se the social
order is already established, and the personality formed, according to
the very principles which the moralist is announcing. Art may
dissipate moral health, but it nevertheless lives only by virtue of
such a source of supply. The basal condition of art is not the element
of social evil or morbid temperament that may attract attention, but
the measure of soundness that nevertheless remains.

The second misapprehension that lends plausibility to the excuses of
art is the assumption that {176} the moralist is proposing to
_substitute_ his canons for those of art. Now it is entirely true that
moral insight in no way equips one for connoisseurship. There is a
special aptitude and training that enables one to discriminate in such
matters. But the moralist is judging art _on moral grounds_. Hence he
does not say, "I see that your painting is ugly"; but he does say, "I
see that your painting, which you esteem beautiful (and I take your
word for it), is _bad_." In the same way the moralist does not say to
the self-indulgent man, "I see that you are not having a good time"
(the self-indulgent man is likely to know better); but he says, "I see
that it is bad for you to be having this particular kind of good time."
In other words, for the moralist larger issues are at stake, and he is
considering these on the grounds proper to them. He is charged with
defining and applying the principles which determine the good of
interests on the whole; and while his conclusions can never replace
those of the expert within a special field, they will always possess
authority to overrule them.

II

Since we are to be occupied mainly with the bearing of art on morality,
I wish so far as possible to avoid debatable questions concerning the
origin and ultimate meaning of art. But we {177} cannot proceed
without agreeing on a use of terms. I shall attempt, therefore, to
give a straightforward and empirical account of that which comes to be
called art in the history of civilization.[1]

We have already had occasion to observe that from the very beginning
life adapts the environment to its uses; that is, gives to matter and
to mechanical processes a new form in which these fulfil interest.
Thus an area of land deforested and cultivated, or two stones so hewn
and fitted as to afford a grinding surface, take on the imprint of the
human need for food. Now such reorganizations of nature as the farm or
the mill, however crude t