Men Like Gods

On such harsh notes Greek art draws toward its close. All things must end, and endings are apt to be harsh. But we have seen the world's greatest sculpture, inspired by Egypt, spring suddenly into being—like Athena from the head of Zeus. We have watched it grow in grace during the sixth century before Christ, to reach perfection in the golden fifth. Its slow decline thereafter, like the homeward circling of some splendid hawk at sunset, has been sad in a sense and yet poignantly beautiful, too.

It is time to turn away. Very soon the gods died, passed away forever, as they had lived. The urge to resemble them no longer held. Soon religious asceticism drove even arete of the body into eclipse. Never again, perhaps, will sculpture succeed in creating men like gods.

What, never? Conceivably some youth or boy now walks the earth who dreams of a sculpture that will rival the Greek. More power to the dreamer! He will want to begin by studying the best, and for that he must actually go to Greece. The young science of archaeology, which began by plundering Greece, now enriches her with buried treasure year by year. All but one of the sculptures reproduced here remain on Greek soil, where they can be studied at leisure in relation to the lofty, sea-girt, deep-carved, marble-veined, clear land that gave them birth, in brilliant and caressing light. It is true that London, Paris, Munich and Rome all have in their museums inspiring glimpses of Greek art, but now once again as in ancient times the only place to get the whole sense of it is Greece herself.

No coldly conscientious eye will do for this experience. Greek sculptures hardly need judging, nor are they merely "artistic" triumphs. They have life in them, unquenchable. And still they speak, of sport, of war, of men and of the gods. For the joy that springs from utmost endeavor is their one rule.