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diff --git a/old/slman10.txt b/old/slman10.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7c5aa64 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/slman10.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1705 @@ +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 + +*** 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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