The third lamp of Greek art is _Balance and Measure_, the recognition of
limit and law. This is most obvious in architecture, and especially in
its most characteristic production, the temple. The form of the temple,
when once established, remained fixed, within certain limits of
variation, for all time. A most accomplished writer, M. Boutmy, has
admirably shown how all the constituent parts of the temple are related
one to the other, how a plan, a consistent rhythm, runs throughout it.
Each part has a definite function, which it accomplishes in the simplest
and clearest way. The pillars are made simply to support, and their
shape and slight decoration is in accordance with that purpose. Their
form ensures a maximum of stability. The channeling or fluting carries
the eye of the spectator upwards to the capital which swells outwards to
support the heavy straight line of the cornice. Above the cornice, the
grooves of the triglyphs carry on the lines of fluting from the columns
towards the roof. The walls of the temple are not primarily intended to
support, but to enclose the sacred cella, and are adorned only at their
upper edge, as a curtain might be, with a decorative frieze. The whole
building is thought out as a home for the statue of the deity which it
encloses; and no part is allowed to adorn itself except in subordination
to this general purpose. Like the shells of molluscs or the hives of
bees, it is the direct embodiment of an idea, a purpose, only a
conscious and reflective, not a merely instinctive purpose.
The sculptural decoration, which is so striking a feature of the temple,
is also carefully subordinated to purpose and idea. No part of the
structure which bears a strain, if we except one or two early and
unsatisfactory experiments, was decorated. The business of column and
architrave was to bear weight; and if they were ornate they would seem
less well adapted to that purpose. Only in parts of the building which
were from the point of view of construction otiose, such as pediment and
metope, was the art of the sculptor allowed to play; and even then it
was bound to play appropriately to the nature of the deity within and
the festivals of which the temple was to be the focus. There was no room
for cross-purposes or disturbing thoughts.
This rigidity of form and subordination to reason is as characteristic
of Attic tragedies as of temples. It would indeed be possible to work
out a close parallel between the two forms of art. But we must return to
our immediate subject, sculpture. Temple sculpture exhibits the
qualities of balance and measure in the highest degree. In case of the
pediment there is a central point, just under the apex, where the
dominant figures of the scene portrayed are placed; and on either side
of this central figure or group, figure balances figure, until we come
to the corners, which are occupied by reclining forms, dying warriors,
or river-gods or spectators. In case of the metope, the square field is
filled with two or three figures balanced about a central line, a scheme
self-contained and harmonious, which may be compared to a geometrical
diagram, and carries simplicity to the farthest point.
Rhythm, balance, symmetry are the translation into sculpture of the
spirit of discipline and self-control, which the Greeks learned by hard
necessity. The civilization of the Ionians in Asia is a brilliant
sunrise, an overflowing of the delight in life, in beauty, in the
exercise of all the faculties, which for a time dominated Greece itself.
And their art was joyous and free. The artists of Ionia invaded Athens
in the sixth century, visiting the luxurious court of Peisistratus, and
inspiring Peloponnesus, even Sparta, as the excavations of the British
School in Athens have abundantly shown. But the Ionians were trodden
down under the heavy foot of Persia: excess of freedom and want of
cohesion and discipline was their ruin. The Great King of Persia was
determined to trample in a like manner on Greece Proper; and he would
have succeeded but for the discipline and devotion of the Dorians. It
was the Spartans, aided by the brilliant military talent of Miltiades
and Themistocles, who saved Greece from slavery. A military caste, like
the Templars and Hospitallers of mediaeval Europe, they furnished the
backbone of the Greek army and dispersed the hordes of Asia as easily as
did the hardy Macedonians of Alexander the Great a century and a half
later.
The Athenians, with their quick wits, understood whence came their
salvation, and in the early part of the fifth century the tide of Ionian
influence was turned back, and Dorian manners, Dorian dress, Dorian art,
became dominant from Thessaly to Laconia. It is precisely the Dorian
ideas of discipline, of measure, of self-control, which entering into
the art of Greece made it a noble and continuous development, instead of
a mere brilliant flash. Plato was well aware of the dangers which beset
the Athenians from their extreme versatility and want of reverence, and
he foresaw how these qualities would in the end destroy the civilization
which they had adorned. He so clearly saw this that he was inclined to
prefer the conventional and monotonous art of Egypt to the brilliant
Greek art of his own time. This is, of course, to carry ethical
prejudice to the length of fanaticism, and to transgress the very law of
moderation which inspired him. But it was only in his old age that he
went thus far.
This careful balance and proportion may be observed, as has often been
pointed out, in the designs of Greek vases, where the painted subject
not only is in itself a balanced scheme, but is also planned in relation
to the shape of the vases themselves. A group suitable to an amphora
would look out of place on a drinking cup. And in the cup itself the
outside requires a different treatment from the inside. The whole is
planned not merely to give free scope to the artist, but to be
appropriate, fitting, harmonious. Our first figure well illustrates this
thesis.
Even in the case of substantive sculpture, figures or groups made to
stand by themselves in market-place or portico, the Greek love of
harmony, or as they would have put it, of rhythm and symmetry prevails:
ancient critics in those accounts of Greek sculpture, of which fragments
have come down to us in the writings of Pliny and Quintilian, lay great
stress on these features. They show us that whereas in early art a
merely external and mechanical balance had prevailed, in the course of
the fifth century this love of order and measure was taken into the very
being of art. Pythagoras of Rhegium, whose works are unfortunately lost
to us, made great progress in rhythm and symmetry. His contemporaries,
Myron and Polycleitus, who carried the athletic art of Peloponnesus
almost to its highest point, were celebrated, Myron for the rhythm in
motion which he infused into his sculpture, Polycleitus for the careful
balance of his athletes and the system of proportion which he embodied
in their figures. Pheidias was more essentially ideal than either of
these, as we shall presently see, but he also most diligently preserved
in the Parthenon and other works a spirit of measure and reasonableness.
Measure and balance in art differ widely from mere convention. 'Order is
Heaven's first law.' All fine character is formed, not by following
random impulses as they arise, but by making them conform to reason and
duty, disciplining them as wild horses are disciplined and taught to
serve mankind. Horses indeed may be over-disciplined, and by cruelty all
spirit may be taken out of them. And men may be over-disciplined, so
that their impulses die away from inanition. The Spartans were
over-disciplined; and through constant repression of natural tendencies
they became mere machines, and before long died out. But reasonable
restraint imposed on strong natural tendencies produces noble results in
all spheres of activity.
The same thing is true in art. Measure and discipline do not of course
make it easier to produce works of art; for in the nature of the case
discipline is at first grievous and is felt as a barrier. But for the
production of good and lasting works of art, discipline and law are
necessary. Take as an example the art which is simplest, poetry. It is
easier to write blank verse than to write sonnets. But it is far easier
to write _good_ sonnets than good blank verse, simply because the
constant restraint of the form stimulates thought and invention,
prevents too great haste, exercises the ingenuity. In the same way the
somewhat rigid laws of composition of pediment metope and frieze
compelled the Greek artist to think out schemes suitable to those forms.
It would not be possible to find a better example of order and balance
in reliefs than is furnished by the magnificent sarcophagus from Sidon
(Fig. 7), on one side of which is represented one of the victories of
Alexander the Great. At first sight it may seem a confused mêlée. But
when we look closer we see careful arrangement underlying the apparent
disorder. Alexander, charging from the left, is balanced by Parmenio
charging from the right: the horseman in the middle between the leaders
seems to come out of the background; and on either side of him is a
fighting group, to the left a Macedonian foot soldier fighting a Persian
on foot, to the right a light-armed Greek resisting a Persian horseman.
Two Persian archers balance one another. There are in the scene five
Greeks to eight Persians, indicating the numerical superiority of the
latter. And if we knew more about the battle we should probably find its
principal phases hinted at in the groups. The relief tells us far more
about the battle than would a naturalistic representation of one corner
of the field. The Greek artist could not work without using his reason
and his sense of order as well as his skilled hand.
[Illustration: Fig. 7. SARCOPHAGUS FROM SIDON]