For the purposes of this history of aesthetics, it is probably not necessary to be extremely scrupulous in marking the boundaries of the subject. A certain measure of generosity in conceiving its scope seems appropriate to so variously mapped a field. But a few preliminary distinctions may be helpful. We can distinguish at least three levels, so to speak, on which questions may be asked that have a bearing on works of art. First, one can ask particular questions about particular works: “Is this melody in the Phrygian mode?” “Where is the peripety in Oedipus Rex?” To answer such questions is clearly the task of the critic, not the aesthetician. They do not invite theoretical reflection, but demand factual information and interpretive skill. Yet even on this level some theoretical interest and activity may be presupposed, in the formation of such concepts as Phrygian mode and peripety: comparison and classification have begun. On the second level, one can ask such questions as: “What is a musical mode?” “What are the fundamental, or general, characteristics of tragedy?” To answer these questions is the task of the literary or musical theorist, or systematic critic. Such questions call for an inquiry into the nature of music or literature, or some important features of these arts—for theory and explanation, analysis and induction. Some of these questions are broad, basic, and far-reaching in their import; they are consequently of interest to the aesthetician, and are often considered part of his business. On the third level, one can ask questions about criticism itself, about the terms it uses, its methods of investigation and argument, its underlying assumptions. These questions obviously belong to philosophical aesthetics. When Socrates asks in the Greater Hippias what “beauty” (to kalon) means, or when Aristotle asks in his Poetics what defenses may reasonably be given for a tragedy that has been disparaged as implausible, the philosophical concern is central and evident.
So let us agree to draw our line somewhere near the middle of the second level, but with no claim to finality or exactness, and no suggestion, I hope, of arbitrariness. And let us not rule out, when they are reasonably general and fundamental, questions about certain aesthetic aspects of nature. Many questions that we shall encounter we shall shy away from, on the ground that they are somewhat narrow, and probably belong to the history of literary criticism or music criticism or some other area, rather than to aesthetics; but if some of them could also be considered aesthetic questions, and would be so considered by some philosophers, the exception is hereby noted.
As to terminology, I have no quarrel with those who wish to preserve a distinction between “aesthetics” and “philosophy of art.” But I find the shorter term very convenient, and so I use it to include matters that some would place under the second. I claim sufficient warrant in prevailing competent usage—e.g., the Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism and the British Journal of Aesthetics.
There are now in English three histories of aesthetics—Bosanquet’s pioneering work, the second part of Croce’s Aesthetic in the Ainslie translation, and the comprehensive volume by Gilbert and Kuhn. Each of these is interesting in its own way, and together they cover a good deal of ground. But none of them is very new. Thus none could take advantage of recent work on many important philosophers and periods. And none brings to a consideration of the past the best concepts and principles that have been developed by present-day philosophy. There are several histories of literary criticism and critical theory, of which a few—notably the valuable works of Wellek and of Wimsatt and Brooks—deal with many philosophical problems (not that the border here is very clearly marked!). The sole or primary concern of these histories, however, is with literature and its special problems.
I am sufficiently aware of the inadequacy of my own scholarly equipment not to undertake a study on the order of my distinguished predecessors’—much less one with a larger range. Recently Thomas Munro, in a paper read to the American Society for Aesthetics, spoke of the need for internationalism in aesthetics, and voiced the hope that the day will not be far off when we shall have a genuine world history of our subject. That is far beyond my competence. But though this book is small in scale, may its proportions be just—and may the ideas I have judged most valuable to recall and discuss be found equally so by the reader.
Fifty years ago, Clive Bell opened the first chapter of his little book on Art by saying, “It is improbable that more nonsense has been written about aesthetics than about anything else: the literature of the subject is not large enough for that.” Like others, I have sometimes felt that to be prodded into more rigorous, more thorough, and more careful work in aesthetics, we should remind ourselves of the alternating neglect and overindulgence that have sometimes been the lot of our subject in the past. But after writing this short history, I confess that Clive Bell’s irony no longer seems to me historically fair, even in his day. And the half century since his words were published has brought solid achievement and even greater promise.
A number of extremely helpful (but wholly guiltless) scholars have commented on my manuscript. The whole book was read by Professor George Dickie, of the University of Illinois at Chicago Circle; Professor Alexander Sesonske, of the University of California, Santa Barbara; Professor John Hospers, of Brooklyn College; and Professor Elizabeth Lane Beardsley, of Temple University. And various chapters were read and helpfully criticized by Professor Helen North, of Swarthmore College; Professor P. Linwood Urban, of Swarthmore College; Professor Sidney Axinn, of Temple University; Professor Samuel Hynes, of Swarthmore College; Professor Stefan Morawski, of the University of Warsaw; and Professor George L. Kline, of Bryn Mawr College. It is a pleasure to thank James E. Thorpe, then at Swarthmore College, whose scrupulous checking of references and quotations saved me (and the reader) from a number of mistakes. And I am also grateful to Mrs. Natalie Pearlman, for unusual helpfulness in the typing.
M.C.B.