gives the maximum of experience with the minimum of effort and
which we call beauty of form. But yet there is another way of
viewing the beautiful object, on which we touched in the
introduction to this chapter. So far, what we see is only
another name for HOW we see; and the way of seeing has proved
to contain enough to bring to stimulation and repose the
psychophysical mechanism. But now we must ask, what relation
has meaning to beauty? Is it an element, coordinate with others,
or something superposed? or is it an end in itself, the supreme
end? What relation to the beauty of form has that quality of
their works by virtue of which Rembrandt is called a dreamer,
and Rodin a poet in stone? What do we mean when we speak of
Sargent as a psychologist? Is it a virtue to be a poet in
stone? If it is, we must somehow include in our concept of
Beauty the element of expression, by showing how it serves the
infinite complex. Or is it not an aesthetic virtue, and Rodin
is great artist and poet combined, and not great artist because
poet, as some would say? What is the relation of the objective
content to beauty of form? In short, what place has the idea
in Beauty?

In the preceding the place of separate objects which have only
an ideal importance has been made clear. The gold-embroidered
gauntlet in a picture counts as a patch of light, a trend of
line, in a certain spot; but it counts more there, because it
is of interest for itself, and by thus counting more, the idea
has entered into the spatial balance,--the idea has become
itself form. Now it is the question whether all "idea," which
seems so heterogeneous in its relation to form, does not undergo
this transmutation. It is at least of interest to see whether