experience, by keeping one side of our aesthetic reactionthe appreciator-relatively constant, and by changing the other side the type of art. This is the line of study in aesthetics by which we may hope to discover certain factors affecting the range and limits of the various arts.

In this paper I wish to propose an outline of such a study by considering four fundamental differences which may exist between the arts. If we except the differences between them based on their media and techniques (which are different for every single art and must be studied separately in each case), the arts may differ: (1) as to the sense through which they appeal to us; (2) as to their space or time factor, those at rest and those in motion; (3) as to the nature of their subject matter, works of art which resemble natural objects and those which do not; (4) as to their purposive or nonpurposive factor, objects which are meant for a definite purpose besides that of arousing aesthetic reaction, and those which are meant solely for aesthetic contemplation.

II

If we consider the first of these differences, we cannot fail to find that the nature of our perception of visual and of auditory arts is different. The objects of the latter arts are purely mental, constructed by the mind solely with the aid of memory. Without that faculty the direct sensations of the individual sounds received cannot be retained in their proper relationship, an essential factor in a work of art. Although what we see, as well as what we hear, is also a mental image of the object, the function of memory is comparatively slight in the visual arts, because the sensory objects, as a whole, are constantly before the observer's eyes, the action of which in passing from one element to another is very rapid. For this reason our visual images obtain a concreteness and vividness beyond the possibility of auditory images. As an example, recall some vivid description of a scene in literature, say the banquet scene in Quo Vadis, and the same scene in moving pictures. The

vividness of the visual image of this scene is so intense that it becomes almost revolting, whereas the auditory image has slight tendency, if any, toward affecting the reader disagreeably. If this psychological fact was always kept in mind, the aesthetic quality of many scenarios could be greatly improved. This is only one example to show how the range of the arts is limited because of this one fundamental difference.

If we compare the two main auditory arts-music and literature as to their power of creating concrete and intense aesthetic emotions, we find that although both are capable of arousing emotions of great intensity (the power of music in this respect is perhaps even greater than that of literature) the emotions conveyed by music can never be so concrete as those aroused by literature because emotions in literature are conveyed to us symbolically, through the medium of beings like ourselves, whose thoughts, feelings, and emotions in all their subtleties are conveyed to us through the concrete meanings of the words. This is the unique province of literature. While in music, although most exact as to the definite relationship of the sounds, the emotions conveyed, subtle and intense as they are, are vague and indefinite, because sounds in themselves are incapable of arousing concrete images which may serve as symbols of the emotions. Hence the unique province of music is to transmit to us those deep and profound feelings, moods, and emotions inexpressible in any other medium. Where words fail music succeeds. When Lavretsky, in Turgenev's novel Liza, found himself unable to convey his feelings to Liza in words, he found an expression of the emotions surging in his troubled soul when he heard his musician friend Lemm play "a sweet, passionate melody [which] spoke to the heart with its very first notes . . . As it rose and sank it seemed to speak of all that is dear, and secret, and holy, on earth. It spoke too of a sorrow that can never end, and then it went to die away in the distant heaven."

A word about the arts which appeal to the senses of sight and hearing at the same time. The peculiar nature of

these arts is their complexity, for the psychological aspect of the auditory and visual arts which we have been considering would be applicable to these arts also, because they contain elements which are meant both to be seen and heard before their full aesthetic effect is felt. Each one is a combination of several arts, and the complexity varies in degree and also as to the type, of which there are two.

A true complex art, such as architecture, is one the unique quality of which is enhanced and embellished by the other allied arts. When a building is decorated by statues and paintings the architectural quality of the building does not change in character but is simply enhanced and made richer by the arts of sculpture and painting. The allied arts in architecture-and they are many-always remain subservient to architecture in an aesthetically satisfactory building. In the other type of complex art no one of the arts in the combination predominates and gathers under its wings the remaining ones but all of them play equally important parts and contribute their share to produce the unique aesthetic effect of the complex art which is unlike that of any of the arts in the combination. In the opera, for example, the pure arts of music, acting, poetry, dancing, painting, and even architecture, work together and blend into a unique art form. The failure of such blending weakens its aesthetic effect, because the unity of effect being impaired, the appreciator's attention becomes confused; it is forced to turn now to one art, now to another.

Owing perhaps to the difficulty of attaining this complete blending, critics often contrast these complex arts with the pure visual or auditory arts and find them aesthetically inferior. It seems to me rather dubious to say that one art is better aesthetically than another. Arts have unique qualities of their own and are hence incomparable. One art can produce a certain type of psychological effect better than another but its aesthetic effect is no better. The power of a work of art to move one aesthetically depends not upon the fact that it belongs to this or to that art, but upon its inherent aesthetic qualities. Does it create in us a pure

contemplative mood by putting us "out of gear with practical needs and ends" as Bullough would say? Does it convey to us an unmistakable dominant feeling-tone, and is the organization of its elements such that it satisfies all our natural human desires and fulfils all expectations to which it gives rise? The more a work of art stays within the limits of the art to which it belongs, the better it accomplishes this aesthetic task.

III

To turn now to our second important difference between the arts, we find that space and time arts may be contrasted in two important respects. The first is the manner by which they are perceived. As the sensory elements in the time arts are perceived in succession, the subject is immediately aware, at any one time, of only a small portion of the work of art. By the aid of memory he gradually connects mentally these small units, already seen or heard, into larger and larger units; he is aware of the work of art as a whole only after the performance is finished. In the time arts, therefore, perception is from smallest units to the largest unit. In the space arts the opposite is the case. The work of art as a whole is presented to the observer at once. His eyes rapidly run around the object and enable him to perceive its contour or silhouette. Hence the general mass, the main form of the object is perceived first; then, as the observer's attention shifts from one part to the other, the main elements within the mass are perceived next, then the subdivisions within those, and finally the details. Based on this difference in perception, we shall find, I think, that the main mass and outline of objects in space arts are slightly more important than the details in the general aesthetic effect of the work of art; whereas the details of objects in time arts have slightly greater aesthetic value than the object as a whole. Look at a building, for example; if the main mass, the outline, seems satisfactory, the building has gone a long way in winning your aesthetic assent, even if on later observation it disappoints you in its details. While in

listening to a musical composition, if the composer captures your attention by a novel and haunting melodic motif which keeps reiterating throughout the composition, he has made an important advance in winning your aesthetic approval of his composition, even if later it is found faulty in the general organization and unity of the whole.

The other point of difference between space and time arts has to do with the power of attention coupled with that of memory. This difference was conclusively proved by Lessing in his discussion on the limits of painting and poetry, his most important contribution to the subject of aesthetics. The point made by Lessing was this: Description or representation of objects is the special province of space arts, and description or representation of actions is the special province of time arts. This is so because in time arts the various parts of an object can only be described in succession and the power of attention and memory to call up mentally the visual images of those parts, connect them in a proper organization, and retain in the mind a complete image of the object as described, is extremely limited; not to mention the fact that mental images, as we have seen, cannot have the definiteness of visual images. Whereas in space arts the object of description is before the eye of the observer, and the image of the whole and any of its parts are so constantly and repeatedly impressed on the mind. that attention and memory are not so heavily taxed. To see, therefore, is almost synonymous with having a description of an object.

This fact is certainly borne out by experience. If a descriptive passage in poetry or prose is short and describes something we have seen before or something similar to it, the image called up is fairly vivid, although never exactly the same as the author intended; but if it is long and of an unfamiliar subject, it becomes almost impossible to form an image of it and intolerable to listen to it. Note how much easier it is to hold the attention of children, or even adults, by showing them pictures than by describing in words what the pictures represent. A lecture illustrated by lantern