ur final problem; the problem,
namely as to what it really is which renders one object in nature
more beautiful than another object, and one work of art more
beautiful than another work of art. We know that in the intuitive
judgment which affixes these relative valuations there must be the
three elements of mortal subjective vision, of immortal objective
vision, and of the original "world-stuff" out of which all visions
are made.

But upon what criteria, by what rules and standards, do we
become aware that one tree is more beautiful than another tree,
one landscape than another landscape, one poem or person or
picture than another of the same kind? The question has already
been lifted out of the sphere of pure subjective taste by what has
been said with regard to the eternal Ideal vision. But are there any
permanent laws of Beauty by which we may analyse the verdict of
this objective vision? Or are we made aware of it, in each
individual case, by a pure intuitive apprehension?

I think there _are_ such laws. But I think the "science," so to say,
of the aesthetic judgment remains at present in so rudimentary a
stage that we are not in a position to do more than indicate their
general outline. The following principles seem, as far as I am able
to lay hold upon this evasive problem, of more comprehensive
application than any others.

A thing to be beautiful must form an organic totality, even though
in some other sense it is only a portion of a larger totality.

It must carry with it the impression, illusive or otherwise, that it
is the outward form or shape of a living personal soul.

It must satisfy, at least by symbolic association, the physical
desires of the body.

It must obey certain hidden laws of rhythm, proportion, balance,
and harmony, both with regard to colour and form, and with
regard to magical suggestiveness.

It must answer, in some degree, the craving of the human mind for
some symbolic expression of the fatality of human experience.

It must have a double effect upon us. It must arouse the excitement
of a passion of attention, and it must quiet us with a sense of
eternal rest.

It must thrill us with a happiness which goes beyond the pleasure
of a passing physical sensation.

It must convey the impression of something unique and yet
representative; and it must carry the mind through and beyond
itself, to the very brink and margin of the ultimate objective
mystery.

It must suggest inevit