an end in itself, and can, therefore, have an excellence to
which it shall attain. In short, good and bad can be applied
to the moments in a necessary evolution only by imputing a
fictitious superiority to the last term; and so one type cannot
logically be preferred to another. As for the individual
specimens, since the conception of the type does not admit the
principle of excellence, conformity thereto means nothing.

The work of art, on the other hand, as a thing of beauty, is
an attainment of an ideal, not a product, and, from this point
of view, is related not at all to the other terms of a succession,
its causes and its effects, but only to the abstract principles
of that beauty at which it aims. Strangely enough, the whole
principle of this contention has been admitted by M. Brunetiere
in a casual sentence, of which he does not appear to recognize
the full significance. "We acknowledge, of course," he says,
"that there is in criticism a certain difference from natural
history, since we cannot eliminate the subjective element if
the capacity works of art have of producing impressions on us
makes a part of their definition. It is not in order to be
eaten that the tree produces its fruit." But this is giving
away his whole position! As little as the conformity of the
fruit to its species has to do with our pleasure in eating it,
just so little has the conformity of a literary work to its
genre to do with the quality by virtue of which it is defined
as art.

The Greek temple is a product of Greek religion applied to
geographical conditions. To comprehend it as a type, we must
know that it was an adaptation of the open hilltop to the