Thus we see, there are three points of view from which, at different times, men have defined art:

First: The Style and Manner point of view, chosen by Bacon and Goethe, and their imitators, and based on the idea: that Style alone makes art, and which is false, since style and manner are but parts of a complete work of art.

Second: The Cleveristic point of view, based on the idea: that skillful art-activity dextrous "artistry" or craftsmanship, displayed in the production of a work of art and in a “personal" manner, alone is art, which is also false, since all these qualities are also but parts of a work of art.

Third: The Completed Work of Art point of view, which is the correct one: because it embraces every element of art activity underlying the other two points of view: style; manner; clever, dextrous "artistry" or craftsmanship, etc., and which is the most inclusive possible point of view.

The main cause of so much confusion in æsthetics is the fact that every æsthetician, heretofore, has tried to define in one definition more than is possible to define in one definition in any human language, and, in addition, has done it in slipshod language, like Plato, when he defined Beauty as "Variety in Unity," which is childish, seeing that Variety in Unity will also produce the Ugly! You cannot define two diametrically opposed things by one definition! A definition of Day will not define Night. And it is amazing that, during two thousand years, hundreds of writers have, like stupid parrots, repeated this error. Variety in Unity is one element of beauty, but those three words do not define beauty.

It is impossible to include in a definition of art every element that enters into a work of art. Hence, all we can do is: to find the fundamental thing that separates a work of art from everything else, and that is, the expression of human emotion in some form. After that, the most we can do is to suggest what makes a work of art greater and greater, from the most trivial to the most great.

Hence, it is astonishing that no æsthetician has, heretofore, been able to see that, to avoid destructive confusion in the world of art, we must divide all art into at least three distinct categories: Trivial Art, Clever Art, and Great Art.

And what is it that divides these three categories? It is:

their relative power of stirring either only the sensuous; or merely the intellectual; or the spiritual emotions of mankind. In each of these three categories of art we see a display of a greater and greater anxiety, energy, and power on the part of the artist, first: to express adequately his own emotions or, second, his trying to stir the emotions of his fellow-men.

For example, a crude Japanese fan, involving only a few grotesquely drawn rocks and some water, manifestly made in a careless mood, showing no great energy or labor of love, and made to appeal only to our love of sensuous color, and arousing in us only a gentle emotion, of such mirth as forces us to say: "Hello! isn't that cute?"-such a work is a trivial work of art; but it is, nevertheless, a work of art. Why? because the man who made it found some degree of joy in merely expressing his simple, sensuous, even grotesque emotion, in some form-an emotion of mirth.

An example of clever art is a Louis XV screen, with Fragonard decorations. The function of the screen is a trivial one, and the subject of the decorations is trivial also. But the whole thing is lifted out of the category of purely trivial art into the category of clever art, by the extraordinary display of intellectual imagination, plus loving dexterity of hand, and anxiety in the composition and execution of so perfect a thing, of its kind, an exponent of the cleverness of a clever age, so that we can imagine the joy both the cabinet-maker and the painter found in the mere making of the screen. Hence, it appeals to our intellect as well as our senses, and arouses in us an emotion of delight, a higher emotion than the emotion of mirth.

An example of a great work of art is Leonardo's "Last Supper." We know of "Last Suppers" by five of the great Renaissance artists, by Tintoretto, Raphael, Ghirlandajo, Del Sarto, and Leonardo. Tintoretto was so little emotioned by the subject, that he handled it in a nonchalant way, and the result is trivial, and makes us smile rather than worship. Raphael's decoration is dignified, but also nearly as trivial as Tintoretto's, because it has neither the cleverness of composition of that of Ghirlandajo, nor the dramatic expression of that of Del Sarto. It lacks character. The one by Ghirlandajo is truly clever, because of the clever and charming composition and color scheme, and a certain serenity that

pervades it. But it is only clever, because it lacks the profoundly dramatic expression possible in the subject. The one by Del Sarto is less charming in color and composition than Ghirlandajo's, but greater because more dramatic, and showing more profoundly expressed human emotion on the faces of the actors in the drama. Hence, it stirs in us loftier emotions.

But the greatest of the five, and one of the six greatest works of the painter's art of all time, is that by Leonardo. Why? Because he alone of the five was himself emotioned by the subject to the highest pitch, and then made the finest composition, and with infinite love and labor succeeded in imaging and then expressing the emotioning dramatic disturbance, which must have followed, when Jesus said:

Verily, verily, I say unto you, that one of you shall betray me! The more we contemplate the large copy in Milan, made of the original fresco, the more we gradually feel an emotion of awe-the highest emotion the soul can experience. And this emotion becomes stronger, as we note the perfect science of composition, drawing and expression of the picture, and then the loving anxiety with which he aimed to so perfect his work, that it should stir the emotions of his fellow-men and so, make them share in his own emotional exaltation!

In Leonardo's own day the world already acclaimed this picture as the greatest of all "Last Suppers." And today, the world is more than ever united in the opinion that it is not only the greatest "Last Supper" ever painted, but that it is one of the six greatest painted pictures ever produced.

Before some trivial work you will hear people say: "What, that? that isn't a work of art!" They do not mean it is not "a work of art"-what they do mean is that it is not a clever or a great work of art; and, unable to express themselves, in correct or clear language, they use general terms, ending in a slipshod remark.

In fact, slipshod thinking, talking, and writing, are responsible for most of the anarchy in æsthetics in the world of art.

You cannot say a man is not a man, because he is a stupid, and not a clever or a great man, can you? Even an African pigmy is a man. You cannot say an expression of human emotion, made in form, in any language whatsoever, is not a work of art, simply because it is trivial, and not clever, or

great. No matter, we repeat, how trivial or bad a man is, he is still a man; no matter how trivial and weak a work of art is, it is still a work of art.

People often say: "Isn't that Artistic?" What they really mean, and should say, is "Isn't that Clever?" That is what they really do mean. Every art work is "artistic," but even some of the greatest works of art lack "cleverness."

But, to go deeply into the differences which divide the trivial from the clever, and the clever from the great, would take a volume. All we can consider, here, is one sample of each. What is true of painting is true of poetry. A trivial poem is the following:

Yankee Doodle came to town

A-riding on a pony,

Stuck a feather in his hat

And called him Maccaroni.

It is a grotesque poem, because it arouses merely our mirth, and then ridicule, but it is a poem nevertheless.

A clever poem is Poe's:

I dwelt alone

In a world of moan

And my soul was a stagnant tide,

Till the fair and gentle Eulalie became my blushing bride, Till the yellow-haired, smiling Eulalie became my smiling bride. It is of no special significance, but its varied and melodious lines, skillful composition, and dextrous rhyming arouse, to a certain extent, our intellectual admiration, and, to a certain degree, an emotion of delight, though falling short of arousing in us an emotion of awe and, therefore, lift it from the category of trivial, and puts it into the category of clever, art.

A great poem is Bryant's "Thanatopsis," the closing lines of which are:

So live, that when thy summons comes to join

The innumerable caravan that moves

To the pale realms of shade, where each shall take
His chamber in the silent halls of death,

Thou go not like the quarry-slave at night,

Scourged to his dungeon; but, sustained and soothed

By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave,

Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch

About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.

As we gradually read and grasp the meaning of this poem, one of the four greatest short poems in the language, we are slowly filled with an emotion of awe-by the grandeur and cadence of the lines, and by the nobility of the thought. But, far more than that. As we feel, gradually, with the passing years, steal over us the increasing consolation that this poem makes us feel; as we become impressed with the thought that all men must share our fate, and that "death levels all ranks and lays the shepherd's crook beside the sceptre of a king," we gradually find ourselves sustained and calmed in the face of death on our sick-bed; and, as we gradually learn to feel that the poet aimed to console us, aimed to lift us to a lofty plane of thought and emotions, we feel an ever-increasing love for him, and finally thank destiny for having lent the world so fine a soul long enough to enable it to evolve so sublime a masterpiece, and to endow mankind with it, to serve for all time as a stimulus to noble action, and as a fortifying consolation to afflicted humanity, helping it to a serene resignation, as it sees itself gradually forced to depart from this world, so adorably beautiful to the soul, in spite of the miseries the mind and body may, now and then, pass through during our span of life. And then the universal veneration we feel for the poet apotheosizes him into a sure immortality.

What is true of poetry and painting is true of sculpture, architecture, music, and all the arts, all of which are governed by the same fundamental laws.

Now, beginning with the most rudimentary and trivial works of art, there are less and less trivial works: up to the line where the higher category, the clever works of art, begins; then there are more and more clever works; until we reach the line where the category of great works of art begins, the three categories overlapping each other; then we reach greater and greater works of art; until we arrive at the greatest work, in each of the eight arts of the world. And that work is the one which the largest number of cultured people have voted, after the longest period of time since its creation, to be the greatest work of art, of its kind.

Why do I say cultured people? Because Tolstoy made the mistake of supposing that a crowd of uncultured moujiks, with rudimentary brains, are able to judge a work of art. They are