then, by its relation to the type. Is this position tenable?
I hold that, on the contrary, it precludes the possibility of
a critical judgment; for the judgment of anything always means
judgment with reference to the end for which is exists. A bad
king is not the less a bad king for being a good father; and
if his kingship is his essential function, he must be judged
with reference to that alone. Now a piece of literature is,
with reference to its end, first of all a work of art. It
represents life and it enjoins morality, but it is only as a
work of art that it attains consideration; that, in the words
of M. Lemaitre, it "exists" for us at all. Its aim is beauty,
and beauty is its excuse for being.

The type belongs to natural history. The one principle at the
basis of scientific criticism is, as we have seen, the
conception of literary history as a process, and of the work
of art as a product. The work of art is, then, a moment in a
necessary succession, governed by laws of change and adaptation
like those of natural evolution. But how can the conception of
values enter here? Excellence can be attributed only to that
which attains an ideal end; and a necessary succession has no
end in itself. The "type," in this sense, is perfectly hollow.
To say that the modern chrysanthemum is better than that of
our forbears because it is more chrysanthemum-like is true only
if we make the latter form the arbitrary standard of the
chrysanthemum. If the horse of the Eocene age is inferior to
the horse of to-day, it is because, on M. Brunetiere's principle,
he is less horse-like. But who shall decide which is more like
a horse, the original or the latter development? No species
which is constituted by its own history can be said to have