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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/1017-0.txt b/1017-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d42a891 --- /dev/null +++ b/1017-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1653 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Soul of Man, by Oscar Wilde + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most +other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of +the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at +www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have +to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. + + + + +Title: The Soul of Man + + +Author: Oscar Wilde + + + +Release Date: September 26, 2014 [eBook #1017] +[This file was first posted on August 10, 1997] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SOUL OF MAN*** + + +Transcribed from the 1909 Arthur L. Humphreys edition by David Price, +email ccx074@pglaf.org + + [Picture: Book cover] + + + + +THE +SOUL OF MAN + + + * * * * * + + LONDON + ARTHUR L. HUMPREYS + 1900 + + * * * * * + + _Second Impression_ + + + + +THE SOUL OF MAN + + +THE chief advantage that would result from the establishment of Socialism +is, undoubtedly, the fact that Socialism would relieve us from that +sordid necessity of living for others which, in the present condition of +things, presses so hardly upon almost everybody. In fact, scarcely +anyone at all escapes. + +Now and then, in the course of the century, a great man of science, like +Darwin; a great poet, like Keats; a fine critical spirit, like M. Renan; +a supreme artist, like Flaubert, has been able to isolate himself, to +keep himself out of reach of the clamorous claims of others, to stand +‘under the shelter of the wall,’ as Plato puts it, and so to realise the +perfection of what was in him, to his own incomparable gain, and to the +incomparable and lasting gain of the whole world. These, however, are +exceptions. The majority of people spoil their lives by an unhealthy and +exaggerated altruism—are forced, indeed, so to spoil them. They find +themselves surrounded by hideous poverty, by hideous ugliness, by hideous +starvation. It is inevitable that they should be strongly moved by all +this. The emotions of man are stirred more quickly than man’s +intelligence; and, as I pointed out some time ago in an article on the +function of criticism, it is much more easy to have sympathy with +suffering than it is to have sympathy with thought. Accordingly, with +admirable, though misdirected intentions, they very seriously and very +sentimentally set themselves to the task of remedying the evils that they +see. But their remedies do not cure the disease: they merely prolong it. +Indeed, their remedies are part of the disease. + +They try to solve the problem of poverty, for instance, by keeping the +poor alive; or, in the case of a very advanced school, by amusing the +poor. + +But this is not a solution: it is an aggravation of the difficulty. The +proper aim is to try and reconstruct society on such a basis that poverty +will be impossible. And the altruistic virtues have really prevented the +carrying out of this aim. Just as the worst slave-owners were those who +were kind to their slaves, and so prevented the horror of the system +being realised by those who suffered from it, and understood by those who +contemplated it, so, in the present state of things in England, the +people who do most harm are the people who try to do most good; and at +last we have had the spectacle of men who have really studied the problem +and know the life—educated men who live in the East End—coming forward +and imploring the community to restrain its altruistic impulses of +charity, benevolence, and the like. They do so on the ground that such +charity degrades and demoralises. They are perfectly right. Charity +creates a multitude of sins. + +There is also this to be said. It is immoral to use private property in +order to alleviate the horrible evils that result from the institution of +private property. It is both immoral and unfair. + +Under Socialism all this will, of course, be altered. There will be no +people living in fetid dens and fetid rags, and bringing up unhealthy, +hunger-pinched children in the midst of impossible and absolutely +repulsive surroundings. The security of society will not depend, as it +does now, on the state of the weather. If a frost comes we shall not +have a hundred thousand men out of work, tramping about the streets in a +state of disgusting misery, or whining to their neighbours for alms, or +crowding round the doors of loathsome shelters to try and secure a hunch +of bread and a night’s unclean lodging. Each member of the society will +share in the general prosperity and happiness of the society, and if a +frost comes no one will practically be anything the worse. + +Upon the other hand, Socialism itself will be of value simply because it +will lead to Individualism. + +Socialism, Communism, or whatever one chooses to call it, by converting +private property into public wealth, and substituting co-operation for +competition, will restore society to its proper condition of a thoroughly +healthy organism, and insure the material well-being of each member of +the community. It will, in fact, give Life its proper basis and its +proper environment. But for the full development of Life to its highest +mode of perfection, something more is needed. What is needed is +Individualism. If the Socialism is Authoritarian; if there are +Governments armed with economic power as they are now with political +power; if, in a word, we are to have Industrial Tyrannies, then the last +state of man will be worse than the first. At present, in consequence of +the existence of private property, a great many people are enabled to +develop a certain very limited amount of Individualism. They are either +under no necessity to work for their living, or are enabled to choose the +sphere of activity that is really congenial to them, and gives them +pleasure. These are the poets, the philosophers, the men of science, the +men of culture—in a word, the real men, the men who have realised +themselves, and in whom all Humanity gains a partial realisation. Upon +the other hand, there are a great many people who, having no private +property of their own, and being always on the brink of sheer starvation, +are compelled to do the work of beasts of burden, to do work that is +quite uncongenial to them, and to which they are forced by the +peremptory, unreasonable, degrading Tyranny of want. These are the poor, +and amongst them there is no grace of manner, or charm of speech, or +civilisation, or culture, or refinement in pleasures, or joy of life. +From their collective force Humanity gains much in material prosperity. +But it is only the material result that it gains, and the man who is poor +is in himself absolutely of no importance. He is merely the +infinitesimal atom of a force that, so far from regarding him, crushes +him: indeed, prefers him crushed, as in that case he is far more +obedient. + +Of course, it might be said that the Individualism generated under +conditions of private property is not always, or even as a rule, of a +fine or wonderful type, and that the poor, if they have not culture and +charm, have still many virtues. Both these statements would be quite +true. The possession of private property is very often extremely +demoralising, and that is, of course, one of the reasons why Socialism +wants to get rid of the institution. In fact, property is really a +nuisance. Some years ago people went about the country saying that +property has duties. They said it so often and so tediously that, at +last, the Church has begun to say it. One hears it now from every +pulpit. It is perfectly true. Property not merely has duties, but has +so many duties that its possession to any large extent is a bore. It +involves endless claims upon one, endless attention to business, endless +bother. If property had simply pleasures, we could stand it; but its +duties make it unbearable. In the interest of the rich we must get rid +of it. The virtues of the poor may be readily admitted, and are much to +be regretted. We are often told that the poor are grateful for charity. +Some of them are, no doubt, but the best amongst the poor are never +grateful. They are ungrateful, discontented, disobedient, and +rebellious. They are quite right to be so. Charity they feel to be a +ridiculously inadequate mode of partial restitution, or a sentimental +dole, usually accompanied by some impertinent attempt on the part of the +sentimentalist to tyrannise over their private lives. Why should they be +grateful for the crumbs that fall from the rich man’s table? They should +be seated at the board, and are beginning to know it. As for being +discontented, a man who would not be discontented with such surroundings +and such a low mode of life would be a perfect brute. Disobedience, in +the eyes of anyone who has read history, is man’s original virtue. It is +through disobedience that progress has been made, through disobedience +and through rebellion. Sometimes the poor are praised for being thrifty. +But to recommend thrift to the poor is both grotesque and insulting. It +is like advising a man who is starving to eat less. For a town or +country labourer to practise thrift would be absolutely immoral. Man +should not be ready to show that he can live like a badly-fed animal. He +should decline to live like that, and should either steal or go on the +rates, which is considered by many to be a form of stealing. As for +begging, it is safer to beg than to take, but it is finer to take than to +beg. No: a poor man who is ungrateful, unthrifty, discontented, and +rebellious, is probably a real personality, and has much in him. He is +at any rate a healthy protest. As for the virtuous poor, one can pity +them, of course, but one cannot possibly admire them. They have made +private terms with the enemy, and sold their birthright for very bad +pottage. They must also be extraordinarily stupid. I can quite +understand a man accepting laws that protect private property, and admit +of its accumulation, as long as he himself is able under those conditions +to realise some form of beautiful and intellectual life. But it is +almost incredible to me how a man whose life is marred and made hideous +by such laws can possibly acquiesce in their continuance. + +However, the explanation is not really difficult to find. It is simply +this. Misery and poverty are so absolutely degrading, and exercise such +a paralysing effect over the nature of men, that no class is ever really +conscious of its own suffering. They have to be told of it by other +people, and they often entirely disbelieve them. What is said by great +employers of labour against agitators is unquestionably true. Agitators +are a set of interfering, meddling people, who come down to some +perfectly contented class of the community, and sow the seeds of +discontent amongst them. That is the reason why agitators are so +absolutely necessary. Without them, in our incomplete state, there would +be no advance towards civilisation. Slavery was put down in America, not +in consequence of any action on the part of the slaves, or even any +express desire on their part that they should be free. It was put down +entirely through the grossly illegal conduct of certain agitators in +Boston and elsewhere, who were not slaves themselves, nor owners of +slaves, nor had anything to do with the question really. It was, +undoubtedly, the Abolitionists who set the torch alight, who began the +whole thing. And it is curious to note that from the slaves themselves +they received, not merely very little assistance, but hardly any sympathy +even; and when at the close of the war the slaves found themselves free, +found themselves indeed so absolutely free that they were free to starve, +many of them bitterly regretted the new state of things. To the thinker, +the most tragic fact in the whole of the French Revolution is not that +Marie Antoinette was killed for being a queen, but that the starved +peasant of the Vendée voluntarily went out to die for the hideous cause +of feudalism. + +It is clear, then, that no Authoritarian Socialism will do. For while +under the present system a very large number of people can lead lives of +a certain amount of freedom and expression and happiness, under an +industrial-barrack system, or a system of economic tyranny, nobody would +be able to have any such freedom at all. It is to be regretted that a +portion of our community should be practically in slavery, but to propose +to solve the problem by enslaving the entire community is childish. +Every man must be left quite free to choose his own work. No form of +compulsion must be exercised over him. If there is, his work will not be +good for him, will not be good in itself, and will not be good for +others. And by work I simply mean activity of any kind. + +I hardly think that any Socialist, nowadays, would seriously propose that +an inspector should call every morning at each house to see that each +citizen rose up and did manual labour for eight hours. Humanity has got +beyond that stage, and reserves such a form of life for the people whom, +in a very arbitrary manner, it chooses to call criminals. But I confess +that many of the socialistic views that I have come across seem to me to +be tainted with ideas of authority, if not of actual compulsion. Of +course, authority and compulsion are out of the question. All +association must be quite voluntary. It is only in voluntary +associations that man is fine. + +But it may be asked how Individualism, which is now more or less +dependent on the existence of private property for its development, will +benefit by the abolition of such private property. The answer is very +simple. It is true that, under existing conditions, a few men who have +had private means of their own, such as Byron, Shelley, Browning, Victor +Hugo, Baudelaire, and others, have been able to realise their personality +more or less completely. Not one of these men ever did a single day’s +work for hire. They were relieved from poverty. They had an immense +advantage. The question is whether it would be for the good of +Individualism that such an advantage should be taken away. Let us +suppose that it is taken away. What happens then to Individualism? How +will it benefit? + +It will benefit in this way. Under the new conditions Individualism will +be far freer, far finer, and far more intensified than it is now. I am +not talking of the great imaginatively-realised Individualism of such +poets as I have mentioned, but of the great actual Individualism latent +and potential in mankind generally. For the recognition of private +property has really harmed Individualism, and obscured it, by confusing a +man with what he possesses. It has led Individualism entirely astray. +It has made gain not growth its aim. So that man thought that the +important thing was to have, and did not know that the important thing is +to be. The true perfection of man lies, not in what man has, but in what +man is. Private property has crushed true Individualism, and set up an +Individualism that is false. It has debarred one part of the community +from being individual by starving them. It has debarred the other part +of the community from being individual by putting them on the wrong road, +and encumbering them. Indeed, so completely has man’s personality been +absorbed by his possessions that the English law has always treated +offences against a man’s property with far more severity than offences +against his person, and property is still the test of complete +citizenship. The industry necessary for the making money is also very +demoralising. In a community like ours, where property confers immense +distinction, social position, honour, respect, titles, and other pleasant +things of the kind, man, being naturally ambitious, makes it his aim to +accumulate this property, and goes on wearily and tediously accumulating +it long after he has got far more than he wants, or can use, or enjoy, or +perhaps even know of. Man will kill himself by overwork in order to +secure property, and really, considering the enormous advantages that +property brings, one is hardly surprised. One’s regret is that society +should be constructed on such a basis that man has been forced into a +groove in which he cannot freely develop what is wonderful, and +fascinating, and delightful in him—in which, in fact, he misses the true +pleasure and joy of living. He is also, under existing conditions, very +insecure. An enormously wealthy merchant may be—often is—at every moment +of his life at the mercy of things that are not under his control. If +the wind blows an extra point or so, or the weather suddenly changes, or +some trivial thing happens, his ship may go down, his speculations may go +wrong, and he finds himself a poor man, with his social position quite +gone. Now, nothing should be able to harm a man except himself. Nothing +should be able to rob a man at all. What a man really has, is what is in +him. What is outside of him should be a matter of no importance. + +With the abolition of private property, then, we shall have true, +beautiful, healthy Individualism. Nobody will waste his life in +accumulating things, and the symbols for things. One will live. To live +is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that is all. + +It is a question whether we have ever seen the full expression of a +personality, except on the imaginative plane of art. In action, we never +have. Cæsar, says Mommsen, was the complete and perfect man. But how +tragically insecure was Cæsar! Wherever there is a man who exercises +authority, there is a man who resists authority. Cæsar was very perfect, +but his perfection travelled by too dangerous a road. Marcus Aurelius +was the perfect man, says Renan. Yes; the great emperor was a perfect +man. But how intolerable were the endless claims upon him! He staggered +under the burden of the empire. He was conscious how inadequate one man +was to bear the weight of that Titan and too vast orb. What I mean by a +perfect man is one who develops under perfect conditions; one who is not +wounded, or worried or maimed, or in danger. Most personalities have +been obliged to be rebels. Half their strength has been wasted in +friction. Byron’s personality, for instance, was terribly wasted in its +battle with the stupidity, and hypocrisy, and Philistinism of the +English. Such battles do not always intensify strength: they often +exaggerate weakness. Byron was never able to give us what he might have +given us. Shelley escaped better. Like Byron, he got out of England as +soon as possible. But he was not so well known. If the English had had +any idea of what a great poet he really was, they would have fallen on +him with tooth and nail, and made his life as unbearable to him as they +possibly could. But he was not a remarkable figure in society, and +consequently he escaped, to a certain degree. Still, even in Shelley the +note of rebellion is sometimes too strong. The note of the perfect +personality is not rebellion, but peace. + +It will be a marvellous thing—the true personality of man—when we see it. +It will grow naturally and simply, flowerlike, or as a tree grows. It +will not be at discord. It will never argue or dispute. It will not +prove things. It will know everything. And yet it will not busy itself +about knowledge. It will have wisdom. Its value will not be measured by +material things. It will have nothing. And yet it will have everything, +and whatever one takes from it, it will still have, so rich will it be. +It will not be always meddling with others, or asking them to be like +itself. It will love them because they will be different. And yet while +it will not meddle with others, it will help all, as a beautiful thing +helps us, by being what it is. The personality of man will be very +wonderful. It will be as wonderful as the personality of a child. + +In its development it will be assisted by Christianity, if men desire +that; but if men do not desire that, it will develop none the less +surely. For it will not worry itself about the past, nor care whether +things happened or did not happen. Nor will it admit any laws but its +own laws; nor any authority but its own authority. Yet it will love +those who sought to intensify it, and speak often of them. And of these +Christ was one. + +‘Know thyself’ was written over the portal of the antique world. Over +the portal of the new world, ‘Be thyself’ shall be written. And the +message of Christ to man was simply ‘Be thyself.’ That is the secret of +Christ. + +When Jesus talks about the poor he simply means personalities, just as +when he talks about the rich he simply means people who have not +developed their personalities. Jesus moved in a community that allowed +the accumulation of private property just as ours does, and the gospel +that he preached was not that in such a community it is an advantage for +a man to live on scanty, unwholesome food, to wear ragged, unwholesome +clothes, to sleep in horrid, unwholesome dwellings, and a disadvantage +for a man to live under healthy, pleasant, and decent conditions. Such a +view would have been wrong there and then, and would, of course, be still +more wrong now and in England; for as man moves northward the material +necessities of life become of more vital importance, and our society is +infinitely more complex, and displays far greater extremes of luxury and +pauperism than any society of the antique world. What Jesus meant, was +this. He said to man, ‘You have a wonderful personality. Develop it. +Be yourself. Don’t imagine that your perfection lies in accumulating or +possessing external things. Your affection is inside of you. If only +you could realise that, you would not want to be rich. Ordinary riches +can be stolen from a man. Real riches cannot. In the treasury-house of +your soul, there are infinitely precious things, that may not be taken +from you. And so, try to so shape your life that external things will +not harm you. And try also to get rid of personal property. It involves +sordid preoccupation, endless industry, continual wrong. Personal +property hinders Individualism at every step.’ It is to be noted that +Jesus never says that impoverished people are necessarily good, or +wealthy people necessarily bad. That would not have been true. Wealthy +people are, as a class, better than impoverished people, more moral, more +intellectual, more well-behaved. There is only one class in the +community that thinks more about money than the rich, and that is the +poor. The poor can think of nothing else. That is the misery of being +poor. What Jesus does say is that man reaches his perfection, not +through what he has, not even through what he does, but entirely through +what he is. And so the wealthy young man who comes to Jesus is +represented as a thoroughly good citizen, who has broken none of the laws +of his state, none of the commandments of his religion. He is quite +respectable, in the ordinary sense of that extraordinary word. Jesus +says to him, ‘You should give up private property. It hinders you from +realising your perfection. It is a drag upon you. It is a burden. Your +personality does not need it. It is within you, and not outside of you, +that you will find what you really are, and what you really want.’ To +his own friends he says the same thing. He tells them to be themselves, +and not to be always worrying about other things. What do other things +matter? Man is complete in himself. When they go into the world, the +world will disagree with them. That is inevitable. The world hates +Individualism. But that is not to trouble them. They are to be calm and +self-centred. If a man takes their cloak, they are to give him their +coat, just to show that material things are of no importance. If people +abuse them, they are not to answer back. What does it signify? The +things people say of a man do not alter a man. He is what he is. Public +opinion is of no value whatsoever. Even if people employ actual +violence, they are not to be violent in turn. That would be to fall to +the same low level. After all, even in prison, a man can be quite free. +His soul can be free. His personality can be untroubled. He can be at +peace. And, above all things, they are not to interfere with other +people or judge them in any way. Personality is a very mysterious thing. +A man cannot always be estimated by what he does. He may keep the law, +and yet be worthless. He may break the law, and yet be fine. He may be +bad, without ever doing anything bad. He may commit a sin against +society, and yet realise through that sin his true perfection. + +There was a woman who was taken in adultery. We are not told the history +of her love, but that love must have been very great; for Jesus said that +her sins were forgiven her, not because she repented, but because her +love was so intense and wonderful. Later on, a short time before his +death, as he sat at a feast, the woman came in and poured costly perfumes +on his hair. His friends tried to interfere with her, and said that it +was an extravagance, and that the money that the perfume cost should have +been expended on charitable relief of people in want, or something of +that kind. Jesus did not accept that view. He pointed out that the +material needs of Man were great and very permanent, but that the +spiritual needs of Man were greater still, and that in one divine moment, +and by selecting its own mode of expression, a personality might make +itself perfect. The world worships the woman, even now, as a saint. + +Yes; there are suggestive things in Individualism. Socialism annihilates +family life, for instance. With the abolition of private property, +marriage in its present form must disappear. This is part of the +programme. Individualism accepts this and makes it fine. It converts +the abolition of legal restraint into a form of freedom that will help +the full development of personality, and make the love of man and woman +more wonderful, more beautiful, and more ennobling. Jesus knew this. He +rejected the claims of family life, although they existed in his day and +community in a very marked form. ‘Who is my mother? Who are my +brothers?’ he said, when he was told that they wished to speak to him. +When one of his followers asked leave to go and bury his father, ‘Let the +dead bury the dead,’ was his terrible answer. He would allow no claim +whatsoever to be made on personality. + +And so he who would lead a Christlike life is he who is perfectly and +absolutely himself. He may be a great poet, or a great man of science; +or a young student at a University, or one who watches sheep upon a moor; +or a maker of dramas, like Shakespeare, or a thinker about God, like +Spinoza; or a child who plays in a garden, or a fisherman who throws his +net into the sea. It does not matter what he is, as long as he realises +the perfection of the soul that is within him. All imitation in morals +and in life is wrong. Through the streets of Jerusalem at the present +day crawls one who is mad and carries a wooden cross on his shoulders. +He is a symbol of the lives that are marred by imitation. Father Damien +was Christlike when he went out to live with the lepers, because in such +service he realised fully what was best in him. But he was not more +Christlike than Wagner when he realised his soul in music; or than +Shelley, when he realised his soul in song. There is no one type for +man. There are as many perfections as there are imperfect men. And +while to the claims of charity a man may yield and yet be free, to the +claims of conformity no man may yield and remain free at all. + +Individualism, then, is what through Socialism we are to attain to. As a +natural result the State must give up all idea of government. It must +give it up because, as a wise man once said many centuries before Christ, +there is such a thing as leaving mankind alone; there is no such thing as +governing mankind. All modes of government are failures. Despotism is +unjust to everybody, including the despot, who was probably made for +better things. Oligarchies are unjust to the many, and ochlocracies are +unjust to the few. High hopes were once formed of democracy; but +democracy means simply the bludgeoning of the people by the people for +the people. It has been found out. I must say that it was high time, +for all authority is quite degrading. It degrades those who exercise it, +and degrades those over whom it is exercised. When it is violently, +grossly, and cruelly used, it produces a good effect, by creating, or at +any rate bringing out, the spirit of revolt and Individualism that is to +kill it. When it is used with a certain amount of kindness, and +accompanied by prizes and rewards, it is dreadfully demoralising. +People, in that case, are less conscious of the horrible pressure that is +being put on them, and so go through their lives in a sort of coarse +comfort, like petted animals, without ever realising that they are +probably thinking other people’s thoughts, living by other people’s +standards, wearing practically what one may call other people’s +second-hand clothes, and never being themselves for a single moment. ‘He +who would be free,’ says a fine thinker, ‘must not conform.’ And +authority, by bribing people to conform, produces a very gross kind of +over-fed barbarism amongst us. + +With authority, punishment will pass away. This will be a great gain—a +gain, in fact, of incalculable value. As one reads history, not in the +expurgated editions written for school-boys and passmen, but in the +original authorities of each time, one is absolutely sickened, not by the +crimes that the wicked have committed, but by the punishments that the +good have inflicted; and a community is infinitely more brutalised by the +habitual employment of punishment, than it is by the occurrence of crime. +It obviously follows that the more punishment is inflicted the more crime +is produced, and most modern legislation has clearly recognised this, and +has made it its task to diminish punishment as far as it thinks it can. +Wherever it has really diminished it, the results have always been +extremely good. The less punishment, the less crime. When there is no +punishment at all, crime will either cease to exist, or, if it occurs, +will be treated by physicians as a very distressing form of dementia, to +be cured by care and kindness. For what are called criminals nowadays +are not criminals at all. Starvation, and not sin, is the parent of +modern crime. That indeed is the reason why our criminals are, as a +class, so absolutely uninteresting from any psychological point of view. +They are not marvellous Macbeths and terrible Vautrins. They are merely +what ordinary, respectable, commonplace people would be if they had not +got enough to eat. When private property is abolished there will be no +necessity for crime, no demand for it; it will cease to exist. Of +course, all crimes are not crimes against property, though such are the +crimes that the English law, valuing what a man has more than what a man +is, punishes with the harshest and most horrible severity, if we except +the crime of murder, and regard death as worse than penal servitude, a +point on which our criminals, I believe, disagree. But though a crime +may not be against property, it may spring from the misery and rage and +depression produced by our wrong system of property-holding, and so, when +that system is abolished, will disappear. When each member of the +community has sufficient for his wants, and is not interfered with by his +neighbour, it will not be an object of any interest to him to interfere +with anyone else. Jealousy, which is an extraordinary source of crime in +modern life, is an emotion closely bound up with our conceptions of +property, and under Socialism and Individualism will die out. It is +remarkable that in communistic tribes jealousy is entirely unknown. + +Now as the State is not to govern, it may be asked what the State is to +do. The State is to be a voluntary association that will organise +labour, and be the manufacturer and distributor of necessary commodities. +The State is to make what is useful. The individual is to make what is +beautiful. And as I have mentioned the word labour, I cannot help saying +that a great deal of nonsense is being written and talked nowadays about +the dignity of manual labour. There is nothing necessarily dignified +about manual labour at all, and most of it is absolutely degrading. It +is mentally and morally injurious to man to do anything in which he does +not find pleasure, and many forms of labour are quite pleasureless +activities, and should be regarded as such. To sweep a slushy crossing +for eight hours, on a day when the east wind is blowing is a disgusting +occupation. To sweep it with mental, moral, or physical dignity seems to +me to be impossible. To sweep it with joy would be appalling. Man is +made for something better than disturbing dirt. All work of that kind +should be done by a machine. + +And I have no doubt that it will be so. Up to the present, man has been, +to a certain extent, the slave of machinery, and there is something +tragic in the fact that as soon as man had invented a machine to do his +work he began to starve. This, however, is, of course, the result of our +property system and our system of competition. One man owns a machine +which does the work of five hundred men. Five hundred men are, in +consequence, thrown out of employment, and, having no work to do, become +hungry and take to thieving. The one man secures the produce of the +machine and keeps it, and has five hundred times as much as he should +have, and probably, which is of much more importance, a great deal more +than he really wants. Were that machine the property of all, every one +would benefit by it. It would be an immense advantage to the community. +All unintellectual labour, all monotonous, dull labour, all labour that +deals with dreadful things, and involves unpleasant conditions, must be +done by machinery. Machinery must work for us in coal mines, and do all +sanitary services, and be the stoker of steamers, and clean the streets, +and run messages on wet days, and do anything that is tedious or +distressing. At present machinery competes against man. Under proper +conditions machinery will serve man. There is no doubt at all that this +is the future of machinery, and just as trees grow while the country +gentleman is asleep, so while Humanity will be amusing itself, or +enjoying cultivated leisure—which, and not labour, is the aim of man—or +making beautiful things, or reading beautiful things, or simply +contemplating the world with admiration and delight, machinery will be +doing all the necessary and unpleasant work. The fact is, that +civilisation requires slaves. The Greeks were quite right there. Unless +there are slaves to do the ugly, horrible, uninteresting work, culture +and contemplation become almost impossible. Human slavery is wrong, +insecure, and demoralising. On mechanical slavery, on the slavery of the +machine, the future of the world depends. And when scientific men are no +longer called upon to go down to a depressing East End and distribute bad +cocoa and worse blankets to starving people, they will have delightful +leisure in which to devise wonderful and marvellous things for their own +joy and the joy of everyone else. There will be great storages of force +for every city, and for every house if required, and this force man will +convert into heat, light, or motion, according to his needs. Is this +Utopian? A map of the world that does not include Utopia is not worth +even glancing at, for it leaves out the one country at which Humanity is +always landing. And when Humanity lands there, it looks out, and, seeing +a better country, sets sail. Progress is the realisation of Utopias. + +Now, I have said that the community by means of organisation of machinery +will supply the useful things, and that the beautiful things will be made +by the individual. This is not merely necessary, but it is the only +possible way by which we can get either the one or the other. An +individual who has to make things for the use of others, and with +reference to their wants and their wishes, does not work with interest, +and consequently cannot put into his work what is best in him. Upon the +other hand, whenever a community or a powerful section of a community, or +a government of any kind, attempts to dictate to the artist what he is to +do, Art either entirely vanishes, or becomes stereotyped, or degenerates +into a low and ignoble form of craft. A work of art is the unique result +of a unique temperament. Its beauty comes from the fact that the author +is what he is. It has nothing to do with the fact that other people want +what they want. Indeed, the moment that an artist takes notice of what +other people want, and tries to supply the demand, he ceases to be an +artist, and becomes a dull or an amusing craftsman, an honest or a +dishonest tradesman. He has no further claim to be considered as an +artist. Art is the most intense mode of Individualism that the world has +known. I am inclined to say that it is the only real mode of +Individualism that the world has known. Crime, which, under certain +conditions, may seem to have created Individualism, must take cognisance +of other people and interfere with them. It belongs to the sphere of +action. But alone, without any reference to his neighbours, without any +interference, the artist can fashion a beautiful thing; and if he does +not do it solely for his own pleasure, he is not an artist at all. + +And it is to be noted that it is the fact that Art is this intense form +of Individualism that makes the public try to exercise over it in an +authority that is as immoral as it is ridiculous, and as corrupting as it +is contemptible. It is not quite their fault. The public has always, +and in every age, been badly brought up. They are continually asking Art +to be popular, to please their want of taste, to flatter their absurd +vanity, to tell them what they have been told before, to show them what +they ought to be tired of seeing, to amuse them when they feel heavy +after eating too much, and to distract their thoughts when they are +wearied of their own stupidity. Now Art should never try to be popular. +The public should try to make itself artistic. There is a very wide +difference. If a man of science were told that the results of his +experiments, and the conclusions that he arrived at, should be of such a +character that they would not upset the received popular notions on the +subject, or disturb popular prejudice, or hurt the sensibilities of +people who knew nothing about science; if a philosopher were told that he +had a perfect right to speculate in the highest spheres of thought, +provided that he arrived at the same conclusions as were held by those +who had never thought in any sphere at all—well, nowadays the man of +science and the philosopher would be considerably amused. Yet it is +really a very few years since both philosophy and science were subjected +to brutal popular control, to authority in fact—the authority of either +the general ignorance of the community, or the terror and greed for power +of an ecclesiastical or governmental class. Of course, we have to a very +great extent got rid of any attempt on the part of the community, or the +Church, or the Government, to interfere with the individualism of +speculative thought, but the attempt to interfere with the individualism +of imaginative art still lingers. In fact, it does more than linger; it +is aggressive, offensive, and brutalising. + +In England, the arts that have escaped best are the arts in which the +public take no interest. Poetry is an instance of what I mean. We have +been able to have fine poetry in England because the public do not read +it, and consequently do not influence it. The public like to insult +poets because they are individual, but once they have insulted them, they +leave them alone. In the case of the novel and the drama, arts in which +the public do take an interest, the result of the exercise of popular +authority has been absolutely ridiculous. No country produces such +badly-written fiction, such tedious, common work in the novel form, such +silly, vulgar plays as England. It must necessarily be so. The popular +standard is of such a character that no artist can get to it. It is at +once too easy and too difficult to be a popular novelist. It is too +easy, because the requirements of the public as far as plot, style, +psychology, treatment of life, and treatment of literature are concerned +are within the reach of the very meanest capacity and the most +uncultivated mind. It is too difficult, because to meet such +requirements the artist would have to do violence to his temperament, +would have to write not for the artistic joy of writing, but for the +amusement of half-educated people, and so would have to suppress his +individualism, forget his culture, annihilate his style, and surrender +everything that is valuable in him. In the case of the drama, things are +a little better: the theatre-going public like the obvious, it is true, +but they do not like the tedious; and burlesque and farcical comedy, the +two most popular forms, are distinct forms of art. Delightful work may +be produced under burlesque and farcical conditions, and in work of this +kind the artist in England is allowed very great freedom. It is when one +comes to the higher forms of the drama that the result of popular control +is seen. The one thing that the public dislike is novelty. Any attempt +to extend the subject-matter of art is extremely distasteful to the +public; and yet the vitality and progress of art depend in a large +measure on the continual extension of subject-matter. The public dislike +novelty because they are afraid of it. It represents to them a mode of +Individualism, an assertion on the part of the artist that he selects his +own subject, and treats it as he chooses. The public are quite right in +their attitude. Art is Individualism, and Individualism is a disturbing +and disintegrating force. Therein lies its immense value. For what it +seeks to disturb is monotony of type, slavery of custom, tyranny of +habit, and the reduction of man to the level of a machine. In Art, the +public accept what has been, because they cannot alter it, not because +they appreciate it. They swallow their classics whole, and never taste +them. They endure them as the inevitable, and as they cannot mar them, +they mouth about them. Strangely enough, or not strangely, according to +one’s own views, this acceptance of the classics does a great deal of +harm. The uncritical admiration of the Bible and Shakespeare in England +is an instance of what I mean. With regard to the Bible, considerations +of ecclesiastical authority enter into the matter, so that I need not +dwell upon the point. + +But in the case of Shakespeare it is quite obvious that the public really +see neither the beauties nor the defects of his plays. If they saw the +beauties, they would not object to the development of the drama; and if +they saw the defects, they would not object to the development of the +drama either. The fact is, the public make use of the classics of a +country as a means of checking the progress of Art. They degrade the +classics into authorities. They use them as bludgeons for preventing the +free expression of Beauty in new forms. They are always asking a writer +why he does not write like somebody else, or a painter why he does not +paint like somebody else, quite oblivious of the fact that if either of +them did anything of the kind he would cease to be an artist. A fresh +mode of Beauty is absolutely distasteful to them, and whenever it appears +they get so angry, and bewildered that they always use two stupid +expressions—one is that the work of art is grossly unintelligible; the +other, that the work of art is grossly immoral. What they mean by these +words seems to me to be this. When they say a work is grossly +unintelligible, they mean that the artist has said or made a beautiful +thing that is new; when they describe a work as grossly immoral, they +mean that the artist has said or made a beautiful thing that is true. +The former expression has reference to style; the latter to +subject-matter. But they probably use the words very vaguely, as an +ordinary mob will use ready-made paving-stones. There is not a single +real poet or prose-writer of this century, for instance, on whom the +British public have not solemnly conferred diplomas of immorality, and +these diplomas practically take the place, with us, of what in France, is +the formal recognition of an Academy of Letters, and fortunately make the +establishment of such an institution quite unnecessary in England. Of +course, the public are very reckless in their use of the word. That they +should have called Wordsworth an immoral poet, was only to be expected. +Wordsworth was a poet. But that they should have called Charles Kingsley +an immoral novelist is extraordinary. Kingsley’s prose was not of a very +fine quality. Still, there is the word, and they use it as best they +can. An artist is, of course, not disturbed by it. The true artist is a +man who believes absolutely in himself, because he is absolutely himself. +But I can fancy that if an artist produced a work of art in England that +immediately on its appearance was recognised by the public, through their +medium, which is the public press, as a work that was quite intelligible +and highly moral, he would begin to seriously question whether in its +creation he had really been himself at all, and consequently whether the +work was not quite unworthy of him, and either of a thoroughly +second-rate order, or of no artistic value whatsoever. + +Perhaps, however, I have wronged the public in limiting them to such +words as ‘immoral,’ ‘unintelligible,’ ‘exotic,’ and ‘unhealthy.’ There +is one other word that they use. That word is ‘morbid.’ They do not use +it often. The meaning of the word is so simple that they are afraid of +using it. Still, they use it sometimes, and, now and then, one comes +across it in popular newspapers. It is, of course, a ridiculous word to +apply to a work of art. For what is morbidity but a mood of emotion or a +mode of thought that one cannot express? The public are all morbid, +because the public can never find expression for anything. The artist is +never morbid. He expresses everything. He stands outside his subject, +and through its medium produces incomparable and artistic effects. To +call an artist morbid because he deals with morbidity as his +subject-matter is as silly as if one called Shakespeare mad because he +wrote ‘King Lear.’ + +On the whole, an artist in England gains something by being attacked. +His individuality is intensified. He becomes more completely himself. +Of course, the attacks are very gross, very impertinent, and very +contemptible. But then no artist expects grace from the vulgar mind, or +style from the suburban intellect. Vulgarity and stupidity are two very +vivid facts in modern life. One regrets them, naturally. But there they +are. They are subjects for study, like everything else. And it is only +fair to state, with regard to modern journalists, that they always +apologise to one in private for what they have written against one in +public. + +Within the last few years two other adjectives, it may be mentioned, have +been added to the very limited vocabulary of art-abuse that is at the +disposal of the public. One is the word ‘unhealthy,’ the other is the +word ‘exotic.’ The latter merely expresses the rage of the momentary +mushroom against the immortal, entrancing, and exquisitely lovely orchid. +It is a tribute, but a tribute of no importance. The word ‘unhealthy,’ +however, admits of analysis. It is a rather interesting word. In fact, +it is so interesting that the people who use it do not know what it +means. + +What does it mean? What is a healthy, or an unhealthy work of art? All +terms that one applies to a work of art, provided that one applies them +rationally, have reference to either its style or its subject, or to both +together. From the point of view of style, a healthy work of art is one +whose style recognises the beauty of the material it employs, be that +material one of words or of bronze, of colour or of ivory, and uses that +beauty as a factor in producing the æsthetic effect. From the point of +view of subject, a healthy work of art is one the choice of whose subject +is conditioned by the temperament of the artist, and comes directly out +of it. In fine, a healthy work of art is one that has both perfection +and personality. Of course, form and substance cannot be separated in a +work of art; they are always one. But for purposes of analysis, and +setting the wholeness of æsthetic impression aside for a moment, we can +intellectually so separate them. An unhealthy work of art, on the other +hand, is a work whose style is obvious, old-fashioned, and common, and +whose subject is deliberately chosen, not because the artist has any +pleasure in it, but because he thinks that the public will pay him for +it. In fact, the popular novel that the public calls healthy is always a +thoroughly unhealthy production; and what the public call an unhealthy +novel is always a beautiful and healthy work of art. + +I need hardly say that I am not, for a single moment, complaining that +the public and the public press misuse these words. I do not see how, +with their lack of comprehension of what Art is, they could possibly use +them in the proper sense. I am merely pointing out the misuse; and as +for the origin of the misuse and the meaning that lies behind it all, the +explanation is very simple. It comes from the barbarous conception of +authority. It comes from the natural inability of a community corrupted +by authority to understand or appreciate Individualism. In a word, it +comes from that monstrous and ignorant thing that is called Public +Opinion, which, bad and well-meaning as it is when it tries to control +action, is infamous and of evil meaning when it tries to control Thought +or Art. + +Indeed, there is much more to be said in favour of the physical force of +the public than there is in favour of the public’s opinion. The former +may be fine. The latter must be foolish. It is often said that force is +no argument. That, however, entirely depends on what one wants to prove. +Many of the most important problems of the last few centuries, such as +the continuance of personal government in England, or of feudalism in +France, have been solved entirely by means of physical force. The very +violence of a revolution may make the public grand and splendid for a +moment. It was a fatal day when the public discovered that the pen is +mightier than the paving-stone, and can be made as offensive as the +brickbat. They at once sought for the journalist, found him, developed +him, and made him their industrious and well-paid servant. It is greatly +to be regretted, for both their sakes. Behind the barricade there may be +much that is noble and heroic. But what is there behind the +leading-article but prejudice, stupidity, cant, and twaddle? And when +these four are joined together they make a terrible force, and constitute +the new authority. + +In old days men had the rack. Now they have the press. That is an +improvement certainly. But still it is very bad, and wrong, and +demoralising. Somebody—was it Burke?—called journalism the fourth +estate. That was true at the time, no doubt. But at the present moment +it really is the only estate. It has eaten up the other three. The +Lords Temporal say nothing, the Lords Spiritual have nothing to say, and +the House of Commons has nothing to say and says it. We are dominated by +Journalism. In America the President reigns for four years, and +Journalism governs for ever and ever. Fortunately in America Journalism +has carried its authority to the grossest and most brutal extreme. As a +natural consequence it has begun to create a spirit of revolt. People +are amused by it, or disgusted by it, according to their temperaments. +But it is no longer the real force it was. It is not seriously treated. +In England, Journalism, not, except in a few well-known instances, having +been carried to such excesses of brutality, is still a great factor, a +really remarkable power. The tyranny that it proposes to exercise over +people’s private lives seems to me to be quite extraordinary. The fact +is, that the public have an insatiable curiosity to know everything, +except what is worth knowing. Journalism, conscious of this, and having +tradesman-like habits, supplies their demands. In centuries before ours +the public nailed the ears of journalists to the pump. That was quite +hideous. In this century journalists have nailed their own ears to the +keyhole. That is much worse. And what aggravates the mischief is that +the journalists who are most to blame are not the amusing journalists who +write for what are called Society papers. The harm is done by the +serious, thoughtful, earnest journalists, who solemnly, as they are doing +at present, will drag before the eyes of the public some incident in the +private life of a great statesman, of a man who is a leader of political +thought as he is a creator of political force, and invite the public to +discuss the incident, to exercise authority in the matter, to give their +views, and not merely to give their views, but to carry them into action, +to dictate to the man upon all other points, to dictate to his party, to +dictate to his country; in fact, to make themselves ridiculous, +offensive, and harmful. The private lives of men and women should not be +told to the public. The public have nothing to do with them at all. In +France they manage these things better. There they do not allow the +details of the trials that take place in the divorce courts to be +published for the amusement or criticism of the public. All that the +public are allowed to know is that the divorce has taken place and was +granted on petition of one or other or both of the married parties +concerned. In France, in fact, they limit the journalist, and allow the +artist almost perfect freedom. Here we allow absolute freedom to the +journalist, and entirely limit the artist. English public opinion, that +is to say, tries to constrain and impede and warp the man who makes +things that are beautiful in effect, and compels the journalist to retail +things that are ugly, or disgusting, or revolting in fact, so that we +have the most serious journalists in the world, and the most indecent +newspapers. It is no exaggeration to talk of compulsion. There are +possibly some journalists who take a real pleasure in publishing horrible +things, or who, being poor, look to scandals as forming a sort of +permanent basis for an income. But there are other journalists, I feel +certain, men of education and cultivation, who really dislike publishing +these things, who know that it is wrong to do so, and only do it because +the unhealthy conditions under which their occupation is carried on +oblige them to supply the public with what the public wants, and to +compete with other journalists in making that supply as full and +satisfying to the gross popular appetite as possible. It is a very +degrading position for any body of educated men to be placed in, and I +have no doubt that most of them feel it acutely. + +However, let us leave what is really a very sordid side of the subject, +and return to the question of popular control in the matter of Art, by +which I mean Public Opinion dictating to the artist the form which he is +to use, the mode in which he is to use it, and the materials with which +he is to work. I have pointed out that the arts which have escaped best +in England are the arts in which the public have not been interested. +They are, however, interested in the drama, and as a certain advance has +been made in the drama within the last ten or fifteen years, it is +important to point out that this advance is entirely due to a few +individual artists refusing to accept the popular want of taste as their +standard, and refusing to regard Art as a mere matter of demand and +supply. With his marvellous and vivid personality, with a style that has +really a true colour-element in it, with his extraordinary power, not +over mere mimicry but over imaginative and intellectual creation, Mr +Irving, had his sole object been to give the public what they wanted, +could have produced the commonest plays in the commonest manner, and made +as much success and money as a man could possibly desire. But his object +was not that. His object was to realise his own perfection as an artist, +under certain conditions, and in certain forms of Art. At first he +appealed to the few: now he has educated the many. He has created in the +public both taste and temperament. The public appreciate his artistic +success immensely. I often wonder, however, whether the public +understand that that success is entirely due to the fact that he did not +accept their standard, but realised his own. With their standard the +Lyceum would have been a sort of second-rate booth, as some of the +popular theatres in London are at present. Whether they understand it or +not the fact however remains, that taste and temperament have, to a +certain extent been created in the public, and that the public is capable +of developing these qualities. The problem then is, why do not the +public become more civilised? They have the capacity. What stops them? + +The thing that stops them, it must be said again, is their desire to +exercise authority over the artist and over works of art. To certain +theatres, such as the Lyceum and the Haymarket, the public seem to come +in a proper mood. In both of these theatres there have been individual +artists, who have succeeded in creating in their audiences—and every +theatre in London has its own audience—the temperament to which Art +appeals. And what is that temperament? It is the temperament of +receptivity. That is all. + +If a man approaches a work of art with any desire to exercise authority +over it and the artist, he approaches it in such a spirit that he cannot +receive any artistic impression from it at all. The work of art is to +dominate the spectator: the spectator is not to dominate the work of art. +The spectator is to be receptive. He is to be the violin on which the +master is to play. And the more completely he can suppress his own silly +views, his own foolish prejudices, his own absurd ideas of what Art +should be, or should not be, the more likely he is to understand and +appreciate the work of art in question. This is, of course, quite +obvious in the case of the vulgar theatre-going public of English men and +women. But it is equally true of what are called educated people. For +an educated person’s ideas of Art are drawn naturally from what Art has +been, whereas the new work of art is beautiful by being what Art has +never been; and to measure it by the standard of the past is to measure +it by a standard on the rejection of which its real perfection depends. +A temperament capable of receiving, through an imaginative medium, and +under imaginative conditions, new and beautiful impressions, is the only +temperament that can appreciate a work of art. And true as this is in +the case of the appreciation of sculpture and painting, it is still more +true of the appreciation of such arts as the drama. For a picture and a +statue are not at war with Time. They take no count of its succession. +In one moment their unity may be apprehended. In the case of literature +it is different. Time must be traversed before the unity of effect is +realised. And so, in the drama, there may occur in the first act of the +play something whose real artistic value may not be evident to the +spectator till the third or fourth act is reached. Is the silly fellow +to get angry and call out, and disturb the play, and annoy the artists? +No. The honest man is to sit quietly, and know the delightful emotions +of wonder, curiosity, and suspense. He is not to go to the play to lose +a vulgar temper. He is to go to the play to realise an artistic +temperament. He is to go to the play to gain an artistic temperament. +He is not the arbiter of the work of art. He is one who is admitted to +contemplate the work of art, and, if the work be fine, to forget in its +contemplation and the egotism that mars him—the egotism of his ignorance, +or the egotism of his information. This point about the drama is hardly, +I think, sufficiently recognised. I can quite understand that were +‘Macbeth’ produced for the first time before a modern London audience, +many of the people present would strongly and vigorously object to the +introduction of the witches in the first act, with their grotesque +phrases and their ridiculous words. But when the play is over one +realises that the laughter of the witches in ‘Macbeth’ is as terrible as +the laughter of madness in ‘Lear,’ more terrible than the laughter of +Iago in the tragedy of the Moor. No spectator of art needs a more +perfect mood of receptivity than the spectator of a play. The moment he +seeks to exercise authority he becomes the avowed enemy of Art and of +himself. Art does not mind. It is he who suffers. + +With the novel it is the same thing. Popular authority and the +recognition of popular authority are fatal. Thackeray’s ‘Esmond’ is a +beautiful work of art because he wrote it to please himself. In his +other novels, in ‘Pendennis,’ in ‘Philip,’ in ‘Vanity Fair’ even, at +times, he is too conscious of the public, and spoils his work by +appealing directly to the sympathies of the public, or by directly +mocking at them. A true artist takes no notice whatever of the public. +The public are to him non-existent. He has no poppied or honeyed cakes +through which to give the monster sleep or sustenance. He leaves that to +the popular novelist. One incomparable novelist we have now in England, +Mr George Meredith. There are better artists in France, but France has +no one whose view of life is so large, so varied, so imaginatively true. +There are tellers of stories in Russia who have a more vivid sense of +what pain in fiction may be. But to him belongs philosophy in fiction. +His people not merely live, but they live in thought. One can see them +from myriad points of view. They are suggestive. There is soul in them +and around them. They are interpretative and symbolic. And he who made +them, those wonderful quickly-moving figures, made them for his own +pleasure, and has never asked the public what they wanted, has never +cared to know what they wanted, has never allowed the public to dictate +to him or influence him in any way but has gone on intensifying his own +personality, and producing his own individual work. At first none came +to him. That did not matter. Then the few came to him. That did not +change him. The many have come now. He is still the same. He is an +incomparable novelist. + +With the decorative arts it is not different. The public clung with +really pathetic tenacity to what I believe were the direct traditions of +the Great Exhibition of international vulgarity, traditions that were so +appalling that the houses in which people lived were only fit for blind +people to live in. Beautiful things began to be made, beautiful colours +came from the dyer’s hand, beautiful patterns from the artist’s brain, +and the use of beautiful things and their value and importance were set +forth. The public were really very indignant. They lost their temper. +They said silly things. No one minded. No one was a whit the worse. No +one accepted the authority of public opinion. And now it is almost +impossible to enter any modern house without seeing some recognition of +good taste, some recognition of the value of lovely surroundings, some +sign of appreciation of beauty. In fact, people’s houses are, as a rule, +quite charming nowadays. People have been to a very great extent +civilised. It is only fair to state, however, that the extraordinary +success of the revolution in house-decoration and furniture and the like +has not really been due to the majority of the public developing a very +fine taste in such matters. It has been chiefly due to the fact that the +craftsmen of things so appreciated the pleasure of making what was +beautiful, and woke to such a vivid consciousness of the hideousness and +vulgarity of what the public had previously wanted, that they simply +starved the public out. It would be quite impossible at the present +moment to furnish a room as rooms were furnished a few years ago, without +going for everything to an auction of second-hand furniture from some +third-rate lodging-house. The things are no longer made. However they +may object to it, people must nowadays have something charming in their +surroundings. Fortunately for them, their assumption of authority in +these art-matters came to entire grief. + +It is evident, then, that all authority in such things is bad. People +sometimes inquire what form of government is most suitable for an artist +to live under. To this question there is only one answer. The form of +government that is most suitable to the artist is no government at all. +Authority over him and his art is ridiculous. It has been stated that +under despotisms artists have produced lovely work. This is not quite +so. Artists have visited despots, not as subjects to be tyrannised over, +but as wandering wonder-makers, as fascinating vagrant personalities, to +be entertained and charmed and suffered to be at peace, and allowed to +create. There is this to be said in favour of the despot, that he, being +an individual, may have culture, while the mob, being a monster, has +none. One who is an Emperor and King may stoop down to pick up a brush +for a painter, but when the democracy stoops down it is merely to throw +mud. And yet the democracy have not so far to stoop as the emperor. In +fact, when they want to throw mud they have not to stoop at all. But +there is no necessity to separate the monarch from the mob; all authority +is equally bad. + +There are three kinds of despots. There is the despot who tyrannises +over the body. There is the despot who tyrannises over the soul. There +is the despot who tyrannises over the soul and body alike. The first is +called the Prince. The second is called the Pope. The third is called +the People. The Prince may be cultivated. Many Princes have been. Yet +in the Prince there is danger. One thinks of Dante at the bitter feast +in Verona, of Tasso in Ferrara’s madman’s cell. It is better for the +artist not to live with Princes. The Pope may be cultivated. Many Popes +have been; the bad Popes have been. The bad Popes loved Beauty, almost +as passionately, nay, with as much passion as the good Popes hated +Thought. To the wickedness of the Papacy humanity owes much. The +goodness of the Papacy owes a terrible debt to humanity. Yet, though the +Vatican has kept the rhetoric of its thunders, and lost the rod of its +lightning, it is better for the artist not to live with Popes. It was a +Pope who said of Cellini to a conclave of Cardinals that common laws and +common authority were not made for men such as he; but it was a Pope who +thrust Cellini into prison, and kept him there till he sickened with +rage, and created unreal visions for himself, and saw the gilded sun +enter his room, and grew so enamoured of it that he sought to escape, and +crept out from tower to tower, and falling through dizzy air at dawn, +maimed himself, and was by a vine-dresser covered with vine leaves, and +carried in a cart to one who, loving beautiful things, had care of him. +There is danger in Popes. And as for the People, what of them and their +authority? Perhaps of them and their authority one has spoken enough. +Their authority is a thing blind, deaf, hideous, grotesque, tragic, +amusing, serious, and obscene. It is impossible for the artist to live +with the People. All despots bribe. The people bribe and brutalise. +Who told them to exercise authority? They were made to live, to listen, +and to love. Someone has done them a great wrong. They have marred +themselves by imitation of their inferiors. They have taken the sceptre +of the Prince. How should they use it? They have taken the triple tiara +of the Pope. How should they carry its burden? They are as a clown +whose heart is broken. They are as a priest whose soul is not yet born. +Let all who love Beauty pity them. Though they themselves love not +Beauty, yet let them pity themselves. Who taught them the trick of +tyranny? + +There are many other things that one might point out. One might point +out how the Renaissance was great, because it sought to solve no social +problem, and busied itself not about such things, but suffered the +individual to develop freely, beautifully, and naturally, and so had +great and individual artists, and great and individual men. One might +point out how Louis XIV., by creating the modern state, destroyed the +individualism of the artist, and made things monstrous in their monotony +of repetition, and contemptible in their conformity to rule, and +destroyed throughout all France all those fine freedoms of expression +that had made tradition new in beauty, and new modes one with antique +form. But the past is of no importance. The present is of no +importance. It is with the future that we have to deal. For the past is +what man should not have been. The present is what man ought not to be. +The future is what artists are. + +It will, of course, be said that such a scheme as is set forth here is +quite unpractical, and goes against human nature. This is perfectly +true. It is unpractical, and it goes against human nature. This is why +it is worth carrying out, and that is why one proposes it. For what is a +practical scheme? A practical scheme is either a scheme that is already +in existence, or a scheme that could be carried out under existing +conditions. But it is exactly the existing conditions that one objects +to; and any scheme that could accept these conditions is wrong and +foolish. The conditions will be done away with, and human nature will +change. The only thing that one really knows about human nature is that +it changes. Change is the one quality we can predicate of it. The +systems that fail are those that rely on the permanency of human nature, +and not on its growth and development. The error of Louis XIV. was that +he thought human nature would always be the same. The result of his +error was the French Revolution. It was an admirable result. All the +results of the mistakes of governments are quite admirable. + +It is to be noted also that Individualism does not come to man with any +sickly cant about duty, which merely means doing what other people want +because they want it; or any hideous cant about self-sacrifice, which is +merely a survival of savage mutilation. In fact, it does not come to man +with any claims upon him at all. It comes naturally and inevitably out +of man. It is the point to which all development tends. It is the +differentiation to which all organisms grow. It is the perfection that +is inherent in every mode of life, and towards which every mode of life +quickens. And so Individualism exercises no compulsion over man. On the +contrary, it says to man that he should suffer no compulsion to be +exercised over him. It does not try to force people to be good. It +knows that people are good when they are let alone. Man will develop +Individualism out of himself. Man is now so developing Individualism. +To ask whether Individualism is practical is like asking whether +Evolution is practical. Evolution is the law of life, and there is no +evolution except towards Individualism. Where this tendency is not +expressed, it is a case of artificially-arrested growth, or of disease, +or of death. + +Individualism will also be unselfish and unaffected. It has been pointed +out that one of the results of the extraordinary tyranny of authority is +that words are absolutely distorted from their proper and simple meaning, +and are used to express the obverse of their right signification. What +is true about Art is true about Life. A man is called affected, +nowadays, if he dresses as he likes to dress. But in doing that he is +acting in a perfectly natural manner. Affectation, in such matters, +consists in dressing according to the views of one’s neighbour, whose +views, as they are the views of the majority, will probably be extremely +stupid. Or a man is called selfish if he lives in the manner that seems +to him most suitable for the full realisation of his own personality; if, +in fact, the primary aim of his life is self-development. But this is +the way in which everyone should live. Selfishness is not living as one +wishes to live, it is asking others to live as one wishes to live. And +unselfishness is letting other people’s lives alone, not interfering with +them. Selfishness always aims at creating around it an absolute +uniformity of type. Unselfishness recognises infinite variety of type as +a delightful thing, accepts it, acquiesces in it, enjoys it. It is not +selfish to think for oneself. A man who does not think for himself does +not think at all. It is grossly selfish to require of ones neighbour +that he should think in the same way, and hold the same opinions. Why +should he? If he can think, he will probably think differently. If he +cannot think, it is monstrous to require thought of any kind from him. A +red rose is not selfish because it wants to be a red rose. It would be +horribly selfish if it wanted all the other flowers in the garden to be +both red and roses. Under Individualism people will be quite natural and +absolutely unselfish, and will know the meanings of the words, and +realise them in their free, beautiful lives. Nor will men be egotistic +as they are now. For the egotist is he who makes claims upon others, and +the Individualist will not desire to do that. It will not give him +pleasure. When man has realised Individualism, he will also realise +sympathy and exercise it freely and spontaneously. Up to the present man +has hardly cultivated sympathy at all. He has merely sympathy with pain, +and sympathy with pain is not the highest form of sympathy. All sympathy +is fine, but sympathy with suffering is the least fine mode. It is +tainted with egotism. It is apt to become morbid. There is in it a +certain element of terror for our own safety. We become afraid that we +ourselves might be as the leper or as the blind, and that no man would +have care of us. It is curiously limiting, too. One should sympathise +with the entirety of life, not with life’s sores and maladies merely, but +with life’s joy and beauty and energy and health and freedom. The wider +sympathy is, of course, the more difficult. It requires more +unselfishness. Anybody can sympathise with the sufferings of a friend, +but it requires a very fine nature—it requires, in fact, the nature of a +true Individualist—to sympathise with a friend’s success. + +In the modern stress of competition and struggle for place, such sympathy +is naturally rare, and is also very much stifled by the immoral ideal of +uniformity of type and conformity to rule which is so prevalent +everywhere, and is perhaps most obnoxious in England. + +Sympathy with pain there will, of course, always be. It is one of the +first instincts of man. The animals which are individual, the higher +animals, that is to say, share it with us. But it must be remembered +that while sympathy with joy intensifies the sum of joy in the world, +sympathy with pain does not really diminish the amount of pain. It may +make man better able to endure evil, but the evil remains. Sympathy with +consumption does not cure consumption; that is what Science does. And +when Socialism has solved the problem of poverty, and Science solved the +problem of disease, the area of the sentimentalists will be lessened, and +the sympathy of man will be large, healthy, and spontaneous. Man will +have joy in the contemplation of the joyous life of others. + +For it is through joy that the Individualism of the future will develop +itself. Christ made no attempt to reconstruct society, and consequently +the Individualism that he preached to man could be realised only through +pain or in solitude. The ideals that we owe to Christ are the ideals of +the man who abandons society entirely, or of the man who resists society +absolutely. But man is naturally social. Even the Thebaid became +peopled at last. And though the cenobite realises his personality, it is +often an impoverished personality that he so realises. Upon the other +hand, the terrible truth that pain is a mode through which man may +realise himself exercises a wonderful fascination over the world. +Shallow speakers and shallow thinkers in pulpits and on platforms often +talk about the world’s worship of pleasure, and whine against it. But it +is rarely in the world’s history that its ideal has been one of joy and +beauty. The worship of pain has far more often dominated the world. +Mediævalism, with its saints and martyrs, its love of self-torture, its +wild passion for wounding itself, its gashing with knives, and its +whipping with rods—Mediævalism is real Christianity, and the mediæval +Christ is the real Christ. When the Renaissance dawned upon the world, +and brought with it the new ideals of the beauty of life and the joy of +living, men could not understand Christ. Even Art shows us that. The +painters of the Renaissance drew Christ as a little boy playing with +another boy in a palace or a garden, or lying back in his mother’s arms, +smiling at her, or at a flower, or at a bright bird; or as a noble, +stately figure moving nobly through the world; or as a wonderful figure +rising in a sort of ecstasy from death to life. Even when they drew him +crucified they drew him as a beautiful God on whom evil men had inflicted +suffering. But he did not preoccupy them much. What delighted them was +to paint the men and women whom they admired, and to show the loveliness +of this lovely earth. They painted many religious pictures—in fact, they +painted far too many, and the monotony of type and motive is wearisome, +and was bad for art. It was the result of the authority of the public in +art-matters, and is to be deplored. But their soul was not in the +subject. Raphael was a great artist when he painted his portrait of the +Pope. When he painted his Madonnas and infant Christs, he is not a great +artist at all. Christ had no message for the Renaissance, which was +wonderful because it brought an ideal at variance with his, and to find +the presentation of the real Christ we must go to mediæval art. There he +is one maimed and marred; one who is not comely to look on, because +Beauty is a joy; one who is not in fair raiment, because that may be a +joy also: he is a beggar who has a marvellous soul; he is a leper whose +soul is divine; he needs neither property nor health; he is a God +realising his perfection through pain. + +The evolution of man is slow. The injustice of men is great. It was +necessary that pain should be put forward as a mode of self-realisation. +Even now, in some places in the world, the message of Christ is +necessary. No one who lived in modern Russia could possibly realise his +perfection except by pain. A few Russian artists have realised +themselves in Art; in a fiction that is mediæval in character, because +its dominant note is the realisation of men through suffering. But for +those who are not artists, and to whom there is no mode of life but the +actual life of fact, pain is the only door to perfection. A Russian who +lives happily under the present system of government in Russia must +either believe that man has no soul, or that, if he has, it is not worth +developing. A Nihilist who rejects all authority, because he knows +authority to be evil, and welcomes all pain, because through that he +realises his personality, is a real Christian. To him the Christian +ideal is a true thing. + +And yet, Christ did not revolt against authority. He accepted the +imperial authority of the Roman Empire and paid tribute. He endured the +ecclesiastical authority of the Jewish Church, and would not repel its +violence by any violence of his own. He had, as I said before, no scheme +for the reconstruction of society. But the modern world has schemes. It +proposes to do away with poverty and the suffering that it entails. It +desires to get rid of pain, and the suffering that pain entails. It +trusts to Socialism and to Science as its methods. What it aims at is an +Individualism expressing itself through joy. This Individualism will be +larger, fuller, lovelier than any Individualism has ever been. Pain is +not the ultimate mode of perfection. It is merely provisional and a +protest. It has reference to wrong, unhealthy, unjust surroundings. +When the wrong, and the disease, and the injustice are removed, it will +have no further place. It will have done its work. It was a great work, +but it is almost over. Its sphere lessens every day. + +Nor will man miss it. For what man has sought for is, indeed, neither +pain nor pleasure, but simply Life. Man has sought to live intensely, +fully, perfectly. When he can do so without exercising restraint on +others, or suffering it ever, and his activities are all pleasurable to +him, he will be saner, healthier, more civilised, more himself. Pleasure +is Nature’s test, her sign of approval. When man is happy, he is in +harmony with himself and his environment. The new Individualism, for +whose service Socialism, whether it wills it or not, is working, will be +perfect harmony. It will be what the Greeks sought for, but could not, +except in Thought, realise completely, because they had slaves, and fed +them; it will be what the Renaissance sought for, but could not realise +completely except in Art, because they had slaves, and starved them. It +will be complete, and through it each man will attain to his perfection. +The new Individualism is the new Hellenism. + + * * * * * + + _Reprinted from the_ ‘_Fortnightly Review_,’ + _by permission of Messrs Chapman and Hall_. + + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SOUL OF MAN*** + + +******* This file should be named 1017-0.txt or 1017-0.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/0/1/1017 + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of +the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at +www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have +to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. + + + + +Title: The Soul of Man + + +Author: Oscar Wilde + + + +Release Date: September 26, 2014 [eBook #1017] +[This file was first posted on August 10, 1997] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SOUL OF MAN*** +</pre> +<p>Transcribed from the 1909 Arthur L. Humphreys edition by David +Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/coverb.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Book cover" +title= +"Book cover" + src="images/covers.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<h2>THE<br /> +SOUL OF MAN</h2> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">LONDON</span><br /> +ARTHUR L. HUMPREYS<br /> +1900</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>Second Impression</i></p> +<h2><a name="page1"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 1</span>THE SOUL +OF MAN</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> chief advantage that would +result from the establishment of Socialism is, undoubtedly, the +fact that Socialism would relieve us from that sordid necessity +of living for others which, in the present condition of things, +presses so hardly upon almost everybody. In fact, scarcely +anyone at all escapes.</p> +<p>Now and then, in the course of the century, a great man of +science, like Darwin; a great poet, like Keats; a fine critical +spirit, like M. Renan; a supreme artist, like Flaubert, has been +able to isolate himself, to keep himself out of reach of the +clamorous claims of others, to stand ‘under the shelter of +the wall,’ as Plato puts it, <a name="page2"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 2</span>and so to realise the perfection of +what was in him, to his own incomparable gain, and to the +incomparable and lasting gain of the whole world. These, +however, are exceptions. The majority of people spoil their +lives by an unhealthy and exaggerated altruism—are forced, +indeed, so to spoil them. They find themselves surrounded +by hideous poverty, by hideous ugliness, by hideous +starvation. It is inevitable that they should be strongly +moved by all this. The emotions of man are stirred more +quickly than man’s intelligence; and, as I pointed out some +time ago in an article on the function of criticism, it is much +more easy to have sympathy with suffering than it is to have +sympathy with thought. Accordingly, with admirable, though +misdirected intentions, they very seriously and very +sentimentally set themselves to the task of remedying the evils +that they see. But their remedies do not <a +name="page3"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 3</span>cure the +disease: they merely prolong it. Indeed, their remedies are +part of the disease.</p> +<p>They try to solve the problem of poverty, for instance, by +keeping the poor alive; or, in the case of a very advanced +school, by amusing the poor.</p> +<p>But this is not a solution: it is an aggravation of the +difficulty. The proper aim is to try and reconstruct +society on such a basis that poverty will be impossible. +And the altruistic virtues have really prevented the carrying out +of this aim. Just as the worst slave-owners were those who +were kind to their slaves, and so prevented the horror of the +system being realised by those who suffered from it, and +understood by those who contemplated it, so, in the present state +of things in England, the people who do most harm are the people +who try to do most good; and at last we have had the spectacle of +men who have really studied the problem <a name="page4"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 4</span>and know the life—educated men +who live in the East End—coming forward and imploring the +community to restrain its altruistic impulses of charity, +benevolence, and the like. They do so on the ground that +such charity degrades and demoralises. They are perfectly +right. Charity creates a multitude of sins.</p> +<p>There is also this to be said. It is immoral to use +private property in order to alleviate the horrible evils that +result from the institution of private property. It is both +immoral and unfair.</p> +<p>Under Socialism all this will, of course, be altered. +There will be no people living in fetid dens and fetid rags, and +bringing up unhealthy, hunger-pinched children in the midst of +impossible and absolutely repulsive surroundings. The +security of society will not depend, as it does now, on the state +of the weather. If a frost comes we shall not have a +hundred <a name="page5"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +5</span>thousand men out of work, tramping about the streets in a +state of disgusting misery, or whining to their neighbours for +alms, or crowding round the doors of loathsome shelters to try +and secure a hunch of bread and a night’s unclean +lodging. Each member of the society will share in the +general prosperity and happiness of the society, and if a frost +comes no one will practically be anything the worse.</p> +<p>Upon the other hand, Socialism itself will be of value simply +because it will lead to Individualism.</p> +<p>Socialism, Communism, or whatever one chooses to call it, by +converting private property into public wealth, and substituting +co-operation for competition, will restore society to its proper +condition of a thoroughly healthy organism, and insure the +material well-being of each member of the community. It +will, in fact, give Life its proper basis and its proper <a +name="page6"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +6</span>environment. But for the full development of Life +to its highest mode of perfection, something more is +needed. What is needed is Individualism. If the +Socialism is Authoritarian; if there are Governments armed with +economic power as they are now with political power; if, in a +word, we are to have Industrial Tyrannies, then the last state of +man will be worse than the first. At present, in +consequence of the existence of private property, a great many +people are enabled to develop a certain very limited amount of +Individualism. They are either under no necessity to work +for their living, or are enabled to choose the sphere of activity +that is really congenial to them, and gives them pleasure. +These are the poets, the philosophers, the men of science, the +men of culture—in a word, the real men, the men who have +realised themselves, and in whom all Humanity gains a partial <a +name="page7"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +7</span>realisation. Upon the other hand, there are a great +many people who, having no private property of their own, and +being always on the brink of sheer starvation, are compelled to +do the work of beasts of burden, to do work that is quite +uncongenial to them, and to which they are forced by the +peremptory, unreasonable, degrading Tyranny of want. These +are the poor, and amongst them there is no grace of manner, or +charm of speech, or civilisation, or culture, or refinement in +pleasures, or joy of life. From their collective force +Humanity gains much in material prosperity. But it is only +the material result that it gains, and the man who is poor is in +himself absolutely of no importance. He is merely the +infinitesimal atom of a force that, so far from regarding him, +crushes him: indeed, prefers him crushed, as in that case he is +far more obedient.</p> +<p>Of course, it might be said that the <a name="page8"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 8</span>Individualism generated under +conditions of private property is not always, or even as a rule, +of a fine or wonderful type, and that the poor, if they have not +culture and charm, have still many virtues. Both these +statements would be quite true. The possession of private +property is very often extremely demoralising, and that is, of +course, one of the reasons why Socialism wants to get rid of the +institution. In fact, property is really a nuisance. +Some years ago people went about the country saying that property +has duties. They said it so often and so tediously that, at +last, the Church has begun to say it. One hears it now from +every pulpit. It is perfectly true. Property not +merely has duties, but has so many duties that its possession to +any large extent is a bore. It involves endless claims upon +one, endless attention to business, endless bother. If +property had simply pleasures, we could stand <a +name="page9"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 9</span>it; but its +duties make it unbearable. In the interest of the rich we +must get rid of it. The virtues of the poor may be readily +admitted, and are much to be regretted. We are often told +that the poor are grateful for charity. Some of them are, +no doubt, but the best amongst the poor are never grateful. +They are ungrateful, discontented, disobedient, and +rebellious. They are quite right to be so. Charity +they feel to be a ridiculously inadequate mode of partial +restitution, or a sentimental dole, usually accompanied by some +impertinent attempt on the part of the sentimentalist to +tyrannise over their private lives. Why should they be +grateful for the crumbs that fall from the rich man’s +table? They should be seated at the board, and are +beginning to know it. As for being discontented, a man who +would not be discontented with such surroundings and such a low +mode of life would be a perfect brute. Disobedience, <a +name="page10"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 10</span>in the eyes +of anyone who has read history, is man’s original +virtue. It is through disobedience that progress has been +made, through disobedience and through rebellion. Sometimes +the poor are praised for being thrifty. But to recommend +thrift to the poor is both grotesque and insulting. It is +like advising a man who is starving to eat less. For a town +or country labourer to practise thrift would be absolutely +immoral. Man should not be ready to show that he can live +like a badly-fed animal. He should decline to live like +that, and should either steal or go on the rates, which is +considered by many to be a form of stealing. As for +begging, it is safer to beg than to take, but it is finer to take +than to beg. No: a poor man who is ungrateful, unthrifty, +discontented, and rebellious, is probably a real personality, and +has much in him. He is at any rate a healthy protest. +As for the virtuous <a name="page11"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +11</span>poor, one can pity them, of course, but one cannot +possibly admire them. They have made private terms with the +enemy, and sold their birthright for very bad pottage. They +must also be extraordinarily stupid. I can quite understand +a man accepting laws that protect private property, and admit of +its accumulation, as long as he himself is able under those +conditions to realise some form of beautiful and intellectual +life. But it is almost incredible to me how a man whose +life is marred and made hideous by such laws can possibly +acquiesce in their continuance.</p> +<p>However, the explanation is not really difficult to +find. It is simply this. Misery and poverty are so +absolutely degrading, and exercise such a paralysing effect over +the nature of men, that no class is ever really conscious of its +own suffering. They have to be told of it by other people, +and they often entirely disbelieve them. <a +name="page12"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 12</span>What is said +by great employers of labour against agitators is unquestionably +true. Agitators are a set of interfering, meddling people, +who come down to some perfectly contented class of the community, +and sow the seeds of discontent amongst them. That is the +reason why agitators are so absolutely necessary. Without +them, in our incomplete state, there would be no advance towards +civilisation. Slavery was put down in America, not in +consequence of any action on the part of the slaves, or even any +express desire on their part that they should be free. It +was put down entirely through the grossly illegal conduct of +certain agitators in Boston and elsewhere, who were not slaves +themselves, nor owners of slaves, nor had anything to do with the +question really. It was, undoubtedly, the Abolitionists who +set the torch alight, who began the whole thing. And it is +curious to <a name="page13"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +13</span>note that from the slaves themselves they received, not +merely very little assistance, but hardly any sympathy even; and +when at the close of the war the slaves found themselves free, +found themselves indeed so absolutely free that they were free to +starve, many of them bitterly regretted the new state of +things. To the thinker, the most tragic fact in the whole +of the French Revolution is not that Marie Antoinette was killed +for being a queen, but that the starved peasant of the +Vendée voluntarily went out to die for the hideous cause +of feudalism.</p> +<p>It is clear, then, that no Authoritarian Socialism will +do. For while under the present system a very large number +of people can lead lives of a certain amount of freedom and +expression and happiness, under an industrial-barrack system, or +a system of economic tyranny, nobody would be able to have any +such freedom <a name="page14"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +14</span>at all. It is to be regretted that a portion of +our community should be practically in slavery, but to propose to +solve the problem by enslaving the entire community is +childish. Every man must be left quite free to choose his +own work. No form of compulsion must be exercised over +him. If there is, his work will not be good for him, will +not be good in itself, and will not be good for others. And +by work I simply mean activity of any kind.</p> +<p>I hardly think that any Socialist, nowadays, would seriously +propose that an inspector should call every morning at each house +to see that each citizen rose up and did manual labour for eight +hours. Humanity has got beyond that stage, and reserves +such a form of life for the people whom, in a very arbitrary +manner, it chooses to call criminals. But I confess that +many of the socialistic views that I have come across <a +name="page15"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 15</span>seem to me to +be tainted with ideas of authority, if not of actual +compulsion. Of course, authority and compulsion are out of +the question. All association must be quite +voluntary. It is only in voluntary associations that man is +fine.</p> +<p>But it may be asked how Individualism, which is now more or +less dependent on the existence of private property for its +development, will benefit by the abolition of such private +property. The answer is very simple. It is true that, +under existing conditions, a few men who have had private means +of their own, such as Byron, Shelley, Browning, Victor Hugo, +Baudelaire, and others, have been able to realise their +personality more or less completely. Not one of these men +ever did a single day’s work for hire. They were +relieved from poverty. They had an immense advantage. +The question is whether it would be for the good of Individualism +<a name="page16"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 16</span>that such +an advantage should be taken away. Let us suppose that it +is taken away. What happens then to Individualism? +How will it benefit?</p> +<p>It will benefit in this way. Under the new conditions +Individualism will be far freer, far finer, and far more +intensified than it is now. I am not talking of the great +imaginatively-realised Individualism of such poets as I have +mentioned, but of the great actual Individualism latent and +potential in mankind generally. For the recognition of +private property has really harmed Individualism, and obscured +it, by confusing a man with what he possesses. It has led +Individualism entirely astray. It has made gain not growth +its aim. So that man thought that the important thing was +to have, and did not know that the important thing is to +be. The true perfection of man lies, not in what man has, +but in what man is. <a name="page17"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 17</span>Private property has crushed true +Individualism, and set up an Individualism that is false. +It has debarred one part of the community from being individual +by starving them. It has debarred the other part of the +community from being individual by putting them on the wrong +road, and encumbering them. Indeed, so completely has +man’s personality been absorbed by his possessions that the +English law has always treated offences against a man’s +property with far more severity than offences against his person, +and property is still the test of complete citizenship. The +industry necessary for the making money is also very +demoralising. In a community like ours, where property +confers immense distinction, social position, honour, respect, +titles, and other pleasant things of the kind, man, being +naturally ambitious, makes it his aim to accumulate this +property, and goes on wearily and tediously <a +name="page18"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 18</span>accumulating +it long after he has got far more than he wants, or can use, or +enjoy, or perhaps even know of. Man will kill himself by +overwork in order to secure property, and really, considering the +enormous advantages that property brings, one is hardly +surprised. One’s regret is that society should be +constructed on such a basis that man has been forced into a +groove in which he cannot freely develop what is wonderful, and +fascinating, and delightful in him—in which, in fact, he +misses the true pleasure and joy of living. He is also, +under existing conditions, very insecure. An enormously +wealthy merchant may be—often is—at every moment of +his life at the mercy of things that are not under his +control. If the wind blows an extra point or so, or the +weather suddenly changes, or some trivial thing happens, his ship +may go down, his speculations may go wrong, and he finds himself +a poor <a name="page19"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +19</span>man, with his social position quite gone. Now, +nothing should be able to harm a man except himself. +Nothing should be able to rob a man at all. What a man +really has, is what is in him. What is outside of him +should be a matter of no importance.</p> +<p>With the abolition of private property, then, we shall have +true, beautiful, healthy Individualism. Nobody will waste +his life in accumulating things, and the symbols for +things. One will live. To live is the rarest thing in +the world. Most people exist, that is all.</p> +<p>It is a question whether we have ever seen the full expression +of a personality, except on the imaginative plane of art. +In action, we never have. Cæsar, says Mommsen, was +the complete and perfect man. But how tragically insecure +was Cæsar! Wherever there is a man who exercises +authority, there is a man who resists authority. +Cæsar was very perfect, <a name="page20"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 20</span>but his perfection travelled by too +dangerous a road. Marcus Aurelius was the perfect man, says +Renan. Yes; the great emperor was a perfect man. But +how intolerable were the endless claims upon him! He +staggered under the burden of the empire. He was conscious +how inadequate one man was to bear the weight of that Titan and +too vast orb. What I mean by a perfect man is one who +develops under perfect conditions; one who is not wounded, or +worried or maimed, or in danger. Most personalities have +been obliged to be rebels. Half their strength has been +wasted in friction. Byron’s personality, for +instance, was terribly wasted in its battle with the stupidity, +and hypocrisy, and Philistinism of the English. Such +battles do not always intensify strength: they often exaggerate +weakness. Byron was never able to give us what he might +have given us. Shelley escaped better. Like Byron, he +got out of <a name="page21"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +21</span>England as soon as possible. But he was not so +well known. If the English had had any idea of what a great +poet he really was, they would have fallen on him with tooth and +nail, and made his life as unbearable to him as they possibly +could. But he was not a remarkable figure in society, and +consequently he escaped, to a certain degree. Still, even +in Shelley the note of rebellion is sometimes too strong. +The note of the perfect personality is not rebellion, but +peace.</p> +<p>It will be a marvellous thing—the true personality of +man—when we see it. It will grow naturally and +simply, flowerlike, or as a tree grows. It will not be at +discord. It will never argue or dispute. It will not +prove things. It will know everything. And yet it +will not busy itself about knowledge. It will have +wisdom. Its value will not be measured by material +things. It will have nothing. And yet it will have +everything, and whatever <a name="page22"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 22</span>one takes from it, it will still +have, so rich will it be. It will not be always meddling +with others, or asking them to be like itself. It will love +them because they will be different. And yet while it will +not meddle with others, it will help all, as a beautiful thing +helps us, by being what it is. The personality of man will +be very wonderful. It will be as wonderful as the +personality of a child.</p> +<p>In its development it will be assisted by Christianity, if men +desire that; but if men do not desire that, it will develop none +the less surely. For it will not worry itself about the +past, nor care whether things happened or did not happen. +Nor will it admit any laws but its own laws; nor any authority +but its own authority. Yet it will love those who sought to +intensify it, and speak often of them. And of these Christ +was one.</p> +<p><a name="page23"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +23</span>‘Know thyself’ was written over the portal +of the antique world. Over the portal of the new world, +‘Be thyself’ shall be written. And the message +of Christ to man was simply ‘Be thyself.’ That +is the secret of Christ.</p> +<p>When Jesus talks about the poor he simply means personalities, +just as when he talks about the rich he simply means people who +have not developed their personalities. Jesus moved in a +community that allowed the accumulation of private property just +as ours does, and the gospel that he preached was not that in +such a community it is an advantage for a man to live on scanty, +unwholesome food, to wear ragged, unwholesome clothes, to sleep +in horrid, unwholesome dwellings, and a disadvantage for a man to +live under healthy, pleasant, and decent conditions. Such a +view would have been wrong there and then, and would, of course, +be still <a name="page24"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +24</span>more wrong now and in England; for as man moves +northward the material necessities of life become of more vital +importance, and our society is infinitely more complex, and +displays far greater extremes of luxury and pauperism than any +society of the antique world. What Jesus meant, was +this. He said to man, ‘You have a wonderful +personality. Develop it. Be yourself. +Don’t imagine that your perfection lies in accumulating or +possessing external things. Your affection is inside of +you. If only you could realise that, you would not want to +be rich. Ordinary riches can be stolen from a man. +Real riches cannot. In the treasury-house of your soul, +there are infinitely precious things, that may not be taken from +you. And so, try to so shape your life that external things +will not harm you. And try also to get rid of personal +property. It involves sordid preoccupation, endless +industry, continual wrong. Personal <a +name="page25"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 25</span>property +hinders Individualism at every step.’ It is to be +noted that Jesus never says that impoverished people are +necessarily good, or wealthy people necessarily bad. That +would not have been true. Wealthy people are, as a class, +better than impoverished people, more moral, more intellectual, +more well-behaved. There is only one class in the community +that thinks more about money than the rich, and that is the +poor. The poor can think of nothing else. That is the +misery of being poor. What Jesus does say is that man +reaches his perfection, not through what he has, not even through +what he does, but entirely through what he is. And so the +wealthy young man who comes to Jesus is represented as a +thoroughly good citizen, who has broken none of the laws of his +state, none of the commandments of his religion. He is +quite respectable, in the ordinary sense of that extraordinary +word. Jesus says <a name="page26"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 26</span>to him, ‘You should give up +private property. It hinders you from realising your +perfection. It is a drag upon you. It is a +burden. Your personality does not need it. It is +within you, and not outside of you, that you will find what you +really are, and what you really want.’ To his own +friends he says the same thing. He tells them to be +themselves, and not to be always worrying about other +things. What do other things matter? Man is complete +in himself. When they go into the world, the world will +disagree with them. That is inevitable. The world +hates Individualism. But that is not to trouble them. +They are to be calm and self-centred. If a man takes their +cloak, they are to give him their coat, just to show that +material things are of no importance. If people abuse them, +they are not to answer back. What does it signify? +The things people say of a man do not alter a man. He is +what he is. <a name="page27"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +27</span>Public opinion is of no value whatsoever. Even if +people employ actual violence, they are not to be violent in +turn. That would be to fall to the same low level. +After all, even in prison, a man can be quite free. His +soul can be free. His personality can be untroubled. +He can be at peace. And, above all things, they are not to +interfere with other people or judge them in any way. +Personality is a very mysterious thing. A man cannot always +be estimated by what he does. He may keep the law, and yet +be worthless. He may break the law, and yet be fine. +He may be bad, without ever doing anything bad. He may +commit a sin against society, and yet realise through that sin +his true perfection.</p> +<p>There was a woman who was taken in adultery. We are not +told the history of her love, but that love must have been very +great; for Jesus said that her sins were forgiven her, <a +name="page28"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 28</span>not because +she repented, but because her love was so intense and +wonderful. Later on, a short time before his death, as he +sat at a feast, the woman came in and poured costly perfumes on +his hair. His friends tried to interfere with her, and said +that it was an extravagance, and that the money that the perfume +cost should have been expended on charitable relief of people in +want, or something of that kind. Jesus did not accept that +view. He pointed out that the material needs of Man were +great and very permanent, but that the spiritual needs of Man +were greater still, and that in one divine moment, and by +selecting its own mode of expression, a personality might make +itself perfect. The world worships the woman, even now, as +a saint.</p> +<p>Yes; there are suggestive things in Individualism. +Socialism annihilates family life, for instance. With the +<a name="page29"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 29</span>abolition +of private property, marriage in its present form must +disappear. This is part of the programme. +Individualism accepts this and makes it fine. It converts +the abolition of legal restraint into a form of freedom that will +help the full development of personality, and make the love of +man and woman more wonderful, more beautiful, and more +ennobling. Jesus knew this. He rejected the claims of +family life, although they existed in his day and community in a +very marked form. ‘Who is my mother? Who are my +brothers?’ he said, when he was told that they wished to +speak to him. When one of his followers asked leave to go +and bury his father, ‘Let the dead bury the dead,’ +was his terrible answer. He would allow no claim whatsoever +to be made on personality.</p> +<p>And so he who would lead a Christlike life is he who is +perfectly and absolutely himself. He may be a <a +name="page30"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 30</span>great poet, +or a great man of science; or a young student at a University, or +one who watches sheep upon a moor; or a maker of dramas, like +Shakespeare, or a thinker about God, like Spinoza; or a child who +plays in a garden, or a fisherman who throws his net into the +sea. It does not matter what he is, as long as he realises +the perfection of the soul that is within him. All +imitation in morals and in life is wrong. Through the +streets of Jerusalem at the present day crawls one who is mad and +carries a wooden cross on his shoulders. He is a symbol of +the lives that are marred by imitation. Father Damien was +Christlike when he went out to live with the lepers, because in +such service he realised fully what was best in him. But he +was not more Christlike than Wagner when he realised his soul in +music; or than Shelley, when he realised his soul in song. +There is no one type for man. <a name="page31"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 31</span>There are as many perfections as +there are imperfect men. And while to the claims of charity +a man may yield and yet be free, to the claims of conformity no +man may yield and remain free at all.</p> +<p>Individualism, then, is what through Socialism we are to +attain to. As a natural result the State must give up all +idea of government. It must give it up because, as a wise +man once said many centuries before Christ, there is such a thing +as leaving mankind alone; there is no such thing as governing +mankind. All modes of government are failures. +Despotism is unjust to everybody, including the despot, who was +probably made for better things. Oligarchies are unjust to +the many, and ochlocracies are unjust to the few. High +hopes were once formed of democracy; but democracy means simply +the bludgeoning of the people by the people for the people. +It has been found out. I must say <a +name="page32"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 32</span>that it was +high time, for all authority is quite degrading. It +degrades those who exercise it, and degrades those over whom it +is exercised. When it is violently, grossly, and cruelly +used, it produces a good effect, by creating, or at any rate +bringing out, the spirit of revolt and Individualism that is to +kill it. When it is used with a certain amount of kindness, +and accompanied by prizes and rewards, it is dreadfully +demoralising. People, in that case, are less conscious of +the horrible pressure that is being put on them, and so go +through their lives in a sort of coarse comfort, like petted +animals, without ever realising that they are probably thinking +other people’s thoughts, living by other people’s +standards, wearing practically what one may call other +people’s second-hand clothes, and never being themselves +for a single moment. ‘He who would be free,’ +says a fine thinker, ‘must not conform.’ And +authority, <a name="page33"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +33</span>by bribing people to conform, produces a very gross kind +of over-fed barbarism amongst us.</p> +<p>With authority, punishment will pass away. This will be +a great gain—a gain, in fact, of incalculable value. +As one reads history, not in the expurgated editions written for +school-boys and passmen, but in the original authorities of each +time, one is absolutely sickened, not by the crimes that the +wicked have committed, but by the punishments that the good have +inflicted; and a community is infinitely more brutalised by the +habitual employment of punishment, than it is by the occurrence +of crime. It obviously follows that the more punishment is +inflicted the more crime is produced, and most modern legislation +has clearly recognised this, and has made it its task to diminish +punishment as far as it thinks it can. Wherever it has +really diminished it, the results have always been extremely <a +name="page34"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 34</span>good. +The less punishment, the less crime. When there is no +punishment at all, crime will either cease to exist, or, if it +occurs, will be treated by physicians as a very distressing form +of dementia, to be cured by care and kindness. For what are +called criminals nowadays are not criminals at all. +Starvation, and not sin, is the parent of modern crime. +That indeed is the reason why our criminals are, as a class, so +absolutely uninteresting from any psychological point of +view. They are not marvellous Macbeths and terrible +Vautrins. They are merely what ordinary, respectable, +commonplace people would be if they had not got enough to +eat. When private property is abolished there will be no +necessity for crime, no demand for it; it will cease to +exist. Of course, all crimes are not crimes against +property, though such are the crimes that the English law, +valuing what a man has more than what a <a +name="page35"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 35</span>man is, +punishes with the harshest and most horrible severity, if we +except the crime of murder, and regard death as worse than penal +servitude, a point on which our criminals, I believe, +disagree. But though a crime may not be against property, +it may spring from the misery and rage and depression produced by +our wrong system of property-holding, and so, when that system is +abolished, will disappear. When each member of the +community has sufficient for his wants, and is not interfered +with by his neighbour, it will not be an object of any interest +to him to interfere with anyone else. Jealousy, which is an +extraordinary source of crime in modern life, is an emotion +closely bound up with our conceptions of property, and under +Socialism and Individualism will die out. It is remarkable +that in communistic tribes jealousy is entirely unknown.</p> +<p>Now as the State is not to govern, <a name="page36"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 36</span>it may be asked what the State is to +do. The State is to be a voluntary association that will +organise labour, and be the manufacturer and distributor of +necessary commodities. The State is to make what is +useful. The individual is to make what is beautiful. +And as I have mentioned the word labour, I cannot help saying +that a great deal of nonsense is being written and talked +nowadays about the dignity of manual labour. There is +nothing necessarily dignified about manual labour at all, and +most of it is absolutely degrading. It is mentally and +morally injurious to man to do anything in which he does not find +pleasure, and many forms of labour are quite pleasureless +activities, and should be regarded as such. To sweep a +slushy crossing for eight hours, on a day when the east wind is +blowing is a disgusting occupation. To sweep it with +mental, moral, or physical dignity seems to <a +name="page37"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 37</span>me to be +impossible. To sweep it with joy would be appalling. +Man is made for something better than disturbing dirt. All +work of that kind should be done by a machine.</p> +<p>And I have no doubt that it will be so. Up to the +present, man has been, to a certain extent, the slave of +machinery, and there is something tragic in the fact that as soon +as man had invented a machine to do his work he began to +starve. This, however, is, of course, the result of our +property system and our system of competition. One man owns +a machine which does the work of five hundred men. Five +hundred men are, in consequence, thrown out of employment, and, +having no work to do, become hungry and take to thieving. +The one man secures the produce of the machine and keeps it, and +has five hundred times as much as he should have, and probably, +which is of much more importance, a great <a +name="page38"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 38</span>deal more +than he really wants. Were that machine the property of +all, every one would benefit by it. It would be an immense +advantage to the community. All unintellectual labour, all +monotonous, dull labour, all labour that deals with dreadful +things, and involves unpleasant conditions, must be done by +machinery. Machinery must work for us in coal mines, and do +all sanitary services, and be the stoker of steamers, and clean +the streets, and run messages on wet days, and do anything that +is tedious or distressing. At present machinery competes +against man. Under proper conditions machinery will serve +man. There is no doubt at all that this is the future of +machinery, and just as trees grow while the country gentleman is +asleep, so while Humanity will be amusing itself, or enjoying +cultivated leisure—which, and not labour, is the aim of +man—or making beautiful things, or reading beautiful <a +name="page39"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 39</span>things, or +simply contemplating the world with admiration and delight, +machinery will be doing all the necessary and unpleasant +work. The fact is, that civilisation requires slaves. +The Greeks were quite right there. Unless there are slaves +to do the ugly, horrible, uninteresting work, culture and +contemplation become almost impossible. Human slavery is +wrong, insecure, and demoralising. On mechanical slavery, +on the slavery of the machine, the future of the world +depends. And when scientific men are no longer called upon +to go down to a depressing East End and distribute bad cocoa and +worse blankets to starving people, they will have delightful +leisure in which to devise wonderful and marvellous things for +their own joy and the joy of everyone else. There will be +great storages of force for every city, and for every house if +required, and this force man will convert into heat, <a +name="page40"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 40</span>light, or +motion, according to his needs. Is this Utopian? A +map of the world that does not include Utopia is not worth even +glancing at, for it leaves out the one country at which Humanity +is always landing. And when Humanity lands there, it looks +out, and, seeing a better country, sets sail. Progress is +the realisation of Utopias.</p> +<p>Now, I have said that the community by means of organisation +of machinery will supply the useful things, and that the +beautiful things will be made by the individual. This is +not merely necessary, but it is the only possible way by which we +can get either the one or the other. An individual who has +to make things for the use of others, and with reference to their +wants and their wishes, does not work with interest, and +consequently cannot put into his work what is best in him. +Upon the other hand, whenever a community or a <a +name="page41"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 41</span>powerful +section of a community, or a government of any kind, attempts to +dictate to the artist what he is to do, Art either entirely +vanishes, or becomes stereotyped, or degenerates into a low and +ignoble form of craft. A work of art is the unique result +of a unique temperament. Its beauty comes from the fact +that the author is what he is. It has nothing to do with +the fact that other people want what they want. Indeed, the +moment that an artist takes notice of what other people want, and +tries to supply the demand, he ceases to be an artist, and +becomes a dull or an amusing craftsman, an honest or a dishonest +tradesman. He has no further claim to be considered as an +artist. Art is the most intense mode of Individualism that +the world has known. I am inclined to say that it is the +only real mode of Individualism that the world has known. +Crime, which, under certain conditions, may seem <a +name="page42"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 42</span>to have +created Individualism, must take cognisance of other people and +interfere with them. It belongs to the sphere of +action. But alone, without any reference to his neighbours, +without any interference, the artist can fashion a beautiful +thing; and if he does not do it solely for his own pleasure, he +is not an artist at all.</p> +<p>And it is to be noted that it is the fact that Art is this +intense form of Individualism that makes the public try to +exercise over it in an authority that is as immoral as it is +ridiculous, and as corrupting as it is contemptible. It is +not quite their fault. The public has always, and in every +age, been badly brought up. They are continually asking Art +to be popular, to please their want of taste, to flatter their +absurd vanity, to tell them what they have been told before, to +show them what they ought to be tired of seeing, to amuse them +when they feel heavy after eating too much, and to distract <a +name="page43"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 43</span>their +thoughts when they are wearied of their own stupidity. Now +Art should never try to be popular. The public should try +to make itself artistic. There is a very wide +difference. If a man of science were told that the results +of his experiments, and the conclusions that he arrived at, +should be of such a character that they would not upset the +received popular notions on the subject, or disturb popular +prejudice, or hurt the sensibilities of people who knew nothing +about science; if a philosopher were told that he had a perfect +right to speculate in the highest spheres of thought, provided +that he arrived at the same conclusions as were held by those who +had never thought in any sphere at all—well, nowadays the +man of science and the philosopher would be considerably +amused. Yet it is really a very few years since both +philosophy and science were subjected to brutal popular control, +to authority in fact—<a name="page44"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 44</span>the authority of either the general +ignorance of the community, or the terror and greed for power of +an ecclesiastical or governmental class. Of course, we have +to a very great extent got rid of any attempt on the part of the +community, or the Church, or the Government, to interfere with +the individualism of speculative thought, but the attempt to +interfere with the individualism of imaginative art still +lingers. In fact, it does more than linger; it is +aggressive, offensive, and brutalising.</p> +<p>In England, the arts that have escaped best are the <a +name="page45"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 45</span>arts in which +the public take no interest. Poetry is an instance of what +I mean. We have been able to have fine poetry in England +because the public do not read it, and consequently do not +influence it. The public like to insult poets because they +are individual, but once they have insulted them, they leave them +alone. In the case of the novel and the drama, arts in +which the public do take an interest, the result of the exercise +of popular authority has been absolutely ridiculous. No +country produces such badly-written fiction, such tedious, common +work in the novel form, such silly, vulgar plays as +England. It must necessarily be so. The popular +standard is of such a character that no artist can get to +it. It is at once too easy and too difficult to be a +popular novelist. It is too easy, because the requirements +of the public as far as plot, style, psychology, treatment of +life, and treatment of literature are concerned are within the +reach of the very meanest capacity and the most uncultivated +mind. It is too difficult, because to meet such +requirements the artist would have to do violence to his +temperament, would have to write not for the artistic joy of +writing, but for the amusement of half-educated people, and so +would have to suppress his individualism, <a +name="page46"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 46</span>forget his +culture, annihilate his style, and surrender everything that is +valuable in him. In the case of the drama, things are a +little better: the theatre-going public like the obvious, it is +true, but they do not like the tedious; and burlesque and +farcical comedy, the two most popular forms, are distinct forms +of art. Delightful work may be produced under burlesque and +farcical conditions, and in work of this kind the artist in +England is allowed very great freedom. It is when one comes +to the higher forms of the drama that the result of popular +control is seen. The one thing that the public dislike is +novelty. Any attempt to extend the subject-matter of art is +extremely distasteful to the public; and yet the vitality and +progress of art depend in a large measure on the continual +extension of subject-matter. The public dislike novelty +because they are afraid of it. It represents to them a mode +of Individualism, an assertion <a name="page47"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 47</span>on the part of the artist that he +selects his own subject, and treats it as he chooses. The +public are quite right in their attitude. Art is +Individualism, and Individualism is a disturbing and +disintegrating force. Therein lies its immense value. +For what it seeks to disturb is monotony of type, slavery of +custom, tyranny of habit, and the reduction of man to the level +of a machine. In Art, the public accept what has been, +because they cannot alter it, not because they appreciate +it. They swallow their classics whole, and never taste +them. They endure them as the inevitable, and as they +cannot mar them, they mouth about them. Strangely enough, +or not strangely, according to one’s own views, this +acceptance of the classics does a great deal of harm. The +uncritical admiration of the Bible and Shakespeare in England is +an instance of what I mean. With regard to the Bible, +considerations of ecclesiastical <a name="page48"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 48</span>authority enter into the matter, so +that I need not dwell upon the point.</p> +<p>But in the case of Shakespeare it is quite obvious that the +public really see neither the beauties nor the defects of his +plays. If they saw the beauties, they would not object to +the development of the drama; and if they saw the defects, they +would not object to the development of the drama either. +The fact is, the public make use of the classics of a country as +a means of checking the progress of Art. They degrade the +classics into authorities. They use them as bludgeons for +preventing the free expression of Beauty in new forms. They +are always asking a writer why he does not write like somebody +else, or a painter why he does not paint like somebody else, +quite oblivious of the fact that if either of them did anything +of the kind he would cease to be an artist. A fresh mode of +Beauty is absolutely distasteful to them, and whenever it appears +<a name="page49"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 49</span>they get +so angry, and bewildered that they always use two stupid +expressions—one is that the work of art is grossly +unintelligible; the other, that the work of art is grossly +immoral. What they mean by these words seems to me to be +this. When they say a work is grossly unintelligible, they +mean that the artist has said or made a beautiful thing that is +new; when they describe a work as grossly immoral, they mean that +the artist has said or made a beautiful thing that is true. +The former expression has reference to style; the latter to +subject-matter. But they probably use the words very +vaguely, as an ordinary mob will use ready-made +paving-stones. There is not a single real poet or +prose-writer of this century, for instance, on whom the British +public have not solemnly conferred diplomas of immorality, and +these diplomas practically take the place, with us, of what in +France, is the formal recognition of an Academy <a +name="page50"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 50</span>of Letters, +and fortunately make the establishment of such an institution +quite unnecessary in England. Of course, the public are +very reckless in their use of the word. That they should +have called Wordsworth an immoral poet, was only to be +expected. Wordsworth was a poet. But that they should +have called Charles Kingsley an immoral novelist is +extraordinary. Kingsley’s prose was not of a very +fine quality. Still, there is the word, and they use it as +best they can. An artist is, of course, not disturbed by +it. The true artist is a man who believes absolutely in +himself, because he is absolutely himself. But I can fancy +that if an artist produced a work of art in England that +immediately on its appearance was recognised by the public, +through their medium, which is the public press, as a work that +was quite intelligible and highly moral, he would begin to +seriously question whether in its creation <a +name="page51"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 51</span>he had really +been himself at all, and consequently whether the work was not +quite unworthy of him, and either of a thoroughly second-rate +order, or of no artistic value whatsoever.</p> +<p>Perhaps, however, I have wronged the public in limiting them +to such words as ‘immoral,’ +‘unintelligible,’ ‘exotic,’ and +‘unhealthy.’ There is one other word that they +use. That word is ‘morbid.’ They do not +use it often. The meaning of the word is so simple that +they are afraid of using it. Still, they use it sometimes, +and, now and then, one comes across it in popular +newspapers. It is, of course, a ridiculous word to apply to +a work of art. For what is morbidity but a mood of emotion +or a mode of thought that one cannot express? The public +are all morbid, because the public can never find expression for +anything. The artist is never morbid. He expresses +everything. He stands outside his subject, and through its +<a name="page52"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 52</span>medium +produces incomparable and artistic effects. To call an +artist morbid because he deals with morbidity as his +subject-matter is as silly as if one called Shakespeare mad +because he wrote ‘King Lear.’</p> +<p>On the whole, an artist in England gains something by being +attacked. His individuality is intensified. He +becomes more completely himself. Of course, the attacks are +very gross, very impertinent, and very contemptible. But +then no artist expects grace from the vulgar mind, or style from +the suburban intellect. Vulgarity and stupidity are two +very vivid facts in modern life. One regrets them, +naturally. But there they are. They are subjects for +study, like everything else. And it is only fair to state, +with regard to modern journalists, that they always apologise to +one in private for what they have written against one in +public.</p> +<p>Within the last few years two other <a name="page53"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 53</span>adjectives, it may be mentioned, have +been added to the very limited vocabulary of art-abuse that is at +the disposal of the public. One is the word +‘unhealthy,’ the other is the word +‘exotic.’ The latter merely expresses the rage +of the momentary mushroom against the immortal, entrancing, and +exquisitely lovely orchid. It is a tribute, but a tribute +of no importance. The word ‘unhealthy,’ +however, admits of analysis. It is a rather interesting +word. In fact, it is so interesting that the people who use +it do not know what it means.</p> +<p>What does it mean? What is a healthy, or an unhealthy +work of art? All terms that one applies to a work of art, +provided that one applies them rationally, have reference to +either its style or its subject, or to both together. From +the point of view of style, a healthy work of art is one whose +style recognises the beauty of the material it employs, be that +material one of words <a name="page54"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 54</span>or of bronze, of colour or of ivory, +and uses that beauty as a factor in producing the æsthetic +effect. From the point of view of subject, a healthy work +of art is one the choice of whose subject is conditioned by the +temperament of the artist, and comes directly out of it. In +fine, a healthy work of art is one that has both perfection and +personality. Of course, form and substance cannot be +separated in a work of art; they are always one. But for +purposes of analysis, and setting the wholeness of æsthetic +impression aside for a moment, we can intellectually so separate +them. An unhealthy work of art, on the other hand, is a +work whose style is obvious, old-fashioned, and common, and whose +subject is deliberately chosen, not because the artist has any +pleasure in it, but because he thinks that the public will pay +him for it. In fact, the popular novel that the public +calls healthy is always a thoroughly unhealthy production; <a +name="page55"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 55</span>and what the +public call an unhealthy novel is always a beautiful and healthy +work of art.</p> +<p>I need hardly say that I am not, for a single moment, +complaining that the public and the public press misuse these +words. I do not see how, with their lack of comprehension +of what Art is, they could possibly use them in the proper +sense. I am merely pointing out the misuse; and as for the +origin of the misuse and the meaning that lies behind it all, the +explanation is very simple. It comes from the barbarous +conception of authority. It comes from the natural +inability of a community corrupted by authority to understand or +appreciate Individualism. In a word, it comes from that +monstrous and ignorant thing that is called Public Opinion, +which, bad and well-meaning as it is when it tries to control +action, is infamous and of evil meaning when it tries to control +Thought or Art.</p> +<p><a name="page56"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 56</span>Indeed, +there is much more to be said in favour of the physical force of +the public than there is in favour of the public’s +opinion. The former may be fine. The latter must be +foolish. It is often said that force is no argument. +That, however, entirely depends on what one wants to prove. +Many of the most important problems of the last few centuries, +such as the continuance of personal government in England, or of +feudalism in France, have been solved entirely by means of +physical force. The very violence of a revolution may make +the public grand and splendid for a moment. It was a fatal +day when the public discovered that the pen is mightier than the +paving-stone, and can be made as offensive as the brickbat. +They at once sought for the journalist, found him, developed him, +and made him their industrious and well-paid servant. It is +greatly to be regretted, for both their sakes. <a +name="page57"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 57</span>Behind the +barricade there may be much that is noble and heroic. But +what is there behind the leading-article but prejudice, +stupidity, cant, and twaddle? And when these four are +joined together they make a terrible force, and constitute the +new authority.</p> +<p>In old days men had the rack. Now they have the +press. That is an improvement certainly. But still it +is very bad, and wrong, and demoralising. +Somebody—was it Burke?—called journalism the fourth +estate. That was true at the time, no doubt. But at +the present moment it really is the only estate. It has +eaten up the other three. The Lords Temporal say nothing, +the Lords Spiritual have nothing to say, and the House of Commons +has nothing to say and says it. We are dominated by +Journalism. In America the President reigns for four years, +and Journalism governs for ever and ever. Fortunately <a +name="page58"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 58</span>in America +Journalism has carried its authority to the grossest and most +brutal extreme. As a natural consequence it has begun to +create a spirit of revolt. People are amused by it, or +disgusted by it, according to their temperaments. But it is +no longer the real force it was. It is not seriously +treated. In England, Journalism, not, except in a few +well-known instances, having been carried to such excesses of +brutality, is still a great factor, a really remarkable +power. The tyranny that it proposes to exercise over +people’s private lives seems to me to be quite +extraordinary. The fact is, that the public have an +insatiable curiosity to know everything, except what is worth +knowing. Journalism, conscious of this, and having +tradesman-like habits, supplies their demands. In centuries +before ours the public nailed the ears of journalists to the +pump. That was quite hideous. In this century +journalists have nailed their <a name="page59"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 59</span>own ears to the keyhole. That +is much worse. And what aggravates the mischief is that the +journalists who are most to blame are not the amusing journalists +who write for what are called Society papers. The harm is +done by the serious, thoughtful, earnest journalists, who +solemnly, as they are doing at present, will drag before the eyes +of the public some incident in the private life of a great +statesman, of a man who is a leader of political thought as he is +a creator of political force, and invite the public to discuss +the incident, to exercise authority in the matter, to give their +views, and not merely to give their views, but to carry them into +action, to dictate to the man upon all other points, to dictate +to his party, to dictate to his country; in fact, to make +themselves ridiculous, offensive, and harmful. The private +lives of men and women should not be told to the public. +The public have nothing to <a name="page60"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 60</span>do with them at all. In France +they manage these things better. There they do not allow +the details of the trials that take place in the divorce courts +to be published for the amusement or criticism of the +public. All that the public are allowed to know is that the +divorce has taken place and was granted on petition of one or +other or both of the married parties concerned. In France, +in fact, they limit the journalist, and allow the artist almost +perfect freedom. Here we allow absolute freedom to the +journalist, and entirely limit the artist. English public +opinion, that is to say, tries to constrain and impede and warp +the man who makes things that are beautiful in effect, and +compels the journalist to retail things that are ugly, or +disgusting, or revolting in fact, so that we have the most +serious journalists in the world, and the most indecent +newspapers. It is no exaggeration to talk of +compulsion. There <a name="page61"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 61</span>are possibly some journalists who +take a real pleasure in publishing horrible things, or who, being +poor, look to scandals as forming a sort of permanent basis for +an income. But there are other journalists, I feel certain, +men of education and cultivation, who really dislike publishing +these things, who know that it is wrong to do so, and only do it +because the unhealthy conditions under which their occupation is +carried on oblige them to supply the public with what the public +wants, and to compete with other journalists in making that +supply as full and satisfying to the gross popular appetite as +possible. It is a very degrading position for any body of +educated men to be placed in, and I have no doubt that most of +them feel it acutely.</p> +<p>However, let us leave what is really a very sordid side of the +subject, and return to the question of popular control in the +matter of Art, by which <a name="page62"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 62</span>I mean Public Opinion dictating to +the artist the form which he is to use, the mode in which he is +to use it, and the materials with which he is to work. I +have pointed out that the arts which have escaped best in England +are the arts in which the public have not been interested. +They are, however, interested in the drama, and as a certain +advance has been made in the drama within the last ten or fifteen +years, it is important to point out that this advance is entirely +due to a few individual artists refusing to accept the popular +want of taste as their standard, and refusing to regard Art as a +mere matter of demand and supply. With his marvellous and +vivid personality, with a style that has really a true +colour-element in it, with his extraordinary power, not over mere +mimicry but over imaginative and intellectual creation, Mr +Irving, had his sole object been to give the public what they +wanted, could have produced <a name="page63"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 63</span>the commonest plays in the commonest +manner, and made as much success and money as a man could +possibly desire. But his object was not that. His +object was to realise his own perfection as an artist, under +certain conditions, and in certain forms of Art. At first +he appealed to the few: now he has educated the many. He +has created in the public both taste and temperament. The +public appreciate his artistic success immensely. I often +wonder, however, whether the public understand that that success +is entirely due to the fact that he did not accept their +standard, but realised his own. With their standard the +Lyceum would have been a sort of second-rate booth, as some of +the popular theatres in London are at present. Whether they +understand it or not the fact however remains, that taste and +temperament have, to a certain extent been created in the public, +and that <a name="page64"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +64</span>the public is capable of developing these +qualities. The problem then is, why do not the public +become more civilised? They have the capacity. What +stops them?</p> +<p>The thing that stops them, it must be said again, is their +desire to exercise authority over the artist and over works of +art. To certain theatres, such as the Lyceum and the +Haymarket, the public seem to come in a proper mood. In +both of these theatres there have been individual artists, who +have succeeded in creating in their audiences—and every +theatre in London has its own audience—the temperament to +which Art appeals. And what is that temperament? It +is the temperament of receptivity. That is all.</p> +<p>If a man approaches a work of art with any desire to exercise +authority over it and the artist, he approaches it in such a +spirit that he cannot receive any artistic impression from it at +all. The work of art is to dominate <a +name="page65"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 65</span>the +spectator: the spectator is not to dominate the work of +art. The spectator is to be receptive. He is to be +the violin on which the master is to play. And the more +completely he can suppress his own silly views, his own foolish +prejudices, his own absurd ideas of what Art should be, or should +not be, the more likely he is to understand and appreciate the +work of art in question. This is, of course, quite obvious +in the case of the vulgar theatre-going public of English men and +women. But it is equally true of what are called educated +people. For an educated person’s ideas of Art are +drawn naturally from what Art has been, whereas the new work of +art is beautiful by being what Art has never been; and to measure +it by the standard of the past is to measure it by a standard on +the rejection of which its real perfection depends. A +temperament capable of receiving, through an imaginative medium, +and under imaginative <a name="page66"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 66</span>conditions, new and beautiful +impressions, is the only temperament that can appreciate a work +of art. And true as this is in the case of the appreciation +of sculpture and painting, it is still more true of the +appreciation of such arts as the drama. For a picture and a +statue are not at war with Time. They take no count of its +succession. In one moment their unity may be +apprehended. In the case of literature it is +different. Time must be traversed before the unity of +effect is realised. And so, in the drama, there may occur +in the first act of the play something whose real artistic value +may not be evident to the spectator till the third or fourth act +is reached. Is the silly fellow to get angry and call out, +and disturb the play, and annoy the artists? No. The +honest man is to sit quietly, and know the delightful emotions of +wonder, curiosity, and suspense. He is not to go to the +play to lose a vulgar <a name="page67"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 67</span>temper. He is to go to the play +to realise an artistic temperament. He is to go to the play +to gain an artistic temperament. He is not the arbiter of +the work of art. He is one who is admitted to contemplate +the work of art, and, if the work be fine, to forget in its +contemplation and the egotism that mars him—the egotism of +his ignorance, or the egotism of his information. This +point about the drama is hardly, I think, sufficiently +recognised. I can quite understand that were +‘Macbeth’ produced for the first time before a modern +London audience, many of the people present would strongly and +vigorously object to the introduction of the witches in the first +act, with their grotesque phrases and their ridiculous +words. But when the play is over one realises that the +laughter of the witches in ‘Macbeth’ is as terrible +as the laughter of madness in ‘Lear,’ more terrible +than the laughter of Iago in the tragedy of the <a +name="page68"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 68</span>Moor. +No spectator of art needs a more perfect mood of receptivity than +the spectator of a play. The moment he seeks to exercise +authority he becomes the avowed enemy of Art and of +himself. Art does not mind. It is he who suffers.</p> +<p>With the novel it is the same thing. Popular authority +and the recognition of popular authority are fatal. +Thackeray’s ‘Esmond’ is a beautiful work of art +because he wrote it to please himself. In his other novels, +in ‘Pendennis,’ in ‘Philip,’ in +‘Vanity Fair’ even, at times, he is too conscious of +the public, and spoils his work by appealing directly to the +sympathies of the public, or by directly mocking at them. A +true artist takes no notice whatever of the public. The +public are to him non-existent. He has no poppied or +honeyed cakes through which to give the monster sleep or +sustenance. He leaves that to the popular novelist. +One incomparable novelist we have <a name="page69"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 69</span>now in England, Mr George +Meredith. There are better artists in France, but France +has no one whose view of life is so large, so varied, so +imaginatively true. There are tellers of stories in Russia +who have a more vivid sense of what pain in fiction may be. +But to him belongs philosophy in fiction. His people not +merely live, but they live in thought. One can see them +from myriad points of view. They are suggestive. +There is soul in them and around them. They are +interpretative and symbolic. And he who made them, those +wonderful quickly-moving figures, made them for his own pleasure, +and has never asked the public what they wanted, has never cared +to know what they wanted, has never allowed the public to dictate +to him or influence him in any way but has gone on intensifying +his own personality, and producing his own individual work. +At first none came to him. That did not matter. Then +the few came to <a name="page70"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +70</span>him. That did not change him. The many have +come now. He is still the same. He is an incomparable +novelist.</p> +<p>With the decorative arts it is not different. The public +clung with really pathetic tenacity to what I believe were the +direct traditions of the Great Exhibition of international +vulgarity, traditions that were so appalling that the houses in +which people lived were only fit for blind people to live +in. Beautiful things began to be made, beautiful colours +came from the dyer’s hand, beautiful patterns from the +artist’s brain, and the use of beautiful things and their +value and importance were set forth. The public were really +very indignant. They lost their temper. They said +silly things. No one minded. No one was a whit the +worse. No one accepted the authority of public +opinion. And now it is almost impossible to enter any +modern house without seeing some recognition of good taste, some +recognition of the value of lovely surroundings, <a +name="page71"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 71</span>some sign of +appreciation of beauty. In fact, people’s houses are, +as a rule, quite charming nowadays. People have been to a +very great extent civilised. It is only fair to state, +however, that the extraordinary success of the revolution in +house-decoration and furniture and the like has not really been +due to the majority of the public developing a very fine taste in +such matters. It has been chiefly due to the fact that the +craftsmen of things so appreciated the pleasure of making what +was beautiful, and woke to such a vivid consciousness of the +hideousness and vulgarity of what the public had previously +wanted, that they simply starved the public out. It would +be quite impossible at the present moment to furnish a room as +rooms were furnished a few years ago, without going for +everything to an auction of second-hand furniture from some +third-rate lodging-house. The things are no longer +made. However they <a name="page72"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 72</span>may object to it, people must +nowadays have something charming in their surroundings. +Fortunately for them, their assumption of authority in these +art-matters came to entire grief.</p> +<p>It is evident, then, that all authority in such things is +bad. People sometimes inquire what form of government is +most suitable for an artist to live under. To this question +there is only one answer. The form of government that is +most suitable to the artist is no government at all. +Authority over him and his art is ridiculous. It has been +stated that under despotisms artists have produced lovely +work. This is not quite so. Artists have visited +despots, not as subjects to be tyrannised over, but as wandering +wonder-makers, as fascinating vagrant personalities, to be +entertained and charmed and suffered to be at peace, and allowed +to create. There is this to be said in favour of the +despot, that he, being an individual, <a name="page73"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 73</span>may have culture, while the mob, +being a monster, has none. One who is an Emperor and King +may stoop down to pick up a brush for a painter, but when the +democracy stoops down it is merely to throw mud. And yet +the democracy have not so far to stoop as the emperor. In +fact, when they want to throw mud they have not to stoop at +all. But there is no necessity to separate the monarch from +the mob; all authority is equally bad.</p> +<p>There are three kinds of despots. There is the despot +who tyrannises over the body. There is the despot who +tyrannises over the soul. There is the despot who +tyrannises over the soul and body alike. The first is +called the Prince. The second is called the Pope. The +third is called the People. The Prince may be +cultivated. Many Princes have been. Yet in the Prince +there is danger. One thinks of Dante at the bitter feast <a +name="page74"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 74</span>in Verona, of +Tasso in Ferrara’s madman’s cell. It is better +for the artist not to live with Princes. The Pope may be +cultivated. Many Popes have been; the bad Popes have +been. The bad Popes loved Beauty, almost as passionately, +nay, with as much passion as the good Popes hated Thought. +To the wickedness of the Papacy humanity owes much. The +goodness of the Papacy owes a terrible debt to humanity. +Yet, though the Vatican has kept the rhetoric of its thunders, +and lost the rod of its lightning, it is better for the artist +not to live with Popes. It was a Pope who said of Cellini +to a conclave of Cardinals that common laws and common authority +were not made for men such as he; but it was a Pope who thrust +Cellini into prison, and kept him there till he sickened with +rage, and created unreal visions for himself, and saw the gilded +sun enter his room, and grew so enamoured of <a +name="page75"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 75</span>it that he +sought to escape, and crept out from tower to tower, and falling +through dizzy air at dawn, maimed himself, and was by a +vine-dresser covered with vine leaves, and carried in a cart to +one who, loving beautiful things, had care of him. There is +danger in Popes. And as for the People, what of them and +their authority? Perhaps of them and their authority one +has spoken enough. Their authority is a thing blind, deaf, +hideous, grotesque, tragic, amusing, serious, and obscene. +It is impossible for the artist to live with the People. +All despots bribe. The people bribe and brutalise. +Who told them to exercise authority? They were made to +live, to listen, and to love. Someone has done them a great +wrong. They have marred themselves by imitation of their +inferiors. They have taken the sceptre of the Prince. +How should they use it? They have taken the triple tiara of +the Pope. How should <a name="page76"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 76</span>they carry its burden? They are +as a clown whose heart is broken. They are as a priest +whose soul is not yet born. Let all who love Beauty pity +them. Though they themselves love not Beauty, yet let them +pity themselves. Who taught them the trick of tyranny?</p> +<p>There are many other things that one might point out. +One might point out how the Renaissance was great, because it +sought to solve no social problem, and busied itself not about +such things, but suffered the individual to develop freely, +beautifully, and naturally, and so had great and individual +artists, and great and individual men. One might point out +how Louis XIV., by creating the modern state, destroyed the +individualism of the artist, and made things monstrous in their +monotony of repetition, and contemptible in their conformity to +rule, and destroyed throughout all France all those fine freedoms +of expression <a name="page77"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +77</span>that had made tradition new in beauty, and new modes one +with antique form. But the past is of no importance. +The present is of no importance. It is with the future that +we have to deal. For the past is what man should not have +been. The present is what man ought not to be. The +future is what artists are.</p> +<p>It will, of course, be said that such a scheme as is set forth +here is quite unpractical, and goes against human nature. +This is perfectly true. It is unpractical, and it goes +against human nature. This is why it is worth carrying out, +and that is why one proposes it. For what is a practical +scheme? A practical scheme is either a scheme that is +already in existence, or a scheme that could be carried out under +existing conditions. But it is exactly the existing +conditions that one objects to; and any scheme that could accept +these conditions is wrong and foolish. The conditions will +be <a name="page78"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 78</span>done +away with, and human nature will change. The only thing +that one really knows about human nature is that it +changes. Change is the one quality we can predicate of +it. The systems that fail are those that rely on the +permanency of human nature, and not on its growth and +development. The error of Louis XIV. was that he thought +human nature would always be the same. The result of his +error was the French Revolution. It was an admirable +result. All the results of the mistakes of governments are +quite admirable.</p> +<p>It is to be noted also that Individualism does not come to man +with any sickly cant about duty, which merely means doing what +other people want because they want it; or any hideous cant about +self-sacrifice, which is merely a survival of savage +mutilation. In fact, it does not come to man with any +claims upon him at all. It comes naturally <a +name="page79"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 79</span>and +inevitably out of man. It is the point to which all +development tends. It is the differentiation to which all +organisms grow. It is the perfection that is inherent in +every mode of life, and towards which every mode of life +quickens. And so Individualism exercises no compulsion over +man. On the contrary, it says to man that he should suffer +no compulsion to be exercised over him. It does not try to +force people to be good. It knows that people are good when +they are let alone. Man will develop Individualism out of +himself. Man is now so developing Individualism. To +ask whether Individualism is practical is like asking whether +Evolution is practical. Evolution is the law of life, and +there is no evolution except towards Individualism. Where +this tendency is not expressed, it is a case of +artificially-arrested growth, or of disease, or of death.</p> +<p>Individualism will also be unselfish <a +name="page80"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 80</span>and +unaffected. It has been pointed out that one of the results +of the extraordinary tyranny of authority is that words are +absolutely distorted from their proper and simple meaning, and +are used to express the obverse of their right +signification. What is true about Art is true about +Life. A man is called affected, nowadays, if he dresses as +he likes to dress. But in doing that he is acting in a +perfectly natural manner. Affectation, in such matters, +consists in dressing according to the views of one’s +neighbour, whose views, as they are the views of the majority, +will probably be extremely stupid. Or a man is called +selfish if he lives in the manner that seems to him most suitable +for the full realisation of his own personality; if, in fact, the +primary aim of his life is self-development. But this is +the way in which everyone should live. Selfishness is not +living as one wishes to live, it is <a name="page81"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 81</span>asking others to live as one wishes +to live. And unselfishness is letting other people’s +lives alone, not interfering with them. Selfishness always +aims at creating around it an absolute uniformity of type. +Unselfishness recognises infinite variety of type as a delightful +thing, accepts it, acquiesces in it, enjoys it. It is not +selfish to think for oneself. A man who does not think for +himself does not think at all. It is grossly selfish to +require of ones neighbour that he should think in the same way, +and hold the same opinions. Why should he? If he can +think, he will probably think differently. If he cannot +think, it is monstrous to require thought of any kind from +him. A red rose is not selfish because it wants to be a red +rose. It would be horribly selfish if it wanted all the +other flowers in the garden to be both red and roses. Under +Individualism people will be quite natural and absolutely +unselfish, <a name="page82"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +82</span>and will know the meanings of the words, and realise +them in their free, beautiful lives. Nor will men be +egotistic as they are now. For the egotist is he who makes +claims upon others, and the Individualist will not desire to do +that. It will not give him pleasure. When man has +realised Individualism, he will also realise sympathy and +exercise it freely and spontaneously. Up to the present man +has hardly cultivated sympathy at all. He has merely +sympathy with pain, and sympathy with pain is not the highest +form of sympathy. All sympathy is fine, but sympathy with +suffering is the least fine mode. It is tainted with +egotism. It is apt to become morbid. There is in it a +certain element of terror for our own safety. We become +afraid that we ourselves might be as the leper or as the blind, +and that no man would have care of us. It is curiously +limiting, too. One should sympathise with <a +name="page83"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 83</span>the entirety +of life, not with life’s sores and maladies merely, but +with life’s joy and beauty and energy and health and +freedom. The wider sympathy is, of course, the more +difficult. It requires more unselfishness. Anybody +can sympathise with the sufferings of a friend, but it requires a +very fine nature—it requires, in fact, the nature of a true +Individualist—to sympathise with a friend’s +success.</p> +<p>In the modern stress of competition and struggle for place, +such sympathy is naturally rare, and is also very much stifled by +the immoral ideal of uniformity of type and conformity to rule +which is so prevalent everywhere, and is perhaps most obnoxious +in England.</p> +<p>Sympathy with pain there will, of course, always be. It +is one of the first instincts of man. The animals which are +individual, the higher animals, that is to say, share it with +us. But it must be remembered that <a +name="page84"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 84</span>while +sympathy with joy intensifies the sum of joy in the world, +sympathy with pain does not really diminish the amount of +pain. It may make man better able to endure evil, but the +evil remains. Sympathy with consumption does not cure +consumption; that is what Science does. And when Socialism +has solved the problem of poverty, and Science solved the problem +of disease, the area of the sentimentalists will be lessened, and +the sympathy of man will be large, healthy, and +spontaneous. Man will have joy in the contemplation of the +joyous life of others.</p> +<p>For it is through joy that the Individualism of the future +will develop itself. Christ made no attempt to reconstruct +society, and consequently the Individualism that he preached to +man could be realised only through pain or in solitude. The +ideals that we owe to Christ are the ideals of the man who +abandons society entirely, or of the man <a +name="page85"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 85</span>who resists +society absolutely. But man is naturally social. Even +the Thebaid became peopled at last. And though the cenobite +realises his personality, it is often an impoverished personality +that he so realises. Upon the other hand, the terrible +truth that pain is a mode through which man may realise himself +exercises a wonderful fascination over the world. Shallow +speakers and shallow thinkers in pulpits and on platforms often +talk about the world’s worship of pleasure, and whine +against it. But it is rarely in the world’s history +that its ideal has been one of joy and beauty. The worship +of pain has far more often dominated the world. +Mediævalism, with its saints and martyrs, its love of +self-torture, its wild passion for wounding itself, its gashing +with knives, and its whipping with rods—Mediævalism +is real Christianity, and the mediæval Christ is the real +Christ. When the Renaissance dawned upon the world, and +brought <a name="page86"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +86</span>with it the new ideals of the beauty of life and the joy +of living, men could not understand Christ. Even Art shows +us that. The painters of the Renaissance drew Christ as a +little boy playing with another boy in a palace or a garden, or +lying back in his mother’s arms, smiling at her, or at a +flower, or at a bright bird; or as a noble, stately figure moving +nobly through the world; or as a wonderful figure rising in a +sort of ecstasy from death to life. Even when they drew him +crucified they drew him as a beautiful God on whom evil men had +inflicted suffering. But he did not preoccupy them +much. What delighted them was to paint the men and women +whom they admired, and to show the loveliness of this lovely +earth. They painted many religious pictures—in fact, +they painted far too many, and the monotony of type and motive is +wearisome, and was bad for art. It was the result of the +authority of the public in art-matters, and is to be +deplored. But <a name="page87"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +87</span>their soul was not in the subject. Raphael was a +great artist when he painted his portrait of the Pope. When +he painted his Madonnas and infant Christs, he is not a great +artist at all. Christ had no message for the Renaissance, +which was wonderful because it brought an ideal at variance with +his, and to find the presentation of the real Christ we must go +to mediæval art. There he is one maimed and marred; +one who is not comely to look on, because Beauty is a joy; one +who is not in fair raiment, because that may be a joy also: he is +a beggar who has a marvellous soul; he is a leper whose soul is +divine; he needs neither property nor health; he is a God +realising his perfection through pain.</p> +<p>The evolution of man is slow. The injustice of men is +great. It was necessary that pain should be put forward as +a mode of self-realisation. Even now, in some places in the +world, the message of Christ is necessary. No one who lived +<a name="page88"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 88</span>in modern +Russia could possibly realise his perfection except by +pain. A few Russian artists have realised themselves in +Art; in a fiction that is mediæval in character, because +its dominant note is the realisation of men through +suffering. But for those who are not artists, and to whom +there is no mode of life but the actual life of fact, pain is the +only door to perfection. A Russian who lives happily under +the present system of government in Russia must either believe +that man has no soul, or that, if he has, it is not worth +developing. A Nihilist who rejects all authority, because +he knows authority to be evil, and welcomes all pain, because +through that he realises his personality, is a real +Christian. To him the Christian ideal is a true thing.</p> +<p>And yet, Christ did not revolt against authority. He +accepted the imperial authority of the Roman Empire and paid +tribute. He endured the ecclesiastical authority of the +Jewish <a name="page89"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +89</span>Church, and would not repel its violence by any violence +of his own. He had, as I said before, no scheme for the +reconstruction of society. But the modern world has +schemes. It proposes to do away with poverty and the +suffering that it entails. It desires to get rid of pain, +and the suffering that pain entails. It trusts to Socialism +and to Science as its methods. What it aims at is an +Individualism expressing itself through joy. This +Individualism will be larger, fuller, lovelier than any +Individualism has ever been. Pain is not the ultimate mode +of perfection. It is merely provisional and a +protest. It has reference to wrong, unhealthy, unjust +surroundings. When the wrong, and the disease, and the +injustice are removed, it will have no further place. It +will have done its work. It was a great work, but it is +almost over. Its sphere lessens every day.</p> +<p>Nor will man miss it. For what man <a +name="page90"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 90</span>has sought +for is, indeed, neither pain nor pleasure, but simply Life. +Man has sought to live intensely, fully, perfectly. When he +can do so without exercising restraint on others, or suffering it +ever, and his activities are all pleasurable to him, he will be +saner, healthier, more civilised, more himself. Pleasure is +Nature’s test, her sign of approval. When man is +happy, he is in harmony with himself and his environment. +The new Individualism, for whose service Socialism, whether it +wills it or not, is working, will be perfect harmony. It +will be what the Greeks sought for, but could not, except in +Thought, realise completely, because they had slaves, and fed +them; it will be what the Renaissance sought for, but could not +realise completely except in Art, because they had slaves, and +starved them. It will be complete, and through it each man +will attain to his perfection. The new Individualism is the +new Hellenism.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><a name="page91"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 91</span><i>Reprinted from the</i> +‘<i>Fortnightly Review</i>,’<br /> +<i>by permission of Messrs Chapman and Hall</i>.</p> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SOUL OF MAN***</p> +<pre> + + +***** This file should be named 1017-h.htm or 1017-h.zip****** + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/0/1/1017 + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: The Soul of Man + +Author: Oscar Wilde + +Release Date: August, 1997 [EBook #1017] +[This file was first posted on August 10, 1997] +[Most recently updated: May 21, 2003] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: US-ASCII + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, THE SOUL OF MAN *** + + + + +Transcribed by David Price, email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk + + + + +THE SOUL OF MAN + + + + +The chief advantage that would result from the establishment of +Socialism is, undoubtedly, the fact that Socialism would relieve us +from that sordid necessity of living for others which, in the +present condition of things, presses so hardly upon almost +everybody. In fact, scarcely anyone at all escapes. + +Now and then, in the course of the century, a great man of science, +like Darwin; a great poet, like Keats; a fine critical spirit, like +M. Renan; a supreme artist, like Flaubert, has been able to isolate +himself, to keep himself out of reach of the clamorous claims of +others, to stand 'under the shelter of the wall,' as Plato puts it, +and so to realise the perfection of what was in him, to his own +incomparable gain, and to the incomparable and lasting gain of the +whole world. These, however, are exceptions. The majority of +people spoil their lives by an unhealthy and exaggerated altruism-- +are forced, indeed, so to spoil them. They find themselves +surrounded by hideous poverty, by hideous ugliness, by hideous +starvation. It is inevitable that they should be strongly moved by +all this. The emotions of man are stirred more quickly than man's +intelligence; and, as I pointed out some time ago in an article on +the function of criticism, it is much more easy to have sympathy +with suffering than it is to have sympathy with thought. +Accordingly, with admirable, though misdirected intentions, they +very seriously and very sentimentally set themselves to the task of +remedying the evils that they see. But their remedies do not cure +the disease: they merely prolong it. Indeed, their remedies are +part of the disease. + +They try to solve the problem of poverty, for instance, by keeping +the poor alive; or, in the case of a very advanced school, by +amusing the poor. + +But this is not a solution: it is an aggravation of the +difficulty. The proper aim is to try and reconstruct society on +such a basis that poverty will be impossible. And the altruistic +virtues have really prevented the carrying out of this aim. Just +as the worst slave-owners were those who were kind to their slaves, +and so prevented the horror of the system being realised by those +who suffered from it, and understood by those who contemplated it, +so, in the present state of things in England, the people who do +most harm are the people who try to do most good; and at last we +have had the spectacle of men who have really studied the problem +and know the life--educated men who live in the East End--coming +forward and imploring the community to restrain its altruistic +impulses of charity, benevolence, and the like. They do so on the +ground that such charity degrades and demoralises. They are +perfectly right. Charity creates a multitude of sins. + +There is also this to be said. It is immoral to use private +property in order to alleviate the horrible evils that result from +the institution of private property. It is both immoral and +unfair. + +Under Socialism all this will, of course, be altered. There will +be no people living in fetid dens and fetid rags, and bringing up +unhealthy, hunger-pinched children in the midst of impossible and +absolutely repulsive surroundings. The security of society will +not depend, as it does now, on the state of the weather. If a +frost comes we shall not have a hundred thousand men out of work, +tramping about the streets in a state of disgusting misery, or +whining to their neighbours for alms, or crowding round the doors +of loathsome shelters to try and secure a hunch of bread and a +night's unclean lodging. Each member of the society will share in +the general prosperity and happiness of the society, and if a frost +comes no one will practically be anything the worse. + +Upon the other hand, Socialism itself will be of value simply +because it will lead to Individualism. + +Socialism, Communism, or whatever one chooses to call it, by +converting private property into public wealth, and substituting +co-operation for competition, will restore society to its proper +condition of a thoroughly healthy organism, and insure the material +well-being of each member of the community. It will, in fact, give +Life its proper basis and its proper environment. But for the full +development of Life to its highest mode of perfection, something +more is needed. What is needed is Individualism. If the Socialism +is Authoritarian; if there are Governments armed with economic +power as they are now with political power; if, in a word, we are +to have Industrial Tyrannies, then the last state of man will be +worse than the first. At present, in consequence of the existence +of private property, a great many people are enabled to develop a +certain very limited amount of Individualism. They are either +under no necessity to work for their living, or are enabled to +choose the sphere of activity that is really congenial to them, and +gives them pleasure. These are the poets, the philosophers, the +men of science, the men of culture--in a word, the real men, the +men who have realised themselves, and in whom all Humanity gains a +partial realisation. Upon the other hand, there are a great many +people who, having no private property of their own, and being +always on the brink of sheer starvation, are compelled to do the +work of beasts of burden, to do work that is quite uncongenial to +them, and to which they are forced by the peremptory, unreasonable, +degrading Tyranny of want. These are the poor, and amongst them +there is no grace of manner, or charm of speech, or civilisation, +or culture, or refinement in pleasures, or joy of life. From their +collective force Humanity gains much in material prosperity. But +it is only the material result that it gains, and the man who is +poor is in himself absolutely of no importance. He is merely the +infinitesimal atom of a force that, so far from regarding him, +crushes him: indeed, prefers him crushed, as in that case he is +far more obedient. + +Of course, it might be said that the Individualism generated under +conditions of private property is not always, or even as a rule, of +a fine or wonderful type, and that the poor, if they have not +culture and charm, have still many virtues. Both these statements +would be quite true. The possession of private property is very +often extremely demoralising, and that is, of course, one of the +reasons why Socialism wants to get rid of the institution. In +fact, property is really a nuisance. Some years ago people went +about the country saying that property has duties. They said it so +often and so tediously that, at last, the Church has begun to say +it. One hears it now from every pulpit. It is perfectly true. +Property not merely has duties, but has so many duties that its +possession to any large extent is a bore. It involves endless +claims upon one, endless attention to business, endless bother. If +property had simply pleasures, we could stand it; but its duties +make it unbearable. In the interest of the rich we must get rid of +it. The virtues of the poor may be readily admitted, and are much +to be regretted. We are often told that the poor are grateful for +charity. Some of them are, no doubt, but the best amongst the poor +are never grateful. They are ungrateful, discontented, +disobedient, and rebellious. They are quite right to be so. +Charity they feel to be a ridiculously inadequate mode of partial +restitution, or a sentimental dole, usually accompanied by some +impertinent attempt on the part of the sentimentalist to tyrannise +over their private lives. Why should they be grateful for the +crumbs that fall from the rich man's table? They should be seated +at the board, and are beginning to know it. As for being +discontented, a man who would not be discontented with such +surroundings and such a low mode of life would be a perfect brute. +Disobedience, in the eyes of anyone who has read history, is man's +original virtue. It is through disobedience that progress has been +made, through disobedience and through rebellion. Sometimes the +poor are praised for being thrifty. But to recommend thrift to the +poor is both grotesque and insulting. It is like advising a man +who is starving to eat less. For a town or country labourer to +practise thrift would be absolutely immoral. Man should not be +ready to show that he can live like a badly-fed animal. He should +decline to live like that, and should either steal or go on the +rates, which is considered by many to be a form of stealing. As +for begging, it is safer to beg than to take, but it is finer to +take than to beg. No: a poor man who is ungrateful, unthrifty, +discontented, and rebellious, is probably a real personality, and +has much in him. He is at any rate a healthy protest. As for the +virtuous poor, one can pity them, of course, but one cannot +possibly admire them. They have made private terms with the enemy, +and sold their birthright for very bad pottage. They must also be +extraordinarily stupid. I can quite understand a man accepting +laws that protect private property, and admit of its accumulation, +as long as he himself is able under those conditions to realise +some form of beautiful and intellectual life. But it is almost +incredible to me how a man whose life is marred and made hideous by +such laws can possibly acquiesce in their continuance. + +However, the explanation is not really difficult to find. It is +simply this. Misery and poverty are so absolutely degrading, and +exercise such a paralysing effect over the nature of men, that no +class is ever really conscious of its own suffering. They have to +be told of it by other people, and they often entirely disbelieve +them. What is said by great employers of labour against agitators +is unquestionably true. Agitators are a set of interfering, +meddling people, who come down to some perfectly contented class of +the community, and sow the seeds of discontent amongst them. That +is the reason why agitators are so absolutely necessary. Without +them, in our incomplete state, there would be no advance towards +civilisation. Slavery was put down in America, not in consequence +of any action on the part of the slaves, or even any express desire +on their part that they should be free. It was put down entirely +through the grossly illegal conduct of certain agitators in Boston +and elsewhere, who were not slaves themselves, nor owners of +slaves, nor had anything to do with the question really. It was, +undoubtedly, the Abolitionists who set the torch alight, who began +the whole thing. And it is curious to note that from the slaves +themselves they received, not merely very little assistance, but +hardly any sympathy even; and when at the close of the war the +slaves found themselves free, found themselves indeed so absolutely +free that they were free to starve, many of them bitterly regretted +the new state of things. To the thinker, the most tragic fact in +the whole of the French Revolution is not that Marie Antoinette was +killed for being a queen, but that the starved peasant of the +Vendee voluntarily went out to die for the hideous cause of +feudalism. + +It is clear, then, that no Authoritarian Socialism will do. For +while under the present system a very large number of people can +lead lives of a certain amount of freedom and expression and +happiness, under an industrial-barrack system, or a system of +economic tyranny, nobody would be able to have any such freedom at +all. It is to be regretted that a portion of our community should +be practically in slavery, but to propose to solve the problem by +enslaving the entire community is childish. Every man must be left +quite free to choose his own work. No form of compulsion must be +exercised over him. If there is, his work will not be good for +him, will not be good in itself, and will not be good for others. +And by work I simply mean activity of any kind. + +I hardly think that any Socialist, nowadays, would seriously +propose that an inspector should call every morning at each house +to see that each citizen rose up and did manual labour for eight +hours. Humanity has got beyond that stage, and reserves such a +form of life for the people whom, in a very arbitrary manner, it +chooses to call criminals. But I confess that many of the +socialistic views that I have come across seem to me to be tainted +with ideas of authority, if not of actual compulsion. Of course, +authority and compulsion are out of the question. All association +must be quite voluntary. It is only in voluntary associations that +man is fine. + +But it may be asked how Individualism, which is now more or less +dependent on the existence of private property for its development, +will benefit by the abolition of such private property. The answer +is very simple. It is true that, under existing conditions, a few +men who have had private means of their own, such as Byron, +Shelley, Browning, Victor Hugo, Baudelaire, and others, have been +able to realise their personality more or less completely. Not one +of these men ever did a single day's work for hire. They were +relieved from poverty. They had an immense advantage. The +question is whether it would be for the good of Individualism that +such an advantage should be taken away. Let us suppose that it is +taken away. What happens then to Individualism? How will it +benefit? + +It will benefit in this way. Under the new conditions +Individualism will be far freer, far finer, and far more +intensified than it is now. I am not talking of the great +imaginatively-realised Individualism of such poets as I have +mentioned, but of the great actual Individualism latent and +potential in mankind generally. For the recognition of private +property has really harmed Individualism, and obscured it, by +confusing a man with what he possesses. It has led Individualism +entirely astray. It has made gain not growth its aim. So that man +thought that the important thing was to have, and did not know that +the important thing is to be. The true perfection of man lies, not +in what man has, but in what man is. + +Private property has crushed true Individualism, and set up an +Individualism that is false. It has debarred one part of the +community from being individual by starving them. It has debarred +the other part of the community from being individual by putting +them on the wrong road, and encumbering them. Indeed, so +completely has man's personality been absorbed by his possessions +that the English law has always treated offences against a man's +property with far more severity than offences against his person, +and property is still the test of complete citizenship. The +industry necessary for the making money is also very demoralising. +In a community like ours, where property confers immense +distinction, social position, honour, respect, titles, and other +pleasant things of the kind, man, being naturally ambitious, makes +it his aim to accumulate this property, and goes on wearily and +tediously accumulating it long after he has got far more than he +wants, or can use, or enjoy, or perhaps even know of. Man will +kill himself by overwork in order to secure property, and really, +considering the enormous advantages that property brings, one is +hardly surprised. One's regret is that society should be +constructed on such a basis that man has been forced into a groove +in which he cannot freely develop what is wonderful, and +fascinating, and delightful in him--in which, in fact, he misses +the true pleasure and joy of living. He is also, under existing +conditions, very insecure. An enormously wealthy merchant may be-- +often is--at every moment of his life at the mercy of things that +are not under his control. If the wind blows an extra point or so, +or the weather suddenly changes, or some trivial thing happens, his +ship may go down, his speculations may go wrong, and he finds +himself a poor man, with his social position quite gone. Now, +nothing should be able to harm a man except himself. Nothing +should be able to rob a man at all. What a man really has, is what +is in him. What is outside of him should be a matter of no +importance. + +With the abolition of private property, then, we shall have true, +beautiful, healthy Individualism. Nobody will waste his life in +accumulating things, and the symbols for things. One will live. +To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that +is all. + +It is a question whether we have ever seen the full expression of a +personality, except on the imaginative plane of art. In action, we +never have. Caesar, says Mommsen, was the complete and perfect +man. But how tragically insecure was Caesar! Wherever there is a +man who exercises authority, there is a man who resists authority. +Caesar was very perfect, but his perfection travelled by too +dangerous a road. Marcus Aurelius was the perfect man, says Renan. +Yes; the great emperor was a perfect man. But how intolerable were +the endless claims upon him! He staggered under the burden of the +empire. He was conscious how inadequate one man was to bear the +weight of that Titan and too vast orb. What I mean by a perfect +man is one who develops under perfect conditions; one who is not +wounded, or worried or maimed, or in danger. Most personalities +have been obliged to be rebels. Half their strength has been +wasted in friction. Byron's personality, for instance, was +terribly wasted in its battle with the stupidity, and hypocrisy, +and Philistinism of the English. Such battles do not always +intensify strength: they often exaggerate weakness. Byron was +never able to give us what he might have given us. Shelley escaped +better. Like Byron, he got out of England as soon as possible. +But he was not so well known. If the English had had any idea of +what a great poet he really was, they would have fallen on him with +tooth and nail, and made his life as unbearable to him as they +possibly could. But he was not a remarkable figure in society, and +consequently he escaped, to a certain degree. Still, even in +Shelley the note of rebellion is sometimes too strong. The note of +the perfect personality is not rebellion, but peace. + +It will be a marvellous thing--the true personality of man--when we +see it. It will grow naturally and simply, flowerlike, or as a +tree grows. It will not be at discord. It will never argue or +dispute. It will not prove things. It will know everything. And +yet it will not busy itself about knowledge. It will have wisdom. +Its value will not be measured by material things. It will have +nothing. And yet it will have everything, and whatever one takes +from it, it will still have, so rich will it be. It will not be +always meddling with others, or asking them to be like itself. It +will love them because they will be different. And yet while it +will not meddle with others, it will help all, as a beautiful thing +helps us, by being what it is. The personality of man will be very +wonderful. It will be as wonderful as the personality of a child. + +In its development it will be assisted by Christianity, if men +desire that; but if men do not desire that, it will develop none +the less surely. For it will not worry itself about the past, nor +care whether things happened or did not happen. Nor will it admit +any laws but its own laws; nor any authority but its own authority. +Yet it will love those who sought to intensify it, and speak often +of them. And of these Christ was one. + +'Know thyself' was written over the portal of the antique world. +Over the portal of the new world, 'Be thyself' shall be written. +And the message of Christ to man was simply 'Be thyself.' That is +the secret of Christ. + +When Jesus talks about the poor he simply means personalities, just +as when he talks about the rich he simply means people who have not +developed their personalities. Jesus moved in a community that +allowed the accumulation of private property just as ours does, and +the gospel that he preached was not that in such a community it is +an advantage for a man to live on scanty, unwholesome food, to wear +ragged, unwholesome clothes, to sleep in horrid, unwholesome +dwellings, and a disadvantage for a man to live under healthy, +pleasant, and decent conditions. Such a view would have been wrong +there and then, and would, of course, be still more wrong now and +in England; for as man moves northward the material necessities of +life become of more vital importance, and our society is infinitely +more complex, and displays far greater extremes of luxury and +pauperism than any society of the antique world. What Jesus meant, +was this. He said to man, 'You have a wonderful personality. +Develop it. Be yourself. Don't imagine that your perfection lies +in accumulating or possessing external things. Your affection is +inside of you. If only you could realise that, you would not want +to be rich. Ordinary riches can be stolen from a man. Real riches +cannot. In the treasury-house of your soul, there are infinitely +precious things, that may not be taken from you. And so, try to so +shape your life that external things will not harm you. And try +also to get rid of personal property. It involves sordid +preoccupation, endless industry, continual wrong. Personal +property hinders Individualism at every step.' It is to be noted +that Jesus never says that impoverished people are necessarily +good, or wealthy people necessarily bad. That would not have been +true. Wealthy people are, as a class, better than impoverished +people, more moral, more intellectual, more well-behaved. There is +only one class in the community that thinks more about money than +the rich, and that is the poor. The poor can think of nothing +else. That is the misery of being poor. What Jesus does say is +that man reaches his perfection, not through what he has, not even +through what he does, but entirely through what he is. And so the +wealthy young man who comes to Jesus is represented as a thoroughly +good citizen, who has broken none of the laws of his state, none of +the commandments of his religion. He is quite respectable, in the +ordinary sense of that extraordinary word. Jesus says to him, 'You +should give up private property. It hinders you from realising +your perfection. It is a drag upon you. It is a burden. Your +personality does not need it. It is within you, and not outside of +you, that you will find what you really are, and what you really +want.' To his own friends he says the same thing. He tells them +to be themselves, and not to be always worrying about other things. +What do other things matter? Man is complete in himself. When +they go into the world, the world will disagree with them. That is +inevitable. The world hates Individualism. But that is not to +trouble them. They are to be calm and self-centred. If a man +takes their cloak, they are to give him their coat, just to show +that material things are of no importance. If people abuse them, +they are not to answer back. What does it signify? The things +people say of a man do not alter a man. He is what he is. Public +opinion is of no value whatsoever. Even if people employ actual +violence, they are not to be violent in turn. That would be to +fall to the same low level. After all, even in prison, a man can +be quite free. His soul can be free. His personality can be +untroubled. He can be at peace. And, above all things, they are +not to interfere with other people or judge them in any way. +Personality is a very mysterious thing. A man cannot always be +estimated by what he does. He may keep the law, and yet be +worthless. He may break the law, and yet be fine. He may be bad, +without ever doing anything bad. He may commit a sin against +society, and yet realise through that sin his true perfection. + +There was a woman who was taken in adultery. We are not told the +history of her love, but that love must have been very great; for +Jesus said that her sins were forgiven her, not because she +repented, but because her love was so intense and wonderful. Later +on, a short time before his death, as he sat at a feast, the woman +came in and poured costly perfumes on his hair. His friends tried +to interfere with her, and said that it was an extravagance, and +that the money that the perfume cost should have been expended on +charitable relief of people in want, or something of that kind. +Jesus did not accept that view. He pointed out that the material +needs of Man were great and very permanent, but that the spiritual +needs of Man were greater still, and that in one divine moment, and +by selecting its own mode of expression, a personality might make +itself perfect. The world worships the woman, even now, as a +saint. + +Yes; there are suggestive things in Individualism. Socialism +annihilates family life, for instance. With the abolition of +private property, marriage in its present form must disappear. +This is part of the programme. Individualism accepts this and +makes it fine. It converts the abolition of legal restraint into a +form of freedom that will help the full development of personality, +and make the love of man and woman more wonderful, more beautiful, +and more ennobling. Jesus knew this. He rejected the claims of +family life, although they existed in his day and community in a +very marked form. 'Who is my mother? Who are my brothers?' he +said, when he was told that they wished to speak to him. When one +of his followers asked leave to go and bury his father, 'Let the +dead bury the dead,' was his terrible answer. He would allow no +claim whatsoever to be made on personality. + +And so he who would lead a Christlike life is he who is perfectly +and absolutely himself. He may be a great poet, or a great man of +science; or a young student at a University, or one who watches +sheep upon a moor; or a maker of dramas, like Shakespeare, or a +thinker about God, like Spinoza; or a child who plays in a garden, +or a fisherman who throws his net into the sea. It does not matter +what he is, as long as he realises the perfection of the soul that +is within him. All imitation in morals and in life is wrong. +Through the streets of Jerusalem at the present day crawls one who +is mad and carries a wooden cross on his shoulders. He is a symbol +of the lives that are marred by imitation. Father Damien was +Christlike when he went out to live with the lepers, because in +such service he realised fully what was best in him. But he was +not more Christlike than Wagner when he realised his soul in music; +or than Shelley, when he realised his soul in song. There is no +one type for man. There are as many perfections as there are +imperfect men. And while to the claims of charity a man may yield +and yet be free, to the claims of conformity no man may yield and +remain free at all. + +Individualism, then, is what through Socialism we are to attain to. +As a natural result the State must give up all idea of government. +It must give it up because, as a wise man once said many centuries +before Christ, there is such a thing as leaving mankind alone; +there is no such thing as governing mankind. All modes of +government are failures. Despotism is unjust to everybody, +including the despot, who was probably made for better things. +Oligarchies are unjust to the many, and ochlocracies are unjust to +the few. High hopes were once formed of democracy; but democracy +means simply the bludgeoning of the people by the people for the +people. It has been found out. I must say that it was high time, +for all authority is quite degrading. It degrades those who +exercise it, and degrades those over whom it is exercised. When it +is violently, grossly, and cruelly used, it produces a good effect, +by creating, or at any rate bringing out, the spirit of revolt and +Individualism that is to kill it. When it is used with a certain +amount of kindness, and accompanied by prizes and rewards, it is +dreadfully demoralising. People, in that case, are less conscious +of the horrible pressure that is being put on them, and so go +through their lives in a sort of coarse comfort, like petted +animals, without ever realising that they are probably thinking +other people's thoughts, living by other people's standards, +wearing practically what one may call other people's second-hand +clothes, and never being themselves for a single moment. 'He who +would be free,' says a fine thinker, 'must not conform.' And +authority, by bribing people to conform, produces a very gross kind +of over-fed barbarism amongst us. + +With authority, punishment will pass away. This will be a great +gain--a gain, in fact, of incalculable value. As one reads +history, not in the expurgated editions written for school-boys and +passmen, but in the original authorities of each time, one is +absolutely sickened, not by the crimes that the wicked have +committed, but by the punishments that the good have inflicted; and +a community is infinitely more brutalised by the habitual +employment of punishment, than it is by the occurrence of crime. +It obviously follows that the more punishment is inflicted the more +crime is produced, and most modern legislation has clearly +recognised this, and has made it its task to diminish punishment as +far as it thinks it can. Wherever it has really diminished it, the +results have always been extremely good. The less punishment, the +less crime. When there is no punishment at all, crime will either +cease to exist, or, if it occurs, will be treated by physicians as +a very distressing form of dementia, to be cured by care and +kindness. For what are called criminals nowadays are not criminals +at all. Starvation, and not sin, is the parent of modern crime. +That indeed is the reason why our criminals are, as a class, so +absolutely uninteresting from any psychological point of view. +They are not marvellous Macbeths and terrible Vautrins. They are +merely what ordinary, respectable, commonplace people would be if +they had not got enough to eat. When private property is abolished +there will be no necessity for crime, no demand for it; it will +cease to exist. Of course, all crimes are not crimes against +property, though such are the crimes that the English law, valuing +what a man has more than what a man is, punishes with the harshest +and most horrible severity, if we except the crime of murder, and +regard death as worse than penal servitude, a point on which our +criminals, I believe, disagree. But though a crime may not be +against property, it may spring from the misery and rage and +depression produced by our wrong system of property-holding, and +so, when that system is abolished, will disappear. When each +member of the community has sufficient for his wants, and is not +interfered with by his neighbour, it will not be an object of any +interest to him to interfere with anyone else. Jealousy, which is +an extraordinary source of crime in modern life, is an emotion +closely bound up with our conceptions of property, and under +Socialism and Individualism will die out. It is remarkable that in +communistic tribes jealousy is entirely unknown. + +Now as the State is not to govern, it may be asked what the State +is to do. The State is to be a voluntary association that will +organise labour, and be the manufacturer and distributor of +necessary commodities. The State is to make what is useful. The +individual is to make what is beautiful. And as I have mentioned +the word labour, I cannot help saying that a great deal of nonsense +is being written and talked nowadays about the dignity of manual +labour. There is nothing necessarily dignified about manual labour +at all, and most of it is absolutely degrading. It is mentally and +morally injurious to man to do anything in which he does not find +pleasure, and many forms of labour are quite pleasureless +activities, and should be regarded as such. To sweep a slushy +crossing for eight hours, on a day when the east wind is blowing is +a disgusting occupation. To sweep it with mental, moral, or +physical dignity seems to me to be impossible. To sweep it with +joy would be appalling. Man is made for something better than +disturbing dirt. All work of that kind should be done by a +machine. + +And I have no doubt that it will be so. Up to the present, man has +been, to a certain extent, the slave of machinery, and there is +something tragic in the fact that as soon as man had invented a +machine to do his work he began to starve. This, however, is, of +course, the result of our property system and our system of +competition. One man owns a machine which does the work of five +hundred men. Five hundred men are, in consequence, thrown out of +employment, and, having no work to do, become hungry and take to +thieving. The one man secures the produce of the machine and keeps +it, and has five hundred times as much as he should have, and +probably, which is of much more importance, a great deal more than +he really wants. Were that machine the property of all, every one +would benefit by it. It would be an immense advantage to the +community. All unintellectual labour, all monotonous, dull labour, +all labour that deals with dreadful things, and involves unpleasant +conditions, must be done by machinery. Machinery must work for us +in coal mines, and do all sanitary services, and be the stoker of +steamers, and clean the streets, and run messages on wet days, and +do anything that is tedious or distressing. At present machinery +competes against man. Under proper conditions machinery will serve +man. There is no doubt at all that this is the future of +machinery, and just as trees grow while the country gentleman is +asleep, so while Humanity will be amusing itself, or enjoying +cultivated leisure--which, and not labour, is the aim of man--or +making beautiful things, or reading beautiful things, or simply +contemplating the world with admiration and delight, machinery will +be doing all the necessary and unpleasant work. The fact is, that +civilisation requires slaves. The Greeks were quite right there. +Unless there are slaves to do the ugly, horrible, uninteresting +work, culture and contemplation become almost impossible. Human +slavery is wrong, insecure, and demoralising. On mechanical +slavery, on the slavery of the machine, the future of the world +depends. And when scientific men are no longer called upon to go +down to a depressing East End and distribute bad cocoa and worse +blankets to starving people, they will have delightful leisure in +which to devise wonderful and marvellous things for their own joy +and the joy of everyone else. There will be great storages of +force for every city, and for every house if required, and this +force man will convert into heat, light, or motion, according to +his needs. Is this Utopian? A map of the world that does not +include Utopia is not worth even glancing at, for it leaves out the +one country at which Humanity is always landing. And when Humanity +lands there, it looks out, and, seeing a better country, sets sail. +Progress is the realisation of Utopias. + +Now, I have said that the community by means of organisation of +machinery will supply the useful things, and that the beautiful +things will be made by the individual. This is not merely +necessary, but it is the only possible way by which we can get +either the one or the other. An individual who has to make things +for the use of others, and with reference to their wants and their +wishes, does not work with interest, and consequently cannot put +into his work what is best in him. Upon the other hand, whenever a +community or a powerful section of a community, or a government of +any kind, attempts to dictate to the artist what he is to do, Art +either entirely vanishes, or becomes stereotyped, or degenerates +into a low and ignoble form of craft. A work of art is the unique +result of a unique temperament. Its beauty comes from the fact +that the author is what he is. It has nothing to do with the fact +that other people want what they want. Indeed, the moment that an +artist takes notice of what other people want, and tries to supply +the demand, he ceases to be an artist, and becomes a dull or an +amusing craftsman, an honest or a dishonest tradesman. He has no +further claim to be considered as an artist. Art is the most +intense mode of Individualism that the world has known. I am +inclined to say that it is the only real mode of Individualism that +the world has known. Crime, which, under certain conditions, may +seem to have created Individualism, must take cognisance of other +people and interfere with them. It belongs to the sphere of +action. But alone, without any reference to his neighbours, +without any interference, the artist can fashion a beautiful thing; +and if he does not do it solely for his own pleasure, he is not an +artist at all. + +And it is to be noted that it is the fact that Art is this intense +form of Individualism that makes the public try to exercise over it +in an authority that is as immoral as it is ridiculous, and as +corrupting as it is contemptible. It is not quite their fault. +The public has always, and in every age, been badly brought up. +They are continually asking Art to be popular, to please their want +of taste, to flatter their absurd vanity, to tell them what they +have been told before, to show them what they ought to be tired of +seeing, to amuse them when they feel heavy after eating too much, +and to distract their thoughts when they are wearied of their own +stupidity. Now Art should never try to be popular. The public +should try to make itself artistic. There is a very wide +difference. If a man of science were told that the results of his +experiments, and the conclusions that he arrived at, should be of +such a character that they would not upset the received popular +notions on the subject, or disturb popular prejudice, or hurt the +sensibilities of people who knew nothing about science; if a +philosopher were told that he had a perfect right to speculate in +the highest spheres of thought, provided that he arrived at the +same conclusions as were held by those who had never thought in any +sphere at all--well, nowadays the man of science and the +philosopher would be considerably amused. Yet it is really a very +few years since both philosophy and science were subjected to +brutal popular control, to authority--in fact the authority of +either the general ignorance of the community, or the terror and +greed for power of an ecclesiastical or governmental class. Of +course, we have to a very great extent got rid of any attempt on +the part of the community, or the Church, or the Government, to +interfere with the individualism of speculative thought, but the +attempt to interfere with the individualism of imaginative art +still lingers. In fact, it does more than linger; it is +aggressive, offensive, and brutalising. + +In England, the arts that have escaped best are the arts in which +the public take no interest. Poetry is an instance of what I mean. +We have been able to have fine poetry in England because the public +do not read it, and consequently do not influence it. The public +like to insult poets because they are individual, but once they +have insulted them, they leave them alone. In the case of the +novel and the drama, arts in which the public do take an interest, +the result of the exercise of popular authority has been absolutely +ridiculous. No country produces such badly-written fiction, such +tedious, common work in the novel form, such silly, vulgar plays as +England. It must necessarily be so. The popular standard is of +such a character that no artist can get to it. It is at once too +easy and too difficult to be a popular novelist. It is too easy, +because the requirements of the public as far as plot, style, +psychology, treatment of life, and treatment of literature are +concerned are within the reach of the very meanest capacity and the +most uncultivated mind. It is too difficult, because to meet such +requirements the artist would have to do violence to his +temperament, would have to write not for the artistic joy of +writing, but for the amusement of half-educated people, and so +would have to suppress his individualism, forget his culture, +annihilate his style, and surrender everything that is valuable in +him. In the case of the drama, things are a little better: the +theatre-going public like the obvious, it is true, but they do not +like the tedious; and burlesque and farcical comedy, the two most +popular forms, are distinct forms of art. Delightful work may be +produced under burlesque and farcical conditions, and in work of +this kind the artist in England is allowed very great freedom. It +is when one comes to the higher forms of the drama that the result +of popular control is seen. The one thing that the public dislike +is novelty. Any attempt to extend the subject-matter of art is +extremely distasteful to the public; and yet the vitality and +progress of art depend in a large measure on the continual +extension of subject-matter. The public dislike novelty because +they are afraid of it. It represents to them a mode of +Individualism, an assertion on the part of the artist that he +selects his own subject, and treats it as he chooses. The public +are quite right in their attitude. Art is Individualism, and +Individualism is a disturbing and disintegrating force. Therein +lies its immense value. For what it seeks to disturb is monotony +of type, slavery of custom, tyranny of habit, and the reduction of +man to the level of a machine. In Art, the public accept what has +been, because they cannot alter it, not because they appreciate it. +They swallow their classics whole, and never taste them. They +endure them as the inevitable, and as they cannot mar them, they +mouth about them. Strangely enough, or not strangely, according to +one's own views, this acceptance of the classics does a great deal +of harm. The uncritical admiration of the Bible and Shakespeare in +England is an instance of what I mean. With regard to the Bible, +considerations of ecclesiastical authority enter into the matter, +so that I need not dwell upon the point. But in the case of +Shakespeare it is quite obvious that the public really see neither +the beauties nor the defects of his plays. If they saw the +beauties, they would not object to the development of the drama; +and if they saw the defects, they would not object to the +development of the drama either. The fact is, the public make use +of the classics of a country as a means of checking the progress of +Art. They degrade the classics into authorities. They use them as +bludgeons for preventing the free expression of Beauty in new +forms. They are always asking a writer why he does not write like +somebody else, or a painter why he does not paint like somebody +else, quite oblivious of the fact that if either of them did +anything of the kind he would cease to be an artist. A fresh mode +of Beauty is absolutely distasteful to them, and whenever it +appears they get so angry, and bewildered that they always use two +stupid expressions--one is that the work of art is grossly +unintelligible; the other, that the work of art is grossly immoral. +What they mean by these words seems to me to be this. When they +say a work is grossly unintelligible, they mean that the artist has +said or made a beautiful thing that is new; when they describe a +work as grossly immoral, they mean that the artist has said or made +a beautiful thing that is true. The former expression has +reference to style; the latter to subject-matter. But they +probably use the words very vaguely, as an ordinary mob will use +ready-made paving-stones. There is not a single real poet or +prose-writer of this century, for instance, on whom the British +public have not solemnly conferred diplomas of immorality, and +these diplomas practically take the place, with us, of what in +France, is the formal recognition of an Academy of Letters, and +fortunately make the establishment of such an institution quite +unnecessary in England. Of course, the public are very reckless in +their use of the word. That they should have called Wordsworth an +immoral poet, was only to be expected. Wordsworth was a poet. But +that they should have called Charles Kingsley an immoral novelist +is extraordinary. Kingsley's prose was not of a very fine quality. +Still, there is the word, and they use it as best they can. An +artist is, of course, not disturbed by it. The true artist is a +man who believes absolutely in himself, because he is absolutely +himself. But I can fancy that if an artist produced a work of art +in England that immediately on its appearance was recognised by the +public, through their medium, which is the public press, as a work +that was quite intelligible and highly moral, he would begin to +seriously question whether in its creation he had really been +himself at all, and consequently whether the work was not quite +unworthy of him, and either of a thoroughly second-rate order, or +of no artistic value whatsoever. + +Perhaps, however, I have wronged the public in limiting them to +such words as 'immoral,' 'unintelligible,' 'exotic,' and +'unhealthy.' There is one other word that they use. That word is +'morbid.' They do not use it often. The meaning of the word is so +simple that they are afraid of using it. Still, they use it +sometimes, and, now and then, one comes across it in popular +newspapers. It is, of course, a ridiculous word to apply to a work +of art. For what is morbidity but a mood of emotion or a mode of +thought that one cannot express? The public are all morbid, +because the public can never find expression for anything. The +artist is never morbid. He expresses everything. He stands +outside his subject, and through its medium produces incomparable +and artistic effects. To call an artist morbid because he deals +with morbidity as his subject-matter is as silly as if one called +Shakespeare mad because he wrote 'King Lear.' + +On the whole, an artist in England gains something by being +attacked. His individuality is intensified. He becomes more +completely himself. Of course, the attacks are very gross, very +impertinent, and very contemptible. But then no artist expects +grace from the vulgar mind, or style from the suburban intellect. +Vulgarity and stupidity are two very vivid facts in modern life. +One regrets them, naturally. But there they are. They are +subjects for study, like everything else. And it is only fair to +state, with regard to modern journalists, that they always +apologise to one in private for what they have written against one +in public. + +Within the last few years two other adjectives, it may be +mentioned, have been added to the very limited vocabulary of art- +abuse that is at the disposal of the public. One is the word +'unhealthy,' the other is the word 'exotic.' The latter merely +expresses the rage of the momentary mushroom against the immortal, +entrancing, and exquisitely lovely orchid. It is a tribute, but a +tribute of no importance. The word 'unhealthy,' however, admits of +analysis. It is a rather interesting word. In fact, it is so +interesting that the people who use it do not know what it means. + +What does it mean? What is a healthy, or an unhealthy work of art? +All terms that one applies to a work of art, provided that one +applies them rationally, have reference to either its style or its +subject, or to both together. From the point of view of style, a +healthy work of art is one whose style recognises the beauty of the +material it employs, be that material one of words or of bronze, of +colour or of ivory, and uses that beauty as a factor in producing +the aesthetic effect. From the point of view of subject, a healthy +work of art is one the choice of whose subject is conditioned by +the temperament of the artist, and comes directly out of it. In +fine, a healthy work of art is one that has both perfection and +personality. Of course, form and substance cannot be separated in +a work of art; they are always one. But for purposes of analysis, +and setting the wholeness of aesthetic impression aside for a +moment, we can intellectually so separate them. An unhealthy work +of art, on the other hand, is a work whose style is obvious, old- +fashioned, and common, and whose subject is deliberately chosen, +not because the artist has any pleasure in it, but because he +thinks that the public will pay him for it. In fact, the popular +novel that the public calls healthy is always a thoroughly +unhealthy production; and what the public call an unhealthy novel +is always a beautiful and healthy work of art. + +I need hardly say that I am not, for a single moment, complaining +that the public and the public press misuse these words. I do not +see how, with their lack of comprehension of what Art is, they +could possibly use them in the proper sense. I am merely pointing +out the misuse; and as for the origin of the misuse and the meaning +that lies behind it all, the explanation is very simple. It comes +from the barbarous conception of authority. It comes from the +natural inability of a community corrupted by authority to +understand or appreciate Individualism. In a word, it comes from +that monstrous and ignorant thing that is called Public Opinion, +which, bad and well-meaning as it is when it tries to control +action, is infamous and of evil meaning when it tries to control +Thought or Art. + +Indeed, there is much more to be said in favour of the physical +force of the public than there is in favour of the public's +opinion. The former may be fine. The latter must be foolish. It +is often said that force is no argument. That, however, entirely +depends on what one wants to prove. Many of the most important +problems of the last few centuries, such as the continuance of +personal government in England, or of feudalism in France, have +been solved entirely by means of physical force. The very violence +of a revolution may make the public grand and splendid for a +moment. It was a fatal day when the public discovered that the pen +is mightier than the paving-stone, and can be made as offensive as +the brickbat. They at once sought for the journalist, found him, +developed him, and made him their industrious and well-paid +servant. It is greatly to be regretted, for both their sakes. +Behind the barricade there may be much that is noble and heroic. +But what is there behind the leading-article but prejudice, +stupidity, cant, and twaddle? And when these four are joined +together they make a terrible force, and constitute the new +authority. + +In old days men had the rack. Now they have the press. That is an +improvement certainly. But still it is very bad, and wrong, and +demoralising. Somebody--was it Burke?--called journalism the +fourth estate. That was true at the time, no doubt. But at the +present moment it really is the only estate. It has eaten up the +other three. The Lords Temporal say nothing, the Lords Spiritual +have nothing to say, and the House of Commons has nothing to say +and says it. We are dominated by Journalism. In America the +President reigns for four years, and Journalism governs for ever +and ever. Fortunately in America Journalism has carried its +authority to the grossest and most brutal extreme. As a natural +consequence it has begun to create a spirit of revolt. People are +amused by it, or disgusted by it, according to their temperaments. +But it is no longer the real force it was. It is not seriously +treated. In England, Journalism, not, except in a few well-known +instances, having been carried to such excesses of brutality, is +still a great factor, a really remarkable power. The tyranny that +it proposes to exercise over people's private lives seems to me to +be quite extraordinary. The fact is, that the public have an +insatiable curiosity to know everything, except what is worth +knowing. Journalism, conscious of this, and having tradesman-like +habits, supplies their demands. In centuries before ours the +public nailed the ears of journalists to the pump. That was quite +hideous. In this century journalists have nailed their own ears to +the keyhole. That is much worse. And what aggravates the mischief +is that the journalists who are most to blame are not the amusing +journalists who write for what are called Society papers. The harm +is done by the serious, thoughtful, earnest journalists, who +solemnly, as they are doing at present, will drag before the eyes +of the public some incident in the private life of a great +statesman, of a man who is a leader of political thought as he is a +creator of political force, and invite the public to discuss the +incident, to exercise authority in the matter, to give their views, +and not merely to give their views, but to carry them into action, +to dictate to the man upon all other points, to dictate to his +party, to dictate to his country; in fact, to make themselves +ridiculous, offensive, and harmful. The private lives of men and +women should not be told to the public. The public have nothing to +do with them at all. In France they manage these things better. +There they do not allow the details of the trials that take place +in the divorce courts to be published for the amusement or +criticism of the public. All that the public are allowed to know +is that the divorce has taken place and was granted on petition of +one or other or both of the married parties concerned. In France, +in fact, they limit the journalist, and allow the artist almost +perfect freedom. Here we allow absolute freedom to the journalist, +and entirely limit the artist. English public opinion, that is to +say, tries to constrain and impede and warp the man who makes +things that are beautiful in effect, and compels the journalist to +retail things that are ugly, or disgusting, or revolting in fact, +so that we have the most serious journalists in the world, and the +most indecent newspapers. It is no exaggeration to talk of +compulsion. There are possibly some journalists who take a real +pleasure in publishing horrible things, or who, being poor, look to +scandals as forming a sort of permanent basis for an income. But +there are other journalists, I feel certain, men of education and +cultivation, who really dislike publishing these things, who know +that it is wrong to do so, and only do it because the unhealthy +conditions under which their occupation is carried on oblige them +to supply the public with what the public wants, and to compete +with other journalists in making that supply as full and satisfying +to the gross popular appetite as possible. It is a very degrading +position for any body of educated men to be placed in, and I have +no doubt that most of them feel it acutely. + +However, let us leave what is really a very sordid side of the +subject, and return to the question of popular control in the +matter of Art, by which I mean Public Opinion dictating to the +artist the form which he is to use, the mode in which he is to use +it, and the materials with which he is to work. I have pointed out +that the arts which have escaped best in England are the arts in +which the public have not been interested. They are, however, +interested in the drama, and as a certain advance has been made in +the drama within the last ten or fifteen years, it is important to +point out that this advance is entirely due to a few individual +artists refusing to accept the popular want of taste as their +standard, and refusing to regard Art as a mere matter of demand and +supply. With his marvellous and vivid personality, with a style +that has really a true colour-element in it, with his extraordinary +power, not over mere mimicry but over imaginative and intellectual +creation, Mr Irving, had his sole object been to give the public +what they wanted, could have produced the commonest plays in the +commonest manner, and made as much success and money as a man could +possibly desire. But his object was not that. His object was to +realise his own perfection as an artist, under certain conditions, +and in certain forms of Art. At first he appealed to the few: now +he has educated the many. He has created in the public both taste +and temperament. The public appreciate his artistic success +immensely. I often wonder, however, whether the public understand +that that success is entirely due to the fact that he did not +accept their standard, but realised his own. With their standard +the Lyceum would have been a sort of second-rate booth, as some of +the popular theatres in London are at present. Whether they +understand it or not the fact however remains, that taste and +temperament have, to a certain extent been created in the public, +and that the public is capable of developing these qualities. The +problem then is, why do not the public become more civilised? They +have the capacity. What stops them? + +The thing that stops them, it must be said again, is their desire +to exercise authority over the artist and over works of art. To +certain theatres, such as the Lyceum and the Haymarket, the public +seem to come in a proper mood. In both of these theatres there +have been individual artists, who have succeeded in creating in +their audiences--and every theatre in London has its own audience-- +the temperament to which Art appeals. And what is that +temperament? It is the temperament of receptivity. That is all. + +If a man approaches a work of art with any desire to exercise +authority over it and the artist, he approaches it in such a spirit +that he cannot receive any artistic impression from it at all. The +work of art is to dominate the spectator: the spectator is not to +dominate the work of art. The spectator is to be receptive. He is +to be the violin on which the master is to play. And the more +completely he can suppress his own silly views, his own foolish +prejudices, his own absurd ideas of what Art should be, or should +not be, the more likely he is to understand and appreciate the work +of art in question. This is, of course, quite obvious in the case +of the vulgar theatre-going public of English men and women. But +it is equally true of what are called educated people. For an +educated person's ideas of Art are drawn naturally from what Art +has been, whereas the new work of art is beautiful by being what +Art has never been; and to measure it by the standard of the past +is to measure it by a standard on the rejection of which its real +perfection depends. A temperament capable of receiving, through an +imaginative medium, and under imaginative conditions, new and +beautiful impressions, is the only temperament that can appreciate +a work of art. And true as this is in the case of the appreciation +of sculpture and painting, it is still more true of the +appreciation of such arts as the drama. For a picture and a statue +are not at war with Time. They take no count of its succession. +In one moment their unity may be apprehended. In the case of +literature it is different. Time must be traversed before the +unity of effect is realised. And so, in the drama, there may occur +in the first act of the play something whose real artistic value +may not be evident to the spectator till the third or fourth act is +reached. Is the silly fellow to get angry and call out, and +disturb the play, and annoy the artists? No. The honest man is to +sit quietly, and know the delightful emotions of wonder, curiosity, +and suspense. He is not to go to the play to lose a vulgar temper. +He is to go to the play to realise an artistic temperament. He is +to go to the play to gain an artistic temperament. He is not the +arbiter of the work of art. He is one who is admitted to +contemplate the work of art, and, if the work be fine, to forget in +its contemplation and the egotism that mars him--the egotism of his +ignorance, or the egotism of his information. This point about the +drama is hardly, I think, sufficiently recognised. I can quite +understand that were 'Macbeth' produced for the first time before a +modern London audience, many of the people present would strongly +and vigorously object to the introduction of the witches in the +first act, with their grotesque phrases and their ridiculous words. +But when the play is over one realises that the laughter of the +witches in 'Macbeth' is as terrible as the laughter of madness in +'Lear,' more terrible than the laughter of Iago in the tragedy of +the Moor. No spectator of art needs a more perfect mood of +receptivity than the spectator of a play. The moment he seeks to +exercise authority he becomes the avowed enemy of Art and of +himself. Art does not mind. It is he who suffers. + +With the novel it is the same thing. Popular authority and the +recognition of popular authority are fatal. Thackeray's 'Esmond' +is a beautiful work of art because he wrote it to please himself. +In his other novels, in 'Pendennis,' in 'Philip,' in 'Vanity Fair' +even, at times, he is too conscious of the public, and spoils his +work by appealing directly to the sympathies of the public, or by +directly mocking at them. A true artist takes no notice whatever +of the public. The public are to him non-existent. He has no +poppied or honeyed cakes through which to give the monster sleep or +sustenance. He leaves that to the popular novelist. One +incomparable novelist we have now in England, Mr George Meredith. +There are better artists in France, but France has no one whose +view of life is so large, so varied, so imaginatively true. There +are tellers of stories in Russia who have a more vivid sense of +what pain in fiction may be. But to him belongs philosophy in +fiction. His people not merely live, but they live in thought. +One can see them from myriad points of view. They are suggestive. +There is soul in them and around them. They are interpretative and +symbolic. And he who made them, those wonderful quickly-moving +figures, made them for his own pleasure, and has never asked the +public what they wanted, has never cared to know what they wanted, +has never allowed the public to dictate to him or influence him in +any way but has gone on intensifying his own personality, and +producing his own individual work. At first none came to him. +That did not matter. Then the few came to him. That did not +change him. The many have come now. He is still the same. He is +an incomparable novelist. With the decorative arts it is not +different. The public clung with really pathetic tenacity to what +I believe were the direct traditions of the Great Exhibition of +international vulgarity, traditions that were so appalling that the +houses in which people lived were only fit for blind people to live +in. Beautiful things began to be made, beautiful colours came from +the dyer's hand, beautiful patterns from the artist's brain, and +the use of beautiful things and their value and importance were set +forth. The public were really very indignant. They lost their +temper. They said silly things. No one minded. No one was a whit +the worse. No one accepted the authority of public opinion. And +now it is almost impossible to enter any modern house without +seeing some recognition of good taste, some recognition of the +value of lovely surroundings, some sign of appreciation of beauty. +In fact, people's houses are, as a rule, quite charming nowadays. +People have been to a very great extent civilised. It is only fair +to state, however, that the extraordinary success of the revolution +in house-decoration and furniture and the like has not really been +due to the majority of the public developing a very fine taste in +such matters. It has been chiefly due to the fact that the +craftsmen of things so appreciated the pleasure of making what was +beautiful, and woke to such a vivid consciousness of the +hideousness and vulgarity of what the public had previously wanted, +that they simply starved the public out. It would be quite +impossible at the present moment to furnish a room as rooms were +furnished a few years ago, without going for everything to an +auction of second-hand furniture from some third-rate lodging- +house. The things are no longer made. However they may object to +it, people must nowadays have something charming in their +surroundings. Fortunately for them, their assumption of authority +in these art-matters came to entire grief. + +It is evident, then, that all authority in such things is bad. +People sometimes inquire what form of government is most suitable +for an artist to live under. To this question there is only one +answer. The form of government that is most suitable to the artist +is no government at all. Authority over him and his art is +ridiculous. It has been stated that under despotisms artists have +produced lovely work. This is not quite so. Artists have visited +despots, not as subjects to be tyrannised over, but as wandering +wonder-makers, as fascinating vagrant personalities, to be +entertained and charmed and suffered to be at peace, and allowed to +create. There is this to be said in favour of the despot, that he, +being an individual, may have culture, while the mob, being a +monster, has none. One who is an Emperor and King may stoop down +to pick up a brush for a painter, but when the democracy stoops +down it is merely to throw mud. And yet the democracy have not so +far to stoop as the emperor. In fact, when they want to throw mud +they have not to stoop at all. But there is no necessity to +separate the monarch from the mob; all authority is equally bad. + +There are three kinds of despots. There is the despot who +tyrannises over the body. There is the despot who tyrannises over +the soul. There is the despot who tyrannises over the soul and +body alike. The first is called the Prince. The second is called +the Pope. The third is called the People. The Prince may be +cultivated. Many Princes have been. Yet in the Prince there is +danger. One thinks of Dante at the bitter feast in Verona, of +Tasso in Ferrara's madman's cell. It is better for the artist not +to live with Princes. The Pope may be cultivated. Many Popes have +been; the bad Popes have been. The bad Popes loved Beauty, almost +as passionately, nay, with as much passion as the good Popes hated +Thought. To the wickedness of the Papacy humanity owes much. The +goodness of the Papacy owes a terrible debt to humanity. Yet, +though the Vatican has kept the rhetoric of its thunders, and lost +the rod of its lightning, it is better for the artist not to live +with Popes. It was a Pope who said of Cellini to a conclave of +Cardinals that common laws and common authority were not made for +men such as he; but it was a Pope who thrust Cellini into prison, +and kept him there till he sickened with rage, and created unreal +visions for himself, and saw the gilded sun enter his room, and +grew so enamoured of it that he sought to escape, and crept out +from tower to tower, and falling through dizzy air at dawn, maimed +himself, and was by a vine-dresser covered with vine leaves, and +carried in a cart to one who, loving beautiful things, had care of +him. There is danger in Popes. And as for the People, what of +them and their authority? Perhaps of them and their authority one +has spoken enough. Their authority is a thing blind, deaf, +hideous, grotesque, tragic, amusing, serious, and obscene. It is +impossible for the artist to live with the People. All despots +bribe. The people bribe and brutalise. Who told them to exercise +authority? They were made to live, to listen, and to love. +Someone has done them a great wrong. They have marred themselves +by imitation of their inferiors. They have taken the sceptre of +the Prince. How should they use it? They have taken the triple +tiara of the Pope. How should they carry its burden? They are as +a clown whose heart is broken. They are as a priest whose soul is +not yet born. Let all who love Beauty pity them. Though they +themselves love not Beauty, yet let them pity themselves. Who +taught them the trick of tyranny? + +There are many other things that one might point out. One might +point out how the Renaissance was great, because it sought to solve +no social problem, and busied itself not about such things, but +suffered the individual to develop freely, beautifully, and +naturally, and so had great and individual artists, and great and +individual men. One might point out how Louis XIV., by creating +the modern state, destroyed the individualism of the artist, and +made things monstrous in their monotony of repetition, and +contemptible in their conformity to rule, and destroyed throughout +all France all those fine freedoms of expression that had made +tradition new in beauty, and new modes one with antique form. But +the past is of no importance. The present is of no importance. It +is with the future that we have to deal. For the past is what man +should not have been. The present is what man ought not to be. +The future is what artists are. + +It will, of course, be said that such a scheme as is set forth here +is quite unpractical, and goes against human nature. This is +perfectly true. It is unpractical, and it goes against human +nature. This is why it is worth carrying out, and that is why one +proposes it. For what is a practical scheme? A practical scheme +is either a scheme that is already in existence, or a scheme that +could be carried out under existing conditions. But it is exactly +the existing conditions that one objects to; and any scheme that +could accept these conditions is wrong and foolish. The conditions +will be done away with, and human nature will change. The only +thing that one really knows about human nature is that it changes. +Change is the one quality we can predicate of it. The systems that +fail are those that rely on the permanency of human nature, and not +on its growth and development. The error of Louis XIV. was that he +thought human nature would always be the same. The result of his +error was the French Revolution. It was an admirable result. All +the results of the mistakes of governments are quite admirable. + +It is to be noted also that Individualism does not come to man with +any sickly cant about duty, which merely means doing what other +people want because they want it; or any hideous cant about self- +sacrifice, which is merely a survival of savage mutilation. In +fact, it does not come to man with any claims upon him at all. It +comes naturally and inevitably out of man. It is the point to +which all development tends. It is the differentiation to which +all organisms grow. It is the perfection that is inherent in every +mode of life, and towards which every mode of life quickens. And +so Individualism exercises no compulsion over man. On the +contrary, it says to man that he should suffer no compulsion to be +exercised over him. It does not try to force people to be good. +It knows that people are good when they are let alone. Man will +develop Individualism out of himself. Man is now so developing +Individualism. To ask whether Individualism is practical is like +asking whether Evolution is practical. Evolution is the law of +life, and there is no evolution except towards Individualism. +Where this tendency is not expressed, it is a case of artificially- +arrested growth, or of disease, or of death. + +Individualism will also be unselfish and unaffected. It has been +pointed out that one of the results of the extraordinary tyranny of +authority is that words are absolutely distorted from their proper +and simple meaning, and are used to express the obverse of their +right signification. What is true about Art is true about Life. A +man is called affected, nowadays, if he dresses as he likes to +dress. But in doing that he is acting in a perfectly natural +manner. Affectation, in such matters, consists in dressing +according to the views of one's neighbour, whose views, as they are +the views of the majority, will probably be extremely stupid. Or a +man is called selfish if he lives in the manner that seems to him +most suitable for the full realisation of his own personality; if, +in fact, the primary aim of his life is self-development. But this +is the way in which everyone should live. Selfishness is not +living as one wishes to live, it is asking others to live as one +wishes to live. And unselfishness is letting other people's lives +alone, not interfering with them. Selfishness always aims at +creating around it an absolute uniformity of type. Unselfishness +recognises infinite variety of type as a delightful thing, accepts +it, acquiesces in it, enjoys it. It is not selfish to think for +oneself. A man who does not think for himself does not think at +all. It is grossly selfish to require of ones neighbour that he +should think in the same way, and hold the same opinions. Why +should he? If he can think, he will probably think differently. +If he cannot think, it is monstrous to require thought of any kind +from him. A red rose is not selfish because it wants to be a red +rose. It would be horribly selfish if it wanted all the other +flowers in the garden to be both red and roses. Under +Individualism people will be quite natural and absolutely +unselfish, and will know the meanings of the words, and realise +them in their free, beautiful lives. Nor will men be egotistic as +they are now. For the egotist is he who makes claims upon others, +and the Individualist will not desire to do that. It will not give +him pleasure. When man has realised Individualism, he will also +realise sympathy and exercise it freely and spontaneously. Up to +the present man has hardly cultivated sympathy at all. He has +merely sympathy with pain, and sympathy with pain is not the +highest form of sympathy. All sympathy is fine, but sympathy with +suffering is the least fine mode. It is tainted with egotism. It +is apt to become morbid. There is in it a certain element of +terror for our own safety. We become afraid that we ourselves +might be as the leper or as the blind, and that no man would have +care of us. It is curiously limiting, too. One should sympathise +with the entirety of life, not with life's sores and maladies +merely, but with life's joy and beauty and energy and health and +freedom. The wider sympathy is, of course, the more difficult. It +requires more unselfishness. Anybody can sympathise with the +sufferings of a friend, but it requires a very fine nature--it +requires, in fact, the nature of a true Individualist--to +sympathise with a friend's success. + +In the modern stress of competition and struggle for place, such +sympathy is naturally rare, and is also very much stifled by the +immoral ideal of uniformity of type and conformity to rule which is +so prevalent everywhere, and is perhaps most obnoxious in England. + +Sympathy with pain there will, of course, always be. It is one of +the first instincts of man. The animals which are individual, the +higher animals, that is to say, share it with us. But it must be +remembered that while sympathy with joy intensifies the sum of joy +in the world, sympathy with pain does not really diminish the +amount of pain. It may make man better able to endure evil, but +the evil remains. Sympathy with consumption does not cure +consumption; that is what Science does. And when Socialism has +solved the problem of poverty, and Science solved the problem of +disease, the area of the sentimentalists will be lessened, and the +sympathy of man will be large, healthy, and spontaneous. Man will +have joy in the contemplation of the joyous life of others. + +For it is through joy that the Individualism of the future will +develop itself. Christ made no attempt to reconstruct society, and +consequently the Individualism that he preached to man could be +realised only through pain or in solitude. The ideals that we owe +to Christ are the ideals of the man who abandons society entirely, +or of the man who resists society absolutely. But man is naturally +social. Even the Thebaid became peopled at last. And though the +cenobite realises his personality, it is often an impoverished +personality that he so realises. Upon the other hand, the terrible +truth that pain is a mode through which man may realise himself +exercises a wonderful fascination over the world. Shallow speakers +and shallow thinkers in pulpits and on platforms often talk about +the world's worship of pleasure, and whine against it. But it is +rarely in the world's history that its ideal has been one of joy +and beauty. The worship of pain has far more often dominated the +world. Mediaevalism, with its saints and martyrs, its love of +self-torture, its wild passion for wounding itself, its gashing +with knives, and its whipping with rods--Mediaevalism is real +Christianity, and the mediaeval Christ is the real Christ. When +the Renaissance dawned upon the world, and brought with it the new +ideals of the beauty of life and the joy of living, men could not +understand Christ. Even Art shows us that. The painters of the +Renaissance drew Christ as a little boy playing with another boy in +a palace or a garden, or lying back in his mother's arms, smiling +at her, or at a flower, or at a bright bird; or as a noble, stately +figure moving nobly through the world; or as a wonderful figure +rising in a sort of ecstasy from death to life. Even when they +drew him crucified they drew him as a beautiful God on whom evil +men had inflicted suffering. But he did not preoccupy them much. +What delighted them was to paint the men and women whom they +admired, and to show the loveliness of this lovely earth. They +painted many religious pictures--in fact, they painted far too +many, and the monotony of type and motive is wearisome, and was bad +for art. It was the result of the authority of the public in art- +matters, and is to be deplored. But their soul was not in the +subject. Raphael was a great artist when he painted his portrait +of the Pope. When he painted his Madonnas and infant Christs, he +is not a great artist at all. Christ had no message for the +Renaissance, which was wonderful because it brought an ideal at +variance with his, and to find the presentation of the real Christ +we must go to mediaeval art. There he is one maimed and marred; +one who is not comely to look on, because Beauty is a joy; one who +is not in fair raiment, because that may be a joy also: he is a +beggar who has a marvellous soul; he is a leper whose soul is +divine; he needs neither property nor health; he is a God realising +his perfection through pain. + +The evolution of man is slow. The injustice of men is great. It +was necessary that pain should be put forward as a mode of self- +realisation. Even now, in some places in the world, the message of +Christ is necessary. No one who lived in modern Russia could +possibly realise his perfection except by pain. A few Russian +artists have realised themselves in Art; in a fiction that is +mediaeval in character, because its dominant note is the +realisation of men through suffering. But for those who are not +artists, and to whom there is no mode of life but the actual life +of fact, pain is the only door to perfection. A Russian who lives +happily under the present system of government in Russia must +either believe that man has no soul, or that, if he has, it is not +worth developing. A Nihilist who rejects all authority, because he +knows authority to be evil, and welcomes all pain, because through +that he realises his personality, is a real Christian. To him the +Christian ideal is a true thing. + +And yet, Christ did not revolt against authority. He accepted the +imperial authority of the Roman Empire and paid tribute. He +endured the ecclesiastical authority of the Jewish Church, and +would not repel its violence by any violence of his own. He had, +as I said before, no scheme for the reconstruction of society. But +the modern world has schemes. It proposes to do away with poverty +and the suffering that it entails. It desires to get rid of pain, +and the suffering that pain entails. It trusts to Socialism and to +Science as its methods. What it aims at is an Individualism +expressing itself through joy. This Individualism will be larger, +fuller, lovelier than any Individualism has ever been. Pain is not +the ultimate mode of perfection. It is merely provisional and a +protest. It has reference to wrong, unhealthy, unjust +surroundings. When the wrong, and the disease, and the injustice +are removed, it will have no further place. It will have done its +work. It was a great work, but it is almost over. Its sphere +lessens every day. + +Nor will man miss it. For what man has sought for is, indeed, +neither pain nor pleasure, but simply Life. Man has sought to live +intensely, fully, perfectly. When he can do so without exercising +restraint on others, or suffering it ever, and his activities are +all pleasurable to him, he will be saner, healthier, more +civilised, more himself. Pleasure is Nature's test, her sign of +approval. When man is happy, he is in harmony with himself and his +environment. The new Individualism, for whose service Socialism, +whether it wills it or not, is working, will be perfect harmony. +It will be what the Greeks sought for, but could not, except in +Thought, realise completely, because they had slaves, and fed them; +it will be what the Renaissance sought for, but could not realise +completely except in Art, because they had slaves, and starved +them. It will be complete, and through it each man will attain to +his perfection. 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FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN EBOOKS*Ver.02/11/02*END* + diff --git a/old/slman10.zip b/old/slman10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..97f5957 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/slman10.zip diff --git a/old/slman10h.htm b/old/slman10h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8163908 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/slman10h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1606 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" /> +<title>The Soul of Man</title> +</head> +<body> +<h2> +<a href="#startoftext">The Soul of Man, by Oscar Wilde</a> +</h2> +<pre> +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Soul of Man, by Oscar Wilde +(#14 in our series by Oscar Wilde) + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing +this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. + +This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project +Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: The Soul of Man + +Author: Oscar Wilde + +Release Date: August, 1997 [EBook #1017] +[This file was first posted on August 10, 1997] +[Most recently updated: May 21, 2003] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: US-ASCII +</pre> +<p><a name="startoftext"></a></p> +<p>Transcribed by David Price, email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<h1>THE SOUL OF MAN</h1> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<p>The chief advantage that would result from the establishment of Socialism +is, undoubtedly, the fact that Socialism would relieve us from that +sordid necessity of living for others which, in the present condition +of things, presses so hardly upon almost everybody. In fact, scarcely +anyone at all escapes.</p> +<p>Now and then, in the course of the century, a great man of science, +like Darwin; a great poet, like Keats; a fine critical spirit, like +M. Renan; a supreme artist, like Flaubert, has been able to isolate +himself, to keep himself out of reach of the clamorous claims of others, +to stand ‘under the shelter of the wall,’ as Plato puts +it, and so to realise the perfection of what was in him, to his own +incomparable gain, and to the incomparable and lasting gain of the whole +world. These, however, are exceptions. The majority of people +spoil their lives by an unhealthy and exaggerated altruism—are +forced, indeed, so to spoil them. They find themselves surrounded +by hideous poverty, by hideous ugliness, by hideous starvation. +It is inevitable that they should be strongly moved by all this. +The emotions of man are stirred more quickly than man’s intelligence; +and, as I pointed out some time ago in an article on the function of +criticism, it is much more easy to have sympathy with suffering than +it is to have sympathy with thought. Accordingly, with admirable, +though misdirected intentions, they very seriously and very sentimentally +set themselves to the task of remedying the evils that they see. +But their remedies do not cure the disease: they merely prolong it. +Indeed, their remedies are part of the disease.</p> +<p>They try to solve the problem of poverty, for instance, by keeping +the poor alive; or, in the case of a very advanced school, by amusing +the poor.</p> +<p>But this is not a solution: it is an aggravation of the difficulty. +The proper aim is to try and reconstruct society on such a basis that +poverty will be impossible. And the altruistic virtues have really +prevented the carrying out of this aim. Just as the worst slave-owners +were those who were kind to their slaves, and so prevented the horror +of the system being realised by those who suffered from it, and understood +by those who contemplated it, so, in the present state of things in +England, the people who do most harm are the people who try to do most +good; and at last we have had the spectacle of men who have really studied +the problem and know the life—educated men who live in the East +End—coming forward and imploring the community to restrain its +altruistic impulses of charity, benevolence, and the like. They +do so on the ground that such charity degrades and demoralises. +They are perfectly right. Charity creates a multitude of sins.</p> +<p>There is also this to be said. It is immoral to use private +property in order to alleviate the horrible evils that result from the +institution of private property. It is both immoral and unfair.</p> +<p>Under Socialism all this will, of course, be altered. There +will be no people living in fetid dens and fetid rags, and bringing +up unhealthy, hunger-pinched children in the midst of impossible and +absolutely repulsive surroundings. The security of society will +not depend, as it does now, on the state of the weather. If a +frost comes we shall not have a hundred thousand men out of work, tramping +about the streets in a state of disgusting misery, or whining to their +neighbours for alms, or crowding round the doors of loathsome shelters +to try and secure a hunch of bread and a night’s unclean lodging. +Each member of the society will share in the general prosperity and +happiness of the society, and if a frost comes no one will practically +be anything the worse.</p> +<p>Upon the other hand, Socialism itself will be of value simply because +it will lead to Individualism.</p> +<p>Socialism, Communism, or whatever one chooses to call it, by converting +private property into public wealth, and substituting co-operation for +competition, will restore society to its proper condition of a thoroughly +healthy organism, and insure the material well-being of each member +of the community. It will, in fact, give Life its proper basis +and its proper environment. But for the full development of Life +to its highest mode of perfection, something more is needed. What +is needed is Individualism. If the Socialism is Authoritarian; +if there are Governments armed with economic power as they are now with +political power; if, in a word, we are to have Industrial Tyrannies, +then the last state of man will be worse than the first. At present, +in consequence of the existence of private property, a great many people +are enabled to develop a certain very limited amount of Individualism. +They are either under no necessity to work for their living, or are +enabled to choose the sphere of activity that is really congenial to +them, and gives them pleasure. These are the poets, the philosophers, +the men of science, the men of culture—in a word, the real men, +the men who have realised themselves, and in whom all Humanity gains +a partial realisation. Upon the other hand, there are a great +many people who, having no private property of their own, and being +always on the brink of sheer starvation, are compelled to do the work +of beasts of burden, to do work that is quite uncongenial to them, and +to which they are forced by the peremptory, unreasonable, degrading +Tyranny of want. These are the poor, and amongst them there is +no grace of manner, or charm of speech, or civilisation, or culture, +or refinement in pleasures, or joy of life. From their collective +force Humanity gains much in material prosperity. But it is only +the material result that it gains, and the man who is poor is in himself +absolutely of no importance. He is merely the infinitesimal atom +of a force that, so far from regarding him, crushes him: indeed, prefers +him crushed, as in that case he is far more obedient.</p> +<p>Of course, it might be said that the Individualism generated under +conditions of private property is not always, or even as a rule, of +a fine or wonderful type, and that the poor, if they have not culture +and charm, have still many virtues. Both these statements would +be quite true. The possession of private property is very often +extremely demoralising, and that is, of course, one of the reasons why +Socialism wants to get rid of the institution. In fact, property +is really a nuisance. Some years ago people went about the country +saying that property has duties. They said it so often and so +tediously that, at last, the Church has begun to say it. One hears +it now from every pulpit. It is perfectly true. Property +not merely has duties, but has so many duties that its possession to +any large extent is a bore. It involves endless claims upon one, +endless attention to business, endless bother. If property had +simply pleasures, we could stand it; but its duties make it unbearable. +In the interest of the rich we must get rid of it. The virtues +of the poor may be readily admitted, and are much to be regretted. +We are often told that the poor are grateful for charity. Some +of them are, no doubt, but the best amongst the poor are never grateful. +They are ungrateful, discontented, disobedient, and rebellious. +They are quite right to be so. Charity they feel to be a ridiculously +inadequate mode of partial restitution, or a sentimental dole, usually +accompanied by some impertinent attempt on the part of the sentimentalist +to tyrannise over their private lives. Why should they be grateful +for the crumbs that fall from the rich man’s table? They +should be seated at the board, and are beginning to know it. As +for being discontented, a man who would not be discontented with such +surroundings and such a low mode of life would be a perfect brute. +Disobedience, in the eyes of anyone who has read history, is man’s +original virtue. It is through disobedience that progress has +been made, through disobedience and through rebellion. Sometimes +the poor are praised for being thrifty. But to recommend thrift +to the poor is both grotesque and insulting. It is like advising +a man who is starving to eat less. For a town or country labourer +to practise thrift would be absolutely immoral. Man should not +be ready to show that he can live like a badly-fed animal. He +should decline to live like that, and should either steal or go on the +rates, which is considered by many to be a form of stealing. As +for begging, it is safer to beg than to take, but it is finer to take +than to beg. No: a poor man who is ungrateful, unthrifty, discontented, +and rebellious, is probably a real personality, and has much in him. +He is at any rate a healthy protest. As for the virtuous poor, +one can pity them, of course, but one cannot possibly admire them. +They have made private terms with the enemy, and sold their birthright +for very bad pottage. They must also be extraordinarily stupid. +I can quite understand a man accepting laws that protect private property, +and admit of its accumulation, as long as he himself is able under those +conditions to realise some form of beautiful and intellectual life. +But it is almost incredible to me how a man whose life is marred and +made hideous by such laws can possibly acquiesce in their continuance.</p> +<p>However, the explanation is not really difficult to find. It +is simply this. Misery and poverty are so absolutely degrading, +and exercise such a paralysing effect over the nature of men, that no +class is ever really conscious of its own suffering. They have +to be told of it by other people, and they often entirely disbelieve +them. What is said by great employers of labour against agitators +is unquestionably true. Agitators are a set of interfering, meddling +people, who come down to some perfectly contented class of the community, +and sow the seeds of discontent amongst them. That is the reason +why agitators are so absolutely necessary. Without them, in our +incomplete state, there would be no advance towards civilisation. +Slavery was put down in America, not in consequence of any action on +the part of the slaves, or even any express desire on their part that +they should be free. It was put down entirely through the grossly +illegal conduct of certain agitators in Boston and elsewhere, who were +not slaves themselves, nor owners of slaves, nor had anything to do +with the question really. It was, undoubtedly, the Abolitionists +who set the torch alight, who began the whole thing. And it is +curious to note that from the slaves themselves they received, not merely +very little assistance, but hardly any sympathy even; and when at the +close of the war the slaves found themselves free, found themselves +indeed so absolutely free that they were free to starve, many of them +bitterly regretted the new state of things. To the thinker, the +most tragic fact in the whole of the French Revolution is not that Marie +Antoinette was killed for being a queen, but that the starved peasant +of the Vendée voluntarily went out to die for the hideous cause +of feudalism.</p> +<p>It is clear, then, that no Authoritarian Socialism will do. +For while under the present system a very large number of people can +lead lives of a certain amount of freedom and expression and happiness, +under an industrial-barrack system, or a system of economic tyranny, +nobody would be able to have any such freedom at all. It is to +be regretted that a portion of our community should be practically in +slavery, but to propose to solve the problem by enslaving the entire +community is childish. Every man must be left quite free to choose +his own work. No form of compulsion must be exercised over him. +If there is, his work will not be good for him, will not be good in +itself, and will not be good for others. And by work I simply +mean activity of any kind.</p> +<p>I hardly think that any Socialist, nowadays, would seriously propose +that an inspector should call every morning at each house to see that +each citizen rose up and did manual labour for eight hours. Humanity +has got beyond that stage, and reserves such a form of life for the +people whom, in a very arbitrary manner, it chooses to call criminals. +But I confess that many of the socialistic views that I have come across +seem to me to be tainted with ideas of authority, if not of actual compulsion. +Of course, authority and compulsion are out of the question. All +association must be quite voluntary. It is only in voluntary associations +that man is fine.</p> +<p>But it may be asked how Individualism, which is now more or less +dependent on the existence of private property for its development, +will benefit by the abolition of such private property. The answer +is very simple. It is true that, under existing conditions, a +few men who have had private means of their own, such as Byron, Shelley, +Browning, Victor Hugo, Baudelaire, and others, have been able to realise +their personality more or less completely. Not one of these men +ever did a single day’s work for hire. They were relieved +from poverty. They had an immense advantage. The question +is whether it would be for the good of Individualism that such an advantage +should be taken away. Let us suppose that it is taken away. +What happens then to Individualism? How will it benefit?</p> +<p>It will benefit in this way. Under the new conditions Individualism +will be far freer, far finer, and far more intensified than it is now. +I am not talking of the great imaginatively-realised Individualism of +such poets as I have mentioned, but of the great actual Individualism +latent and potential in mankind generally. For the recognition +of private property has really harmed Individualism, and obscured it, +by confusing a man with what he possesses. It has led Individualism +entirely astray. It has made gain not growth its aim. So +that man thought that the important thing was to have, and did not know +that the important thing is to be. The true perfection of man +lies, not in what man has, but in what man is.</p> +<p>Private property has crushed true Individualism, and set up an Individualism +that is false. It has debarred one part of the community from +being individual by starving them. It has debarred the other part +of the community from being individual by putting them on the wrong +road, and encumbering them. Indeed, so completely has man’s +personality been absorbed by his possessions that the English law has +always treated offences against a man’s property with far more +severity than offences against his person, and property is still the +test of complete citizenship. The industry necessary for the making +money is also very demoralising. In a community like ours, where +property confers immense distinction, social position, honour, respect, +titles, and other pleasant things of the kind, man, being naturally +ambitious, makes it his aim to accumulate this property, and goes on +wearily and tediously accumulating it long after he has got far more +than he wants, or can use, or enjoy, or perhaps even know of. +Man will kill himself by overwork in order to secure property, and really, +considering the enormous advantages that property brings, one is hardly +surprised. One’s regret is that society should be constructed +on such a basis that man has been forced into a groove in which he cannot +freely develop what is wonderful, and fascinating, and delightful in +him—in which, in fact, he misses the true pleasure and joy of +living. He is also, under existing conditions, very insecure. +An enormously wealthy merchant may be—often is—at every +moment of his life at the mercy of things that are not under his control. +If the wind blows an extra point or so, or the weather suddenly changes, +or some trivial thing happens, his ship may go down, his speculations +may go wrong, and he finds himself a poor man, with his social position +quite gone. Now, nothing should be able to harm a man except himself. +Nothing should be able to rob a man at all. What a man really +has, is what is in him. What is outside of him should be a matter +of no importance.</p> +<p>With the abolition of private property, then, we shall have true, +beautiful, healthy Individualism. Nobody will waste his life in +accumulating things, and the symbols for things. One will live. +To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that +is all.</p> +<p>It is a question whether we have ever seen the full expression of +a personality, except on the imaginative plane of art. In action, +we never have. Caesar, says Mommsen, was the complete and perfect +man. But how tragically insecure was Caesar! Wherever there +is a man who exercises authority, there is a man who resists authority. +Caesar was very perfect, but his perfection travelled by too dangerous +a road. Marcus Aurelius was the perfect man, says Renan. +Yes; the great emperor was a perfect man. But how intolerable +were the endless claims upon him! He staggered under the burden +of the empire. He was conscious how inadequate one man was to +bear the weight of that Titan and too vast orb. What I mean by +a perfect man is one who develops under perfect conditions; one who +is not wounded, or worried or maimed, or in danger. Most personalities +have been obliged to be rebels. Half their strength has been wasted +in friction. Byron’s personality, for instance, was terribly +wasted in its battle with the stupidity, and hypocrisy, and Philistinism +of the English. Such battles do not always intensify strength: +they often exaggerate weakness. Byron was never able to give us +what he might have given us. Shelley escaped better. Like +Byron, he got out of England as soon as possible. But he was not +so well known. If the English had had any idea of what a great +poet he really was, they would have fallen on him with tooth and nail, +and made his life as unbearable to him as they possibly could. +But he was not a remarkable figure in society, and consequently he escaped, +to a certain degree. Still, even in Shelley the note of rebellion +is sometimes too strong. The note of the perfect personality is +not rebellion, but peace.</p> +<p>It will be a marvellous thing—the true personality of man—when +we see it. It will grow naturally and simply, flowerlike, or as +a tree grows. It will not be at discord. It will never argue +or dispute. It will not prove things. It will know everything. +And yet it will not busy itself about knowledge. It will have +wisdom. Its value will not be measured by material things. +It will have nothing. And yet it will have everything, and whatever +one takes from it, it will still have, so rich will it be. It +will not be always meddling with others, or asking them to be like itself. +It will love them because they will be different. And yet while +it will not meddle with others, it will help all, as a beautiful thing +helps us, by being what it is. The personality of man will be +very wonderful. It will be as wonderful as the personality of +a child.</p> +<p>In its development it will be assisted by Christianity, if men desire +that; but if men do not desire that, it will develop none the less surely. +For it will not worry itself about the past, nor care whether things +happened or did not happen. Nor will it admit any laws but its +own laws; nor any authority but its own authority. Yet it will +love those who sought to intensify it, and speak often of them. +And of these Christ was one.</p> +<p>‘Know thyself’ was written over the portal of the antique +world. Over the portal of the new world, ‘Be thyself’ +shall be written. And the message of Christ to man was simply +‘Be thyself.’ That is the secret of Christ.</p> +<p>When Jesus talks about the poor he simply means personalities, just +as when he talks about the rich he simply means people who have not +developed their personalities. Jesus moved in a community that +allowed the accumulation of private property just as ours does, and +the gospel that he preached was not that in such a community it is an +advantage for a man to live on scanty, unwholesome food, to wear ragged, +unwholesome clothes, to sleep in horrid, unwholesome dwellings, and +a disadvantage for a man to live under healthy, pleasant, and decent +conditions. Such a view would have been wrong there and then, +and would, of course, be still more wrong now and in England; for as +man moves northward the material necessities of life become of more +vital importance, and our society is infinitely more complex, and displays +far greater extremes of luxury and pauperism than any society of the +antique world. What Jesus meant, was this. He said to man, +‘You have a wonderful personality. Develop it. Be +yourself. Don’t imagine that your perfection lies in accumulating +or possessing external things. Your affection is inside of you. +If only you could realise that, you would not want to be rich. +Ordinary riches can be stolen from a man. Real riches cannot. +In the treasury-house of your soul, there are infinitely precious things, +that may not be taken from you. And so, try to so shape your life +that external things will not harm you. And try also to get rid +of personal property. It involves sordid preoccupation, endless +industry, continual wrong. Personal property hinders Individualism +at every step.’ It is to be noted that Jesus never says +that impoverished people are necessarily good, or wealthy people necessarily +bad. That would not have been true. Wealthy people are, +as a class, better than impoverished people, more moral, more intellectual, +more well-behaved. There is only one class in the community that +thinks more about money than the rich, and that is the poor. The +poor can think of nothing else. That is the misery of being poor. +What Jesus does say is that man reaches his perfection, not through +what he has, not even through what he does, but entirely through what +he is. And so the wealthy young man who comes to Jesus is represented +as a thoroughly good citizen, who has broken none of the laws of his +state, none of the commandments of his religion. He is quite respectable, +in the ordinary sense of that extraordinary word. Jesus says to +him, ‘You should give up private property. It hinders you +from realising your perfection. It is a drag upon you. It +is a burden. Your personality does not need it. It is within +you, and not outside of you, that you will find what you really are, +and what you really want.’ To his own friends he says the +same thing. He tells them to be themselves, and not to be always +worrying about other things. What do other things matter? +Man is complete in himself. When they go into the world, the world +will disagree with them. That is inevitable. The world hates +Individualism. But that is not to trouble them. They are +to be calm and self-centred. If a man takes their cloak, they +are to give him their coat, just to show that material things are of +no importance. If people abuse them, they are not to answer back. +What does it signify? The things people say of a man do not alter +a man. He is what he is. Public opinion is of no value whatsoever. +Even if people employ actual violence, they are not to be violent in +turn. That would be to fall to the same low level. After +all, even in prison, a man can be quite free. His soul can be +free. His personality can be untroubled. He can be at peace. +And, above all things, they are not to interfere with other people or +judge them in any way. Personality is a very mysterious thing. +A man cannot always be estimated by what he does. He may keep +the law, and yet be worthless. He may break the law, and yet be +fine. He may be bad, without ever doing anything bad. He +may commit a sin against society, and yet realise through that sin his +true perfection.</p> +<p>There was a woman who was taken in adultery. We are not told +the history of her love, but that love must have been very great; for +Jesus said that her sins were forgiven her, not because she repented, +but because her love was so intense and wonderful. Later on, a +short time before his death, as he sat at a feast, the woman came in +and poured costly perfumes on his hair. His friends tried to interfere +with her, and said that it was an extravagance, and that the money that +the perfume cost should have been expended on charitable relief of people +in want, or something of that kind. Jesus did not accept that +view. He pointed out that the material needs of Man were great +and very permanent, but that the spiritual needs of Man were greater +still, and that in one divine moment, and by selecting its own mode +of expression, a personality might make itself perfect. The world +worships the woman, even now, as a saint.</p> +<p>Yes; there are suggestive things in Individualism. Socialism +annihilates family life, for instance. With the abolition of private +property, marriage in its present form must disappear. This is +part of the programme. Individualism accepts this and makes it +fine. It converts the abolition of legal restraint into a form +of freedom that will help the full development of personality, and make +the love of man and woman more wonderful, more beautiful, and more ennobling. +Jesus knew this. He rejected the claims of family life, although +they existed in his day and community in a very marked form. ‘Who +is my mother? Who are my brothers?’ he said, when he was +told that they wished to speak to him. When one of his followers +asked leave to go and bury his father, ‘Let the dead bury the +dead,’ was his terrible answer. He would allow no claim +whatsoever to be made on personality.</p> +<p>And so he who would lead a Christlike life is he who is perfectly +and absolutely himself. He may be a great poet, or a great man +of science; or a young student at a University, or one who watches sheep +upon a moor; or a maker of dramas, like Shakespeare, or a thinker about +God, like Spinoza; or a child who plays in a garden, or a fisherman +who throws his net into the sea. It does not matter what he is, +as long as he realises the perfection of the soul that is within him. +All imitation in morals and in life is wrong. Through the streets +of Jerusalem at the present day crawls one who is mad and carries a +wooden cross on his shoulders. He is a symbol of the lives that +are marred by imitation. Father Damien was Christlike when he +went out to live with the lepers, because in such service he realised +fully what was best in him. But he was not more Christlike than +Wagner when he realised his soul in music; or than Shelley, when he +realised his soul in song. There is no one type for man. +There are as many perfections as there are imperfect men. And +while to the claims of charity a man may yield and yet be free, to the +claims of conformity no man may yield and remain free at all.</p> +<p>Individualism, then, is what through Socialism we are to attain to. +As a natural result the State must give up all idea of government. +It must give it up because, as a wise man once said many centuries before +Christ, there is such a thing as leaving mankind alone; there is no +such thing as governing mankind. All modes of government are failures. +Despotism is unjust to everybody, including the despot, who was probably +made for better things. Oligarchies are unjust to the many, and +ochlocracies are unjust to the few. High hopes were once formed +of democracy; but democracy means simply the bludgeoning of the people +by the people for the people. It has been found out. I must +say that it was high time, for all authority is quite degrading. +It degrades those who exercise it, and degrades those over whom it is +exercised. When it is violently, grossly, and cruelly used, it +produces a good effect, by creating, or at any rate bringing out, the +spirit of revolt and Individualism that is to kill it. When it +is used with a certain amount of kindness, and accompanied by prizes +and rewards, it is dreadfully demoralising. People, in that case, +are less conscious of the horrible pressure that is being put on them, +and so go through their lives in a sort of coarse comfort, like petted +animals, without ever realising that they are probably thinking other +people’s thoughts, living by other people’s standards, wearing +practically what one may call other people’s second-hand clothes, +and never being themselves for a single moment. ‘He who +would be free,’ says a fine thinker, ‘must not conform.’ +And authority, by bribing people to conform, produces a very gross kind +of over-fed barbarism amongst us.</p> +<p>With authority, punishment will pass away. This will be a great +gain—a gain, in fact, of incalculable value. As one reads +history, not in the expurgated editions written for school-boys and +passmen, but in the original authorities of each time, one is absolutely +sickened, not by the crimes that the wicked have committed, but by the +punishments that the good have inflicted; and a community is infinitely +more brutalised by the habitual employment of punishment, than it is +by the occurrence of crime. It obviously follows that the more +punishment is inflicted the more crime is produced, and most modern +legislation has clearly recognised this, and has made it its task to +diminish punishment as far as it thinks it can. Wherever it has +really diminished it, the results have always been extremely good. +The less punishment, the less crime. When there is no punishment +at all, crime will either cease to exist, or, if it occurs, will be +treated by physicians as a very distressing form of dementia, to be +cured by care and kindness. For what are called criminals nowadays +are not criminals at all. Starvation, and not sin, is the parent +of modern crime. That indeed is the reason why our criminals are, +as a class, so absolutely uninteresting from any psychological point +of view. They are not marvellous Macbeths and terrible Vautrins. +They are merely what ordinary, respectable, commonplace people would +be if they had not got enough to eat. When private property is +abolished there will be no necessity for crime, no demand for it; it +will cease to exist. Of course, all crimes are not crimes against +property, though such are the crimes that the English law, valuing what +a man has more than what a man is, punishes with the harshest and most +horrible severity, if we except the crime of murder, and regard death +as worse than penal servitude, a point on which our criminals, I believe, +disagree. But though a crime may not be against property, it may +spring from the misery and rage and depression produced by our wrong +system of property-holding, and so, when that system is abolished, will +disappear. When each member of the community has sufficient for +his wants, and is not interfered with by his neighbour, it will not +be an object of any interest to him to interfere with anyone else. +Jealousy, which is an extraordinary source of crime in modern life, +is an emotion closely bound up with our conceptions of property, and +under Socialism and Individualism will die out. It is remarkable +that in communistic tribes jealousy is entirely unknown.</p> +<p>Now as the State is not to govern, it may be asked what the State +is to do. The State is to be a voluntary association that will +organise labour, and be the manufacturer and distributor of necessary +commodities. The State is to make what is useful. The individual +is to make what is beautiful. And as I have mentioned the word +labour, I cannot help saying that a great deal of nonsense is being +written and talked nowadays about the dignity of manual labour. +There is nothing necessarily dignified about manual labour at all, and +most of it is absolutely degrading. It is mentally and morally +injurious to man to do anything in which he does not find pleasure, +and many forms of labour are quite pleasureless activities, and should +be regarded as such. To sweep a slushy crossing for eight hours, +on a day when the east wind is blowing is a disgusting occupation. +To sweep it with mental, moral, or physical dignity seems to me to be +impossible. To sweep it with joy would be appalling. Man +is made for something better than disturbing dirt. All work of +that kind should be done by a machine.</p> +<p>And I have no doubt that it will be so. Up to the present, +man has been, to a certain extent, the slave of machinery, and there +is something tragic in the fact that as soon as man had invented a machine +to do his work he began to starve. This, however, is, of course, +the result of our property system and our system of competition. +One man owns a machine which does the work of five hundred men. +Five hundred men are, in consequence, thrown out of employment, and, +having no work to do, become hungry and take to thieving. The +one man secures the produce of the machine and keeps it, and has five +hundred times as much as he should have, and probably, which is of much +more importance, a great deal more than he really wants. Were +that machine the property of all, every one would benefit by it. +It would be an immense advantage to the community. All unintellectual +labour, all monotonous, dull labour, all labour that deals with dreadful +things, and involves unpleasant conditions, must be done by machinery. +Machinery must work for us in coal mines, and do all sanitary services, +and be the stoker of steamers, and clean the streets, and run messages +on wet days, and do anything that is tedious or distressing. At +present machinery competes against man. Under proper conditions +machinery will serve man. There is no doubt at all that this is +the future of machinery, and just as trees grow while the country gentleman +is asleep, so while Humanity will be amusing itself, or enjoying cultivated +leisure—which, and not labour, is the aim of man—or making +beautiful things, or reading beautiful things, or simply contemplating +the world with admiration and delight, machinery will be doing all the +necessary and unpleasant work. The fact is, that civilisation +requires slaves. The Greeks were quite right there. Unless +there are slaves to do the ugly, horrible, uninteresting work, culture +and contemplation become almost impossible. Human slavery is wrong, +insecure, and demoralising. On mechanical slavery, on the slavery +of the machine, the future of the world depends. And when scientific +men are no longer called upon to go down to a depressing East End and +distribute bad cocoa and worse blankets to starving people, they will +have delightful leisure in which to devise wonderful and marvellous +things for their own joy and the joy of everyone else. There will +be great storages of force for every city, and for every house if required, +and this force man will convert into heat, light, or motion, according +to his needs. Is this Utopian? A map of the world that does +not include Utopia is not worth even glancing at, for it leaves out +the one country at which Humanity is always landing. And when +Humanity lands there, it looks out, and, seeing a better country, sets +sail. Progress is the realisation of Utopias.</p> +<p>Now, I have said that the community by means of organisation of machinery +will supply the useful things, and that the beautiful things will be +made by the individual. This is not merely necessary, but it is +the only possible way by which we can get either the one or the other. +An individual who has to make things for the use of others, and with +reference to their wants and their wishes, does not work with interest, +and consequently cannot put into his work what is best in him. +Upon the other hand, whenever a community or a powerful section of a +community, or a government of any kind, attempts to dictate to the artist +what he is to do, Art either entirely vanishes, or becomes stereotyped, +or degenerates into a low and ignoble form of craft. A work of +art is the unique result of a unique temperament. Its beauty comes +from the fact that the author is what he is. It has nothing to +do with the fact that other people want what they want. Indeed, +the moment that an artist takes notice of what other people want, and +tries to supply the demand, he ceases to be an artist, and becomes a +dull or an amusing craftsman, an honest or a dishonest tradesman. +He has no further claim to be considered as an artist. Art is +the most intense mode of Individualism that the world has known. +I am inclined to say that it is the only real mode of Individualism +that the world has known. Crime, which, under certain conditions, +may seem to have created Individualism, must take cognisance of other +people and interfere with them. It belongs to the sphere of action. +But alone, without any reference to his neighbours, without any interference, +the artist can fashion a beautiful thing; and if he does not do it solely +for his own pleasure, he is not an artist at all.</p> +<p>And it is to be noted that it is the fact that Art is this intense +form of Individualism that makes the public try to exercise over it +in an authority that is as immoral as it is ridiculous, and as corrupting +as it is contemptible. It is not quite their fault. The +public has always, and in every age, been badly brought up. They +are continually asking Art to be popular, to please their want of taste, +to flatter their absurd vanity, to tell them what they have been told +before, to show them what they ought to be tired of seeing, to amuse +them when they feel heavy after eating too much, and to distract their +thoughts when they are wearied of their own stupidity. Now Art +should never try to be popular. The public should try to make +itself artistic. There is a very wide difference. If a man +of science were told that the results of his experiments, and the conclusions +that he arrived at, should be of such a character that they would not +upset the received popular notions on the subject, or disturb popular +prejudice, or hurt the sensibilities of people who knew nothing about +science; if a philosopher were told that he had a perfect right to speculate +in the highest spheres of thought, provided that he arrived at the same +conclusions as were held by those who had never thought in any sphere +at all—well, nowadays the man of science and the philosopher would +be considerably amused. Yet it is really a very few years since +both philosophy and science were subjected to brutal popular control, +to authority—in fact the authority of either the general ignorance +of the community, or the terror and greed for power of an ecclesiastical +or governmental class. Of course, we have to a very great extent +got rid of any attempt on the part of the community, or the Church, +or the Government, to interfere with the individualism of speculative +thought, but the attempt to interfere with the individualism of imaginative +art still lingers. In fact, it does more than linger; it is aggressive, +offensive, and brutalising.</p> +<p>In England, the arts that have escaped best are the arts in which +the public take no interest. Poetry is an instance of what I mean. +We have been able to have fine poetry in England because the public +do not read it, and consequently do not influence it. The public +like to insult poets because they are individual, but once they have +insulted them, they leave them alone. In the case of the novel +and the drama, arts in which the public do take an interest, the result +of the exercise of popular authority has been absolutely ridiculous. +No country produces such badly-written fiction, such tedious, common +work in the novel form, such silly, vulgar plays as England. It +must necessarily be so. The popular standard is of such a character +that no artist can get to it. It is at once too easy and too difficult +to be a popular novelist. It is too easy, because the requirements +of the public as far as plot, style, psychology, treatment of life, +and treatment of literature are concerned are within the reach of the +very meanest capacity and the most uncultivated mind. It is too +difficult, because to meet such requirements the artist would have to +do violence to his temperament, would have to write not for the artistic +joy of writing, but for the amusement of half-educated people, and so +would have to suppress his individualism, forget his culture, annihilate +his style, and surrender everything that is valuable in him. In +the case of the drama, things are a little better: the theatre-going +public like the obvious, it is true, but they do not like the tedious; +and burlesque and farcical comedy, the two most popular forms, are distinct +forms of art. Delightful work may be produced under burlesque +and farcical conditions, and in work of this kind the artist in England +is allowed very great freedom. It is when one comes to the higher +forms of the drama that the result of popular control is seen. +The one thing that the public dislike is novelty. Any attempt +to extend the subject-matter of art is extremely distasteful to the +public; and yet the vitality and progress of art depend in a large measure +on the continual extension of subject-matter. The public dislike +novelty because they are afraid of it. It represents to them a +mode of Individualism, an assertion on the part of the artist that he +selects his own subject, and treats it as he chooses. The public +are quite right in their attitude. Art is Individualism, and Individualism +is a disturbing and disintegrating force. Therein lies its immense +value. For what it seeks to disturb is monotony of type, slavery +of custom, tyranny of habit, and the reduction of man to the level of +a machine. In Art, the public accept what has been, because they +cannot alter it, not because they appreciate it. They swallow +their classics whole, and never taste them. They endure them as +the inevitable, and as they cannot mar them, they mouth about them. +Strangely enough, or not strangely, according to one’s own views, +this acceptance of the classics does a great deal of harm. The +uncritical admiration of the Bible and Shakespeare in England is an +instance of what I mean. With regard to the Bible, considerations +of ecclesiastical authority enter into the matter, so that I need not +dwell upon the point. But in the case of Shakespeare it is quite +obvious that the public really see neither the beauties nor the defects +of his plays. If they saw the beauties, they would not object +to the development of the drama; and if they saw the defects, they would +not object to the development of the drama either. The fact is, +the public make use of the classics of a country as a means of checking +the progress of Art. They degrade the classics into authorities. +They use them as bludgeons for preventing the free expression of Beauty +in new forms. They are always asking a writer why he does not +write like somebody else, or a painter why he does not paint like somebody +else, quite oblivious of the fact that if either of them did anything +of the kind he would cease to be an artist. A fresh mode of Beauty +is absolutely distasteful to them, and whenever it appears they get +so angry, and bewildered that they always use two stupid expressions—one +is that the work of art is grossly unintelligible; the other, that the +work of art is grossly immoral. What they mean by these words +seems to me to be this. When they say a work is grossly unintelligible, +they mean that the artist has said or made a beautiful thing that is +new; when they describe a work as grossly immoral, they mean that the +artist has said or made a beautiful thing that is true. The former +expression has reference to style; the latter to subject-matter. +But they probably use the words very vaguely, as an ordinary mob will +use ready-made paving-stones. There is not a single real poet +or prose-writer of this century, for instance, on whom the British public +have not solemnly conferred diplomas of immorality, and these diplomas +practically take the place, with us, of what in France, is the formal +recognition of an Academy of Letters, and fortunately make the establishment +of such an institution quite unnecessary in England. Of course, +the public are very reckless in their use of the word. That they +should have called Wordsworth an immoral poet, was only to be expected. +Wordsworth was a poet. But that they should have called Charles +Kingsley an immoral novelist is extraordinary. Kingsley’s +prose was not of a very fine quality. Still, there is the word, +and they use it as best they can. An artist is, of course, not +disturbed by it. The true artist is a man who believes absolutely +in himself, because he is absolutely himself. But I can fancy +that if an artist produced a work of art in England that immediately +on its appearance was recognised by the public, through their medium, +which is the public press, as a work that was quite intelligible and +highly moral, he would begin to seriously question whether in its creation +he had really been himself at all, and consequently whether the work +was not quite unworthy of him, and either of a thoroughly second-rate +order, or of no artistic value whatsoever.</p> +<p>Perhaps, however, I have wronged the public in limiting them to such +words as ‘immoral,’ ‘unintelligible,’ ‘exotic,’ +and ‘unhealthy.’ There is one other word that they +use. That word is ‘morbid.’ They do not use +it often. The meaning of the word is so simple that they are afraid +of using it. Still, they use it sometimes, and, now and then, +one comes across it in popular newspapers. It is, of course, a +ridiculous word to apply to a work of art. For what is morbidity +but a mood of emotion or a mode of thought that one cannot express? +The public are all morbid, because the public can never find expression +for anything. The artist is never morbid. He expresses everything. +He stands outside his subject, and through its medium produces incomparable +and artistic effects. To call an artist morbid because he deals +with morbidity as his subject-matter is as silly as if one called Shakespeare +mad because he wrote ‘King Lear.’</p> +<p>On the whole, an artist in England gains something by being attacked. +His individuality is intensified. He becomes more completely himself. +Of course, the attacks are very gross, very impertinent, and very contemptible. +But then no artist expects grace from the vulgar mind, or style from +the suburban intellect. Vulgarity and stupidity are two very vivid +facts in modern life. One regrets them, naturally. But there +they are. They are subjects for study, like everything else. +And it is only fair to state, with regard to modern journalists, that +they always apologise to one in private for what they have written against +one in public.</p> +<p>Within the last few years two other adjectives, it may be mentioned, +have been added to the very limited vocabulary of art-abuse that is +at the disposal of the public. One is the word ‘unhealthy,’ +the other is the word ‘exotic.’ The latter merely +expresses the rage of the momentary mushroom against the immortal, entrancing, +and exquisitely lovely orchid. It is a tribute, but a tribute +of no importance. The word ‘unhealthy,’ however, admits +of analysis. It is a rather interesting word. In fact, it +is so interesting that the people who use it do not know what it means.</p> +<p>What does it mean? What is a healthy, or an unhealthy work +of art? All terms that one applies to a work of art, provided +that one applies them rationally, have reference to either its style +or its subject, or to both together. From the point of view of +style, a healthy work of art is one whose style recognises the beauty +of the material it employs, be that material one of words or of bronze, +of colour or of ivory, and uses that beauty as a factor in producing +the aesthetic effect. From the point of view of subject, a healthy +work of art is one the choice of whose subject is conditioned by the +temperament of the artist, and comes directly out of it. In fine, +a healthy work of art is one that has both perfection and personality. +Of course, form and substance cannot be separated in a work of art; +they are always one. But for purposes of analysis, and setting +the wholeness of aesthetic impression aside for a moment, we can intellectually +so separate them. An unhealthy work of art, on the other hand, +is a work whose style is obvious, old-fashioned, and common, and whose +subject is deliberately chosen, not because the artist has any pleasure +in it, but because he thinks that the public will pay him for it. +In fact, the popular novel that the public calls healthy is always a +thoroughly unhealthy production; and what the public call an unhealthy +novel is always a beautiful and healthy work of art.</p> +<p>I need hardly say that I am not, for a single moment, complaining +that the public and the public press misuse these words. I do +not see how, with their lack of comprehension of what Art is, they could +possibly use them in the proper sense. I am merely pointing out +the misuse; and as for the origin of the misuse and the meaning that +lies behind it all, the explanation is very simple. It comes from +the barbarous conception of authority. It comes from the natural +inability of a community corrupted by authority to understand or appreciate +Individualism. In a word, it comes from that monstrous and ignorant +thing that is called Public Opinion, which, bad and well-meaning as +it is when it tries to control action, is infamous and of evil meaning +when it tries to control Thought or Art.</p> +<p>Indeed, there is much more to be said in favour of the physical force +of the public than there is in favour of the public’s opinion. +The former may be fine. The latter must be foolish. It is +often said that force is no argument. That, however, entirely +depends on what one wants to prove. Many of the most important +problems of the last few centuries, such as the continuance of personal +government in England, or of feudalism in France, have been solved entirely +by means of physical force. The very violence of a revolution +may make the public grand and splendid for a moment. It was a +fatal day when the public discovered that the pen is mightier than the +paving-stone, and can be made as offensive as the brickbat. They +at once sought for the journalist, found him, developed him, and made +him their industrious and well-paid servant. It is greatly to +be regretted, for both their sakes. Behind the barricade there +may be much that is noble and heroic. But what is there behind +the leading-article but prejudice, stupidity, cant, and twaddle? +And when these four are joined together they make a terrible force, +and constitute the new authority.</p> +<p>In old days men had the rack. Now they have the press. +That is an improvement certainly. But still it is very bad, and +wrong, and demoralising. Somebody—was it Burke?—called +journalism the fourth estate. That was true at the time, no doubt. +But at the present moment it really is the only estate. It has +eaten up the other three. The Lords Temporal say nothing, the +Lords Spiritual have nothing to say, and the House of Commons has nothing +to say and says it. We are dominated by Journalism. In America +the President reigns for four years, and Journalism governs for ever +and ever. Fortunately in America Journalism has carried its authority +to the grossest and most brutal extreme. As a natural consequence +it has begun to create a spirit of revolt. People are amused by +it, or disgusted by it, according to their temperaments. But it +is no longer the real force it was. It is not seriously treated. +In England, Journalism, not, except in a few well-known instances, having +been carried to such excesses of brutality, is still a great factor, +a really remarkable power. The tyranny that it proposes to exercise +over people’s private lives seems to me to be quite extraordinary. +The fact is, that the public have an insatiable curiosity to know everything, +except what is worth knowing. Journalism, conscious of this, and +having tradesman-like habits, supplies their demands. In centuries +before ours the public nailed the ears of journalists to the pump. +That was quite hideous. In this century journalists have nailed +their own ears to the keyhole. That is much worse. And what +aggravates the mischief is that the journalists who are most to blame +are not the amusing journalists who write for what are called Society +papers. The harm is done by the serious, thoughtful, earnest journalists, +who solemnly, as they are doing at present, will drag before the eyes +of the public some incident in the private life of a great statesman, +of a man who is a leader of political thought as he is a creator of +political force, and invite the public to discuss the incident, to exercise +authority in the matter, to give their views, and not merely to give +their views, but to carry them into action, to dictate to the man upon +all other points, to dictate to his party, to dictate to his country; +in fact, to make themselves ridiculous, offensive, and harmful. +The private lives of men and women should not be told to the public. +The public have nothing to do with them at all. In France they +manage these things better. There they do not allow the details +of the trials that take place in the divorce courts to be published +for the amusement or criticism of the public. All that the public +are allowed to know is that the divorce has taken place and was granted +on petition of one or other or both of the married parties concerned. +In France, in fact, they limit the journalist, and allow the artist +almost perfect freedom. Here we allow absolute freedom to the +journalist, and entirely limit the artist. English public opinion, +that is to say, tries to constrain and impede and warp the man who makes +things that are beautiful in effect, and compels the journalist to retail +things that are ugly, or disgusting, or revolting in fact, so that we +have the most serious journalists in the world, and the most indecent +newspapers. It is no exaggeration to talk of compulsion. +There are possibly some journalists who take a real pleasure in publishing +horrible things, or who, being poor, look to scandals as forming a sort +of permanent basis for an income. But there are other journalists, +I feel certain, men of education and cultivation, who really dislike +publishing these things, who know that it is wrong to do so, and only +do it because the unhealthy conditions under which their occupation +is carried on oblige them to supply the public with what the public +wants, and to compete with other journalists in making that supply as +full and satisfying to the gross popular appetite as possible. +It is a very degrading position for any body of educated men to be placed +in, and I have no doubt that most of them feel it acutely.</p> +<p>However, let us leave what is really a very sordid side of the subject, +and return to the question of popular control in the matter of Art, +by which I mean Public Opinion dictating to the artist the form which +he is to use, the mode in which he is to use it, and the materials with +which he is to work. I have pointed out that the arts which have +escaped best in England are the arts in which the public have not been +interested. They are, however, interested in the drama, and as +a certain advance has been made in the drama within the last ten or +fifteen years, it is important to point out that this advance is entirely +due to a few individual artists refusing to accept the popular want +of taste as their standard, and refusing to regard Art as a mere matter +of demand and supply. With his marvellous and vivid personality, +with a style that has really a true colour-element in it, with his extraordinary +power, not over mere mimicry but over imaginative and intellectual creation, +Mr Irving, had his sole object been to give the public what they wanted, +could have produced the commonest plays in the commonest manner, and +made as much success and money as a man could possibly desire. +But his object was not that. His object was to realise his own +perfection as an artist, under certain conditions, and in certain forms +of Art. At first he appealed to the few: now he has educated the +many. He has created in the public both taste and temperament. +The public appreciate his artistic success immensely. I often +wonder, however, whether the public understand that that success is +entirely due to the fact that he did not accept their standard, but +realised his own. With their standard the Lyceum would have been +a sort of second-rate booth, as some of the popular theatres in London +are at present. Whether they understand it or not the fact however +remains, that taste and temperament have, to a certain extent been created +in the public, and that the public is capable of developing these qualities. +The problem then is, why do not the public become more civilised? +They have the capacity. What stops them?</p> +<p>The thing that stops them, it must be said again, is their desire +to exercise authority over the artist and over works of art. To +certain theatres, such as the Lyceum and the Haymarket, the public seem +to come in a proper mood. In both of these theatres there have +been individual artists, who have succeeded in creating in their audiences—and +every theatre in London has its own audience—the temperament to +which Art appeals. And what is that temperament? It is the +temperament of receptivity. That is all.</p> +<p>If a man approaches a work of art with any desire to exercise authority +over it and the artist, he approaches it in such a spirit that he cannot +receive any artistic impression from it at all. The work of art +is to dominate the spectator: the spectator is not to dominate the work +of art. The spectator is to be receptive. He is to be the +violin on which the master is to play. And the more completely +he can suppress his own silly views, his own foolish prejudices, his +own absurd ideas of what Art should be, or should not be, the more likely +he is to understand and appreciate the work of art in question. +This is, of course, quite obvious in the case of the vulgar theatre-going +public of English men and women. But it is equally true of what +are called educated people. For an educated person’s ideas +of Art are drawn naturally from what Art has been, whereas the new work +of art is beautiful by being what Art has never been; and to measure +it by the standard of the past is to measure it by a standard on the +rejection of which its real perfection depends. A temperament +capable of receiving, through an imaginative medium, and under imaginative +conditions, new and beautiful impressions, is the only temperament that +can appreciate a work of art. And true as this is in the case +of the appreciation of sculpture and painting, it is still more true +of the appreciation of such arts as the drama. For a picture and +a statue are not at war with Time. They take no count of its succession. +In one moment their unity may be apprehended. In the case of literature +it is different. Time must be traversed before the unity of effect +is realised. And so, in the drama, there may occur in the first +act of the play something whose real artistic value may not be evident +to the spectator till the third or fourth act is reached. Is the +silly fellow to get angry and call out, and disturb the play, and annoy +the artists? No. The honest man is to sit quietly, and know +the delightful emotions of wonder, curiosity, and suspense. He +is not to go to the play to lose a vulgar temper. He is to go +to the play to realise an artistic temperament. He is to go to +the play to gain an artistic temperament. He is not the arbiter +of the work of art. He is one who is admitted to contemplate the +work of art, and, if the work be fine, to forget in its contemplation +and the egotism that mars him—the egotism of his ignorance, or +the egotism of his information. This point about the drama is +hardly, I think, sufficiently recognised. I can quite understand +that were ‘Macbeth’ produced for the first time before a +modern London audience, many of the people present would strongly and +vigorously object to the introduction of the witches in the first act, +with their grotesque phrases and their ridiculous words. But when +the play is over one realises that the laughter of the witches in ‘Macbeth’ +is as terrible as the laughter of madness in ‘Lear,’ more +terrible than the laughter of Iago in the tragedy of the Moor. +No spectator of art needs a more perfect mood of receptivity than the +spectator of a play. The moment he seeks to exercise authority +he becomes the avowed enemy of Art and of himself. Art does not +mind. It is he who suffers.</p> +<p>With the novel it is the same thing. Popular authority and +the recognition of popular authority are fatal. Thackeray’s +‘Esmond’ is a beautiful work of art because he wrote it +to please himself. In his other novels, in ‘Pendennis,’ +in ‘Philip,’ in ‘Vanity Fair’ even, at times, +he is too conscious of the public, and spoils his work by appealing +directly to the sympathies of the public, or by directly mocking at +them. A true artist takes no notice whatever of the public. +The public are to him non-existent. He has no poppied or honeyed +cakes through which to give the monster sleep or sustenance. He +leaves that to the popular novelist. One incomparable novelist +we have now in England, Mr George Meredith. There are better artists +in France, but France has no one whose view of life is so large, so +varied, so imaginatively true. There are tellers of stories in +Russia who have a more vivid sense of what pain in fiction may be. +But to him belongs philosophy in fiction. His people not merely +live, but they live in thought. One can see them from myriad points +of view. They are suggestive. There is soul in them and +around them. They are interpretative and symbolic. And he +who made them, those wonderful quickly-moving figures, made them for +his own pleasure, and has never asked the public what they wanted, has +never cared to know what they wanted, has never allowed the public to +dictate to him or influence him in any way but has gone on intensifying +his own personality, and producing his own individual work. At +first none came to him. That did not matter. Then the few +came to him. That did not change him. The many have come +now. He is still the same. He is an incomparable novelist. +With the decorative arts it is not different. The public clung +with really pathetic tenacity to what I believe were the direct traditions +of the Great Exhibition of international vulgarity, traditions that +were so appalling that the houses in which people lived were only fit +for blind people to live in. Beautiful things began to be made, +beautiful colours came from the dyer’s hand, beautiful patterns +from the artist’s brain, and the use of beautiful things and their +value and importance were set forth. The public were really very +indignant. They lost their temper. They said silly things. +No one minded. No one was a whit the worse. No one accepted +the authority of public opinion. And now it is almost impossible +to enter any modern house without seeing some recognition of good taste, +some recognition of the value of lovely surroundings, some sign of appreciation +of beauty. In fact, people’s houses are, as a rule, quite +charming nowadays. People have been to a very great extent civilised. +It is only fair to state, however, that the extraordinary success of +the revolution in house-decoration and furniture and the like has not +really been due to the majority of the public developing a very fine +taste in such matters. It has been chiefly due to the fact that +the craftsmen of things so appreciated the pleasure of making what was +beautiful, and woke to such a vivid consciousness of the hideousness +and vulgarity of what the public had previously wanted, that they simply +starved the public out. It would be quite impossible at the present +moment to furnish a room as rooms were furnished a few years ago, without +going for everything to an auction of second-hand furniture from some +third-rate lodging-house. The things are no longer made. +However they may object to it, people must nowadays have something charming +in their surroundings. Fortunately for them, their assumption +of authority in these art-matters came to entire grief.</p> +<p>It is evident, then, that all authority in such things is bad. +People sometimes inquire what form of government is most suitable for +an artist to live under. To this question there is only one answer. +The form of government that is most suitable to the artist is no government +at all. Authority over him and his art is ridiculous. It +has been stated that under despotisms artists have produced lovely work. +This is not quite so. Artists have visited despots, not as subjects +to be tyrannised over, but as wandering wonder-makers, as fascinating +vagrant personalities, to be entertained and charmed and suffered to +be at peace, and allowed to create. There is this to be said in +favour of the despot, that he, being an individual, may have culture, +while the mob, being a monster, has none. One who is an Emperor +and King may stoop down to pick up a brush for a painter, but when the +democracy stoops down it is merely to throw mud. And yet the democracy +have not so far to stoop as the emperor. In fact, when they want +to throw mud they have not to stoop at all. But there is no necessity +to separate the monarch from the mob; all authority is equally bad.</p> +<p>There are three kinds of despots. There is the despot who tyrannises +over the body. There is the despot who tyrannises over the soul. +There is the despot who tyrannises over the soul and body alike. +The first is called the Prince. The second is called the Pope. +The third is called the People. The Prince may be cultivated. +Many Princes have been. Yet in the Prince there is danger. +One thinks of Dante at the bitter feast in Verona, of Tasso in Ferrara’s +madman’s cell. It is better for the artist not to live with +Princes. The Pope may be cultivated. Many Popes have been; +the bad Popes have been. The bad Popes loved Beauty, almost as +passionately, nay, with as much passion as the good Popes hated Thought. +To the wickedness of the Papacy humanity owes much. The goodness +of the Papacy owes a terrible debt to humanity. Yet, though the +Vatican has kept the rhetoric of its thunders, and lost the rod of its +lightning, it is better for the artist not to live with Popes. +It was a Pope who said of Cellini to a conclave of Cardinals that common +laws and common authority were not made for men such as he; but it was +a Pope who thrust Cellini into prison, and kept him there till he sickened +with rage, and created unreal visions for himself, and saw the gilded +sun enter his room, and grew so enamoured of it that he sought to escape, +and crept out from tower to tower, and falling through dizzy air at +dawn, maimed himself, and was by a vine-dresser covered with vine leaves, +and carried in a cart to one who, loving beautiful things, had care +of him. There is danger in Popes. And as for the People, +what of them and their authority? Perhaps of them and their authority +one has spoken enough. Their authority is a thing blind, deaf, +hideous, grotesque, tragic, amusing, serious, and obscene. It +is impossible for the artist to live with the People. All despots +bribe. The people bribe and brutalise. Who told them to +exercise authority? They were made to live, to listen, and to +love. Someone has done them a great wrong. They have marred +themselves by imitation of their inferiors. They have taken the +sceptre of the Prince. How should they use it? They have +taken the triple tiara of the Pope. How should they carry its +burden? They are as a clown whose heart is broken. They +are as a priest whose soul is not yet born. Let all who love Beauty +pity them. Though they themselves love not Beauty, yet let them +pity themselves. Who taught them the trick of tyranny?</p> +<p>There are many other things that one might point out. One might +point out how the Renaissance was great, because it sought to solve +no social problem, and busied itself not about such things, but suffered +the individual to develop freely, beautifully, and naturally, and so +had great and individual artists, and great and individual men. +One might point out how Louis XIV., by creating the modern state, destroyed +the individualism of the artist, and made things monstrous in their +monotony of repetition, and contemptible in their conformity to rule, +and destroyed throughout all France all those fine freedoms of expression +that had made tradition new in beauty, and new modes one with antique +form. But the past is of no importance. The present is of +no importance. It is with the future that we have to deal. +For the past is what man should not have been. The present is +what man ought not to be. The future is what artists are.</p> +<p>It will, of course, be said that such a scheme as is set forth here +is quite unpractical, and goes against human nature. This is perfectly +true. It is unpractical, and it goes against human nature. +This is why it is worth carrying out, and that is why one proposes it. +For what is a practical scheme? A practical scheme is either a +scheme that is already in existence, or a scheme that could be carried +out under existing conditions. But it is exactly the existing +conditions that one objects to; and any scheme that could accept these +conditions is wrong and foolish. The conditions will be done away +with, and human nature will change. The only thing that one really +knows about human nature is that it changes. Change is the one +quality we can predicate of it. The systems that fail are those +that rely on the permanency of human nature, and not on its growth and +development. The error of Louis XIV. was that he thought human +nature would always be the same. The result of his error was the +French Revolution. It was an admirable result. All the results +of the mistakes of governments are quite admirable.</p> +<p>It is to be noted also that Individualism does not come to man with +any sickly cant about duty, which merely means doing what other people +want because they want it; or any hideous cant about self-sacrifice, +which is merely a survival of savage mutilation. In fact, it does +not come to man with any claims upon him at all. It comes naturally +and inevitably out of man. It is the point to which all development +tends. It is the differentiation to which all organisms grow. +It is the perfection that is inherent in every mode of life, and towards +which every mode of life quickens. And so Individualism exercises +no compulsion over man. On the contrary, it says to man that he +should suffer no compulsion to be exercised over him. It does +not try to force people to be good. It knows that people are good +when they are let alone. Man will develop Individualism out of +himself. Man is now so developing Individualism. To ask +whether Individualism is practical is like asking whether Evolution +is practical. Evolution is the law of life, and there is no evolution +except towards Individualism. Where this tendency is not expressed, +it is a case of artificially-arrested growth, or of disease, or of death.</p> +<p>Individualism will also be unselfish and unaffected. It has +been pointed out that one of the results of the extraordinary tyranny +of authority is that words are absolutely distorted from their proper +and simple meaning, and are used to express the obverse of their right +signification. What is true about Art is true about Life. +A man is called affected, nowadays, if he dresses as he likes to dress. +But in doing that he is acting in a perfectly natural manner. +Affectation, in such matters, consists in dressing according to the +views of one’s neighbour, whose views, as they are the views of +the majority, will probably be extremely stupid. Or a man is called +selfish if he lives in the manner that seems to him most suitable for +the full realisation of his own personality; if, in fact, the primary +aim of his life is self-development. But this is the way in which +everyone should live. Selfishness is not living as one wishes +to live, it is asking others to live as one wishes to live. And +unselfishness is letting other people’s lives alone, not interfering +with them. Selfishness always aims at creating around it an absolute +uniformity of type. Unselfishness recognises infinite variety +of type as a delightful thing, accepts it, acquiesces in it, enjoys +it. It is not selfish to think for oneself. A man who does +not think for himself does not think at all. It is grossly selfish +to require of ones neighbour that he should think in the same way, and +hold the same opinions. Why should he? If he can think, +he will probably think differently. If he cannot think, it is +monstrous to require thought of any kind from him. A red rose +is not selfish because it wants to be a red rose. It would be +horribly selfish if it wanted all the other flowers in the garden to +be both red and roses. Under Individualism people will be quite +natural and absolutely unselfish, and will know the meanings of the +words, and realise them in their free, beautiful lives. Nor will +men be egotistic as they are now. For the egotist is he who makes +claims upon others, and the Individualist will not desire to do that. +It will not give him pleasure. When man has realised Individualism, +he will also realise sympathy and exercise it freely and spontaneously. +Up to the present man has hardly cultivated sympathy at all. He +has merely sympathy with pain, and sympathy with pain is not the highest +form of sympathy. All sympathy is fine, but sympathy with suffering +is the least fine mode. It is tainted with egotism. It is +apt to become morbid. There is in it a certain element of terror +for our own safety. We become afraid that we ourselves might be +as the leper or as the blind, and that no man would have care of us. +It is curiously limiting, too. One should sympathise with the +entirety of life, not with life’s sores and maladies merely, but +with life’s joy and beauty and energy and health and freedom. +The wider sympathy is, of course, the more difficult. It requires +more unselfishness. Anybody can sympathise with the sufferings +of a friend, but it requires a very fine nature—it requires, in +fact, the nature of a true Individualist—to sympathise with a +friend’s success.</p> +<p>In the modern stress of competition and struggle for place, such +sympathy is naturally rare, and is also very much stifled by the immoral +ideal of uniformity of type and conformity to rule which is so prevalent +everywhere, and is perhaps most obnoxious in England.</p> +<p>Sympathy with pain there will, of course, always be. It is +one of the first instincts of man. The animals which are individual, +the higher animals, that is to say, share it with us. But it must +be remembered that while sympathy with joy intensifies the sum of joy +in the world, sympathy with pain does not really diminish the amount +of pain. It may make man better able to endure evil, but the evil +remains. Sympathy with consumption does not cure consumption; +that is what Science does. And when Socialism has solved the problem +of poverty, and Science solved the problem of disease, the area of the +sentimentalists will be lessened, and the sympathy of man will be large, +healthy, and spontaneous. Man will have joy in the contemplation +of the joyous life of others.</p> +<p>For it is through joy that the Individualism of the future will develop +itself. Christ made no attempt to reconstruct society, and consequently +the Individualism that he preached to man could be realised only through +pain or in solitude. The ideals that we owe to Christ are the +ideals of the man who abandons society entirely, or of the man who resists +society absolutely. But man is naturally social. Even the +Thebaid became peopled at last. And though the cenobite realises +his personality, it is often an impoverished personality that he so +realises. Upon the other hand, the terrible truth that pain is +a mode through which man may realise himself exercises a wonderful fascination +over the world. Shallow speakers and shallow thinkers in pulpits +and on platforms often talk about the world’s worship of pleasure, +and whine against it. But it is rarely in the world’s history +that its ideal has been one of joy and beauty. The worship of +pain has far more often dominated the world. Mediaevalism, with +its saints and martyrs, its love of self-torture, its wild passion for +wounding itself, its gashing with knives, and its whipping with rods—Mediaevalism +is real Christianity, and the mediaeval Christ is the real Christ. +When the Renaissance dawned upon the world, and brought with it the +new ideals of the beauty of life and the joy of living, men could not +understand Christ. Even Art shows us that. The painters +of the Renaissance drew Christ as a little boy playing with another +boy in a palace or a garden, or lying back in his mother’s arms, +smiling at her, or at a flower, or at a bright bird; or as a noble, +stately figure moving nobly through the world; or as a wonderful figure +rising in a sort of ecstasy from death to life. Even when they +drew him crucified they drew him as a beautiful God on whom evil men +had inflicted suffering. But he did not preoccupy them much. +What delighted them was to paint the men and women whom they admired, +and to show the loveliness of this lovely earth. They painted +many religious pictures—in fact, they painted far too many, and +the monotony of type and motive is wearisome, and was bad for art. +It was the result of the authority of the public in art-matters, and +is to be deplored. But their soul was not in the subject. +Raphael was a great artist when he painted his portrait of the Pope. +When he painted his Madonnas and infant Christs, he is not a great artist +at all. Christ had no message for the Renaissance, which was wonderful +because it brought an ideal at variance with his, and to find the presentation +of the real Christ we must go to mediaeval art. There he is one +maimed and marred; one who is not comely to look on, because Beauty +is a joy; one who is not in fair raiment, because that may be a joy +also: he is a beggar who has a marvellous soul; he is a leper whose +soul is divine; he needs neither property nor health; he is a God realising +his perfection through pain.</p> +<p>The evolution of man is slow. The injustice of men is great. +It was necessary that pain should be put forward as a mode of self-realisation. +Even now, in some places in the world, the message of Christ is necessary. +No one who lived in modern Russia could possibly realise his perfection +except by pain. A few Russian artists have realised themselves +in Art; in a fiction that is mediaeval in character, because its dominant +note is the realisation of men through suffering. But for those +who are not artists, and to whom there is no mode of life but the actual +life of fact, pain is the only door to perfection. A Russian who +lives happily under the present system of government in Russia must +either believe that man has no soul, or that, if he has, it is not worth +developing. A Nihilist who rejects all authority, because he knows +authority to be evil, and welcomes all pain, because through that he +realises his personality, is a real Christian. To him the Christian +ideal is a true thing.</p> +<p>And yet, Christ did not revolt against authority. He accepted +the imperial authority of the Roman Empire and paid tribute. He +endured the ecclesiastical authority of the Jewish Church, and would +not repel its violence by any violence of his own. He had, as +I said before, no scheme for the reconstruction of society. But +the modern world has schemes. It proposes to do away with poverty +and the suffering that it entails. It desires to get rid of pain, +and the suffering that pain entails. It trusts to Socialism and +to Science as its methods. What it aims at is an Individualism +expressing itself through joy. This Individualism will be larger, +fuller, lovelier than any Individualism has ever been. Pain is +not the ultimate mode of perfection. It is merely provisional +and a protest. It has reference to wrong, unhealthy, unjust surroundings. +When the wrong, and the disease, and the injustice are removed, it will +have no further place. It will have done its work. It was +a great work, but it is almost over. Its sphere lessens every +day.</p> +<p>Nor will man miss it. For what man has sought for is, indeed, +neither pain nor pleasure, but simply Life. Man has sought to +live intensely, fully, perfectly. When he can do so without exercising +restraint on others, or suffering it ever, and his activities are all +pleasurable to him, he will be saner, healthier, more civilised, more +himself. Pleasure is Nature’s test, her sign of approval. +When man is happy, he is in harmony with himself and his environment. +The new Individualism, for whose service Socialism, whether it wills +it or not, is working, will be perfect harmony. It will be what +the Greeks sought for, but could not, except in Thought, realise completely, +because they had slaves, and fed them; it will be what the Renaissance +sought for, but could not realise completely except in Art, because +they had slaves, and starved them. It will be complete, and through +it each man will attain to his perfection. The new Individualism +is the new Hellenism.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<p>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, THE SOUL OF MAN ***</p> +<pre> + +******This file should be named slman10h.htm or slman10h.zip****** +Corrected EDITIONS of our EBooks get a new NUMBER, slman11h.htm +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, slman10ah.htm + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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