satisfaction akin to that of protecting our lives from danger. Through
memory we feel childhood's joys and youth's sweet love and manhood's
triumphs still our own, secure against the perils of oblivion.

Now art does for the race what memory does for the individual. Only
through expression can the past be preserved for all men and all time.
When the individual perishes, his memories go with him; unless,
therefore, he puts them into a form where they can be taken up into
the consciousness of other men, they are lost forever. And just as the
individual seeks a vicarious self-preservation through identifying
himself with his children and his race, and finds compensation for his
own death in their continuance, so he rejoices when he knows that men
who come after will appreciate the values of his life. We of the present
feel ourselves enriched, in turn, as by a longer memory, in adding to
the active values of our own lives the remembered values of the past.
Their desire to know themselves immortal is met by our desire to unite
our lives with all our past. Art alone makes this possible. History
may tell us what men did, but only the poet or other artist can make
us relive the values of their experience. For through expression they
make their memories, or their interpretations of other men's memories,
ours. Art is the memory of the race, the conserver of its values.

The distinguishing characteristics of aesthetic expression observed by
us--the pleasurableness of the medium, the enhanced unity--serve
intuition as that has been described by us. One of the strongest
objections against the theory of art as intuition, as that theory has
been developed by Croce, for example, is that it provides no place for
charm. Yet without charm there is no complete beauty, and any
interpretation of the facts of the aesthetic experience which neglects
this element is surely inadequate. But charm although an indispensable,