lely as a preparation for that end. They have
no value in themselves. This is obvious from the teaching of the
"Republic," and it is even more evident in the "Symposium," where the
love of beautiful objects is made to end, not in itself, but in
philosophy.

Plato's low estimate of art appears also in his theory of art as
imitation, and his contemptuous references to the nature of artistic
genius. As to the first, art is, to him, only imitation. It is the
copy of an object of the senses, and this again is only a copy of an
Idea. Hence a work of art is only a copy of a copy. Plato did not
recognise the creativeness of art. This view is certainly false. If
the aims of art were merely to imitate, a photograph would be the best
picture, since it is the most accurate copy of its object. What Plato
failed to see was that the artist does not copy his object, but
idealizes it. And this means that he does not see the object simply as
an object, but as the revelation of an Idea. He does not see the
phenomenon with the eyes of other men, but penetrates the sensuous
envelope and exhibits the Idea shining through the veils of sense.

The second point is Plato's estimate of artistic genius. The artist
does not work by reason, but by inspiration. He does not, or he should
not, create the beautiful by means of rules, or by the application of
principles. It is only after the work of art is created that the
critic discovers rules in it. This does not mean that the discovery of
rules is false, but that the artist follows them unconsciously and
instinctively. If, for example, we believe Aristotle's dictum that the
object of tragedy {232} is to purge the heart by terror and pity, we
do not mean that the tragedian deliberately sets out to accomplish
that end. He does so without knowing or intending it. And this kind of
instinctive impulse we call the inspiration of the artist. Now Plato
fully recognizes these facts. But far from considering inspiration
something exalted, he thinks it, on the contrary, comparatively low
and contemptible, just because it is not rational. He calls it "divine
madness," divine indeed, because the artist produces beautiful things,
but madness because he himself does not know how or why he has done
it. The poet says very wise and beautiful things, but he does not know
why they are wise and beautiful. He merely feels, and does not
understand anything. His inspiration, therefore, is not on the level
of knowledge, bu