3 / Croce /
The Essence of Aesthetic
many delight to point out, between the mental equilibrium
of ordinary people and the extravagances of philosophers;
since, for example, it is clear that no man of good sense
would have said that art is a reflection of the sexual
instinct, or that it is something maleficent and deserves to
be banned from well-ordered republics. These absurdities
have, however, been uttered by philosophers, and even by
great philosophers. But the innocence of the man of
common sense is poverty, the innocence of the savage;
and though there have often been sighs for the life of the
savage, and a remedy has been called for to rescue good
sense from philosophies, it remains a fact that the spirit, in
its development, courageously affronts the dangers of
civilisation and the momentary loss of good sense. The
researches of the philosopher in relation to art must tread
the paths of error in order to find the path of truth, which
does not differ from, but is, those very paths of error
which contain a clue to the labyrinth.
The close connection of error and truth arises from the
fact that a complete and total error is inconceivable, and,
since it is inconceivable, does not exist. Error speaks with
two voices, one of which affirms the false, but the other
denies it; it is a colliding of yes and no, which is called
contradiction. Therefore, when we descend from general
considerations to the examination of a theory that has
been condemned as erroneous in its definite particulars,
we find the cure in the theory itself — that is, the true
theory, which grows out of the soil of error. Thus it
happens that those very people who claim to reduce art to
the sexual instinct, in order to demonstrate their thesis,
have recourse to arguments and meditations which,
instead of uniting, separate art from that instinct; or that
he who would expel poetry from the well-constituted
republic, shudders in so doing, and himself creates a new
and sublime poetry. There have been historical periods in
which the most crude and perverted doctrines of art have
dominated; yet this did not prevent the habitual and
secure separation of the beautiful from the ugly at those
periods, nor the very subtle discussion of the theme, when
the abstract theory was forgotten and particular cases
were studied. Error is always condemned, not by the
mouth of the judge, but ex ore suo.
Owing to this close connection with error, the affirmation
of the truth is always a process of strife, by means of
which it keeps freeing itself in error from error; whence
arises another pious but impossible desire, namely, that
which demands that truth should be directly exposed,
without discussion or polemic; that it should be permitted
to proceed majestically alone upon its way: as if this stage
parade were the symbol suited to truth, which is thought
itself, and as thought, ever active and in labour. Indeed,
nobody succeeds in exposing a truth, save by criticising
the different solutions of the problem with which it is
connected; and there is no philosophical treatise, however
weak, no little scholastic manual or academic dissertation,
which does not collect at its beginning or contain in its
body a review of opinions, historically given or ideally
possible, which it wishes to oppose or to correct. This
fact, though frequently realised in a capricious and
disorderly manner, just expresses the legitimate desire to
pass in review all the solutions that have been attempted
in history or are possible of achievement in idea (that is,
at the present moment, though always in history), in such
a way that the new solution shall include in itself all the
preceding labour of the human spirit.
But this demand is a logical demand, and as such intrinsic
to every true thought and inseparable from it; and we
must not confound it with a definite literary form of
exposition, in order that we may not fall into the pedantry
for which the scholastics of the Middle Ages and the
dialecticians of the school of Hegel in the nineteenth
century became celebrated, and which is very closely
connected with the formalistic superstition, and represents
a belief in the marvellous virtue of a certain sort of
external and mechanical philosophical exposition. We
must, in short, understand it in a substantial, not in an
accidental sense, respecting the spirit, not the letter, and
proceed with freedom in the exposition of our own
thought, according to time, place, and person. Thus, in
these rapid lectures, intended to provide as it were a guide
to the right way of thinking out problems of art, I shall
carefully refrain from narrating (as I have done
elsewhere) the whole process of liberation from erroneous
conceptions of art, mounting upwards from the poorest to
the richest; and I shall cast far away, not from myself, but
from my readers, a part of the baggage with which they
will charge themselves when, prompted thereto by the
sight of the country passed over in our bird’s flight, they
shall set themselves to accomplish more particular
voyages in this or that part of it, or to cross it again from
end to end.
However, connecting the question which has given
occasion to this indispensable prologue (indispensable for
the purpose of removing from my discourse every
appearance of pretentiousness, and also all blemish of
inutility), — the question as to what is art, — I will say at
once, in the simplest manner, that art is vision or intuition.
The artist produces an image or a phantasm; and he who
enjoys art turns his gaze upon the point which the artist
has indicated, looks through the chink which he has
opened, and reproduces that image in himself. “Intuition,”
“vision,” “contemplation,” “imagination,” “fancy,”
“figurations,” “representations,” and so on, are words
continually recurring, like synonyms, when discoursing
upon art, and they all lead the mind to the same
conceptual sphere, which indicates general agreement.
But this reply of mine, that art is intuition, obtains its
force and meaning from all that it implicitly denies and
distinguishes from art. What negations are implicit in it? I
shall indicate the principal, or at least those that are the
most important for us at this present moment of our
culture.