And the noblest of his dreamers have been those whose imaginations have transcended the limitations of the actual and brought it into relation with the unknown. Music, obeying the great laws that underlie all life and to which all the arts are subject, having for its means of expression the most plastic of all media, depending on intuitive perception of truth, not compelled to perpetuate objects, dealing with that larger part of man’s being which lies hidden beneath both his acts and his thoughts,--that which Carlyle calls “the deep fathomless domain of the Unconscious,”--music is the one perfect medium for this dream of humanity. In its expression of human emotions it enjoys the inestimable advantage of entire irrelevance. It does not have to develop a character or person, but only an attribute or quality. The “Eroica” symphony, for example, has all the force of a mythological epic in which the heroes are pure spirit-types of humanity, of no age or time--gods, if you will, and above human limitations. This is the quality of music that makes it precious to us. It builds for us an _immaterial_ world--not made of objects, or theories, or dogmas, or philosophies, but of pure spirit--a means of escape from the thralldom of every day. FOOTNOTES: [1] It may, of course, be used with molds of definite meaning; but we are speaking of pure music. [2] The Scherzo of Opus 59, no. 1. [3] Gilbert Murray translation. CHAPTER II MUSIC FOR CHILDREN I. TRAINING THE SENSE FOR BEAUTY In what I have to say about music for children I am not unmindful of the diversity of American life, and of the prevalent idea that Americans do not pay much attention to music (or to any other form of beauty) because they live in a new country in which the greater part of their energy is devoted to subduing nature and carving their fortunes. As a nation we are said to be too diverse to have evolved any definite æsthetic practice, and we suppose ourselves too busy with the practical things in life to pay much attention to it. While it is doubtless true that there are numberless prosperous American families in which the words “art” and “literature” mean nothing whatever, this condition is due, in most cases, not to lack of time, but to lack of inclination. We, like other people, do what we like to do. No real attention is paid in childhood to the cultivation of a love of the beautiful; very little attention is paid to it in the educational institutions where we are trained; so we grow up and enter upon life with a desultory liking for music, with a distinct lack of appreciation for poetry, and with almost no interest in painting or sculpture.