From Goethe’s Introduction to the “Propylæum.”

THE HISTORY of art can be based only on the highest and most complete conception of art; only through an acquaintance with the most perfect that man has ever been able to produce can the chronological and psychological progress of mankind in art, as in other departments, be displayed; in which at first a limited activity occupied itself in a dry and dismal imitation of the insignificant, as well as the significant. Then a more delicate and agreeable feeling of nature was developed. Afterwards, accompanied by knowledge, regularity, strength, and earnestness, aided by favorable circumstances, art rose to the highest point, until, at last, it became possible for the fortunate genius who found himself surrounded by all these auxiliaries, to produce the enchanting, the perfect.

  Unfortunately, works of art, which give themselves forth with such facility, which make men feel themselves so agreeably, which inspire men with clearness and freedom, suggest to the artist who would emulate them the notion of facility in their production. The last achievement of art and genius being an appearance of ease and lightness, the imitator is tempted to make it easy for himself and to labor at this appearance.

  Thus, by degrees, art declines from its high estate, in the whole, as well as in details. But if we would form to ourselves a true conception of art, we must descend to details of details,—an occupation by no means always agreeable and alluring, but which richly indemnifies us from time to time with a glance of certainty over the whole.

  If we secure to ourselves certain maxims, through the examination of ancient and later works of art, we shall find them particularly needful in our judgment concerning new and late productions; for in forming an estimate of living or lately deceased artists, personal considerations, regard or dislike for individuals, attraction or repulsion of party, are so easily mixed up, that we are still more in need of principles, in order to express a judgment of our contemporaries. The examination is thus doubly aided. The influence of authority is diminished, the cause is brought into a higher court. An opportunity is afforded for proving the principles themselves, as well as their application, and even where we cannot agree the point in dispute is clearly and certainly ascertained.

  We especially desire that living artists, about whose works we may perhaps have something to say, should make trial of our judgments in this way. For every one who deserves this name is in our time called upon to form, out of his own experience and reflections, if not a theory, at least a certain set of receipts, by the use of which he finds himself aided in various cases. But it must have been frequently remarked how apt a man is, by proceeding in this way, to advance as principles certain maxims which are commensurate with his talents, his inclinations, his convenience. He is subject to the common lot of mankind. How many in other departments follow the same course. But we do not add to our culture when we simply set in motion without trouble or difficulty what already existed in us. Every artist, like every man, is only a partial being, and will always abide by one side; and therefore a man should take in to himself, as far as possible, that which is theoretically and practically opposed to him. The lively should look about for strength and earnestness, the severe should keep in view the light and agreeable, the strong should look for loveliness, the delicate for strength, and each will thus best cultivate his peculiar nature, while he seems to be going most out of himself. Each art demands the whole man, the highest step of art all humanity.

  The practice of the imitative arts is mechanical, and the cultivation of the artist begins naturally, in his earliest years, with the mechanical. The rest of his education is often slighted, whereas it should be far more carefully attended to than that of others, who have the opportunity of learning from life itself. Society soon civilizes the unpolished, a life of business makes the most open circumspect. Literary labors, that by means of the press come before the great public, find resistance and correction on all hands; while the artist is for the most part confined to a narrow studio, and has few dealings save with those who pay for his works, with a public that is often guided only by a certain sickly feeling, with connoisseurs who worry him, with auctioneers who receive anything new with formulas of praise and estimation that would not be too high for the most perfect.

  But it is time to bring this Introduction to an end, lest instead of prefacing this work, it anticipate and forestall it. We have now at least indicated the point from which we mean to start, to what extent we can and may expatiate, we shall gradually come to see. We hope soon to occupy ourselves with the theory and criticism of the poetic art; we shall not exclude any illustrations from life in general, from travel, from the occurrences of the day, when suggested by the significant prompting of the moment.

  The locality of works of art has always been of great importance to the civilization of artists, as well as the enjoyment of the friends of art. There was a time in which, with few exceptions, they remained for the most part in their proper place and setting; now a great change has been wrought, which cannot fail to have grave consequences for art in general and in detail.

  Perhaps now, more than ever, Italy should be regarded as that great storehouse of art which it was until lately. If it be possible to give a general view of it, we shall be able to show what the world has lost in the tearing away so many parts from that great and ancient whole.

  How much has been destroyed in the act of spoliation will forever remain a secret. It will be possible by and by to give an insight into that new body of art that has been formed in Paris; we shall also consider how the artist or amateur may derive most advantage from France and Italy, whereupon a fair and weighty question arises, viz., what other nations, and especially Germany and England are to do, at this time of scattering and spoliation, in a true cosmopolitan feeling, which can be nowhere more at home than in matters of art and science, with a view to making the treasures of art which lie scattered abroad generally useful; thus helping to form an ideal body of art, that may happily indemnify us for what the present moment tears away or destroys.