odern times we should say that
art is not merely imitation, but rather the expression of the ideal in
forms of sense. Even adopting the humble image of Plato, from which
his argument derives a colour, we should maintain that the artist may
ennoble the bed which he paints by the folds of the drapery, or by the
feeling of home which he introduces; and there have been modern
painters who have imparted such an ideal interest to a blacksmith's or
a carpenter's shop. The eye or mind which feels as well as sees can give
dignity and pathos to a ruined mill, or a straw-built shed (Rembrandt),
to the hull of a vessel 'going to its last home' (Turner). Still more
would this apply to the greatest works of art, which seem to be the
visible embodiment of the divine. Had Plato been asked whether the Zeus
or Athene of Pheidias was the imitation of an imitation only, would he
not have been compelled to admit that something more was to be found in
them than in the form of any mortal; and that the rule of proportion
to which they conformed was 'higher far than any geometry or arithmetic
could express?' (Statesman.)

Again, Plato objects to the imitative arts that they express the
emotional rather than the rational part of human nature. He does not
admit Aristotle's theory, that tragedy or other serious imitations are
a purgation of the passions by pity and fear; to him they appear only to
afford the opportunity of indulging them. Yet we must acknowledge that
we may sometimes cure disordered emotions by giving expression to them;
and that they often gain strength when pent up within our own breast.
It is not every indulgence of the feelings which is to be condemned.
For there may be a gratification of the higher as well as of the
lower--thoughts which are too deep or too sad to be expressed by
ourselves, may find an utterance in the words of poets. Every one would
acknowledge that there have been times when they were consoled and
elevated by beautiful music or by the sublimity of architecture or by
the peacefulness of nature. Plato has himself admitted, in the earlier
part of the Republic, that the arts might have the effect of harmonizing
as well as of enervating the mind; but in the Tenth Book he regards them
through a Stoic or Puritan medium. He asks only 'What good have they
done?' and is not satisfied with the reply, that 'They have given
innocent pleasure to mankind.'

He tells us that he rejoices in the banishment of the poets, sin