the mind which is self-sustaining and of 5:231subjective universal validity to the support and maintenance of that mode of thought which, while possessing objective universal validity, can only be preserved by a resolute effort. But, strictly speaking, perfection neither gains by10 beauty, nor beauty by perfection. The truth is rather this, when we compare the representation through which an object is given to us with the Object (in respect of what it is meant to be) by means of a concept, we cannot help reviewing it also in respect of the sensation in the Subject. Hence there results15 a gain to the entire faculty of our representative power when harmony prevails between both states of mind.

In respect of an object with a definite internal end, a judgement of taste would only be pure where the person judging either has no concept of this end, or else makes abstraction20 from it in his judgement. But in cases like this, although such a person should lay down a correct judgement of taste, since he would be estimating the object as a free beauty, he would still be found fault with by another who saw nothing in its beauty but a dependent quality (i. e. who looked to the end25 of the object) and would be accused by him of false taste, though both would, in their own way, be judging correctly: the one according to what he had present to his senses, the other according to what was present in his thoughts. This distinction enables us to settle many disputes about beauty on the part of30 critics; for we may show them how one side is dealing with free beauty, and the other with that which is dependent: the former passing a pure judgement of taste, the latter one that is applied intentionally.

There can be no objective rule of taste by which what is beautiful may be defined by means of concepts. For every judgement from that source is aesthetic, i. e. its determining5 ground is the feeling of the Subject, and not any concept of an Object. It is only throwing away labour to look for a principle of taste that affords a universal criterion of the beautiful by definite concepts; because what is sought is a thing impossible and inherently contradictory. But in the universal10 communicability of the sensation (of delight or aversion)—a communicability, too, that exists apart from any concept—in the accord, so far as possible, of all ages and 5:232nations as to this feeling in the representation of certain objects, we have the empirical criterion, weak indeed and scarce sufficient15 to raise a presumption, of the derivation of a taste, thus confirmed by examples, from grounds deep-seated and shared alike by all men, underlying their agreement in estimating the forms under which objects are given to them,

For this reason some products of taste are looked on as20 exemplary—not meaning thereby that by imitating others taste may be acquired. For taste must be an original faculty; whereas one who imitates a model, while showing skill commensurate with his success, only displays taste as himself a critic of this model.¹ Hence it follows that the highest model,25 the archetype of taste, is a mere idea, which each person must beget in his own consciousness, and according to which he 76must form his estimate of everything that is an Object of taste, or that is an example of critical taste, and even of universal taste itself. Properly speaking, an idea signifies a concept of reason, and an ideal the representation of an individual existence as adequate to an idea. Hence this archetype of taste—which5 rests, indeed, upon reason’s indeterminate idea of a maximum, but is not, however, capable of being represented by means of concepts, but only in an individual presentation—may more appropriately be called the ideal of the beautiful. While not having this ideal in our possession, we still strive to10 beget it within us. But it is bound to be merely an ideal of the imagination, seeing that it rests, not upon concepts, but upon the presentation—the faculty of presentation being the imagination.—Now, how do we arrive at such an ideal of beauty? Is it a priori or empirically? Further, what species15 of the beautiful admits of an ideal?

First of all, we do well to observe that the beauty for which an ideal has to be sought cannot be a beauty that is free and at large, but must be one fixed by a concept of objective finality. Hence it cannot belong to the Object of an altogether pure20 judgement of taste, but must attach to one that is partly 5:233intellectual. In other words, where an ideal is to have place among the grounds upon which any estimate is formed, then beneath grounds of that kind there must lie some idea of reason according to determinate concepts, by which the end25 underlying the internal possibility of the object is determined a priori. An ideal of beautiful flowers, of a beautiful suite of furniture, or of a beautiful view, is unthinkable. But, it may also be impossible to represent an ideal of a beauty dependent on definite ends, e.g. a beautiful residence, a beau30tiful tree, a beautiful garden, &c., presumably because their ends are not sufficiently defined and fixed by their concept, with the result that their finality is nearly as free as with beauty that is quite at large. Only what has in itself the end of its 77real existence—only man that is able himself to determine his ends by reason, or, where he has to derive them from external perception, can still compare them with essential and universal ends, and then further pronounce aesthetically upon their accord with such ends, only he, among all objects in the world, admits,5 therefore, of an ideal of beauty, just as humanity in his person, as intelligence, alone admits of the ideal of perfection.

Two factors are here involved. First, there is the aesthetic normal idea, which is an individual intuition (of the imagination). This represents the norm by which we judge of a man10 as a member of a particular animal species. Secondly, there is the rational idea. This deals with the ends of humanity so far as capable of sensuous representation, and converts them into a principle for estimating his outward form, through which these ends are revealed in their phenomenal effect. The normal15 idea must draw from experience the constituents which it requires for the form of an animal of a particular kind. But the greatest finality in the construction of this form—that which would serve as a universal norm for forming an estimate of each individual of the species in question—the image that,20 as it were, forms an intentional basis underlying the technic of nature, to which no separate individual, but only the race as a whole, is adequate, has its seat merely in the idea of the judging Subject. Yet it is, with all its proportions, an aesthetic idea, and, as such, capable of being fully presented in concreto25 in a model image. Now, how is this effected? In order to render the process to some extent intelligible (for who can wrest nature’s whole secret from her?), let us attempt a psychological explanation.

It is of note that the imagination, in a manner quite incom30prehensible to us, 5:234is able on occasion, even after a long lapse of time, not alone to recall the signs for concepts, but also to reproduce the image and shape of an object out of a countless number of others of a different, or even of the very same, kind. And, further, if the mind is engaged upon comparisons, we35 78may well suppose that it can in actual fact, though the process is unconscious, superimpose as it were one image upon another, and from the coincidence of a number of the same kind arrive at a mean contour which serves as a common standard for all Say, for instance, a person has seen a thousand5 full-grown men. Now if he wishes to judge normal size determined upon a comparative estimate, then imagination (to my mind) allows a great number of these images (perhaps the whole thousand) to fall one upon the other, and, if I may be allowed to extend to the case the analogy of optical presenta10tion, in the space where they come most together, and within the contour where the place is illuminated by the greatest concentration of colour, one gets a perception of the average size, which alike in height and breadth is equally removed from the extreme limits of the greatest and smallest statures; and this15 is the stature of a beautiful man. (The same result could be obtained in a mechanical way, by taking the measures of all the thousand, and adding together their heights, and their breadths (and thicknesses), and dividing the sum in each case by a thousand.) But the power of imagination does all this by20 means of a dynamical effect upon the organ of internal sense, arising from the frequent apprehension of such forms. If, again, for our average man we seek on similar lines for the average head, and for this the average nose, and so on, then we get the figure that underlies the normal idea of a beautiful man25 in the country where the comparison is instituted. For this reason a negro must necessarily (under these empirical conditions) have a different normal idea of the beauty of forms from what a white man has, and the Chinaman one different from the European. And the process would be just the same30 with the model of a beautiful horse or dog (of a particular breed).—This normal idea is not derived from proportions taken from experience as definite rules: rather is it according to this idea that rules for forming estimates first become pos79sible. It is an intermediate between all singular intuitions of individuals, with their manifold variations—a floating image for the whole genus, which nature has set as an archetype underlying those of her products that belong to the same species, 5:235but which in no single case she seems to have completely attained.5 But the normal idea is far from giving the complete archetype of beauty in the genus. It only gives the form that constitutes the indispensable condition of all beauty, and, consequently, only correctness in the presentation of the genus. It is, as the famous Doryphorus of Polycletus was called, the rule (and10 Myron’s Cow might be similarly employed for its kind). It cannot, for that very reason, contain anything specifically characteristic; for otherwise it would not be the normal idea for the genus. Further, it is not by beauty that its presentation pleases, but merely because it does not contradict any of15 the conditions under which alone a thing belonging to this genus can be beautiful. The presentation is merely academically correct.¹

But the ideal of the beautiful is still something different from its normal idea. For reasons already stated it is only to20 be sought in the human figure. Here the ideal consists in the expression of the moral apart from which the object would not please at once universally and positively (not merely negatively 80in a presentation academically correct). The visible expression of moral ideas that govern men inwardly can, of course, only be drawn from experience; but their combination with all that our reason connects with the morally good in the idea of the highest finality—benevolence, purity, strength, or equanimity,5 &c.—may be made, as it were, visible in bodily manifestation (as effect of what is internal), and this embodiment involves a union of pure ideas of reason and great imaginative power, in one who would even form an estimate of it, not to speak of being the author of its presentation. The correctness of10 such an ideal 5:236of beauty is evidenced by its not permitting any sensuous charm to mingle with the delight in its Object, in which it still allows us to take a great interest. This fact in turn shows that an estimate formed according to such a standard can never be purely aesthetic, and that one formed according15 to an ideal of beauty cannot be a simple judgement of taste.

Beauty is the form of finality in an object, so far as perceived in it apart from the representation of an end.¹20

I may assert in the case of every representation that the synthesis of a pleasure with the representation (as a cognition) is at least possible. Of what I call agreeable I assert that it actually causes pleasure in me. But what we have in mind in the case of the beautiful is a necessary reference on its part to10 delight. However, this necessity is of a special kind. It is not a theoretical objective necessity—such as would let us cognize a priori 5:237that every one will feel this delight in the object that is called beautiful by me. Nor yet is it a practical necessity, in which case, thanks to concepts of a pure rational will in15 which free agents are supplied with a rule, this delight is the necessary consequence of an objective law, and simply means that one ought absolutely (without ulterior object) to act in a certain way. Rather, being such a necessity as is thought in an aesthetic judgement, it can only be termed exemplary.20 In other words it is a necessity of the assent of all to a judgement regarded as exemplifying a universal rule incapable of formulation. Since an aesthetic judgement is not an objective or cognitive judgement, this necessity is not derivable from definite concepts, and so is not apodictic. Much less is it25 inferable from universality of experience (of a thorough-going agreement of judgements about the beauty of a certain object). For, apart from the fact that experience would hardly furnish evidences sufficiently numerous for this purpose, empirical judgements do not afford any foundation for a concept of the30 necessity of these judgements.

The judgement of taste exacts agreement from every one; and a person who describes something as beautiful insists that5 every one ought to give the object in question his approval and follow suit in describing it as beautiful. The ought in aesthetic judgements, therefore, despite an accordance with all the requisite data for passing judgement, is still only pronounced conditionally. We are suitors for agreement from every one10 else, because we are fortified with a ground common to all. Further, we would be able to count on this agreement, provided we were always assured of the correct subsumption of the case under that ground as the rule of approval.

The condition of the necessity advanced by a judgement of taste is the idea of a common sense.

Were judgements of taste (like cognitive judgements) in possession of a definite objective principle, then one who in his judgement 5:238followed such a principle would claim unconditioned20 necessity for it. Again, were they devoid of any principle, as are those of the mere taste of sense, then no thought of any necessity on their part would enter one’s head. Therefore they must have a subjective principle, and one which determines what pleases or displeases, by means of feeling only and25 not through concepts, but yet with universal validity. Such a principle, however, could only be regarded as a common sense. This differs essentially from common understanding, which is also sometimes called common sense (sensus communis): for the judgement of the latter is not one by feeling, but always30 83one by concepts, though usually only in the shape of obscurely represented principles.

The judgement of taste, therefore, depends on our presupposing the existence of a common sense. (But this is not to be taken to mean some external sense, but the effect arising5 from the free play of our powers of cognition.) Only under the presupposition, I repeat, of such a common sense, are we able to lay down a judgement of taste.

Cognitions and judgements must, together with their attendant conviction, admit of being universally communicated; for otherwise a correspondence with the Object would not be due to them. They would be a conglomerate constituting a mere subjective play of the powers of representation, just as15 scepticism would have it. But if cognitions are to admit of communication, then our mental state, i. e. the way the cognitive powers are attuned for cognition generally, and, in fact, the relative proportion suitable for a representation (by which an object is given to us) from which cognition is to result, must20 also admit of being universally communicated, as, without this, which is the subjective condition of the act of knowing, knowledge, as an effect, would not arise. And this is always what actually happens where a given object, through the intervention of sense, sets the imagination at work in arranging the manifold,25 and the imagination, in turn, the understanding in giving to this arrangement the unity of concepts. But this disposition of the cognitive powers has a relative proportion differing with the diversity of the Objects that are given. However, there must be one in which this internal ratio suitable for quickening30 (one faculty by the other) is best adapted for both mental powers in respect of cognition (of 5:239given objects) generally; and this disposition can only be determined through feeling (and not by 84concepts). Since, now, this disposition itself must admit of being universally communicated, and hence also the feeling of it (in the case of a given representation), while again, the universal communicability of a feeling presupposes a common sense: it follows that our assumption of it is well founded.5 And here, too, we do not have to take our stand on psychological observations, but we assume a common sense as the necessary condition of the universal communicability of our knowledge, which is presupposed in every logic and every principle of knowledge that is not one of scepticism.10

The necessity of the universal assent that is thought in a judgement of taste, is a subjective necessity which, under the presupposition of a common sense, is represented as objective.

In all judgements by which we describe anything as beautiful15 we tolerate no one else being of a different opinion, and in taking up this position we do not rest our judgement upon concepts, but only on our feeling. Accordingly we introduce this fundamental feeling not as a private feeling, but as a public sense. Now, for this purpose, experience cannot20 be made the ground of this common sense, for the latter is invoked to justify judgements containing an ‘ought’. The assertion is not that every one will fall in with our judgement, but rather that every one ought to agree with it. Here I put forward my judgement of taste as an example of the judge25ment of common sense, and attribute to it on that account exemplary validity. Hence common sense is a mere ideal norm. With this as presupposition, a judgement that accords with it, as well as the delight in an Object expressed in that judgement, is rightly converted into a rule for every one. For30 the principle, while it is only subjective, being yet assumed as subjectively universal (a necessary idea for every one), could, in 85what concerns the consensus of different judging Subjects, demand universal assent like an objective principle, provided we were assured of our subsumption under it being correct.

This indeterminate norm of a common sense is, as a matter of fact, presupposed by us; as is shown by our presuming to5 lay down judgements of taste. 5:240But does such a common sense in fact exist as a constitutive principle of the possibility of experience, or is it formed for us as a regulative principle by a still higher principle of reason, that for higher ends first seeks to beget in us a common sense? Is taste, in other10 words, a natural and original faculty, or is it only the idea of one that is artificial and to be acquired by us, so that a judgement of taste, with its demand for universal assent, is but a requirement of reason for generating such a consensus, and does the ‘ought’, i. e. the objective necessity of the coincidence15 of the feeling of all with the particular feeling of each, only betoken the possibility of arriving at some sort of unanimity in these matters, and the judgement of taste only adduce an example of the application of this principle? These are questions which as yet we are neither willing nor in a position20 to investigate. For the present we have only to resolve the faculty of taste into its elements, and to unite these ultimately in the idea of a common sense.

The beautiful is that which, apart from a concept, is cognized as object of a necessary delight.

The result to be extracted from the foregoing analysis is in effect this: that everything runs up into the concept of taste30 as a critical faculty by which an object is estimated in reference 86to the free conformity to law of the imagination. If, now, imagination must in the judgement of taste be regarded in its freedom, then, to begin with, it is not taken as reproductive, as in its subjection to the laws of association, but as productive and exerting an activity of its own (as originator of arbitrary5 forms of possible intuitions). And although in the apprehension of a given object of sense it is tied down to a definite form of this Object and, to that extent, does not enjoy free play, (as it does in poetry,) still it is easy to conceive that the object may supply ready-made to the imagination just such a form of the10 5:241arrangement of the manifold, as the imagination, if it were left to itself, would freely project in harmony with the general conformity to law of the understanding. But that the imagination should be both free and of itself conformable to law, i. e. carry autonomy with it, is a contradiction. The understanding alone15 gives the law. Where, however, the imagination is compelled to follow a course laid down by a definite law, then what the form of the product is to be is determined by concepts; but, in that case, as already shown, the delight is not delight in the beautiful, but in the good, (in perfection, though it be no more20 than formal perfection), and the judgement is not one due to taste. Hence it is only a conformity to law without a law, and a subjective harmonizing of the imagination and the understanding without an objective one—which latter would mean that the representation was referred to a definite concept of the25 object—that can consist with the free conformity to law of the understanding (which has also been called finality apart from an end) and with the specific character of a judgement of taste.

Now geometrically regular figures, a circle, a square, a cube,30 and the like, are commonly brought forward by critics of taste as the most simple and unquestionable examples of beauty. And yet the very reason why they are called regular, is because the only way of representing them is by looking on them as mere 87presentations of a determinate concept by which the figure has its rule (according to which alone it is possible) prescribed for it. One or other of these two views must, therefore, be wrong: either the verdict of the critics that attributes beauty to such figures, or else our own, which makes finality apart from any5 concept necessary for beauty.

One would scarce think it necessary for a man to have taste to take more delight in a circle than in a scrawled outline, in an equilateral and equiangular quadrilateral than in one that is all lob-sided, and, as it were, deformed. The requirements10 of common understanding ensure such a preference without the least demand upon taste. Where some purpose is perceived, as, for instance, that of forming an estimate of the area of a plot of land, or rendering intelligible the relation of divided parts to one another and to the whole, then regular figures, and those15 of the simplest kind, are needed; and the delight does not rest immediately upon the way the figure strikes the eye, but upon its serviceability 5:242for all manner of possible purposes. A room with the walls making oblique angles, a plot laid out in a garden in a similar way, even any violation of symmetry, as20 well in the figure of animals (e.g. being one-eyed) as in that of buildings, or of flower-beds, is displeasing because of its perversity of form, not alone in a practical way in respect of some definite use to which the thing may be put, but for an estimate that looks to all manner of possible purposes.25 With the judgement of taste the case is different. For, when it is pure, it combines delight or aversion immediately with the bare contemplation of the object irrespective of its use or of any end.

The regularity that conduces to the concept of an object is,30 in fact, the indispensable condition (conditio sine qua non) of grasping the object as a single representation and giving to the manifold its determinate form. This determination is an end in respect of knowledge; and in this connexion it is invariably coupled with delight (such as attends the accomplishment of35 88any, even problematical, purpose). Here, however, we have merely the value set upon the solution that satisfies the problem, and not a free and indeterminately final entertainment of the mental powers with what is called beautiful. In the latter case understanding is at the service of imagination, in the5 former this relation is reversed.

With a thing that owes its possibility to a purpose, a building, or even an animal, its regularity, which consists in symmetry, must express the unity of the intuition accompanying the concept of its end, and belongs with it to cognition. But where10 all that is intended is the maintenance of a free play of the powers of representation (subject, however, to the condition that there is to be nothing for understanding to take exception to), in ornamental gardens, in the decoration of rooms, in all kinds of furniture that shows good taste, &c., regularity in the15 shape of constraint is to be avoided as far as possible. Thus English taste in gardens, and fantastic taste in furniture, push the freedom of imagination to the verge of what is grotesque—the idea being that in this divorce from all constraint of rules the precise instance is being afforded where taste can exhibit its20 perfection in projects of the imagination to the fullest extent.

All stiff regularity (such as borders on mathematical regularity) is inherently repugnant to taste, in that the contemplation of it affords us no lasting entertainment. Indeed, where it has neither 5:243cognition nor some definite practical end expressly in25 view, we get heartily tired of it. On the other hand, anything that gives the imagination scope for unstudied and final play is always fresh to us. We do not grow to hate the very sight of it. Marsden in his description of Sumatra observes that the free beauties of nature so surround the beholder on all sides30 that they cease to have much attraction for him. On the other hand he found a pepper garden full of charm, on coming across it in mid-forest with its rows of parallel stakes on which the plant twines itself. From all this he infers that wild, and 89in its appearance quite irregular beauty, is only pleasing as a change to one whose eyes have become surfeited with regular beauty. But he need only have made the experiment of passing one day in his pepper garden to realize that once the regularity has enabled the understanding to put itself in accord5 with the order that is its constant requirement, instead of the object diverting him any longer, it imposes an irksome constraint upon the imagination: whereas nature subject to no constraint of artificial rules, and lavish, as it there is, in its luxuriant variety can supply constant food for his taste.—Even10 a bird’s song, which we can reduce to no musical rule, seems to have more freedom in it, and thus to be richer for taste, than the human voice singing in accordance with all the rules that the art of music prescribes; for we grow tired much sooner of frequent and lengthy repetitions of the latter. Yet15 here most likely our sympathy with the mirth of a dear little creature is confused with the beauty of its song, for if exactly imitated by man (as has been sometimes done with the notes of the nightingale) it would strike our ear as wholly destitute of taste.20

Further, beautiful objects have to be distinguished from beautiful views of objects (where the distance often prevents a clear perception). In the latter case taste appears to fasten, not so much on what the imagination grasps in this field, as on the incentive it receives to indulge in poetic fiction, i. e. in the25 peculiar fancies with which the mind entertains itself as it is being continually stirred by the variety that strikes the eye. It is just as when we watch the changing shapes of the fire or of a rippling brook: neither of which 5:244are things of beauty, butthey convey a charm to the imagination, because they sustain30 its free play.

Transition from the faculty of estimating the beautiful to that of estimating the sublime.5

The beautiful and the sublime agree on the point of pleasing on their own account. Further they agree in not presupposing either a judgement of sense or one logically determinant, but one of reflection. Hence it follows that the delight does not depend upon a sensation, as with the agreeable, nor upon10 a definite concept, as does the delight in the good, although it has, for all that, an indeterminate reference to concepts. Consequently the delight is connected with the mere presentation or faculty of presentation, and is thus taken to express the accord, in a given intuition, of the faculty of presentation, or15 the imagination, with the faculty of concepts that belongs to understanding or reason, in the sense of the former assisting the latter. Hence both kinds of judgements are singular, and yet such as profess to be universally valid in respect of every Subject, despite the fact that their claims are directed merely20 to the feeling of pleasure and not to any knowledge of the object.

There are, however, also important and striking differences between the two. The beautiful in nature is a question of the form of the object, and this consists in limitation, whereas the25 sublime is to be found in an object even devoid of form, so far as it immediately involves, or else by its presence provokes, a representation of limitlessness, yet with a super-added thought of its totality. Accordingly the beautiful seems to be regarded as a presentation of an indeterminate concept of understanding,30 91the sublime as a presentation of an indeterminate concept of reason. Hence the delight is in the former case coupled with the representation of Quality, but in this case with that of Quantity. Moreover, the former delight is very different from the latter in kind. For the beautiful is directly attended with5 a feeling of the furtherance of life, and is thus compatible with charms and a 5:245playful imagination. On the other hand, the feeling of the sublime is a pleasure that only arises indirectly, being brought about by the feeling of a momentary check to the vital forces followed at once by a discharge all the more10 powerful, and so it is an emotion that seems to be no sport, but dead earnest in the affairs of the imagination. Hence charms are repugnant to it; and, since the mind is not simply attracted by the object, but is also alternately repelled thereby, the delight in the sublime does not so much involve positive15 pleasure as admiration or respect, i. e. merits the name of a negative pleasure.

But the most important and vital distinction between the sublime and the beautiful is certainly this: that if, as is allowable, we here confine our attention in the first instance to the20 sublime in Objects of nature, (that of art being always restricted by the conditions of an agreement with nature,) we observe that whereas natural beauty (such as is self-subsisting) conveys a finality in its form making the object appear, as it were, preadapted to our power of judgement, so that it thus forms of25 itself an object of our delight, that which, without our indulging in any refinements of thought, but, simply in our apprehension of it, excites the feeling of the sublime, may appear, indeed, in point of form to contravene the ends of our power of judgement, to be ill-adapted to our faculty of presentation, and to30 be, as it were, an outrage on the imagination, and yet it is judged all the more sublime on that account.

From this it may be seen at once that we express ourselves on the whole inaccurately if we term any Object of nature sublime, although we may with perfect propriety call many such35 92objects beautiful. For how can that which is apprehended as inherently contra-final be noted with an expression of approval? All that we can say is that the object lends itself to the presentation of a sublimity discoverable in the mind. For the sublime, in the strict sense of the word, cannot be contained5 in any sensuous form, but rather concerns ideas of reason, which, although no adequate presentation of them is possible, may be excited and called into the mind by that very inadequacy itself which does admit of sensuous presentation. Thus the broad ocean agitated by storms cannot be called sublime.10 Its aspect is horrible, and one must have stored one’s mind in advance with a rich 5:246stock of ideas, if such an intuition is to raise it to the pitch of a feeling which is itself sublime—sublime because the mind has been incited to abandon sensibility, and employ itself upon ideas involving higher finality.15

Self-subsisting natural beauty reveals to us a technic of nature which shows it in the light of a system ordered in accordance with laws the principle of which is not to be found within the range of our entire faculty of understanding. This principle is that of a finality relative to the employment of judge20ment in respect of phenomena which have thus to be assigned, not merely to nature regarded as aimless mechanism, but also to nature regarded after the analogy of art. Hence it gives a veritable extension, not, of course, to our knowledge of Objects of nature, but to our conception of nature itself—25 nature as mere mechanism being enlarged to the conception of nature as art—an extension inviting profound inquiries as to the possibility of such a form. But in what we are wont to call sublime in nature there is such an absence of anything leading to particular objective principles and corresponding30 forms of nature, that it is rather in its chaos, or in its wildest and most irregular disorder and desolation, provided it gives signs of magnitude and power, that nature chiefly excites the ideas of the sublime. Hence we see that the concept of the 93sublime in nature is far less important and rich in consequences than that of its beauty. It gives on the whole no indication of anything final in nature itself, but only in the possible employment of our intuitions of it in inducing a feeling in our own selves of a finality quite independent of nature. For the5 beautiful in nature we must seek a ground external to ourselves, but for the sublime one merely in ourselves and the attitude of mind that introduces sublimity into the representation of nature. This is a very needful preliminary remark. It entirely separates the ideas of the sublime from that of10 a finality of nature, and makes the theory of the sublime a mere appendage to the aesthetic estimate of the finality of nature, because it does not give a representation of any particular form in nature, but involves no more than the development of a final employment by the imagination of15 its own representation.

In the division of the moments of an aesthetic estimate of objects in respect of the feeling of the sublime, the course of20 the Analytic will be able to follow the same principle as in the analysis of judgements of taste. For, the judgement being one of the aesthetic reflective judgement, the delight in the sublime, just like that in the beautiful, must in its Quantity be shown to be universally valid, in its Quality independent of interest,25 in its Relation subjective finality, and the latter, in its Modality, necessary. Hence the method here will not depart from the lines followed in the preceding section: unless something is made of the point that there, where the aesthetic Judgement bore on the form of the Object, we began with the investigation30 of its Quality, whereas here, considering the formlessness that may belong to what we call Sublime, we begin with that of its Quantity, as first moment of the aesthetic judgement on the 94sublime—a divergence of method the reason for which is evident from § 23.

But the analysis of the sublime obliges a division not required by that of the beautiful, namely one into the mathematically and the dynamically sublime.5

For the feeling of the sublime involves as its characteristic feature a mental movement combined with the estimate of the object, whereas taste in respect of the beautiful presupposes that the mind is in restful contemplation, and preserves it in this state. But this movement has to be estimated as subjec10tively final (since the sublime pleases). Hence it is referred through the imagination either to the faculty of cognition or to that of desire; but to whichever faculty the reference is made the finality of the given representation is estimated only in respect of these faculties (apart from end or interest). Accordingly the15 first is attributed to the Object as a mathematical, the second as a dynamical, affection of the imagination. Hence we get the above double mode of representing an Object as sublime.

Sublime is the name given to what is absolutely great. But to be great and to be a magnitude are entirely different concepts (magnitudo and quantitas). In the same way to assert without qualification (simpliciter) that something is great, is quite a dif25ferent thing from saying that it is absolutely great (absolute, non comparative magnum). The latter is what is beyond all comparison great.—What, then, is the meaning of the assertion that anything is great, or small, or of medium size? What is indicated is not a pure concept of understanding, still less an30 intuition of sense; and just as little is it a concept of reason, 95for it does not import any principle of cognition. It must, therefore, be a concept of judgement, or have its source in one, and must introduce as basis of the judgement a subjective finality of the representation with reference to the power of judgement. Given a multiplicity of the homogeneous together5 constituting one thing, and we may at once cognize from the thing itself that it is a magnitude (quantum). No comparison with other things is required. But to determine how great it is always requires something else, which itself has magnitude, for its measure. Now, since in the estimate of magnitude we10 have to take into account not merely the multiplicity (number of units) but also the magnitude of the unit (the measure), and since the magnitude of this unit in turn always requires something else as its measure and as the standard of its comparison, and so on, we see that the computation of the15 magnitude of phenomena is, in all cases, utterly incapable of affording us any absolute concept of a magnitude, and can, instead, only afford one that is always based on comparison.

If, now, I assert without qualification that anything is great, it would seem that I have nothing in the way of a comparison20 present to my mind, or at least nothing involving an objective measure, for no attempt is thus made to determine how great the object is. But, despite the standard of comparison being merely subjective, the claim of the judgement is none the less one to universal agreement; the judgements: ‘That man is25 beautiful’ and ‘He is tall’ do not purport to speak only for the judging Subject, but, like theoretical judgements, they demand the assent of every one.

5:249 Now in a judgement that without qualification describes anything as great, it is not merely meant that the object has30 a magnitude, but greatness is ascribed to it pre-eminently among many other objects of a like kind, yet without the extent of this pre-eminence being determined. Hence a standard is certainly laid at the basis of the judgement, which standard is 96presupposed to be one that can be taken as the same for every one, but which is available only for an aesthetic estimate of the greatness, and not for one that is logical (mathematically determined), for the standard is a merely subjective one underlying the reflective judgement upon the greatness. Furthermore,5 this standard may be empirical, as, let us say, the average size of the men known to us, of animals of a certain kind, of trees, of houses, of mountains, and so forth. Or it may be a standard given a priori, which by reason of the imperfections of the judging Subject is restricted to subjective conditions of presen10tation in concreto: as, in the practical sphere, the greatness of a particular virtue, or of public liberty and justice in a country; or, in the theoretical sphere, the greatness of the accuracy or inaccuracy of an experiment or measurement, &c.

Here, now, it is of note that, although we have no interest15 whatever in the Object, i. e. its real existence may be a matter of no concern to us, still its mere greatness, regarded even as devoid of form, is able to convey a universally communicable delight and so involve the consciousness of a subjective finality in the employment of our cognitive faculties, but not, be it20 remembered, a delight in the Object, for the latter may be formless, but, in contradistinction to what is the case with the beautiful, where the reflective judgement finds itself set to a key that is final in respect of cognition generally, a delight in an extension affecting the imagination itself.25

If (subject as above) we say of an object, without qualification, that it is great, this is not a mathematically determinant, but a mere reflective judgement upon its representation, which is subjectively final for a particular employment of our cognitive faculties in the estimation of magnitude, and we then always30 couple with the representation a kind of respect, just as we do a kind of contempt with what we call absolutely small. Moreover, the estimate of things as great or small extends to everything, even to all their qualities. Thus we call even 97their beauty great or small. The reason 5:250of this is to be found in the fact that we have only got to present a thing in intuition, as the precept of judgement directs, (consequently to represent it aesthetically,) for it to be in its entirety a phenomenon, and hence a quantum.5

If, however, we call anything not alone great, but, without qualification, absolutely, and in every respect (beyond all comparison) great, that is to say, sublime, we soon perceive that for this it is not permissible to seek an appropriate standard outside itself, but merely in itself. It is a greatness comparable10 to itself alone. Hence it comes that the sublime is not to be looked for in the things of nature, but only in our own ideas. But it must be left to the Deduction to show in which of them it resides.

The above definition may also be expressed in this way:15 that is sublime in comparison with which all else is small. Here we readily see that nothing can be given in nature, no matter how great we may judge it to be, which, regarded in some other relation, may not be degraded to the level of the infinitely little, and nothing so small which in comparison with some20 still smaller standard may not for our imagination be enlarged to the greatness of a world. Telescopes have put within our reach an abundance of material to go upon in making the first observation, and microscopes the same in making the second. Nothing, therefore, which can be an object of the senses is to25 be termed sublime when treated on this footing. But precisely because there is a striving in our imagination towards progress ad infinitum, while reason demands absolute totality, as a real idea, that same inability on the part of our faculty for the estimation of the magnitude of things of the world of sense to30 attain to this idea, is the awakening of a feeling of a supersensible faculty within us; and it is the use to which judgement naturally puts particular objects on behalf of this latter feeling, and not the object of sense, that is absolutely great, and every other 98contrasted employment small. Consequently it is the disposition of soul evoked by a particular representation engaging the attention of the reflective judgement, and not the Object, that is to be called sublime.

The foregoing formulae defining the sublime may, therefore,5 be supplemented by yet another: The sublime is that, the mere capacity of thinking which evidences a faculty of mind transcending every standard of sense.

The estimation of the magnitude of natural things requisite10
for the idea of the sublime.

The estimation of magnitude by means of concepts of number (or their signs in algebra) is mathematical, but that in mere intuition (by the eye) is aesthetic. Now we can only get definite concepts of how great anything is by having recourse15 to numbers (or, at any rate, by getting approximate measurements by means of numerical series progressing ad infinitum), the unit being the measure; and to this extent all logical estimation of magnitude is mathematical. But, as the magnitude of the measure has to be assumed as a known quantity,20 if, to form an estimate of this, we must again have recourse to numbers involving another standard for their unit, and consequently must again proceed mathematically, we can never arrive at a first or fundamental measure, and so cannot get any definite concept of a given magnitude. The estimation of the25 magnitude of the fundamental measure must, therefore, consist merely in the immediate grasp which we can get of it in intuition, and the use to which our imagination can put this in presenting the numerical concepts; i. e. all estimation of the magnitude of objects of nature is in the last resort aesthetic30 (i. e. subjectively and not objectively determined).

Now for the mathematical estimation of magnitude there is, 99of course, no greatest possible (for the power of numbers extends to infinity), but for the aesthetic estimation there certainly is, and of it I say that where it is considered an absolute measure beyond which no greater is possible subjectively (i. e. for the judging Subject), it then conveys the idea of the sublime, and5 calls forth that emotion which no mathematical estimation of magnitudes by numbers can evoke (unless in so far as the fundamental aesthetic measure is kept vividly present to the imagination); because the latter presents only the relative magnitude due to comparison with others of a like kind,10 whereas the former presents magnitude absolutely, so far as the mind can grasp it in an intuition.

To take in a quantum intuitively in the imagination so as to be able to use it as a measure, or unit for estimating magnitude by numbers, involves two operations of this faculty: apprehen15sion (apprehensio) and comprehension (comprehensio aesthetica). Apprehension presents no difficulty: for this process can be 5:252carried on ad infinitum; but with the advance of apprehension comprehension becomes more difficult at every step and soon attains its maximum, and this is the aesthetically greatest20 fundamental measure for the estimation of magnitude. For if the apprehension has reached a point beyond which the representations of sensuous intuition in the case of the parts first apprehended begin to disappear from the imagination as this advances to the apprehension of yet others, as much, then,25 is lost at one end as is gained at the other, and for comprehension we get a maximum which the imagination cannot exceed.

This explains Savary’s observations in his account of Egypt, that in order to get the full emotional effect of the size of the Pyramids we must avoid coming too near just as much30 as remaining too far away. For in the latter case the representation of the apprehended parts (the tiers of stones) is but obscure, and produces no effect upon the aesthetic judgement of the Subject. In the former, however, it takes the eye 100some time to complete the apprehension from the base to the summit; but in this interval the first tiers always in part disappear before the imagination has taken in the last, and so the comprehension is never complete.—The same explanation may also sufficiently account for the bewilderment, or sort of5 perplexity, which, as is said, seizes the visitor on first entering St. Peter’s in Rome. For here a feeling comes home to him of the inadequacy of his imagination for presenting the idea of a whole within which that imagination attains its maximum, and, in its fruitless efforts to extend this limit, recoils upon10 itself, but in so doing succumbs to an emotional delight.

At present I am not disposed to deal with the ground of this delight, connected, as it is, with a representation in which we would least of all look for it—a representation, namely, that lets us see its own inadequacy, and consequently its subjective15 want of finality for our judgement in the estimation of magnitude—but confine myself to the remark that if the aesthetic judgement is to be pure (unmixed with any teleological judgement which, as such, belongs to reason), and if we are to give a suitable example of it for the Critique of aesthetic judgement, we20 must not point to the sublime in works of art, e.g. buildings, statues and the like, where a human end determines the form as well as the magnitude, nor yet in things of nature, that in their very concept import a definite 5:253end, e. g. animals of a recognized natural order, but in rude nature merely as involving mag25nitude (and only in this so far as it does not convey any charm or any emotion arising from actual danger). For in a representation of this kind nature contains nothing monstrous (nor what is either magnificent or horrible)—the magnitude apprehended may be increased to any extent provided imagination is able to30 grasp it all in one whole. An object is monstrous where by its size it defeats the end that forms its concept. The colossal is the mere presentation of a concept which is almost too great for presentation, i. e. borders on the relatively monstrous; for 101the end to be attained by the presentation of a concept is made harder to realize by the intuition of the object being almost too great for our faculty of apprehension.—A pure judgement upon the sublime must, however, have no end belonging to the Object as its determining ground, if it is to be aesthetic and5 not to be tainted with any judgement of understanding or reason.

Since whatever is to be a source of pleasure, apart from interest, to the merely reflective judgement must involve in its representation subjective, and, as such, universally valid finality10—though here, however, no finality of the form of the object underlies our estimate of it (as it does in the case of the beautiful)—the question arises, What is this subjective finality, and what enables it to be prescribed as a norm so as to yield a ground for universally valid delight in the mere estimation of15 magnitude, and that, too, in a case where it is pushed to the point at which our faculty of imagination breaks down in presenting the concept of a magnitude, and proves unequal to its task?

In the successive aggregation of units requisite for the representation of magnitudes the imagination of itself advances20 ad infinitum without let or hindrance—understanding, however, conducting it by means of concepts of number for which the former must supply the schema. This procedure belongs to the logical estimation of magnitude, and, as such, is doubtless something objectively final according to the concept of an25 end (as all measurement is), but it is not anything which for the aesthetic judgement is final or pleasing. Further, in this intentional finality there is nothing 5:254compelling us to tax the utmost powers of the imagination, and drive it as far as ever it can reach in its presentations, so as to enlarge the size of the30 measure, and thus make the single intuition holding the many in one (the comprehension) as great as possible. For in the estimation of magnitude by the understanding (arithmetic) we 102get just as far, whether the comprehension of the units is pushed to the number 10 (as in the decimal scale) or only to 4 (as in the quaternary); the further production of magnitude being carried out by the successive aggregation of units, or, if the quantum is given in intuition, By apprehension, merely pro5gressively (not comprehensively), according to an adopted principle of progression. In this mathematical estimation of magnitude understanding is as well served and as satisfied whether imagination selects for the unit a magnitude which one can take in at a glance, e. g. a foot, or a perch, or else a10 German mile, or even the earth’s diameter, the apprehension of which is indeed possible, but not its comprehension in an intuition of the imagination (i. e. it is not possible by means of a comprehensio aesthetica, though quite so by means of a comprehensio logica in a numerical concept). In each case15 the logical estimation of magnitude advances ad infinitum with nothing to stop it.

The mind, however, hearkens now to the voice of reason, which for all given magnitudes—even for those which can never be completely apprehended, though (in sensuous repre20sentation) estimated as completely given—requires totality, and consequently comprehension in one intuition, and which calls for a presentation answering to all the above members of a progressively increasing numerical series, and does not exempt even the infinite (space and time past) from this requirement,25 but rather renders it inevitable for us to regard this infinite (in the judgement of common reason) as completely given (i. e. given in its totality).

But the infinite is absolutely (not merely comparatively) great. In comparison with this all else (in the way of magnitudes of the30 same order) is small. But the point of capital importance is that the mere ability even to think it as a whole indicates & faculty of mind transcending every standard of sense. For the latter would entail a comprehension yielding as unit a standard 103bearing to the infinite a definite ratio expressible in numbers, which is impossible. Still the mere ability even to think the given infinite without contradiction, is something that requires the presence in the human mind of a faculty that is itself supersensible. For it is only through this faculty and 5:255its idea of a nou5menon, which latter, while not itself admitting of any intuition, is yet introduced as substrate underlying the intuition of the world as mere phenomenon, that the infinite of the world of sense, in the pure intellectual estimation of magnitude, is completely comprehended under a concept, although in the mathematical10 estimation by means of numerical concepts it can never be completely thought. Even a faculty enabling the infinite of super-sensible intuition to be regarded as given (in its intelligible substrate), transcends every standard of sensibility, and is great beyond all comparison even with the faculty of mathematical15 estimation: not, of course, from a theoretical point of view that looks to the interests of our faculty of knowledge, but as a broadening of the mind that from another (the practical) point of view feels itself empowered to pass beyond the narrow confines of sensibility.20

Nature, therefore, is sublime in such of its phenomena as in their intuition convey the idea of their infinity. But this can only occur through the inadequacy of even the greatest effort of our imagination in the estimation of the magnitude of an object. But, now, in the case of the mathematical estimation of25 magnitude imagination is quite competent to supply a measure equal to the requirements of any object For the numerical concepts of the understanding can by progressive synthesis make any measure adequate to any given magnitude. Hence it must be the aesthetic estimation of magnitude in which we30 get at once a feeling of the effort towards a comprehension that exceeds the faculty of imagination for mentally grasping the progressive apprehension in a whole of intuition, and, with it, a perception of the inadequacy of this faculty, which has no 104bounds to its progress, for taking in and using for the estimation of magnitude a fundamental measure that understanding could turn to account without the least trouble. Now the proper unchangeable fundamental measure of nature is its absolute whole, which, with it, regarded as a phenomenon, means5 infinity comprehended. But, since this fundamental measure is a self-contradictory concept, (owing to the impossibility of the absolute totality of an endless progression,) it follows that where the size of a natural Object is such that the imagination spends its whole faculty of comprehension upon it in vain, it must10 carry our concept of nature to a supersensible substrate (underlying both nature and our faculty of thought) which is great beyond every standard of sense. Thus, instead of 5:256the object, it is rather the cast of the mind in appreciating it that we have to estimate as sublime.15

Therefore, just as the aesthetic judgement in its estimate of the beautiful refers the imagination in its free play to the understanding, to bring out its agreement with the concepts of the latter in general (apart from their determination): so in its estimate of a thing as sublime it refers that faculty to reason to20 bring out its subjective accord with ideas of reason (indeterminately indicated), i. e. to induce a temper of mind conformable to that which the influence of definite (practical) ideas would produce upon feeling, and in common accord with it.

This makes it evident that true sublimity must be sought25 only in the mind of the judging Subject, and not in the Object of nature that occasions this attitude by the estimate formed of it. Who would apply the term ‘sublime’ even to shapeless mountain masses towering one above the other in wild disorder, with their pyramids of ice, or to the dark tempestuous ocean,30 or such like things? But in the contemplation of them, without any regard to their form, the mind abandons itself to the imagination and to a reason placed, though quite apart from any definite end, in conjunction therewith, and merely broadening 105its view, and it feels itself elevated in its own estimate of itself on finding all the might of imagination still unequal to its ideas.

We get examples of the mathematically sublime of nature in mere intuition in all those instances where our imagination is afforded, not so much a greater numerical concept as a large5 unit as measure (for shortening the numerical series). A tree judged by the height of man gives, at all events, a standard for a mountain; and, supposing this is, say, a mile high, it can serve as unit for the number expressing the earth’s diameter, so as to make it intuitable; similarly the earth’s diameter for the10 known planetary system; this again for the system of the Milky Way; and the immeasurable host of such systems, which go by the name of nebulae, and most likely in turn themselves form such a system, holds out no prospect of a limit. Now in the aesthetic estimate of such an immeasurable whole, the sublime15 does not lie so much in the greatness of the number, as in the fact that in our onward advance we always arrive at proportionately greater units. The systematic division of the 5:257cosmos conduces to this result. For it represents all that is great in nature as in turn becoming little; or, to be more exact, it20 represents our imagination in all its boundlessness, and with it nature, as sinking into insignificance before the ideas of reason, once their adequate presentation is attempted.

The feeling of our incapacity to attain to an idea that is a law for us, is respect. Now the idea of the comprehension of any phenomenon whatever, that may be given us, in a whole of intuition, is an idea imposed upon us by a law of reason, which recognizes no definite, universally valid and unchangeable30 measure except the absolute whole. But our imagination, even when taxing itself to the uttermost on the score of this required 106comprehension of a given object in a whole of intuition, (and so with a view to the presentation of the idea of reason,) betrays its limits and its inadequacy, but still, at the same time, its proper vocation of making itself adequate to the same as a law. Therefore the feeling of the sublime in nature is respect5 for our own vocation, which we attribute to an Object of nature by a certain subreption (substitution of a respect for the Object in place of one for the idea of humanity in our own self—the Subject); and this feeling renders, as it were, intuitable the supremacy of our cognitive faculties on the rational side over10 the greatest faculty of sensibility.

The feeling of the sublime is, therefore, at once a feeling of displeasure, arising from the inadequacy of imagination in the aesthetic estimation of magnitude to attain to its estimation by reason, and a simultaneously awakened pleasure, arising from15 this very judgement of the inadequacy of the greatest faculty of sense being in accord with ideas of reason, so far as the effort to attain to these is for us a law. It is, in other words, for us a law (of reason), which goes to make us what we are, that we should esteem as small in comparison with ideas of20 reason everything which for us is great in nature as an object of sense; and that which makes us alive to the feeling of this supersensible side of our being harmonizes with that law. 5:258Now the greatest effort of the imagination in the presentation of the unit for the estimation of magnitude involves in itself a reference25 to something absolutely great, consequently a reference also to the law of reason that this alone is to be adopted as the supreme measure of what is great. Therefore the inner perception of the inadequacy of every standard of sense to serve for the rational estimation of magnitude is a coming into accord with reason’s30 laws, and a displeasure that makes us alive to the feeling of the supersensible side of our being, according to which it is final, and consequently a pleasure, to find every standard of sensibility falling short of the ideas of reason.

107 The mind feels itself set in motion in the representation of the sublime in nature; whereas in the aesthetic judgement upon what is beautiful therein it is in restful contemplation. This movement, especially in its inception, may be compared with a vibration, i. e. with a rapidly alternating repulsion and attraction5 produced by one and the same Object. The point of excess for the imagination (towards which it is driven in the apprehension of the intuition) is like an abyss in which it fears to lose itself; yet again for the rational idea of the supersensible it is not excessive, but conformable to law, and directed to10 drawing out such an effort on the part of the imagination: and so in turn as much a source of attraction as it was repellent to mere sensibility. But the judgement itself all the while steadfastly preserves its aesthetic character, because it represents, without being grounded on any definite concept of the Object,15 merely the subjective play of the mental powers (imagination and reason) as harmonious by virtue of their very contrast. For just as in the estimate of the beautiful imagination and understanding by their concert generate subjective finality of the mental faculties, so imagination and reason do so here by20 their conflict—that is to say they induce a feeling of our possessing a pure and self-sufficient reason, or a faculty for the estimation of magnitude, whose pre-eminence can only be made intuitively evident by the inadequacy of that faculty which in the presentation of magnitudes (of objects of sense) is itself25 unbounded.

Measurement of a space (as apprehension) is at the same time a description of it, and so an objective movement in the imagination and a progression. On the other hand the comprehension of the manifold in the unity, not of thought, but of30 intuition, and consequently the comprehension of the successively apprehended parts at one glance, is a retrogression that removes the time-condition in the 5:259progression of the imagination, and renders co-existence intuitable. Therefore, since the 108time-series is a condition of the internal sense and of an intuition, it is a subjective movement of the imagination by which it does violence to the internal sense—a violence which must be proportionately more striking the greater the quantum which the imagination comprehends in one intuition. The5 effort, therefore, to receive in a single intuition a measure for magnitudes which it takes an appreciable time to apprehend, is a mode of representation which, subjectively considered, is contra-final, but, objectively, is requisite for the estimation of magnitude, and is consequently final. Here the very same10 violence that is wrought on the Subject through the imagination is estimated as final for the whole province of the mind.

The quality of the feeling of the sublime consists in its being, in respect of the faculty of forming aesthetic estimates, a feeling of displeasure at an object, which yet, at the same15 time, is represented as being final—a representation which derives its possibility from the fact that the Subject’s very incapacity betrays the consciousness of an unlimited faculty of the same Subject, and that the mind can only form an aesthetic estimate of the latter faculty by means of that incapacity.20

In the case of the logical estimation of magnitude the impossibility of ever arriving at absolute totality by the progressive measurement of things of the sensible world in time and space was cognized as an objective impossibility, i. e. one of thinking the infinite as given, and not as simply subjective, i. e. an in25capacity for grasping it; for nothing turns there on the amount of the comprehension in one intuition, as measure, but everything depends on a numerical concept. But in an aesthetic estimation of magnitude the numerical concept must drop out of count or undergo a change. The only thing that is final30 for such estimation is the comprehension on the part of imagination in respect of the unit of measure (the concept of a law of the successive production of the concept of magnitude being consequently avoided).—If, now, a magnitude begins to tax the 109utmost stretch of our faculty of comprehension in an intuition, and still numerical magnitudes—in respect of which we are conscious of the boundlessness of our faculty—call upon the imagination for aesthetic comprehension in a greater unit, the mind then gets a feeling of being aesthetically confined5 within bounds. Nevertheless, with a view to the extension of imagination necessary for adequacy with what is unbounded in our faculty of reason, namely the 5:260idea of the absolute whole, the attendant displeasure, and, consequently, the want of finality in our faculty of imagination, is still represented as10 final for ideas of reason and their animation. But in this very way the aesthetic judgement itself is subjectively final for reason as source of ideas, i. e. of such an intellectual comprehension as makes all aesthetic comprehension small, and the object is received as sublime with a pleasure that is only15 possible through the mediation of a displeasure.

Might is a power which is superior to great hindrances. It20 is termed dominion if it is also superior to the resistance of that which itself possesses might. Nature considered in an aesthetic judgement as might that has no dominion over us, is dynamically sublime.

If we are to estimate nature as dynamically sublime, it must25 be represented as a source of fear (though the converse, that every object that is a source of fear is, in our aesthetic judgement, sublime, does not hold). For in forming an aesthetic estimate (no concept being present) the superiority to hindrances can only be estimated according to the greatness of30 the resistance. Now that which we strive to resist is an evil, 110and, if we do not find our powers commensurate to the task, an object of fear. Hence the aesthetic judgement can only deem nature a might, and so dynamically sublime, in so far as it is looked upon as an object of fear.

But we may look upon an object as fearful and yet not be5 afraid of it, if, that is, our estimate takes the form of our simply picturing to ourselves the case of our wishing to offer some resistance to it, and recognizing that all such resistance would be quite futile. So the righteous man fears God without being afraid of Him, because he regards the case of his wishing to10 resist God and His commandments as one which need cause him no 5:261anxiety. But in every such case, regarded by him as not intrinsically impossible, he cognizes Him as One to be feared.

One who is in a state of fear can no more play the part of15 a judge of the sublime of nature than one captivated by inclination and appetite can of the beautiful. He flees from the sight of an object filling him with dread; and it is impossible to take delight in terror that is seriously entertained. Hence the agreeableness arising from the cessation of an20 uneasiness is a state of joy. But this, depending upon deliverance from a danger, is a rejoicing accompanied with a resolve never again to put oneself in the way of the danger: in fact we do not like bringing back to mind how we felt on that occasion—not to speak of going in search of an opportunity for25 experiencing it again.

Bold, overhanging, and, as it were, threatening rocks, thunderclouds piled up the vault of heaven, borne along with flashes and peals, volcanoes in all their violence of destruction, hurricanes leaving desolation in their track, the boundless30 ocean rising with rebellious force, the high waterfall of some mighty river, and the like, make our power of resistance of trifling moment in comparison with their might. But, provided our own position is secure, their aspect is all the more 111attractive for its fearfulness; and we readily call these objects sublime, because they raise the forces of the soul above the height of vulgar commonplace, and discover within us a power of resistance of quite another kind, which gives us courage to be able to measure ourselves against the seeming omnipotence5 of nature.

In the immeasurableness of nature and the incompetence of our faculty for adopting a standard proportionate to the aesthetic estimation of the magnitude of its realm, we found our own limitation. But with this we also found in our rational10 faculty another non-sensuous standard, one which has that infinity itself under it as unit, and in comparison with which everything in nature is small, and so found in our minds a pre-eminence over nature even in its immeasurability. Now in just the same way the irresistibility of the might of nature15 forces upon us the recognition of our physical helplessness as beings of nature, but at the same time reveals a faculty of estimating ourselves as independent of nature, and discovers a pre-eminence above nature that is the foundation of a self-preservation of quite another kind from that which may be20 assailed and brought into danger by external 5:262nature. This saves humanity in our own person from humiliation, even though as mortal men we have to submit to external violence. In this way external nature is not estimated in our aesthetic judgement as sublime so far as exciting fear, but rather because25 it challenges our power (one not of nature) to regard as small those things of which we are wont to be solicitous (worldly goods, health, and life), and hence to regard its might (to which in these matters we are no doubt subject) as exercising over us and our personality no such rude dominion30 that we should bow down before it, once the question becomes one of our highest principles and of our asserting or forsaking them. Therefore nature is here called sublime merely because it raises the imagination to a presentation of those cases in 112which the mind can make itself sensible of the appropriate sublimity of the sphere of its own being, even above nature.

This estimation of ourselves loses nothing by the fact that we must see ourselves safe in order to feel this soul-stirring delight—a fact from which it might be plausibly argued that, as5 there is no seriousness in the danger, so there is just as little seriousness in the sublimity of our faculty of soul. For here the delight only concerns the province of our faculty disclosed in such a case, so far as this faculty has its root in our nature; notwithstanding that its development and exercise10 is left to ourselves and remains an obligation. Here indeed there is truth—no matter how conscious a man, when he stretches his reflection so far abroad, may be of his actual present helplessness.

This principle has, doubtless, the appearance of being too15 far-fetched and subtle, and so of lying beyond the reach of an aesthetic judgement. But observation of men proves the reverse, and that it may be the foundation of the commonest judgements, although one is not always conscious of its presence. For what is it that, even to the savage, is the object of the20 greatest admiration? It is a man who is undaunted, who knows no fear, and who, therefore, does not give way to danger, but sets manfully to work with full deliberation. Even where civilization has reached a high pitch there remains this special reverence for the soldier5 only that there is then further25 required of him that he should also exhibit all the virtues of peace—gentleness, sympathy and even becoming thought for his own person; and for the reason that in this we recognize that his mind is above the threats of danger. And so, comparing the statesman and the general, men may argue as they30 please as to the 5:263pre-eminent respect which is due to either above the other; but the verdict of the aesthetic judgement is for the latter. War itself, provided it is conducted with order and a sacred respect for the rights of civilians, has something 113sublime about it, and gives nations that carry it on in such a manner a stamp of mind only the more sublime the more numerous the dangers to which they are exposed, and which they are able to meet with fortitude. On the other hand, a prolonged peace favours the predominance of a mere com5mercial spirit, and with it a debasing self-interest, cowardice, and effeminacy, and tends to degrade the character of the nation.

So far as sublimity is predicated of might, this solution of the concept of it appears at variance with the fact that we are10 wont to represent God in the tempest, the storm, the earthquake, and the like, as presenting Himself in His wrath, but at the same time also in His sublimity, and yet here it would be alike folly and presumption to imagine a pre-eminence of our minds over the operations and, as it appears, even over the direction15 of such might. Here, instead of a feeling of the sublimity of our own nature, submission, prostration, and a feeling of utter helplessness seem more to constitute the attitude of mind befitting the manifestation of such an object, and to be that also more customarily associated with the idea of it on the occasion20 of a natural phenomenon of this kind. In religion, as a rule, prostration, adoration with bowed head, coupled with contrite, timorous posture and voice, seems to be the only becoming demeanour in presence of the Godhead, and accordingly most nations have assumed and still observe it. Yet this cast of25 mind is far from being intrinsically and necessarily involved in the idea of the sublimity of a religion and of its object. The man that is actually in a state of fear, finding in himself good reason to be so, because he is conscious of offending with his evil disposition against a might directed by a will at once30 irresistible and just, is far from being in the frame of mind for admiring divine greatness, for which a temper of calm reflection and a quite free judgement are required. Only when he becomes conscious of having a disposition that is upright and 114acceptable to God, do those operations of might serve to stir within him the idea of the sublimity of this Being, so far as he recognizes the existence in himself of a sublimity of disposition consonant with His will, and is thus raised above the dread of such operations of nature, in which he no longer sees 5:264God5 pouring forth the vials of the wrath. Even humility, taking the form of an uncompromising judgement upon his shortcomings, which, with the consciousness of good intentions, might readily be glossed over on the ground of the frailty of human nature, is a sublime temper of the mind voluntarily to10 undergo the pain of remorse as a means of more and more effectually eradicating its cause. In this way religion is intrinsically distinguished from superstition, which latter rears in the mind, not reverence for the sublime, but dread and apprehension of the all-powerful Being to whose will terror-15stricken man sees himself subjected, yet without according Him due honour. From this nothing can arise but grace-begging and vain adulation, instead of a religion consisting in a good life.

Sublimity, therefore, does not reside in any of the things of20 nature, but only in our own mind, in so far as we may become conscious of our superiority over nature within, and thus also over nature without us (as exerting influence upon us). Everything that provokes this feeling in us, including the might of nature which challenges our strength, is then, though im25properly, called sublime, and it is only under presupposition of this idea within us, and in relation to it, that we are capable of attaining to the idea of the sublimity of that Being which inspires deep respect in us, not by the mere display of its might in nature, but more by the faculty which is planted in us of30 estimating that might without fear, and of regarding our estate as exalted above it.

Beautiful nature contains countless things as to which we at once take every one as in their judgement concurring with our own, and as to which we may further expect this concurrence5 without facts finding us far astray. But in respect of our judgement upon the sublime in nature we cannot so easily vouch for ready acceptance by others. For a far higher degree of culture, not merely of the aesthetic judgement, but also of the faculties of cognition which lie at its basis, seems to be10 requisite to enable us to lay down a judgement upon this high distinction of natural objects.

5:265 The proper mental mood for a feeling of the sublime postulates the mind’s susceptibility for ideas, since it is precisely in the failure of nature to attain to these—and consequently only15 under presupposition of this susceptibility and of the straining of the imagination to use nature as a schema for ideas—that there is something forbidding to sensibility, but which, for all that, has an attraction for us, arising from the fact of its being a dominion which reason exercises over sensibility with a view20 to extending it to the requirements of its own realm (the practical) and letting it look out beyond itself into the infinite, which for it is an abyss. In fact, without the development of moral ideas, that which, thanks to preparatory culture, we call sublime, merely strikes the untutored man as terrifying.25 He will see in the evidences which the ravages of nature give of her dominion, and in the vast scale of her might, compared with which his own is diminished to insignificance, only the misery, peril, and distress that would compass the man who was thrown to its mercy. So the simple-minded,30 and, for the most part, intelligent, Savoyard peasant, (as Herr von Sassure relates,) unhesitatingly called all lovers of snow116mountains fools. And who can tell whether he would have been so wide of the mark, if that student of nature had taken the risk of the dangers to which he exposed himself merely, as most travellers do, for a fad, or so as some day to be able to give a thrilling account of his adventures? But the mind of5 Sassure was bent on the instruction of mankind, and soul-stirring sensations that excellent man indeed had, and the reader of his travels got them thrown into the bargain.

But the fact that culture is requisite for the judgement upon the sublime in nature (more than for that upon the beautiful)10 does not involve its being an original product of culture and something introduced in a more or less conventional way into society. Rather is it in human nature that its foundations are laid, and, in fact, in that which, at once with common understanding, we may expect every one to possess and may require15 of him, namely, a native capacity for the feeling for (practical) ideas, i. e. for moral feeling.

This, now, is the foundation of the necessity of that agreement between other men’s judgements upon the sublime and our own, which we make our own imply. For just as we taunt a man20 who is quite inappreciative when forming an estimate of an object of nature in which we see beauty, with want of taste, so we say of a man who remains unaffected in the presence of what we consider sublime, that he has no feeling. But we demand both taste and feeling of every man, and, granted25 5:266some degree of culture, we give him credit for both. Still, we do so with this difference: that, in the case of the former, since judgement there refers the imagination merely to the understanding, as the faculty of concepts, we make the requirement as a matter of course, whereas in the case of the latter,30 since here the judgement refers the imagination to reason, as a faculty of ideas, we do so only under a subjective presupposition, (which, however, we believe we are warranted in making,) namely, that of the moral feeling in man. And, on this 117assumption, we attribute necessity to the latter aesthetic judgement also.

In this modality of aesthetic judgements, namely their assumed necessity, lies what is for the Critique of Judgement a moment of capital importance. For this is exactly what5 makes an a priori principle apparent in their case, and lifts them out of the sphere of empirical psychology, in which otherwise they would remain buried amid the feelings of gratification and pain (only with the senseless epithet of finer feeling), so as to place them, and, thanks to them, to place the faculty of10 judgement itself, in the class of judgements of which the basis of an a priori principle is the distinguishing feature, and, thus distinguished, to introduce them into transcendental philosophy.

In relation to the feeling of pleasure an object is to be counted either as agreeable, or beautiful, or sublime, or good (absolutely), (iucundum, pulchrum, sublime, honestum).

As the motive of desires the agreeable is invariably of one20 and the same kind, no matter what its source or how specifically different the representation (of sense and sensation objectively considered). Hence in estimating its influence upon the mind the multitude of its charms (simultaneous or successive) is alone relevant, and so only, as it were, the mass of the agree25able sensation, and it is only by its Quantity, therefore, that this can be made intelligible. Further it in no way conduces to our culture, but belongs only to mere enjoyment.—The beautiful, on the other hand, requires the representation of a certain Quality of the Object, that permits also of being under30stood and reduced to concepts, (although in the aesthetic judgement it is not so reduced,) and it cultivates, as it instructs 118us to attend to finality in the feeling of pleasure.—The sublime consists merely in the relation exhibited 5:267by the estimate of the serviceability of the sensible in the representation of nature for a possible supersensible employment.—The absolutely good, estimated subjectively according to the feeling it inspires, (the5 Object of the moral feeling,) as the determinability of the powers of the Subject by means of the representation of an absolutely necessitating law, is principally distinguished by the modality of a necessity resting upon concepts a priori, and involving not a mere claim, but a command upon every one to assent, and10 belongs intrinsically not to the aesthetic, but to the pure intellectual judgement. Further, it is not ascribed to nature but to freedom, and that in a determinant and not a merely reflective judgement. But the determinability of the Subject by means of this idea, and, what is more, that of a Subject which can be15 sensible, in the way of a modification of its state, to hindrances on the part of sensibility, while, at the same time, it can by surmounting them feel superiority over them—a determinability, in other words, as moral feeling—is still so allied to aesthetic judgement and its formal conditions as to be capable of being20 pressed into the service of the aesthetic representation of the conformity to law of action from duty, i. e. of the representation of this as sublime, or even as beautiful, without forfeiting its purity—an impossible result were one to make it naturally bound up with the feeling of the agreeable.25

The net result to be extracted from the exposition so far given of both kinds of aesthetic judgements may be summed up in the following brief definitions:

The beautiful is what pleases in the mere estimate formed of it (consequently not by intervention of any feeling of sense30 in accordance with a concept of the understanding). From this it follows at once that it must please apart from all interest.

The sublime is what pleases immediately by reason of its opposition to the interest of sense.

119 Both, as definitions of aesthetic universally valid estimates, have reference to subjective grounds. In the one case the reference is to grounds of sensibility, in so far as these are final on behalf of the contemplative understanding, in the other case in so far as, in their opposition to sensibility, they5 are, on the contrary, final in reference to the ends of practical reason. Both, however, as united in the same Subject, are final in reference to the moral feeling. The beautiful prepares us to love something, even nature, apart from any interest: the sublime to esteem something highly even in10 opposition to our (sensible) interest.

5:268 The sublime may be described in this way: It is an object (of nature) the representation of which determines the mind to regard the elevation op nature beyond our reach as equivalent to a presentation of ideas.15

In a literal sense and according to their logical import, ideas cannot be presented. But if we enlarge our empirical faculty of representation (mathematical or dynamical) with a view to the intuition of nature, reason inevitably steps forward, as the faculty concerned with the independence of the absolute totality,20 and calls forth the effort of the mind, unavailing though it be, to make the representation of sense adequate to this totality. This effort, and the feeling of the unattainability of the idea by means of imagination, is itself a presentation of the subjective finality of our mind in the employment of the imagination in25 the interests of the mind’s supersensible province, and compels us subjectively to think nature itself in its totality as a presentation of something supersensible, without our being able to effectuate this presentation objectively.

For we readily see that nature in space and time falls entirely30 short of the unconditioned, consequently also of the absolutely great, which still the commonest reason demands. And by this we are also reminded that we have only to do with nature as phenomenon, and that this itself must be regarded as the 120mere presentation of a nature-in-itself (which exists in the idea of reason). But this idea of the supersensible, which no doubt we cannot further determine—so that we cannot cognize nature as its presentation, but only think it as such—is awakened in us by an object the aesthetic estimating of which strains the5 imagination to its utmost, whether in respect of its extension (mathematical), or of its might over the mind (dynamical). For it is founded upon the feeling of a sphere of the mind which altogether exceeds the realm of nature (i. e. upon the moral feeling), with regard to which the representation of the10 object is estimated as subjectively final.

As a matter of fact, a feeling for the sublime in nature is hardly thinkable unless in association with an attitude of mind resembling the moral. And though, like that feeling, the immediate pleasure in the beautiful in nature presupposes15 and cultivates a certain liberality of thought, i. e. makes our delight independent of any mere enjoyment of sense, still it represents freedom rather as in play than as exercising a law-ordained function, which is the 5:269genuine characteristic of human morality, where reason has to impose its dominion20 upon sensibility. There is, however, this qualification, that in the aesthetic judgement upon the sublime this dominion is represented as exercised through the imagination itself as an instrument of reason.

Thus, too, delight in the sublime in nature is only negative25 (whereas that in the beautiful is positive): that is to say it is a feeling of imagination by its own act depriving itself of its freedom by receiving a final determination in accordance with a law other than that of its empirical employment. In this way it gains an extension and a might greater than that which30 it sacrifices. But the ground of this is concealed from it, and in its place it feels the sacrifice or deprivation, as well as its cause, to which it is subjected. The astonishment amounting almost to terror, the awe and thrill of devout feeling, that takes 121hold of one when gazing upon the prospect of mountains ascending to heaven, deep ravines and torrents raging there, deep-shadowed solitudes that invite to brooding melancholy, and the like—all this, when we are assured of our own safety, is not actual fear. Rather is it an attempt to gain access to it5 through imagination, for the purpose of feeling the might of this faculty in combining the movement of the mind thereby aroused with its serenity, and of thus being superior to internal and, therefore, to external, nature, so far as the latter can have any bearing upon our feeling of well-being. For the imagina10tion, in accordance with laws of association, makes our state of contentment dependent upon physical conditions. But acting in accordance with principles of the schematism of judgement, (consequently so far as it is subordinated to freedom,) it is at the same time an instrument of reason and its ideas. But in15 this capacity it is a might enabling us to assert our independence as against the influences of nature, to degrade what is great in respect of the latter to the level of what is little, and thus to locate the absolutely great only in the proper estate of the Subject. This reflection of aesthetic judgement by which it20 raises itself to the point of adequacy with reason, though without any determinate concept of reason, is still a representation of the object as subjectively final, by virtue even of the objective inadequacy of the imagination in its greatest extension for meeting the demands of reason (as the faculty of ideas).25

Here we have to attend generally to what has been already adverted to, that in the Transcendental Aesthetic of judgement 5:270there must be no question of anything but pure aesthetic judgements. Consequently examples are not to be selected from such beautiful or sublime objects as presuppose the con30cept of an end. For then the finality would be either teleological, or based upon mere sensations of an object (gratification or pain) and so, in the first case, not aesthetic, and, in the second, not merely formal. So, if we call the sight of the 122starry heaven sublime, we must not found our estimate of it upon any concepts of worlds inhabited by rational beings, with the bright spots, which we see filling the space above us, as their suns moving in orbits prescribed for them with the wisest regard to ends. But we must take it, just as it strikes the eye,5 as a broad and all-embracing canopy: and it is merely under such a representation that we may posit the sublimity which the pure aesthetic judgement attributes to this object. Similarly, as to the prospect of the ocean, we are not to regard it as we, with our minds stored with knowledge on a variety of matters,10 (which, however, is not contained in the immediate intuition,) are wont to represent it in thought, as, let us say, a spacious realm of aquatic creatures, or as the mighty reservoirs from which are drawn the vapours that fill the air with clouds of moisture for the good of the land, or yet as an element which no15 doubt divides continent from continent, but at the same time affords the means of the greatest commercial intercourse between them—for in this way we get nothing beyond teleological judgements. Instead of this we must be able to see sublimity in the ocean, regarding it, as the poets do, according to what20 the impression upon the eye reveals, as, let us say, in its calm, a clear mirror of water bounded only by the heavens, or, be it disturbed, as threatening to overwhelm and engulf everything. The same is to be said of the sublime and beautiful in the human form. Here, for determining grounds of the judgement,25 we must not have recourse to concepts of ends subserved by all its limbs and members, or allow their accordance with these ends to influence our aesthetic judgement, (in such case no longer pure,) although it is certainly also a necessary condition of aesthetic delight that they should not conflict with these30 ends. Aesthetic finality is the conformity to law of judgement in its freedom. The delight in the object depends upon the reference which we seek to give to the imagination, subject to the proviso that it is to entertain the mind in a free activity. 123If, on the other hand, something else,—be it sensation or concept of the understanding—5:271determines the judgement, it is then conformable to law, no doubt, but not an act of free judgement.

Hence to speak of intellectual beauty or sublimity is to use expressions which, in the first place, are not quite correct.5 For these are aesthetic modes of representation which would be entirely foreign to us were we merely pure intelligences (or if we even put ourselves in thought in the position of such). Secondly, although both, as objects of an intellectual (moral) delight, are compatible with aesthetic delight to the10 extent of not resting upon any interest, still, on the other hand, there is a difficulty in the way of their alliance with such delight, since their function is to produce an interest, and, on the assumption that the presentation has to accord with delight in the aesthetic estimate, this interest could only be15 effected by means of an interest of sense combined with it in the presentation. But in this way the intellectual finality would be violated and rendered impure.

The object of a pure and unconditioned intellectual delight is the moral law in the might which it exerts in us over all20 antecedent motives of the mind. Now, since it is only through sacrifices that this might makes itself known to us aesthetically, (and this involves a deprivation of something—though in the interests of inner freedom—whilst in turn it reveals in us an unfathomable depth of this supersensible25 faculty, the consequences of which extend beyond reach of the eye of sense,) it follows that the delight, looked at from the aesthetic side (in reference to sensibility) is negative, i. e. opposed to this interest, but from the intellectual side, positive and bound up with an interest. Hence it follows that the30 intellectual and intrinsically final (moral) good, estimated aesthetically, instead of being represented as beautiful, must rather be represented as sublime, with the result that it arouses more a feeling of respect (which disdains charm) than of love 124or of the heart being drawn towards it—for human nature does not of its own proper motion accord with the good, but only by virtue of the dominion which reason exercises over sensibility. Conversely, that, too, which we call sublime in external nature, or even internal nature (e. g. certain affections) is only5 represented as a might of the mind enabling it to overcome this or that hindrance of sensibility by means of moral principles, and it is from this that it derives its interest.

I must dwell a while on the latter point The idea of the good to which 5:272affection is superadded is enthusiasm. This10 state of mind appears to be sublime: so much so that there is a common saying that nothing great can be achieved without it But now every affection¹ is blind either as to the choice of its end, or, supposing this has been furnished by reason, in the way it is effected—for it is that mental15 movement whereby the exercise of free deliberation upon fundamental principles, with a view to determining oneself accordingly, is rendered impossible. On this account it cannot merit any delight on the part of reason. Yet, from an aesthetic point of view, enthusiasm is sublime, because it is an20 effort of one’s powers called forth by ideas which give to the mind an impetus of far stronger and more enduring efficacy than the stimulus afforded by sensible representations. But (as seems strange) even freedom from affection (apatheia, phlegma in significatu bono) in a mind that strenuously follows its un25swerving principles is sublime, and that, too, in a manner 125vastly superior, because it has at the same time the delight of pure reason on its side. Such a stamp of mind is alone called noble. This expression, however, comes in time to be applied to things—such as buildings, a garment, literary style, the carriage of one’s person, and the like—provided they do5 not so much excite astonishment (the affection attending the representation of novelty exceeding expectation) as admiration (an astonishment which does not cease when the novelty wears off)—and this obtains where ideas undesignedly and artlessly accord in their presentation with aesthetic delight.10

Every affection of the strenuous type (such, that is, as excites the consciousness of our power of overcoming every resistance (animus strenuus)) is aesthetically sublime, e. g. anger, even desperation (the rage of forlorn hope but not faint-hearted despair). On the other hand, affection of the languid type15 (which converts the very effort of resistance into an object of displeasure (animus languidus)) has nothing noble 5:273about it, though it may take its rank as possessing beauty of the sensuous order. Hence the emotions capable of attaining the strength of an affection are very diverse. We have spirited,20 and we have tender emotions. When the strength of the latter reaches that of an affection they can be turned to no account. The propensity to indulge in them is sentimentality. A sympathetic grief that refuses to be consoled, or one that has to do with imaginary misfortune to which we deliberately give25 way so far as to allow our fancy to delude us into thinking it actual fact, indicates and goes to make a tender, but at the same time weak, soul, which shows a beautiful side, and may no doubt be called fanciful, but never enthusiastic. Romances, maudlin dramas, shallow homilies, which trifle with so-called30 (though falsely so) noble sentiments, but in fact make the heart enervated, insensitive to the stern precepts of duty, and incapable of respect for the worth of humanity in our own person and the rights of men (which is something quite other 126than their happiness), and in general incapable of all firm principles; even a religious discourse which recommends a cringing and abject grace-begging and favour-seeking, abandoning all reliance on our own ability to resist the evil within us, in place of the vigorous resolution to try to get the5 better of our inclinations by means of those powers which, miserable sinners though we be, are still left to us; that false humility by which self-abasement, whining hypocritical repentance and a merely passive frame of mind are set down as the method by which alone we can become acceptable to the10 Supreme Being—these have neither lot nor fellowship with what may be reckoned to belong to beauty, not to speak of sublimity, of mental temperament.

But even impetuous movements of the mind—be they allied under the name of edification with ideas of religion, or, as15 pertaining merely to culture, with ideas involving a social interest—no matter what tension of the imagination they may produce, can in no way lay claim to the honour of a sublime presentation, if they do not leave behind them a temper of mind which, though it be only indirectly, has an influence upon20 the consciousness of the mind’s strength and resoluteness in respect of that which carries with it pure intellectual finality (the supersensible). For, in the absence of this, all these emotions belong only to motion, which we welcome in the interests of good health. The agreeable lassitude that follows upon25 being stirred up in that way by the play of the affections, is a 5:274fruition of the state of well-being arising from the restoration of the equilibrium of the various vital forces within us. This, in the last resort, comes to no more than what the Eastern voluptuaries find so soothing when they get their bodies30 massaged, and all their muscles and joints softly pressed and bent; only that in the first case the principle that occasions the movement is chiefly internal, whereas here it is entirely external. Thus, many a man believes himself edified by a sermon 127in which there is no establishment of anything (no system of good maxims); or thinks himself improved by a tragedy, when he is merely glad at having got well rid of the feeling of being bored. Thus the sublime must in every case have reference to our way of thinking, i. e. to maxims directed to5 giving the intellectual side of our nature and the ideas of reason supremacy over sensibility.

We have no reason to fear that the feeling of the sublime will suffer from an abstract mode of presentation like this, which is altogether negative as to what is sensuous. For though10 the imagination, no doubt, finds nothing beyond the sensible world to which it can lay hold, still this thrusting aside of the sensible barriers gives it a feeling of being unbounded; and that removal is thus a presentation of the infinite. As such it can never be anything more than a negative presentation—but15 still it expands the soul. Perhaps there is no more sublime passage in the Jewish Law than the commandment: Thou shalt not make unto thee any graven image, or any likeness of any thing that is in heaven or on earth, or under the earth, &c. This commandment can alone explain the enthusiasm which20 the Jewish people, in their moral period, felt for their religion when comparing themselves with others, or the pride inspired by Mohammedanism. The very same holds good of our representation of the moral law and of our native capacity for morality. The fear that, if we divest this representation of25 everything that can commend it to the senses, it will thereupon be attended only with a cold and lifeless approbation and not with any moving force or emotion, is wholly unwarranted. The very reverse is the truth. For when nothing any longer meets the eye of sense, and the unmistakable and ineffaceable idea30 of morality is left in possession of the field, there would be need rather of tempering the ardour of an unbounded imagination to prevent it rising to enthusiasm, than of seeking to lend these ideas the aid of images and childish devices for fear of their 128being wanting in potency. For this reason 5:275governments have gladly let religion be fully equipped with these accessories, seeking in this way to relieve their subjects of the exertion, but to deprive them, at the same time, of the ability, required for expanding their spiritual powers beyond the limits arbitrarily5 laid down for them, and which facilitate their being treated as though they were merely passive.

This pure, elevating, merely negative presentation of morality involves, on the other hand, no fear of fanaticism, which is a delusion that would will some vision beyond all the bounds of10 sensibility; i. e. would dream according to principles (rational raving). The safeguard is the purely negative character of the presentation. For the inscrutability of the idea of freedom precludes all positive presentation. The moral law, however, is a sufficient and original source of determination within us: so it15 does not for a moment permit us to cast about for a ground of determination external to itself If enthusiasm is comparable to delirium, fanaticism may be compared to mania. Of these the latter is least of all compatible with the sublime, for it is profoundly ridiculous. In enthusiasm, as an affection, the20 imagination is unbridled; in fanaticism, as a deep-seated, brooding passion, it is anomalous. The first is a transitory accident to which the healthiest understanding is liable to become at times the victim; the second is an undermining disease.

Simplicity (artless finality) is, as it were, the style adopted by25 nature in the sublime. It is also that of morality. The latter is a second (supersensible) nature, whose laws alone we know, without being able to attain to an intuition of the supersensible faculty within us—that which contains the ground of this legislation.30

One further remark. The delight in the sublime, no less than in the beautiful, by reason of its universal communicability not alone is plainly distinguished from other aesthetic judgements, but also from this same property acquires an interest in 129society (in which it admits of such communication). Yet, despite this, we have to note the fact that isolation from all society is looked upon as something sublime, provided it rests upon ideas which disregard all sensible interest. To be self-sufficing, and so not to stand in need of society, yet without5 being unsociable, i. e. without shunning it, is something approaching the sublime—a remark applicable to all superiority to wants. On the other hand, to shun our fellow men from misanthropy, because of 5:276enmity towards them, or from anthropophobia, because we imagine the hand of every man is against10 us, is partly odious, partly contemptible. There is, however, a misanthropy, (most improperly so called,) the tendency towards which is to be found with advancing years in many right-minded men, that, as far as good will goes, is, no doubt, philanthropic enough, but as the result of long and sad ex15perience, is widely removed from delight in mankind. We see evidences of this in the propensity to recluseness, in the fanciful desire for a retired country seat, or else (with the young) in the dream of the happiness of being able to spend one’s life with a little family on an island unknown to the rest20 of the world—material of which novelists or writers of Robinsonades know how to make such good use. Falsehood, ingratitude, injustice, the puerility of the ends which we ourselves look upon as great and momentous, and to compass which man inflicts upon his brother man all imaginable evils—these all so25 contradict the idea of what men might be if they only would, and are so at variance with our active wish to see them better, that, to avoid hating where we cannot love, it seems but a slight sacrifice to forego all the joys of fellowship with our kind. This sadness, which is not directed to the evils which fate30 brings down upon others, (a sadness which springs from sympathy,) but to those which they inflict upon themselves, (one which is based on antipathy in questions of principle,) is sublime because it is founded on ideas, whereas that springing 130from sympathy can only be accounted beautiful.—Sassure, who was no less ingenious than profound, in the description of his Alpine travels remarks of Bonhomme, one of the Savoy mountains, ‘There reigns there a certain insipid sadness.’ He recognized, therefore, that, besides this, there is an interesting5 sadness, such as is inspired by the sight of some desolate place into which men might fain withdraw themselves so as to hear no more of the world without, and be no longer versed in its affairs, a place, however, which must yet not be so altogether inhospitable as only to afford a most miserable retreat for a10 human being.—I only make this observation as a reminder that even melancholy, (but not dispirited sadness,) may take its place among the vigorous affections, provided it has its root in moral ideas. If, however, it is grounded upon sympathy, and, as such, is lovable, it belongs only to the languid affections.15 And this serves to call attention to the mental temperament which in the first case alone is sublime.

5:277 The transcendental exposition of aesthetic judgements now brought to a close may be compared with the physiological, as worked out by Burke and many acute men among us, so that20 we may see where a merely empirical exposition of the sublime and beautiful would bring us. Burke,¹ who deserves to be called the foremost author in this method of treatment, deduces, on these lines, ‘that the feeling of the sublime is grounded on the impulse towards self-preservation and on25 fear, i. e. on a pain, which, since it does not go the length of disordering the bodily parts, calls forth movements which, as they clear the vessels, whether fine or gross, of a dangerous and troublesome encumbrance, are capable of producing delight; 131not pleasure but a sort of delightful horror, a sort of tranquillity tinged with terror.’ The beautiful, which he grounds on love (from which, still, he would have desire kept separate), he reduces to ‘the relaxing, slackening, and enervating of the fibres of the body, and consequently a softening, a dissolving,5 a languor, and a fainting, dying, and melting away for pleasure’. And this explanation he supports, not alone by instances in which the feeling of the beautiful as well as of the sublime is capable of being excited in us by the imagination in conjunction with the understanding, but even by instances when it is in10 conjunction with sensations.—As psychological observations these analyses of our mental phenomena are extremely fine, and supply a wealth of material for the favourite investigations of empirical anthropology. But, besides that, there is no denying the fact that all representations within us, no matter15 whether they are objectively merely sensible or wholly intellectual, are still subjectively associable with gratification or pain, however imperceptible either of these may be. (For these representations one and all have an influence on the feeling of life, and none of them, so far as it is a modification20 of the Subject, can be indifferent). We must even admit that, as Epicurus maintained, gratification and pain though proceeding from the imagination or even from representations of the understanding, are always in the last resort corporeal, since apart from any 5:278feeling of the bodily organ life would be25 merely a consciousness of one’s existence, and could not include any feeling of well-being or the reverse, i. e. of the furtherance or hindrance of the vital forces. For, of itself alone, the mind is all life (the life-principle itself), and hindrance or furtherance has to be sought outside it, and yet in the man30 himself, consequently in the connexion with his body.

But if we attribute the delight in the object wholly and entirely to the gratification which it affords through charm or emotion, then we must not exact from any one else agreement 132with the aesthetic judgement passed by us. For in such matters each person rightly consults his own personal feeling alone. But in that case there is an end of all censorship of taste—unless the example afforded by others as the result of a contingent coincidence of their judgements is to be held over5 us as commanding our assent. But this principle we would presumably resent, and appeal to our natural right of submitting a judgement to our own sense, where it rests upon the immediate feeling of personal well-being, instead of submitting it to that of others.10

Hence if the import of the judgement of taste, where we appraise it as a judgement entitled to require the concurrence of every one, cannot be egoistic, but must necessarily, from its inner nature, be allowed a pluralistic validity, i. e. on account of what taste itself is, and not on account of the examples15 which others give of their taste, then it must found upon some a priori principle, (be it subjective or objective,) and no amount of prying into the empirical laws of the changes that go on within the mind can succeed in establishing such a principle. For these laws only yield a knowledge of how we20 do judge, but they do not give us a command as to how we ought to judge, and, what is more, such a command as is unconditioned—and commands of this kind are presupposed by judgements of taste, inasmuch as they require delight to be taken as immediately connected with a representation.25 Accordingly, though the empirical exposition of aesthetic judgements may be a first step towards accumulating the material for a higher investigation, yet a transcendental examination of this faculty is possible, and forms an essential part of the Critique of Taste. For, were not taste in posses30sion of a priori principles, it could not possibly sit in judgement upon the judgements of others, and pass sentence of commendation or condemnation upon them, with even the least semblance of authority.

133 The remaining part of the Analytic of the aesthetic judgement contains first of all the:—

The Deduction of aesthetic judgements upon objects of nature5 must not he directed to what we call sublime in nature, but only to the beautiful.

The claim of an aesthetic judgement to universal validity for every Subject, being a judgement which must rely on some a priori principle, stands in need of a Deduction (i. e. a deriva10tion of its title). Further, where the delight or aversion turns on the form of the object this has to be something over and above the Exposition of the judgement. Such is the case with judgements of taste upon the beautiful in nature. For there the finality has its foundation in the Object and its outward15 form—although it does not signify the reference of this to other objects according to concepts (for the purpose of cognitive judgements), but is merely concerned in general with the apprehension of this form so far as it proves accordant in the mind with the faculty of concepts as well as with that of their20 presentation (which is identical with that of apprehension). With regard to the beautiful in nature, therefore, we may start a number of questions touching the cause of this finality of their forms: e. g. How we are to explain why nature has scattered beauty abroad with so lavish a hand, even in the25 depth of the ocean where it can but seldom be reached by the eye of man—for which alone it is final.

But the sublime in nature—if we pass upon it a pure aesthetic judgement unmixed with concepts of perfection, as objective finality, which would make the judgement teleo30134logical—may be regarded as completely wanting in form or figure, and none the less be looked upon as an object of pure delight, and indicate a subjective finality of the given representation. So, now, the question suggests itself, whether in addition to the exposition of what is thought in an aesthetic5 judgement of this kind, we may be called upon to give a Deduction of its claim to some (subjective) a priori principle.

5:280 This we may meet with the reply that the sublime in nature is improperly so called, and that sublimity should, in strictness, be attributed merely to the attitude of thought, or,10 rather, to that which serves as basis for this in human nature. The apprehension of an object otherwise formless and in conflict with ends supplies the mere occasion for our coming to a consciousness of this basis; and the object is in this way put to a subjectively-final use, but it is not estimated as subjec15tively-final on its own account and because of its form. (It is, as it were, a species finalis accepta, non data.) Consequently the Exposition we gave of judgements upon the sublime in nature was at the same time their Deduction. For in our analysis of the reflection on the part of judgement in this case we found20 that in such judgements there is a final relation of the cognitive faculties, which has to be laid a priori at the basis of the faculty of ends (the will), and which is therefore itself a priori final. This, then, at once involves the Deduction, i. e. the justification of the claim of such a judgement to universally-25necessary validity.

Hence we may confine our search to one for the Deduction of judgements of taste, i. e. of judgements upon the beauty of things of nature, and this will satisfactorily dispose of the problem for the entire aesthetic faculty of judgement.30

The obligation to furnish a Deduction, i. e. a guarantee of the legitimacy of judgements of a particular kind, only arises where the judgement lays claim to necessity. This is the case even5 where it requires subjective universality, i. e. the concurrence of every one, albeit the judgement is not a cognitive judgement, but only one of pleasure or displeasure in a given object, i. e. an assumption of a subjective finality that has a thorough-going validity for every one, and which, since the judgement is one of10 Taste, is not to be grounded upon any concept of the thing.

Now, in the latter case, we are not dealing with a judgement of cognition—neither with a theoretical one based on the concept of a nature in general, supplied by understanding, nor with a (pure) practical one based on the Idea of freedom, as15 given a priori by reason—and so we are not called upon to justify a priori the validity of a judgement which represents either what a thing is, or that there is something which I ought to do in order to produce it. Consequently, if for judgement generally we demonstrate the universal validity of a20 5:281singular judgement expressing the subjective finality of an empirical representation of the form of an object, we shall do all that is needed to explain how it is possible that something can please in the mere formation of an estimate of it (without sensation or concept), and how, just as the estimate of an25 object for the sake of a cognition generally has universal rules, the delight of any one person may be pronounced as a rule for every other.

Now if this universal validity is not to be based on a collection of votes and interrogation of others as to what sort30 of sensations they experience, but is to rest, as it were, upon an autonomy of the Subject passing judgement on the feeling 136of pleasure (in the given representation), i. e. upon his own taste, and yet is also not to be derived from concepts; then it follows that such a judgement—and such the judgement of taste in fact is—has a double and also logical peculiarity. For, first, it has universal validity a priori, yet without having5 a logical universality according to concepts, but only the universality of a singular judgement. Secondly, it has a necessity, (which must invariably rest upon a priori grounds,) but one which depends upon no a priori proofs by the representation of which it would be competent to enforce the10 assent which the judgement of taste demands of every one.

The solution of these logical peculiarities, which distinguish a judgement of taste from all cognitive judgements, will of itself suffice for a Deduction of this strange faculty, provided we abstract at the outset from all content of the judgement, viz.15 from the feeling of pleasure, and merely compare the aesthetic form with the form of objective judgements as prescribed by logic. We shall first try, with the help of examples, to illustrate and bring out these characteristic properties of taste.

The judgement of taste determines its object in respect of delight (as a thing of beauty) with a claim to the agreement of every one, just as if it were objective.

To say: This flower is beautiful, is tantamount to repeating25 its own proper 5:282claim to the delight of every one. The agreeableness of its smell gives it no claim at all. One man revels in it, but it gives another a headache. Now what else are we to suppose from this than that its beauty is to be taken for a property of the flower itself which does not adapt itself to the30 diversity of heads and the individual senses of the multitude, but to which they must adapt themselves, if they are going to 137pass judgement upon it. And yet this is not the way the matter stands. For the judgement of taste consists precisely in a thing being called beautiful solely in respect of that quality in which it adapts itself to our mode of taking it in.

Besides, every judgement which is to show the taste of the5 individual, is required to be an independent judgement of the individual himself. There must be no need of groping about among other people’s judgements and getting previous instruction from their delight in or aversion to the same object. Consequently his judgement should be given out a priori, and10 not as an imitation relying on the general pleasure a thing gives as a matter of fact. One would think, however, that a judgement a priori must involve a concept of the object for the cognition of which it contains the principle. But the judgement of taste is not founded on concepts, and is in no way a15 cognition, but only an aesthetic judgement.

Hence it is that a youthful poet refuses to allow himself to be dissuaded from the conviction that his poem is beautiful, either by the judgement of the public or of his friends. And even if he lends them an ear, he does so, not because he has20 now come to a different judgement, but because, though the whole public, at least so far as his work is concerned, should have false taste, he still, in his desire for recognition, finds good reason to accommodate himself to the popular error (even against his own judgement). It is only in aftertime, when his judge25ment has been sharpened by exercise, that of his own free will and accord he deserts his former judgements—behaving in just the same way as with those of his judgements which depend wholly upon reason. Taste lays claim simply to autonomy. To make the judgements of others the determining ground of one’s30 own would be heteronomy.

The fact that we recommend the works of the ancients as models, and rightly too, and call their authors classical, as constituting a sort of nobility among writers that leads 138the way and thereby gives laws to the people, seems to indicate a posteriori sources of taste, and to contradict the autonomy of taste in each individual But we might just as well 5:283say that the ancient mathematicians, who, to this day, are looked upon as the almost indispensable models of perfect thoroughness and5 elegance in synthetic methods, prove that reason also is on our part only imitative, and that it is incompetent with the deepest intuition to produce of itself rigorous proofs by means of the construction of concepts. There is no employment of our powers, no matter how free, not even of reason itself, (which10 must create all its judgements from the common a priori source,) which, if each individual had always to start afresh with the crude equipment of his natural state, would not get itself involved in blundering attempts, did not those of others lie before it as a warning. Not that predecessors make those15 who follow in their steps mere imitators, but by their methods they set others upon the track of seeking in themselves for the principles, and so of adopting their own, often better, course. Even in religion—where undoubtedly every one has to derive his rule of conduct from himself, seeing that he him20self remains responsible for it, and, when he goes wrong, cannot shift the blame upon others as teachers or leaders—general precepts learned at the feet either of priests or philosophers, or even drawn from one’s own resources, are never so efficacious as an example of virtue or holiness, which, historically por25trayed, does not dispense with the autonomy of virtue drawn from the spontaneous and original idea of morality (a priori), or convert this into a mechanical process of imitation. Following which has reference to a precedent, and not imitation, is the proper expression for all influence which the products of30 an exemplary author may exert upon others—and this means no more than going to the same sources for a creative work as those to which he went for his creations, and learning from one’s predecessor no more than the mode of availing oneself 139of such sources. Taste, just because its judgement cannot be determined by concepts or precepts, is among all faculties and talents the very one that stands most in need of examples of what has in the course of culture maintained itself longest in esteem. Thus it avoids an early lapse into crudity, and a5 return to the rudeness of its earliest efforts.

Proofs are of no avail whatever for determining the judgement of taste, and in this connexion matters stand just as10 they would were that judgement simply subjective.

If any one does not think a building, view, or poem beautiful, then, in the first place he refuses, so far as his inmost conviction goes, to allow approval to be wrung from him by a hundred voices all lauding it to the skies. Of course he may15 affect to be pleased with it, so as not to be considered as wanting in taste. He may even begin to harbour doubts as to whether he has formed his taste upon an acquaintance with a sufficient number of objects of a particular kind (just as one who in the distance recognizes, as he believes, something as20 a wood, which every one else regards as a town, becomes doubtful of the judgement of his own eyesight). But, for all that, he clearly perceives that the approval of others affords no valid proof, available for the estimate of beauty. He recognizes that others, perchance, may see and observe for him, and25 that, what many have seen in one and the same way may, for the purpose of a theoretical, and therefore logical judgement, serve as an adequate ground of proof for him, albeit he believes he saw otherwise, but that what has pleased others can never serve him as the ground of an aesthetic judgement. The judgement of30 others, where unfavourable to ours, may, no doubt, rightly make 140us suspicious in respect of our own, but convince us that it is wrong it never can. Hence there is no empirical ground of proof that can coerce any one’s judgement of taste.

In the second place, a proof a priori according to definite rules is still less capable of determining the judgement as to beauty.5 If any one reads me his poem, or brings me to a play, which, all said and done, fails to commend itself to my taste, then let him adduce Batteux or Lessing, or still older and more famous critics of taste, with all the host of rules laid down by them, as a proof of the beauty of his poem; let certain passages particu10larly displeasing to me accord completely with the rules of beauty, (as set out by these critics and universally recognized): I stop my ears: I do not want to hear any reasons or any arguing about the matter. I would prefer to suppose that those rules of the critics were at fault, or at least have no application,15 than to allow my judgement to be determined by a priori 5:285proofs. I take my stand on the ground that my judgement is to be one of taste, and not one of understanding or reason.

This would appear to be one of the chief reasons why this faculty of aesthetic judgement has been given the name of20 taste. For a man may recount to me all the ingredients of a dish, and observe of each and every one of them that it is just what I like, and, in addition, rightly commend the wholesomeness of the food; yet I am deaf to all these arguments. I try the dish with my own tongue and palate, and I pass judgement25 according to their verdict (not according to universal principles).

As a matter of fact the judgement of taste is invariably laid down as a singular judgement upon the Object. The understanding can, from the comparison of the Object, in point of delight, with the judgements of others, form a universal judge30ment, e.g. ‘All tulips are beautiful’. But that judgement is then not one of taste, but is a logical judgement which converts the reference of an Object to our taste into a predicate belonging to things of a certain kind. But it is only the judgement 141whereby 1 regard an individual given tulip as beautiful, i. e. regard my delight in it as of universal validity, that is a judgement of taste. Its peculiarity, however, consists in the fact that, although it has merely subjective validity, still it extends its claims to all Subjects, as unreservedly as it would if it were an5 objective judgement, resting on grounds of cognition and capable of being proved to demonstration.

A principle of taste would mean a fundamental premiss10 under the condition of which one might subsume the concept of an object, and then, by a syllogism, draw the inference that it is beautiful. That, however, is absolutely impossible. For I must feel the pleasure immediately in the representation of the object, and I cannot be talked into it by any grounds15 of proof. Thus although critics, as Hume says, are able to reason more plausibly than cooks, they must still share the same fate. For the determining ground of their judgement they are not able to look to the force of demonstrations, but only to the 5:286reflection of the Subject upon his own state (of20 pleasure or displeasure), to the exclusion of precepts and rules.

There is, however, a matter upon which it is competent for critics to exercise their subtlety, and upon which they ought to do so, so long as it tends to the rectification and extension of our judgements of taste. But that matter is not one of25 exhibiting the determining ground of aesthetic judgements of this kind in a universally applicable formula—which is impossible. Rather is it the investigation of the faculties of cognition and their function in these judgements, and the illustration, by the analysis of examples, of their mutual subjective finality, the30 form of which in a given representation has been shown above to constitute the beauty of their object. Hence with regard to 142the representation whereby an Object is given, the Critique of Taste itself is only subjective; viz. it is the art or science of reducing the mutual relation of the understanding and the imagination in the given representation (without reference to antecedent sensation or concept), consequently their accordance5 or discordance, to rules, and of determining them with regard to their conditions. It is art if it only illustrates this by examples; it is science if it deduces the possibility of such an estimate from the nature of these faculties as faculties of knowledge in general. It is only with the latter, as Transcendental10 Critique, that we have here any concern. Its proper scope is the development and justification of the subjective principle of taste, as an a priori principle of judgement. As an art, Critique merely looks to the physiological (here psychological), and, consequently, empirical rules, according to which in actual15 fact taste proceeds, (passing by the question of their possibility,) and seeks to apply them in estimating its objects. The latter Critique criticizes the products of fine art, just as the former does the faculty of estimating them.

The principle of taste is the subjective principle of the
general power of judgement

The judgement of taste is differentiated from logical judgement by the fact that, whereas the latter subsumes a representation under a concept of the Object, the judgement of25 taste does not subsume under a concept at all—for, if it did, necessary and universal approval would be capable of being enforced by proofs. And yet it does bear this resemblance to the logical judgement, that it asserts a universality 5:287and necessity, not, however, according to concepts of the Object, 30 but a universality and necessity that are, consequently, merely subjective. Now the concepts in a judgement constitute its 143content (what belongs to the cognition of the Object). But the judgement of taste is not determinable by means of concepts. Hence it can only have its ground in the subjective formal condition of a judgement in general The subjective condition of all judgements is the judging faculty itself, or5 judgement. Employed in respect of a representation whereby an object is given, this requires the harmonious accordance of two powers of representation. These are, the imagination (for the intuition and the arrangement of the manifold of intuition), and the understanding (for the concept as a repre10sentation of the unity of this arrangement). Now, since no concept of the Object underlies the judgement here, it can consist only in the subsumption of the imagination itself (in the case of a representation whereby an object is given) under the conditions enabling the understanding in general to15 advance from the intuition to concepts. That is to say, since the freedom of the imagination consists precisely in the fact that it schematizes without a concept, the judgement of taste must found upon a mere sensation of the mutually quickening activity of the imagination in its freedom, and of20 the understanding with its conformity to law. It must therefore rest upon a feeling that allows the object to be estimated by the finality of the representation (by which an object is given) for the furtherance of the cognitive faculties in their free play. Taste, then, as a subjective power of judgement,25 contains a principle of subsumption, not of intuitions under concepts, but of the faculty of intuitions or presentations, i. e. of the imagination, under the faculty of concepts, i. e. the understanding, so far as the former in its freedom accords with the latter in its conformity to law.30

For the discovery of this title by means of a Deduction of judgements of taste, we can only avail ourselves of the guidance of the formal peculiarities of judgements of this kind, and consequently the mere consideration of their logical form.

To form a cognitive judgement we may immediately connect with the perception of an object the concept of an object in general, the empirical predicates of which 5:288are contained in5 that perception. In this way a judgement of experience is produced. Now this judgement rests on the foundation of a priori concepts of the synthetical unity of the manifold of intuition enabling it to be thought as the determination of an Object. These concepts (the categories) call for a Deduction,10 and such was supplied in the Critique of Pure Reason. That Deduction enabled us to solve the problem, How are synthetical a priori cognitive judgements possible? This problem had, accordingly, to do with the a priori principles of pure understanding and its theoretical judgements.15

But we may also immediately connect with a perception a feeling of pleasure (or displeasure) and a delight attending the representation of the Object and serving it instead of a predicate. In this way there arises a judgement which is aesthetic and not cognitive. Now, if such a judgement is not merely one20 of sensation, but a formal judgement of reflection that exacts this delight from every one as necessary, something must lie at its basis as its a priori principle. This principle may, indeed, be a mere subjective one, (supposing an objective one should be impossible for judgements of this kind,) but, even as such, it25 requires a Deduction to make it intelligible how an aesthetic judgement can lay claim to necessity. That, now, is what lies at the bottom of the problem upon which we are at present engaged, i. e. How are judgements of taste possible? This problem, therefore, is concerned with the a priori principles30 of pure judgement in aesthetic judgements, i. e. not those in which (as in theoretical judgements) it has merely to subsume under objective concepts of understanding, and in which it 145comes under a law, but rather those in which it is itself, subjectively, object as well as law.

We may also put the problem in this way: How is a judgement possible which, going merely upon the individual’s own feeling of pleasure in an object independent of the concept of5 it, estimates this as a pleasure attached to the representation of the same Object in every other individual, and does so a priori, i. e. without being allowed to wait and see if other people will be of the same mind?

It is easy to see that judgements of taste are synthetic, for10 they go beyond the concept and even the intuition of the Object, and join as predicate to that intuition something which is not even a cognition at all, namely, the feeling of pleasure (or displeasure). But, although the predicate (the personal pleasure that is connected with the representation) is15 empirical, still we need not go further than what is involved in the expressions of their claim to see that, so far as concerns the agreement required of 5:289every one, they are a priori judgements, or mean to pass for such. This problem of the Critique of Judgement, therefore, is part of the general20 problem of transcendental philosophy: How are synthetic a priori judgements possible?

What exactly it is, that is asserted a priori of an object in a judgement of taste.25

The immediate synthesis of the representation of an object with pleasure can only be a matter of internal perception, and, were nothing more than this sought to be indicated, would only yield a mere empirical judgement. For with no representation can I a priori connect a determinate30 feeling (of pleasure or displeasure) except where I rely upon the basis of an a priori principle in reason deter146mining the will. The truth is that the pleasure (in the moral feeling) is the consequence of the determination of the will by the principle. It cannot, therefore, be compared with the pleasure in taste. For it requires a determinate concept of a law: whereas the pleasure in taste has to be connected5 immediately with the simple estimate prior to any concept. For the same reason, also, all judgements of taste are singular judgements, for they unite their predicate of delight, not to a concept, but to a given singular empirical representation.

Hence, in a judgement of taste, what is represented a priori10 as a universal rule for the judgement and as valid for every one, is not the pleasure but the universal validity of this pleasure perceived, as it is, to be combined in the mind with the mere estimate of an object. A judgement to the effect that it is with pleasure that I perceive and estimate some object is an15 empirical judgement. But if it asserts that I think the object beautiful, i. e. that I may attribute that delight to every one as necessary, it is then an a priori judgement.

Admitting that in a pure judgement of taste the delight in the object is connected with the mere estimate of its form, then what we feel to be associated in the mind with the representation of the object is nothing else than its subjective finality 5:290for judgement. Since, now, in respect of the formal rules of25 estimating, apart from all matter (whether sensation or concept), judgement can only be directed to the subjective conditions of its employment in general, (which is not restricted to the particular mode of sense nor to a particular concept of the understanding,) and so can only be directed to that subjective30 factor which we may presuppose in all men (as requisite for a possible experience generally), it follows that the accordance of a representation with these conditions of the judgement must 147admit of being assumed valid a priori for every one. In other words, we are warranted in exacting from every one the pleasure or subjective finality of the representation in respect of the relation of the cognitive faculties engaged in the estimate of a sensible object in general.¹5

What makes this Deduction so easy is that it is spared the necessity of having to justify the objective reality of a concept. For beauty is not a concept of the Object, and the judgement of taste is not a cognitive judgement. All that it holds out for10 is that we are justified in presupposing that the same subjective conditions of judgement which we find in ourselves are universally present in every man, and further that we have rightly subsumed the given Object under these conditions. The latter, no doubt, has to face unavoidable difficulties which15 do not affect the logical judgement. (For there the subsumption is under concepts; whereas in the aesthetic judgement it is under a 5:291mere sensible relation of the imagination and understanding mutually harmonizing with one another in the represented form of the Object, in which case the subsumption20 may easily prove fallacious.) But this in no way detracts from 148the legitimacy of the claim of the judgement to count upon universal agreement—a claim which amounts to no more than this: the correctness of the principle of judging validly for every one upon subjective grounds. For as to the difficulty and uncertainty concerning the correctness of the subsumption5 under that principle, it no more casts a doubt upon the legitimacy of the claim to this validity on the part of an aesthetic judgement generally, or, therefore, upon the principle itself, than the mistakes (though not so often or easily incurred), to which the subsumption of the logical judgement under its10 principle is similarly liable, can render the latter principle, which is objective, open to doubt But if the question were: How is it possible to assume a priori that nature is a complex of objects of taste? the problem would then have reference to teleology, because it would have to be regarded as an end of15 nature belonging essentially to its concept that it should exhibit forms that are final for our judgement. But the correctness of this assumption may still be seriously questioned, while the actual existence of beauties of nature is patent to experience.20

Sensation, as the real in perception, where referred to knowledge, is called organic sensation and its specific Quality may be represented as completely communicable to others in25 a like mode, provided we assume that every one has a like sense to our own. This, however, is an absolutely inadmissible presupposition in the case of an organic sensation. Thus a person who is without a sense of smell cannot have a sensation of this kind communicated to him, and, even if he does not30 suffer from this deficiency, we still cannot be certain that he gets precisely the same sensation from a flower that we get 149from it. But still more divergent must we consider men to be in respect of the agreeableness or disagreeableness derived from the sensation of one and the same object of sense, and it is absolutely out of the question to require that pleasure in such objects should be acknowledged by every one. Pleasure of5 this 5:292kind, since it enters into the mind through sense—our rôle, therefore, being a passive one—may be called the pleasure of enjoyment.

On the other hand delight in an action on the score of its moral character is not a pleasure of enjoyment, but one of self-10asserting activity and in this coming up to the idea of what it is meant to be. But this feeling, which is called the moral feeling, requires concepts, and is the presentation of a finality, not free, but according to law. It, therefore, admits of communication only through the instrumentality of reason and, if the pleasure15 is to be of the same kind for every one, by means of very determinate practical concepts of reason.

The pleasure in the sublime in nature, as one of rationalizing contemplation, lays claim also to universal participation, but still it presupposes another feeling, that, namely, of our super20sensible sphere, which feeling, however obscure it may be, has a moral foundation. But there is absolutely no authority for my presupposing that others will pay attention to this, and take a delight in beholding the uncouth dimensions of nature, (one that in truth cannot be ascribed to its aspect, which is terrifying25 rather than otherwise). Nevertheless, having regard to the fact that attention ought to be paid upon every appropriate occasion to this moral birthright, we may still demand that delight from every one; but we can do so only through the moral law, which, in its turn, rests upon concepts of reason.30

The pleasure in the beautiful is, on the other hand, neither a pleasure of enjoyment nor of an activity according to law, nor yet one of a rationalizing contemplation according to ideas, but rather of mere reflection. Without any guiding-line of end or 150principle this pleasure attends the ordinary apprehension of an object by means of the imagination, as the faculty of intuition, but with a reference to the understanding as faculty of concepts, and through the operation of a process of judgement which has also to be invoked in order to obtain the commonest experience.5 In the latter case, however, its functions are directed to perceiving an empirical objective concept, whereas in the former (in the aesthetic mode of estimating) merely to perceiving the adequacy of the representation for engaging both faculties of knowledge in their freedom in an harmonious (subjectively-10final) employment, i. e. to feeling with pleasure the subjective bearings of the representation. This pleasure must of necessity depend for every one upon the same conditions, seeing that they are the subjective conditions of the possibility of a cognition in general, and the proportion of these 5:293cognitive faculties15 which is requisite for taste is requisite also for ordinary sound understanding, the presence of which we are entitled to presuppose in every one. And, for this reason also, one who judges with taste, (provided he does not make a mistake as to this consciousness, and does not take the matter for the form, or20 charm for beauty,) can impute the subjective finality, i. e. his delight in the Object, to every one else, and suppose his feeling universally communicable, and that, too, without the mediation of concepts.

The name of sense is often given to judgement where what attracts attention is not so much its reflective act as merely its result. So we speak of a sense of truth, of a sense of propriety, or of justice, &c. And yet, of course, we know, or at least30 ought well enough to know, that a sense cannot be the true abode of these concepts, not to speak of its being competent, even in 151the slightest degree, to pronounce universal rules. On the contrary, we recognize that a representation of this kind, be it of truth, propriety, beauty, or justice, could never enter our thoughts were we not able to raise ourselves above the level of the senses to that of higher faculties of cognition.5 Common human understanding which, as mere sound (not yet cultivated) understanding, is looked upon as the least we can expect from any one claiming the name of man, has therefore the doubtful honour of having the name of common sense (sensus communis) bestowed upon it; and bestowed, too, in an10 acceptation of the word common (not merely in our own language, where it actually has a double meaning, but also in many others) which makes it amount to what is vulgar—what is everywhere to be met with—a quality which by no means confers credit or distinction upon its possessor.15

However, by the name sensus communis is to be understood the idea of a public sense, i. e. a critical faculty which in its reflective act takes account (a priori) of the mode of representation of every one else, in order, as it were, to weigh its judgement with the collective reason of mankind, and thereby avoid20 the illusion arising from subjective and personal conditions which could readily be taken for objective, an illusion that would exert a prejudicial influence upon its judgement. 5:294This is accomplished by weighing the judgement, not so much with actual, as rather with the merely possible, judgements of others,25 and by putting ourselves in the position of every one else, as the result of a mere abstraction from the limitations which contingently affect our own estimate. This, in turn, is effected by so far as possible letting go the element of matter, i. e. sensation, in our general state of representative activity, and30 confining attention to the formal peculiarities of our representation or general state of representative activity. Now it may seem that this operation of reflection is too artificial to be attributed to the faculty which we call common sense. But this 152is an appearance due only to its expression in abstract formulae. In itself nothing is more natural than to abstract from charm and emotion where one is looking for a judgement intended to serve as a universal rule.

While the following maxims of common human understand5ing do not properly come in here as constituent parts of the Critique of Taste, they may still serve to elucidate its fundamental propositions. They are these: (1) to think for oneself; (2) to think from the standpoint of every one else; (3) always to think consistently. The first is the maxim of unprejudiced10 thought, the second that of enlarged thought, the third that of consistent thought. The first is the maxim of a never-passive reason. To be given to such passivity, consequently to heteronomy of reason, is called prejudice; and the greatest of all prejudices is that of fancying nature not to be subject to rules15 which the understanding by virtue of its own essential law lays at its basis, i. e. superstition. Emancipation from superstition is called enlightenment;¹ for although this term applies also to emancipation from prejudices generally, still superstition deserves pre-eminently (in sensu eminenti) to be called a prejudice. For20 the condition of blindness into which superstition puts one, which it as much as demands from one as an obligation, 5:295makes the need of being led by others, and consequently the passive state of the reason, pre-eminently conspicuous. As to the second maxim belonging to our habits of thought, we have quite got into the way25 153of calling a man narrow (narrow, as opposed to being of enlarged mind) whose talents fall short of what is required for employment upon work of any magnitude (especially that involving intensity). But the question here is not one of the faculty of cognition, but of the mental habit of making a final use of it. This, however5 small the range and degree to which a man’s natural endowments extend, still indicates a man of enlarged mind: if he detaches himself from the subjective personal conditions of his judgement, which cramp the minds of so many others, and reflects upon his own judgement from a universal standpoint (which10 he can only determine by shifting his ground to the standpoint of others). The third maxim—that, namely, of consistent thought—is the hardest of attainment, and is only attainable by the union of both the former, and after constant attention to them has made one at home in their observance. We may15 say: the first of these is the maxim of understanding, the second that of judgement, the third that of reason.

I resume the thread of the discussion interrupted by the above digression, and I say that taste can with more justice be called a sensus communis than can sound understanding;20 and that the aesthetic, rather than the intellectual, judgement can bear the name of a public sense,¹ i. e. taking it that we are prepared to use the word ‘sense’ of an effect that mere reflection has upon the mind; for then by sense we mean the feeling of pleasure. We might even define taste as the faculty25 of estimating what makes our feeling in a given representation universally communicable without the mediation of a concept.

The aptitude of men for communicating their thoughts requires, also, a relation between the imagination and the understanding, in order to connect intuitions with concepts,30 and concepts, in turn, with intuitions, which both unite in cognition. But there the agreement of both mental powers is 154according to law, and under the constraint of definite 5:296concepts. Only when the imagination in its freedom stirs the understanding, and the understanding apart from concepts puts the imagination into regular play, does the representation communicate itself not as thought, but as an internal feeling of a final state of the mind.5

Taste is, therefore, the faculty of forming an a priori estimate of the communicability of the feelings that, without the mediation of a concept, are connected with a given representation.

Supposing, now, that we could assume that the mere universal communicability of our feeling must of itself carry with it10 an interest for us (an assumption, however, which we are not entitled to draw as a conclusion from the character of a merely reflective judgement), we should then be in a position to explain how the feeling in the judgement of taste comes to be exacted from every one as a sort of duty.15

Abundant proof has been given above to show that the judgement of taste by which something is declared beautiful must have no interest as its determining ground. But it does20 not follow from this that after it has once been posited as a pure aesthetic judgement, an interest cannot then enter into combination with it. This combination, however, can never be anything but indirect. Taste must, that is to say, first of all be represented in conjunction with something else, if the delight25 attending the mere reflection upon an object is to admit of having further conjoined with it a pleasure in the real existence of the object (as that wherein all interest consists). For the saying, a posse ad esse non valet consequentia, which is applied to cognitive judgements, holds good here in the case of aesthetic30 judgements. Now this ‘something else’ may be something 155empirical, such as an inclination proper to the nature of human beings, or it may be something intellectual, as a property of the will whereby it admits of rational determination a priori. Both of these involve a delight in the existence of the Object, and so can lay the foundation for an interest in what has already pleased5 of itself and without regard to any interest whatsoever.

The empirical interest in the beautiful exists only in society. And if we admit that the impulse to society is natural to mankind, and that the suitability for and the propensity towards it, i. e. sociability, is a property essential to the 5:297requirements of man as10 a creature intended for society, and one, therefore, that belongs to humanity, it is inevitable that we should also look upon taste in the light of a faculty for estimating whatever enables us to communicate even our feeling to every one else, and hence as a means of promoting that upon which the natural inclination of15 every one is set.

With no one to take into account but himself a man abandoned on a desert island would not adorn either himself or his hut, nor would he look for flowers, and still less plant them, with the object of providing himself with personal adornments. Only20 in society does it occur to him to be not merely a man, but a man refined after the manner of his kind (the beginning of civilization)—for that is the estimate formed of one who has the bent and turn for communicating his pleasure to others, and who is not quite satisfied with an Object unless his feeling of delight25 in it can be shared in communion with others. Further, a regard to universal communicability is a thing which every one expects and requires from every one else, just as if it were part of an original compact dictated by humanity itself. And thus, no doubt, at first only charms, e.g. colours for painting oneself30 (roucou among the Caribs and cinnabar among the Iroquois), or flowers, sea-shells, beautifully coloured feathers, then, in the course of time, also beautiful forms (as in canoes, wearing-apparel, &c.) which convey no gratification, i. e. delight of enjoyment, 156become of moment in society and attract a considerable interest. Eventually, when civilization has reached its height it makes this work of communication almost the main business of refined inclination, and the entire value of sensations is placed in the degree to which they permit of universal communication. At5 this stage, then, even where the pleasure which each one has in an object is but insignificant and possesses of itself no conspicuous interest, still the idea of its universal communicability almost indefinitely augments its value.

This interest, indirectly attached to the beautiful by the10 inclination towards society, and, consequently, empirical, is, however, of no importance for us here. For that to which we have alone to look is what can have a bearing a priori, even though indirect, upon the judgement of taste. For, if even in this form an associated interest should betray itself, taste would15 then reveal a transition on the part of our critical faculty from the enjoyment of sense to the moral feeling. This would not merely mean that we should be supplied with a more effectual guide for the final employment of taste, 5:298but taste would further be presented as a link in the chain of the human faculties20 a priori upon which all legislation must depend. This much may certainly be said of the empirical interest in objects of taste, and in taste itself, that as taste thus pays homage to inclination however refined, such interest will nevertheless readily fuse also with all inclinations and passions, which in society attain to25 their greatest variety and highest degree, and the interest in the beautiful, if this is made its ground, can but afford a very ambiguous transition from the agreeable to the good. We have reason, however, to inquire whether this transition may not still in some way be furthered by means of taste when taken30 in its purity.

It has been with the best intentions that those who love to see in the ultimate end of humanity, namely the morally good, the goal of all activities to which men are impelled by the5 inner bent of their nature, have regarded it as a mark of a good moral character to take an interest in the beautiful generally. But they have, not without reason, been contradicted by others who appeal to the fact of experience, that virtuosi in matters of taste, being not alone often, but one might say as a general10 rule, vain, capricious, and addicted to injurious passions, could perhaps more rarely than others lay claim to any pre-eminent attachment to moral principles. And so it would seem, not only that the feeling for the beautiful is specifically different from the moral feeling (which as a matter of fact is the case),15 but also that the interest which we may combine with it, will hardly consort with the moral, and certainly not on grounds of inner affinity.

Now I willingly admit that the interest in the beautiful of art (including under this heading the artificial use of natural beauties20 for personal adornment, and so from vanity) gives no evidence at all of a habit of mind attached to the morally good, or even inclined that way. But, on the other hand, I do maintain that to take an immediate interest in the beauty of nature (not merely to have taste in estimating it) is always a mark of a good25 soul; and that, 5:299where this interest is habitual, it is at least indicative of a temper of mind favourable to the moral feeling that it should readily associate itself with the contemplation of nature. It must, however, be borne in mind that I mean to refer strictly to the beautiful forms of nature, and to put to30 one side the charms which she is wont so lavishly to combine with them; because, though the interest in these is no doubt immediate, it is nevertheless empirical.

158 One who alone (and without any intention of communicating his observations to others) regards the beautiful form of a wild flower, a bird, an insect, or the like, out of admiration and love of them, and being loath to let them escape him in nature, even at the risk of some misadventure to himself—so far from5 there being any prospect of advantage to him—such a one takes an immediate, and in fact intellectual, interest in the beauty of nature. This means that he is not alone pleased with nature’s product in respect of its form, but is also pleased at its existence, and is so without any charm of sense10 having a share in the matter, or without his associating with it any end whatsoever.

In this connexion, however, it is of note that were we to play a trick on our lover of the beautiful, and plant in the ground artificial flowers (which can be made so as to look just like15 natural ones), and perch artfully carved birds on the branches of trees, and he were to find out how he had been taken in, the immediate interest which these things previously had for him would at once vanish—though, perhaps, a different interest might intervene in its stead, that, namely, of vanity in decorat20ing his room with them for the eyes of others. The fact is that our intuition and reflection must have as their concomitant the thought that the beauty in question is nature’s handiwork; and this is the sole basis of the immediate interest that is taken in it. Failing this we are either left with a bare judgement of25 taste void of all interest whatever, or else only with one that is combined with an interest that is mediate, involving, namely, a reference to society; which latter affords no reliable indication of morally good habits of thought.

The superiority which natural beauty has over that of art,30 even where it is excelled by the latter in point of form, in yet being alone able to awaken an immediate interest, accords with the refined and well-grounded habits of thought of all men who have cultivated their moral feeling. If a man with taste enough 159to judge of works of fine art with the greatest correctness and refinement 5:300readily quits the room in which he meets with those beauties that minister to vanity or, at least, social joys, and betakes himself to the beautiful in nature, so that he may there find as it were a feast for his soul in a train of thought which5 he can never completely evolve, we will then regard this his choice even with veneration, and give him credit for a beautiful soul, to which no connoisseur or art collector can lay claim on the score of the interest which his objects have for him.—Here, now, are two kinds of Objects which in the judgement of mere10 taste could scarcely contend with one another for a superiority. What then, is the distinction that makes us hold them in such different esteem?

We have a faculty of judgement which is merely aesthetic—a faculty of judging of forms without the aid of concepts, and15 of finding, in the mere estimate of them, a delight that we at the same time make into a rule for every one, without this judgement being founded on an interest, or yet producing one.—On the other hand we have also a faculty of intellectual judgement for the mere forms of practical maxims, (so far as20 they are of themselves qualified for universal legislation,)—a faculty of determining an a priori delight, which we make into a law for every one, without our judgement being founded on any interest, though here it produces one. The pleasure or displeasure in the former judgement is called that of taste; the25 latter is called that of the moral feeling.

But, now, reason is further interested in ideas (for which in our moral feeling it brings about an immediate interest,) having also objective reality. That is to say, it is of interest to reason that nature should at least show a trace or give a hint that it30 contains in itself some ground or other for assuming a uniform accordance of its products with our wholly disinterested delight (a delight which we cognize a priori as a law for every one without being able to ground it upon proofs). That being so, 160reason must take an interest in every manifestation on the part of nature of some such accordance. Hence the mind cannot reflect on the beauty of nature without at the same time finding its interest engaged. But this interest is akin to the moral. One, then, who takes such an interest in the beautiful in nature can5 only do so in so far as he has previously set his interest deep in the foundations of the morally good. On these grounds we have reason 5:301for presuming the presence of at least the germ of a good moral disposition in the case of a man to whom the beauty of nature is a matter of immediate interest.10

It will be said that this interpretation of aesthetic judgements on the basis of kinship with our moral feeling has far too studied an appearance to be accepted as the true construction of the cypher in which nature speaks to us figuratively in its beautiful forms. But, first of all, this immediate interest in the beauty15 of nature is not in fact common. It is peculiar to those whose habits of thought are already trained to the good or else are eminently susceptible of such training; and under these circumstances the analogy in which the pure judgement of taste that, without relying upon any interest, gives us a feeling of delight,20 and at the same time represents it a priori as proper to mankind in general, stands to the moral judgement that does just the same from concepts, is one which, without any clear, subtle, and deliberate reflection, conduces to a like immediate interest being taken in the objects of the former judgement as in those25 of the latter—with this one difference, that the interest in the first case is free, while in the latter it is one founded on objective laws. In addition to this there is our admiration of nature which in her beautiful products displays herself as art, not as mere matter of chance, but, as it were, designedly, according to30 a law-directed arrangement, and as finality apart from any end. As we never meet with such an end outside ourselves, we naturally look for it in ourselves, and, in fact, in that which constitutes the ultimate end of our existence—the moral side 161of our being. (The inquiry into the ground of the possibility of such a natural finality will, however, first come under discussion in the Teleology.)

The fact that the delight in beautiful art does not, in the pure judgement of taste, involve an immediate interest, as does that5 in beautiful nature, may be readily explained. For the former is either such an imitation of the latter as goes the length of deceiving us, in which case it acts upon us in the character of a natural beauty, which we take it to be; or else it is an intentional art obviously directed to our delight. In the latter10 case, however, the delight in the product would, it is true, be brought about immediately by taste, but there would be nothing but a mediate interest in the cause that lay beneath—an interest, namely, in an art only capable of interesting by its end, and never in itself. It will, perhaps, be said that this15 is also the case where an Object of nature only interests by its beauty so far as 5:302a moral idea is brought into partnership therewith. But it is not the object that is of immediate interest, but rather the inherent character of the beauty qualifying it for such a partnership—a character, therefore, that belongs to the20 very essence of beauty.

The charms in natural beauty, which are to be found blended, as it were, so frequently with beauty of form, belong either to the modifications of light (in colouring) or of sound (in tones). For these are the only sensations which25 permit not merely of a feeling of the senses, but also of reflection upon the form of these modifications of sense, and so embody as it were a language in which nature speaks to us and which has the semblance of a higher meaning. Thus the white colour of the lily seems to dispose the mind to ideas of30 innocence, and the other seven colours, following the series from the red to the violet, similarly to ideas of (1) sublimity, (2) courage, (3) candour, (4) amiability, (5) modesty, (6) constancy, (7) tenderness. The bird’s song tells of joyousness 162and contentment with its existence. At least so we interpret nature—whether such be its purpose or not. But it is the indispensable requisite of the interest which we here take in beauty, that the beauty should be that of nature, and it vanishes completely as soon as we are conscious of having been deceived,5 and that it is only the work of art—so completely that even taste can then no longer find in it anything beautiful nor sight anything attractive. What do poets set more store on than the nightingale’s bewitching and beautiful note, in a lonely thicket on a still summer evening by the soft light of the moon? And10 yet we have instances of how, where no such songster was to be found, a jovial host has played a trick on the guests with him on a visit to enjoy the country air, and has done so to their huge satisfaction, by hiding in a thicket a rogue of a youth who (with a reed or rush in his mouth) knew how to reproduce15 this note so as to hit off nature to perfection. But the instant one realizes that it is all a fraud no one will long endure listening to this song that before was regarded as so attractive. And it is just the same with the song of any other bird. It must be nature, or be mistaken by us for nature, to enable us20 to take an immediate interest in the beautiful as such; and this is all the more so if we may even call upon others to take a similar interest. And such a demand we do in fact 5:303make, since we regard as coarse and low the habits of thought of those who have no feeling for beautiful nature (for this is the25 word we use for susceptibility to an interest in the contemplation of beautiful nature), and who devote themselves to the mere enjoyments of sense found in eating and drinking.

(1.) Art is distinguished from nature as making (facere) is from acting or operating in general (agere), and the product or the 163result of the former is distinguished from that of the latter as work (opus) from operation (effectus).

By right it is only production through freedom, i. e. through an act of will that places reason at the basis of its action, that should be termed art. For, although we are pleased to call5 what bees produce (their regularly constructed cells) a work of art, we only do so on the strength of an analogy with art; that is to say, as soon as we call to mind that no rational deliberation forms the basis of their labour, we say at once that it is a product of their nature (of instinct), and it is only to their Creator that10 we ascribe it as art.

If, as sometimes happens, in a search through a bog, we light on a piece of hewn wood, we do not say it is a product of nature but of art. Its producing cause had an end in view to which the object owes its form. Apart from such cases, we15 recognize an art in everything formed in such a way that its actuality must have been preceded by a representation of the thing in its cause (as even in the case of the bees), although the effect could not have been thought by the cause. But where anything is called absolutely a work of art, to distinguish it from20 a natural product, then some work of man is always understood.

(2.) Art, as human skill, is distinguished also from science (as ability from knowledge), as a practical from a theoretical faculty, as technic from theory (as the art of surveying from geometry).

For this reason, also, what one can do the moment one only25 knows what is to be done, hence without anything more than sufficient knowledge of the desired result, is not called art. To art that alone belongs for which the possession of the most complete knowledge 5:304does not involve one’s having then and there the skill to do it. Camper describes very exactly how30 the best shoe must be made, but he, doubtless, was not able to turn one out himself.¹

(3.) Art is further distinguished from handicraft. The first is called free, the other may be called industrial art. We look on the former as something which could only prove final (be a success) as play, i. e. an occupation which is agreeable on its own account; but on the second as labour, i. e. a business,5 which on its own account is disagreeable (drudgery), and is only attractive by means of what it results in (e. g. the pay), and which is consequently capable of being a compulsory imposition, Whether in the list of arts and crafts we are to rank watchmakers as artists, and smiths on the contrary as craftsmen,10 requires a standpoint different from that here adopted—one, that is to say, taking account of the proportion of the talents which the business undertaken in either case must necessarily involve. Whether, also, among the so-called seven free arts some may not have been included which should be reckoned15 as sciences, and many, too, that resemble handicraft, is a matter I will not discuss here. It is not amiss, however, to remind the reader of this: that in all free arts something of a compulsory character is still required, or, as it is called, a mechanism, without which the soul, which in art must be free, and which alone20 gives life to the work, would be bodyless and evanescent (e. g. in the poetic art there must be correctness and wealth of language, likewise prosody and metre). For not a few leaders of a newer school believe that the best way to promote a free art is to sweep away all restraint, and convert it from25 labour into mere play.

There is no science of the beautiful, but only a Critique. Nor, again, is there an elegant (schöne) science, but only a fine (schöne) art. For a science of the beautiful would have to de5termine scientifically, i. e. by means of proofs, 5:305whether a thing was to be considered beautiful or not; and the judgement upon beauty, consequently, would, if belonging to science, fail to be a judgement of taste. As for a beautiful science—a science which, as such, is to be beautiful, is a nonentity. For if,10 treating it as a science, we were to ask for reasons and proofs, we would be put off with elegant phrases (bons mots). What has given rise to the current expression elegant sciences is, doubtless, no more than this, that common observation has, quite accurately, noted the fact that for fine art, in the fulness of its15 perfection, a large store of science is required, as, for example, knowledge of ancient languages, acquaintance with classical authors, history, antiquarian learning, &c. Hence these historical sciences, owing to the fact that they form the necessary preparation and groundwork for fine art, and partly also owing20 to the fact that they are taken to comprise even the knowledge of the products of fine art (rhetoric and poetry), have by a confusion of words, actually got the name of elegant sciences.

Where art, merely seeking to actualize a possible object to the cognition of which it is adequate, does whatever acts are25 required for that purpose, then it is mechanical. But should the feeling of pleasure be what it has immediately in view it is then termed aesthetic art. As such it may be either agreeable or fine art. The description ‘agreeable art’ applies where the end of the art is that the pleasure should accompany the representa30tions considered as mere sensations, the description ‘fine art’ where it is to accompany them considered as modes of cognition.

Agreeable arts are those which have mere enjoyment for 166their object. Such are all the charms that can gratify a dinner party: entertaining narrative, the art of starting the whole table in unrestrained and sprightly conversation, or with jest and laughter inducing a certain air of gaiety. Here, as the saying goes, there may be much loose talk over the glasses,5 without a person wishing to be brought to book for all he utters, because it is only given out for the entertainment of the moment, and not as a lasting matter to be made the subject of reflection or repetition. (Of the same sort is also the art of arranging the table for enjoyment, or, at large banquets, the10 music of the orchestra—a quaint idea intended to act on the mind merely as an agreeable noise fostering a genial spirit, which, without any one paying the smallest attention to the composition, promotes the free flow of conversation between guest 5:306and guest.) In addition must be included play of every15 kind which is attended with no further interest than that of making the time pass by unheeded.

Fine art, on the other hand, is a mode of representation which is intrinsically final, and which, although devoid of an end, has the effect of advancing the culture of the mental20 powers in the interests of social communication.

The universal communicability of a pleasure involves in its very concept that the pleasure is not one of enjoyment arising out of mere sensation, but must be one of reflection. Hence aesthetic art, as art which is beautiful, is one having for its25 standard the reflective judgement and not organic sensation.

Fine art is an art, so far as it has at the same time
the appearance of being nature.

A product of fine art must be recognized to be art and not30 nature. Nevertheless the finality in its form must appear just as free from the constraint of arbitrary rules as if it were 167a product of mere nature. Upon this feeling of freedom in the play of our cognitive faculties—which play has at the same time to be final—rests that pleasure which alone is universally communicable without being based on concepts. Nature proved beautiful when it wore the appearance of art; and art can only5 be termed beautiful, where we are conscious of its being art, while yet it has the appearance of nature.

For, whether we are dealing with beauty of nature or beauty of art, we may make the universal statement: that is beautiful which pleases in the mere estimate of it (not in sensation or by10 means of a concept). Now art has always got a definite intention of producing something. Were this ‘something’, however, to be mere sensation (something merely subjective), intended to be accompanied with pleasure, then such product would, in our estimation of it, only please through the agency of the feeling of15 the senses. On the other hand, were the intention one directed to the production of a definite object, then, supposing this were attained by art, the object would only please by means of a concept. But in both cases the art would please, not in the mere estimate of it, i. e. not as fine art, but rather as20 mechanical art.

Hence the finality in the product of fine art, 5:307intentional though it be, must not have the appearance of being intentional; i. e. fine art must be clothed with the aspect of nature, although we recognize it to be art. But the way in which25 a product of art seems like nature, is by the presence of perfect exactness in the agreement with rules prescribing how alone the product can be what it is intended to be, but with an absence of laboured effect, (without academic form betraying itself,) i. e. without a trace appearing of the artist having always had30 the rule present to him and of its having fettered his mental powers.

Genius is the talent (natural endowment) which gives the rule to art. Since talent, as an innate productive faculty of the artist, belongs itself to nature, we may put it this way: Genius5 is the innate mental aptitude (ingenium) through which nature gives the rule to art.

Whatever may be the merits of this definition, and whether it is merely arbitrary, or whether it is adequate or not to the concept usually associated with the word genius (a point which10 the following sections have to clear up), it may still be shown at the outset that, according to this acceptation of the word, fine arts must necessarily be regarded as arts of genius.

For every art presupposes rules which are laid down as the foundation which first enables a product, if it is to be called one15 of art, to be represented as possible. The concept of fine art, however, does not permit of the judgement upon the beauty of its product being derived from any rule that has a concept for its determining ground, and that depends, consequently, on a concept of the way in which the product is possible. Consequently20 fine art cannot of its own self excogitate the rule according to which it is to effectuate its product. But since, for all that, a product can never be called art unless there is a preceding rule, it follows that nature in the individual (and by virtue of the harmony of his faculties) must give the rule to art, i. e. fine25 art is only possible as a product of genius.

From this it may be seen that genius (1) is a talent for producing that for which no definite rule can be given: and not an aptitude in the way of cleverness for what can be learned according to some rule; 5:308and that consequently originality must30 be its primary property. (2) Since there may also be original nonsense, its products must at the same time be models, i. e. be exemplary; and, consequently, though not themselves derived 169from imitation, they must serve that purpose for others, i. e. as a standard or rule of estimating. (3) It cannot indicate scientifically how it brings about its product, but rather gives the rule as nature. Hence, where an author owes a product to his genius, he does not himself know how the ideas for it have entered into his5 head, nor has he it in his power to invent the like at pleasure, or methodically, and communicate the same to others in such precepts as would put them in a position to produce similar products. (Hence, presumably, our word Genie is derived from genius, as the peculiar guardian and guiding spirit given to10 a man at his birth, by the inspiration of which those original ideas were obtained.) (4) Nature prescribes the rule through genius not to science but to art, and this also only in so far as it is to be fine art.

Every one is agreed on the point of the complete opposition between genius and the spirit of imitation. Now since learning is nothing but imitation, the greatest ability, or aptness as a20 pupil (capacity), is still, as such, not equivalent to genius. Even though a man weaves his own thoughts or fancies, instead of merely taking in what others have thought, and even though he go so far as to bring fresh gains to art and science, this does not afford a valid reason for calling such a man of brains, and often25 great brains, a genius, in contradistinction to one who goes by the name of shallow-pate, because he can never do more than merely learn and follow a lead. For what is accomplished in this way is something that could have been learned. Hence it all lies in the natural path of investigation and reflection according to rules,30 and so is not specifically distinguishable from what may be acquired as the result of industry backed up by imitation. So all 170that Newton has set forth in his immortal work on the Principles of Natural Philosophy may well be learned, however great a mind it took to find it all out, but we cannot learn to write in a true poetic vein, no matter how 5:309complete all the precepts of the poetic art may be, or however excellent its models. The5 reason is that all the steps that Newton had to take from the first elements of geometry to his greatest and most profound discoveries were such as he could make intuitively evident and plain to follow, not only for himself but for every one else. On the other hand no Homer or Wieland can show how his ideas, so10 rich at once in fancy and in thought, enter and assemble themselves in his brain, for the good reason that he does not himself know, and so cannot teach others. In matters of science, therefore, the greatest inventor differs only in degree from the most laborious imitator and apprentice, whereas he differs specifically15 from one endowed by nature for fine art. No disparagement, however, of those great men, to whom the human race is so deeply indebted, is involved in this comparison of them with those who on the score of their talent for fine art are the elect of nature. The talent for science is formed for the continued advances of20 greater perfection in knowledge, with all its dependent practical advantages, as also for imparting the same to others. Hence scientists can boast a ground of considerable superiority over those who merit the honour of being called geniuses, since genius reaches a point at which art must make a halt, as there is25 a limit imposed upon it which it cannot transcend. This limit has in all probability been long since attained. In addition, such skill cannot be communicated, but requires to be bestowed directly from the hand of nature upon each individual, and so with him it dies, awaiting the day when nature once again en30dows another in the same way—one who needs no more than an example to set the talent of which he is conscious at work on similar lines.

Seeing, then, that the natural endowment of art (as fine art) 171must furnish the rule, what kind of rule must this be? It cannot be one set down in a formula and serving as a precept—for then the judgement upon the beautiful would be determinable according to concepts. Rather must the rule be gathered from the performance, i. e. from the product, which others may use to5 put their own talent to the test, so as to let it serve as a model, not for imitation, but for following. The possibility of this is difficult to explain. The artist’s ideas arouse like ideas on the part of his pupil, presuming nature to have visited him with a like proportion of the mental powers. For this reason the10 models of fine art are 5:310the only means of handing down this art to posterity. This is something which cannot be done by mere descriptions (especially not in the line of the arts of speech), and in these arts, furthermore, only those models can become classical of which the ancient, dead languages, preserved as15 learned, are the medium.

Despite the marked difference that distinguishes mechanical art, as an art merely depending upon industry and learning, from fine art, as that of genius, there is still no fine art in which something mechanical, capable of being at once comprehended20 and followed in obedience to rules, and consequently something academic does not constitute the essential condition of the art. For the thought of something as end must be present, or else its product would not be ascribed to an art at all, but would be a mere product of chance. But the effectuation of an end25 necessitates determinate rules which we cannot venture to dispense with. Now, seeing that originality of talent is one (though not the sole) essential factor that goes to make up the character of genius, shallow minds fancy that the best evidence they can give of their being full-blown geniuses is by emancipating them30selves from all academic constraint of rules, in the belief that one cuts a finer figure on the back of an ill-tempered than of a trained horse. Genius can do no more than furnish rich material for products of fine art ) its elaboration and its form require a 172talent academically trained, so that it may be employed in such a way as to stand the test of judgement. But, for a person to hold forth and pass sentence like a genius in matters that fall to the province of the most patient rational investigation, is ridiculous in the extreme. One is at a loss to know whether to5 laugh more at the impostor who envelops himself in such a cloud—in which we are given fuller scope to our imagination at the expense of all use of our critical faculty,—or at the simple-minded public which imagines that its inability clearly to cognize and comprehend this masterpiece of penetration is due to10 its being invaded by new truths en masse, in comparison with which, detail, due to carefully weighed exposition and an academic examination of root-principles, seems to it only the work of a tyro.

For estimating beautiful objects, as such, what is required is taste; but for fine art, i. e. the production of such objects, one needs genius.

If we consider genius as the talent for fine art (which the20 proper signification of the word imports), and if we would analyse it from this point of view into the faculties which must concur to constitute such a talent, it is imperative at the outset accurately to determine the difference between beauty of nature, which it only requires taste to estimate, and beauty of art, which25 requires genius for its possibility (a possibility to which regard must also be paid in estimating such an object).

A beauty of nature is a beautiful thing; beauty of art is a beautiful representation of a thing.

To enable me to estimate a beauty of nature, as such, I do30 not need to be previously possessed of a concept of what sort of a thing the object is intended to be, i. e. I am not obliged to 173know its material finality (the end), but, rather, in forming an estimate of it apart from any knowledge of the end, the mere form pleases on its own account. If, however, the object is presented as a product of art, and is as such to be declared beautiful, then, seeing that art always presupposes an end in the5 cause (and its causality), a concept of what the thing is intended to be must first of all be laid at its basis. And, since the agreement of the manifold in a thing with an inner character belonging to it as its end constitutes the perfection of the thing, it follows that in estimating beauty of art the perfection of the10 thing must be also taken into account—a matter which in estimating a beauty of nature, as beautiful, is quite irrelevant.—It is true that in forming an estimate, especially of animate objects of nature, e. g. of a man or a horse, objective finality is also commonly taken into account with a view to judgement15 upon their beauty; but then the judgement also ceases to be purely aesthetic, i. e. a mere judgement of taste. Nature is no longer estimated as it appears like art, but rather in so far as it actually is art, though superhuman art; and the teleological judgement serves as 5:312basis and condition of the aesthetic, and20 one which the latter must regard. In such a case, where one says, for example, ‘that is a beautiful woman,’ what one in fact thinks is only this, that in her form nature excellently portrays the ends present in the female figure. For one has to extend one’s view beyond the mere form to a concept, to enable25 the object to be thought in such manner by means of an aesthetic judgement logically conditioned.

Where fine art evidences its superiority is in the beautiful descriptions it gives of things that in nature would be ugly or displeasing. The Furies, diseases, devastations of war, and the30 like, can (as evils) be very beautifully described, nay even represented in pictures. One kind of ugliness alone is incapable of being represented conformably to nature without destroying all aesthetic delight, and consequently artistic beauty, namely, 174that which excites disgust. For, as in this strange sensation, which depends purely on the imagination, the object is represented as insisting, as it were, upon our enjoying it, while we still set our face against it, the artificial representation of the object is no longer distinguishable from the nature of the object5 itself in our sensation, and so it cannot possibly be regarded as beautiful. The art of sculpture, again, since in its products art is almost confused with nature, has excluded from its creations the direct representation of ugly objects, and, instead, only sanctions, for example, the representation of death (in10 a beautiful genius), or of the warlike spirit (in Mars), by means of an allegory, or attributes which wear a pleasant guise, and so only indirectly, through an interpretation on the part of reason, and not for the pure aesthetic judgement.

So much for the beautiful representation of an object, which15 is properly only the form of the presentation of a concept, and the means by which the latter is universally communicated. To give this form, however, to the product of fine art, taste merely is required. By this the artist, having practised and corrected his taste by a variety of examples from nature or art,20 controls his work and, after many, and often laborious, attempts to satisfy taste, finds the form which commends itself to him. Hence this form is not, as it were, a matter of inspiration, or of a free swing of the mental powers, but rather of a slow and even painful process of improvement, directed to25 making the form adequate to his thought 5:313without prejudice to the freedom in the play of those powers.

Taste is, however, merely a critical, not a productive faculty; and what conforms to it is not, merely on that account, a work of fine art. It may belong to useful and mechanical art, or30 even to science, as a product following definite rules which are capable of being learned and which must be closely followed. But the pleasing form imparted to the work is only the vehicle of communication and a mode, as it were, of 175execution, in respect of which one remains to a certain extent free, notwithstanding being otherwise tied down to a definite end. So we demand that table appointments, or even a moral dissertation, and, indeed, a sermon, must bear this form of fine art, yet without its appearing studied. But one would not call them on5 this account works of fine art. A poem, a musical composition, a picture-gallery, and so forth, would, however, be placed under this head; and so in a would-be work of fine art we may frequently recognize genius without taste, and in another taste without genius.10

Of certain products which are expected, partly at least, to stand on the footing of fine art, we say they are soulless; and this, although we find nothing to censure in them as far as taste goes.15 A poem may be very pretty and elegant, but is soulless. A narrative has precision and method, but is soulless. A speech on some festive occasion may be good in substance and ornate withal, but may be soulless. Conversation frequently is not devoid of entertainment, but yet soulless. Even of a woman20 we may well say, she is pretty, affable, and refined, but soulless. Now what do we here mean by ‘soul’?

‘Soul’ (Geist) in an aesthetical sense, signifies the animating principle in the mind. But that whereby this principle animates the psychic substance (Seele)—the material which it employs25 for that purpose—is that which sets the mental powers into a swing that is final, i. e. into a play which is self-maintaining and which strengthens those powers for such activity.

Now my proposition is that this principle is nothing else than the 5:314faculty of presenting aesthetic ideas. But, by an aesthetic30 idea I mean that representation of the imagination which induces much thought, yet without the possibility of any definite 176thought whatever, i. e. concept, being adequate to it, and which language, consequently, can never get quite on level terms with or render completely intelligible.—It is easily seen, that an aesthetic idea is the counterpart (pendant) of a rational idea, which, conversely, is a concept, to which no intuition (repre5sentation of the imagination) can be adequate.

The imagination (as a productive faculty of cognition) is a powerful agent for creating, as it were, a second nature out of the material supplied to it by actual nature. It affords us entertainment where experience proves too commonplace; and10 we even use it to remodel experience, always following, no doubt, laws that are based on analogy, but still also following principles which have a higher seat in reason (and which are every whit as natural to us as those followed by the understanding in laying hold of empirical nature). By this means we get a sense of15 our freedom from the law of association (which attaches to the empirical employment of the imagination), with the result that the material can be borrowed by us from nature in accordance with that law, but be worked up by us into something else—namely, what surpasses nature.20

Such representations of the imagination may be termed ideas. This is partly because they at least strain after something lying out beyond the confines of experience, and so seek to approximate to a presentation of rational concepts (i. e. intellectual ideas), thus giving to these concepts the semblance of an25 objective reality. But, on the other hand, there is this most important reason, that no concept can be wholly adequate to them as internal intuitions. The poet essays the task of interpreting to sense the rational ideas of invisible beings, the kingdom of the blessed, hell, eternity, creation, &c. Or, again,30 as to things of which examples occur in experience, e. g. death, envy, and all vices, as also love, fame, and the like, transgressing the limits of experience he attempts with the aid of an imagination which emulates the display of reason in its attainment of 177a maximum, to body them forth to sense with a completeness of which nature affords no parallel; and it is in fact precisely in the poetic art that the faculty of aesthetic ideas can show itself to full advantage. This faculty, however, regarded solely on its own account, is properly no more than a talent (of the5 imagination).

If, now, we attach to a concept a representation of the imagination 5:315belonging to its presentation, but inducing solely on its own account such a wealth of thought as would never admit of comprehension in a definite concept, and, as a consequence,10 giving aesthetically an unbounded expansion to the concept itself, then the imagination here displays a creative activity, and it puts the faculty of intellectual ideas (reason) into motion—a motion, at the instance of a representation, towards an extension of thought, that, while germane, no doubt, to the concept of the15 object, exceeds what can be laid hold of in that representation or clearly expressed.

Those forms which do not constitute the presentation of a given concept itself, but which, as secondary representations of the imagination, express the derivatives connected with it, and20 its kinship with other concepts, are called (aesthetic) attributes of an object, the concept of which, as an idea of reason, cannot be adequately presented. In this way Jupiter’s eagle, with the lightning in its claws, is an attribute of the mighty king of heaven, and the peacock of its stately queen. They do not, like25 logical attributes, represent what lies in our concepts of the sublimity and majesty of creation, but rather something else—something that gives the imagination an incentive to spread its flight over a whole host of kindred representations that provoke more thought than admits of expression in a concept determined30 by words. They furnish an aesthetic idea, which serves the above rational idea as a substitute for logical presentation, but with the proper function, however, of animating the mind by opening out for it a prospect into a field of kindred representa178tions stretching beyond its ken. But it is not alone in the arts of painting or sculpture, where the name of attribute is customarily employed, that fine art acts in this way; poetry and rhetoric also derive the soul that animates their works wholly from the aesthetic attributes of the objects—attributes which go5 hand in hand with the logical, and give the imagination an impetus to bring more thought into play in the matter, though in an undeveloped manner, than allows of being brought within the embrace of a concept, or, therefore, of being definitely formulated in language.—For the sake of brevity I must confine10 myself to a few examples only. When the great king expresses himself in one of his poems by saying:

he kindles in this way his rational idea of a cosmopolitan sentiment even at the close of life, with the help of an attribute20 which the imagination (in remembering all the pleasures of a fair summer’s day that is over and gone—a memory of which pleasures is suggested by a serene evening) annexes to that representation, and which stirs up a crowd of sensations and secondary representations for which no expression can be found.25 On the other hand, even an intellectual concept may serve, conversely, as attribute for a representation of sense, and so animate the latter with the idea of the supersensible; but only by the aesthetic factor subjectively attaching to the consciousness of the supersensible being employed for the purpose.30 So, for example, a certain poet says in his description of a beautiful morning: ‘The sun arose, as out of virtue rises peace.’ The consciousness of virtue, even where we put ourselves only in thought in the position of a virtuous man, 179diffuses in the mind a multitude of sublime and tranquillizing feelings, and gives a boundless outlook into a happy future, such as no expression within the compass of a definite concept completely attains.¹

In a word, the aesthetic idea is a representation of the5 imagination, annexed to a given concept, with which, in the free employment of imagination, such a multiplicity of partial representations are bound up, that no expression indicating a definite concept can be found for it—one which on that account allows a concept to be supplemented in thought by much that10 is indefinable in words, and the feeling of which quickens the cognitive faculties, and with language, as a mere thing of the letter, binds up the spirit (soul) also.

The mental powers whose union in a certain relation constitutes genius are imagination and understanding. Now,15 since the imagination, in its employment on behalf of cognition, is subjected to the constraint of the understanding and the restriction of having to be conformable to the concept belonging thereto, whereas aesthetically 5:317it is free to furnish of its ownaccord, over and above that agreement with the concept, a20 wealth of undeveloped material for the understanding, to which the latter paid no regard in its concept, but which it can make use of, not so much objectively for cognition, as subjectively for quickening the cognitive faculties, and hence also indirectly for cognitions, it may be seen that genius properly consists in25 the happy relation, which science cannot teach nor industry learn, enabling one to find out ideas for a given concept, and, 180besides, to hit upon the expression for them—the expression by means of which the subjective mental condition induced by the ideas as the concomitant of a concept may be communicated to others. This latter talent is properly that which is termed soul. For to get an expression for what is indefinable in the5 mental state accompanying a particular representation and to make it universally communicable—be the expression in language or painting or statuary—is a thing requiring a faculty for laying hold of the rapid and transient play of the imagination, and for unifying it in a concept (which for that very reason10 is original, and reveals a new rule which could not have been inferred from any preceding principles or examples) that admits of communication without any constraint of rules.

If, after this analysis, we cast a glance back upon the above definition of what is called genius, we find: First, that it is a15 talent for art—not one for science, in which clearly known rules must take the lead and determine the procedure. Secondly, being a talent in the line of art, it presupposes a definite concept of the product—as its end. Hence it presupposes understanding, but, in addition, a representation, indefinite though20 it be, of the material, i. e. of the intuition, required for the presentation of that concept, and so a relation of the imagination to the understanding. Thirdly, it displays itself, not so much in the working out of the projected end in the presentation of a definite concept, as rather in the portrayal, or expression of25 aesthetic ideas containing a wealth of material for effecting that intention. Consequently the imagination is represented by it in its freedom from all guidance of rules, but still as final for the presentation of the given concept. Fourthly, and lastly, the unsought and undesigned subjective finality 5:318in the free harmonizing30 of the imagination with the understanding’s conformity to law presupposes a proportion and accord between these faculties 181such as cannot be brought about by any observance of rules, whether of science or mechanical imitation, but can only be produced by the nature of the individual.

Genius, according to these presuppositions, is the exemplary originality of the natural endowments of an individual in the5 free employment of his cognitive faculties. On this showing, the product of a genius (in respect of so much in this product as is attributable to genius, and not to possible learning or academic instruction,) is an example, not for imitation (for that would mean the loss of the element of genius, and just the10 very soul of the work), but to be followed by another genius—one whom it arouses to a sense of his own originality in putting freedom from the constraint of rules so into force in his art, that for art itself a new rule is won—which is what shows a talent to be exemplary. Yet, since the genius is one of nature’s15 elect—a type that must be regarded as but a rare phenomenon—for other clever minds his example gives rise to a school, that is to say a methodical instruction according to rules, collected, so far as the circumstances admit, from such products of genius and their peculiarities. And, to that extent,20 fine art is for such persons a matter of imitation, for which nature, through the medium of a genius, gave the rule.

But this imitation becomes aping when the pupil copies everything down to the deformities which the genius only of necessity suffered to remain, because they could hardly be removed25 without loss of force to the idea. This courage has merit only in the case of a genius. A certain boldness of expression, and, in general, many a deviation from the common rule becomes him well, but in no sense is it a thing worthy of imitation. On the contrary it remains all through intrinsically30 a blemish, which one is bound to try to remove, but for which the genius is, as it were, allowed to plead a privilege, on the ground that a scrupulous carefulness would spoil what is inimitable in the impetuous ardour of his soul. Mannerism 182is another kind of aping—an aping of peculiarity (originality) in general, for the sake of removing oneself as far as possible from imitators, while the talent requisite to enable one to be at the same time exemplary is absent.—There are, in fact, two modes (modi) in general of arranging one’s thoughts for utterance. The5 one is called a manner (modus aestheticus), the other a method (modus logicus). The distinction between them is this: 5:319the former possesses no standard other than the feeling of unity in the presentation, whereas the latter here follows definite principles. As a consequence the former is alone admissible for fine10 art. It is only, however, where the manner of carrying the idea into execution in a product of art is aimed at singularity instead of being made appropriate to the idea, that mannerism is properly ascribed to such a product. The ostentatious (précieux), forced, and affected styles, intended to mark one out from the common15 herd (though soul is wanting), resemble the behaviour of a man who, as we say, hears himself talk, or who stands and moves about as if he were on a stage to be gaped at—action which invariably betrays a tyro.

To ask whether more stress should be laid in matters of fine art upon the presence of genius or upon that of taste, is equivalent to asking whether more turns upon imagination or upon judgement. Now, imagination rather entitles an art to be called25 an inspired (geistreiche) than a fine art. It is only in respect of judgement that the name of fine art is deserved. Hence it follows that judgement, being the indispensable condition (conditio sine qua non), is at least what one must look to as of capital importance in forming an estimate of art as fine art.30 So far as beauty is concerned, to be fertile and original in ideas is not such an imperative requirement as it is that the imagina183tion in its freedom should be in accordance with the understanding’s conformity to law. For in lawless freedom imagination, with all its wealth, produces nothing but nonsense; the power of judgement, on the other hand, is the faculty that makes it consonant with understanding.5

Taste, like judgement in general, is the discipline (or corrective) of genius. It severely clips its wings, and makes it orderly or polished; but at the same time it gives it guidance, directing and controlling its flight, so that it may preserve its character of finality. It introduces a clearness and order10 into the plenitude of thought, and in so doing gives stability to the ideas, and qualifies them at once for permanent and universal approval, for being followed by others, and for a continually progressive culture. And so, where the interests of both these qualities clash in a product, 5:320and there has to be a15 sacrifice of something, then it should rather be on the side of genius; and judgement, which in matters of fine art bases its decision on its own proper principles, will more readily endure an abatement of the freedom and wealth of the imagination, than that the understanding should be compromised.20

The requisites for fine art are, therefore, imagination, understanding, soul, and taste.¹

Beauty (whether it be of nature or of art) may in general be25 termed the expression of aesthetic ideas. But the proviso must be added that with beauty of art this idea must be excited 184through the medium of a concept of the Object, whereas with beauty of nature the bare reflection upon a given intuition, apart from any concept of what the object is intended to be, is sufficient for awakening and communicating the idea of which that Object is regarded as the expression.5

Accordingly, if we wish to make a division of the fine arts, we can choose for that purpose, tentatively at least, no more convenient principle than the analogy which art bears to the mode of expression of which men avail themselves in speech, with a view to communicating themselves to one another as10 completely as possible, i. e. not merely in respect of their concepts but in respect of their sensations also.¹—Such expression consists in word, gesture, and tone (articulation, gesticulation, and modulation). It is the combination of these three modes of expression which alone constitutes a complete15 communication of the speaker. For thought, intuition, and sensation are in this way conveyed to others simultaneously and in conjunction.

Hence there are only three kinds of fine art: the art of speech, 5:321formative art, and the art of the play of sensations20 (as external sense impressions). This division might also be arranged as a dichotomy, so that fine art would be divided into that of the expression of thoughts or intuitions, the latter being subdivided according to the distinction between the form and the matter (sensation). It would, however, in that case25 appear toe abstract, and less in line with popular conceptions.

(1) The arts of speech are rhetoric and poetry. Rhetoric is the art of transacting a serious business of the understanding as if it were a free play of the imagination; poetry that of conducting a free play of the imagination as if it were a serious30 business of the understanding.

185 Thus the orator announces a serious business, and for the purpose of entertaining his audience conducts it as if it were a mere play with ideas. The poet promises merely an entertaining play with ideas, and yet for the understanding there enures as much as if the promotion of its business had been his one5 intention. The combination and harmony of the two faculties of cognition, sensibility and understanding, which, though, doubtless, indispensable to one another, do not readily permit of being united without compulsion and reciprocal abatement, must have the appearance of being undesigned and a spon10taneous occurrence—otherwise it is not fine art. For this reason what is studied and laboured must be here avoided. For fine art must be free art in a double sense: i. e. not alone in a sense opposed to contract work, as not being a work the magnitude of which may be estimated, exacted, or paid for according to a15 definite standard, but free also in the sense that, while the mind, no doubt, occupies itself, still it does so without ulterior regard to any other end, and yet with a feeling of satisfaction and stimulation (independent of reward).

The orator, therefore, gives something which he does not20 promise, viz. an entertaining play of the imagination. On the other hand, there is something in which he fails to come up to his promise, and a thing, too, which is his avowed business, namely, the engagement of the understanding to some end. The poet’s promise, on the contrary, is a modest one, and a25 mere play with ideas is all he holds out to us, but he accomplishes something worthy of being made a serious business, namely, the using of play to provide food for the understanding, and the giving of life to its concepts by means of the imagination. Hence the orator in reality performs less than30 he promises, the poet more.

(2) The formative arts, or those for the expression of ideas in sensuous intuition (not by means of representations of mere 5:322imagination that are excited by words) are arts either of 186sensuous truth or of sensuous semblance. The first is called plastic art, the second painting. Both use figures in space for the expression of ideas: the former makes figures discernible to two senses, sight and touch (though, so far as the latter sense is concerned, without regard to beauty), the latter makes5 them so to the former sense alone. The aesthetic idea (archetype, original) is the fundamental basis of both in the imagination; but the figure which constitutes its expression (the ectype, the copy) is given either in its bodily extension (the way the object itself exists) or else in accordance with the10 picture which it forms of itself in the eye (according to its appearance when projected on a flat surface). Or, whatever the archetype is, either the reference to an actual end or only the semblance of one may be imposed upon reflection as its condition.15

To plastic art, as the first kind of formative fine art, belong sculpture and architecture. The first is that which presents concepts of things corporeally, as they might exist in nature (though as fine art it directs its attention to aesthetic finality). The second is the art of presenting concepts of things which are20 possible only through art, and the determining ground of whose form is not nature but an arbitrary end—and of presenting them both with a view to this purpose and yet, at the same time, with aesthetic finality. In architecture the chief point is a certain use of the artistic object to which, as the condition,25 the aesthetic ideas are limited. In sculpture the mere expression of aesthetic ideas is the main intention. Thus statues of men, gods, animals, &c., belong to sculpture; but temples, splendid buildings for public concourse, or even dwelling-houses, triumphal arches, columns, mausoleums, &c., erected30 as monuments, belong to architecture, and in fact all household furniture (the work of cabinet-makers, and so forth—things meant to be used) may be added to the list, on the ground that adaptation of the product to a particular use 187is the essential element in a work of architecture. On the other hand, a mere piece of sculpture, made simply to be looked at, and intended to please on its own account, is, as a corporeal presentation, a mere imitation of nature, though one in which regard is paid to aesthetic ideas, and in which, there5fore, sensuous truth should not go the length of losing the appearance of being an art and a product of the elective will.

Painting, as the second kind of formative art, which 5:323presents the sensuous semblance in artful combination with ideas, Iwould divide into that of the beautiful portrayal of nature, and10 that of the beautiful arrangement of its products. The first is painting proper, the second landscape gardening. For the first gives only the semblance of bodily extension; whereas the second, giving this, no doubt, according to its truth, gives only the semblance of utility and employment for ends other15 than the play of the imagination in the contemplation of its forms.¹ The latter consists in no more than decking out the ground with the same manifold variety (grasses, flowers, shrubs, and trees, and even water, hills, and dales) as that with which nature presents it to our view, only arranged differently and in20 obedience to certain ideas. The beautiful arrangement of 188corporeal things, however, is also a thing for the eye only, just like painting—the sense of touch can form no intuitable representation of such a form. In addition I would place under the head of painting, in the wide sense, the decoration of rooms by means of hangings, ornamental accessories, and all5 beautiful furniture the sole function of which is to be looked at; and in the same way the art of tasteful dressing (with rings, snuff-boxes, &c.). For a parterre of various flowers, a room with a variety of ornaments (including even the ladies’ attire), go to make at a festal gathering a sort of picture which, like10 pictures in the true sense of the word, (those which are not intended to teach history or natural science,) has no business beyond appealing to the eye, in order to entertain the imagination in free play with ideas, and to engage actively the aesthetic judgement independently of any definite end. No matter15 how heterogeneous, on the mechanical side, may be the craft involved in all this decoration, 5:324and no matter what a variety of artists may be required, still the judgement of taste, so far as it is one upon what is beautiful in this art, is determined in one and the same way: namely, as a judgement only upon the20 forms (without regard to any end) as they present themselves to the eye, singly or in combination, according to their effect upon the imagination.—The justification, however, of bringing formative art (by analogy) under a common head with gesture in a speech, lies in the fact that through these figures the soul25 of the artist furnishes a bodily expression for the substance and character of his thought, and makes the thing itself speak, as it were, in mimic language—a very common play of our fancy, that attributes to lifeless things a soul suitable to their form, and that uses them as its mouthpiece.30

(3) The art of the beautiful play of sensations, (sensations that arise from external stimulation,) which is a play of sensations that has nevertheless to permit of universal communication, can only be concerned with the proportion of the 189different degrees of tension in the sense to which the sensation belongs, i. e. with its tone. In this comprehensive sense of the word it may be divided into the artificial play of sensations of hearing and of sight, consequently into music and the art of colour.—It is of note that these two senses, over and above5 such susceptibility for impressions as is required to obtain concepts of external objects by means of these impressions, also admit of a peculiar associated sensation of which we cannot well determine whether it is based on sense or reflection; and that this sensibility may at times be wanting, although the10 sense, in other respects, and in what concerns its employment for the cognition of objects, is by no means deficient but particularly keen. In other words, we cannot confidently assert whether a colour or a tone (sound) is merely an agreeable sensation, or whether they are in themselves a beautiful15 play of sensations, and in being estimated aesthetically, convey, as such, a delight in their form. If we consider the velocity of the vibrations of light, or, in the second case, of the air, which in all probability far outstrips any capacity on our part for forming an immediate estimate in perception of the time20 interval between them, we should be led to believe that it is only the effect of those vibrating movements upon the elastic parts of our body, that can be evident to sense, but that the time-interval between them is not noticed nor 5:325involved in our estimate, and that, consequently, all that enters into combin25ation with colours and tones is agreeableness, and not beauty, of their composition. But, let us consider, on the other hand, first, the mathematical character both of the proportion of those vibrations in music, and of our judgement upon it, and, as is reasonable, form an estimate of colour contrasts on the30 analogy of the latter. Secondly, let us consult the instances, albeit rare, of men who, with the best of sight, have failed to distinguish colours, and, with the sharpest hearing, to distinguish tones, while for men who have this ability the perception 190of an altered quality (not merely of the degree of the sensation) in the case of the different intensities in the scale of colours or tones is definite, as is also the number of those which may be intelligibly distinguished. Bearing all this in mind we may feel compelled to look upon the sensations afforded by both, not5 as mere sense-impressions, but as the effect of an estimate of form in the play of a number of sensations. The difference which the one opinion or the other occasions in the estimate of the basis of music would, however, only give rise to this much change in its definition, that either it is to be interpreted,10 as we have done, as the beautiful play of sensations (through hearing), or else as one of agreeable sensations. According to the former interpretation, alone, would music be represented out and out as a fine art, whereas according to the latter it would be represented as (in part at least) an agreeable art.15

Rhetoric may in a drama be combined with a pictorial presentation as well of its Subjects as of objects; as may poetry with music in a song; and this again with a pictorial20 (theatrical) presentation in an opera; and so may the play of sensations in a piece of music with the play of figures in a dance, and so on. Even the presentation of the sublime, so far as it belongs to fine art, may be brought into union with beauty in a tragedy in verse, a didactic poem or an oratorio,25 and in this combination fine art is even more artistic. Whether it is also more beautiful (having regard to the multiplicity of different kinds of delight which cross one another) may in some of these instances be doubted. Still in all fine 5:326art the essential element consists in the form which is final for30 observation and for estimating. Here the pleasure is at the 191same time culture, and disposes the soul to ideas, making it thus susceptible of such pleasure and entertainment in greater abundance. The matter of sensation (charm or emotion) is not essential. Here the aim is merely enjoyment, which leaves nothing behind it in the idea, and renders the soul dull,5 the object in the course of time distasteful, and the mind dissatisfied with itself and ill-humoured, owing to a consciousness that in the judgement of reason its disposition is perverse.

Where fine arts are not, either proximately or remotely,10 brought into combination with moral ideas, which alone are attended with a self-sufficing delight, the above is the fate that ultimately awaits them. They then only serve for a diversion, of which one continually feels an increasing need in proportion as one has availed oneself of it as a means of dispelling the15 discontent of one’s mind, with the result that one makes oneself ever more and more unprofitable and dissatisfied with oneself. With a view to the purpose first named the beauties of nature are in general the most beneficial, if one is early habituated to observe, estimate, and admire them.20

Poetry (which owes its origin almost entirely to genius and is least willing to be led by precepts or example) holds the first25 rank among all the arts. It expands the mind by giving freedom to the imagination and by offering, from among the boundless multiplicity of possible forms accordant with a given concept, to whose bounds it is restricted, that one which couples with the presentation of the concept a wealth of thought to30 which no verbal expression is completely adequate, and by thus rising aesthetically to ideas. It invigorates the mind by letting 192it feel its faculty—free, spontaneous, and independent of determination by nature—of regarding and estimating nature as phenomenon in the light of aspects which nature of itself does not afford us in experience, either for sense or understanding, and of employing it accordingly in behalf of, and as a sort5 of schema for, the supersensible. It plays with 5:327semblance, which it produces at will, but not as an instrument of deception; for its avowed pursuit is merely one of play, which, however, understanding may turn to good account and employ for its own purpose.—Rhetoric, so far as this is taken to mean the art of10 persuasion, i. e. the art of deluding by means of a fair semblance (as ars oratoria), and not merely excellence of speech (eloquence and style), is a dialectic, which borrows from poetry only so much as is necessary to win over men’s minds to the side of the speaker before they have weighed the matter, and to rob their15 verdict of its freedom. Hence it can be recommended neither for the bar nor the pulpit. For where civil laws, the right of individual persons, or the permanent instruction and determination of men’s minds to a correct knowledge and a conscientious observance of their duty is at stake, then it is below the dignity20 of an undertaking of such moment to exhibit even a trace of the exuberance of wit and imagination, and, still more, of the art of talking men round and prejudicing them in favour of any one. For although such art is capable of being at times directed to ends intrinsically legitimate and praiseworthy, still25 it becomes reprehensible on account of the subjective injury done in this way to maxims and sentiments, even where objectively the action may be lawful. For it is not enough to do what is right, but we should practise it solely on the ground of its being right. Further, the simple lucid concept of human30 concerns of this kind, backed up with lively illustrations of it, exerts of itself, in the absence of any offence against the rules of euphony of speech or of propriety in the expression of ideas of reason (ail which together make up excellence of speech), a 193sufficient influence upon human minds to obviate the necessity of having recourse here to the machinery of persuasion, which, being equally available for the purpose of putting a fine gloss or a cloak upon vice and error, fails to rid one completely of the lurking suspicion that one is being artfully hoodwinked. In5 poetry everything is straight and above board, It shows its hand: it desires to carry on a mere entertaining play with the imagination, and one consonant, in respect of form, with the laws of understanding; and it does not seek to steal upon and ensnare the understanding with a sensuous presentation.¹10

5:328 After poetry, if we take charm and mental stimulation into account, I would give the next place to that art which comes nearer to it than to any other art of speech, and admits of very natural union with it, namely the art of tone. For though it speaks by means of mere sensations without concepts, and so15 does not, like poetry, leave behind it any food for reflection, still it moves the mind more diversely, and, although with transient, 194still with intenser effect. It is certainly, however, more a matter of enjoyment than of culture—the play of thought incidentally excited by it being merely the effect of a more or less mechanical association—and it possesses less worth in the eyes of reason than any other of the fine arts. Hence, like all5 enjoyment, it calls for constant change, and does not stand frequent repetition without inducing weariness. Its charm, which admits of such universal communication, appears to rest on the following facts. Every expression in language has an associated tone suited to its sense. This tone indicates,10 mote or less, a mode in which the speaker is affected, and in turn evokes it in the hearer also, in whom conversely it then also excites the idea which in language is expressed with such a tone. Further, just as modulation is, as it were, a universal language of sensations intelligible to every man, so the art of 15 tone wields the full force of this language wholly on its own account, namely, as a language of the affections, and in this way, according to the law of association, universally communicates the aesthetic ideas that are naturally combined therewith. But, further, inasmuch as those 5:329aesthetic ideas are not concepts20 or determinate thoughts, the form of the arrangement of these sensations (harmony and melody), taking the place of the form of a language, only serves the purpose of giving an expression to the aesthetic idea of an integral whole of an unutterable wealth of thought that fills the measure of a certain theme25 forming the dominant affection in the piece. This purpose is effectuated by means of a proportion in the accord of the sensations (an accord which may be brought mathematically under certain rules, since it rests, in the case of tones, upon the numerical relation of the vibrations of the air in the same time,30 so far as there is a combination of the tones simultaneously or in succession). Although this mathematical form is not represented by means of determinate concepts, to it alone belongs the delight which the mere reflection upon such a number of 195concomitant or consecutive sensations couples with this their play, as the universally valid condition of its beauty, and it is with reference to it alone that taste can lay claim to a right to anticipate the judgement of every man.

But mathematics, certainly, does not play the smallest part in5 the charm and movement of the mind produced by music. Rather is it only the indispensable condition (conditio sine qua non) of that proportion of the combining as well as changing impressions which makes it possible to grasp them all in one and prevent them from destroying one another, and to let10 them, rather, conspire towards the production of a continuous movement and quickening of the mind by affections that are in unison with it, and thus towards a serene self-enjoyment.

If, on the other hand, we estimate the worth of the fine arts by the culture they supply to the mind, and adopt for our15 standard the expansion of the faculties whose confluence, in judgement, is necessary for cognition, music, then, since it plays merely with sensations, has the lowest place among the fine arts—just as it has perhaps the highest among those valued at the same time for their agreeableness. Looked at in this light it20 is far excelled by the formative arts. For, in putting the imagination into a play which is at once free and adapted to the understanding, they all the while carry on a serious business, since they execute a product which serves the concepts of understanding as a vehicle, permanent and appealing to us on25 its own account, for effectuating their union with sensibility, and thus for promoting, as it were, the urbanity of the higher powers of cognition. 5:330The two kinds of art pursue completely different courses. Music advances from sensations to indefinite ideas: formative art from definite ideas to sensations. The latter gives30 a lasting impression, the former one that is only fleeting. The former sensations imagination can recall and agreeably entertain itself with, while the latter either vanish entirely, or else, if involuntarily repeated by the imagination, are more annoying 196to us than agreeable. Over and above all this, music has a certain lack of urbanity about it. For owing chiefly to the character of its instruments, it scatters its influence abroad to an uncalled-for extent (through the neighbourhood), and thus, as it were, becomes obtrusive and deprives others, outside5 the musical circle, of their freedom. This is a thing that the arts that address themselves to the eye do not do, for if one is not disposed to give admittance to their impressions, one has only to look the other way. The case is almost on a par with the practice of regaling oneself with a perfume that10 exhales its odours far and wide. The man who pulls his perfumed handkerchief from his pocket gives a treat to all around whether they like it or not, and compels them, if they want to breathe at all, to be parties to the enjoyment, and so the habit has gone out of fashion.¹15

Among the formative arts I would give the palm to painting: partly because it is the art of design and, as such, the groundwork of all the other formative arts; partly because it can penetrate much further into the region of ideas, and in conformity with them give a greater extension to the field of20 intuition than it is open, to the others to do.

As we have often shown, an essential distinction lies between what pleases simply in the estimate formed of it and what gratifies25 (pleases in sensation). The latter is something which, unlike 197the former, we cannot demand from every one. Gratification (no matter whether its cause has its seat even in ideas) appears always to consist in 5:331a feeling of the furtherance of the entire life of the man, and, hence, also of his bodily well-being, i. e. his health. And so, perhaps, Epicurus was not wide of the5 mark when he said that at bottom all gratification is bodily sensation, and only misunderstood himself in ranking intellectual and even practical delight under the head of gratification. Bearing in mind the latter distinction, it is readily explicable how even the gratification a person feels is capable10 of displeasing him (as the joy of a necessitous but good-natured individual on being made the heir of an affectionate but penurious father), or how deep pain may still give pleasure to the sufferer (as the sorrow of a widow over the death of her deserving husband), or how there may be pleasure over and above15 gratification (as in scientific pursuits), or how a pain (as, for example, hatred, envy, and desire for revenge) may in addition be a source of displeasure. Here the delight or aversion depends upon reason, and is one with approbation or disapprobation. Gratification and pain, on the other hand, can only20 depend upon feeling, or upon the prospect of a possible well-being or the reverse (irrespective of source).

The changing free play of sensations (which do not follow any preconceived plan) is always a source of gratification, because it promotes the feeling of health; and it is immaterial25 whether or not we experience delight in the object of this play or even in the gratification itself when estimated in the light of reason. Also this gratification may amount to an affection, although we take no interest in the object itself, or none, at least, proportionate to the degree of the affection. We may30 divide the above play into that of games of chance (Gluckspiel), harmony (Tonspiel), and wit (Gedankenspiel). The first stands in need of an interest; be it of vanity or self-seeking, but one which falls far short of that centered in the adopted mode of 198procurement. All that the second requires is the change of sensations, each of which has its bearing on affection, though without attaining to the degree of an affection, and excites aesthetic ideas. The third springs merely from the change of the representations in the judgement, which, while unpro5ductive of any thought conveying an interest, yet enlivens the mind.

What a fund of gratification must be afforded by play, without our having to fall back upon any consideration of interest, is a matter to which all our evening parties bear witness—for with10out play they hardly ever escape falling flat. But the affections of hope, fear, joy, anger, and derision 5:332here engage in play, as every moment they change their parts, and are so lively that, as by an internal motion, the whole vital function of the body seems to be furthered by the process—as is proved by a vivacity15 of the mind produced—although no one comes by anything in the way of profit or instruction. But as the play of chance is not one that is beautiful, we will here lay it aside. Music, on the contrary, and what provokes laughter are two kinds of play with aesthetic ideas, or even with representations of20 the understanding, by which, all said and done, nothing is thought. By mere force of change they yet are able to afford lively gratification. This furnishes pretty clear evidence that the quickening effect of both is physical, despite its being excited by ideas of the mind, and that the feeling of health,25 arising from a movement of the intestines answering to that play, makes up that entire gratification of an animated gathering upon the spirit and refinement of which we set such store. Not any estimate of harmony in tones or flashes of wit, which, with its beauty, serves only as a necessary vehicle, but rather30 the stimulated vital functions of the body, the affection stirring the intestines and the diaphragm, and, in a word, the feeling of health (of which we are only sensible upon some such provocation) are what constitute the gratification we experience at 199being able to reach the body through the soul and use the latter as the physician of the former.

In music the course of this play is from bodily sensation to aesthetic ideas (which are the Objects for the affections), and then from these back again, but with gathered strength, to the5 body. In jest (which just as much as the former deserves to be ranked rather as an agreeable than a fine art) the play sets out from thoughts which collectively, so far as seeking sensuous expression, engage the activity of the body. In this presentation the understanding, missing what it expected, suddenly lets10 go its hold, with the result that the effect of this slackening is felt in the body by the oscillation of the organs. This favours the restoration of the equilibrium of the latter, and exerts a beneficial influence upon the health.

Something absurd (something in which, therefore, the under15standing can of itself find no delight) must be present in whatever is to raise a hearty convulsive laugh. Laughter is an affection arising from a strained expectation being suddenly reduced to nothing. This very reduction, at which certainly understanding cannot rejoice, is still indirectly a source of very lively20 enjoyment for a moment. Its cause must consequently 5:333lie in the influence of the representation upon the body, and the reciprocal effect of this upon the mind. This, moreover, cannot depend upon the representation being objectively an object of gratification, (for how can we derive gratification from a dis25appointment?) but must rest solely upon the fact that the reduction is a mere play of representations, and, as such, produces an equilibrium of the vital forces of the body.

Suppose that some one tells the following story: An Indian at an Englishman’s table in Surat saw a bottle of ale opened,30 and all the beer turned into froth and flowing out. The repeated exclamations of the Indian showed his great astonishment. ‘Well, what is so wonderful in that?’ asked the Englishman. ‘Oh, I’m not surprised myself,’ said the Indian, ‘at its getting 200out, but at how you ever managed to get it all in.’ At this we laugh, and it gives us hearty pleasure. This is not because we think ourselves, maybe, more quick-witted than this ignorant Indian, or because our understanding here brings to our notice any other ground of delight. It is rather that the bubble of5 our expectation was extended to the full and suddenly went off into nothing. Or, again, take the case of the heir of a wealthy relative being minded to make preparations for having the funeral obsequies on a most imposing scale, but complaining that things would not go right for him, because (as he said)10 ‘the more money I give my mourners to look sad, the more pleased they look’. At this we laugh outright, and the reason lies in the fact that we had an expectation which is suddenly reduced to nothing. We must be careful to observe that the reduction is not one into the positive contrary of an expected15 object—for that is always something, and may frequently pain us—but must be a reduction to nothing. For where a person arouses great expectation by recounting some tale, and at the close its untruth becomes at once apparent to us, we are displeased at it. So it is, for instance, with the tale of people20 whose hair from excess of grief is said to have turned white in a single night On the other hand, if a wag, wishing to cap the story, tells with the utmost circumstantiality of a merchant’s grief, who, on his return journey from India to Europe with all his wealth in merchandise, was obliged by stress of storm to25 throw everything overboard, and grieved to such an extent that in the selfsame night his wig turned grey, we laugh and enjoy the tale. This is because we keep for a time playing on our own mistake about an object otherwise indifferent to us, or rather on the idea we ourselves were following out, and, beating30 it to and fro, just as if it were a ball eluding our grasp, when all we intend to do is just to get it into our hands and hold it tight. Here 5:334our gratification is not excited by a knave or a fool getting a rebuff; for, even on its own account, the latter 201tale told with an air of seriousness would of itself be enough to set a whole table into roars of laughter; and the other matter would ordinarily not be worth a moment’s thought.

It is observable that in all such cases the joke must have something in it capable of momentarily deceiving us. Hence,5 when the semblance vanishes into nothing, the mind looks back in order to try it over again, and thus by a rapidly succeeding tension and relaxation it is jerked to and fro and put in oscillation. As the snapping of what was, as it were, tightening up the string takes place suddenly (not by a gradual loosening),10 the oscillation must bring about a mental movement and a sympathetic internal movement of the body. This continues involuntarily and produces fatigue, but in so doing it also affords recreation (the effects of a motion conducive to health).15

For supposing we assume that some movement in the bodily organs is associated sympathetically with all our thoughts, it is readily intelligible how the sudden act above referred to, of shifting the mind now to one standpoint and now to the other, to enable it to contemplate its object, may involve a correspond20ing and reciprocal straining and slackening of the elastic parts of our intestines, which communicates itself to the diaphragm (and resembles that felt by ticklish people), in the course of which the lungs expel the air with rapidly succeeding interruptions, resulting in a movement conducive to health. This alone,25 and not what goes on in the mind, is the proper cause of the gratification in a thought that at bottom represents nothing.—Voltaire said that heaven has given us two things to compensate us for the many miseries of life, hope and sleep. He might have added laughter to the list—if only the means of exciting it in30 men of intelligence were as ready to hand, and the wit or originality of humour which it requires were not just as rare as the talent is common for inventing stuff that splits the head, as mystic speculators do, or that breaks your neck, as the genius 202does, or that harrows the heart as sentimental novelists do (aye, and moralists of the same type).

We may, therefore, as I conceive, make Epicurus a present of the point that all gratification, even when occasioned by concepts that 5:335evoke aesthetic ideas, is animal, i. e. bodily5 sensation. For from this admission the spiritual feeling of respect for moral ideas, which is not one of gratification, but a self-esteem, (an esteem for humanity within us,) that raises us above the need of gratification, suffers not a whit—no nor even the less noble feeling of taste.10

In naïveté we meet with a joint product of both the above. Naïveté is the breaking forth of the ingenuousness originally natural to humanity, in opposition to the art of disguising oneself that has become a second nature. We laugh at the simplicity that is as yet a stranger to dissimulation, but we15 rejoice the while over the simplicity of nature that thwarts that art. We await the commonplace manner of artificial utterance, thoughtfully addressed to a fair show, and lo! nature stands before us in unsullied innocence—nature that we were quite unprepared to meet, and that he who laid it bare had also no20 intention of revealing. That the outward appearance, fair but false, that usually assumes such importance in our judgement, is here, at a stroke, turned to a nullity, that, as it were, the rogue in us is nakedly exposed, calls forth the movement of the mind, in two successive and opposite directions, agitating25 the body at the same time with wholesome motion. But that something infinitely better than any accepted code of manners, namely purity of mind, (or at least a vestige of such purity,) has not become wholly extinct in human nature, infuses seriousness and reverence into this play of judgement. But since it is30 only a manifestation that obtrudes itself for a moment, and the veil of a dissembling art is soon drawn over it again, there enters into the above feelings a touch of pity. This is an emotion of tenderness, playful in its way, that thus readily admits of com203bination with this sort of genial laughter. And, in fact, this emotion is as a rule associated with it, and, at the same time, is wont to make amends to the person who provides such food for our merriment for his embarrassment at not being wise after the manner of men.—For that reason an art of being5 naif is a contradiction. But it is quite possible to give a representation of naïveté in a fictitious personage, and, rare as the art is, it is a fine art. With this naïveté we must not confuse homely simplicity, which only avoids spoiling nature by artificiality, because it has no notion of the conventions of good10 society.

The humorous manner may also be ranked as a thing which in its enlivening influence is clearly allied to the gratification provoked by laughter. It belongs to originality of mind (des Geistes), though not to the talent for 5:336fine art. Humour, in15 a good sense, means the talent for being able to put oneself at will into a certain frame of mind in which everything is estimated on lines that go quite off the beaten track, (a topsy-turvy view of things,) and yet on lines that follow certain principles, rational in the case of such a mental temperament. A person20 with whom such variations are not a matter of choice is said to have humours; but if a person can assume them voluntarily, and of set purpose (on behalf of a lively presentation drawn from a ludicrous contrast), he and his way of speaking are termed humorous. This manner belongs, however, to agreeable rather25 than to fine art, because the object of the latter must always have an evident intrinsic worth about it, and thus demands a certain seriousness in its presentation, as taste does in estimating it.

For a power of judgement to be dialectical it must first of all5 be rationalizing; that is to say, its judgements must lay claim to universality,¹ and do so a priori\ for it is in the antithesis of such judgements that dialectic consists. Hence there is nothing dialectical in the irreconcilability of aesthetic judgements of sense (upon the agreeable and disagreeable). And in so far as10 each person appeals merely to his own private taste, even the conflict of judgements of taste does not form a dialectic of taste—for no one is proposing to make his own judgement into a universal rule. Hence the only concept left to us of a dialectic affecting taste is one of a dialectic of the Critique of taste15 (not of taste itself) in respect of its principles: for, on the question of the ground of the possibility of judgements of taste in general, mutually conflicting concepts naturally and unavoidably make their appearance. The transcendental Critique of taste will, therefore, only include a part capable of bearing the20 name of a dialectic of the aesthetic judgement if we find an antinomy of the principles of this faculty which throws doubt upon its conformity to law, and hence also upon its inner possibility.

The first commonplace of taste is contained in the proposition under cover of which every one devoid of taste thinks to shelter himself from reproach: every one has his own taste.5 This is only another way of saying that the determining ground of this judgement is merely subjective (gratification or pain), and that the judgement has no right to the necessary agreement of others.

Its second commonplace, to which even those resort who10 concede the right of the judgement of taste to pronounce with validity for every one, is: there is no disputing about taste. This amounts to saying that even though the determining ground of a judgement of taste be objective, it is not reducible to definite concepts, so that in respect of the judgement itself no15 decision can be reached by proofs, although it is quite open to us to contend upon the matter, and to contend with right. For though contention and dispute have this point in common, that they aim at bringing judgements into accordance out of and by means of their mutual opposition; yet they differ in the20 latter hoping to effect this from definite concepts, as grounds of proof, and, consequently, adopting objective concepts as grounds of the judgement. But where this is considered impracticable, dispute is regarded as alike out of the question.

Between these two commonplaces an intermediate proposition25 is readily seen to be missing. It is one which has certainly not become proverbial, but yet it is at the back of every one’s mind. It is that there may be contention about taste (although not a dispute). This proposition, however, involves the contrary of the first one. For in a matter in which contention is to be30 allowed, there must be a hope of coming to terms. Hence one must be able to reckon on grounds of judgement that possess more than private validity and are thus not merely subjective. 206And yet the above principle, every one has his own taste, is directly opposed to this.

1. Thesis. The judgement of taste is not based upon5 concepts; for, if it were, it would be open to dispute (decision by means of proofs).

2. Antithesis. The judgement of taste is based on concepts; for otherwise, despite diversity of judgement, there could be 5:339no room even for contention in the matter (a claim to the necessary10 agreement of others with this judgement).

There is no possibility of removing the conflict of the above principles, which underlie every judgement of taste (and which15 are only the two peculiarities of the judgement of taste previously set out in the Analytic) except by showing that the concept to which the Object is made to refer in a judgement of this kind is not taken in the same sense in both maxims of the aesthetic judgement; that this double sense, or point of view,20 in our estimate, is necessary for our power of transcendental judgement; and that nevertheless the false appearance arising from the confusion of one with the other is a natural illusion, and so unavoidable.

The judgement of taste must have reference to some concept25 or other, as otherwise it would be absolutely impossible for it to lay claim to necessary validity for every one. Yet it need not on that account be provable from a concept. For a concept may be either determinable, or else at once intrinsically undetermined and indeterminable. A concept of the under30standing, which is determinable by means of predicates borrowed 207from sensible intuition and capable of corresponding to it, is of the first kind. But of the second kind is the transcendental rational concept of the supersensible, which lies at the basis of all that sensible intuition and is, therefore, incapable of being further determined theoretically.5

Now the judgement of taste applies to objects of sense, but not so as to determine a concept of them for the understanding; for it is not a cognitive judgement. Hence it is a singular representation of intuition referable to the feeling of pleasure, and, as such, only a private judgement. And to that extent it10 would be limited in its validity to the individual judging: the object is for me an object of delight, for others it may be otherwise:—every one to his taste.

For all that, the judgement of taste contains beyond doubt an enlarged reference on the part of the representation of the15 Object (and at the same time on the part of the Subject also), which lays the foundation of an extension of judgements pf this kind to necessity for every one. This must of necessity be founded upon some concept 5:340or other, but such a concept as does not admit of being determined by intuition, and affords no20 knowledge of anything. Hence, too, it is a concept which does not afford any proof of the judgement of taste. But the mere pure rational concept of the supersensible lying at the basis of the object (and of the judging Subject for that matter) as Object of sense, and thus as phenomenon, is just such a25 concept. For unless such a point of view were adopted there would be no means of saving the claim of the judgement of taste to universal validity. And if the concept forming the required basis were a concept of understanding, though a mere confused one, as, let us say, of perfection, answering to which30 the sensible intuition of the beautiful might be adduced, then it would be at least intrinsically possible to found the judgement of taste upon proofs, which contradicts the thesis.

All contradiction disappears, however, if I say: The judgement of taste does depend upon a concept (of a general ground of the35 208subjective finality of nature for the power of judgement), but one from which nothing can be cognized in respect of the Object, and nothing proved, because it is in itself indeterminable and useless for knowledge. Yet by means of this very concept it acquires at the same time validity for every one (but with each5 individual, no doubt, as a singular judgement immediately accompanying his intuition): because its determining ground lies, perhaps, in the concept of what may be regarded as the supersensible substrate of humanity.

The solution of an antinomy turns solely on the possibility10 of two apparently conflicting propositions not being in fact contradictory, but rather being capable of consisting together, although the explanation of the possibility of their concept transcends our faculties of cognition. That this illusion is also natural and for human reason unavoidable, as well as15 why it is so, and remains so, although upon the solution of the apparent contradiction it no longer misleads us, may be made intelligible from the above considerations.

For the concept, which the universal validity of a judgement must have for its basis, is taken in the same sense in both the20 conflicting judgements, yet two opposite predicates are asserted of it. The thesis should therefore read: The judgement of taste is not based on determinate concepts; but the antithesis: The judgement of taste does rest upon a concept, although an indeterminate 5:341one, (that, namely, of the supersensible substrate25 of phenomena); and then there would be no conflict between them.

Beyond removing this conflict between the claims and counter-claims of taste we can do nothing. To supply a determinate objective principle of taste in accordance with which its30 judgements might be derived, tested, and proved, is an absolute impossibility, for then it would not be a judgement of taste. The subjective principle—that is to say, the indeterminate idea of the supersensible within us—can only be indicated as the 209unique key to the riddle of this faculty, itself concealed from us in its sources; and there is no means of making it any more intelligible.

The antinomy here exhibited and resolved rests upon the proper concept of taste as a merely reflective aesthetic judgement,5 and the two seemingly conflicting principles are reconciled on the ground that they may both be true, and this is sufficient. If, on the other hand, owing to the fact that the representation lying at the basis of the judgement of taste is singular, the determining ground of taste is taken, as by some it is, to10 be agreeableness, or, as others, looking to its universal validity, would have it, the principle of perfection, and if the definition of taste is framed accordingly, the result is an antinomy which is absolutely irresolvable unless we show the falsity of both propositions as contraries (not as simple contradictories). This15 would force the conclusion that the concept upon which each is founded is self-contradictory. Thus it is evident that the removal of the antinomy of the aesthetic judgement pursues a course similar to that followed by the Critique in the solution of the antinomies of pure theoretical reason; and that the20 antinomies, both here and in the Critique of Practical Reason, compel us, whether we like it or not, to look beyond the horizon of the sensible, and to seek in the supersensible the point of union of all our faculties a priori: for we are left with no other expedient to bring reason into harmony with itself.25

We find such frequent occasion in transcendental philosophy for distinguishing ideas from concepts of the understanding that it may be of 5:342use to introduce technical terms answering to the distinction between them. I think that no objection will30 be raised to my proposing some.—Ideas, in the most comprehensive sense of the word, are representations referred to an 210object according to a certain principle (subjective or objective), in so far as they can still never become a cognition of it. They are either referred to an intuition, in accordance with a merely subjective principle of the harmony of the cognitive faculties (imagination and understanding), and are then called aesthetic;5 or else they are referred to a concept according to an objective principle and yet are incapable of ever furnishing a cognition of the object, and are called rational ideas. In the latter case the concept is a transcendent concept, and, as such, differs from a concept of understanding, for which an adequately answering10 experience may always be supplied, and which, on that account, is called immanent.

An aesthetic idea cannot become a cognition, because it is an intuition (of the imagination) for which an adequate concept can never be found. A rational idea can never become a cognition,15 because it involves a concept (of the supersensible), for which a commensurate intuition can never be given.

Now the aesthetic idea might, I think, be called an inexponible representation of the imagination, the rational idea, on the other hand, an indemonstrable concept of reason. The pro20duction of both is presupposed to be not altogether groundless, but rather, (following the above explanation of an idea in general,) to take place in obedience to certain principles of the cognitive faculties to which they belong (subjective principles in the case of the former and objective in that of the25 latter).

Concepts of the understanding must, as such, always be demonstrable (if, as in anatomy, demonstration is understood in the sense merely of presentation). In other words, the object answering to such concepts must always be capable of being30 given in intuition (pure or empirical); for only in this way can they become cognitions. The concept of magnitude may be given a priori in the intuition of space, e.g. of a right line, &c.; the concept of cause in impenetrability, in the impact of 211bodies, &c. Consequently both may be verified by means of an empirical intuition, i. e. the thought of them may be indicated (demonstrated, exhibited) in an example; and this it must be 5:343possible to do: for otherwise there would be no certainty of the thought not being empty, i. e. having no object.5

In logic the expressions demonstrable or indemonstrable are ordinarily employed only in respect of propositions. A better designation would be to call the former, propositions only mediately, and the latter, propositions immediately, certain. For pure philosophy, too, has propositions of both these kinds—10meaning thereby true propositions which are in the one case capable, and in the other incapable, of proof. But, in its character of philosophy, while it can, no doubt, prove on a priori grounds, it cannot demonstrate—unless we wish to give the complete go-by to the meaning of the word which makes15 demonstrate (ostendere, exhibere) equivalent to giving an accompanying presentation of the concept in intuition (be it in a proof or in a definition). Where the intuition is a priori this is called its construction, but when even the intuition is empirical, we have still got the illustration of the object, by20 which means objective reality is assured to the concept. Thus an anatomist is said to demonstrate the human eye when he renders the concept, of which he has previously given a discursive exposition, intuitable by means of the dissection of that organ.25

It follows from the above that the rational concept of the supersensible substrate of all phenomena generally, or even of that which must be laid at the basis of our elective will in respect of moral laws, i. e. the rational concept of transcendental freedom, is at once specifically an indemonstrable concept, and30 a rational idea, whereas virtue is so in a measure. For nothing can be given which in itself qualitatively answers in experience to the rational concept of the former, while in the case of virtue no empirical product of the above causality attains the degree that the rational idea prescribes as the rule.35

212 Just as the imagination, in the case of a rational idea, fails with its intuitions to attain to the given concept, so understanding, in the case of an aesthetic idea, fails with its concepts ever to attain to the completeness of the internal intuition which imagination conjoins with a given representation. Now since5 the reduction of a representation of the imagination to concepts is equivalent to giving its exponents, the aesthetic idea may be called an inexponible representation of the imagination (in its free play). I shall have an opportunity hereafter of dealing more fully with ideas of this kind. At present I confine myself10 to the remark, that both 5:344kinds of ideas, aesthetic ideas as well as rational, are bound to have their principles, and that the seat of these principles must in both cases be reason—the latter depending upon the objective, the former upon the subjective, principles of its employment.15

Consonantly with this, genius may also be defined as the faculty of aesthetic ideas. This serves at the same time to point out the reason why it is nature (the nature of the individual) and not a set purpose,That in products of genius gives the rule to art (as the production of the beautiful). For the beautiful20 must not be estimated according to concepts, but by the final mode in which the imagination is attuned so as to accord with the faculty of concepts generally; and so rule and precept are incapable of serving as the requisite subjective standard for that aesthetic and unconditioned finality in fine art which has to make25 a warranted claim to being bound to please every one. Rather must such a standard be sought in the element of mere nature in the Subject, which cannot be comprehended under rules or concepts, that is to say, the supersensible substrate of all the Subject’s faculties (unattainable by any concept of understand30ing), and consequently in that which forms the point of reference for the harmonious accord of all our faculties of cognition—the production of which accord is the ultimate end set by the intelligible basis of our nature. Thus alone is it possible for a 213subjective and yet universally valid principle a priori to lie at the basis of that finality for which no objective principle can be prescribed.

The following important observation here naturally presents5 itself: There are three kinds of antinomies of pure reason, which, however, all agree in forcing reason to abandon the otherwise very natural assumption which takes the objects of sense for things-in-themselves, and to regard them, instead, merely as phenomena, and to lay at their basis an intelligible10 substrate (something supersensible, the concept of which is only an idea and affords no proper knowledge). Apart from some such antinomy reason could never bring itself to take such a step as to adopt a principle so severely restricting the field of its speculation, and to submit to sacrifices involving the15 complete dissipation of so many otherwise brilliant hopes. For even now that it is recompensed for this loss by the prospect of a proportionately wider scope of action from a practical point of view, it is not without a pang of regret that it appears to part company with those hopes, and 5:345to break20 away from the old ties.

The reason for there being three kinds of antinomies is to be found in the fact that there are three faculties of cognition, understanding, judgement, and reason, each of which, being a higher faculty of cognition, must have its a priori principles.25 For, so far as reason passes judgement upon these principles themselves and their employment, it inexorably requires the unconditioned for the given conditioned in respect of them all.

This can never be found unless the sensible, instead of being regarded as inherently appurtenant to things-in-themselves, is30 treated as a mere phenomenon, and, as such, being made to rest upon something supersensible (the intelligible substrate of external and internal nature) as the thing-in-itself. There is then 214(1) for the cognitive faculty an antinomy of reason in respect of the theoretical employment of understanding carried to the point of the unconditioned; (2) for the feeling of pleasure and displeasure an antinomy of reason in respect of the aesthetic employment of judgement; (3) for the faculty of desire an5 antinomy in respect of the practical employment of self-legislative reason. For all these faculties have their fundamental a priori principles, and, following an imperative demand of reason, must be able to judge and to determine their Object unconditionally in accordance with these principles.10

As to two of the antinomies of these higher cognitive faculties, those, namely, of their theoretical and of their practical employment, we have already shown elsewhere both that they are inevitable, if no cognisance is taken in such judgements of a supersensible substrate of the given Objects as15 phenomena, and, on the other hand, that they can be solved the moment this is done. Now, as to the antinomy incident to the employment of judgement in conformity with the demand of reason, and the solution of it here given, we may say that to avoid facing it there are but the following alterna20tives. It is open to us to deny that any a priori principle lies at the basis of the aesthetic judgement of taste, with the result that all claim to the necessity of a universal consensus of opinion is an idle and empty delusion, and that a judgement of taste only deserves to be considered to this extent correct,25 that it so happens that a number share the same opinion, and even this, not, in truth, because an a priori principle is presumed to lie at the back of this agreement, but rather (as with the taste of the palate) because of the contingently resembling organization 5:346of the individuals. Or else, in the30 alternative, we should have to suppose that the judgement of taste is in fact a disguised judgement of reason on the perfection discovered in a thing and the reference of the manifold in it to an end, and that it is consequently only called 215aesthetic on account of the confusion that here besets our reflection, although fundamentally it is teleological. In this latter case the solution of the antinomy with the assistance of transcendental ideas might be declared otiose and nugatory, and the above laws of taste thus reconciled with the Objects5 of sense, not as mere phenomena, but even as things-in-themselves. How unsatisfactory both of those alternatives alike are as a means of escape has been shown in several places in our exposition of judgements of taste, If, however, our deduction is at least credited with having10 been worked out on correct lines, even though it may not have been sufficiently clear in ail its details, three ideas then stand out in evidence. Firstly, there is the supersensible in general, without further determination, as substrate of nature; secondly, this same supersensible as principle of the subjective finality of15 nature for our cognitive «faculties; thirdly, the same supersensible again, as principle of the ends of freedom, and principle of the common accord of these ends with freedom in the moral sphere.

The idealism of the finality alike of nature and of art, as the unique principle of the aesthetic judgement.

The principle of taste may, to begin with, be placed on either of two footings. For taste may be said invariably to judge on empirical grounds of determination and such, therefore, as are25 only given a posteriori through sense, or else it may be allowed to judge on an a priori ground. The former would be the empiricism of the Critique of Taste, the latter its rationalism. The first would obliterate the distinction that marks off the object of our delight from the agreeable; the second, suppos30ing the judgement rested upon determinate concepts, would obliterate its distinction from the good. In this way beauty 216would have its locus standi in the world completely denied, and nothing but the dignity of a separate name, betokening, maybe, a certain blend of both the above-named kinds of delight, would be left in its stead. But 5:347we have shown the existence of grounds of delight which are a priori, and which,5 therefore, can consist with the principle of rationalism, and which are yet incapable of being grasped by definite concepts.

As against the above we may say that the rationalism of the principle of taste may take the form either of the realism of finality or of its idealism. Now, as a judgement of taste is not10 a cognitive judgement, and as beauty is not a property of the object considered on its own account, the rationalism of the principle of taste can never be placed in the fact that the finality in this judgement is regarded in thought as objective. In other words, the judgement is not directed theoretically, nor,15 therefore, logically, either, (no matter if only in a confused estimate,) to the perfection of the object, but only aesthetically to the harmonizing of its representation in the imagination with the essential principles of judgement generally in the Subject. For this reason the judgement of taste, and the20 distinction between its realism and its idealism, can only, even on the principle of rationalism, depend upon its subjective finality interpreted in one or other of two ways. Either such subjective finality is, in the first case, a harmony with our judgement pursued as an actual (intentional) end of nature25 (or of art), or else, in the second case, it is only a supervening final harmony with the needs of our faculty of judgement in its relation to nature and the forms which nature produces in accordance with particular laws, and one that is independent of an end, spontaneous and contingent.30

The beautiful forms displayed in the organic world all plead eloquently on the side of the realism of the aesthetic finality of nature in support of the plausible assumption that beneath the production of the beautiful there must lie a preconceived idea 217in the producing cause—that is to say an end acting in the interest of our imagination. Flowers, blossoms, even the shapes of plants as a whole, the elegance of animal formations of all kinds, unnecessary for the discharge of any function on their part, but chosen as it were with an eye to our taste; and,5 beyond all else, the variety and harmony in the array of colours (in the pheasant, in Crustacea, in insects, down even to the meanest flowers), so pleasing and charming to the eyes, but which, inasmuch as they touch the bare surface, and do not even here in any way affect the structure, of these creatures—10a matter which might have a necessary bearing on their internal ends—seem to be planned entirely with a view to outward appearance: all these 5:348lend great weight to the mode of explanation which assumes actual ends of nature in favour of our aesthetic judgement.15

On the other hand, not alone does reason, with its maxims enjoining upon us in all cases to avoid, as far as possible, any unnecessary multiplication of principles, set itself against this assumption, but we have nature in its free formations displaying on all sides extensive mechanical proclivity to producing20 forms seemingly made, as it were, for the aesthetic employment of our judgement, without affording the least support to the supposition of a need for anything over and above its mechanism, as mere nature, to enable them to be final for our judgement apart from their being grounded upon any idea.25 The above expression, ‘free formations’ of nature, is, however, here used to denote such as are originally set up in a fluid at rest where the volatilization or separation of some constituent (sometimes merely of caloric) leaves the residue on solidification to assume a definite shape or structure (figure or texture)30 which differs with specific differences of the matter, but for the same matter is invariable. Here, however, it is taken for granted that, as the true meaning of a fluid requires, the matter in the fluid is completely dissolved and not a mere admixture of solid particles simply held there in suspension.35

218 The formation, then, takes place by a concursion, i. e. by a sudden solidification—not by a gradual transition from the fluid to the solid state, but, as it were, by a leap. This transition is termed crystallization. Freezing water offers the most familiar instance of a formation of this kind. There5 the process begins by straight threads of ice forming. These unite at angles of 60°, whilst others similarly attach themselves to them at every point until the whole has turned into ice. But while this is going on the water between the threads of ice does not keep getting gradually more viscous, but remains as10 thoroughly fluid as it would be at a much higher temperature, although it is perfectly ice-cold. The matter that frees itself—that makes its sudden escape at the moment of solidification—is a considerable quantum of caloric. As this was merely required to preserve fluidity, its disappearance leaves the exist15ing ice not a whit colder than the water which but a moment before was there as fluid.

There are many salts and also stones of a crystalline figure which owe their origin in like manner to some earthy substance being dissolved in water under the influence of 5:349agencies little20 understood. The drusy configurations of many minerals, of the cubical sulphide of lead, of the red silver ore, &c., are presumably also similarly formed in water, and by the concursion of their particles, on their being forced by some cause or other to relinquish this vehicle and to unite among them35selves in definite external shapes.

But, further, all substances rendered fluid by heat, which have become solid as the result of cooling, give, when broken, internal evidences of a definite texture, thus suggesting the inference that only for the interference of their own weight or30 the disturbance of the air, the exterior would also have exhibited their proper specific shape. This has been observed in the case of some metals where the exterior of a molten mass has hardened, but the interior remained fluid, and then, owing to 219the withdrawal of the still fluid portion in the interior, there has been an undisturbed concursion of the remaining parts on the inside. A number of such mineral crystallizations, such as spars, hematite, aragonite, frequently present extremely beautiful shapes such as it might take art all its5 time to devise; and the halo in the grotto of Antiparos is merely the work of water percolating through strata of gypsum.

The fluid state is, to all appearance, on the whole older than the solid, and plants as well as animal bodies are built up out10 of fluid nutritive substance, so far as this takes form undisturbed—in the case of the latter, admittedly, in obedience, primarily, to a certain original bent of nature directed to ends (which, as will be shown in Part II, must not be judged aesthetically, but teleologically by the principle of realism);15 but still all the while, perhaps, also following the universal law of the affinity of substances in the way they shoot together and form in freedom. In the same way, again, where an atmosphere, which is a composite of different kinds of gas, is charged with watery fluids, and these separate from it owing to20 a reduction of the temperature, they produce snow-figures of shapes differing with the actual composition of the atmosphere. These are frequently of very artistic appearance and of extreme beauty. So without at all derogating from the teleological principle by which an organization is judged, it is readily25 conceivable how with beauty of flowers, of the plumage of birds, of Crustacea, both as to their shape and their colour, we have only what may be ascribed to nature and its capacity for originating in free activity aesthetically final forms, independently of any particular guiding ends, according to chemical30 laws, by means 5:350of the chemical integration of the substance requisite for the organization.

But what shows plainly that the principle of the ideality of the finality in the beauty of nature is the one upon which we ourselves invariably take our stand in our aesthetic judgements,35 220forbidding us to have recourse to any realism of a natural end in favour of our faculty of representation as a principle of explanation, is that in our general estimate of beauty we seek its standard a priori in ourselves, and, that the aesthetic faculty is itself legislative in respect of the judgement whether anything5 is beautiful or not. This could not be so on the assumption of a realism of the finality of nature; because in that case we should have to go to nature for instruction as to what we should deem beautiful, and the judgement of taste would be subject to empirical principles. For in such an estimate the question10 does not turn on what nature is, or even on what it is for us in the way of an end, but on how we receive it For nature to have fashioned its forms for our delight would inevitably imply an objective finality on the part of nature, instead of a subjective finality resting on the play of imagination in its freedom,15 where it is we who receive nature with favour, and not nature that does us a favour. That nature affords us an opportunity for perceiving the inner finality in the relation of our mental powers engaged in the estimate of certain of its products, and, indeed, such a finality as arising from a supersensible basis is to be20 pronounced necessary and of universal validity, is a property of nature which cannot belong to it as its end, or rather, cannot be estimated by us to be such an end. For otherwise the judgement that would be determined by reference to such an end would found upon heteronomy, instead of founding25 upon autonomy and being free, as befits a judgement of taste.

The principle of the idealism of finality is still more clearly apparent in fine art. For the point that sensations do not enable us to adopt an aesthetic realism of finality (which would30 make art merely agreeable instead of beautiful) is one which it enjoys in common with beautiful nature. But the further point that the delight arising from aesthetic ideas must not be made dependent upon the successful attainment of determinate ends 221(as an art mechanically directed to results), and that, consequently, even in the case of the rationalism of the principle, an ideality of the ends and not their reality is fundamental, is brought home to us by the fact that fine art, as such, must not be regarded as 5:351a product of understanding and science,5 but of genius, and must, therefore, derive its rule from aesthetic ideas, which are essentially different from rational ideas of determinate ends.

Just as the ideality of objects of sense as phenomena is the only way of explaining the possibility of their forms admitting10 of a priori determination, so, also, the idealism of the finality in estimating the beautiful in nature and in art is the only hypothesis upon which a Critique can explain the possibility of a judgement of taste that demands a priori validity for every one (yet without basing the finality represented in the15 Object upon concepts).

Intuitions are always required to verify the reality of our concepts. If the concepts are20 empirical the intuitions are called examples: if they are pure concepts of the understanding the intuitions go by the name of schemata. But to call for a verification of the objective reality of rational concepts, i. e. of ideas, and, what is more, on behalf of the theoretical cognition of such a reality, is to demand an impossibility, because25 absolutely no intuition adequate to them can be given.

All hypotyposis (presentation, subjectio sub adspectum) as a rendering in terms of sense, is twofold. Either it is schematic, as where the intuition corresponding to a concept comprehended by the understanding is given a priori, or else it is symbolic, as30 where the concept is one which only reason can think, and to which no sensible intuition can be adequate. In the latter case the concept is supplied with an intuition such that the pro222cedure of judgement in dealing with it is merely analogous to that which it observes in schematism. In other words, what agrees with the concept is merely the rule of this procedure, and not the intuition itself. Hence the agreement is merely in the form of reflection, and not in the content.5

Notwithstanding the adoption of the word symbolic by modern logicians in a sense opposed to an intuitive mode of representation, it is a wrong use of the word and subversive of its true meaning; for the symbolic is only a mode of the intuitive. The intuitive mode of representation is, in fact, divisible into10 the schematic and the symbolic. 5:352Both are hypotyposes, i. e. presentations (exhibitiones), not mere marks. Marks are merely designations of concepts by the aid of accompanying sensible signs devoid of any intrinsic connexion with the intuition of the Object. Their sole function is to afford a means of reinvoking15 the concepts according to the imagination’s law of association—a purely subjective rôle. Such marks are either words or visible (algebraic or even mimetic) signs, simply as expressions for concepts.¹

All intuitions by which a priori concepts are given a foothold20 are, therefore, either schemata or symbols. Schemata contain direct, symbols indirect, presentations of the concept. Schemata effect this presentation demonstratively, symbols by the aid of an analogy (for which recourse is had even to empirical intuitions), in which analogy judgement performs a double25 function: first in applying the concept to the object of a sensible intuition, and then, secondly, in applying the mere rule of its reflection upon that intuition to quite another object, of which the former is but the symbol In this way a monarchical state is represented as a living body when it is governed by30 223constitutional laws, but as a mere machine (like a hand-mill) when it is governed by an individual absolute will; but in both cases the representation is merely symbolic. For there is certainly no likeness between a despotic state and a hand-mill, whereas there surely is between the rules of reflection upon both5 and their causality. Hitherto this function has been but little analysed, worthy as it is of a deeper study. Still this is not the place to dwell upon it. In language we have many such indirect presentations modelled upon an analogy enabling the expression in question to contain, not the proper schema for10 the concept, but merely a symbol for reflection. Thus the words ground (support, basis), to depend (to be held up from above), to flow from (instead of to follow), substance (as Locke puts it: the support of accidents), and numberless others, are not schematic, but rather symbolic hypotyposes, and express15 concepts without employing a direct intuition for the purpose, but only drawing upon an analogy with one, i. e. transferring the reflection upon 5:353an object of intuition to quite a new concept, and one with which perhaps no intuition could ever directly correspond. Supposing the name of knowledge may be given20 to what only amounts to a mere mode of representation (which is quite permissible where this is not a principle of the theoretical determination of the object in respect of what it is in itself, but of the practical determination of what the idea of it ought to be for us and for its final employment), then all our knowledge25 of God is merely symbolic; and one who takes it, with the properties of understanding, will, and so forth, which only evidence their objective reality in beings of this world, to be schematic, falls into anthropomorphism, just as, if he abandons every intuitive element, he falls into Deism which furnishes no30 knowledge whatsoever—not even from a practical point of view.

Now, I say, the beautiful is the symbol of the morally good, and only in this light (a point of view natural to every one, and one which every one exacts from others as a duty) does35 224it give us pleasure with an attendant claim to the agreement of every one else, whereupon the mind becomes conscious of a certain ennoblement and elevation above mere sensibility to pleasure from impressions of sense, and also appraises the worth of others on the score of a like maxim of their judgement.5 This is that intelligible to which taste, as noticed in the preceding paragraph, extends its view. It is, that is to say, what brings even our higher cognitive faculties into common accord, and is that apart from which sheer contradiction would arise between their nature and the claims put forward by taste.10 In this faculty judgement does not find itself subjected to a heteronomy of laws of experience as it does in the empirical estimate of things—in respect of the objects of such a pure delight it gives the law to itself, just as reason does in respect of the faculty of desire. Here, too, both on account of this inner15 possibility in the Subject, and on account of the external possibility of a nature harmonizing therewith, it finds a reference in itself to something in the Subject itself and outside it, and which is not nature, nor yet freedom, but still is connected with the ground of the latter, i. e. the supersensible—a something in20 which the theoretical faculty gets bound up into unity with the practical in an intimate and obscure manner. We shall bring out a few points of this analogy, while taking care, at the same time, not to let the points of difference escape us.

(1) The beautiful pleases immediately (but only in reflective25 5:354intuition, not, like morality, in its concept). (2) It pleases apart from all interest (pleasure in the morally good is no doubt necessarily bound up with an interest, but not with one of the kind that are antecedent to the judgement upon the delight, but with one that judgement itself for the first time calls into existence).30 (3) The freedom of the imagination (consequently of our faculty in respect of its sensibility) is, in estimating the beautiful, represented as in accord with the understanding’s conformity to law (in moral judgements the freedom of the will is thought as the 225harmony of the latter with itself according to universal laws of Reason). (4) The subjective principle of the estimate of the beautiful is represented as universal, i. e. valid for every man, but as incognizable by means of any universal concept (the objective principle of morality is set forth as also universal, i. e.5 for all individuals, and, at the same time, for all actions of the same individual, and, besides, as cognizable by means of a universal concept). For this reason the moral judgement not alone admits of definite constitutive principles, but is only possible by adopting these principles and their universality as the ground of10 its maxims.

Even common understanding is wont to pay regard to this analogy; and we frequently apply to beautiful objects of nature or of art names that seem to rely upon the basis of a moral estimate. We call buildings or trees majestic and stately, or plains15 laughing and gay; even colours are called innocent, modest, soft, because they excite sensations containing something analogous to the consciousness of the state of mind produced by moral judgements. Taste makes, as it were, the transition from the charm of sense to habitual moral interest possible20 without too violent a leap, for it represents the imagination, even in its freedom, as amenable to a final determination for understanding, and teaches us to find, even in sensuous objects, a free delight apart from any charm of sense.

The division of a Critique into Elementology and Methodology—a division which is introductory to science—is one inapplicable 5:355to the Critique of Taste. For there neither is,30 nor can be, a science of the beautiful, and the judgement of taste is not determinable by principles. For, as to the 226element of science in every art—a matter which turns upon truth in the presentation of the Object of the art—while this is, no doubt, the indispensable condition (conditio sine qua non) of fine art, it is not itself fine art. Fine art, therefore, has only got a manner (modus), and not a method of teaching (methodus).5 The master must illustrate what the pupil is to achieve, and how achievement is to be attained, and the proper function of the universal rules to which he ultimately reduces his treatment is rather that of supplying a convenient text for recalling its chief moments to the pupil’s mind, than of prescribing them to him.10 Yet, in all this, due regard must be paid to a certain ideal which art must keep in view, even though complete success ever eludes its happiest efforts. Only by exciting the pupil’s imagination to conformity with a given concept, by pointing out how the expression falls short of the idea to which, as aesthetic, the con15cept itself fails to attain, and by means of severe criticism, is it possible to prevent his promptly looking upon the examples set before him as the prototypes of excellence, and as models for him to imitate, without submission to any higher standard or to his own critical judgement. This would result in genius being20 stifled, and, with it, also the freedom of the imagination in its very conformity to law—a freedom without which a fine art is not possible, nor even as much as a correct taste of one’s own for estimating it.

The propaedeutic to all fine art, so far as the highest degree25 of its perfection is what is in view, appears to lie, not in precepts, but in the culture of the mental powers produced by a sound preparatory education in what are called the humaniora—so called, presumably, because humanity signifies, on the one hand, the universal feeling of sympathy, and, on the other, the30 faculty of being able to communicate universally one’s inmost self—properties constituting in conjunction the befitting social spirit of mankind, in contradistinction to the narrow life of the lower animals. There was an age and there were nations 227in which the active impulse towards a social life regulated by laws—what converts a people into a permanent community—grappled with the huge difficulties presented by the trying problem of bringing freedom (and therefore equality also) into union with constraining force (more that of respect and dutiful5 submission than of fear). And such must have been the age, and such the nation, 5:356that first discovered the art of reciprocal communication of ideas between the more cultured and ruder sections of the community, and how to bridge the difference between the amplitude and refinement of the former and the natural10 simplicity and originality of the latter-in this way hitting upon that mean between higher culture and the modest worth of nature, that forms for taste also, as a sense common to all mankind, that true standard which no universal rules can supply.

Hardly will a later age dispense with those models. For15 nature will ever recede farther into the background, so that eventually, with no permanent example retained from the past, a future age would scarce be in a position to form a concept of the happy union, in one and the same people, of the law-directed constraint belonging to the highest culture, with the force and20 truth of a free nature sensible of its proper worth.

However, taste is, in the ultimate analysis, a critical faculty that judges of the rendering of moral ideas in terms of sense (through the intervention of a certain analogy in our reflection on both); and it is this rendering also, and the increased25 sensibility, founded upon it, for the feeling which these ideas evoke (termed moral sense), that are the origin of that pleasure which taste declares valid for mankind in general and not merely for the private feeling of each individual. This makes it clear that the true propaedeutic for laying the foundations of30 taste is the development of moral ideas and the culture of the moral feeling. For only when sensibility is brought into harmony with moral feeling can genuine taste assume a definite unchangeable form.

[Meredith’s references to points in the translation are by page and line numbers (in his book). In this version, page numbers appear in the margin (they are the marginal numbers without an initial ‘5:’), and the end of every group of five lines is marked by a small number just below the baseline of the text.]

Page 3, l. 22. ‘clear possession,’ baaren Besitz—as in our expression: ‘to give up clear possession’.

l. 27. ‘ideas.’ The reader must be most careful not to confuse Kant’s use of the word ‘idea’ with the wide sense in which it is used by Locke. The word is defined at pp. 76, 209. See Critique of Pure Reason, pp. 220-32: ‘I understand by idea a necessary conception of reason, to which no corresponding object can be discovered in the world of sense.’ (Ibid., p. 228; Werke, vol. iii, p. 254.) ‘They contain a certain perfection, attainable by no possible empirical cognition; and they give to reason a systematic unity, to which the unity of experience attempts to approximate, but can never completely attain.’ (Ibid., p. 350; Werke, vol. iii, p. 383.)

l. 29. ‘as regulative principles.’ Cf. Critique of Pure Reason, pp. 394-410; Werke, vol. iii, pp. 426-42. Notice the teleological point of view implied in the words ‘not without their use nor redundant.’

Page 4, l. 13. im Allgemeinen so benannte means ‘called in a general way’ or ‘comprehensively termed’. The Critique of Pure Reason, for the reasons mentioned in the preceding paragraph, covered the whole ground, and dealt with all the rational faculties in order to try the possible pretensions of each. But, now that Kant finds that understanding, judgement and reason all have constitutive principles, he sees that, if he is to call the present Critique that of Pure Judgement, it would be more appropriate to call the Critique of Pure Reason the Critique of Pure Understanding, as he does at p. 18, l. 1.

l. 14. gegen alle übrige Competenten in sicheren aber eigenen Besitz gesetzt werden sollte. The original text has sicheren aber einigen. Windelband reads sicheren alleinigen; Erdmann sicheren oder einzigen. While the Critique of Pure Reason gave understanding secure possession of its holding, this holding did not exhaust the field of pure reason (in a general sense), but was a separate, several, or individual holding proper to itself (eigen). It was secure but limited. Considering the sense of the whole passage I prefer to preserve the aber; and the change of einigen to eigenen is the slightest possible.

Page 5, ll. 24-8. See Kant’s general remarks on Judgement in the Critique of Pure Reason, pp. 104-6; Werke, vol. iii, pp. 131-3.

l. 29. ‘estimates’—Beurtheilungen. I have endeavoured to preserve the distinction between urtheilen and beurtheilen by 229translating the former by ‘to judge’, the latter by ‘to estimate’. In the former the point of view is simply logical, but in the latter there is a reference to critical reflection which implies a standpoint and^ introduces distinction into things. Kant gives facultas dijudicandi as the equivalent of Beurtheilungsvermögen in the original draft of the Introduction (cf. Hartenstein, vol. vi, p. 382). Undoubtedly the word ‘estimate’ is, in popular usage, generally taken to imply the point of view of quantity, and thus a calculation of amount, but this narrow meaning of the word is useless in philosophy.

Page 7, l. 12. Kant’s health began to fail about this time, and he was only able to work a few hours in the early part of the day. See his letter of Sept. 21, 1791, to Reinhold.

Page 9, l. 10. ‘for this is what is said’—nämlich. The first sentence of the paragraph is a restatement of the view of which Kant complains; the last gives his criticism.

l. 34. ‘prudence, as a skill.’ Cf. Ethics, p. 33 n.; Werke, vol. vi, p. 416; also Critique of Pure Reason, 485; Werke, vol. iii, p. 520.

Page 10, l. 21. ‘the art of social intercourse’—Kunst des Umganges. All that Shaftesbury implies by ‘good breeding’. It seems to mean here something more than mere good manners or the knowledge of how to behave in society.

Page 12, l. 6. ‘Object.’ I have used a capital throughout to distinguish Object from Gegenstand. An object, regarded as merely presented to the mind, is Gegenstand; whereas an object, regarded as already something for the mind—a thought-object—is Object.

Page 14, ll. 12-24. Cf. p. 34, l. 22 et seq.; also Critique of Pure Reason, p. 489; Werke, vol. iii, p. 524. Having regard to the antithetical relation of the world of nature and the world of freedom,and Kant’s reconciliation of freedom and necessity by reference to the two points of view according to which man may be considered either as a noumenon or a phenomenon, it would seem that the only difficulty is to see how freedom can give itself any meaning in the world of nature, i. e. how it can set before itself any end to be realized in nature. This problem is discussed in the Critique of Practical Reason under the heading ‘Of the Typic of the Pure Practical Judgement’. (See Ethics, p. 159 et seq.; Werke, vol. v, p. 67.) ‘It seems absurd to expect to find in the world of sense a case which, while as such it depends only on the law of nature, yet admits of the application to it of a law of freedom, and to which we can apply the supersensible idea of the morally good which is to be exhibited in concreto.’ (Ibid., p. 159.) This is Kant’s clear statement of the difficulty. His solution is that it is ‘allowable to use the system of the world of sense as the type of a supersensible system of things’. Hence ‘The rule of the judgement according to laws of pure practical reason is this: ask yourself whether, if the action you propose were to take place by a law of the system of nature of which you were yourself a part, you could regard it as possible by your own will.’ 230(Ibid., p. 161.) Now it seems that even to get thus far we must regard nature as if it were intended as a field for the realization of a possible free will. Further, underlying all Kant’s attempts to supply the categorical imperative with a concrete content, i. e. to show how it is applied in concrete cases, we find teleological assumptions. Thus, in the case of not telling lies, why should we not say ‘Thou shalt not speak at all’ instead of making an exception in favour of the truth and saying ‘Thou shalt not lie’? The answer seems to be that, by assigning to the social life of human beings a positive value, a greater opportunity is afforded for giving effect to the concept of freedom and of moral action, and that speech has a value in respect of social life. Here it seems that a teleological presupposition on the part of judgement performs services analogous to those which it performs in guiding us in our search for empirical laws. In the latter case we suppose a finality of nature for our cognitive faculties in order that a concrete experience may be possible: in the former we suppose a finality of nature for our moral faculty in order that concrete morality may be possible. Further, just as the scientist, bent on discovery, must go to work as an artist (kunstlich, orig. Intro. Erdmann, p. 352; cf. Anthrop., § 56), so the moral reformer who sets us an example must be, in a sense, an artist. (See Ethics, p. 274; Werke, vol. vi, p. 218: ‘If the habit of choice, according to laws of freedom, in contrast to physical laws, is here also to be called art, we must understand thereby such an art as would make a system of freedom like a system of nature possible; truly a divine art, were we in a condition to fulfil by means of reason the precepts of reason, and to carry its ideal into actuality.’ But more is involved than a mere habit of choice. The ethical idealist requires a constructive imagination acting under the idea of freedom. He must hit upon a more adequate expression of this conception of the moral law. This implies a kind of genius, which, when diffused, is called conscience.) It is in fact only through art that we get any definite result (beyond mere feeling) from the bearing of the practical upon the theoretical faculty. Art is Kant’s one and only mediating factor; and he seems hardly justified in confining its specific function to the case of fine art. Genius is properly confined to art, but it has some scope in science and ethics as well as in fine art. However, it is not possible to enter here into what would have to be a lengthy criticism of Kant’s Ethics. Suffice it to say that Kant’s remarks in the passage annotated and at p. 37 seem inadequate. It is obvious that the required harmony between the worlds of nature and of freedom is differently conceived according as we set out from the proposition ‘I must, therefore I can’, or from the proposition ‘Nature must be regarded as a field in which I can give an ever increasing meaning to the idea of freedom’. The only significant transition that judgement could effect would be one effected by it as a faculty regulating the introduction into nature of a system of positive concrete values.

231 Page 16, l. 11 (Critique of Practical Reason, Preface, p. 16.) See Ethics, p. 94; Werke, vol. v, p. 9; and cf. ibid., p. 265; Werke, vol. v, p. 9.

Page 19, l. 6. ‘can only give as a law from and to itself’—sich nur selbst als Gesetz geben. This neat rendering is adopted from Dean Bernard’s translation.

1.12. ‘in respect of these conditions’—in Ansehung dieser ganz zufälligen. Despite difference of opinion, I think it is quite clear that dieser refers to Bedingungen and not to Natur or to Gesetze. Compare pp. 26, l. 3; 27, ll. 1-6; 28, ll. 10, 11; and 31, l. 21.

Page 19, l. 32. ‘the finality of its form’—Zweckmässigkeit has been variously rendered by different writers as: ‘purposiveness,’ ‘purposefulness,’ ‘adaptation to ends.’ ‘Adaptation to ends,’ at all events, sounds better than ‘purposiveness’, but it is equally misleading. (For some remarks on Kant’s use of the word see Bosanquet, Hegel’s Philosophy of Fine Art, p. 148, and McTaggart, Commentary on Hegel’s Logic, p. 260.) Kant gives forma finalis (p. 61, l. 11) as its equivalent, and it is difficult to see why the rendering ‘finality’ should be so consistently avoided, unless it be that the word as most commonly used refers to termination in time. But why should philosophy only recognize the one meaning of the word that is practically useless in philosophy? Throughout the present translation the word ‘finality’ is used in its strict technical sense, and, to avoid ambiguity, the word ‘final’ is never used to mean ‘ultimate’, but always as in the expression ‘final cause’.

Page 20, l. 13. ‘The principle of the formal finality of nature is a transcendental principle of judgement.’ With Kant’s whole systematic treatment of the connexion between the finality of nature for the cognitive faculties and the estimate of beauty, compare Shaftesbury, The Moralists, Part III, §§ 2, 3, where beauty is connected with the representation of nature as a coherent whole, governed by a principle ‘of a universal union, coherence, or sympathizing of things’. See also Hutcheson’s Inquiry, sections 2, 3, 5, and 8. ‘There is another kind of beauty also which is still pleasing to our senses, and from which we conclude wisdom is the cause as well as design, and that is, when we see many useful or beautiful effects flowing from one general cause. There is a very good reason for this conclusion among men. Interest must lead beings of limited powers, who are uncapable of a great diversity of operations, and distracted by them, to choose this frugal oeconomy of their forces, and to look upon such management as an evidence of wisdom in other beings like themselves. Nor is this speculative reason all which influences them, for even beside this consideration of interest, they are determined by a sense of beauty where that reason does not hold.’ (Inquiry, sect. 5, subsect. 17.) ‘How innumerable are the effects of that one principle of heat, deriv’d to us from the sun, which is not only 232delightful to our sight and feeling, and the means of discerning objects, but is the cause of rains, springs, rivers, winds, and the universal cause of vegetation! How incomparably more beautiful is this structure than if we supposed so many distinct volitions in the Deity, producing every particular effect, and preventing some of the accidental evils which casually flow from the general law! And yet this latter manner of operation might have been more useful to us, would have been no distraction to Omnipotence: but then the great beauty had been lost, and there had been no more pleasure in the contemplation of this scene which is now so delightful. One would rather chuse to run the hazard of its casual evils, than part with that harmonious form which has been the unexhausted source of delight to the successive spectators in all ages.’ (Inquiry, sect. 5, subsect. 19.) Hutcheson made beauty dependent on uniformity and variety, and regarded the sense of beauty as universal and necessary because of the meaning of harmony and uniformity amid variety for the mind.

Page 22, l. 10. None of Kant’s Deductions surpasses in clearness the one which here follows. The last paragraph of the next section forms an interesting commentary upon it, for it shows what may be admitted without prejudice to the soundness of the Deduction. This section and the last form a Critique in miniature.

Page 24, l. 10. ‘containing a maybe (allenfalls) endless multiplicity of empirical laws.’ This might, perhaps, be translated ‘containing at all events an endless multiplicity’, &c., but the former rendering seems preferable. Cf. p. 27, ‘with their wealth of at least possible variety.’

Page 26, l. 9. ‘confirmed by this means,’ i. e. observation may give it a footing in experience, and show that it has a field of application.

Page 27, l. 12. An eloquent statement of the central thought in this section was given by Mr. Balfour in a Presidential Address to the British Association: ‘Now, whether the main outlines of the world-picture which I have just imperfectly presented to you be destined to survive, or whether in their turn they are to be obliterated by some new drawing on the scientific palimpsest, all will, I think, admit that so bold an attempt to unify physical nature excites feelings of the most acute intellectual gratification. The satisfaction it gives is almost aesthetic in its intensity and quality. We feel the same sort of pleasurable shock as when from the crest of some melancholy pass we first see far below us the sudden glories of plain, river, and mountain.’

Page 29, l. 13. ‘its aesthetic quality’—Beschaffenheit, or ‘its aesthetic character’; but in the case of a character like this we generally say ‘quality’.

l. 17. ‘both sides’—beide Beziehungen, ‘both references.’

l. 18. ‘Quality of space’—Qualität des Raums.

l. 28. ‘with real existence’—Existirendes. Existenz is throughout translated ‘real existence’ (Locke’s expression), and Dasein 233‘existence’. Kant, however, does not preserve the distinction very faithfully.

l. 32. Cf. Critique of Pure Reason, p. 40: ‘All in our cognition that belongs to intuition contains nothing more than mere relations. The feelings of pain and pleasure, and the will, which are not cognitions, are excepted.’ (Werke, vol. iii, p. 69.) Also see ibid., p. 486 n.; Werke, vol. iii, p. 520 n.

Page 30, l. 14. ‘and this representation itself is an aesthetic representation of the finality,’ i. e. the representation (of the object) regarded as immediately bound up with the feeling of pleasure is in itself an aesthetic representation of the finality of the object.

Page 33, l. 18. ‘There are two ways in which finality may be represented in an object given in experience.’ The finality dealt with in Sections V and VI was not a finality represented in an object, but in the systematic unity of nature and the connexion of its particular laws. The judgement of taste and the teleological judgement, on the other hand, both estimate a finality represented in an object, the reference in the former case being subjective, in the latter objective.

l. 22. ‘prior to any concept.’ This does not mean that the object ceases to be beautiful the moment one has formed a concept of it. But, suppose the concept were to exhaust the meaning which had been felt to be in the form of the given object, would the beauty then vanish? Suppose I admire the shape of a vase and subsequently discover that this shape exhibits a curve which can be constructed a priori according to a concept, does the beauty cease to exist? The answer seems to be that, in so far as I do in thought construct it merely according to such a concept, I cut short that play of the faculties of representation, in reference to the maintenance of which, as a free play, the object can alone be judged to be according to taste. The very business of the concept is to cut short the mental movement, to gather up results, and form a new starting-point. But in so far as I am able, notwithstanding the concept, to keep reconstructing the form in my imagination—not as a geometrician, but rather as an artist mentally drawing the object according to a sense-impression—and feel myself impelled so to reconstruct it, so far I may represent a finality on the part of the object in respect of the faculties of cognition. Beauty touches the given form of the individual object, and so it is only in artificial cases that one can suppose that a concept exhausts the felt meaning of its particular form. Even if we have a concept of the object, still if the individual form suggests a meaning in the selection of that individual form out of the infinite number of possible forms which would satisfy the concept, then the imagination does not appear subject to constraint. It is rather left with a field in which it enjoys freedom. We see this most clearly in the case of architecture and beautiful furniture, where the purpose of the object, while it sets certain limits, at the 234same time furnishes art with its opportunity. And even in music, where imagination has its greatest freedom, it is only the conception of a law that gives it the opportunity for the exercise of that freedom. Thus Kant repeatedly shows the absurdity of the idea that the best way to give full scope to the imagination is to ignore all the rules of art.

The words ‘prior to any concept’ only mean that the judgement of taste must not be determined by any reference to concepts. The object must be contemplated as it is in that synthesis of the imagination which, according to Kant, is epistemologically prior to any concept. (See Critique of Pure Reason, pp. 62, 63, 92, 93; Werke, vol. iii, pp. 91, 92, 119, 120.)

A pertinent question put by Professor Caird (vol. ii, p. 459) may now be considered: ‘There is no aesthetic joy in the determination of an object in relation to other objects in the context of experience; why should there be aesthetic joy in the working of the faculties which prepares the way for such determination?’ Now, first of all, it may be remarked that Section VI of the Introduction makes the contrast less sharp than the question would imply. But, further, ‘the aesthetic joy’ is not a joy immediately involved ‘in the working of the faculties which prepares the way’ for the determination of an object in relation to other objects, or even which prepares the way for cognition generally, but a joy in the object estimated in respect of that ‘working of the faculties’ in general, and as a purely subjective reference. That reference implies a standpoint, and there is something that leads to the adoption of that standpoint. It hardly seems strange that there should be aesthetic delight in an object when it is given a subjective reference, although this delight is absent when the reference is merely objective. If the ‘aesthetic joy’ were immediately involved in the preparatory working of the faculties, apart from any adoption of a particular standpoint, then Professor Caird’s question would be unanswerable. For every object, as it is in the original synthesis of imagination, would then be beautiful.

But, leaving verbal criticism, it must be admitted that the question seems susceptible of a deeper meaning. If the synthesis is simply that synthesis which prepares the way for cognition by concepts, how can it bear the strain that must be put upon it? If, on the other hand, it is something more than that synthesis, is not the validity of the Deduction (§ 38) seriously threatened? Now, taking the second question first, it would seem possible (supposing it were necessary) to follow Kant in the main and yet admit that he has overstated the Deduction; for judgements of taste might very easily be put in the same position in this respect as judgements about the sublime. But, apart from this, the restriction to that synthesis of imagination which prepares the way for cognition generally is not so severe as seems at first sight. For any arrangement of the manifold of intuition enabling us to grasp and reproduce the form 235of the object is favourable to the business of understanding generally, no matter whether understanding eventually finds itself able to make anything special of the arrangement or not. Further, as to the first question, the strain put upon this preparatory working of the faculties of cognition is not so great as seems to be generally supposed. We must distinguish between the function of taste as a mere critical faculty which forms an estimate of an object before it, be it of nature or of art, and genius as a source of content. The class of objects in or about which our cognitive faculties alone have been engaged, and which we may yet regard as beautiful—objects which, while they are not products of art, still suggest art—is a most restricted class. Some birds, shell-fish, and plants exhaust the list! This is the full extent of the strain. For, properly speaking, the strain is only felt where a mere judgement of taste upon a given object of nature is thought to be of itself adequate for the representation of beauty. It is not felt where, as in a landscape, what is estimated is the creation of an art to which nature only gives an incentive. For taste, as a purely critical faculty, is always competent to estimate the harmony of imagination and understanding, which is as easily discernible in a work of art as in a free beauty of nature.

We must always keep in view the course of Kant’s argument. He begins by considering the class of cases where nothing but taste, as a mere critical faculty, is involved, and exemplifies taste in those simple cases. Subsequently he considers the more complicated cases where the problem of content arises. A work of art, he tells us, may be in perfectly good taste, and yet be soulless and insipid. The only question is whether the same might not be said of the shell-fish.

Unhelped by the poetic voice

That hourly speaks within us.

But, perhaps, even judgement according to the mere analogy of art is at least the first whisper of that poetic voice.

Page 34, l. 22. ‘Natural beauty may, therefore, be looked on as the presentation of the concept of formal, i. e. merely subjective, finality.’ Cf. p. 35, ll. 1-17; also annotations to p. 33, l. 18, and p. 92, l. 16.

l. 26. ‘The former of these we estimate by taste (aesthetically by means of the feeling of pleasure).’ How can the feeling of pleasure enable ns to decide that in a particular case a harmony of imagination and understanding is involved? Kant does not seem to throw this duty on the feeling of pleasure. The feeling of pleasure merely involves a consciousness of the quickening of the faculties by their mutual accord, and it is only negatively and inferentially, owing to our consciousness that the pleasure arises on contemplation of the mere form of the object, that we are able to know that imagination and understanding are the faculties engaged. We contemplate the mere form of the object, and we are influenced by no merely subjective grounds of determination—at 236least so far as consciousness is concerned. Hence the pleasure squares with the idea of a pleasure in the mere reflection upon the forms of objects. Kant has only to justify the conception of a possible pure judgement of taste. Even if obscure associations, not present to consciousness, were to have a share in the origin of the pleasure, in any particular case, still judgement by means of such a pleasure would have subjectively the form of a pure aesthetic judgement. The worst that could happen would be that our claim to universal agreement would be disappointed in those cases where the obscure associations unconsciously affecting our judgement did not equally affect the judgements of others. This explains how our judgements of taste do not always meet with that universal assent that we claim to be due to them.

Page 36, l. 21. ‘a Critique which is the propaedeutic of all philosophy’—i. e. the Critique in question only belongs to Critique in the widest sense.

Page 39, ll. 8-14. Cf. p. 225, ll. 19-24.

Page 41, l. 8. ‘First moment of the judgement of taste: moment of quality.’ Lit. ‘First moment of the judgement of taste, according to its quality’. For some criticisms of Kant’s position, with comments on the four moments, by Hegel, see the Introduction to the Vorlesungen über die Aesthetik, pp. 73-8. (Hegel’s Philosophy of Fine Art, Bosanquet, 143-52.)

l. 12. ‘If we wish to discern whether anything is beautiful or not’—um zu unterscheiden, ob etwas schön sei oder nicht—lit. ‘in order to distinguish whether’, &c. It is difficult to bring out the exact force of these words. Kant does not mean merely ‘in order to decide’, &c. He is not here thinking of what, in a particular case, makes us regard an object as beautiful instead of the reverse, but rather of the standpoint which we must adopt in order to introduce this peculiar distinction into our judgements upon objects. To be beautiful or not is a peculiar distinction which objects acquire by virtue of the subjective reference which we give to them.

l. 14. ‘the imagination.’ Cf. p. 86. The British writers, headed by Addison, were chiefly responsible for calling attention to the importance of imagination. ‘The emotions of sublimity and beauty are uniformly ascribed, both in popular and in philosophical language, to the imagination. The fine arts are considered as the arts which are addressed to the imagination, and the pleasures they afford are described, by way of distinction, as the Pleasures of the Imagination.’ (Alison, Essays on Taste, p. 1.) Both Addison and Akenside had dealt with the subject of aesthetics under the title of ‘The Pleasures of the Imagination’.

l. 15. ‘acting perhaps in conjunction with the understanding.’ The word ‘perhaps’ (instead of ‘no doubt’, which might have seemed more natural) is significant as showing that the emphasis is on the imagination and the reference of the representation to the Subject and its feeling of pleasure or displeasure. It is a sugges237tion to the reader not to trouble himself for the present with any question beyond the immediate reference in an aesthetic judgement.

l. 20. ‘The definition of taste here relied upon is that it is the faculty of estimating the beautiful.’ At the outset taste is defined in this general way. In § 40 Kant finds himself in a position to give a more complete definition. Burke, similarly, at the outset defines taste, adding the remark ‘but let the virtue of a definition be what it will, in the order of things, it seems rather to follow than to precede our inquiry, of which it ought to be considered as the result’. Perhaps definitions might be divided into delimitative or material, and explicative or formal. Duff defines taste as follows: ‘We may define Taste to be that internal sense, which, by its own exquisitely nice sensibility, without the assistance of the reasoning faculty, distinguishes and determines the various qualities of the objects submitted to its cognizance; pronouncing, by its own arbitrary verdict, that they are grand or mean, beautiful or ugly, decent or ridiculous.’ (Essay on Original Genius, p. 11.)

ll. 23-6. Kant does not in any way derive the moments from the logical functions of judging. He rather compares the quality, quantity, relation, and modality of a judgement of taste with those of cognitive judgements. (Cf. last paragraph of § 31.) They could have been of little assistance to him in the search. Also, as will be seen, he shifts about from the table of logical functions to the table of categories. (Critique of Pure Reason, pp. 58, 64; Werke, vol. iii, pp. 87, 93.) Of course, since the analysis is intended as a transcendental exposition of judgements of taste, Kant was confined to some such point of view as that actually adopted.

ll. 26-8. Also, the second moment may be deduced from this. (See § 6.) See also § 24, where the reason is stated to be that this judgement concerns the form of the object. In the judgement on the sublime, which is occasioned by the formlessness of the object, Kant begins with quantity.

Page 42, l. 8. ‘To apprehend a regular (regelmässiges) and appropriate (zweckmässiges) building.’ Here zweckmässiges means ‘appropriate’, i. e. suited to its purpose; for Kant is speaking of a cognitive judgement in which nothing is considered but adaptation to a particular purpose.

l. 11. ‘delight’—Wohlgefallen. The word ‘delight’ has been used by most English writers on art and aesthetics, from Sir Philip Sidney down to writers of the present day, in the sense of Wohlgefallen, and, accordingly, it is here adopted in that sense. (See Alison’s remarks on the word in the passage quoted in the annotation to p. 45, l. 28.) Missfallen I have generally rendered by aversion. As alternatives for delight and aversion I have, however, sometimes used liking and dislike.

l. 13. ‘feeling of life,’ or, sense of vitality. Cf. p. 91, l. 6. The importance of the feeling of life was emphasized by Donaldson and elaborated by him into a theory. He is one of the several 238British writers of this period who regarded expression or character as the essence of beauty, and he analysed this expression into a suggestion of life or animation. ‘All pleasure, whether proceeding from simple or complex causes, may be distinguished as follows: first, the pleasure of perceiving the qualities of objects by means of sense, by which we know that we exist; secondly, the social satisfaction on expression of this pleasure in others, by which we know that they live or exist; thirdly, the pleasure of perceiving the social or communicative principle, and that this is mutually perceived in ourselves, including all the former pleasures, and to which they are to be considered only as assisting and subservient.’ (Elements of Beauty, pp. 51, 52.) ‘Qualities of objects, so far as they relate to beauty, are either such as most clearly excite perception or life in the senses; or they are composed of these, and somewhat expressive of life or sensibility.’ (Ibid., p. 9.) ‘Character is that which distinguishes one object from another. Whatever most resembles the symptoms of sensibility in ourselves, we discern to have the greatest share of expression. That particular object is most agreeably distinguished which either affects the senses by exciting the liveliest perceptions; or which, by means of what is delightful to sense, expresses the clearest sense of internal perception.’ (Ibid., p. 50.) ‘In love, the soul is feelingly alive to every finer sense, and it is the finest expression of life which excites it; love personified being perfect beauty.’ (Ibid., p. 63.) ‘The pleasures of sensation are again reflected outwards, and again are perceived by the senses, communicating a new and social happiness. It is not till goodness be thus expressed that it assumes the nature of beauty.’ (Ibid., p. 51.) ‘Thus have we briefly traced the progress of beauty from its beginning in the senses, to its second source of perfection in the mind, both centring in the consciousness of life and sensibility.’ (Ibid., p, 66.) ‘It is at this second period pleasure loses the name of sensual or selfish.’ (Ibid., p. 67.)

l. 26. ‘The delight which determines the judgement of taste is independent of all interest.’ Thomas Aquinas, Moses Mendelssohn, Hutcheson, and Nettleton have already been mentioned as anticipating Kant in the emphasis of disinterestedness. (See supra, p. lv. The two former are mentioned by Bosanquet, History oj Aesthetics. Also see Cronin, Science of Ethics, pp. 501, 502.) But the chief honour undoubtedly belongs to Shaftesbury and Hutcheson. (Cf. Inquiry, Preface; sect, i, subsects. 13, 14, 15, 16; sect, vi, subsects. 7, 8; sect, viii, subsect. 1.) Shaftesbury is not so explicit; but it is implied by his whole moral philosophy, since it was because he regarded virtue and the moral sense as essentially disinterested that he brought the moral sense and the sense of beauty into such close connexion. (See The Moralists, §§ 2, 3; Miscellaneous Reflections, iii, ch. 2; iv, ch. 1.) In the Essay on the Sublime and Beautiful Burke says: ‘I likewise distinguish love (by which I mean that satisfaction which arises to the mind upon content239plating anything beautiful, of whatsoever nature it may be) from desire or lust; which is an energy of the mind, that hurries us on to the possession of certain objects, that do not affect us as they are beautiful, but by means altogether different.’ (Part III, § I.) He also observes that ‘beauty demands no assistance from our reasoning; even the will is unconcerned’. (Part III, § 2.) (Kant notes Burke’s distinction between love of beauty and desire. See supra, p. 131, l. 3.) Adam Smith and Hartley also recognized that delight in the beautiful is independent of any desire to possess the object, and Hume recognized that the judgement of taste should not be influenced by any prejudice or partiality. Alison insisted that the mind must be ‘vacant’ and ‘unemployed’ in order that we may be disposed to follow out the train of thought suggested by the imagination. (Essays on Taste, pp. 6, 8, 12, 65.) With him this disengagement was merely the negative condition of the freedom of the imagination, the result of which freedom, and not any mental detachment upon which it depended, alone being of positive value. Avison remarks that the passions raised by music ‘are of the benevolent and social kind, and in their intent at least are disinterested and noble’. (Essay on Musical Expression, p. 5.) But what makes Hutcheson’s statement such a clear anticipation of Kant is that he not alone emphasized the disinterestedness of our sense of beauty, but emphasized it for the purpose of bringing our sense of beauty into connexion with the moral sense, so as to anticipate Kant’s remarks at the close of § 59. It is strange that Burke, another Irishman, was Hutcheson’s closest follower on the point of disinterestedness, and that the latter does not seem to have greatly influenced any of the English writers. But perhaps we have so few interests left to us in Ireland that the idea of finding some worth in our disinterestedness and indifference to the possession of things may be naturally attractive.

Page 43, ll. 25-8. Cf. pp. 64, l. 26; 152, l. 10. A judgement of taste, so far as it is not impartial, partakes rather of the nature of the determinate than of the reflective judgement. Hume recognized the importance of freedom from prejudice. ‘But to enable a critic the more fully to execute this undertaking, he must preserve his mind free from all prejudice, and allow nothing to enter into his consideration, but the very object which is submitted to his examination.… When any work is addressed to the public, though I should have a friendship or enmity with the author, I must depart from this situation, and, considering myself as a man in general, forget, if possible, my individual, and my peculiar circumstances. A person influenced by prejudice complies not with this condition, but obstinately maintains his natural position, without placing himself in that point of view which the performance requires.… It is well known that, in all questions submitted to the understanding, prejudice is destructive of sound judgement, and perverts all operations of the intellectual faculties: it is no less contrary to good 240taste; nor has it less influence to corrupt our sentiment of beauty.’ (Essays, Part I, ‘Of the Standard of Taste.’) But Hume, in the main, regards freedom from prejudice merely as a condition sine qua non of a sound judgement of taste; he does not see in disinterestedness a characteristic constitutive of the very essence of the judgement of taste. Similarly Webb speaks of rising to ‘an unprejudiced and liberal contemplation of true beauty’. (Beauties of Painting, p. 18; cf. p. 65.) Also FitzOsborne: ‘Not to mention that false bias which party or personal dislike may fix upon the mind, the most unprejudiced critic will find it difficult to disengage himself entirely from those partial affections in favour of particular beauties, to which either the general course of his studies, or the peculiar cast of his temper, may have rendered him most sensible.’ (Letters, No. 39, p. 386.) Such passages are quite common; but they all contemplate only prejudice of the more flagrant kind, and hence fall below Kant’s conception.

l. 34. ‘wholly disinterested, but withal very interesting.’ Cf. pp. 154, l. 18 et seq.; 161, l. 14 et seq. Also cf. Ethics, p. 30 n.; Werke, vol. iv, p. 413.

Page 45, ll. 11-16. Cf. footnote in the first section of the Introduction to the Metaphysic of Morals. (Ethics, p. 266; Werke, vol. vi, p. 211.) This definition should be noted so as to avoid the danger of supposing that Kant ever means by feeling something in the nature of an instinctive judgement bearing on the logical character of the object. Feeling is with Kant what is absolutely incapable of forming a representation of an object, and no process of analysis can turn it into an objective representation. The following are examples of the sense in which Kant does not use the word feeling: ‘I should say that taste was a facility in the mind to be moved by what is excellent in an art; it is a feeling of the truth.’ (Webb, Beauties of Painting, p. 8.) ‘Quickened by exercise, and confirmed by comparison, it outstrips reasoning; and feels in an instant that truth, which the other develops by degrees.’ (Ibid., p. 12.)

l. 26. ‘But the bearing its real existence has upon my state so far as affected by such an Object.’ A judgement upon such a bearing is, of course, a cognitive and not an aesthetic judgement. Where the real existence of the object is considered, there it is considered as in relation to other things and not wholly on its own account. Hence the distinction between the beautiful and the agreeable might be proved from Kant’s major premiss. But Kant is not here concerned so much with proving that the judgements upon the agreeable and the beautiful are distinct, as with distinguishing them and illustrating the distinction. As already stated, he is formulating the conception of a pure judgement of taste as something quite independent and sui generis. It is rather the possibility of persisting in the distinction that proves the major premiss (which is as much a conclusion as a major premiss), than the major premiss that proves the distinction. The statement that 241the delight in the beautiful is disinterested at once serves to distinguish it from the agreeable and the good. Alison, whose work appeared about the same time as Kant’s, insisted very strongly on the importance of distinguishing what he calls the ‘emotions of taste’ from all other kinds of emotion or pleasure. (Cf. Essays on Taste, pp. xi, 51, 99, 100, 113, 384.) He regarded the simpler emotions as presupposed by the complex emotions of taste; the latter supervene upon the former, but are radically distinct. (See next note.) Unfortunately he does not use the word play of imagination with the simple emotions—but that is his meaning.

l. 28. While Shaftesbury and Hutcheson both recognized, the distinction between delight in the beautiful and the gratification afforded by the agreeable, the clearest statement is by Alison, ‘The distinction which thus appears to subsist between the Emotions of Simple Pleasure, and that complex pleasure which accompanies the Emotions of Taste, seems to require a similar distinction in philosophical language. I believe, indeed, that the distinction is actually to be found in the common language of conversation; and I apprehend that the term Delight is very generally used to express the peculiar pleasure which attends the emotions of taste, in contradistinction to the general term Pleasure, which is appropriated to Simple Emotion. We are pleased, we say, with the gratification of any appetite or affection—with food when hungry, and with rest when tired—with the gratification of Curiosity, of Benevolence, or of Resentment. But we say, we are delighted with the prospect of a beautiful landscape, with the sight of a fine statue, with hearing a pathetic piece of music, with the perusal of a celebrated poem. In these cases the term Delight is used to denote that pleasure which arises from Sublimity and Beauty, and to distinguish it from those simpler pleasures which arise from objects that are agreeable. If it were permitted me therefore, I should wish to appropriate the term Delight, to signify the peculiar pleasure which attends the Emotions of Taste, or which is felt, when the Imagination is employed in the Prosecution of a regular Train of Ideas of Emotion.’ (Essays on Taste, pp. 106, 107.)

Page 46, l. 2. ‘Delight in the good.’ The writings of Shaftesbury and Hutcheson drew forth a number of emphatic statements of the distinction between the good and the beautiful. In a Tract on the foundation of Moral Goodness Balguy showed that the beauty of virtue has nothing to do with ‘moral rectitude’. Richard Price said ‘right and pleasure, wrong and pain, are things totally different.… As different as a cause and its effect; what is understood, and what is felt; absolute truth, and its agreeableness to the mind’. (Review of the Principal Questions and Difficulties in Morals, p. 102.) ‘Beauty seems always to refer to the reception of pleasure; and the beauty, therefore, of an action or character, must signify its being such as pleases us; or has an aptness to please us when perceived.’ (Ibid., p. 104.) ‘Every one must see, that these 242epithets denote the delight, or, on the contrary, the horror and detestation felt by ourselves; and, consequently, signify not any real qualities of actions, but the effects in us, or the particular pleasure and pain, attending the contemplation of them.’ (Ibid., pp. 90, 91.) This distinction is not affected by the fact that virtue is naturally adapted to please every mind, and that ‘to behold virtue is to admire her’. (Ibid., p. 94 et seq.) Similarly Donaldson: ‘Neither is beauty itself the same with goodness; but rather what is pleasing to sense, associated with an expression of goodness.’ (Elements of Beauty, p. 7.) ‘What pleases any one sense, comes as it were recommended to the rest. What is beautiful, we are disposed to think good; what is good, beautiful. Though here we must distinguish between the good, and the beautiful; between notions of wholesomeness or utility, and that which produces an immediate sensation of pleasure.… The perpendicular wall of a house is good, because it implies stability; but it is not therefore beautiful: on the contrary, the ornamental part strikes us not as being any otherwise useful than that it immediately pleases.’ (Ibid., pp. 33, 34.)

Page 49, l. 14. ‘i. e., for beings at once animal and rational.’ Cf. Sir Philip Sidney, Apologie for Poetrie: ‘But grant love of beautie, to be a beastlie fault, (although it be very hard, sith onely man, and no beast, hath that gyft, to discerne beauty).’

l. 24. ‘favour.’ Cf. p. 220, l. 16.

l. 31. ‘Hunger is the best sauce.’ Cf. Burke, Essay on the Sublime and Beautiful, Introduction: ‘Every trivial cause of pleasure is apt to affect the man of too sanguine a complexion: his appetite is too keen to suffer his taste to be delicate. One of this character can never be a refined judge; never what the comic poet calls elegans formarum spectator.’

Page 50, l. 15. ‘The object of such a delight is called beautiful.’ Presumably we may conclude that the object of the aversion apart from any interest is to be called ugly. Except for this reference to aversion and continual references to the feelings of pleasure and displeasure, there is not much to indicate that the beautiful, regarded as the Object of a pure judgement of taste, is placed in contradistinction to the ugly. In § 48 Kant speaks of the superiority which art evidences in being able to give a beautiful description of what in nature would be ugly or displeasing. This is the only actual reference to the ugly. The definitions of beauty in the second, third, and fourth moments do not suggest corresponding definitions of ugliness. Also the definition of taste in § 40 gives no help. Again, § 21 would seem to suggest that the most that a pure judgement of taste could recognize would be a lack of that proportion in the accord of the cognitive faculties necessary for considering the object to be beautiful. Also the sequel would suggest that the sublime and the laughable are ready to capture most of what is not beautiful. Indeed, apart from the above 243reference, we might be tempted to conclude that the beautiful of the pure aesthetic judgement was above the distinction between beauty and ugliness. Certainly it seems hard to think of an object as being ugly, unless our judgement is determined by the representation of it as disagreeable—and the judgement that something is agreeable or disagreeable is not a pure judgement of taste. The instances, moreover, of things ugly in nature given in § 48, ‘The Furies, diseases, devastations of war and the like,’ do not suggest a pure judgement of taste. Further, a judgement which has reference to an ideal of beauty (§ 17) is not a pure judgement of taste, and it is precisely in this connexion that we meet what par excellence merits the name of ‘ugly’, e.g. beings ‘That look not like inhabitants of the earth, and yet are on it’. So far as art is concerned, the ground would seem to be covered by what is either in bad taste or is soulless and insipid, or what is a discord, or in the nature of a discord, introduced as a constituent element of what is, as a whole, beautiful. It would seem, therefore, to be a beauty less pure than that described by Kant, that has as its opposite the ugly. It is strange that Kant does not deal adequately with the question, as it had been distinctly raised by Hutcheson, who devotes two admirable subsections to the subject. (Cf. Inquiry) sect, vi, subsects. 1, 2,) Hutcheson regards ugliness as absence of expected beauty, and maintains that ‘Our Sense of Beauty seems designed to give us positive Pleasure, but not positive Pain or Disgust, any farther than what arises from disappointment’.

Page 51, ll. 6-12. Cf. annotations to p. 136, l. 29. Reid noted this point, but had no suspicion of the reply that philosophy would make to his common-sense inference. ‘Nay, if we speak accurately and strictly, we shall find that, in every operation of taste, there is judgement implied. When a man pronounces a poem or a palace to be beautiful, he affirms something of that poem or that palace.… Why should I use a language the contrary of what I mean?… Even those who hold beauty to be merely a feeling in the person that perceives it, find themselves under a necessity of expressing themselves as if beauty were solely a quality of the object, and not of the percipient.’ (Essays on the Intellectual Powers, Essay VIII, ch. i, sect. 6.)

Page 52, l. 13. ‘if it merely pleases him.’ The italics are the translator’s.

l. 26. ‘Every one has his own taste’—or, ‘Every man to his taste’—ein jeder hat seinen eigenen Geschmack (reading eigenen instead of besonderen). In the second edition besonderen was changed to eigenen in the same sentence above at l. 7, and the italics (or, rather, wide spacing) introduced. The proverb is repeated twice in § 56, and reads: ein jeder hat seinen eignen Geschmack. It would seem that besonderen was only left in the one place by an oversight. Erdmann reads eignen, but Windelband preserves besonderen.

244 Page 54, l. 15 et seq. Cf. Hume’s Essays, ‘The Sceptic’ and ‘The Standard of Taste’, where the whole question is discussed. Kant and Hume are agreed on the facts; but Kant insists that the claim put forward by taste can only be explained by reference to an a priori conception, indeterminate and indeterminable, forming the basis of taste as a reflective judgement. Cf. Hutcheson, Inquiry, Preface, p. xvi, and sect, vi, subsect. 4. In the Introduction to the Essay on the Sublime and Beautiful Burke observes: ‘And indeed, on the whole one may observe that there is rather less difference upon matters of taste among mankind than upon most of those which depend upon the naked reason; and that men are far better agreed on the excellency of a description in Virgil, than on the truth or falsehood of a theory of Aristotle.’ Also, cf. Home, Elements of Criticism, ch. 25. The British writers sought to avoid the difficulty by emphasizing the agreement that actually prevails. The real point is that the agreement required is greater (being universal) than any to which experience could testify, or than the subjectivity of taste would lead one to expect. For Shaftesbury’s views, see note to p. 205, l. 25. Gerard, Essay on Taste, Part IV, ‘The Standard of Taste’ (see third edition), contends that the conception of a standard of taste implies a reference to principles governing taste, but he makes the mistake of regarding these principles as objective, not subjective. He seems to have no suspicion of the importance of disinterestedness, although he was familiar with Hutcheson’s work.

l. 29. ‘For this universality I use the expression general validity’ (Gemeingültigkeit). This term is used merely to signify subjectivity, and not to emphasize general, as opposed to universal validity. Kant frequently speaks of subjective Allgemeingültigkeit, when referring to this very same universality.

Page 55, l. 16. ‘In their logical quantity all judgements of taste are singular judgements.’ Cf. p. 140, l. 28. Then is the judgement ‘All these roses are beautiful’ a singular judgement? It is really a fasciculus of singular judgements expressed in a proposition which, from the point of view of mere formal logic (which disregards thought whenever it gets a chance), is universal. Hence, notwithstanding the above judgement, it is quite correct to say that all judgements of taste are singular judgements. But what about the judgement ‘Some roses are beautiful’? Similar observations apply. The proposition ‘Some S is P’ really means ‘X S is P’—where X is undetermined, and may be either a number which it might be possible to point out, as in the proposition ‘Some roses are beautiful’, or a sub-class which it would be possible to define, as in the proposition ‘Some soldiers wear kilts’, which proposition extra information will convert into ‘All soldiers of Highland regiments wear kilts’. If Sir W. Hamilton had spoken of the hypothetical qualification of the subject instead of the quantification of the predicate he would have been more to the point.

245 l. 27-8. ‘Roses in general are beautiful.’ Cf. p. 140, l. 31. Of what kind is the judgement, ‘All simple colours are beautiful’? Cf. p. 66, ll. 9-12, and p. 67, l. 3.

Page 56, l. 12. ‘We want to get a look at the Object with our own eyes.’ Cf. p. 140, l. 25.

Page 57, l. 1. ‘For himself he can be certain on the point from his mere consciousness of the separation of everything belonging to the agreeable and the good from the delight remaining to him.’ It would have been clearer to say, ‘For himself he can be certain on the point, simply from his consciousness of a residuum of pure delight remaining to him after the separation of everything belonging to the agreeable and the good.’ But it does not appear that one can be conscious of anything more than the will to lay down a pure judgement of taste. I may, for instance, be influenced in my judgement upon the form of an object by some obscure association of visual with muscular sensations of which I am quite unconscious. These associations may enable me to draw the form in my imagination with ease, and may invest it with an apparent meaning, of the source of which I am quite unconscious.

ll. 24-7. Cf. § 37.

Page 61, ll. 16-22. Cf. p. 66, l. 15 et seq. Cf. Home, Elements of Criticism, vol. i, p. 184: ‘The tendency of every pleasant emotion is to prolong the pleasure; and the tendency of every painful emotion is to end the pain,’ Kant, it will be seen, defines pleasure and displeasure by their influence upon the trend of consciousness.

ll. 23-5. Cf. Kant’s Introduction to the Metaphysic of Morals, sect. i. (Ethics, pp. 265-70). ‘The appetitive faculty, whose inner determining principle, and, consequently, even its “good pleasure” (Belieben), is found in the reason of the subject, is called the rational will (Wille). Accordingly the rational will is the appetitive faculty, not (like the elective will) in relation to the action, but rather in relation to what determines the elective will (Willkühr) to the action; and it has properly itself no determining ground; but in so far as it can determine the elective will it is practical reason itself’ (p. 268; Werke, vol. vi, p. 213).

Page 65, l. 15. ‘associated.’ Cf. pp. 67, l. 11; 68, 1. 31; 91, l. 7. There is no reason for not rising the word associate in a general sense, i. e. without any reference to the law of the association of ideas, to translate Verbindung in cases where a connexion by concepts is not meant. English transcendentalists, however, seem to regard it as a point of honour to avoid the word.

Page 66, l. 27. ‘which I, still, in no way doubt’—woran ich doch gar nicht zweifle. This is the reading of the third edition, and is that followed by Windelband. The earlier editions had gar sein—‘which, however, I greatly doubt’—and this reading was universally followed. The difference is, of course, most material; so I shall fully state my reasons for following Windelband in 246preference to the other editors. First of all, it may be mentioned that Windelband does not regard the reading of the third edition as due to a correction made by Kant himself. He approves it on the merits, as an emendation coming from the unknown hand that revised the third edition. In support of his position he first refers to passages in other works of Kant, showing that Kant accepted Euler’s theory of light. To these, however, I do not attach much importance, as they do not carry us the required length. The question is not whether Kant accepted Euler’s theory of light, but whether or not he had grave doubts on the really important point for this question (was das Vornehmste ist), that the mind not alone perceives by sense the effect of the vibrations in stimulating the organs, but also, by reflection, the regular play of the impressions, and consequently the forms in which different representations are united. It would, I admit, be a strong thing for Kant to say that he himself had no doubt that simple colours are perceived by the mind as ‘formal determinations of the unity of a manifold of sensations’. Kant could easily have grave doubts on this point while accepting the vibratory theory of light. Besides the above, Windelband relies on the following passages in the present work: pp. 161, l. 25 et seq.; 189, l. 5 et seq.; 194, l. 26 et seq. The first of these, again, does not seem to carry us the required length. It seems, in fact, to go very little farther than Kant’s remarks in respect of purity in the paragraphs in § 14 preceding and succeeding the one referring to Euler. The third passage relied on does not seem to deal with single sensations, but with combinations of successive sensations, and does not go beyond what Kant uses as a premiss at p. 189, l. 27 et seq. Indeed, if we read the whole paragraph containing this passage, and also the paragraph that follows, they seem rather against the view that Kant supposed that the mind perceives a single sensation as a formal determination of the unity of a manifold of sensations. But the second passage on which Windelband relies seems very strong. At p. 190, ll. 4-7 Kant is unquestionably on the real point (was das Vornehmste ist). Then, after having stated the question fairly and plainly, he definitely ranks music as a fine art, and so goes the whole distance as far as music is concerned. This is very strong; but Windelband does not call attention to the fact that this last step is only expressly taken as far as music is concerned. The omission of a similar statement with regard to colour weakens the case for gar nicht, as p. 189, ll. 27-32 suggests that musical notes are in a somewhat stronger position than colours, i. e. that the mathematical reference is more apparent in their case.

So far I have referred to the various considerations brought forward by Windelband, and have incidentally mentioned any points that seem to weaken their effect. The net result will strike different minds differently, but to me, at least, the suggestion which Kant makes (what he says das Vornehmste ist) is one 247 which he would hardly have made at all, and would certainly not have returned to with the emphasis which he does in § 51, if it were one as to the soundness of which he himself entertained grave doubts. The suggestion that goes beyond what follows immediately from an acceptance of Euler’s theory of light—a suggestion that Kant carefully, and with all its consequences, states in his own terminology—was not a current theory which he was bound to notice, and as to which he would naturally have desired to express his hesitation. Surely the suggestion touched what was at least a growing conviction on Kant’s part.

There is another passage which, while not quoted by Windelband, seems to have some bearing on the question. In § 54 (p. 199, ll. 6, 7) Kant expressly ranks music as an agreeable rather than a fine art. This is in open contradiction with §51 (p. 190, ll. 7-15). Now it seems impossible to think that the statement in § 54, that music is not to be ranked as a fine art, could have been written shortly after the statement, on full consideration, in §51. We must regard either § 54 or § 51, in whole or in part, as a late addition. But we have abundant grounds for regarding § 54 as belonging to an early period in the elaboration of the work. Then, as a whole, §51 seems a late addition, as it contains a number of Kant’s most advanced reflections. It will also be observed that the remarks on oratory which it contains, and those on the same subject in § 53, involve considerable repetition. But, even if it is not as a whole a late section, still the note on p. 187, which refers to ‘simple aesthetic painting’ (the last lines of which repeat, in apparent forgetfulness, the note on p. 184), and the whole of the important discussion in question, on pp. 189 and 190, read like late additions. Now, if on these grounds, and to explain the contradictory statements as to music being an agreeable or a fine art, we regard the discussion on colour and music in § 51 as a late addition, we must naturally ask ourselves if Kant could possibly, when making this addition, have recalled his discussion on colour in § 14 and have returned upon it, and added the paragraph referring to Euler’s theory? There can be no doubt as to the answer to this question. The paragraph is obviously parenthetical. It breaks the argument on the purity of a simple mode of sensation. Without looking beyond § 14, it manifestly appears to be a subsequent insertion. But if this paragraph, together with the end of § 51, is regarded as having been added after Kant’s other remarks on colour and music, then there can be little doubt that the reading gar nicht ought to be preferred. The fact that all the learned editors prior to Windelband regarded that reading as a mere clerical error in the third edition is sufficient to suggest that Kiesewetter may have substituted sehr for nicht in the first edition on his own responsibility. For, reading gar nicht, the paragraph does not seem consonant with the rest of the section—as is not surprising if we suppose that it was 248added subsequently, and after an advance in Kant’s views as to the art of colour. Almost any editor who was thinking mainly of the argument in § 14, and who had already found it necessary to make many corrections in the work, would have unhesitatingly made the correction.

l. 30. ‘and in that case could even be ranked as intrinsic beauties.’ It is hard to see how a synthesis of isochronous vibrations, even if it could be perceived as such by reflection, could be regarded as beautiful, if the regular figures formed, let us say, by sand sprinkled on a square metal plate made to vibrate to a musical note cannot. (Cf. p. 86, l. 30.)

Page 67, l. 3. ‘all simple colours are regarded as beautiful so far as pure.’ But what about Kant’s statement that all judgements of taste are singular judgements? Here he seems to be stating a rule. At all events the position that simple colours are by themselves beautiful seems untenable. Beauty requires unity amid variety.

l. 4. ‘Composite colours have not this advantage.’ If the colours were perceived as formal determinations of the unity of a manifold of sensations, then there would be no reason why composite colours, which would only be more complex forms, could not be regarded as beautiful.

ll. 23-7. ‘the design is what is essential.… The colours which give brilliancy to the sketch are part of the charm.’ Perhaps the words ‘which give brilliancy to the sketch’ are used in a qualifying sense, i. e. as equivalent to ‘so far as merely introduced to give brilliancy to the sketch’. But in any case Kant says that the design (die Zeichnung) is what is essential. For this opinion, in which he follows some of the greatest authorities, he is generally censured, and some writers go so far as to imply that it indicates an insensibility to art so great as to make his views on that subject unworthy of attention. But surely it is absurd to dismiss Kant with a wave of the hand for holding an opinion which was shared by Michelangelo and Winckelmann. Bacon, it may be remembered, said that ‘In beauty, that of favour [i. e. features] is more than that of colour’; and Sir W. Temple, in his essay Of Poetry, observes that ‘much application has been made to the smoothness of language or style, which has at best but the beauty of colouring in a picture, and can never make a good one, without spirit and strength’. Shaftesbury, also, frequently condemns the ‘riot of colour’ in the pictures of his contemporaries.—Some reference may here be made to Mr. Balfour’s attack on Shaftesbury in a Biographical Introduction to the Works of George Berkeley (Bohn’s Philosophical Library, vol. i, p. xliii). Mr. Balfour remarks: ‘Shaftesbury is not, to me at least, an attractive writer. His constant efforts to figure simultaneously as a fine gentleman and a fine writer are exceedingly irritating; and the very moderate success which has attended his efforts in the 249latter character suggests the doubt, justified by his general style, whether he can have really shone in the former. His pretensions to taste are quite unjustified by what we know of his opinions. Like most of his contemporaries he despised Gothic architecture, and yet he saw nothing to admire in Wren; while he theorized about painting till he persuaded himself that the merits of a picture were wholly independent of its colouring.’ These criticisms are followed by a defence of Berkeley, for whom Shaftesbury was one whom ‘he found most difficult to treat in a spirit of perfect charity. Berkeley, partly from a natural feeling of esprit de corps, and partly from a higher motive, strongly objected to the tone adopted towards the clergy in some sections of society’ (p. xlv). To deal with the last point first: it may be remarked that the ‘natural feeling of esprit de corps’ is more distinctly apparent in Berkeley’s language than the ‘higher motive’. The difficulty of treating opponents ‘in a spirit of perfect charity’ is one which a particular section of society seems to be particularly unable to overcome. However, the question here is not so much one of treating an opponent with charity—Shaftesbury did not require that—as of treating an opponent with fairness and without misrepresenting his views. Then, as to Shaftesbury’s failure to appreciate Gothic architecture, the inference from Mr. Balfour’s remarks is that most of Shaftesbury’s contemporaries were devoid of taste—for they were in the same position. Among those contemporaries was Berkeley himself, who enjoyed some reputation as a judge of architecture. His estimate of Gothic architecture is that it is ‘fantastical, and for the most part founded neither in nature nor in reason’. (Alciphron, 3rd Dialogue, § 9.) Were Mr. Balfour to be judged by his criticism in this case it might be said that his own pretensions as a critic ‘are quite unjustified by what we know of his opinions’. As to the point that Shaftesbury theorized about painting till, as an art critic, he came to agree with Michelangelo and Winckelmann, and, as a philosopher, to anticipate Kant, the best answer would seem to be to quote a typical passage from Shaftesbury himself:

‘And for his Colouring; he woul’d then soon find how much more it became him to be reserv’d, severe, and chaste, in this particular of his Art; where Luxury and Libertinism are, by the power of Fashion and the modern Taste, become so universally established.

‘’Tis evident however from Reason it-self, as well as from History and Experience, that nothing is more fatal, either to Painting, Architecture, or to other Arts, than this false Relish, which is govern’d rather by what immediately strikes the Sense, than by what consequentially and by reflection pleases the Mind, and satisfies the Thought and Reason. So that whilst we look on Painting with the same eye, as we view commonly the rich Stuffs, and colour’d Silks worn by Ladys, and admired in Dress, Equipage, or Furniture; we must of necessity be effeminate in our Taste, and utterly set wrong as to all Judgment and Knowledge in the kind. For of 250this imitative Art we may justly say: “That tho It borrows help indeed from Colours, and uses them, as means, to execute its designs; It has nothing, however, more wide of its real Aim, or more remote from its Intention, than to make a Show of Colours, or from their mixture, to raise a separate and flattering Pleasure to the sense .”’ Then, in a note on the last sentence of the above passage, he adds:—

‘The Pleasure is plainly foreign and separate, as having no concern or share in the proper Delight or Entertainment which naturally arises from the Subject, and Workmanship it-self. For the Subject, in respect of Pleasure, as well as science, is absolutely completed, when the Design is executed, and the propos’d Imitation once accomplished. And thus it always is the best, when the Colours are most subdu’d, and made subservient.’

However, it must be remembered that Mr. Balfour’s criticisms of Shaftesbury occur in a defence of Berkeley, an opponent of Shaftesbury, and he is not to be judged by everything he says when obviously holding a brief.

Page 68, l. 4. ‘composition.’ The italics, required by the sense, are supplied by the translator.

l. 23, ‘It is called finery and takes away from the genuine beauty.’ Cf. Pope’s Essay on Criticism:

Poets, like painters, thus unskilled to trace

The naked nature and the living grace,

With gold and jewels cover every part,

And hide with ornaments their want of art.

Similarly, among many others, Home, Elements of Criticism, vol. i, p. 205: ‘Profuse ornament in painting, gardening, or architecture, as well as in dress or language, shows a mean or corrupted taste.’

Page 69, l. 11. ‘utility.’ That a judgement in respect of utility is not an aesthetic judgement was very clearly recognized by Burke. Cf. Essay on the Sublime and Beautiful, Part III, §§ 2-8. But the majority of British writers regarded utility as a source of beauty. Cf. Shaftesbury, Characteristics, vol. iii, p. 180; Hogarth, Analysis of Beauty; Blair, Lectures on Rhetoric, p. 104 et seq. Hutcheson (Inquiry, sect, ii, subsect. 10), followed by Alison (Essays, p. 363), relegated this class of beauty to relative, or what Kant called dependent beauty. Adam Smith also insisted on the importance of utility; but he strengthened the position by emphasizing that the fitness of a contrivance for an end may be valued quite out of proportion to, or even irrespective of, the purpose. His beauty of utility was, therefore, a valuation of purposiveness irrespective of the value set upon the purpose. It may be said that Kant did not sufficiently recognize the element of truth in this theory. In the case of architecture and furniture the reference to the purpose of the work is not alone present, but is essential to the perception 251of the conformity to law of the imagination in its freedom. The most beautiful designs of chairs, for instance, are those in which the purpose is subserved by a form which seems precisely such that imagination, if it had been left to itself, would have 'projected it freely. The restriction set by the understanding is converted into an opportunity for the imagination; so that imagination seems to give the law to itself merely in order to realize its own freedom. The reference to purpose in this kind of art has the same positive value as that of all other laws recognized by art.

l. 12. ‘perfection.’ Cf. Burke, Essay on the Sublime and Beautiful, Part III, § 9.—Perfection not the Cause of Beauty. ‘I know it is in everybody’s mouth that we ought to love perfection. This is to me a sufficient proof that it is not the proper object of love. Who ever said we ought to love a fine woman, or even any of these beautiful animals which please us? Here to be affected there is no need of the concurrence of our will.’ Reid, on the other hand, lays great stress on perfection. ‘It is, therefore, in the scale of perfection and real excellence that we must look for what is either grand or beautiful in objects.’ (Essays on the Intellectual Powers, Essay VIII, ch. 4; Collected Works, p. 502.)

l. 22. ‘where it is thought in a confused way.’ Kant refers to Baumgarten. As to the distinction between clear and confused representations, see Critique of Pure Reason, 36, 37; Werke, vol. iii, p. 66. ‘The difference between a confused and a clear representation is merely logical, and has nothing to do with content.’

Page 70, l. 8. ‘the agreement of its manifold with a unity.’ Cf. annotation to p. 92, l. 16. Hutcheson, Inquiry, sect, ii, subsect. 3: ‘The Figures which excite in us the Ideas of Beauty, seem to be those in which there is Uniformity amidst Variety. There are many Conceptions of Objects which are agreeable upon other accounts, such as Grandeur, Novelty, Sanctity, and some others, which shall be mention’d hereafter. But what we call Beautiful in Objects, to speak in the Mathematical Style, seems to be in a compound Ratio of Uniformity and Variety: so that when the Uniformity of Bodys is equal, the Beauty is as the Variety; and when the Variety is equal, the Beauty is as the Uniformity.’ This is what in Hutcheson corresponds most to Kant’s third moment, Hutcheson also showed the finality for the mind of unity amid variety (Inquiry, sect. viii). But he did not place the beauty in the finality: he merely pointed out the finality in order to account for our sense of beauty being such that uniformity amid variety, and not the reverse, is what pleases us. The other three moments were distinctly recognized by him; but not as moments arranged on a plan like those of Kant. The importance of uniformity amid variety was also recognized by Hogarth, Hartley, Beattie, and many others.

Page 72, l. 4. ‘free beauty … dependent beauty.’ This distinction was well recognized by the English school. ‘Beauty is 252either Original or Comparative; or, if any like the Terms better. Absolute or Relative.’ (Hutcheson, Inquiry, sect, i, subsect. 17.) Alison distinguished between natural and relative beauty. Home (Elements of Criticism, vol i, p. 198, vol. ii, pp. 447, 450) distinguishes intrinsic and relative beauty. The former, according to him, is a perception of sense merely, the latter is accompanied by an act of understanding and reflection, and necessitates an acquaintance with the use and destination of the object.

l 16. ‘pays no attention to this natural end when using his taste to judge of its beauty.’ Cf. Hutcheson, Inquiry, sect, i, subsect. 12. ‘Let every one here consider, how different we must suppose the perception to be, with which a Poet is transported upon the Prospect of any of these Objects of natural Beauty, which ravish us even in his Description; from that cold lifeless conception which we imagine to be in a dull Critick, or one of the Virtuosi, without what we call a fine Taste, This latter Class of Men may have greater Perfection in that knowledge, which is derived from external Sensation; they can tell all the specific Differences of Trees, Herbs, Minerals, Metals; they know the form of every Leaf, Stalk, Root, Flower, and Seed of all the Species, about which the Poet is often very ignorant: And yet the Poet shall have a vastly more delightful Perception of the Whole; and not only the Poet, but any man of fine Taste.’

l. 26. ‘and are free beauties.’ Cf. p. 46, l. 13 et seq. Notice that the distinction between free and dependent beauties does not correspond to that between beauties of nature and beauties of art. Designs like those in The Book of Kells would, according to Kant, be free beauties.

Page 73, l. 14. ‘Much might be added to a building that would immediately please the eye.’ Cf. Bacon, Essays, ‘Of Building’: ‘Houses are built to live in, and not to look on; therefore let use be preferred before uniformity, except where both may be had’; also Home’s remarks on congruity (Elements of Criticism, vol. i, ch. x).

l. 33. ‘Taste, it is true, stands to gain by this combination of intellectual delight with the aesthetic.’ In the lines that follow Kant makes it clear that it is not taste, as such, that derives the gain.

Page 74, l. 20. ‘or else makes abstraction from it in his judgement.’ Were it not for this saving clause the pure judgement of taste would be extremely restricted in its objects. If a concept is not present, there is danger of there being no unity (as in a mere view); if there is, abstraction must be made from it.

Page 75, l. 2. ‘The Ideal of Beauty.’ The reader will be assisted in appreciating this section if he refers to Winckelmann’s History of Ancient Art (1764), Book IV, chapter ii (Lodge’s trans.), ‘The Essential of Art,’ and Book V, chapter iii, ‘The Expression of Beauty in Features and Action.’ The following extract may be 253given: ‘From unity proceeds another attribute of lofty beauty, the absence of individuality; that is, the forms of it are described neither by points nor lines other than those which shape beauty merely, and consequently produce a figure which is neither peculiar to any particular individual, nor yet expresses any one state of the mind or affection of the passions, because these blend with it strange lines, and mar the unity. According to this idea, beauty should be like the best kind of water, drawn from the spring itself; the less taste it has, the more beautiful it is considered, because free from all foreign admixture …

‘Since, however, there is no middle state in human nature between pain and pleasure, even according to Epicurus, and the passions are the winds which impel or break over the sea of life, with which the poet sails, and on which the artist soars, pure beauty alone cannot be the sole object of our consideration; we must place it also in a state of action and of passion, which we comprehend in art under the term Expression. We shall, therefore, in the first place, treat of the shape of beauty, and in the second place, of expression. The shape of beauty is either individual—that is, confined to an imitation of one individual—or it is a selection of beautiful parts from many individuals, and their union into one, which we call ideal, yet with the remark that a thing may be ideal without being beautiful.’ (Lodge’s translation, vol. i, p. 311).

Kant obviously had Winckelmann’s theory in view when writing § 17. The section is undoubtedly extremely difficult to interpret on the question of the precise importance which Kant himself allowed to estimates of beauty formed according to the standard furnished by an ideal of beauty—a standard which he says is not purely aesthetic. Of course Kant was entitled to recognize the fact that many judgements are formed according to such a standard, and to admit that the conception of an ideal of beauty may, at a certain period of art, have been the dominant influence. Further, he would seem to have been bound to take notice of Winckelmann’s theory; and, having regard to the great authority of that writer, he might be excused if he did not wish to emphasize more than was necessary the very different opinion which he held of the significance of the ideal of beauty. At the very least the analysis of the conception of an ideal of beauty shows that it belongs to art rather than to nature, and seems at once to suggest to the mind the necessity for an investigation of the functions of taste and genius and their precise relation and mode of combination, and Kant may have intended § 17 to lead to § 49 in the same way as § 42 leads to § 59. On this view the last paragraph of § 17 might be supplied with the marginal note: ‘Transition from the popular conception of a beauty to be estimated according to the standard of an ideal of beauty to the conception of genius as the faculty of aesthetic ideas, which gives the rule to art.’ It may also be remarked that neither §15 nor § 16 fit in very well with the general 254argument of the first book of the analytic, and that they would be easier to understand if we suppose that the first, second, and fourth moments were a subsequent addition.

l. 13. ‘the accord, so far as possible, of all ages and nations.’ Cf. Berkeley, Alciphron, 3rd Dialogue, § 9: ‘Can the appearance of a thing please at this time, and in this place, which pleased two thousand years ago, and two thousand miles off, without some real principle of beauty?’ Also, Hume, Essays, ‘The Standard of Taste’: ‘We shall be able to ascertain its influence, not so much from the operation of each particular beauty, as from the durable admiration which attends those particular works that have survived all the caprices of mode and fashion, all the mistakes of ignorance and envy. The same Homer who pleased at Athens and Rome two thousand years ago is still admired at Paris and at London. All the changes of climate, government, religion, and language have not been able to obscure his glory.’ Also Reynolds, Second Discourse (1769); Home, Elements of Criticism, vol. ii, ch. 25. Alison draws the practical inference: ‘In all those Arts, therefore, that respect the Beauty of Form, it ought to be the unceasing study of the Artist, to disengage his mind from the accidental associations of his age, as well as the common prejudices of his Art; to labour to distinguish his productions by that pure and permanent expression, which may be felt in every age; and to disdain to borrow a transitory fame, by yielding to the temporary caprices of his time, or by exhibiting only the display of his own dexterity or skill.’ (Essays on Taste, pp. 368, 369.) For some further quotations see notes to pp. 54, l. 15, and 137, l. 32.

l. 20. ‘For this reason some products of taste are looked on as exemplary.’ Is this and the end of the previous paragraph intended as introductory to the fourth moment, or was it written before §§ 18-22 were meditated?

ll. 28-34. But the works were composed in a living language. So a work does not become a model till the language in which it is written becomes a dead language!

Page 76, ll. 17-19. Cf. § 16.

Page 77, l. 20. ‘the image that, as it were, forms an intentional basis underlying the technic of nature.’ Cf. Adam Smith, Theory of Moral Sentiments, Part V, ch. i: ‘It is the form which Nature seems to have aimed at in them all, which, however, she deviates from in a great variety of ways, and very seldom hits exactly; but to which all those deviations still bear a very strong resemblance.’

l. 22. ‘to which no separate individual, but only the race as a whole, is adequate.’ Reynolds does not go quite as far as Kant. ‘To the principle I have laid down, that the idea of beauty in each species of beings is an invariable one, it may be objected that in every particular species there are various central forms which are separate and distinct from each other, and yet are undeniably beautiful; that in the human figure, for instance, the 255beauty of the Hercules is one, of the Gladiator another, of the Apollo another; which makes so many different ideas of beauty. It is true, indeed, that these figures are each perfect in its kind, though of different characters and proportions; but still none of them is the representation of an individual, but of a class.’ (Third Discourse, 1770.) Reynolds, further, speaks of reducing ‘the variety of nature to the abstract idea’—which seems a fatal course. He recognizes what Kant calls the normal idea much more clearly than the rational idea.

Page 78, l. 13. ‘the average size.’ Cf. Hartley, Observations on Man, vol. i, p. 436: ‘That Part of Beauty which arises from Symmetry may perhaps be said to consist in such Proportions, i. e. such Proportions as would result from an Estimation by an Average: One may say at least, that these Proportions would not differ much from perfect Symmetry.’

l. 32. ‘is not derived … from experience.’ Cf. p. 76, l. 15. A partial anticipation of this section is contained in the Critique of Pure Reason, p. 352; Werke, vol. iii, pp. 384, 385. ‘Such is the constitution of the ideal of reason, which is always based upon determinate conceptions, and serves as a rule and a model for imitation or for criticism. Very different is the nature of the ideals of the imagination. Of these it is impossible to present an intelligible conception; they are a kind of monogram, drawn according to no determinate rule, and forming rather a vague picture—the production of many diverse experiences—than a determinate image. Such are the ideals which painters and physiognomists profess to have in their minds, and which can serve neither as a model for production nor as a standard for appreciation. They may be termed, though improperly, sensuous ideals, as they are declared to be models of certain possible empirical intuitions. They cannot, however, furnish rules or standards for explanation or examination.’

Page 79, l. 17. ‘academically correct.’ Cf. p. 171, l. 20 et seq. So it is only what is mechanical in art that is concerned with the normal idea.

ll. 19, 20. ‘But the ideal of the beautiful is still something different from its normal idea.’ Certainly, if, as stated above, it is only one factor. But Kant rather seems now to distinguish the true ideal from the normal idea as a spurious ideal, and to make the ideal consist solely in the expression of the moral. It is difficult to see how a form visibly expressing moral ideas could be made to conform to the normal idea without the abstractness, and, therefore, the essential character of the latter, being changed. Either the expression of moral ideas is merely subjectively introduced or is given in something that is merely accidental, or else there must be a deviation from the normal idea. In other words, if the ideal is made to consist of both factors, as first stated, it is difficult to see how these two factors are combined.

l. 31. ‘if one may assume that nature in its external form 256expresses the proportions of the internal’—as Lavater supposed. Cf. Home, Elements of Criticism, vol. i, ch. xv; also Bacon, Essay on Deformity, ‘Certainly there is a consent between the body and the mind.’

l. 35. ‘genius, in which nature seems to make a departure from its wonted relations of the mental powers in favour of some special one.’ Presumably the departure here referred to is not one towards the ‘happy relation’—which seems to imply an exquisite balance—stated at p. 179, l. 27, to constitute genius. In the latter case Kant is probably regarding the faculty of imagination in general, in the former particular directions in which imagination may be applied. Perhaps, also, in this note Kant is not confining genius to fine art as he does later on. ‘A genius’, said Young, in Conjectures on Original Composition, ‘implies the rays of the mind concentrated, and determined to some particular point.’ Cf. Blair, vol. i, p. 50: ‘The rays must converge to a point, in order to glow intensely.’ Duff remarks that men become original geniuses ‘in that particular art or science to which they have received the most remarkable bias from the hand of nature.’ (Essay on Original Genius, p. 88.)

Page 80, l. 1. ‘The visible expression of moral ideas.’ Cf. p. 227. Cf. Blair’s Lectures (1783), vol. i, p. 102: ‘But the chief beauty of the countenance depends upon a mysterious expression, which it conveys of the qualities of the mind; of good sense, or good humour; of sprightliness, candour, benevolence, sensibility, or other amiable dispositions. How it comes to pass that a certain conformation of features is connected in our idea with certain moral qualities; whether we are taught by instinct, or by experience, to form this connexion, and to read the mind in the countenance; belongs not to us now to inquire, nor is indeed easy to resolve. The fact is certain, and acknowledged, that what gives the human countenance its most distinguished Beauty is what is called its expression; or an image, which it is conceived to show of internal moral dispositions.’

ll. 7-9. ‘and this embodiment involves a union of pure ideas of reason and great imaginative power.’ Might he not have said that it requires genius?

l. 10. ‘The correctness of such an ideal of beauty.’ Is the correctness to be also judged by the normal ideal?

l. 13. ‘This fact in turn shows that an estimate formed according to such a standard can never be purely aesthetic.’ Why? Kant’s reasoning is not very convincing. Either the interest is a determining or a merely supervening interest. If the former it is fatal: if the latter it does not prevent the judgement being pure. Cf. pp. 43 n.; 154, l. 18 et seq.; 157, l. 24; 161, l. 15 et seq.

l. 22. ‘a form suggesting adaption to an end.’ Cf. the instance of the piece of hewn wood. Cf. p. 163, l. 13 et seq.

Page 81, l. 20. ‘it can only be termed exemplary.’ Objective 257validity and necessary universality being convertible conceptions (Prolegomena) § 19), it would follow that beauty would be objective, and the judgement of taste indistinguishable from a judgement of experience, were it not that the necessity thought in a judgement of taste is only exemplary, i. e. it does not depend upon any determinate concept, under which the particular object can be subsumed according to a rule, but only upon an indeterminate norm—the idea of a common sense. But, under presupposition of a common sense, the exemplary or merely subjective necessity is represented as objective (§ 22), and, accordingly, the predicate ‘Beautiful’ is applied to the object (without the restriction ‘to me’), just as if the judgement were a singular judgement of experience.

Page 82, l. 6. ‘every one ought.’ Cf. Home, Elements of Criticism, ch. xxv, p. 488.

Page 83, l. 11. ‘together with their attendant conviction.’ Cf. Critique of Pure Reason, pp. 496-503; Werke, vol. iii, pp. 531-8. Also see Anthropology, § 53, where Kant says that the loss of the sensus communis and the substitution for it of a sensus privatus is the one universal sign of mental derangement. Compare with whole section p. 147 n. and last paragraph of § 39. Undoubtedly to avoid scepticism we must make a presupposition that implies causes in the mind of the person judging which are subjective, but which yet admit of universal communication. But is not Kant pushing his Deduction further than is really necessary?

l. 16. ‘scepticism.’ We are asked to make an admission in order to avoid complete scepticism. Does not this imply (what seems to be the truth) that the only answer to scepticism is to be found in the bearing of the practical upon the theoretical faculty?

l. 19. ‘the relative proportion’—diejenige Proportion. Cf. pp. 60, l. 21; 150, l. 15.

Page 85, l. 6. ‘such a common sense.’ Cf. § 40, also pp. 56, ll. 28-30; 116, l. 9 et seq.; 212, l. 26 et seq.; 227, l. 13.

Page 86, l. 4 el seq. Cf. pp. 176, l. 7 et seq.; 177, l. 12. For references see annotation to p. 176, l. 7.

ll. 6-9. ‘And although in the apprehension of a given object of sense it is tied down to a definite form of this Object, and, to that extent, does not enjoy free play (as it does in poetry).’ Cf. pp. 175, ll. 1, 2; 179, l. 19 et seq.; 186, l. 23 et seq., where the converse case is dealt with.

l. 31. ‘by critics of taste.’ Among the critics of the English school whom Kant may have had in mind were Shaftesbury ( The Moralists, Part III, § 2), Hutcheson (Inquiry, sect, ii, subsect. 3, cf. sect, vi, subsect. 4), and Home (Elements of Criticism, vol. i, pp. 203, 204; but cf. ibid., p. 238).

Page 87, l. 20. ‘symmetry.’ Shaftesbury, among others, laid considerable stress on symmetry. ‘Harmony is harmony by nature, let men judge ever so ridiculously of music. So is symmetry and proportion founded still in nature, let men’s fancy prove ever so 258barbarous.’ (Advice to an Author, Part III, sect. 3.) Kant agrees that it is founded in nature, but says that it is estimated by a cognitive judgement that looks to ends. But Shaftesbury distinguishes between ‘mere mechanic beautys’ such as ‘the ordering of walks, plantations, avenues’, &c., and that ‘happier and higher symmetry and order of a mind’, of which he regards natural beauty as the expression. (Essay on the Freedom of Wit and Humour, Part IV, sect. 2.)

Page 88, l. 17. ‘English taste in gardens.’ Pope and Addison led the way in attacking the strictly formal style of gardening; but landscape gardening was subsequently pushed to extravagances which they, of course, never meditated. A decade or so later than the date at which Kant wrote the above passage the ‘English taste in gardens’ became the dominant taste on the Continent. The reader who desires to look further into the subject will find much interesting information in a recently published History of Gardening in England, by the Hon. Mrs. Evelyn Cecil (see, particularly, ch. xii)—a work which also contains a very full bibliography. Kant’s criticism is not to be taken as a complete approval or condemnation of the English taste, but as indicating sympathy with the underlying idea, and disapproval of the extravagances to which it was sometimes pushed. His remarks should be compared with those on the leaders of the Sturm und Drang movement (see annotation to p. 164, l. 24). Also cf. Hutcheson, Inquiry, sect, iii, subsect. 5. ‘Thus we see, that strict Regularity in laying out of Gardens in Parterres, Vistas, parallel Walks, is often neglected, to obtain an Imitation of Nature even in some of its Wildness. And we are more pleased with this Imitation, especially when the scene is large and spacious, than with the more confin’d Exactness of regular Works.’ Also, Home, Elements of Criticism, ch. xxiv, p. 435: ‘In large objects, which cannot otherwise be surveyed but in parts and in succession, regularity and uniformity would be useless properties, because they cannot be discovered by the eye. Nature therefore, in her large works, neglects these properties; and in copying nature, the artist ought to neglect them.’ Home makes simplicity the governing taste in gardening. Alison (Essays on Taste, pp. 300-1) thought that English taste in gardening had gone too far in its neglect of regularity.

l. 26. ‘we get heartily tired of it.’ Cf. Home, Elements of Criticism, vol. i, p. 204: ‘Uniformity is singular in one capital circumstance, that it is apt to disgust by excess. A scrupulous uniformity of parts in a large garden or field is far from agreeable.’

l. 29. ‘Marsden’—The History of Sumatra, by W. Marsden (London, 1783), p. 113.

Page 89, l. 18. ‘as has been sometimes done with the notes of the nightingale.’ Cf. p. 162, l. 9 et seq.

l. 22. ‘beautiful views of objects.’ Cf. p. 187 n. Kant is not disparaging landscape painting. Landscapes are the products of 259art. Observe how naturally this paragraph leads to an investigation of the sublime. Did Kant intend this?

Page 91, ll. 3, 4. ‘Quality … Quantity.’ Here Kant is speaking of a quality and quantity of the object, and not of the judgement of taste itself, as was the case in the four moments.

Page 92, l. 16. ‘Self-subsisting natural beauty reveals to us a technic of nature, which shows it in the light of a system,’ &c. This may be compared with the first paragraph of the Critique of Teleological Judgement: ‘On transcendental principles nature may with good reason be assumed to be subjectively final in its particular laws in respect of comprehensibility for human judgement and the possibility of the concatenation of particular experiences into a system of these laws. In this system, then, it may also be expected that among the many products of nature there is a possibility of there being some that, as if put there with quite a special regard to our judgement, contain specific forms adapted thereto, which by their multiplicity and unity serve to strengthen and entertain the mental powers (that enter into play in the exercise of this faculty). To these the name of beautiful forms are accordingly given.’ Cf. pp. 70, l. 9; 133, l. 14 et seq.; 143, l. 25 et seq.; 148, l. 12 et seq.; 150, l. 6 et seq.; 182, l. 8.

Certainly the passage annotated seems to say that self-subsistent natural beauty gives an evident indication that nature really is such a system of connected particular laws as, in the interests of science, we are bound (as shown in sections v and vii of the Introduction) to suppose it to be. But it is quite obvious that beauty as explained by Kant is utterly incapable of giving any such indication (although if nature is such a system we may expect a regularity capable of being regarded as beautiful). For, were it to give such an indication, then it would have to be held that the form of a beautiful object of nature could only stimulate the mental powers by having an affinity to other specific forms of actual objects of nature. But such an assumption is certainly one which cannot be proved, which Kant nowhere attempts to prove, and which would be inconsistent with his account of the mere subjectivity of the judgement of taste.

What the self-subsisting beauty of nature does seem to reveal is that the nature which is the object of the aesthetic judgement is not the nature of science, but a nature which is in part the product of that artistic imagination (the ‘author of arbitrary forms of possible intuitions’), specimens of the work of which are afforded by the products of fine art. How far nature, as understood by science, may have been secretly the mistress of that fine art, in respect of the fundamental values assigned to particular relations (as in the case of musical notes and colours), is, of course, quite a different question, and one that could only be treated empirically.

Page 94, ll. 10-18. The mathematically and dynamically sublime, cf. p. 120, l. 7. Also see Critique of Pure Reason, pp. 67, 121; 260Werke, vol. iii, pp. 95, 147. Schiller, in his essay on The Sublime, objects to this distinction and prefers a division following the distinction between the theoretical and the practical faculty. Certainly this distinction, which is the real basis of Kant’s division, is more suggestive. Schiller might have added that as Kant refuses to call the object of nature sublime it would have been more consistent to base the division on the distinction of the faculties whose ideas are involved than on a distinction which concerns the application of categories of understanding to objects. Kant apparently prefers to lay the stress, here at all events, on the occasion of the feeling of the sublime, as the judgement has to be aesthetic.

Page 96, l. 11. ‘the greatness of a particular virtue.’ Cf. p. 96, l. 33 et seq. Home, Elements of Criticism, vol. i, ch. iv, p. 223: ‘The same terms are applied to characters and actions: we talk familiarly of an elevated genius, of a great man, and equally of littleness of mind: some actions are great and elevated, and others are little and grovelling.’

Page 97, l. 13. ‘But it must be left to the Deduction.’ But there is no Deduction (see § 30). To what, then, does Kant refer? Apparently Kant regards § 25 as introductory (see its heading), and the sections that follow (the exposition) as the Deduction.

ll. 16-24. Cf. Addison: ‘We are not a little pleased to find every green leaf swarm with millions of animals, that at their largest growth are not visible to the naked eye.’ (Vol. iii, p. 425.) ‘Nay we might yet carry it further, and discover in the smallest particle of this little world, a new inexhaustible fund of matter, capable of being spun out into another universe.’ (Vol. iii, p. 426.) Similarly Burke: ‘However, it may not be amiss to add to these remarks upon magnitude, that, as the great extreme of dimension is sublime, so the last extreme of littleness is in some measure sublime likewise: when we attend to the infinite divisibility of matter, when we pursue animal life into these excessively small, and yet organized beings, that escape the nicest inquisition of the sense, when we push our discoveries yet downward, and consider those creatures so many degrees yet smaller, and the still diminishing scale of existence, in tracing which the imagination is lost as well as the sense, we become amazed and confounded at the wonders of minuteness; nor can we distinguish in its effects this extreme of littleness from the vast itself. For division must be infinite as well as addition: because the idea of a perfect unity can no more be arrived at, than that of a complete whole, to which nothing may be added.’ (Part II, § vii.) Apparently the reason why Kant does not follow Burke is that with him the sublime does not reside in nature, which, be it little or be it great, always falls short of the absolutely great. Whether what suggests the sublime is relatively great or relatively little, the sublime itself is what is absolutely great. Still this hardly gets over the difficulty, as he does not seem to allow that the microscopic world may suggest the feeling of sublimity. 261The following eloquent passage from Hartley’s Observations on Man (vol. ii, p. 246) has a bearing upon the analysis of the sublime, and is, perhaps, sufficiently suggestive to bear quotation at length: ‘It may be remarked, that the Pleasures of Imagination point to devotion in a particular manner by their unlimited Nature. For all Beauty, both natural and artificial, begins to fade and languish after a short Acquaintance with it: Novelty is a never-failing Requisite: We look down, with indifference and Contempt, upon what we comprehend easily; and are ever aiming at, and pursuing, such Objects as are just within the Compass of our present faculties. What is it now, that we ought to learn from this Dissatisfaction to look behind us, and Tendency to press forward; and from this endless Grasping after Infinity? Is it not, that the infinite Author of all Things has so formed our Faculties, that nothing less than himself can be adequate Object for them? That it is in vain to hope for full and lasting Satisfaction from anything finite, however great and glorious, since it will itself teach us to conceive and desire something still more so? That, as nothing can give us more than a transitory Delight, if its Relation to God be excluded; so every thing, when considered as the Production of his infinite Wisdom and Goodness, will gratify our utmost Expectations, since we may, in this View, see that every thing has infinite Uses and Excellencies? There is not an Atom perhaps in the whole Universe, which does not abound with millions of Worlds; and, conversly, this great System of the Sun, Planets, and fixed Stars, may be no more than a single constituent Particle of some Body of an immense relative Magnitude, &c. In like manner, there is not a Moment of Time so small, but it may include Millions of Ages in the Estimation of some Beings; and, conversly, the largest Cycle which human Art is able to invent, may be no more than the Twinkling of an Eye in that of others, &c. The infinite Divisibility and Extent of Space and Time admit of such Infinities upon Infinities, ascending and descending, as make the imagination giddy, when it attempts to survey them. But, however this may be, we may be sure, that the true System of Things is infinitely more transcendent in Greatness and Goodness, than any Description or Conception of ours can make it; and that the Voice of Nature is an universal Chorus of Joy and Transport, in which the least and vilest, according to common Estimation, bear a proper Part, as well as those whose present Superiority over them appears indefinitely great, and may bear an equal one in the true and ultimate Ratio of Things. And thus the Consideration of God gives a Relish and Lustre to Speculations, which are otherwise dry and unsatisfactory, or perhaps would confound and terrify. Thus we may learn to rejoice in every thing we see, in the Blessings past, present, and future; which we receive either in our own Persons, or in those of others; to become Partakers of the Divine Nature, loving and lovely, holy and happy.’

262 Page 99, ll. 3-5. ‘where it is considered as absolute measure beyond which no greater is possible subjectively (i. e. for the judging Subject), it then conveys the idea of the sublime.’ What suggests the sublime is not absolutely great. Burke approaches this difficulty (Pt. II, § viii): ‘There are scarce any things which can become the objects of our senses that are really and in their own nature infinite. But the eye not being able to perceive the bounds of many things, they seem to be infinite, and they produce the same effects as if they were really so. We are deceived in the like manner, if the parts of some large object are so continued to an indefinite number, that the imagination meets no check which may hinder its extending them at pleasure.’ Webb thinks that the feeling of the sublime is occasioned by a comparison of the proportions of external objects with our own. ‘It is probable, that a great part of the pleasure which we receive in the contemplation of such Colossal figures, arises from a comparison of their proportions with our own. The mind in these moments grows ambitious; and feels itself aspiring to greater powers, and superior functions: These noble and exalted feelings diffuse a kind of rapture through the soul, and raise in it conceptions and aims above the limits of humanity. The finest, and, at the same time, most pleasing sensations in nature, are those, which (if I may be allowed the expression) carry us out of ourselves, and bring us nearest to that divine original from which we spring.’ (Beauties of Painting, p. 45.)

l. 28. ‘Savary’—Lettres sur l’Égypte, 1787.

Page 100, l. 7. ‘St. Peter’s.’ Home regards St. Peter’s and the Pyramids as grand (i. e. prächtig, splendid, magnificent) rather than sublime, and, on Kant’s own definitions, he would seem correct. ‘Thus St. Peter’s Church at Rome, the Great Pyramid of Egypt, the Alps towering above the clouds, a great arm of the sea, and above all a clear and serene sky, are grand, because, beside their size, they are beautiful in an eminent degree.’ (Elements of Criticism, vol. i, ch. v, p. 212.)

l. 25. ‘In rude nature merely as involving magnitude.’ Reid adopts a different view. ‘When we contemplate the world of Epicurus, and conceive the universe to be a fortuitous jumble of atoms, there is nothing grand in this idea. The clashing of atoms by blind chance has nothing in it fit to raise our conceptions, or to elevate the mind. But the regular structure of a vast system of beings, produced by creative power, and governed by the best laws which perfect wisdom and goodness could contrive, is a spectacle which elevates the understanding, and fills the soul with devout admiration.’ (Essays on the Intellectual Powers, Essay VIII, ch. 3; Collected Works, p. 496.) It may be mentioned that in a note devoted mainly to a criticism of Kant’s position on this point Hegel censures a class of Astronomers who make much of the sublimity of their science on the ground that they are concerned with such an immeasurable number of stars and with such immeasurable extents 263of space and periods of time. Hegel says that it is not immeasurability but measure and law that makes the starry heavens a fit object of wonder. (Hegel’s Werke, vol. iii, p. 269. See O’Sullivan, Old Criticism and New Pragmatism, pp. 182, 183.) Hegel quotes Kant’s remarks on Sublimity at the close of the Critique of Practical Reason (Ethics, pp. 260-1; Werke, vol. v, pp. 161-3). But Kant’s whole object is to depreciate rude nature as merely involving magnitude. It is the mere occasion of the judgement. Also a pure aesthetic judgement cannot take cognisance of the reign of law.

Page 102, l. 25. ‘space and time past.’ As to why Kant says time past, see Critique of Pure Reason, p. 257. Gerard also speaks of the ‘admiration which is excited by things remote in time; especially in antiquity, or past duration’. (Essay on Taste, p. 19.) He accepts the psychological explanation of this fact given by Hume, A Treatise of Human Nature, Book II, p. 3, §8.

Page 105, l. 27. ‘respect.’ Cf. Critique of Practical Reason (Ethics, p. 169; Werke, vol. 5, p. 76). ‘Respect applies to persons only—not to things. The latter may arouse inclination, and if they are animals (e. g. horses, dogs, &c.), even love or fear, like the sea, a volcano, a beast of prey; but never respect. Something that comes nearer to this feeling is admiration, and this, as an affection, astonishment, can apply to things also, e. g. lofty mountains, the magnitude, number, and distance of the heavenly bodies, the strength and swiftness of many animals, &c. But all this is not respect.’ Admiration is, therefore, applicable to the occasion that awakens the sense of the sublime, but the respect can only apply to our own supersensible sphere. Hence, if Kant’s analysis of respect is correct, and if he was also correct in connecting the sense of the sublime with the feeling of respect, he was correct in saying that nature is not properly termed sublime.

Page 106, l. 7. ‘subreption.’ Reid, who could not think of allowing common language or common sense to be tricked, still goes so far as to admit that we call objects of nature grand only by a figure of speech. ‘When we contemplate the earth, the seas, the planetary system, the universe, these are vast objects; it requires a stretch of imagination to grasp them in our minds. But they appear truly grand, and merit the highest admiration, when we consider them as the work of God.… A great work is a work of great power, great wisdom, and great goodness, well contrived for some important end. But power, wisdom, and goodness are properly the attributes of mind only. They are ascribed to the work figuratively, but are really inherent in the author; and by the same figure, the grandeur is ascribed to the work, but is properly inherent in the mind that made it.’ (Essays on the Intellectual Powers, Essay VIII, ch. 3; Collected Works, p. 496.)

l. 12. ‘a feeling of displeasure.’ Cf. Burke, Part III, § 27. Contrasting the sublime and the beautiful he says: ‘They are indeed ideas of a very different nature, one being founded on pain, 264the other on pleasure.’ But there is a distinction between pain (Burke) and displeasure (Kant).

Page 107, l. 5. ‘a rapidly alternating repulsion and attraction.’ Cf. p. 201, l. 7 et seq. and l. 21. Why, then, do we not laugh at the sublime? Apparently because there is not a reduction to nothing—cf. p. 200, ll. 13-17. But in respect of its physical concomitants Kant certainly brings the sublime very near the ridiculous. Also cf. p. 126, l. 23 et seq., and compare with pp. 199, l. 2; 201, ll. 14 and 25.

Page 108, ll. 6, 7. ‘The effort, therefore, to receive in a single intuition a measure for magnitudes which [measure] it takes an appreciable time to apprehend.’ Cf. Home, Elements of Criticism, vol. i, p. 227: ‘The grandest emotion that can be raised by a visible object is where the object can be taken in at one view; if so immense as not to be comprehended but in parts, it tends rather to distract than satisfy the mind.’

Page 109, ll. 25,26. ‘If we are to estimate nature as dynamically sublime, it must be represented as a source of fear.’ It is, therefore, the instinct towards self-preservation that is primarily engaged. Cf. Burke, Pt. II, § 22: ‘The sublime is an idea belonging to self-preservation.’ Blair regards what Kant calls the dynamically sublime as more fundamental than the mathematically sublime. ‘1 am inclined to think, that mighty force or power, whether accompanied with terror or not, whether employed in protecting, or in alarming us, has a better title than anything that has yet been mentioned, to be the fundamental quality of the Sublime.’ (Lectures on Rhetoric, vol. i, p. 66.)

Page 112, l. 3. ‘This estimation of ourselves loses nothing by the fact that we must see ourselves safe.’ Cf. Burke, Pt. I, § 15: ‘So it is certain, that it is absolutely necessary my life should be out of any imminent hazard, before I can take a delight in the sufferings of others, real or imaginary, or indeed in anything else from any cause whatsoever. But then it is a sophism to argue from thence, that this immunity is the cause of my delight either on these or on any occasions.’ What then is the cause of the delight? Burke relies on a natural attraction that misfortune has for us, and explains this attraction teleologically by its beneficent social function. ‘The delight we have in such things hinders us from shunning scenes of misery; and the pain we feel prompts us to relieve ourselves in relieving those who suffer.’ Cf. Pt. I, §§ 14, 15. Kant’s answer is that the reflection upon the might of nature ‘discovers a pre-eminence above nature that is the foundation of a self-preservation of quite another kind from that which may be assailed and brought into danger by external nature’.

l. 12. ‘when he stretches his reflection so far abroad’—i. e. when he looks to the goal towards which he is bound to strive, i. e. when he reflects upon what he ought to be. Cf. Religion within the Bounds of mere Reason (Ethics, p. 354; Werke, vol. vi, p. 46): ‘The original good is holiness of maxims in following one’s 265duty, by which the man who adopts this purity into his maxims, although he is not himself on that account holy (for there is still a long interval between maxim and act), nevertheless is on the way to approximate to holiness by an endless progress.’

l. 26. ‘all the virtues of peace.’ Cf. King Henry’s address before H ardeur; King Henry V, Act iii, Scene i:

In peace there’s nothing so becomes a man

As modest stillness and humility:

But when the blast of war blows in our ears,

Then imitate the action of the tiger.

ll. 27-9. Cf. Aristotle’s remarks on Courage, in the Nicomachean Ethics, Book III, ch. 12.

Page 114, 1.18. ‘a religion consisting in a good life.’ Cf. Religion within the Bounds of mere Reason (Ethics, p. 360; Werke, vol. vi, p. 51): ‘We may divide all religions into two classes—favour-seeking religion (mere worship), and moral religion, that is, the religion of a good life.’

Page 115, l. 8. ‘a far higher degree of culture.’ Cf. pp. 116, l. 26 et seq.; 149, l. 18 et seq.; and, as to fine art, p. 226, l. 25 et seq. As to the degree of culture requisite for taste and for art, see Hume, Essays, Pt. I, Essay I, ‘Of the Delicacy of Taste and Passion.’ Also Home, Elements of Criticism, p. xi n.: ‘A taste for natural objects is born with us in perfection, for relishing a fine countenance, a rich landscape, or a vivid colour, culture is unnecessary. The observation holds equally in natural sounds, such as the singing of birds, or the murmuring of a brook, Nature here, the artificer of the object as well as the percipient, hath necessarily suited them each to the other. But of a poem, a cantata, a picture or other artificial production, a true relish is not commonly attained without some study and much practice.’ Shaftesbury, who connected the sublime with astonishment, regarded it as of earlier growth. ‘’Tis easy to imagine, that amidst the several stiles and manners of discourse or writing, the earliest attained, and earliest practised, was the miraculous, the pompous, or what we generally call the Sublime. Astonishment is of all other passions the easiest raised in raw and unexperienced mankind. Children in their earliest infancy are entertained in this manner.… Thus the florid and over sanguine humour of the high stile was allayed by something of a contrary nature. The comick genius was apply’d as a kind of caustic.… He shows us that this first formed Comedy and scheme of ludicrous wit was introduced upon the neck of the sublime.’ (Advice to an Author, Pt. II, sect. 2.) ‘When the admiring world made their first judgment, and essayed their taste in the elegancies of this sort; the lofty, the sublime, the astonishing and amazing would be the most in fashion, and preferred. Metaphorical speech, multiplicity of figures and high-sounding words would naturally prevail.… A better judgment was soon form’d 266when a Demosthenes was heard, and had found success.… And now in all the principal Works of Ingenuity and Art, Simplicity and Nature began chiefly to be sought: And this was the Taste which lasted thro’ so many Ages, till the Ruin of all things, under a Universal Monarchy.’ (Miscellaneous Reflections, Misc. 3, ch. i.) Of course Kant has a much higher conception of the sublime than that here contemplated by Shaftesbury. But whether it would be of later development than the pure judgement of taste is another question.

ll. 16, 17. ‘the straining of the imagination to use nature as a schema for ideas.’ Nature is more successfully used to provide symbols for ideas.

Page 116, l. 12. ‘introduced in a more or less conventional way into society.’ Cf. p. 85, l. 12. The modality of the judgement upon the sublime is conditioned by the capacity for the moral feeling in man, just as the judgement of the beautiful is conditioned by the sensus communis. But § 59 proves, and § 60 recognizes clearly, that the existence of taste presupposes man’s moral capacity.

l 24. ‘he has no feeling.’ In the representation of the sublime the mind feels itself set in motion (p. 107, l. 1), and experiences a feeling of emotion (p. 68, l. 27). In connexion with this technical use of the word ‘feeling’, cf. pp. 162, l. 25; 227, l. 25 et seq. In the case of the sublime there is an immediate reference to this ‘feeling’; in the case of the beautiful the ‘feeling’ for beautiful nature only arises on reflection upon the import of the beauty.

Page 117, l. 3. ‘In this modality of aesthetic judgements.’ Notice that Kant does not say ‘of aesthetic judgements upon the sublime’. Also observe the generality of the whole paragraph, which reads strangely after §§ 18-22. Compare with p. 132. Further, observe that, despite its heading, this section seems only to contemplate the dynamically sublime.

l. 9. ‘of finer feeling.’ This seems aimed at Hume and his followers.

Page 118, l. 16. ‘hindrances on the part of sensibility.’ Cf. Religion within the Bounds of mere Reason (Ethics, p. 325, and especially pp. 352-60; Werke, vol. vi, pp. 44-52).

Page 119, l. 14. ‘the elevation of nature beyond our reach’, or ‘the transcendency of nature’—die Unerreichbarkeit der Natur. This would be translated more literally by ‘the unattainability of nature’, but I was anxious to make it clear that what Kant here refers to is not nature’s inadequacy in respect of ideas of reason, but nature’s physical superiority over us—its immeasurableness and invincibility. Kant has so far advanced from the purely negative conception of the sublime as to allow us to predicate of nature, not true sublimity, but a relative physical superiority which we can look upon as a presentation of ideas. Once we have grasped the meaning of true sublimity we may treat the immeasurableness and invincibility of nature as aesthetically 267sublime. Nature is aesthetically sublime in such of its phenomena as convey the idea of infinity. Thus Kant carries his account of the sublime to a point at which it meets his account of symbolism and aesthetic ideas. When, a few pages on, he says that simplicity (artless finality) is, as it were, the style adopted by nature in the sublime, the transition is completely effected.

Page 120, l. 15. ‘presupposes and cultivates a certain liberality of thought.’ This to some extent modifies the statement that the sense of the beautiful presupposes far less culture than the sense of the sublime. This, again, is modified by what follows. But surely the fact that in the former case freedom is represented ‘rather as in play’ does not make the degree of culture presupposed any less. The very fact that it is represented ‘as in play’ argues greater culture. Undoubtedly in the case of the beautiful all that is presupposed in the individual is a mere moral capacity (as a Naturanlage); but more than this is presupposed in the race, and it is precisely by culture that the individual reaps the benefit of this ‘something more’ presupposed in race, without himself requiring an active feeling for moral ideas.

Page 122, l. 5. ‘just as it strikes the eye.’ Cf. Shaftesbury, The Judgment of Hercules, Intro. (4): ‘Probability or seeming truth (which is the real truth of Art)’; also Home, Elements of Criticism, vol. ii, p. 327: ‘Where the subject is intended for entertainment, not for instruction, a thing ought to be described as it appears, not as it is in reality.’ Thus Shakespeare says:

Look how the floor of heaven,

Is thick inlaid with patterns of bright gold!

Page 127, l. 21. ‘in their moral period.’ This unkind qualification is a regrettable concession to continental prejudice.

Page 128, l. 6. ‘and which facilitate their being treated as though they were merely passive’—und wodurch man ihn, als bloss passiv, leichter behandeln kann. Kirchmann’s reading, als bloss positiv, has not been followed by any other editor. But it would make excellent sense. Men are meant to progress; but to fix them within arbitrary limits would be only to allow them to be so much and no more. From the point of view of governments this is an advantage, for it enables the subjects to be dealt with in a merely positive, definitely assigned, capacity. Within the limits the subjects are allowed to be as active as they like; but any tendency to transcend them is regarded as a tendency to anarchy. Such a point would be quite germane to Kant’s argument For governments to attempt to fix arbitrary limits to the progress of their subjects is like attempting a positive presentation of the sublime. On the other hand the reading in the text, which almost involves a truism, seems a very weak ending to a forcible passage. Hence, despite the fact that all the three editions read als bloss passiv, I should fed inclined to follow Kirchmann if I could find a 268single precisely analogous passage in which Kant uses the word positiv in this connexion. This I have been unable to do, although there are many in which Kant makes exactly similar references to passivity.

l. 18. ‘delirium... mania.’ The Latin equivalents are dementia and insania. See Anthropology, § 52.

l. 25. ‘Simplicity.’ Home has some excellent remarks on simplicity. But he does not confine it in any way to the sublime, though he says: ‘There is an additional reason for simplicity, in works of dignity and elevation; which is, that the mind attached to beauties of a high rank cannot descend to inferior beauties.’ (Elements of Criticism, vol. i, p. 202.) Simplicity, he also says, is the governing taste in architecture. The importance of simplicity was frequently emphasized by English writers. Gerard seems to place simplicity almost on a level with magnitude. ‘Objects are sublime which possess quantity, or amplitude, and simplicity in conjunction.’ (Essay on Taste, p. 11.) Gerard refers to An Essay on the Sublime, by Dr. Baillie. I have not seen this work.

Page 129, l. 2. ‘isolation from all society.’ Cf. Burke, Pt. I, § 11, ‘Society and Solitude.’

Page 130, l. 22. ‘Burke.’ Cf. Part IV, §§ 7, 19.

Page 131, l. 3. ‘(from which, still, he would have desire kept separate).’ Cf. Pt. III, § 1.

Page 132, l. 3. ‘all censorship of taste.’ Observe how Kant is referring principally to taste, and preparing for the Deduction in a manner quite unnecessary having regard to the second and fourth moments of the judgement of taste.

Page 133, ll. 24-7. Kant shows a greater regard for the truth than Spence does. The latter observes: ‘And I the rather take part of the beauty of all these creatures to be meant, by the bounty of nature, for us; because most of the different sorts of sea-fish (which live chiefly out of our sight) are of colours and forms more hideous, or (at best) less agreeable to us.’ (Crito, Fugitive Pieces, vol. i, p. 56.)

Page 134, l. 13. ‘the mere occasion.’ Veranlassung (occasion, inducement, incentive). Cf. p. 149, l. 27.

Page 136, l. 16. ‘compare the aesthetic form with the form of the objective judgements as prescribed by logic.’ Cf. p. 41, l. 25.

l. 29. ‘to suppose … that its beauty is to be taken for a property of the flower itself.’ Cf. pp. 51, ll. 6-12; 52, l. 18; 216, l. 11. British writers were generally quite clear on the point that beauty is not a property of the object, e.g. Home, Elements of Criticism, vol. i, p. 208: ‘Beauty therefore, which for its existence depends on the percipient as much as on the object perceived, cannot be an inherent property in either. And hence it is wittily observed by the poet, that beauty is not m the person beloved, but in the lover’s eye.’ Cf. Hutcheson, Inquiry, sect, i, subsect. 17. In the essay on ‘The Standard of Taste’ Hume says: ‘Though it 269be certain that beauty and deformity, more than sweet and bitter, are not qualities in objects, but belong entirely to the sentiment, internal or external, it must be allowed, that there are certain qualities in objects which are fitted by nature to produce those particular feelings.’ Also in his essay, ‘The Sceptic’, he says: ‘But the case is not the same with the qualities of beautiful and deformed, desirable and odious, as with truth and falsehood. In the former case, the mind is not content with merely surveying its objects, as they stand in themselves: it also feels a sentiment of delight or uneasiness, approbation or blame, consequent to that survey; and this sentiment determines it to affix the epithet beautiful or deformed, desirable or odious. Now, it is evident, that this sentiment must depend upon the particular fabric or structure of the mind, which enables such particular forms to operate in such particular manner.’ Reid, however, contends that beauty is a quality of the object. In the course of his remarks he observes: ‘This sense of beauty, like the perceptions of our other senses, implies not only a feeling, but an opinion of some quality in the object which occasions that feeling.’ (Essays on the Intellectual Powers, Essay VIII, ch. i, § 6.) Does this only mean what Kant says at pp. 91, l. 3; 93, l. 31? If not, what does it mean? Cf. quotation from Reid in annotation to p. 51, ll. 6-12.

Page 137, l. 32. ‘the works of the ancients.’ Cf. Hume’s remarks in essay on ‘The Standard of Taste’, quoted in annotation to p. 75, l. 13. Also see in his essay on ‘The Rise and Progress of the Arts and Sciences’: ‘If the natural genius of mankind be the same in all ages, and in almost all countries (as seems to be the truth), it must very much forward and cultivate this genius, to be possessed of patterns in every art, which may regulate the taste, and fix the objects of imitation. The models left us by the ancients gave birth to all the arts about two hundred years ago, and have mightily advanced their progress in every country in Europe.’

Page 141, l. 16. ‘as Hume says.’ Essays, Part I, xviii, ‘The Sceptic’: ‘There is something approaching to principles in mental taste; and critics can reason and dispute more plausibly than cooks or perfumers. We may observe, however, that this uniformity among human kind hinders not, but that there is a considerable diversity in the sentiments of beauty and worth, and that education, custom, prejudice, caprice, and humour, frequently vary our taste of this kind. You will never convince a man, who is not accustomed to Italian music, and has not an ear to follow its intricacies, that a Scots tune is not preferable. You have not even any single argument beyond your own taste, which you can employ in that behalf; and to your antagonist his particular taste will always appear a more convincing argument to the contrary.’

Page 143, ll. 27-8. ‘of the facility of intuitions … under the faculty of concepts.’ Cf. pp. 30, l. 28; 42, l. 17; 90, l. 16; 133, l. 20.

Page 144, l. 6. ‘a judgement of experience.’ This seems the 270most convenient point at which to collect the various passages in which Kant considers the character of judgements of taste in connexion with his general division of empirical judgements into judgements of perception and judgements of experience. The basis of this division is clearly stated in the Prolegomena, §§ 18, 19 (see Bax’s translation, p. 45). Kant there observes ‘Empirical judgements, in so far as they have objective validity are Judgements of Experience; but those which are merely subjectively valid I call judgements of perception. The last require no pure conception of the understanding; but only the logical connexion of perception in a thinking subject. But the first demand, above the presentation of sensuous intuition, special conceptions originally generated in the understanding, which make the judgement of experience objectively valid.

‘All our judgements are at first mere judgements of perception; they are valid simply for us, namely, for our subject. It is only subsequently that we give them a new reference, namely, to an object, and insist that they shall be valid for us always, as well as for every one else. For when a judgement coincides with an object, adjudgements must both coincide with the same object and with one another, and thus the objective validity of the judgement of experience implies nothing more than the necessary universal validity of the same. But, on the other hand, when we see reason to hold a judgement of necessity universally valid (which never hinges on the perception itself, but on the pure conception of the understanding under which the perception is subsumed), we are obliged to regard it as objective, i. e. as expressing not merely the reference of the perception to a subject but a quality of the object; for there would be no reason why the judgements of other persons must necessarily coincide with mine, if it were not that the unity of the object to which they all refer, and with which they coincide, necessitates them all agreeing with one another.

‘Objective validity and necessary universality (for every one) are therefore exchangeable notions, and although we do not know the object in itself, yet when we regard a judgement as at once universal and necessary, objective validity is therewith understood.’ But Kant now recognizes that judgements of perception may be brought into connexion with an a priori conception that is not a category of understanding capable of being used, by means of an appropriate schema, for the determination of objects, but which is quite indeterminate and indeterminable, and is only capable of being used in a reflective judgement. A new kind of necessity is now recognized—a mere exemplary necessity which can avail itself of no rule for the determination of objects—and necessary universality of this kind in no way involves any objective validity. But the connexion between objective validity and necessary universality is still so dose that under the presupposition of a common sense the subjective necessity, which is implied in judgements of taste, is represented as objective. Judge271ments of taste thus appear as judgements of perception which are transformed by reference to an indeterminable conception of a finality for the cognitive faculties generally, and which, under presupposition of common sense, assume, as it were, the character of singular judgements of experience. Judgements of taste thus occupy an intermediate position between judgements of perception and judgements of experience. The problem is outlined in the Preface, pp. 5, 6. It is restated and solved in §§ 6, 8, 9, 20, 21, 22. It is again restated and similarly solved in the Deduction.

From the whole discussion we may see that empirical judgements are divisible into those that depend upon an a priori conception and those that do not. Those that do may be divided into those in which the conception is provided with a schema and in which the judgement is consequently determinant, and those in which no schema can be provided, and in which the conception is consequently only available for a reflective judgement. The former are judgements of experience: the latter judgements of taste. Empirical judgements which have no underlying a priori conception are mere judgements of perception. The primary class of these judgements refer to what belongs to the cognition of an object. But from them are developed, on the one hand, judgements which merely concern agreeableness, and which are still mere judgements of perception, and, on the other, judgements of taste. Both of these refer to what is subjective and incapable of forming any part of the cognition of an object. But in the latter case the subjective element is immediately bound up with the representation of the form of the object, whereas in the former it is only concerned with the matter of sensation.

Page 146, l. 12. ‘not the pleasure but the universal validity of this pleasure.’ Cf. p. 57, l. 24 et seq.

Page 148, l. 19. We cannot assign any reason a priori why nature must be beautiful; we only find that, as a contingent fact, it contains objects which we may validly, on subjective grounds, consider beautiful.

Page 150, l. 16. ‘is requisite also for ordinary sound understanding.’ Cf. Plume, Essays, xxiii, ‘Of the Standard of Taste’: ‘It seldom or never happens, that a man of sense, who has experience in any art, cannot judge of its beauty; and it is no less rare to meet with a man who has a just taste without a sound understanding.’

Page 151, l. 17. ‘a public sense’—eines gemeinschaftlichen Sinnes. Kant does not say ‘a sense common to all’. This would not give his meaning; which is perhaps best suggested by the expression ‘public sense’. For if public spirit is a spirit which pays regard to the public good, a sense ‘which in its reflective act takes account of the mode of representation of every one else’ may be called a public sense. Cf. definition of taste at p. 154.

Page 153, 1, 7. ‘if he detaches himself from the subjective 272personal conditions of his judgement.’ Cf. Hume, Essays, Pt. I, xxiii, ‘Of the Standard of Taste’: ‘A person influenced by prejudice complies not with this condition, but obstinately maintains his natural position without placing himself in that point of view which the performance supposes. If the work be addressed to persons of a different age or nation, he makes no allowances for their peculiar views and prejudices.’

Page 154, l. 17. ‘The empirical interest in the beautiful.’ Cf. p. 128, l. 31 et seq.

Page 155, l. 10. ‘as a creature intended for society.’ Grotius and Pufendorf had emphasized the social nature of man, and the important bearing of this point on aesthetics was recognized by most of the British writers. Cf. Shaftesbury, Essay on the Freedom of Wit and Humour, Pt. Ill, sects. 1, 2; The Moralists, Pt. II, sect. 4. Home recognized the importance of ‘our destination for society’. Cf. Elements of Criticism, vol. i, p. 192. Hume insisted on the connexion between art, refinement, society, and humanity, (Cf. Part II, Essay II, ‘Of Refinement in the Arts.’)

Page 156, l. 12. ‘of no importance for us here’—not because it is merely indirectly attached (see l. 14) but because only indirectly attached by the inclination to society. Something deeper than a mere empirical inclination must be sought.

l. 16. ‘a transition.’ Cf. p. 225, l. 19. As explained in the introductory essays, the final solution of this problem is not given in § 42, but in § 59.

Page 158, l. 30. The influence of Rousseau is seen in this paragraph. The other side of the question is forcibly argued by Hume, Essays, Part II, Essay II, ‘Of Refinement in the Arts.’ The question is ably dealt with by Hartley, Observations on Man, vol. ii, Prop. 57. As against the immoderate pursuit of the elegancies of life he argues: ‘Thirdly, That the Beauties of nature are far superior to all artificial ones, Solomon in all his Glory not being arrayed like a Lily of the Field; that they are open to everyone, and therefore rather restrain than feed the Desire of ProperLy; and that they lead to Humility, Devotion, and the Study of the Ways of Providence. We ought therefore much rather to apply ourselves to the Contemplation of natural than of Artificial Beauty.’ In vol. i, Prop. 94, Hartley makes an observation which may be quoted as bearing on the general problem of this section. ‘Those Persons who have already formed high Ideas of the Power, Knowledge, and Goodness, of the Author of Nature, with suitable affections, generally feel the exalted Pleasures of Devotion upon every View and Contemplation of his Works, either in an explicit and distinct Manner, or in a secret and implicit one. Hence, part of the general and indeterminate Pleasures, here considered, is deducible from the Pleasures of Theopathy.’ There would seem to be a good deal of the indeterminate pleasures of Theopathy underlying the intellectual interest described by Kant.

273 Page 159, I. 5. ‘in a train of thought.’ Alison placed beauty entirely in these trains of thought. ‘When any object of sublimity or beauty is presented to the mind, I believe every man is conscious of a train of thought being immediately awakened in his imagination, analogous to the character or expression of the original object.’ (Essays on Taste, p. 2; cf. pp. 3, 11, 13, 48.)

l. 6. ‘which he can never completely evolve.’ Presumably he has come across what suggests an aesthetic idea. He will certainly never completely evolve how it can have objective reality.

l. 29. ‘objective reality.’ Cf. pp. 147, l. 8; 176, l. 26; 221, l. 23; and also p. 92, ll. 16-28.

l. 31. ‘some ground or other.’ Cf. p. 224, ll. 15-22.

Page 160, l. 8. ‘the presence of at least the germ of a good moral disposition’—eine Anlage zu, &c. Anlage (capacity, basis, predisposition, tendency, rudiment, talent) is generally a difficult word to translate. In the present case it would be accurately hit off by an Irishman, ‘he has the makings of a good moral disposition.’ (Cf. p. 162, l. 22.) The modality of the intellectual interest in the beauty of nature rests on the same basis as that of the judgement upon the sublime. Hence, as shown above (p. cxiv), it could not explain why agreement in judgements upon the beautiful is exacted as a duty—which is the problem. (Cf. p. 154 l. 9 et seq.^ For the claim to agreement in the latter case has the firmer basis. (Cf. p. 149.)

l. 19. ‘the analogy.’ Cf. pp. 222, l. 24; 224, l. 23; 225, l. 13.

Page 161, l. 3. ‘in the Teleology.’ The promised discussion occurs in § 67, in which Kant argues that, once the teleological judgement has justified the idea of a great system of ends of nature, then, instead of merely saying that we regard nature with favour (cf. p. 220, l. 16), we can regard it as a favour of nature that it has been willing to minister to our culture by exhibiting so many beautiful forms. (Cf. Dr. Bernard’s translation, p. 286.) But as this way of looking at the matter is not necessary for the aesthetic judgement, nor for science, nor for morality, there does not appear to be any object in adopting an attitude so at variance with all that was said in § 58. (Also see p. 148, ll. 12-20.) It is to be observed that Kant refers in the footnote in § 67 to what had been said ‘in the part on aesthetics’, but does not mention the section referred to. But what is stated to have been said shows that the reference is to § 58. This helps to connect § 42 and § 58. The justification for requiring the agreement of others in our aesthetic judgement as a sort of duty is not based on any teleological judgement as to ends of nature. (Cf. p. 220, l. 17 et seq.)

l. 22. ‘The charms in natural beauty.’ Cf. p. 157, l. 29 et seq.

l. 31. ‘colours.’ Cf. Alison, Essays on Taste, p. 197. The meaning of the language of colours contemplated by Kant obviously depends upon an association of ideas. Universal agreement with the interpretation of the seven colours given could not be expected, 274and he qualifies his remarks with the word ‘seems’. Cf. his remarks on music, p. 194, l. 7 et seq.

Page 163, l. 30. ‘Camper’—Peter Camper (1722-89), a Dutch physician and scientist, and author of anatomical and medical works. Also referred to in Anthropology; Werke, vol. vii, p. 299, l. 15. (See editor’s note on p. 366 of same.)

Page 164, l. 9. ‘Whether in the list of arts and crafts we are to rank watch-makers as artists.’ Cf. Duff, Essay on Original Genius, pp. 75, 76: ‘To constitute an excellent watch-maker, or even a carpenter, some share of this quality [genius] is requisite. In most of the arts indeed, of which we are speaking, industry, it must be granted, will in a great measure supply the place of genius; and dexterity of performance may be acquired by habit and sedulous application; yet in others of a more elegant kind, these will by no means altogether supersede its use and exercise; since it can alone bestow those finishing touches that bring credit and reputation to the workman. Every ingenious artist, who would execute his piece with uncommon nicety and neatness, must really work from his imagination. The model of the piece must exist in his own mind. Therefore the more vivid and perfect his ideas of this are, the more exquisite and complete will be the copy.’

l. 24. ‘leaders of a newer school.’ The reference is to the leaders of the Sturm und Drang movement. Cf. pp. 168, ll. 31, 32; 171, l. 27 et seq.; 182, l. 14 et seq.; 201, l. 30 et seq.

Page 165, ll. 9, 10. Similarly Duff remarks: ‘The truth is, to bring philosophical subjects to the tribunal of Taste, or to employ this faculty principally in their examination, is extremely dangerous, and naturally productive of absurdity and error. The order of things is thereby reversed; reason is dethroned, and sense usurps the place of judgement.’ (Essay on Original Genius, p. 12; cf. p. 16.) Reid has a number of similar observations.

Page 167, l. 11. ‘Now art has always got a definite intention of producing something’—yet it must be free. This difficulty is only to be solved by recognizing genius and aesthetic ideas. Cf. pp. 171, l. 23; 173, l. 5; l75, l. 2; 180, l. 19; 185, l. 12 et seq.; 220, l. 32 et seq.; 226, l. 1 et seq. Alison, Essays on Taste, p. 307: ‘Every work of Art supposes Unity of Design, or some one end which the Artist had in view in its structure or composition.’

l. 24. ‘fine art must be clothed with the aspect of nature, although we recognize it to be art.’ Fine art, though it has an end in view, must at least be master of the ars celare artem. Kant’s point is not that all art must be an imitation of nature (in the usual sense), which must not be carried to the point of deception. (Cf. pp. 161, l. 6 et seq.; 174, l. 7; where the case of imitation approaching deception is touched upon incidentally.) English writers from Sir Philip Sidney down to Whistler and Wilde have endeavoured to reconcile the conception of art as imitative with the conception of art as the product of original genius. The solution 275as reached by Whistler and Wilde seems to come to this, that art is only concerned with certain values which are freely assigned by art itself. These values art introduces into nature, which in itself is quite indifferent to them, and which thus merely contains the raw material of art. Art, therefore, merely uses nature as a medium for the expression of the artist. Beautiful nature is only objectified, or, if we may use the word in a good sense, vulgarized art. This solution has obviously a very strong Kantian colour. But in this section Kant evades the question of how far art is imitative. This he apparently does deliberately, and, playing on the ambiguity of the expression ‘looks like nature’, prepares for his statement that genius, which is the source of art, is nature in the Subject. Certain arts may use representations of natural objects as the medium for the expression of aesthetic ideas, and their products may be like nature in a special sense (cf. § 51); but all art must be like nature in the sense of being free from all constraint of arbitrary rules. It may be remarked that the emphasis here would seem to be on ‘constraint’ and ‘arbitrary’ and not upon ‘free’. The product of genius is not like nature in being free, but in its rules not being imposed arbitrarily from without. The rule must seem to belong to the constitution of the product itself. Kant might, perhaps, have seemed more convincing if he had said that the finality of the form of a product of art, while appearing free from all constraint of arbitrary rules (as the freedom of art implies), must appear just as inevitable and predetermined as if it were a product of mere nature produced according to universal laws of nature. But the only way that this is possible is through unity of design, where the idea of the whole is antecedent to the parts and determines their connexion. Cf. Kant’s reference to the ‘feeling of unity in the presentation’ (p. 182, l. 8). Shaftesbury’s remarks on truth may be quoted here as suggestive: ‘For all Beauty is Truth.… A Painter, if he has any Genius, understands the truth and Unity of Design; and knows he is even then unnatural, when he follows Nature too close, and strictly copys Life.… His Piece, if it be beautiful, carrys Truth, must be a Whole, by it-self, complete, independant.’ (Essay on the Freedom of Wit and Humour, Part IV, sect. 3.) ‘Every just work of theirs comes under those natural rules of proportion, and truth. This creature of their brain must be like one of nature’s formation.’ Cf. Reynolds, Fourth Discourse (1771): ‘The Painter will not enquire what things may be admitted without much censure; he will not think it enough to show that they may be there; he will show that they must be there, that their absence would render his picture maimed and defective.’

ll. 25-9. (Pünktlichkeit … ohne Peinlichkeit). Cf. p. 181, ll. 12-15. Peinlichkeit comes near what Reynolds called ‘superfluous diligence’ as opposed to ‘unexpected happiness of execution’ (Eleventh Discourse, 1782). Young, in his Discourse on 276Lyric Poetry, had observed that in the case of rhyme the writer must make it ‘consistent with as perfect sense and expression, as would be expected if he was free from that shackle’. FitzOsborne remarks: ‘The thoughts, the metaphors, the allusions, and the diction should appear easy and natural, and seem to arise like so many spontaneous productions, rather than as the effects of art or labor.’ (Letters, p. 135.)

Page 168, l. 5. ‘Genius is the innate mental aptitude (ingenium).’ Poeta nascitur non fit. Thus Blair observes that genius ‘is used to signify that talent or aptitude which we receive from nature, for excelling in any one thing whatever.… This talent or aptitude for excelling in some one particular, is, I have said, what we receive from nature. By art and study, no doubt, it may be greatly improved; but by them alone it cannot be acquired.’ (Lectures on Rhetoric, vol. i, p. 49.) This was the generally received view. It had been contested by William Sharpe in his Dissertation upon Genius, in which he attempted to show ‘That the several instances of Distinction, and Degrees of Superiority in the human Genius are not, fundamentally, the result of nature, but the effect of acquisition’. He investigates the subject elaborately, his motive evidently being to bring genius within the reach of those who are willing to improve their natural faculties, and thus seeks to show that it is ‘not the effect of any cause exclusive of human assistance’. (p. 6.) If genius were the result of simple nature, then every one would be a genius. The principle omnes hommes sunt natura aequales is true in relation to natural faculties. (p. 74.) ‘No; nature is that general, whether physical or divine, cause, or both, of our being, which forms our faculties in their order and species perfect, and is simple and uniform, fixing no difference at all among individuals.’ (p. 109.) What does it mean, to say that genius is nature in the individual? ‘Synonymously, nature is more nature in one person, than in another, or, one person with all bis faculties of body and senses, particularly of the pre-eminent one, common sense, in their proper order, strength, and subservience is not so complete in his formation as another! For this is the conclusion, upon a supposition that the difference of genius or understanding is the creature of nature’s original operations.’ (pp. 108, 109.) ‘Experience’, he says, ‘could never prove that the difference was due to difference of nature and not acquired.’ Referring to Locke’s Essay, Book I, ch. iii, § 23, he says: ‘But since we are ignorant by what special means and steps the possessor of such a capacity arrives at that acuteness, we implicitly call it a qualification of nature.’ (p. 96.) That genius receives its differences from art, he argues is apparent from the fact that ‘no instances of genius are found in any branch of art or science, in places where no improvements in that art or science are pursued’. (p. 92.) But it is evident that all Sharpe combats is the opinion that genius is the result of an original special favour or distinction on the part of 277nature. The gist of his argument is that the genius is the man who has not spoiled nature, but has sedulously cultivated and improved it. Hence he deals at length with the stumbling-blocks in the way of becoming a genius. These are faults of Temper, e.g. ‘fretfullness, perplexity, indolence, impatience, precipitancy’; or of Moral Habits, e.g. ‘avarice, idleness, sensuality, pride, obstinacy.’ So he takes up the bold position that ‘every good man is a wise man’, and ably defends it by saying: ‘Doubtless, in many instances sense and virtue are divided, but when they are found to be so, either habit and appetite has the predominancy, and so it is an implicit misconduct, or else the judgment has been wrong directed, and thus degenerated into that wisdom which the apostle styles, earthly, sensual, devilish.’ (p. 81.) Genius is the very bent and tendency towards preventing the deceptions of self-deceit and delusion, and is originally incumbent upon the understanding. As to improvement he says: ‘Every man is, if not the founder, yet the refiner and polisher, of his own Genius.’ (p. 129.) Genius is a ‘second nature’ which is ‘mistaken for the constitutional character of our being’. (p. 110.) The only weakness of Sharpe’s account lies in the absence of any adequate analysis of the specific function of genius as exhibited, par excellence, in fine art. Young, Duff, and Gerard directed their inquiries to this point, and emphasized the importance of imagination. The whole investigation culminates in Kant’s specific definition of genius as the faculty of aesthetic ideas.

l. 6. ‘through which nature gives the rule to art.’ Cf. Pope, Essay on Criticism:

These Rules of old discover’d, not devised,

Are nature still, but nature methodized:

Nature, like liberty, is but restrain’d

By the same laws which first herself ordain’d.

Pope, in his Preface to the Works of Shakespeare, says: ‘If ever any author deserved the name of original, it was Shakespear.… The poetry of Shakespear is inspiration indeed: he is not so much an imitator, as an instrument, of nature; and it is not so just to say that he speaks from her, as that she speaks through him.’ (See Webb, Beauties of Poetry, p. 36, where this passage is quoted.) The point is clearly recognized by J. Harris in his Philological Inquiries, Part II, ch. xii: ‘And yet ’tis somewhat singular in Literary Compositions, and perhaps more so in Poetry than elsewhere, that many things have been done in the best and purest taste, long before Rules were established, and systematised in form. This we are certain was true with respect to Homer, Sophocles, Euripides, and other Greeks. In modern times it appears as true of our admired Shakespeare; for who can believe that Shakespeare studied Rules, or was ever versed in Critical Systems?—A specious Objection then occurs. “If these great Writers were so excellent before Rules were established, what had they 278to direct their Genius, when Rules (to them at least) did not exist?”—To this Question ’tis hoped the Answer will not be deemed too hardy, should we assert, that there never was a time, when Rules did not exist; that they always made a Part of that immutable Truth, the natural object of every penetrating Genius; and that, if at that early Greek Period, Systems of Rules were not established, those Great and Sublime Authors were a Rule to themselves. They may be said indeed to have excelled not by Art, but by Nature; yet by a Nature, which gave birth to the perfection of Art.’ Gerard observes: ‘It is very remarkable that all the fine arts have been cultivated, and even brought to perfection, before the rules of art were investigated or formed into a system: there is not a single instance of any art that has begun to be practised in consequence of rules being prescribed for it.’ (Essay on Genius, p. 72.) But, of course, Kant is not merely thinking of rules that can be ‘methodized’ or ‘formed into a system’. He is thinking of that indeterminate quality which makes a work exemplary, and gives it the appearance of inevitability.—We must remember throughout that Kant is using the word nature in a special sense. It is something supersensible regarded as the birthright of a human being. It is the end as the prius, and in actual operation. Thus, just as Kant speaks of Genius as nature in the individual, so he speaks of Grace (what we call divine grace) as ‘the nature of man, so far as he is determined to actions by his own inner, but supersensible principle (the representation of his duty)’. (Conflict of the Faculties, Werke, vol. vii, p. 43.) It is a peculiarity of Kant’s manner to accept generally received propositions and then to put his own interpretation upon them. This course is frequently misleading, but probably it is less so than the opposite one of completely denying doctrines that contain an element of truth which may be preserved by an esoteric interpretation.

l. 28 et seq. Cf. pp. 180, l. 16-18; 212, l. 16 et seq. That no definite rule can be given for productions of genius was recognized as far back as Bacon. ‘1 think a painter may make a better face than ever was; but he must do it by a kind of felicity (as a musician that maketh an excellent air in music), and not by rule.’ (Essay on Beauty.) Sir W. Temple says; ‘From this arises that elevation of genius, which can never be produced by any art or study, by pains or by industry, which cannot be taught by precepts or examples; and therefore it is agreed by all, to be the pure and free gift of Heaven or of nature, and to be a fire kindled out of some hidden spark of the very first conception.’ (Essay on Poetry.) By the time of Reynolds the point was so well recognized that he says in his Sixth Discourse (1774), Essay on Genius: ‘Genius is supposed to be a power of producing excellencies which are out of the reach of the rules of art, a power which no precepts can teach, and which no industry can acquire.’ In this view Reynolds does not 279altogether acquiesce. He contends: ‘What we now call Genius begins not where rules, abstractedly taken, end, but where known vulgar and trite rules have no longer any place. It must of necessity be that some works of Genius, like every other effect, as they must have their cause, must likewise have their rules. Unsubstantial, however, as these rules may seem, and difficult as it may seem to convey them in writing, they are still seen and felt in the mind of the artist; and he works from them with as much certainty as if they were embodied, as I may say, upon paper. Art in its perfection is not ostentatious; it lies hid, and works its effect, itself unseen. It is the proper study and labour of an artist to uncover and find out the latent cause of conspicuous beauties, and from thence form principles of his own conduct: such an examination is a continual exertion of the mind, as great, perhaps, as that of the artist whose works he is thus studying.’ Cf. the Third (1770) and Thirteenth (1786) Discourses. Reynolds admits that ‘could we teach taste or genius by rules, there would no longer be taste and genius’ (Third Discourse), but he sees that art implies rules. He does not, however, clearly grasp the distinction between a rule prescribed to genius and a rule which genius gives to art, nor that between determinate and indeterminate rules. Also cf. Kant’s remarks at p. 226, ll. 4-24.

l. 30. ‘originality must be its primary property.’ Sir P. Sidney, Sir W. Temple, and most of the early English writers recognized the importance of invention. Sir W. Temple would allow poetry ‘to rise from the greatest excellency of natural temper, or the greatest race of native genius’, and he also says that ‘invention’ is ‘the mother of poetry’. Young observes, in his Discourse on Lyric Poetry: ‘Above all, in this, as in every work of genius, somewhat of an original spirit should be at least attempted.’ In his later Conjectures on Original Composition he elaborates the point still further. It is there that the well-known passage occurs: ‘He that imitates the divine Iliad does not imitate Homer, but he who takes the same method which Homer took for arriving at a capacity of accomplishing a work so great. Tread in his steps to the sole fountain of immortality; drink where he drank, at the true Helicon, that is, at the breast of nature. Imitate; but imitate not the composition, but the man. For may not this paradox pass into a maxim?—namely, “The less we copy the renowned ancients, we shall resemble them the more.”’ W. Duff contends in his Essay on Original Genius that original denotes the degree, not the kind. He gives this definition: ‘By the word Original, when applied to Genius, we mean that Native and Radical power which the mind possesses, of discovering something new and uncommon in every subject on which it employs its faculties.’ (p. 86.) Gerard says that ‘Genius is properly the faculty of invention: by means of which a man is qualified for making new discoveries in science, or for producing original works in art’.

280 Page 169, l. 5. ‘he does not himself know.’ Cf. Gerard, Essay on Genius, p. 72: ‘The first performers could not have explained the several rules which the nature of their work made necessary; but their judgment was notwithstanding so exact and vigorous as to prevent their transgressing them.’

l. 13. ‘and this, also, only in so far as it is to be fine art’—i. e. the rules to which a product has to conform in order to be academically correct are not prescribed by genius. Cf. pp. 79, l. 17; 171, l. 22.

l. 18. ‘Every one is agreed on the point of the complete opposition between genius and the spirit of imitation.’ Reynolds seems, at first sight, to dissent from ‘every one’. As against Young, Duff, Gerard, and the leading authorities, he asserts: ‘I am on the contrary persuaded that by imitation only, variety, and even originality of invention, is produced. I will go further: even genius, at least what generally is so called, is the child of imitation. But, as this appears to be contrary to the general opinion, I must explain my position before I enforce it. Invention is one of the great marks of genius; but if we consult experience we shall find that it is by being conversant with the inventions of others that we learn to invent, as by reading the thoughts of others we learn to think. The mind is but a barren soil, a soil which is soon exhausted, and will produce no crop, or only one, unless it be continually fertilized and enriched with foreign matter.’ (Sixth Discourse.) But this only means that a genius displays his originality as a critic of his predecessors. Kant admits the importance of models on which even the genius forms his taste.

l. 19. ‘Now since learning is nothing but imitation.’ Young, in his Conjectures on Original Composition, said: ‘Genius is a master-workman, learning is but an instrument.’ He contrasts learning and genius at length. Also, cf. Gerard, Essay on Genius, pp. 7, 8: ‘Genius is confounded, not only by the vulgar, but even sometimes by judicious writers, with mere capacity. Nothing however is more evident than that they are totally distinct. A capacity of learning is very general among mankind. Mere capacity, in most subjects, implies nothing beyond a little judgment, a tolerable memory, and considerable industry. But true genius is very different, and much less frequent.’

Page 170, l. 1. ‘Newton.’ We must remember that in Kant’s day scientists did not, in all departments of science, exercise quite the same restraint in the framing of hypotheses as they do now, and that Kant may have been somewhat influenced in his conclusion by practical considerations, and by reason of having the welfare and interests of science at heart. If the creative imagination was to have scope in science, what limits were to be assigned to it? Besides, he probably felt that genius must be confined to fine art unless we are to allow an intellectual intuition. But the real question seems to be whether the scientist who opens up new 281paths and the framer of concrete ethical systems are not to some extent artists, and whether genius has not some application in respect of such art. If we regard genius as essentially the result of a bearing of the practical upon the theoretical faculty, and not as a sort of feminine instinct, there seems to be no reason for denying the title of genius to philosophers such as Kant himself, or to the founders of religions, or to scientists such as Newton or Darwin, or even to some statesmen. But when politics is regulated by a mere balance of interests, and the only question is that of choosing the best plank for a General Election, then there is no room for genius. In the case of science, when new points of view have been opened out, a number of discoveries often follow in the course of ordinary research—requiring, perhaps, considerable patience, accuracy, and even ingenuity; such discoveries do not necessitate genius. But, on the other hand, Kant’s remarks, in the Preface to the second edition of the Critique of Pure Reason (p. xxvi), suggest that genius was required for founding the principles of mathematics. He there speaks of a revolution effected ‘by the happy idea of one man, who struck out and determined for all time the path which this science must follow, and which admits of indefinite advancement. A new light must have flashed on the mind of the first man (Thales, or whatever may have been his name) who demonstrated the properties of the isosceles triangle’. An analysis which admits the existence of genius, but denies genius to the author of a revolution of this character, can hardly be adequate. Sir W. Temple rightly recognized the supremacy of artistic genius, but did not confine genius to art. (Essay on Poetry.) Reid expresses a view that accords with that of Kant. ‘The productions of imagination require a genius which soars above the common rank; but the treasures of knowledge are commonly buried deep, and may be reached by those drudges who can dig with labour and patience, though they have not wings to fly.’ (Inquiry into the Human Mind, Dedication; Collected Works, p. 96.) Reid also quotes an interesting anecdote about Newton, and one relevant to the present question. ‘Sir Isaac Newton, to one who complimented him upon the force of genius which had made such improvements in mathematics and natural philosophy, is said to have made this reply, which was both modest and judicious, That if he had made any improvements in those sciences, it was owing more to patient attention than to any other talent.’ (Essays on the Active Powers of Man, 1788, Essay II, ch. iii.) Young thought that Scotus and Aquinas, in their own way, deserved the title of genius as much as Pindar and Homer. Gerard held that genius was twofold, i. e. for science or for the arts, and contrasts both at great length. Newton was his favourite instance of a scientific genius.

l. 6. ‘all the steps.’ Yes, all the steps. But what led him to take the first step? This was the point made by Duff and Gerard. Referring to Locke, Essay concerning Human Understanding, 282Book IV, ch. 17, §§ 2, 3, Gerard argues: ‘He might have justly given this as an enumeration of all the steps which the mind takes in the discovery of new conclusions: But they are not all to be ascribed to reason. The first of them, the finding out of ideas or experiments which may serve for proofs, is the province, not of reason, but of imagination.’ (Essay on Genius, p. 34.) He admits that ‘The rest demands, not invention, but the same abilities which are necessary for apprehending the discoveries of other men’. (Ibid., p. 36.) The point that the ‘steps’ could not involve genius had been ably argued by Sharpe, who referred to Locke’s Essay, Book IV, ch. 2, § 3. The steps only require ‘study and application’. ‘“By a progression” … “by steps and degrees” … and if the working of these into demonstration is also “not without much pains and attention”—say, where is that marvellous genius?’ (Dissertation upon Genius, p. 58.) Reid admitted that genius might ‘display its powers by putting Nature to the question in well contrived experiments, but it must add nothing to her answers’. (Essays on the Intellectual Powers, Essay VI, ch. viii.) Kant might advisedly have made the same concession, with the same proviso.

l. 16. ‘No disparagement.’ Evidently not. The question is whether Kant has not unduly disparaged his one mediating faculty by absolutely restricting it to fine art.

l. 25.‘A point at which art must make a halt.’ Cf. Hume_? Essays, Part I, Essay XIV, ‘Rise and Progress of the Arts and Sciences’: ‘When the arts and sciences come to perfection in any state, from that moment they naturally, or rather necessarily, decline, and never revive in that nation where they formerly flourished.’ While Hume makes no distinction between art and science in respect of this limit of progress, his arguments and examples apply more to art than to science. But, probably, his observations are as true of science as of art. For while we cannot suppose that there is any limit to progress in science itself, society and the social conditions favourable to the advance of science after a time always become subject to degenerating and disintegrating influences.

Page 171, ll. 4, 5. ‘the rule must be gathered from the performance.’ Cf. p. 226, l. 4 et seq. For the rule must be intimately connected with the specific kind of making upon which the particular art in question depends. Cf. Reynolds’s remarks on ‘the genius of mechanical performance’ (a bold phrase) in the Eleventh Discourse (1782), and, on the other hand, Kant’s remarks at p. 171, ll. 19-22.

l. 7. ‘not for imitation, but for following’—nicht in der Nachahmung, sondern der Nachfolge. In the manuscript Nachahmung stood in both places, and Kiesewetter changed the first Nachahmung to Nachmachung. Though he informed Kant of the change, there does not seem any reason for supposing that Kant looked into the matter. (Kant’s Briefwechsel, ii. 136, 152.) So the text 283reads ‘nicht der Nachmachung, sondern der Nachahmung’, and this reading has been followed by all editors. But to say that the model is ‘not to be copied, but to be imitated’ involves a verbal inconsistency with other passages (cf. pp. 138, l. 29; 181, ll. 9-11; 226, l. 18) which can only be explained away by saying that here—in the very section in which genius is expressly contrasted with the spirit of imitation—Kant uses imitation in a good sense, i. e. in the sense of following. But, then, as Nachahmung had to be changed in one of the two places, why did not Kiesewetter leave the first and change the second to Nachfolge and avoid all inconsistency? Besides, it would seem a more natural slip for Kant to repeat the word Nachahmung when he meant to write Nachfolge, than to begin with the wrong word. I have, therefore, no hesitation in emending the passage.

l. 30. ‘emancipating themselves from all academic constraint of rules.’ Shaftesbury, Miscellaneous Reflections, Misc. 5, ch. 1, makes a similar attack: ‘The excessive Indulgence and Favour shown to our Authors on account of what their mere Genius and flowing Vein afford, has rendered them intolerably supine, conceited, and admirers of themselves.… They think it a disgrace to be criticiz’d, even by a Friend, or to reform, at his desire, what they themselves are fully convinc’d is negligent, and uncorrect.… The Limae Labor is the great Grievance with our Country-men. An English Author would be all Genius. He would reap the Fruits of Art; but without Study, Pains, or Application.’

l. 31. ‘in the belief that one cuts a finer figure on the back of an ill-tempered than of a trained horse.’ Cf. Pope, Essay on Criticism:

For wit and judgment often are at strife,

Though meant each other’s aid, like man and wife.

’Tis more to guide, than spur the Muses’ steed;

Restrain his fury, than provoke his speed;

The winged courser, like a generous horse,

Shows most true mettle when you check his course.

Gerard also employs the same simile: ‘A horse of high mettle ranging at liberty, will run with great swiftness and spirit, but in an irregular track and without any fixt direction: a skilful rider makes him move straight on the road, with equal spirit and swiftness. In like manner, a fine imagination left to itself, will break out into bold sallies and wild extravagance, and over-leap the bounds of truth or probability.’ (Essay on Genius, p. 71.)

l. 33. ‘Genius can do no more than furnish rich material for products of fine art.’ According to Gerard, ‘the associating principles’ (which he made the basis of genius) ‘suggest abundance of materials suited to the design.’ This he represents all through as the specific function of genius.

284 Page 172, l. 3. In the Critique of Practical Reason (Ethics, p. 262; Werke, vol. v, p. 163) Kant spoke of ‘the extravagances of genius, by which, as by the adepts of the philosopher’s stone, without any methodical study or knowledge of nature, visionary treasures are promised and the true are thrown away’. Reid has a number of remarks in the same strain. ‘It is genius, and not the want of it, that adulterates philosophy, and fills it with false error and false theory. A creative imagination disdains the mean offices of digging for a foundation, of removing rubbish, and carrying materials; leaving these servile employments to the drudges in science, it plans a design, and raises a fabric. Invention supplies materials where they are wanting, and fancy adds colouring and every befitting ornament. The work pleases the eye, and wants nothing but solidity and a good foundation. It seems even to vie with the works of nature, till some succeeding architect blows it into rubbish, and builds as goodly a fabric of his own in its place. Happily for the present age, the castle-builders employ themselves more in romance than in philosophy. That is undoubtedly their province, and in those regions the offspring of fancy is legitimate, but in philosophy it is all spurious.’ (Inquiry into the Human Mind, Introd., sect, ii.) Cf. Essays on the Intellectual Powers, Essay VI, ch. viii, § 4. In the latter part of the paragraph Kant is not referring to obscurity and affected depth in poetry. As to such obscurity, see FitzOsborne’s Letters, p. 317: ‘Others, on the contrary, mistake pomp for dignity; and, in order to raise their expressions above vulgar language, lift them up beyond common apprehensions, esteeming it (one should imagine) a mark of their genius, that it requires some ingenuity to penetrate their meaning.’

ll. 17-18. ‘For estimating … for the production.’ Cf. pp. 80, ll. 7-10; 226, ll. 20-24. Kant adopts the received distinction. Cf. Blair, Lectures on Rhetoric, vol. i, p. 48: ‘Taste consists in the power of judging: Genius, in the power of executing.’ Kant says nothing of the intermediate case of performing. Duff had drawn this latter distinction. ‘The talents of a performer, and a master and composer in music are very different. To constitute the first, a nice musical ear, and a dexterity of performance acquired by habit, are the sole requisites. To constitute the last, not alone a nice musical ear, but an exquisite sensibility of passion, together with a peculiar conformation of genius to this particular art, are indispensably necessary. Though all the liberal arts are indebted to Imagination in common, a talent for each of them respectively depends upon the peculiar modification and adaptation of this faculty to the several respective Arts.’ (Essay on Original Genius.)

l. 26. ‘a possibility to which regard must also be paid in estimating such an object.’ Even taste must estimate a product of art as one requiring genius for its possibility. But is mere taste competent to judge whether a work of art is ‘full of soul’, or 285‘inspired’, instead of being merely‘in good taste’? Cf. p. 174, ll. 28-30 and § 49.

l. 28. ‘A beauty of nature is a beautiful thing; beauty of art is a beautiful representation of a thing.’ Of course ‘representation’ is not here used in the technical sense with which readers of the Critique of Pure Reason will be familiar. At the same time it is somewhat difficult to fix its meaning. For it must be used in a sense in which a beautiful cathedral, for instance, is not merely a beautiful thing but a beautiful representation of a thing. But why is a-cathedral not merely a beautiful thing? Is it because we may regard it simply as a cathedral, although we may also look on it as a cathedral which is the product of an art in which regard is also paid to aesthetic ideas? Kant’s distinction raises more difficulties than it solves.

Page 173, ll. 28-9. ‘Where fine art evidences its superiority is in the beautiful descriptions it gives of things that in nature would be ugly or displeasing.’ Cf. Aristotle’s Poetics, ch. iv, and Rhetoric, Book I, ch. xi. Sir Philip Sidney, Apologie for Poetrie, quotes Aristotle with approval on the point. Cf. Burke, Part I, § 16. Barni refers to the lines of Boileau in the Art poétique:—

Il n’est point de serpent ni de monstre odieux

Qui, par l’art imité, ne puisse plaire aux yeux:

D’un pinceau délicat l’artifice agréable

Du plus affreux objet fait un objet aimable.

The majority of British writers of the eighteenth century who mention the point follow Aristotle in accounting for the fact by referring the pleasure to the mode in which art discharges its specific function of imitation. The judgement is on the imitation, as imitation, and not upon the object represented. Kant does not here offer any explanation. (But cf. p. 176, l. 32 et seq.) Of course there is nothing in the point if art merely improves on nature, in the way a skilful photographer improves on his subject by eliminating the wrinkles. Art shows no superiority if it only represents what would naturally be ugly or displeasing in nature, as if it would be naturally beautiful and pleasing, i. e. if it is only ‘nature to advantage dress’d’. But a dwarf painted by Velasquez does not suggest a person whom we might meet in nature and consider beautiful. But it does suggest a person, and a person the peculiarity of whose appearance we might learn to forget on intimate acquaintance. The artist’s treatment has a meaning which enables us to see with deeper insight. Rembrandt’s Anatomy Lecture is instructive in this connexion. One habituated to the dissecting-room sees a corpse on the dissecting-table in quite a different light from one to whom such a sight is strange, and who could only see in such a corpse a dead body partly cut up. Rembrandt by means of his consummate art at once puts the whole scene in that different light. He makes us join the company of the anatomists, and lets 286us see with their eyes—and with his own as well, i. e. to a certain extent sub specie aeternitatis.

It may be doubted, however, whether the word ‘beautiful’, when applied to works of art such as those contemplated, has quite the same meaning as ‘beautiful’ when applied to nature. If the Anatomy Lecture is called ‘beautiful’ it can only be in the sense of ‘artistically true’.

Alison repeatedly dwells on the shortcomings of nature, and would agree with Whistler that nature is seldom right. Some of his remarks are well worth quoting. ‘In real Nature, we often forgive, or are willing to forget slight inaccuracies, or trifling inconsistencies.’ (Essays on Taste, p. 76.) ‘In real Nature, we willingly accommodate ourselves to the ordinary defects of scenery, and accept with gratitude those simpler aspects in which some predominant character is tolerably preserved.’ (Ibid., p. 82.) ‘And one great source of the superiority which such imitations [by poetry] have over the originals from which they are copied, consists in these cases, as well as the former, in the power which the artist enjoys, of giving a unity of character to his descriptions, which is not to be found in real nature.’ (Ibid., p. 92.) ‘As soon, however, as from the progress of our own sensibility, or from our acquaintance with poetical composition, we begin to connect expression with such views of nature, we begin also to understand and to feel the beauties of landscape painting. It is with a different view that we now consider it. It is not for imitation we look, but for character.… It is not now a simple copy that we see, nor is our Emotion limited to the cold pleasure which arises from the perception of accurate Imitation.’ (Ibid., p. 79.) But here Alison probably confuses the excellence of painting with that of poetry (cf. ibid., pp. 40, 81), the mistake made by Spence and exposed by Lessing in the Laocoon. Kant shows signs of falling into the same error. It is not clear how far his aesthetic ideas are not merely poetic. The importance attributed to landscape-gardening probably was largely, though not solely, responsible for the generally prevalent recognition of the superiority (in this case doubtful) of art over nature. But Thompson’s Seasons also exerted a considerable influence—they were certainly far better than the seasons to which we are accustomed.

l. 31. ‘nay even represented in pictures.’ Kant follows Burke, Essay on the Sublime and Beautiful, Part I, § 16, and Home, Elements of Criticism, vol. ii, p. 362, in opposition to Lessing, Laocoon, ch. xxiv.

Page 174, l. 1. ‘disgust’—Ekel. Cf. Lessing, Laocoon, ch. xxv. The object could not be beautifully described as an object of ‘disgust’. This shows that Kant means that the ugly object may be beautifully described as an object that is ugly. But does not ‘ugliness’ depend upon a reference to imagination? Perhaps this is why Kant says ‘ugly or displeasing’.

ll. 7-9. ‘The art of sculpture, again, since in its products art 287is almost confused with nature, has excluded from its creations the direct representation of ugly objects/ Cf. Adam Smith, ‘The Imitative Arts,’ Essays, p. 137: ‘In painting, the imitation frequently pleases, though the object be indifferent, or even offensive. In Statuary and Sculpture it is otherwise. The imitation seldom pleases, unless the original object be in a very high degree either great, or beautiful, or interesting. A butcher’s stall, or a kitchen-dresser, with the objects which they commonly present, are not certainly the happiest subjects, even for Painting. They have, however, been represented with so much care and success by some Dutch masters, that it is impossible to view the pictures without some degree of pleasure. They would be most absurd subjects for Statuary or Sculpture, which are, however, capable of representing them.… Painting is not so disdainful; and, though capable of representing the noblest objects, it can, without forfeiting its title to please, submit to imitate those of a much more humble nature. The merit of the imitation alone, and without any merit in the imitated object, is capable of supporting the dignity of Painting; it cannot support that of Statuary. There would seem, therefore, to be more merit in the one species of imitation than in the other.’ When sculpture is coloured the comparison between nature and art is so great that we lose the sense of art. Thus, in continuing the above remarks, Adam Smith observes: ‘A painted statue, though it certainly may resemble a human figure much more exactly than any statue which is not painted, is generally acknowledged to be a disagreeable, and even an offensive object; and so far are we from being pleased with this superior likeness, that we are never satisfied with it.’ Similarly Home points out that when sculpture is coloured the resemblance is so entire that ‘no other emotion is raised, but surprise occasioned by deception’.

l. 15 et seq. This paragraph and the next are of extreme importance. In the last paragraph of the preceding section we are told that genius can only produce rich material for products of fine art. Here we learn the converse, that the beautiful form is only due to taste. Kant is in his usual dramatic vein. He wants us to fling the book down and say, ‘Well, then, you have no business to call fine (beautiful, schöne) art the art of genius.’ For he knows he can make us take it up again, as he calmly replies: ‘You want me to be a mere formalist. If fine art is a species of making or producing, and if fine art is to be fine art in its production, and not a mere mechanical art of producing according to rules such things as are approved by taste, then it is absolutely necessary for me to throw the emphasis in fine art on the content, and to show that it is a specific content that must be due to genius.’ From this point Kant works steadily forward to his definition of beauty (whether of nature or of art) as the expression of aesthetic ideas. The reconciliation between the form and the content in the case of 288the beautiful is one of Kant’s greatest triumphs. For qualifying remarks, see § 50.

l. 21. ‘after many, and often laborious, attempts to satisfy taste.’ Cf. Sir W. Temple, Essay on Poetry: ‘Besides the heat of invention and liveliness of wit, there must be the coldness of good sense and soundness of judgment, to distinguish between things and conceptions, which, at first sight, or upon short glances, seem alike; to choose among infinite productions of wit and fancy, which are worth preserving and cultivating, and which are better stifled in the birth, or thrown away when they are born, as not worth bringing up. Without the forces of wit, all poetry is flat and languishing; without the succours of judgment, ’tis wild and extravagant.’ Reid makes a similar remark: ‘Granting that the fertility of the poet’s imagination suggested a variety of rich materials, was not judgement necessary to select what was proper, to reject what was improper, to arrange the materials into a just composition, and to adapt them to each other, and to the design of the whole?’ (Essays on the Intellectual Powers, Essay IV, ch. 4, Collected Works, p. 385.)

Page 175, ll. 8-10. ‘in a would-be work of fine art we may frequently recognize genius without taste, and in another taste without genius.’ This distinction was so well recognized by British writers that it was applied even to scientists. Thus Adam Smith says in his ‘History of Astronomy’, Essays, p. 67: ‘Kepler, with great genius, but without the taste, or the order and method of Galileo,’ &c. Similarly Reynolds, Fourth Discourse (1771): ‘The language of Painting must indeed be allowed those Masters; but even in that they have shown more copiousness than choice, and more luxuriancy than judgment.’ Also, Fifth Discourse (1772), ‘If we put these great artists in a light of comparison with each other, Raffaelle had more Taste and Fancy; Michel Angelo more Genius and Imagination. The one excelled in beauty; the other in energy. Michel Angelo has more of the poetical Inspiration; his ideas are vast and Sublime. Raffaelle’s materials are generally borrowed, though the noble structure is his own. The excellency of this extraordinary man lay in the propriety, beauty, and majesty of his characters, the judicious contrivance of his composition, his correctness of Drawing, purity of Taste, and skilful accommodation of other men’s conceptions to his own purpose.’ Alison thought that Shakespeare had more genius than taste. (Essays on Taste, p. 96.) Gerard’s Essay on Genius abounds with similar comparisons.

l. 13 et seq. Geist is a difficult word to translate, but as we commonly speak of people singing or playing with great ‘soul’ the use of this word will, probably, not be generally misunderstood—though, of course, there may be some who will insist that ‘soul’ should only be understood as in the statement that ‘a corporation has neither a body to be kicked, nor a soul to be damned’. ‘Soul’ 289being used to translate Geist, a different word has to be found for Seele, which occurs a few lines lower down. Perhaps ‘psychic substance’ will satisfy all parties. The following may be compared with Kant’s remarks: ‘As Genius is the vital principle which animates every species of composition, the most elaborate performances without it, are no other than a lifeless mass of matter, frigid and uninteresting, equally destitute of passion, sentiment and spirit.’ (Duff, Essay on Original Genius, p. 25.) ‘In poetry this vital spirit is Invention. By this quality it is primarily characterized; which, being the very soul of all poetical composition, is likewise the source of that inchanting delight, which the mind receives from its perusal.’ (Ibid., p. 126.) Similarly Donaldson: ‘The great charm of poetry is that spirit or muse which inspires everything with elegance and animation. The beautiful and the graceful of sentiment, are expressions of the highest degree of life or human feeling.… And this is, no doubt, what is meant by that fine allegory of Venus attired by the Graces, that everything that is graceful m outward appearance, is only as it were the trappings and ornaments of that heavenly love of the soul, by the ancients ascribed to the Venus Urania, or celestial; in opposition to what is attributed to the other Venus, worshipped by them as the earthly and vulgar.’ (The Elements of Beauty, pp. 64-6.) Shaftesbury recognized the importance of the je ne sais quoi—and left it at that.

l. 27. ‘i. e. into a play which is self-maintaining and which strengthens those powers tor such activity.’ Cf. pp. 60, ll. 4-17; 61, ll. 16-22. Kant’s expressions show clearly how genius is the source of aesthetic finality. The only question is as to whether he did not suppose the existence of certain elementary forms (cf. Hogarth’s Analysis of Beauty) to be regarded as given, and merely to be approved by taste. But even these are only considered beautiful when interpreted through the analogy of art, and they have to be compared with what imagination, if left to itself, would freely project. Even if they have merely to be recognized by taste, this taste introduces a principle (third moment) which seems related to aesthetic ideas simply as abstract to concrete.

l. 30. ‘the faculty of presenting aesthetic ideas.’ It must be remembered that these ideas are essentially aesthetic. They are not quasi-philosophical conceptions. Watts’s Dweller in the Innermost or Stück’s Die Blinde are not to be supposed more full of aesthetic ideas than a nocturne by Whistler. Aesthetic ideas involve a reconciliation, as far as fine art is concerned, between sense and reason. The expression is one ol Kant’s paradoxes. The subsequent definition of genius as the faculty of aesthetic ideas explains its fundamental characteristics. In particular it explains why what can be learned is not to be attributed to genius. On this point we may recall Aristotle’s remarks on metaphors. ‘The greatest thing of all is to be powerful in metaphor; tor this alone cannot be acquired 290from another, but is a mark of original genius: for to use metaphors well, is to discern similitude.’ (Poetics, 22; cf. Rhetoric, iii. ll. 5. See J. Harris, Philological Inquiries, Part II, ch. x, where the subject of metaphors is dealt with, and the above passages from Aristotle quoted.) Perhaps the British author who had approached nearest to Kant’s conception of aesthetic ideas was Duff. ‘The third species of Invention, by which we observed original genius will be distinguished, is that of Imagery. The style of an original Author in Poetry is for the most part figurative and metaphorical. The ordinary modes of speech being unable to express the grandeur or the strength of his conceptions, appear flat and languid to his ardent Imagination. In order, therefore, to supply the poverty of common language, he has recourse to metaphors and images.’ (Essay on Original Genius, p. 143.) So he thinks that the first essays of Original Genius will be ‘in Allegories, Visions, or the creation of ideal beings, of one kind or another’. (Ibid., p. 172.) Beattie, Gerard, and Alison also approached the subject in connexion with the association of ideas. Reid, also, attaches great importance to metaphors and analogies. (Essays on the Intellectual Powers, Essay VIII, ch. iii, iv.) But Kant’s account has a depth of significance which is hardly more than suggested by any of the above writers. This is largely due to its systematic connexions.

Page 176, l. 7 et seq. This point had been emphasized by most of the English school. Thus Sir Philip Sidney in his Apologie for Poetrie observes: ‘Only the Poet, disdayning to be tied to any such subiection, lifted up with the vigor of his owne inuention, dooth growe in effect, another nature, in making things either better than Nature bringeth forth, or quite a newe formes such as never were in Nature, as the Heroes, Demigods, Cyclops, Chimeras, Furies, and such like: so as he goeth hand in hand with Nature, not enclosed within the narrow warrant of her guifts, but freely ranging onely within the Zodiac of his owne wit.’ Cf. Burke, Essay on the Sublime and Beautiful, Introduction, ‘On Taste’: ‘The mind of man possesses a sort of creative power of its own; either in representing at pleasure the images of things in the order and manner in which they were received by the senses, or in combining those images in a new manner, and according to a different order. This power is called imagination; and to this belongs whatever is called wit, fancy, invention, and the like. But it must be observed, that this power of the imagination is incapable of producing anything absolutely new; it can only vary the disposition of those ideas which it has received from the senses.’ Young, Conjectures on Original Composition, observes: ‘In the fairyland of fancy, genius may wander wild; there it has creative power, and may reign arbitrarily over its own empire of chimeras.’ Also Home, Elements of Criticism, vol. ii, p. 518: ‘Further, man is endued with a sort of creative power: lie can fabricate images of things 291that have no existence. This singular power of fabricating images without any foundation in reality, is distinguished by the name of imagination.’ Also cf. Addison, Spectator, Nos. 411 to 421. Reynolds, in his Third, Fourth, Seventh, and Thirteenth discourses, argues that the painter has something more to do than to take nature as he finds it, and concludes: ‘Upon the whole, it seems to me that the object and intention of all the arts is to supply the natural imperfection of things, and often to gratify the mind by realizing and embodying what never existed but in the imagination.’ (Thirteenth Discourse, 1786.) Hartley, Beattie, Gerard, and Alison made this power of imagination dependent on the association of ideas.

l. 10. ‘where experience proves too commonplace.’ Cf. p. 111, l. 2, where objects are said to be called sublime ‘because they raise the forces of the soul above the height of vulgar commonplace’.

l. 16. ‘our freedom from the law of association.’ Cf. pp. 86, ll. 1-6; 177, l. 12. This seems evidently aimed at Hartley, Beattie, and Gerard. But Kant does not prove that the talent of the imagination which works up the borrowed material is wholly independent of laws of association, though he does seem to show that it implies something more. The laws of association belong to mere nature, but may be pressed into the service of art.

l. 18. ‘the material can be borrowed by us from nature’. This is excellently put by Whistler in his Ten o’Clock: ‘Nature contains the elements, in colour and form, of all pictures, as the keyboard contains the notes of all music. But the artist is born to pick, and choose, and group with science, these elements, that the result may be beautiful—as the musician gathers his notes, and forms his chords, until he brings forth from chaos glorious harmony. To say to the painter, that Nature is to be taken as she is, is to say to the player, that he may sit on the piano.’ But Whistler is hardly correct when he states that the proposition ‘Nature is always right’ is one ‘whose truth is universally taken for granted’. (See passages quoted from Alison in note to p. 173, l. 28.)

l. 19. Then, apparently, genius not alone provides the material, but works it up into something surpassing nature.

l. 20. ‘what surpasses nature.’ This beauty that surpasses nature only differs from the sublime, properly so called, because in its case the ideas of reason are given the semblance of objective reality. (Cf. l. 25.)

Page 177, ll. 2-4. ‘and it is … precisely in the poetic art that the faculty of aesthetic ideas can show itself to full advantage.’ Here, and in his illustrations, Kant betrays a deficient insight into the import of his discovery. In the first book of the Analytic he had the arts of painting and sculpture too much in view; in the second book he is thinking too much of poetry. The various arts are coordinate, and all depend upon specifically different aesthetic ideas. This is why a man may have, for instance, a genius for painting, 292a taste for poetry, and be insensible to music. But Kant frequently speaks as if aesthetic ideas were specially connected with poetry. A couple of passages from Reynolds and Whistler will indicate what is meant. ‘It is not properly in the learning, the taste, and the dignity of the ideas, that genius appears as belonging to a painter. There is a genius particular and appropriated to his own trade (as I may call it), distinguished from all others. For that power, which enables the artist to conceive his subject with dignity, may be said to belong to general education, and is as much the genius of a poet, or the professor of any other liberal art, or even a good critic in any of those arts, as of a painter. Whatever sublime ideas may fill his mind, he is a painter only as he can put in practice what he knows, and communicate those ideas by visible representation.’ (Reynolds, Eleventh Discourse.) Probably Reynolds had Beattie and Gerard especially in mind. Whistler expresses himself with great clearness on this point. ‘For him a picture is more or less a hieroglyph or symbol of story. Apart from a few technical terms, for the display of which he finds occasion, the work is considered absolutely from a literary point of view; indeed, from what other can he consider it?… Meanwhile the painter’s poetry is quite lost to him.… A curious matter, in its effect upon the judgement of those gentlemen, is the accepted vocabulary of poetic symbolism, that helps them, by habit, in dealing with Nature: a mountain, to them, is synonymous with height—a lake with depth—the ocean, with vastness—the sun, with glory. So that a picture with a mountain, a lake, and an ocean—however poor in paint—is inevitably “lofty”, “vast,” “infinite,” and “glorious”—on paper.’ (Ten o’Clock.)

l. 5. ‘no more than a talent.’ Cf. pp. 168, l. 3; 180, l. 5.

l. 9. ‘such a wealth of thought as would never admit of comprehension in a definite concept.’ Cf. Burke, Essay on the Sublime and Beautiful, Part II, § II, ‘Infinity in Pleasing Objects’: ‘Imagination is entertained with a promise of something more, and does not acquiesce in the present object of sense. In unfinished sketches of drawing I have often seen something which pleased me beyond the best finishing; and this I believe proceeds from the cause I have just now assigned.’

l. 31. ‘which serves the above rational idea as a substitute for logical presentation.’ Cf. p. 119, l. 16.

Page 178, l. 13 et seq. Kant does not give the original lines, but only a German translation. Windelband mentions that the original lines are to be found at the close of the Épître XVIII, Au Maréchal Keith, Imitation du troisième livre de Lucrèce: ‘Sur les vaines terreurs de la mort et les frayeurs d’une autre vie,’ Poésies diverses, Berlin, 1762, vol. ii, p. 447; cf. Œuvres de Frédéric le Grand, vol. x, p. 203.

l. 32. Windelband states that the lines were shown by K. Schmidt and R. M. Meyer to have been taken from the Academische 293Gedichte of Withof, Third Song of the Sinnliche Ergötzungen, Leipzig, 1782, i, p. 70.

Page 179, l. 15. ‘Now, since the …’—reading, Nun da … instead of Nur, da …. Nur would imply some qualification of the first sentence, whereas what follows is simply an advance in the argument.

l. 27. ‘to find out ideas for a given concept, and, besides, to hit upon the expression for them.’ Both originality and a reference to universal communicability are involved. Hence a work of genius must be in good taste. Cf. § 50.

l. 31. ‘Segner.’ Johann Andreas v. Segner, 1704-1777, Professor of Physics and Mathematics at the University of Gottingen.

Page 180, ll. 8-10. ‘A multitude of fleeting objects glide before his [the poet’s] imagination at once, of which he must catch the evanescent forms: he must at the same time comprehend these in one instantaneous glance of thought, and delineate them as they rise and disappear, in such a manner as to give them a kind of stability in description.’ (Duff, Essay on Original Genius, p. 193.)

l. 24. ‘in the working out of the projected end.’ This reminds us of the main problem: How can art be free, having regard to the fact that it must be recognized to be ait, and that all art has the definite intention of producing something? The solution lies in the distinction between a mechanical art and an art directed to the expression of aesthetic ideas. Cf, references collected in note to p. 167, l. 11. In the emphasis on the ‘working out’ we are reminded that the artist is essentially a maker. He must be able to feel his way in the medium in which he works. It is not in abstract thinking but in making that inspiration comes to him.

Page 181, l. 14. ‘for art itself a new rule is won.’ Cf. p. 180, l. 11. Also Reynolds, Thirteenth Discourse: ‘and by the same means the compass of art itself is enlarged.’

l. 23. ‘But this imitation becomes aping when the pupil copies everything.…’ We have (1) following, (2) imitation, and, still worse, (3) aping. This passage explains why Kant probably passed Kiesewetter’s ‘nicht der Nachmachung sondern der Nachahmung’ (cf. note to p. 171, l. 7) without looking up the precise passage. With Kant’s remarks on aping we may compare Hurd, Discourse on Poetical Imitation, Works, vol, ii, p. 225: ‘Every original genius, however consonant, in the main, to any other, has still some distinct marks and characters of his own, by which he may be distinguished; and to copy peculiarities, when there is no appearance of the same original spirit, which gave birth to them, is manifest affectation.’ Reynolds, Sixth Discourse (1774): ‘When I speak of the habitual imitation and continued study of masters, it is not to be understood that I advise any endeavour to copy the exact peculiar colour and complexion of another man’s mind; the success of such an attempt must always be like his who imitates exactly the air, manner, and gestures, of him whom he admires. 294His model may be excellent, but the copy will be ridiculous: this ridicule does not arise from his having imitated, but from his not having chosen the right mode of imitation. It is necessary and warrantable pride to disdain to walk servilely behind any individual, however elevated his rank. The true and liberal ground of imitation is an open field, where, though he who precedes has had the advantage of starting before you, you may always propose to overtake him: it is enough, however, to pursue his course; you need not tread in his footsteps; and you certainly have a right to outstrip him if you can.… Peculiar marks I hold to be, generally if not always, defects, however difficult it may be wholly to escape them. Peculiarities in the works of art are like those in the human figure: it is by them that we are cognizable and distinguished one from another, but they are always so many blemishes. It must be acknowledged that a peculiarity of style, either from its novelty or by seeming to proceed from a peculiar turn of mind, often escapes blame; on the contrary, it is sometimes striking and pleasing; but this it is a vain labour to endeavour to imitate, because, novelty and peculiarity being its only merit, when it ceases to be new it ceases to have value.’

l. 27. ‘A certain boldness,’ &c. Cf. Pope, Essay on Criticism:

Great wits sometimes may gloriously offend,

And rise to faults true critics dare not mend;

From vulgar bounds with brave disorder part,

And snatch a grace beyond the reach of art.

Page 182, l. 8. ‘the feeling of unity in the presentation.’ Cf. Reynolds, Eleventh Discourse: ‘This genius consists, I conceive, in the power of expressing that which employs your pencil, whatever it may be, as a whole.’

l. 28 et seq. Duff was of opinion that imagination was the more important. ‘We have already considered Imagination and Taste as two material ingredients in the composition of Genius. The former we have proved to be the more essential ingredient, without which Genius cannot exist; and the latter is indispensably necessary to render its productions elegant and correct.’ (Essay on Original Genius, pp. 63-4.)

Page 183, ll. 2-3. ‘For in lawless freedom imagination, with all its wealth, produces nothing but nonsense.’ Similarly Duff had observed: ‘The ingredients of Genius depend entirely upon the acceptation in which we take it, and upon the extent and offices we assign to it.… If, after all, any person should still continue to think that Genius and Imagination are synonymous terms, and that the powers of the former are most properly expressed by the latter; let him reflect, that if the former is characterised by these alone, without any proportion of judgment, there is scarce any means left us of distinguishing betwixt the flights of Genius and the reveries of a Lunatic.’ (Essay on Original Genius, pp. 23, 24.) 295Cf. Gerard: ‘If fancy were left entirely to itself, it would run into wild caprice and extravagance, unworthy to be called invention.’ (Essay on Genius, p. 36.)

ll. 3-5. ‘the power of judgement, on the other hand, is the faculty that makes it consonant with understanding.’ Judgement and taste are not synonymous. Taste implies judgement, just as genius implies imagination. This explains the opening sentence of the section, and why Kant had to state the problem in a more accurate form. Duff devotes considerable attention to defining the different functions of judgement and taste. He says that the sphere of judgement is to guard an author ‘against faults rather than to assist him in the attainment of any uncommon beauty, a task which this faculty is by no means qualified to accomplish.’ (Essay on Original Genius, p. 10.) ‘In a word, the man of judgment approves of and admires what is merely mechanical in the piece; the man of taste is struck with what could only be effected by the power of Genius.’ (Ibid., p. 15.)

l. 7. ‘It severely clips its wings, and makes it orderly or polished/ Cf. Sir W. Temple, Essay on Poetry; ‘But, though invention be the mother of poetry, yet the child is, like all others, born naked, and must be nourished with care, clothed with exactness and elegance, educated with industry, instructed with art, improved by application, corrected with severity, and accomplished with labour and with time, before it arrives at any great perfection or growth: ’tis certain that no composition requires so many several ingredients, or of more different sorts than this, nor that, to exceed in any qualities, there are necessary so many gifts of nature, and so many improvements of learning and of art.’ Young emphasizes the same point in his Discourse on Lyric Poetry'. ‘Judgment, indeed, that masculine power of the mind, in Ode, as in all compositions, should bear the supreme sway; and a beautiful imagination, as its mistress, should be subdued to its dominion. Hence, and hence only, can proceed the fairest offspring of the human mind.’ Duff devotes considerable space to the point. Judgement, he says, ‘appears to be in every respect a proper counterbalance to the Rambling and Volatile power of Imagination.’ (Essay on Original Genius, p. 9.) Gerard has a number of similar observations. ‘The most luxuriant fancy stands most in need of being checked by judgment.’ (Essay on Genius, p. 75; cf. pp. 37, 38, 54, 71.)

l. 21. ‘imagination, understanding, soul, and taste. According to Duff three faculties are necessary. ‘If we suppose a plastic and comprehensive Imagination, an acute intellect, and an exquisite Sensibility and refinement of taste, to be all combined in one person, and employed in the arts or sciences, we may easily conceive, that the effect of such an union will be very extraordinary. In such a case these faculties going hand in hand together, mutually enlighten and assist each other. Imagination 296takes a long and adventurous, but secure flight, under the guiding rein of judgment; which, though naturally cool and deliberate, catches somewhat of the ardor of the former in its rapid course. To drop the allusion, imagination imparts vivacity to judgment, and receives from it solidity and justness: Taste bestows elegance on both, and derives from them precision and sensibility.’ (Essay on Original Genius, pp. 20, 21; cf. pp. 71, 72.)

l. 25. ‘whether it be of nature or of art.’ Cf. p. 212, l. 16 et seq. At last Kant shows his hand. Even natural beauty, which is estimated as a merely given quality of objects, has its source in the faculty of aesthetic ideas.

Page 185, l. 12. ‘what is studied and laboured.’ Cf. p. 167, l. 29.

ll. 13-14. ‘not alone in a sense opposed to contract work’—Lohngeschäft. Cf. p. 164, l. 2 (Lohnkunst).

Page 186, l. 13. ‘Or, whatever the archetype is, either the reference,’ &c.—oder, was auch das erstere ist, entweder die Beziehung auf einen wirklichen Zweck, oder nur der Anschein desselben der Reflexion zur Bedingung gemacht. (Windelband—who refers das erstere to Urbild.) The original reads oder, wenn auch, &c., and M. Barni translates, ‘et, dans le premier cas, on peut avoir en vue et donner pour condition à la réflexion ou un but réel ou seulement l’apparence d’un semblable but.’ Similarly Dr. Bernard: ‘In the first case the condition given to reflection may be either the reference to an actual purpose or only the semblance of it.’ The ‘first case’ is presumably meant to refer to the case in which the figure is given in its bodily extension, viz. to plastic art. But, then, what Kant evidently has in view is what distinguishes architecture from sculpture and landscape gardening from painting, viz. the reference to an actual end (in architecture) or only the semblance of one (in landscape gardening). Hence what we should have expected Kant to say would be ‘or, in either case, it may be that the expression of aesthetic ideas is the main intention, or, else, either the reference to an actual end, or only the semblance of one, maybe imposed upon reflection as its condition’. The two paragraphs that follow show plainly what Kant had in mind.

Page 187, ll. 3-5. ‘is, as a corporeal presentation, a mere imitation of nature, though one in which regard is paid to aesthetic ideas.’ This is one of Kant’s few references to the imitation of nature. In the Anthropology Kant says that ‘the painter of nature, be it with the brush or the pen (and, in the latter case, be it in prose or in verse) is not a beautiful soul, for he only imitates; it is the painter of ideas that alone is master of fine art.’ (Anthropology, § 71.)

ll. 5-7. ‘in which, therefore, sensuous truth should not go the length of losing the appearance of being an art.’ Kant is probably thinking of painted statues, to which he refers in the Anthropology, § 13. Cf. references given in note to p. 174, l. 7.

297 l. 30. ‘simple aesthetic painting that has no definite theme.’ Cf. p. 72, l. 27.

Page 188, l. 11. ‘those which are not intended to teach history or natural science.’ Cf. Sir Philip Sidney’s Apologie for Poetrie. Sidney says that ‘A Poet can scarcely be a lyer’, for ‘the Poet, he nothing affirms, and therefore never lyeth’. This may have suggested Wilde’s Decay of Lying. Also cf. Hurd, On the Idea of Universal Poetry, Works, vol. ii, p. 16: ‘For, though the poets, no doubt … frequently instruct us by a true and faithful representation of things; yet even this instructive air is only assumed for the sake of pleasing; which, as the human mind is constituted, they could not so well do, if they did not instruct at all, that is, if truth were wholly neglected by them. So that pleasure is still the ultimate end and scope of the poet’s art, and instruction itself is, in his hands, only one of the means by which he would effect it.’

ll. 28-30. Cf. Reid, Essays on the Intellectual Powers, Essay VIII, ch. iii: ‘Of all figurative language, that is the most common, the most natural, and the most agreeable, which either gives a body, if we may so speak, to things intellectual, and clothes them with visible qualities; or which, on the other hand, gives intellectual qualities to the objects of sense.’ (Collected Works, p. 497.)

l. 31. (die von aussen erzeugt werden), welches sich gleichwol doch muss allgemein mittheilen lassen, kann u.s.w.. Windelband, accepting Frey’s emendation, continues the brackets till after lassen. I prefer the brackets in the original place, but have substituted welches for und das.

Page 189, l. 31 et seq. These instances are mentioned in the Anthropology, § 28, but without any suggestion of the point here made. In fact Kant goes on to say that similarly men may be lacking in the sense of taste or of smell. This seems rather subversive of the argument in the present case.—Although the Anthropology was published eight years after the Critique of Judgement, and although it contains several passages that are certainly of a late date, it was evidently, in substance, only the lectures of a much earlier date. Again and again we find in it expressions of views much less mature than those expressed in works previously published.

Page 190, ll. 28-9. ‘having regard to the multiplicity of different kinds of delight which cross one another.’ Cf. Reynolds, Thirteenth Discourse (1786): ‘And here I must observe, and I believe it may be considered as a general rule, that no art can be grafted with success on another. For though they all profess the same origin and to proceed from the same stock, yet each has its own peculiar modes both of imitating nature and of deviating from it, each for the accomplishment of its own peculiar purpose. Those deviations, more especially, will not bear transplantation to another soil’. Reynolds, however, is speaking rather of each art 298being true to itself, e.g. of painting not seeking after dramatic effect, than of the combination of different arts in a new and distinct product.

Page 191, ll. 10-11. ‘Where fine arts are not, either proximately or remotely, brought into combination with moral ideas.’ Reynolds makes observations in somewhat the same strain: ‘Well-turned periods in eloquence, or harmony of numbers in poetry, which are in those arts what colouring is in painting, however highly we may esteem them, can never be considered as of equal importance with the art of unfolding truths that are useful to mankind, and which makes us better or wiser. How can those works which remind us of the poverty and meanness of our nature be considered as of equal rank with what excites ideas of grandeur, or raises and dignifies humanity; or, in the words of the late poet, which makes the beholder learn to venerate himself as man.’ (Seventh Discourse.) Hartley goes further than Kant, and contends that the fine arts should be made to serve religion. Pursued merely on their own account, ‘they are very apt to excite Vanity, Self-conceit, and mental Flatteries, in their Votaries.’ But, on the other hand, ‘All these Arts are capable of being devoted to the immediate Service of God and Religion in an eminent manner; and, when so devoted, they not only improve and exalt the Mind, but are themselves improved and exalted to a much higher Degree than when employed upon profane Subjects; the Dignity and Importance of the Ideas and Scenes drawn from Religion adding a peculiar Force and Lustre thereto. And, upon the Whole, it will follow, that the polite Arts are scarce to be allowed, except when consecrated to religious Purposes; but that here their Cultivation may be made an excellent Means of awakening and alarming our Affection, and transferring them upon their true Objects.’ (Observations on Man, vol. ii, p. 254.) Puttenham thought that in cases where poetry was only addressed to ‘the common solace of mankind in all his trauails and cares of this transitorie life’ it should be allowed a fairly free hand, for ‘in this last sort being used for recreation only, [it] may allowably beare matter not always of the grauest, or of any great commoditie or profit, but rather in some sort, vaine, dissolute, or wanton, so it be not very scandalous and of euill example’. (The Arte of English Poesie, ch. x.) Hume considers the beneficial social effects of advances in the fine arts, but regards these merely as natural results quite independent of any combination with moral ideas. ‘Industry, knowledge, and humanity, are linked together by an indissoluble chain, and are found, from experience as well as reason, to be peculiar to the more polished, and, what are commonly denominated the more luxurious ages.’ (Essays, Part II, ‘Of Refinement in the Arts.’) Beattie, in his ponderous Essay ‘On Poetry and Music’, is unexpectedly good on this point. He contends that art must pay regard to moral ideas simply for the sake of pleasing. Thus he remarks: 299‘the bard who would captivate the heart must sing in unison to the voice of conscience.’ On the other hand poetry ‘that is uninstructive, or immoral, cannot please those who retain any moral sensibility, or uprightness of judgment; and must consequently displease the greater part of any regular society of rational creatures’. Shaftesbury deals with the problem in one of his noblest passages. He contends, with deep philosophical insight, that the proper influence of moral ideas in art consists in making art true to itself. ‘Whoever has heard any thing of the Lives of famous Statuarys, Architects, or Painters, will call to mind many Instances of this nature. Or whoever has made any acquaintance with the better sort of Mechanicks, such as are real Lovers of Art, and Masters in it, must have observ’d their natural Fidelity in this respect. Be they ever so idle, dissolute, or debauch’d; how regardless soever of other Rules; they abhor any transgression in their Art, and wou’d choose to lose Customers and starve, rather than by a base Compliance with the World, to act contrary to what they call the Justness and Truth of Work. “Sir,” (says a poor Fellow of this kind, to his rich Customer) “you are mistaken in coming to me, for such a piece of Workmanship. Let who will make it for you, as you fancy; I know it to be wrong. Whatever I have made hitherto, has been true Work. And neither for your sake or any body’s else, shall I put my hand to any other.” This is Virtue! real Virtue, and Love of Truth; independant of Opinion, and above the World.’—In point of clearness Kant’s remarks do not compare favourably with any of the above. It is difficult to interpret his statement as meaning ‘unless the fine arts are made to attract an intellectual interest of a quasi-moral character, then,’ &c., since, according to § 42, an intellectual interest does not attach to the beauties of art. Also, it is difficult to suppose that Kant refers to a connexion between moral ideas and the form of the beautiful, because this is essential, and not a contingent combination into which the fine arts may be brought. Yet the second half of the preceding paragraph would suggest this interpretation. But perhaps Kant may mean ‘only on a theory which’, &c., are they saved from this fate. Again, it also seems difficult to suppose that Kant is thinking of cases where moral ideas supply the content—the rich material. For this would be to advocate an interest in the subject-matter. However, the words ‘proximately or remotely’ would seem to indicate an intentional vagueness on Kant’s part, and it may be that he is merely leading up to the estimate of the different arts in the next section from the point of view of the culture which they prepare in the mind. He would then mean that it is only through the value of the arts as an instrument of culture that they can command our permanent approval.

l. 19. ‘the beauties of nature are in general the most beneficial.’ This seems to relieve art of some of its responsibility!

300 Page 191, l. 24. ‘ Poetry.’ It is to be noticed that Kant does not institute a comparison between poetry and painting. He makes no mention of the distinctive point, that, ‘What is done by Painting must be done at one blow’ (Reynolds, Eighth Discourse, 1778). This will, doubtless, be greatly regretted by English students—for is there any English student who has not read Lessing’s epoch-making work, Laocoon (1764)? The point, however, had been made, and illustrated as far as painting is concerned, by Shaftesbury, in his treatise A notion of the Historical Draught or Tablature of the judgment of Hercules (1713). Hartley probably had this work in mind when he wrote ‘Painting has a great advantage over verbal description, in respect of the vividness and number of ideas to be at once excited in the fancy; but its compass is, upon the whole, much narrower; and it is also confined to one point of time’ (Observations on Man, 1748, vol. i, ch. iv, sect. 1, p. 428). The distinction was also emphasized by J. Harris in his Discourse on Music, Painting, and Poetry, and, subsequently, in his Philological Inquiries (Works, vol. iv, pp. 61-4). Spence lost sight of the point in his Polymetis, and, accordingly, was severely criticized in Lessing’s work. However, the distinction had been reaffirmed by Webb in his Beauties of Painting, pp. 158-90, which work was dedicated to Spence. Lessing’s chief claim to originality (in this connexion) consists in the illustration his own work gives of the manner in which prose can spin out a single point indefinitely. The Laocoon might have gone on for ever, but for the timely appearance of Winckelmann’s great work. Kant, however, does not trouble himself with points of this kind at all. He is rather concerned with the manner in which aesthetic ideas ensure the freedom of the different arts.

Page 192, l. 6. ‘It plays with semblance.’ Cf. Shaftesbury, The Judgment of Hercules, Introduction, sect. 4; ‘Probability or Seeming Truth (which is the real Truth of Art).’

l. 10. ‘Rhetoric.’ Cf. Locke, Essay, Book III, ch. x, § 34. ‘But yet, if we would speak of things as they are, we must allow, that all the art of rhetoric, besides order and clearness, all the artificial and figurative application of words eloquence hath invented, arc for nothing else but to insinuate wrong ideas, move the passions, and thereby mislead the judgment, and so indeed are perfect cheat: and therefore however laudable or allowable oratory may render them in harrangues and popular addresses, they are certainly, in all discourses that pretend to inform or instruct, wholly to be avoided; and where truth and knowledge are concerned, cannot but be thought a great fault, either of the language or person that makes use of them.’

Page 194, l. 2. ‘the play of thought incidentally excited.’ Cf. Beattie, An Essay on Poetry and Music as they affect the Mind, Part I, ch. vi. Also Alison, Essays on Taste, p. 169: ‘Music which can avail itself of these signs only, can express nothing more parti301cular than the Signs themselves. It will be found accordingly, that it is within this limit that musical expression is really confined; that such classes of Emotion it can perfectly express; but that when it goes beyond this limit, it ceases to be either expressive or beautiful.’

1.9. ‘Every expression in language has an associated tone suited to its sense.’ Cf. Hutcheson, Inquiry, sect, vi, subsect. 12: ‘The Human voice is obviously vary’d by all the stronger Passions; now when our Ear discovers any resemblance between the Air of a Tune, whether sung or play’d upon an Instrument, either in its Time or Modulation, or any other Circumstance, to the sound of the human Voice in any Passion, we shall be touch’d by it in a very sensible manner, and have Melancholy, Joy, Gravity, Thoughtfulness, excited in us by a sort of Sympathy or Contagion.’ Webb remarks: ‘Music therefore becomes imitative, when it so proportions the enforcement or diminution of sound to the force or weakness of the passion, that the soul answers, as in an echo, to the just measure of the impression. It is from a propensity in our nature to fall in with these reciprocal or responsive vibrations, that, in expressing our own sentiments, or in reciting those of others, the voice mechanically borrows its tone from the affection; thus it rises into vigour with the bold, and subsides into softness with the gentler feelings.’ (Poetry and Music, p. 43.) Cf. Reid, Essays on the Intellectual Powers, Essay VIII, ch. iv (Collected Works, p. 504); Alison, Essays on Taste, p. 168; Brown, Dissertation, p. 27.

Page 195, l. 6. ‘music.’ Adam Smith makes an excellent point about music. He calls attention to the peculiar advantage which it derives from its power of dwelling on a particular theme. It can imitate the way in which an idea takes hold of the mind and engages its attention for a considerable time. ‘Neither Prose nor Poetry can venture to imitate those almost endless repetitions of passion. They may describe them as I do now, but they dare not imitate them; they would become most insufferably tiresome if they did.’ Cf. Essays on Philosophical Subjects, ‘Of the Imitative Arts,’ p. 155. The power of insistence possessed by music is unrivalled by any of the other arts. Among poets, Swinburne frequently achieves considerable success in this direction.

l. 12. ‘by affections.’ James Harris, in his short but tedious Discourse on Music, Painting, and Poetry (Works, vol. i, p. 99), maintained that the power of music is one ‘which consists not in Imitations and the raising Ideas; but in raising Affections, to which Ideas may correspond’.

l. 29. ‘Music advances from sensations to indefinite ideas.’ A most significant course, on Kant’s theory.

Page 197, ll. 28-30. ‘Also this gratification may amount to an affection, although we take no interest in the object itself, or none, at least, proportionate to the degree of the affection.’ (Cf. p. 198, 1.9.) Notice that this remark is not an admission that our apprecia302tion of the laughable is disinterested in the sense in which our delight in the beautiful is disinterested. The remark is, in fact, applied to all play. As for the laughable, it is stated to rest upon gratification, which always implies an interest (see § 3, especially the last paragraph). An interest is implied in our delight ‘at being able to reach the body through the soul and use the latter as the physician of the former’. Reading the section as a whole it seems obvious that Kant only examines the problem from a psychological point of view. He makes no attempt to develop the conception of a pure aesthetic judgement in respect of what is laughable—at least till he comes to speak of naïveté. If the result of his psychological investigations in the case of the laughable is only to represent wit and humour as agreeable arts this is merely because the investigations are only psychological. It is clear that the question is not approached from the point of view which he adopted in the Analytic of the Beautiful. From the latter point of view it made no difference whether any one ever laid down a pure judgement of taste or not. Similarly, if Kant had approached the problem of the laughable in his true critical spirit he would have seen that it is quite immaterial whether or not most people laugh from mere merriment, and a belief in the proverb ‘Laugh and grow fat’. Perhaps Kant was influenced, as Spencer seems to have been, by the presence of the physical phenomenon of laughter. But from a transcendental point of view this is unimportant. A Dublin lady, the wife of an eminent musician, used always to keep nodding her head (like a china doll) when listening to sweet music. Suppose we all nodded our heads, or leant them to one side, whenever we recognized beauty, this would not affect the analysis of a pure judgement of taste. If we are entitled, not merely to laugh, but to say that some things are laughable, then our judgement purports to be disinterested. It may be added that the conception of a disinterested judgement in respect of the laughable is by no means foreign to us, as it is generally recognized that it betrays an uncultured mind to ask, of a good story, whether it is really true or not. Also it is regarded as evidence of detachment to be able to enjoy a joke against oneself. It is undoubtedly hard to do, but, where serious interests are not at stake, it is expected from us; and we generally do make an attempt to work up some sort of a smile in such cases. But if once the moment of disinterestedness is made good, then the other moments follow by exactly the same process of reasoning as that which Kant adopted in the case of the beautiful. It seems obvious that if the laughable is not placed on the same basis as the beautiful it turns Kant’s whole Analytic of the Beautiful into ridicule. For it is obviously one thing to laugh (which we may do when we are merely tickled), and another to say that something is laughable—and not merely laughable to me. So here we can play Kant’s own trump card. It may also be said that, reading the section as a whole, and paying especial attention 303to the exact import of the remarks upon interest, it is difficult not to suppose that it was written before Kant had recognized the disinterestedness of delight as the first moment of the judgement of taste and seen how the other moments might be deduced from it.

Page 198, ll. 17-20. ‘But as the play of chance is not one that is beautiful, we will here lay it on one side. Music, on the contrary, and food for laughter are two kinds of play with aesthetic ideas.’ The words ‘on the contrary’ would seem to imply that music and what excites laughter are not to be laid on one side because they are concerned with what is beautiful, and belong to fine art. But Kant says below that they deserve to be ranked rather as agreeable than as fine arts. Otherwise we might think that in the remarks that follow he was only showing that the gratification was irrelevant to a pure judgement.

l. 21. ‘by which, all said and done, nothing is thought’—wodurch am Ende nichts gedacht wird. (Cf. infra, p. 334, l. 26.) No doubt this reflection greatly influenced Kant in disparaging wit and humour. But it seems a mistake to suppose that nothing is thought. If nothing were thought ridicule would not be as effective as it is. Addison seems to show far more insight when he speaks of the ‘little triumph of the understanding, under the guise of laughter’. In fact, in wit the triumph of understanding is so essential that mere logical point often passes for wit. ‘Seeing the joke’ almost invariably requires a certain keenness and alertness of intellect, and the pleasure is bound up with the sense of mental stimulation. The appearance which is reduced to nothing is final for the quickening of the faculties. Undoubtedly it is a mere play of the imagination. But is not the case the same with the beautiful? The latter is not dependent upon the objective reality of any concept. If nature, as nature, is hopelessly Scotch, so, also, is it entirely devoid of any beauty on its own account. Against all this it may be urged that when Kant says ‘nothing is thought’ he means that we are left where we were, without being led to look out towards the supersensible. Cf. p. 126, ll. 18-25. It might be thought that a piece of sculpture such as Rodin’s ‘Le Penseur’ differed from a caricature by Phil May because (apart from everything else) it pays regard to aesthetic ideas, whereas the latter does not. But, Kant himself says, in this very sentence, that both music and laughter ‘are two kinds of play with aesthetic ideas’.

Page 199, l. 1. ‘and use the latter as the physician of the former.’ Cf. Home, Elements of Criticism, vol. i, p. 272; also Webb, Observations on Poetry and Music, p. 6. Hartley, Observations on Man, vol. i, p. 440, remarks: ‘And it is useful not only in respect of the good Effects which it has upon the Body, and the present Amusement and Relaxation that it affords to the Mind; but also, because it puts us upon rectifying what is so amiss, or any other similar error, in one another, or in Children; and has a 304tendency to remove many Prejudices from Custom and Education.’ It would be easy to enlarge on the social function of laughter. A laugh enjoyed in common gives a very lively sense of harmony with social environment. Thus Hutcheson, in his Reflections upon Laughter, contends that it is of considerable moment in society and that ‘There is nothing of which we are more communicative than a good jest’. He explains its final cause to be: (1) that it is a remedy for discontent and sorrow; (2) that it is very contagious and promotes sociability; (3) that it preserves the equilibrium of the mind.

l. 6. ‘deserves to be ranked rather as an agreeable than a fine art.’ As far as music is concerned this seems in open contradiction with p. 190, l. 12. In the Anthropology, § 71, Kant says that music ‘is only a fine (not merely agreeable) art, because it serves as a vehicle for poetry

l. 15. ‘Something absurd (something in which, therefore, the understanding can ot itself find no delight).’ But this merely proves that the laughable, like the sublime, resides only in the mind. May not an intellectual pleasure supervene upon the momentary displeasure at the disappointed expectation analogous to that in the case of the sublime? From a teleological point of view a certain independence of the imagination—a certain subjectivity and power to go wrong—has meaning for the whole province of the mind, provided it is subject to the control and correction of higher faculties. To be able to send imagination out, even on senseless errands, and whistle it back at pleasure, shows a relation of imagination and understanding which has advantages extending far beyond that of beneficial influence upon the health.

l. 17. ‘Laughter is an affection arising from a strained expectation being suddenly reduced to nothing.’ Or we might say that laughter is the response to a stimulus, mental or physical, which continues to strain an expectation which is repeatedly baffled. In defining the laughable, as the object of an aesthetic judgement, the main question is to decide whether the emphasis should be laid on the ‘sudden glory’ (Hobbes) or the conversion into nothing (Kant), or, in other words, upon imagination or upon understanding, or whether both sides should be equally recognized, as in the definition of the beautiful: the conformity to law of imagination in its freedom. The latter would seem the proper course. We might, therefore, define the laughable as a representation which provides the imagination with a pretext for making a sudden and forcible excursion into fields from which it is customarily debarred by the conditions of a required harmony with understanding. If this definition were adopted the laughable would at once fall into line with the beautiful and the sublime as defined by Kant, and would do so even from the point of view of the supersensible. For the laughable might be regarded as always furnishing us with a playful reminder that the world of understanding 305is the mere phenomenon of a thing-in-itself. The decrees of understanding are subject to the jurisdiction of a higher court, which, if it does not always decide in favour of the laughable, generally allows it the costs of attending at the trial.

Page 200, l. 2. ‘This is not because we think ourselves, maybe, more quick-witted than this ignorant Indian.’ In deference to Hobbes, Kant might have supported this statement with some argument. Hutcheson combats Hobbes’s view that laughter must be a joy springing from ‘interest’ or ‘some selfish view’, but he admits that his theory has some application to ridicule, from which, however, he says laughter must be distinguished.

Page 201, l. 16. ‘For supposing we assume that some movement in the bodily organs is associated sympathetically with all our thoughts.’ The influence of David Hartley’s Observations on Man seems apparent throughout this whole section. Hartley traced all intellectual energy to vibrations in the nerves. He may also be said to be the founder of the English Association School of psychologists. He connected the association of ideas with his doctrine of vibrations (vol. i, pp. 56-114).

l. 28. ‘Voltaire’—in Henriade, chant 7:

Du Dieu qui nous créa la clémence infinie,

Pour adoucir les maux de cette courte vie,

A placé parmi nous deux êtres bienfaisants,

De la terre à jamais aimables habitants,

Soutiens dans les travaux, trésors dans l’indigence:

l’un est le doux sommeil, et l’autre l’espérance.

Page 202, l.ii. ‘'Naiveté.’ The remarks on naiveté are far the best in the whole section. Cf. Hartley, Observations on Man, vol. i, p. 441: ‘Thus we often laugh at Children, Rustics, and Foreigners, when yet they act right, according to the truly-natural, simple and uncorrupted Dictates of Reason and Propriety, and are guilty of no other Inconsistency, than what arises from the Usurpations of Custom over Nature; and we often take notice of this, and correct ourselves, in consequence of being diverted by it.’

Page 203, l. 8. ‘it is a fine art.’ This is so because what reduces the false appearance to nothing is unspoiled nature. But in everything that we say is laughable there is a play between appearance and reality—between what has a mere subjective validity and what is held to be true according to some standard. In naïveté we have only the particular case where the standard is nature unspoiled by custom or education. But there are many other cases in which the standard involves even a reference to ideas. Kant seems to have been misled by the German for fine art, viz. schöne (beautiful) Kunst, and also by his division of the subject-matter of the Critique into the sublime and the beautiful. No one could maintain that the laughable falls simply under the head of either the beautiful or the sublime. The question is whether the 306judgement upon the laughable belongs to aesthetic modes of estimating, and, if so, how it is related to the sublime and beautiful.

l. 10. ‘the conventions of good society’—was Kunst des Umganges sei. See note to p. 10, l. 22.

l. 23. ‘on behalf of a lively presentation drawn from a ludicrous contrast.’ Here, also, ‘what goes on in the mind’ seems to be of some importance. Cf. Hartley, Observations on Man, vol. i, p. 439: ‘Those that are Judges of Politeness and Propriety, laugh only at such Strokes of Wit and Humour, as surprise by some more than ordinary Degree of Contrast or Coincidence; and have at the same time a due Connection with Pleasure and Pain, and their several Associations of Fitness, Decency, Inconsistency, Absurdity, Honour, Shame, Virtue, and Vice.’ It is strange that the following passage in Addison, assuming that Kant was acquainted with it, does not seem to have suggested anything to him: ‘Humour should always lie under the check of reason, and it requires the direction of the nicest judgment, by so much the more as it indulges itself in the most boundless freedoms.’ (Spectator, No. 36.) Hutcheson, Reflections upon Laughter, and Gerard, Essay on Taste, both insisted on contrast as of fundamental importance in the laughable. The former said that what seems generally the cause of laughter is ‘the bringing together of images which have contrary additional ideas, as well as some resemblance in the principal idea.’ Campbell, Philosophy of Rhetoric, adopts the converse view (in respect of wit, which he distinguishes from humour and ridicule), and says that ‘this enchantress exults in reconciling contradictions, and in hitting on that special light and attitude, wherein you can discover an unexpected similarity in objects, which, at first sight, appear the most dissimilar and heterogeneous’. Duff lays great stress on the imagination. Wit and humour are produced by the efforts of a ‘rambling and sportive fancy’. (Essay on Original Genius, p. 52.)

l. 24. ‘his way of speaking’—sein Vortrag.

ll. 27-8. ‘an evident intrinsic worth … a certain seriousness.’ Cf. p. 191, ll. 10-20; also p. 195, l. 23. So Kant has to fall back on the due combination of fine art with moral ideas, and humour is excluded from fine art because of its want of seriousness! Kant might have reflected that humour sometimes results from a very lively sense that ideas cannot be presented, and from being too serious with the sublime.

Page 205, l. 2. The various discussions on The Standard of Taste by British writers exerted a considerable influence on Kant’s conception of the critical problem in respect of taste. This is especially apparent in § 57. As far back as 1709 Shaftesbury had said: ‘’Tis controverted “Which is the finest pile, the loveliest shape or face”: But without controversy ’tis allow’d “There is a Beauty of each kind.” This no one goes about to teach: nor is it learnt by any; but confess’d by all. All own the standard, rule, and measure; 307but in applying it to things, disorder arises, ignorance prevails, interest and passion breed disturbance.’ (The Moralists, Part III, sect. 2.) Hume, however, was the first to deal with the problem with a clear perception of the difficulties which it involved. Cf. his Essays, ‘Of the Delicacy of Taste and Passion,’ ‘The Sceptic,’ ‘Of the Standard of Taste.’ He regarded the distinction between good and bad taste as perfectly valid, and, moreover, may be said to have estimated good taste by reference to an ideal norm. His ideal norm was the delicate taste of the man of culture and refinement. He justifies this conception principally by two considerations. On the one hand, ‘Some particular forms or qualities, from the original structure of the internal fabric are calculated to please, and others to displease; and if they fail of their effect in any particular instance, it is from some apparent defect or imperfection in the organ. A man in a fever would not insist on his palate as able to decide concerning flavours; nor would one affected with the jaundice pretend to give a verdict with regard to colours. In each creature there is a sound and a defective state; and the former alone can be supposed to afford us a true standard of taste and sentiment. If, in the sound state of the organ, there be an entire or a considerable uniformity of sentiment among men, we may thence derive an idea of perfect beauty; in like manner as the appearance of objects in daylight, to the eye of a man in health, is denominated their true and real colour, even while colour is allowed to be merely a phantasm of the senses.’ This is supplemented by the further considerations: ‘Where the organs are so fine as to allow nothing to escape them, and at the same time so exact as to perceive every ingredient in the composition, this we call delicacy of taste, whether we employ these terms in the literal or metaphorical sense. It is acknowledged to be the perfection of every sense or faculty, to perceive with exactness its most minute objects and allow nothing to escape its observation. Nothing tends further to increase and improve this talent, than practice in a particular art, and the frequent survey or contemplation of a particular species of beauty. In a word, the same address and dexterity which practice gives to the execution of any work, is also acquired by the same means in the judging of it.’ But, of course, the possession of what, because of its accurate discernment, would be called, in the case of music, a good ear, is not sufficient to constitute a good taste. Hence, on the other hand, he insists ‘It is well known that in all questions submitted to understanding, prejudice is the destruction of sound judgment, and perverts all operations of the intellectual faculties: it is no less contrary to good taste; nor has it less influence to corrupt our sentiment of beauty. It belongs to good sense to check its influence in both cases; and in this respect, as well as in many others, reason, if not an essential part of taste, is at least requisite to the operations of this latter faculty. It seldom or never happens, that a man of 308sense, who has experience in any art, cannot judge of its beauty; and it is no less rare to meet with a man who has a just taste without a sound understanding.’ Such is the taste which, according to Hume, fixes on certain objects ‘the epithet beautiful or deformed’ by virtue of a sentiment which ‘must depend upon the particular fabric or structure of the mind, which enables such particular forms to operate in such a particular manner, and produces a sympathy or conformity between the mind and its objects’. An interesting discussion of the same subject will also be found in Home’s Elements of Criticism, vol. ii, ch. xxv. He begins his discussion by saying, ‘“That there is no disputing about taste”, meaning taste in its figurative as well as proper sense, is a saying so generally received as to have become a proverb’. At p. 488 he observes: ‘However languid and cloudy the common sense of mankind may be as to the fine arts, it is notwithstanding the only standard in these as in morals.’ The subject was also discussed by FitzOsborne, Letters, No. 39, ‘Concerning the Criterion of Taste’; by Burke, in the Introduction to his Essay; by Gerard, Essay on Taste (3rd ed.), Part IV, ‘The Standard of Taste’; by Reynolds, Seventh Discourse; and by Reid, Essays on the Intellectual Powers, Essay VI, ch. vi, sect. 4; Essay VIII, ch. i. Reid’s treatment of the problem is very disappointing—especially as it concludes the series.

Page 208, l. 26. What saves the antinomy from being a mere verbal confusion, and makes it worthy of the name of an antinomy, is that it is only solved by taking the distinction between determinate concepts and the rational concept of the supersensible.

We say that a particular subject (S) is beautiful (P), and we argue: if S is P, then it must be because it is M and not not-M. But, if so, are we not entitled to say ‘All M is P’? The mistake we make is that M is not a predicate which determines S, and which can be extracted from S, but only the conception of the harmony of imagination and understanding (allowing us merely to subsume the faculty of intuitions or presentations under the faculty of concepts, p. 143) which we introduce into our representation of S, as an interpretation of our purely subjective sensation (of the quickening of our faculties) in the apprehension of the object. Thus an aesthetic idea is an inexponible representation of the imagination. Its import cannot be exhausted by determinate concepts. Hence we can only interpret it through the rational concept of the supersensible, and it is this that is the ground of the predicate beautiful.

Page 209, l. 31. ‘no objection will be raised.’' Certainly not at this stage. A few more or less will not be worth fighting about. But, besides, the whole discussion that follows is most important from a systematic point of view.

Page 210, l. 8. ‘rational ideas.’ The italics are the translator’s.

Page 215, l. 10. ‘deduction.’ To what does Kant refer? Pos309sibly to the solution of the antinomy, but, more probably, to all that has preceded, including the Introduction. It hardly refers to the Deduction proper. The whole paragraph reads as if it might have been at one time intended as the conclusion of the Critique of Aesthetic Judgement. Compare the remarks on clearness with those at p. 7, ll. 5-7.

Page 217, l. 5. ‘and, beyond all else, the variety and harmony in the array of colours.’ Cf. Home, Elements of Criticism, vol. i, p. 327: ‘Nature in no particular seems more profuse of ornament, than in the beautiful colouring of her works. The flowers of plants, the furs of beasts, and the feathers of birds, vie with each other in the beauty of their colours, which in lustre as well as harmony are beyond the power of imitation.’

Page 218, 1.4. Hutcheson similarly refers to the process of crystallization. Inquiry, sect, i, subsect 5.

Page 223, l. 25. ‘all our knowledge of God is merely symbolic.’ Kant’s object in calling attention to the fact that all our knowledge of God is symbolic appears to be more than that of mere illustration. If beauty does depend on symbolism, then, it may be asked, how can we call on others to agree in the interpretation? Kant’s reply is that the process is by no means arbitrary, but depends upon a real analogy (in the rule of reflection), and that, in fact, it is all that we have to rely upon in the case of our knowledge of God. The importance which Kant gives to symbolism is the necessary consequence of his whole system. Owing to the essential difference between schemata and symbols it is obvious that his Critical Philosophy allows considerable latitude for difference of opinion on theological questions. For when a species of knowledge is only symbolical, the precise meaning of the symbolism and the closeness of the analogy on which it rests, seems to be left an open question. It is sometimes very difficult to decide how far Kant himself supposed the analogy to extend.

Page 224, l. 6. ‘This is that intelligible to which taste, as noticed in the preceding paragraph, extends its view.’ Windelband remarks that the only passage in § 58 to which this could refer is p. 220, l. 20 et seq. Fie thinks that it is much more probable that what Kant had in mind was what he laid down in § 57 about ‘the supersensible substrate of humanity’ as ‘the key to the riddle’ of the judgement of taste, and elaborated in the first Remark. He refers to pp. 208, ll. 8, 9, and 208, ll. 33 et seq.

But if we are to go back to § 57, then why not take the last lines of that section: ‘the antinomies compel us, whether we like it or not, to look out beyond the horizon of the sensible and to seek in the supersensible the point of union of all our faculties a priori.’ In this passage the words hinaus zu sehen occur, and seem to answer to worauf der Geschmack hinaussieht (to which … taste extends its view). Now there is a dose connexion between this passage and the last paragraph of § 58; and the latter naturally 310recalls the former. The last paragraph of § 58 states Kant’s conclusion in general terms, and from it we look back to the reference to autonomy and to the supersensible in § 58 and thence to the above-quoted passage in § 57. For these reasons we may doubt whether Kant had the conclusions which he drew in § 57, rather than those drawn in § 58, principally present to mind. But, beyond all this, the close connexion between § 58 and § 59 seems against Windelband’s view. In § 58 Kant tells us what we are not to look to, and in § 59 he tells us what we are to look to. This latter he had merely indicated in a general way in § 58. (Also see next note.) It may also be remarked that Windelband does not suggest that § 58 might have been written after § 59 or offer any other explanation of what he regards as the mistake in Kant’s quotation.

ll. 13, 14. Cf. the reference to heteronomy and autonomy, p. 220, ll. 23-7. This strengthens the conclusion that ‘the previous paragraph’ refers to § 58.

l. 25. ‘The beautiful pleases immediately.’ Cf. pp. 69, l. 16; 132, l. 25.

Page 225, ll. 12-19. Donaldson regarded the expression of goodness as the highest beauty. Reid remarks: ‘There is nothing more common in the sentiments of all mankind, and in the language of all nations, than what may be called a communication of attributes; that is, transferring an attribute, from the subject to which it properly belongs, to some related or resembling subject.… The attributes of body we ascribe to mind, and the attributes of mind to material objects.’ (Essays on the Intellectual Powers, Essay VIII, ch. iv; Collected Works, p. 501.) ‘I apprehend, therefore, that it is in the moral and intellectual perfections of mind, and in its active powers, that beauty originally dwells; and that from this as the fountain, all the beauty which we perceive in the visible world is derived.’ (Ibid., p. 503.) In a letter to Alison, Reid takes somewhat undue credit for being the first to have expressed these views ‘in clear and explicit terms, and in the cool blood of a philosopher’. (ibid., p. 99.) He ranks Plato and Shaftesbury with Akenside, as handling the subject of beauty rather with ‘the enthusiasm of poets or lovers, than with the cool temper of philosophers’.

Page 226, l. 30. ‘the universal feeling of sympathy.’ Cf. Adam Smith, Theory of Moral Sentiments, Part I, sect, i, ch. i, ‘Of the Pleasure of Mutual Sympathy.’

l. 31. ‘to communicate universally one’s inmost self’—sich innigst und allgemein mittheilen. A wealth of meaning lies beneath these words. This ‘inmost self’ is the universal self—the self that is the alter ego of every true member of the human brotherhood. It is, in the last analysis, this self—humanity in the man—which the poet seeks to express. It is the same self that all true friends have at some time, be it only by a mere tone of the voice, a look, or a pressure of the hand, revealed to one another. 311It is just the power of being moved by certain thoughts too deep for words.

Page 227, l. 4. ‘freedom (and, therefore, equality also).’ Cf. Shaftesbury, Advice to an Author, Part II, sect. 2: ‘Hence it is that those Arts have been delivered to us in such perfection, by free nations; who from the nature of their government, as from a proper soil, produced the generous plants; whilst the mightiest bodies and the vastest empires, governed by force and a despotic power, could, after ages of peace and leisure, produce no other than what was deformed and barbarous of the kind.’ Similarly, Hume’s Essay on the Rise and Progress of the Arts and Sciences: ‘My first observation on this head is, That it is impossible for the arts and sciences to arise, at first, among any people, unless that people enjoy the blessing of a free government.’

ll. 10, 11. ‘of the former … of the latter’—des ersteren … des letzteren. Windelband reads: der ersteren … des letzteren. The original has der in both places.

ll. 29-32. This statement is the complement of that at p. 225, ll. 19-24. Taste and art promote, and in turn are promoted by, the culture of moral ideas.

Abstraction. From content of judgement of taste, 136; from concept of object, 72, 74; from the agreeable and good, 57.

Admiration. Definition of, 125.

Aesthetic. Aesthetic quality, defined, 29; transcendental, of judgement, only deals with pure judgements, 121; faculty, legislative, 220, and mathematical estimation of magnitude contrasted, 99; all estimation of magnitude in the last resort, 98. See Attributes.

Aesthetic ideas. Meaning of, 175; justification for name, 175; soul, the faculty of presenting, 175; counterpart of rational idea, 176; contrasted with intellectual ideas, 176; faculty of, best displayed in poetry, 177; serves rational idea instead of logical presentation, 177; beauty, the expression of, 183; the mere expression of, the main intention in sculpture, 186; fine art must derive its rule from, 221; distinguished from rational ideas of determinate ends, 221; music and what provokes laughter two kinds of play with, 198.

Aesthetic judgement. A priori principle of, difficulty of discovering, 5; evidences a bearing of faculty of knowledge on feeling of pleasure, 6; defined, 36; compared with teleological judgement, 36; compared with logical judgement, 42; pleasure in, 65; division of, 65; does not afford even a confused knowledge of objects, 71; subjective reference of, 71; the ought in, 82; logical peculiarities of, 136; arises by delight being attached as predicate to object, 144; contrasted with cognitive judgements, 144, cf. 5, l. 35; contrasted with judgements of experience, 144; the principle in, both object and law, 145; dialectic of, 204; unique principle of, 287.

Affection. Physiological concomitants, 16, n.; freedom from, represented as sublime, 124; of strenuous type, sublime, 125; of languid type not sublime, 125.

Agreeable. The, defined, 44; delight in, interested, 44; the, does not merely please but gratifies, 45; compared with the good, 46, 48; contrasted with delight in the beautiful, 46, 53, 55; rests entirely on sensation, 46; contrasted with the beautiful and good, 49, 51, 81; difference of opinion as to, tolerated, 53; abstraction from, 57; contrasted with the beautiful, the sublime, and the good, 116, cf. 90; as motive of desire, always of one and the same kind, 117; difference among men as to the, 149; empiricism confuses, with aesthetic delight, 215; art, agreeable or beautiful, 165: music and jest belong to agreeable rather than to fine art, 198, cf. 193, 194, but see also 190.

Agreement. As to the beautiful, necessity of, 82; of different judging Subjects, 85; the judgement of taste exacts agreement from every one, 84; as a duty, 154, cf. 82, 84, 132, 223, 224; of all ages, empirical criterion, 75.

313 Analogy. Between art and expression, 184; presentation of concept by means of, 222; words having at their basis an, 223; points of, between beautiful and morally good, 224; names applied to beautiful objects after analogy with morally good, 225; between finality of reflective judgement and practical finality, 20; imagination building up another nature on basis of an, 176; beautiful nature regarded after the analogy of art, 92.

Ancients. Works of, regarded as models, 137, which a later age will hardly dispense with, 227. Cf. 75, n.

Anthropomorphism, 223.

Antinomy. Of judgement of taste, 205; solution of same, 206, and alternatives for avoiding, 214; forces us to look beyond the sensible, 209; of pure reason, three kinds, 213, and how they arise, 213.

Apprehension. Pleasure connected with, when not referable to Object, 30; prior to any concept, 33, cf. 32.

Archetype. Of taste, 75; set by nature, 79.

Architecture. As a plastic art, 186; design the essential in, 67.

Art. Judgements as to products of, claim universal agreement, 32; function of imagination in, 34; in, we realize a preconceived concept of an object which we set before ourselves as a purpose, 34; field of application of principle of finality, 39, l. 22; beauty of, restricted by conditions of required agreement with nature, 91; beautiful nature regarded after the analogy of, 92; sublime not to be sought in works of, if judgement to be pure, 100; fine, interest in, no evidence of moral disposition, 157; beauty of, beauty of nature superior to, in that it awakens an immediate interest, 158; nature in the beautiful displays, 160; delight in fine, not immediate, 161; imitation by, of nature, 161; general discussion on, 162; how distinguished from nature, 162; as human skill, distinguished from science, 163; distinguished from handicraft, 164; as free, 164; regarded as play, 164; requires a mechanism, 164; when merely mechanical, 165, 167, 171; fine, general discussion on, 165; how far art avails itself of science, 165; aesthetic, defined, 165; distinguished from agreeable, 165; fine, though devoid of an end advances interests of social communication, 166; has for standard reflective judgement and not organic sensation, 166; only beautiful when it appears like nature, 167; nature only beautiful when it has the appearance of, 167; fine, must please in the mere act of judgement, 167; has always the definite intention of producing something, 167, cf. 171, 173, 175, 221, 226; how a product of, may seem like nature, 167; fine, is the art of genius, 168, 221; nature through genius gives the rule to, 168; presupposes rules, 168; limit to the progress of, 170; involves something academic, 171; the thought of something as end always present to, 171; genius supplies the material for, 171, cf. 176; its form depends upon discipline, 171, 172; genius required for production of, 172; beauty of nature and of, contrasted, 172; requisites for judging of beauty of nature and of, respectively, 172; involves a reference to perfection, 173; shows superiority in being able to give a beautiful description of what is ugly in nature, 173; requires more than mere conformity to taste, 174; form of, must not appear sought after, 175; combination of taste and genius in products of, 191; beautiful or inspired, 182; faculties requisite for, 183; concept of object necessary in, 183; division of fine, 183; conjunction of understanding and sensibility in line, must appear undesigned, 185; combination of fine, in one and the same product, 190; fate of, when not combined with moral ideas, 191; 314respective worth of different, 191; the nature of the individual and not a set purpose gives the rule to, 213; no rule or precept can serve as standard for, 211; finality of, 215; successful attainment of, ends only a determining ground of judgement in mechanical, 221; must derive its rule from aesthetic ideas, 221; the element of science in, only an indispensable condition, 226; lias only a manner and not a method of teaching, 226; propaedeutic to all fine, 226.

Assent. (See Agreement.) Necessity of universal, 84.

Association. Law of, imagination borrows material supplied according to law of, 176; laws of, 86, 121.

Astonishment. Defined, 125; cf. 120.

Attributes. Aesthetic, defined, 177; logical, 177; examples of the use of aesthetic, 178.

Autonomy. Of higher faculties, 38; does not belong to imagination itself, 86; judgement of taste should found on, 220.

Batteux. Referred to as an art critic, 140.

Beautiful. Analytic of the, 41; definition of the, 118; definitions of the, resulting from moments, 50, 60, 80, 85; pleases in the mere reflection, 149, and in the mere estimate of it, 167; independent of definite concept, 46, 72, 150; the, contrasted with the agreeable, the sublime, and the good, 49, 52, 53, 54, 90, 117; points of agreement and difference between the, and the sublime, 90, 93, 104, 107, 115; in judging of the, mind in restful contemplation, 94, 107, 110; we dwell on the contemplation of the, 64; charms compatible with the, 91; person captivated by inclination and appetite cannot judge of the, 110; delight in the, connected with representation of quality, 91; implies a necessary reference to delight, 81; the, a presentation of an indeterminate concept of understanding, 90; delight in the, is positive, 120; the, requires a certain quality of the object, 117; ground of the, sought in what is external to ourselves, 93; ground of the estimation of, a mere formal finality, 69; what required for calling an object, 43; difference of opinion not tolerated when anything described as, 84; no criterion or objective rule for determining what is, 75; no science of the, 225; deduction of judgements upon, 133; so called by reference to that character to which the thing adapts itself to our mode of taking it in, 137; pleasure in the, attends a process of judgement which must be exercised for the commonest experience, 150; pleasure in the, must depend for every one on the same conditions, 150; proportion of the faculties necessary for the perception of the, 150; mistakes in the judgement upon, 150; culture, how far necessary for its appreciation, 115; cultivates us, 117; the immediate pleasure in, cultivates liberality of mind, 120; finality of, in connexion with the moral sense, 119; conformity to law of action done from duty may be represented as, 118; only pleases universally in reference to morality, 224; beautiful representation of an object defined, 174; beautiful object distinguished from beautiful views of objects, 89; objects, examples of, 46.

Beauty. Not a property of the object, 136, 215, cf. 51; the expression of aesthetic ideas, 183; finality in this case has its ground in the form and figure of the object, 133; of object, consists in the form of mutual subjective finality of faculties of imagination and understanding, 141; why scattered abroad so lavishly, 133; intellectual an inaccurate expression, 123; of nature, mind cannot dwell on, without finding its interest engaged, 315160; of, nature superior to that of art, in that it awakens an immediate interest, 158; symbol of morality, 223; has only significance for human beings, 49.

Camper, 163.

Caricature, 79, n.

Categories. Basis of experience is general, 22; no pleasure from the coincidence of perceptions with, 27.

Charm. Dwelling on, 64; pure judgement of taste independent of, 65, cf. 191, 193, 225; abstraction from, where judgement intended to serve as a universal rule, 152; cannot enhance beauty of form, 66; may lend an adventitious interest where taste still immature, 66; absence of, test of correctness of ideal of beauty, 80; person captivated by inclination and appetite cannot judge of beautiful, 110; beautiful compatible with, 91; charms repugnant to the sublime, 91; of nature belong to modifications of light and sound, 161; interest in charm of nature empirical, 157; attract in society before forms, 155; taste makes possible the transition from charm-sense to habitual moral interest, 225.

Civilization. Connexion of appreciation of beauty with development of, 156.

Coexistence. How made intuitable, 107.

Cognition. Our faculty of, its field, territory, and realm, 12; the one kind of representation that is valid for every one, 58.

Cognitive faculty. (Or faculty of knowledge.) Bearing of, on feeling of pleasure, 6; presented with an unbounded field, 13; finality for our, 26, 35; pleasure expressing conformity of object to, 30; accord of object with, contingent, 25, 26, 31; harmony with, 33; harmonious accord of, 39; table of, 39; free play of, 58.

Cognitive powers. Proportion of accord of, 83, cf. 100.

Colossal. Defined, 100.

Colour. Difference of opinion as to, 51; charm of, 66; when considered beautiful, 66; Euler’s theory of, 66; beautiful, in organic nature, 217; seven colours, and what they suggest, 161; names given to, by analogy with what is moral, 225; art of, 189.

Columbus. His problem of the egg, 163.

Common sense. (See Sensus communis.) Condition of necessity in aesthetic judgement, 82; meaning of, 82; ground for supposing a, 83; subjective necessity represented as objective on presupposition of a, 84; experience not ground of, 84; a mere ideal norm, 84; constitutive or regulative, 85; elements of faculty of taste united in, 85.

Communicable. The manner in which genius arrives at its ideas not, 169; artistic skill not, 170; universally, what is, in judgement of taste, 57; and why, 58.

Communicability. Of sensation, 148; of moral feeling, 149; of pleasure in the sublime, 149; of pleasure in the beautiful, 150; of thoughts, requires what, 153; of cognitions and judgements, 83; universal, cognition alone capable of, 57; of accord of cognitive faculties, 83; universal, of a feeling, presupposes a common sense, 82; universal, of a pleasure proves it to be one of reflection, 166; free play of cognitive faculties must admit of universal, 58; universal, the feeling which apart from concepts alone admits of, is that of the freedom in the play of our cognitive faculties, which play is also final, 167; pleasure in object consequent on 316the universal, of mental state in representation, 57; what sensation universally communicated in judgement of taste, 60; in the case of the sublime, 128; empirical pleasure in, deducible from propensity to sociability, 59; universal, result of supposing that it carries an interest, 154; universal, a source of interest in society, 128; 156; a regard to universal, required of every one 155; value of sensations placed in universal, 156.

Communication. Indifference to, of observations to others, required if interest in the beautiful is to evidence a good moral disposition, 158; mode of, in speech, adopted as guiding division of fine arts, 184; power of, of one's inmost self, implied by ‘humanity’, 226; reciprocal, between cultivated and uncultivated, what age discovered, 227; social, fine art advances interest of, 166.

Concept. Division of concepts into those of nature and of freedom, 8, cf. 9, 12, 13, 14, 15, 23, 37; their field, territory, and realm, 12; of nature and freedom, transition, 38, 39; manifold modification of transcendental concepts of nature, 18; not required to enable us to see beauty; cannot be determining ground of judgement of taste, 70; judgement of taste upon object prior to any, 146, cf. 32; confused and clear, 71; abstraction from, 72, 74; material beyond what is included in, 179; presentation of, occasioning a wealth of thought, 191; of understanding, immanent as opposed to transcendent, 210; of understanding, always demonstrable, 210.

Conversation. Art of, described, 166.

Criterion. No universal, of the beautiful, 75; universal communicability as, 75; empirical, 75.

Criticism. Limits of, in relation to taste, 142.

Critique. Of Pure Reason, 3, 4, 17; of Pure Reason (in narrow sense), why judgement and reason excluded therefrom, 3; of pure reason (in wide sense) incomplete unless it treated of judgement, 4; of Practical Reason, 4; of Judgement, topic of, 4; of Judgement, not directed to culture of taste, 6; plays part of Theory in case of Judgement, 7; of Pure Reason, non-interference of legislations shown by, 13; of judgement, connects both parts of philosophy, 14; general statement of nature and functions of, 14; has no realm, and is not a doctrine, 14; of pure reason, divisions of, 17; of judgements of taste, why required, 32; of aesthetic judgements, ground of twofold division of, 33; of Judgement, why divided into that of aesthetic and teleological judgement, 34; of judgement, aesthetic part of, essential, 35; position of aesthetic judgement in, 36; propaedeutic, 36; of taste, when an art and when a science, 142; transcendental, 142; The Dialectic, a dialectic of the Critique of taste, not of taste itself, 204,

Crystallization. Used as an example of a free formation of nature, 218.

Culture. Of taste, not the object of the critique, 6; how far necessary for the estimate of the sublime and the beautiful, 115; fine art promotes, 166; progressive, stability of judgement a guarantee of, 183; pleasure in fine art is culture, 191; art of tone, more a matter of enjoyment than of, 194; adopted as standard, 195; examples of what has approved itself in the progress of culture, 183; propaedeutic to fine art, 226; mean between higher and modest worth of nature, the true standard of taste, 227; constraint of, united with truth and force of nature, 227.

Cypher. Through which nature speaks to us figuratively, 160.

317 Dance. Combination of arts in a, 190.

Decoration, 188.

Deduction. Of principle of finality, 22 et seq.; of pure aesthetic judgements, 133; in what cases obligatory, 133; only necessary in the case of judgements upon the beautiful, 133; what suffices for, in case of aesthetic judgements, 135, 136; method of the, of judgements of taste, 135; of judgements of taste, problem of, 144; of judgements of taste, 146; also in the sublime, 215.

Definition. Transcendental, 16, n.

Deism, 223.

Delight, Disinterested, 42, 49; comparison of the different kinds of, 48; as related to inclination, favour, and respect, 49; universal, 50; taste gains by combination of intellectual with aesthetic, 73; in the good but not in the beautiful, when, 86; in the way a figure strikes the eye, 87; purpose in respect of knowledge combined with, 87; serving instead of a predicate of the object, 144; nature of, in a moral action, 149.

Design. The essential element in the formative arts, 67, 68.

Desire. (See Reason.) Faculty of, defined, 16, n.; faculty of principles of, 4, 6; definition tested by consideration of fantastic wishes, 16, n.; causal reference of, 16, n.; purpose of propensity to, consciously vain, 16, n.; reference of interest to, 42.

Dialectic. Of the aesthetic judgement, 204; not of taste but of the critique of it, 204.

Disgust. What excites, cannot be represented in fine art, 174.

Disputes. As to questions of taste, 74.

Division. Of philosophy, 7; of philosophy, as theoretical or practical, 8; of metaphysic, 75; why Kant’s divisions always threefold, 39; of investigation, into that of the beautiful and the sublime, 33; of the sublime into the mathematically and the dynamically sublime, 94.

Doctrine. Principles belonging to, must be determinant, 36.

Dominion. Defined as might which is superior to resistance of that which itself possesses might, 109.

Drama. Rhetoric combined with pictorial presentation in, 190.

Emotion. Spirited and tender emotions, 125.

Empiricism. Of critique of taste, 215.

End. Defined, 19; natural end, 34; analogy of an, 34; natural beauty and natural ends, contrasted, 34; no reason assignable a priori why there should be objective ends of nature, 35; of nature, teleological estimation of, 35; final, condition of possibility of, presupposed by judgement, 38.

Enjoyment. Those intent on, would dispense with all judgement, 45, 47; an obligation to, an absurdity, 48; nature of pleasure of, 149; pleasure in the beautiful not a pleasure of enjoyment, 149.

Enlightenment. Defined, 152.

Entertainment. Of the mental faculties, 88; social, taste in, 53.

Enthusiasm. Sublimity of, 124; compared with fanaticism, 128.

Epicurus. Corporal basis of gratification and pain, 131, 197, 202.

Euler. Colour theory of, 66.

Evil. That which we strive to resist, 109.

Examples. Function of illustration by, 141; intuitions verifying reality of empirical concepts are called, 221.

318 Existence. Real, of objects, taste indifferent to, 43.

Expression. Nature and function of, 180; beauty, the, of aesthetic ideas, 183; by word, and tone, complete, 184.

Faculty. Of intellectual and aesthetic judgement compared, 159; of the soul, reducible to three, 15; when called pure, 18; list of mental faculties, 39.

Fanaticism. Compared with enthusiasm, 128.

Fear. Access to, through imagination, 121.

Feeling. Of pleasure and displeasure, middle term between faculties of cognition and desire, 4, cf. 15, 17; of pleasure or displeasure, reference to, riddle of judgement, 6; constitutive principle in respect of, 38, 39; aesthetic judgement decides questions of taste, not by any harmony with concepts, but by feeling, 35; the purely subjective element in a representation, 30, 42, 45; of respect, derivation of, in Critique of Practical Reason, 63; taste as a faculty of judging of the communicability of, 160; want of taste contrasted with want of, 116; for the beautiful, 162.

Field. Of concepts, defined, 12.

Finality. Defined, 19, 61; practical, differs from that of the reflective judgement, 20, 27; practical, analogy to, 20; transcendental principle of judgement, 19, 20, 21, 22, 35; practical, principle of, metaphysical, 21; empirical nature must be regarded on a principle of, 22 et seq.; of nature, transcendental concept of, not one of nature or of freedom, 23; of nature, principle of, recognized as objectively contingent, 25; feeling of pleasure associated with concept of, 26; is determined by an a priori ground, 27; concept of, takes no account of faculty of desire, 27; of nature, extent of, undetermined, 28; of nature, aesthetic representation of, 29; not a quality of object itself, 30; why attributed to object, 30, 34, 51; of nature, logical representation of, 33; objective and subjective compared, 33, 34; subjective, rests on pleasure, 33; objective, not concerned with pleasure, 34; and natural ends, the latter represented in organic bodies, 34; of nature, concept of, not a concept of object, 34; formal, a principle without which understanding could not feel itself at home in nature, 35; principle of, leaves question of application in particular cases undetermined, 35; mediating link, 38, 39; of nature, concept of, belongs to natural concepts, 39; generally, 61; may be devoid of purpose, 62, 69; form of, basis of judgement of taste, 62; consciousness of, pleasure itself, 64; objective, 69; formal, 69; of the representative state of the Subject, 70; subjective, 70, 101; in the sublime, 100, 109; example of stone implements, 80, n.; nature of, in beautiful and sublime, 92; ideality of, 215; realism and idealism of, considered, 216.

Form. Of object, reflection on, apart from a concept, 32; of aesthetic judgements implies abstraction from all content, 136; of subjective finality, 141; nature of the pleasing, imparted to works of art, 174; of fine art, must not appear sought after, 175.

Formative arts. Division of, 185; analogy to gesture, 188; contrasted with art of tone, 195; painting pre-eminent among, 196.

Freedom, (See Concept.) World of, meant to have an influence on world of nature, 14; causality through, and causality through nature, 37; imagination regarded in its, 86; fine art impossible without, 226; problem of uniting, and constraining force, 227.

Furniture. Classed under head of Painting, 188.

319 Gardening. Art of ornamental, 187.

General. Aesthetic pre-eminence of, over the statesman, 112.

Genius. Definition of, 168, 180, 212; fine art the art of, 168; relation of, to taste, 172, 175, 182, 183; originality of, 168; its models exemplary, 168, 181; cannot indicate how it brings about its product, 169; rule prescribed through, not to science but to art, 169; opposed to spirit of imitation, 169; not something which may be learned, 169, 181; function of, to supply material, 171; out of place in the province of rational investigation, 172; faculties of mind which constitute, 175, 179; licence of, 181; union of taste and, in products of fine art, 182; taste the discipline of, 183; to be sacrificed rather than taste, 183; poetry owes its origin almost entirely to, 191; as the nature of the Subject, 212; stifled by uncritical imitation of master, 226; predominance of special faculties in a, 79, n.

Geometry. Geometrically regular figures, 86.

Gesture. Connexion of formative arts with, 184, 188.

God. All our knowledge of, symbolical, 223; the fear of, 110; becoming attitude in the presence of, 113.

Good. The, defined, 46, 48; contrasted with the agreeable, the beautiful, and the sublime, 46, 47, 48, 51, 53, 70, 90, 117; happiness a, 47; the beautiful independent of a representation of, 69; affects purity of judgement of taste, 73; union of the beautiful with the, 74; delight in, associated with interest, 46; moral, carries with it the highest interest, 48; points in the analogy between beauty and the morally, 224; the moral, to be aesthetically represented as sublime not beautiful, 123.

Gratification. The agreeable gratifies, 44, 45, 46; nature of, 196; the changing free play of sensations, always a source of, 197.

Grotesque. Taste for what borders on, 88.

Ground. Cause applied to supersensible signifies, 37; clear and distinct grounds of judgement, 70, 71.

Handicraft. Art distinguished from, 164.

Happiness. Precepts for attaining, 10; not unconditionally a good, 48.

Harmony. (See Cognitive faculty, Imagination.) Of nature with our judgement, 216.

Health. As a good, 47; the feeling of, 197.

Hindrances. Opposed by nature, 37, n.; on the part of sensibility, 118, cf. 109, 124.

Homer. Contrasted as poet with Newton as scientist, 170.

Humanity. Saved from humiliations in presence of might of nature, in: implies feeling of sympathy and power of communication, 226.

Hume. His comparison between critics and cooks, 141; his comparison of English and French works of art, 183.

Humility. Sublimity of, 114.

Humour. Defined, 203.

Hypotyposis. Schematical or symbolical, 222; examples of symbolical, 223.

Idea. (See Aesthetic ideas and Reality.) Defined, 76, 209; transcendent, regulative function of, 3; field of supersensible to be occupied with, 13; have only practical reality, 14; normal, 77; normal, how formed, 77; presentation of, in logical sense, not possible, 119; reason interested in objective reality of, 159; terms corresponding to distinction 320between, and concept of understanding, 209; palm given to painting because it penetrates far into the region of, 196; of reason, effort to attain to, a law for us, 106.

Ideal. Defined, 76; art has always an, in view, 226; of beauty, 74; of beauty, how we arrive at, 76; of beauty, of what objects possible and what not, 76, 77; of beauty, correctness of, how tested, 80; estimate formed according to, not a pure judgement of taste, 80.

Ideality. Of finality, 215; of objects of sense as phenomena, 221.

Imagination. Harmony of, and understanding, 30, 31, 32, 58, 60, and understanding, mutual relation of, that is requisite for every empirical cognition, 32; employed in presentation, 34; object referred by, to the Subject, 41; and understanding, requisite for cognition, 58; effort to grasp a given form in the, 70; power to recall and reproduce, 77; taste a free conformity to law on the part of, 86; productive not reproductive, where, 86; forms such as imagination would project in conformity to law of understanding, 86; understanding at service of, 88; what gives the, scope for unstudied and final play, 88; what, grasps, 89; straining of the, to use nature as a scheme for Ideas, 115.

Imaginative power. Great, required for what, 80.

Imitation. Contrasted with following, 77, 169, 170, 171, 181; of nature, to the point of deception, 158, 161; of nature in an intentional art, 161; opposition between genius and spirit of, 169, 181; learning only, 169; becomes aping, when, 181; examples of master not to be imitated without criticism, 226.

Impression. On senses, aesthetic judgements should refer to, 122.

Inclination. Aroused by what gratifies, 45.

Infinite. The, is absolutely great, 102.

Inspiration, Where not required, 174.

Intellectual. Beauty or sublimity, a misnomer, 123; delight, pure, moral law the object of, 123.

Intelligible. As supersensible substrate of nature, 37, n.; basis of our nature, final end set by, the harmonious accord of all our faculties of cognition, 212; reference of, to the morally good, 223, 224.

Intentional. Art, obviously addressed to our delight, 161.

Interest. Defined, 42, cf. 48; delight in the good associated with, 46; moral good carries with it the highest, 48; presupposes a want, 49; of inclination in case of agreeable, 49; pure practical laws carry an, 51; detachment from, 51; contemplative pleasure does not bring about an, 64; vitiates judgement of taste, 64; empirical, in the beautiful, 155; cannot be determining ground of, but may be combined with pure judgement of taste, 154; combination of an, with the judgement of taste, can only be indirect, 154; consists in pleasure in real existence of object, 154; empirical, in the beautiful, only exists in society, 155; empirical, in the beautiful, affords very doubtful transition from the agreeable to the good, 156; intellectual, in the beautiful, discovers a link in the chain of our faculties a priori, 156; intellectual, in the beautiful, 157; in beautiful, regarded as a mark of good moral character, 157; in the beautiful of art, no evidence of good moral disposition, 157; in charms of nature, no evidence of good moral disposition, 157; the thought that the object is nature’s handiwork, the basis of intellectual, in the beautiful, 158.

Intuition. Combination of, with concepts for cognition generally, 33.

321 Judgement. Middle term between understanding and reason, 4, 15; principles of, annexed as needful to theoretical or practical philosophy, 4; as synonymous for sound understanding, 5; a priori principle of, difficulty in discovering, 5; especially great in case of aesthetic judgements, 5; a priori principle of, necessary in logical judging of nature, when, 6; no reference to feeling of pleasure in logical judging of nature, 6; separate division for, why necessary in Critique, 6; Critique plays part of theory in case of, 7; principle of, territory of, 15; presumption of an a priori principle of, that has reference to the feeling of pleasure and displeasure, 15; presumption that, effects transition from realm of nature to that of freedom, 17; as a faculty that prescribes laws a priori, 18; defined, 18; determinant and reflective, contrasted, 18; reflective compelled to ascend from particular to universal, 18; transcendental principle of reflective, 19, 20, 21; maxims of, 21, 23; law of specification makes us proceed on principle of conformity of nature to our faculty of cognition, 29; reflective, what is final for, 30; aesthetic, on finality of object, 30; nature of the principle of, 25; empirical, singular, claims universal assent, 32; function of, when concept given, 34; teleologically employed, assigns determinate conditions, 35; connects legislations of understanding and reason, 36; provides mediating concept, 38; provides constitutive a priori principle for feeling of pleasure and displeasure, 39; grounds of, dear or confused, 71; mathematically determinant and reflective, contrasted, 96; of experience, 144, cf. 31, 32; cognitive, contrasted with aesthetic, 144.

Judgement of taste. A subdivision of aesthetic judgements, 65; is aesthetic, 41; defined, 41, n.; involves a reference to understanding, 41; not a cognitive judgement, 41, 48, 72, 210; affords no knowledge of anything, 207; the determining ground of, maybe objective, 205, but not reducible to definite concepts, 205; the extended reference of, requires a concept for basis, 207; a special faculty for estimating by rule and not by concepts, 36; is reflective, not determinant, 36; is contemplative, 48; compared with empirical judgements generally, 32; rests on a priori grounds, 63; hence requires a Critique, 32; is both synthetic and a priori, 145; position of, in a Critique, 36; constitutive principle in respect of the feeling of pleasure and displeasure, 38; can only have its ground in the subjective condition of a judgement in general, 143; what asserted in a, 145; subjective finality of nature for the judgement of the concept upon which it depends, 207; unique principle of, finality of nature and of art, 215; how we become conscious of accord in, 59; relative priority of feeling of pleasure and estimate of the object in, 57; should be founded on autonomy and not heteronomy, 220, 224; contrasted with logical judgements, 142, 140, 147; logical peculiarities of, 136; not determinable by grounds of proof, 139, 205, 206; logical quantity of, singular, 55, 90, 146; how converted into a logical judgement, 65, cf. 119; not determined by interest, 42, 154; should be disinterested, 43; may be combined with interest, 154; what represented a priori in, not pleasure but its universal validity, 146; universality of delight in, only represented as subjective, 53; speaks with a universal voice, 56; consistent statement of the view denying any claim to its necessity, 214; how imputed as a sort of duty, 154; as a faculty of communicating even our feelings to others, 155; put forward as example of judgement of common sense, 84; pure, independent of charm and emotion, 64; not pure, if condition is a definite concept, 72; purity of, affected by association with the agreeable or the good, 73; pure, 322when, in respect of object with definite internal end, 73; pure, in estimating a free beauty, 72; independent of concept of perfection, 69; pure, interest may be combined with, 154; false, how possible, 57, cf. 54, 147, 150; conflict of, 204, cf. 74; deduction of, 204; riddle of, key to, supplied by indeterminate idea of supersensible, 208; rational concept of supersensible lies at basis of, 207; universal validity of, explained by reference to rational concept of supersensible, 207; determining ground, perhaps the supersensible substrate of humanity, 208.

Knowledge. (See Cognitive faculty.) Of things, aesthetic estimates do not contribute, 5; how far dependent on universal communicability, 83; end in respect of, coupled with delight, 87.

Landscapes. See Views.

Laughter. Generally, 196-203; physical character of the cause of, 198; account of its production as a phenomenon, 198; something absurd always its basis, 199; defined, 199; art of inducing an air of gaiety by jest and, an agreeable art, 166.

Law. Contrasted with precepts and rules, 10; conformity to, without a, 86.

Legislation. Of reason and understanding, 12; non-interference of, 13.

Lessing. As an art critic, 140.

Link. In the chain of the faculties a priori, the intellectual interest in the beautiful discovers a, 156; mediating, between concept of nature and of freedom, 38.

Logic. Contrasted with philosophy, 8.

Logical judgement. Compared with aesthetic judgement, 42; analogy of judgement of beautiful to, 51; judgement of taste, how converted into a, 50, 140; knowledge tobe had only from a, 71; judgement of taste, how distinguished from, 142,

Logical presentation, 177.

Logical quantity. Of aesthetic judgements, 55, 90, 119, 136, 146.

Logical universality. Aesthetic universality compared with, 54.

Logical validity. Defined, 29.

Magnitude. Mathematical and aesthetic estimation of, 98; representation of, 101.

Man. An ideal of beauty only possible in case of, 77.

Mannerism. A mode of aping, 182.

Marsden. His description of Sumatra, 88.

Master. Can only teach by illustration, 226; examples of, not to be imitated without a criticism, 226.

Mathematical. Estimation of magnitude, 98.

Maxims. Of judgement, 21, 23, cf. 217; of empirical science, 21, 24; of common human understanding, 152; of unprejudiced thought, 152; of enlarged thought, 153; of consistent thought, 153; of the aesthetic judgement, 206, cf. 20, 23.

Means. Choice of a means to enjoyment, 44,

Mechanism. Conception of nature as, enlarged to that of nature as art, 92; required in art, 171; of nature, 217.

Metaphysic. Projected system of, 5; requires preliminary Critique, 5; divisible into that of nature and morals, 7; metaphysical principle, 20.

Methodology. Of taste, 225.

323 Might. A power to resist great hindrances, 109; sublime represented as, 124.

Misanthropy. When sublime and when not, 129.

Modality. Of judgement of taste, 81.

Models. Exemplary, 75; in arts of speech, 75, n.; taste displayed by criticism of, 75; works of ancients regarded as, 137; of genius, exemplary, 168; aid genius, how, 171; of ancients, not to be dispensed with, 227.

Moments of judgement of taste. Founded on logical functions of judgement, 41, n.; why quality first considered, 41, n.; of the beautiful, quality, 41; quantity, 50; relation, 61; modality, 81; of the sublime, 115, cf. 134, 149.

Monstrous. The, defined, 100.

Moral feeling. Beautiful and sublime both final in respect of, 116; communicability of, 149; union of a feeling for the beautiful with, 157; judgement of, contrasted with, of taste, 159; harmony of, with sensibility, necessary for genuine taste, 227.

Moral ideas. Alone attended with self-sufficing delight, 191; respect for, raises us above the necessity for gratification, 202; taste a faculty of judging of the rendering of, in terms of sense, 227; beauty in human figure consists in expression of, 79.

Moral judgement. Pleasure in, practical, 64; analogy between, and judgement ot taste, 160.

Moral law. Basis of communicability pf feeling of the sublime, 149.

Morality. Beauty the symbol of, 221; taste in, 50.

Music. At banquets, 166; nature of, 189, 193, 194, 195; poetry combined with, in a song, 190; compared with other arts, 195; lack of urbanity of, 196; nothing is thought in, 198; physical character of the quickening effects of, 199; play in, proceeds from sensations to aesthetic ideas, 195; an agreeable rather than a fine art, 198, cf. 190.

Nature. (See Concept, Finality.) Reference of natural thing to unknowable supersensible, 6; finality of, 19, 20; multiplicity of, 22 et seq.; might baffle our understanding, 25; law of the specification of, 25; harmony of, in its particular laws, with our cognitive faculties, contingent, 25, 26; universal laws of the understanding necessarily accord with, 26; cognizable order of, 24; pleasure derived from uniting empirical laws of, 27; extent of finality of, indeterminate, 28; aesthetic representation of finality of, 29; technic of, agent for presentation of concepts, 34; beauty and finality of, defined, 34; no a priori ground why there should be objective ends of, 35; finality and the laws of, 35; only cognized as phenomenon, 38; free beauties of, 72; wild and regular beauty of, compared, 88, 89; art restricted by conditions of a required agreement with, 91; object of, may properly be called beautiful but not sublime, 91; self-subsisting beauty of, reveals a technic of, 92; conception of, as mechanism enlarged to that of. as art, 92; in which of its phenomena sublime, 103; the proper unchangeable measure of, its absolute whole, 104; sublime not to be sought in, 97, 104, 114; sublimity applied to, by a subreption, 106; as might, dynamically sublime, 109; self-preservation that cannot be assailed by, 111; in its totality, thought as a presentation of something supersensible, 119; phenomenal, a presentation of a nature in itself, 119; imitation of, by art, 161; language of, 161; art distinguished from, 162; beauty of, distinguished from that of art, 172; beauty of, and of art, requisite for estimating each, 324172; 173; in the individual, genius as, 212; in the individual, as the supersensible substrate, 212; ideality of finality of, 215; beautiful forms in organic, suggest realism of finality, 216; mechanism of, 217; free formations of, 218; what constitutes the beauty of, to be ascribed to natural laws, 220 ·, does not instruct us as to what is beautiful, 220; finality of, a property that cannot be ascribed to it as its end, 20; names given to beautiful objects of, implying analogy to morally good, 225; examples of beauty of, 72, 217, 219.

Necessity. Of the reference of the beautiful to delight, nature of, 81; exemplary, 81; subjective, attributed to judgement of taste, is conditioned, 82; the condition being the idea of a common sense, 82; of universal assent, subjective but represented as objective, 84; deduction only necessary where judgement claims, 135; of judgements of taste, 136,

Newton. Works of, genius not necessary for, 180,

Noumenon. Idea of, as substrate, 103.

Objective. Subjective necessity represented as, 84.

Obscurity. Palmed off as depth and originality, 172.

Opera. Constituents of, 190.

Opinion. Difference of, not tolerated when object described as beautiful, 84.

Oratorio, 190.

Originality. Throwing off all restraint of rules is not, 171; of genius, 168, 171.

Ought. Judgement containing an, 82, 84.

Pain, 197.

Painting. Design the essential in, 67; contrasted with plastic art, 186; as a formative art, 187; aesthetic, 187; superiority of, among formative arts, 196.

Parsimony. Law of, 21.

Peace. Prolonged, degrading effects of, 113.

Peculiarity, Of the judgement of taste, first, 136; second, 139, cf. 207.

Perfection. Concept of, judgement of taste independent of, 69, 207, 216; defined as internal objective finality, 69; held by many to be convertible with beauty, 69; if thought in a confused way, 69; qualitative and quantitative, contrasted, 70; requires representation of an end, 70; of object, beauty involves no thought of, 70; dependent beauty involves, 72; does not gain by beauty or vice versa, 74; definition of, 173; must be» considered in judging of beautiful in art, 173; antinomy of taste irresolvable if beauty grounded upon, 209, and also otiose, 215.

Phenomena. Legislative authority of understanding confined to, 12, 13, 17; and things in themselves, contrasted, 13; supersensible substrate of Objects as, 214.

Philosophy. Defined, 8; realm of, 11; of nature ami morals, contrasted, 8; divided into theoretical and practical, 8, 11, 12; division justified, 15, cf. 17; can prove but not demonstrate, 211; co extensive with applicability of a priori concepts, 11; divisions in, trichotomous, 39.

Plastic arts. Contrasted with painting, 186; division of, 186.

Play, Of cognitive faculties, 39, 58, 88, 107; final, 88; of figures or 325sensations, 67; as agreeable on its own account, 164; art as, 164; free, a source of gratification, 197; free, of chance, tone and thought, 197.

Pleasure. (See Feeling.) Feeling associated with concept of finality, 26; the subjective quality incapable of becoming a cognition, 29; when judged to be combined necessarily with representation, 31; only connected with representation by means of reflective judgement, 31; in judgement of taste, dependent on empirical representation. 32; relative priority of, and estimate of object in judgement of taste, 57; what denoted by, 61; causal connexion with representation not determinable a priori, 63; mental state identical with, where, 63; in aesthetic judgements, contemplative, 64; consciousness of formal finality is, 64; non-practical, 64.

Poem. Didactic, 190.

Poet. Youthful, not dissuaded from his convictions, 137.

Poetry. Imagination enjoys free play in, 86; prosody and measure required in, 164; faculty of aesthetic ideas displays itself to best advantage in, 177; contrasted with rhetoric, 184, 192; combined with music in song, 190; compared with other arts, 191,

Polycletus. Doryphorus of, 79.

Practical. Philosophy, contrasted with theoretical, 8-11; misuse of word, 9, 10; precepts, 10, 11; morally, compared with technically, 9, ef. 13; sphere, reason can only proscribe laws in, 12; function, distinguished from theoretical, 12; reality, of ideas, 14; finality, 21; faculty, artas, 163; point of view, broadening of mind from, 103.

Prayers. For avoiding inevitable evils, superstition at basis of, 16, n.

Predicate, Pleasure united to concept of object as if it were a predicate, 32.

Prejudice, 152.

Presentation. When the function of judgement, 34; of ideas, 119, 176, cf. 209, 212, 221, 222.

Principle. Constitutive, 3, 38, 39; regulative, 3, 39; transcendental or metaphysical, 20; independent, of judgement, 4; of judgement, reference to pleasure the riddle of, 6; of cognition, distinct, importance of, 9; practical, 8; technically or morally practical, 9; of finality of nature, 19, 21.

Progress. Of art, limit to, 170; of culture, 183.

Proof, Grounds of, judgement of taste does not admit of determination by, 139; fine art does not appeal to, 165.

Propaedeutic. To fine art, culture the, 226; to taste, the development of moral ideas, 227; to all philosophy, 36.

Prosody. Required in poetry, 164.

Prudence. Rules of, are mere corollaries to theoretical philosophy, 9, 10.

Psychology. Empirical, modality of aesthetic judgements lifts them out of the sphere of, 117; critique of taste as an art deals with psychological rules, 142.

Pyramids. Sublimity of the, 99.

Quality. Of space, 29; delight in the beautiful associated with represeniation of, 91; of delight in our estimate of the sublime, 105; of feeling of the sublime, a displeasure, 108.

Quantity. Delight in the sublime associated with representation of 91.

326 Rationalism. Of Critique of taste, confuses the good and the beautiful, 215.

Realism. Of principle of taste, 216.

Reality. Practical, of ideas, 14; objective, of a concept, Deduction has not to justify, 147; objective, of ideas, reason interested in, 159, 160; of our concepts, intuitions required to verify, 221; objective, of rational concepts, cannot be verified, 221; objective, of ideas, semblance of, 176.

Realm. Of philosophy, defined, 11; of our faculty of cognition, 12; of concept of freedom, meant to influence realm of concept of nature, 14.

Reason. Pure, defined, 3; pure, critique of, 3; contains constitutive a priori principles solely in respect of faculty of desire, 4, 17; practical, critique of, 4; can only prescribe laws in practical sphere, 12; and understanding, legislations of, 12, 13, 17, 36; interest of, 64; union of taste with, rules for, 74; ideas of, effort to attain to, a law for us, 105; intervention of, to make representations of sense adequate to ideas, 119; the seat, both of rational and aesthetic ideas, 212.

Refinement. Connected with communication of feeling, 156.

Religion. When sublime, 113, 126; how and why favoured by governments, 128; example better than precept in matters of, 138; how distinguished from superstition, 114.

Respect. Defined, 105; feeling of, aroused by moral good, 123; inclination, favour and, 49; feeling of, 63; joined with representation of object as great without qualification, 96.

Rhetoric. Defined and described, 192; contrasted with poetry, 184; in a drama, 190.

Rousseau, 43.

Rule. Aesthetic judgement a special faculty for estimating according to a, 36; general and universal, 53; rules for establishing union of taste with reason, 74; objective, none for determining what is beautiful, 75; normal idea as a source of possibility of, 78; of taste, question of taste not to be settled by appeal to, 140; furnished to art, how, 168, 169, 180, 181, 212; Doryphorus of Polycletus called the, 79; for every one, 84; a priori, to the feeling of pleasure, 4; technically or morally practical, 9, 10, 11, 13; concept of judgement to be employed only as a, 5; emancipation from all constraint of, 171, cf. 164; in fine art, cannot be set down in a formula, but must be gathered from the performance, 171.

Sacrifice. In representation of sublime, 123; by imagination, 120.

Sadness. Insipid, contrasted with interesting, 130.

Sassure, 115; reference by, to insipid sadness, 130.

Savary. His account of Egypt, 99.

Scepticism, 84.

Schema. For ideas, straining of imagination to use nature as, 115; contrasted with examples, 221; contrasted with symbols, 222.

Schematism. Of judgement, 121; imagination schematizes without a concept, objective, in Critique of Pure Reason, 59.

School. Origin of a, 181; leaders of a newer, 164, cf. 168, 172, 182, 201.

Science. Art distinguished from, 163; genius does not prescribe rule to, but to art, 169; discoverers in, differ only in degree from laborious imitators, 176; and art, relative merits of, 170; contrasted with art, 174.

Sculpture. Design the essential in, 67; may only represent unpleas327ing things indirectly, 174; described and contrasted with architecture, 186.

Segner. His use of the inscription over the Temple of Isis, 179.

Sensation. Subjective, but belongs to the cognition of things, 29; double meaning of, 44; communicability of, 148; as the real in perception, 148; difference in, of different persons, 148; passivity of subject in, 149; through which we are conscious of reciprocal activity of cognitive powers, 60.

Sense. a id given to judgement, when, 150; used to include feeling of pleasure, 153; imagination, understanding and, functions of, 83.

Sensus communis. (See Common sense.) Reason for supposing a, 83; condition of modality of judgement of taste, 84; taste as a kind of, 150; a id given to common human understanding, 151; to be understood as a public sense, 151, cf. 153.

Sentimentality. Tendency to indulge in tender emotions is, 125.

Simplicity. The style adopted by nature in the sublime, 128.

Sociability. Judgement in reference to, 53; of mankind, properties constituting, 226.

Society. Sublime not introduced in a mere conventional way into, 116; universal communicability, a source of interest in, 128; isolation from, regarded as sublime, 129; empirical interest in beautiful only exists in, 155.

Soldier. Reverence for, 112.

Solitude. Attractions of, 129.

Song. Of birds, 89, 162; poetry combined with music in, 190.

Soul. The animating principle of the mind, 175; faculty of presenting aesthetic ideas, 175, 180.

Space, Quality of, subjective, but constituent of knowledge of tilings, 29; measurement of, 107.

Speech. Arts of, division of, 184.

Spirit. See Soul.

Spontaneity. In play of the cognitive faculties, 39.

St. Peter's. In Rome, aesthetic effect of, 100.

Statesman. Compared with general, 112.

Sturm und Drang Movement. See School, leaders of newer.

Subject. Aesthetic judgement refers representation solely to the, 71.

Subjective. Finality, contrasted with objective, 33; necessity, represented as objective, 84; finality, necessary if anything is to please disinterestedly, 101.

Sublime. And beautiful, how division arises, 33; and beautiful, points of agreement and difference between, 90, 91, 93, 104, 107, 115, 118; contrasted with the good, 90, 118; delight in the, combined with representation of quantity, 91; the, the presentation of an indeterminate concept of reason, 91; charms repugnant to, 91; a negative pleasure, 91; finality of the, 92; object of nature not, 91, 96, 97, 104, 113, 134; concerns ideas of reason, 92; theory of the, a mere appendage to the aesthetical estimating of nature, 93; the, concerns nature in its chaos, 92; division into mathematically and dynamically, 94; moments of judgement on, 93; mental movement combined with, 94; definition of the, 94, 97, 98; the mathematically, 94; produces feeling of respect, 90; reference of, to the supersensible faculty within us, 97; the mathematically, estimation of magnitude requisite for, 98; not to be sought in works of art if judgement 328to be pure, 100, cf. 190; not based on finality of the form of the object, 101; the mathematically, examples of, 104; quality of delight in our estimate of, 105, 106; applied to object by a subreption, 106; a feeling of displeasure and a pleasure, 106; mind moved in representation of the, 107; finality in case of, one for ideas of reason, 109; the dynamically, defined, 109; the dynamically, examples, 109; we must see ourselves safe to estimate the, 112; sublimity of war, 113; of a religion, 113; of humility, 114; culture requisite for appreciation of, 115; modality of judgement upon, 93, 116; defined, 118, 119; finality of the, in connexion with moral feeling, 119; feeling for the, requires moral disposition, 120; cultivates a liberality in our mental attitude, 120; delight in the, is negative, 120; represented as a might to overcome hindrances, 123; abstractions in presentation of, 127; simplicity the style adopted by nature in the, 128; freedom from affection, represented as, 124; isolation from society regarded as, 129; deduction of judgements upon, not necessary, 133, as exposition sufficed for deduction, 134; nature only supplies the occasion for the judgement upon the, 134; brought into union with beauty in a tragedy, 190.

Subsumption, Logical and aesthetic, contrasted, 147; mistake in, 148.

Sumatra. Marsden’s description of, 88.

Supersensible. Reference of natural thing to unknowable, 6; how made cognizable, 11; introduction of idea of, 13; field of, no territory in, 13; must be occupied with ideas, 13; practical reality of concept of freedom brings us no nearer theoretical knowledge of, 14; great gulf fixed between, and sensible, 14, 36; ground of unity of, at basis of nature, with what freedom contains in a practical way, 14, cf. 37, 38; in the Subject, 36, 37; substrate of nature, 37, n.; how affected by understanding, judgement, and reason respectively, 38; freedom, supersensible attribute of subject, 63; reference of sublime to supersensible faculty within us, 97; estate, our, 106; rational idea of, 107; faculty, ability to think given infinite evidences, 103; nature thought as a presentation of the, 119; idea of, as substrate of nature, as principle of subjective finality, and as principle of the ends of freedom, 215; nature employed as schema for, 192.

Superstition, 152; religion distinguished from, 114.

Symbol. Of morality, beauty the, 221; contrasted with schema, 222.

Symbolic. All our knowledge of God is, 223.

Symbolism. Nature of, 222.

Symmetry, 87.

Sympathy. Sense of, implied by word humanity, 226.

Taste. (See Judgement of taste.) Culture of, 6; impossible to determine a priori what object will accord with, 32; defined, 31, 41, 153, 154; estimates natural beauty, 34; shown by meaning I can give to a representation, 43; explanation of, from first moment, 50; principle that every one has his own, considered, 52, 205; demanded as something one ought to have, 52; in social entertainments, 53; of sense and of reflection, 54; gains by combination of intellectual delight with aesthetic, 73; union of, with reason, rules prescribed for, 73; disputes about, how frequently settled, 74; in respect of models, shown by person only as a critic of the 329models, 75; archetype of, 75; whether an original faculty, 85; as a free conformity to law on the part of the imagination, 86; not required for what, 87; English, in gardens, 88; for what borders on grotesque, 88; stiff regularity repugnant to, 88; want of, contrasted with want of feeling, 116; reason for name, 140; no objective principle of, possible, 141; the principle of, the subjective principle of judgement in general, 142-150; contains principle of subsumption of faculty of, intuitions under faculty of concepts, 143, cf. 30, 42, 90, 133; pleasure in, contrasted with that in moral feeling, 146, 159; as a sensus communis, 150; regarded as a faculty of communicating feeling, 155; as affording a transition from the agreeable to the good, 156; relation of, to genius, 172; production of works of art according to, docs not require genius, 174; an estimating nota producing faculty, 174; genius and, how combined in products of fine art, 182; the discipline of genius, 183; commonplaces, every one has his own, 205; no disputing about, 205; there may be a quarrel about, 205; principle of, 215; source of pleasure declared universally valid by, 224; makes possible the transition from the charm of sense to habitual moral interest, 225; critique of, division of, into elementology and methodology, inapplicable, 225; can only assume a definite unchangeable form when sensibility is brought into harmony with moral ideas, 227; a faculty of estimating the rendering of moral ideas in terms of sense, 227.

Technic. Of nature, 34; of nature, image underlying, normal idea, 77; nature, self-subsisting natural beauty reveals, 92; art differs from science as, from theory, 163.

Technically practical. See Practical.

Teleological judgement. Contrasted with aesthetic, 34, 36; not a special faculty, 36.

Teleology. Assumption of nature as complex of objects of taste involves a teleological problem, 148.

Territory. Of concepts, defined, 12; none in field of supersensible, 13.

Theoretical. (See Practical.) Cognition, 8.

Thoughts. All our, associated with bodily movements, 201.

Tone. Art of, described, 193, cf. 52; charm of, 66; when to be regarded as beautiful, 66.

Totality. Required by reason, 102.

Tragedy. Sublime and beautiful united in, 190.

Transcendent. Concepts, function of, 3.

Transcendental. Principle, defined, 20; critique, concerned with what, i.j 2; philosophy, general problem of, 145; principle of judgement, 19; aesthetic, only deals with pure judgements, 121.

Transition. From mode of thought according to theoretical principles, 14, 22, cf. 17; critique a means of combining the two parts of philosophy into a whole, 14; judgement connects legislation of understanding and reason, 36; concept of finality affords, 38; judgement effects, 38; none from concepts to feeling of pleasure, 51; intellectual interest in the beautiful discovers a, from the enjoyment of sense to the moral feeling, 156; from the agreeable to the good, empirical interest in the beautiful could only discover a doubtful, 150; from charm of sense to habitual moral interest, taste makes possible, 225.

Ugliness. Capacity of art tor dealing with, 173.

330 Understanding. (See Imagination.) Officious pretensions of, restrained by critique, 4; and reason, functions of, compared, 36; legislation by, confined to phenomena, 12, 13, 17; supplies constitutive principles for faculty of cognition, 3; pure, concepts of, only touch possibility of nature, 18; imagination projects forms in harmony with, 86.

Universal validity. Deduction only necessary where judgement claims, 135; of judgements of taste, 31, 142; in judgement of taste, nature of, 136; of pleasure, 146.

Universality. Of delight in judgement of taste only subjective, 53; when aesthetic, 54; dialectic only arises where judgements lay claim to, 204.

Utility. Defined as objective external finality, 69; delight in beautiful object cannot rest on, 69.

Validity. A priori, synthesis of pleasure with representation, unable to announce, 31; universal, see that title; exemplary, 84.

Views. Of nature, 89, cf. 187, n.

Virtuosi. Moral character of, 157.

Voltaire. His remarks on hope and sleep, 201.

War. Sublimity of, and effect upon character, 112, 113.

Wieland. Homer and, contrasted with scientists, 170.

Will. As a cause, 9; defined, 61; respect, as a determination of, derived from the idea of the moral law as a cause, 63.

Worth. An absolute, how given to the existence of a person, 48; object of fine art must have a certain intrinsic, 203.

		page
Essay I.	Problem of the Critique of Judgement	xvii
Essay II.	Last Stages of the Development of Kant’s Critique of Taste	xxxvii
Essay III.	The Beautiful	li
Essay IV.	The Sublime	lxxi
Essay V.	Interest in Beauty	xcix
Essay VI.	Art and the Artist	cxviii
Essay VII.	The Dialectic	cxlv

5:198 List of Mental Faculties	Cognitive Faculties
Cognitive faculties	Understanding
Feeling of pleasure and displeasure	Judgement
Faculty of desire	Reason
A priori Principles	Application20
Conformity to law	Nature
Finality	Art
Final End	Freedom

Preface		3
Introduction		8
First Part.	Critique of Aesthetic Judgement	41
First Section.	Analytic of Aesthetic Judgement	41
First Book.	Analytic of the Beautiful	41
Second Book.	Analytic of the Sublime	90
Second Section.	Dialectic of Aesthetic Judgement	204
Notes		228
Analytical Index (to translation)		312
Index (to Essays and Notes—names only)		331