ent action, the peculiar
intensity and reverberance of the enjoyment which it affords. The same
holds true, I think, of poetry generally, where this deals with life.
The case of music is more doubtful. It is generally agreed that the
enjoyment of music has never been adequately accounted for, albeit it
is probably more ancient than man. But that music does arouse the
great emotions, and owe its popularity mainly to that fact, can
scarcely be questioned. It is only necessary to add that over and
above this appeal, as well as its appeal to the ear and to an
intellectual apprehension of its technical forms, it seems to {185} be
capable of developing emotions of its own; that is, experiences which
do not coincide with the instinctive emotions, but which have a like
massiveness and organic reverberation. It may be, as Walter Pater
insists, that in this respect "all art constantly aspires towards the
condition of music." [5] But this does not contradict the fact that
such arts _are_ emotionally stimulating, will always stir men as men
are capable of being stirred, and in society at large will make their
main appeal to the fundamental and constant emotions, cultivating the
enjoyment of love, fear, and the other elemental passions for the very
poignancy and thrill of them.

For the intellectual type of apprehension I propose to employ the term
_discernment_. I mean the apprehension of an _idea_ when conveyed by
some sensuous medium; the finding or recovery of some unity of thought
in a perceptual context. When discernment in this sense is directly
agreeable without any ulterior motive, it is a special case of the
aesthetic interest. From this interest the representative or pictorial
element in art derives its value.

Let me illustrate my meaning by referring to what Taine says of Greek
sculpture:

Here we have the living body, complete and without a veil, admired and
glorified, standing on its pedestal without scandal and exposed to all
eyes. {186} What is its purpose, and what idea, through sympathy, is
the statue to convey to spectators? An idea which, to us, is almost
without meaning because it belongs to another age and another epoch of
the human mind. The head is without significance; unlike ours it is
not a world of graduated conceptions, excited passions, and a medley of
sentiments; the face is not sunken, sharp, and disturbed; it has not
many characteristics, scarcely any expression, and is generally in