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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/10420-0.txt b/10420-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..2f8b1c4 --- /dev/null +++ b/10420-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4036 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 10420 *** + +THE PRINCIPLES OF SUCCESS IN LITERATURE + +by + +George Henry Lewes + +This eBook was prepared by Roland Cheney. + +In the development of the great series of animal organisms, the Nervous +System assumes more and more of an imperial character. The rank held by +any animal is determined by this character, and not at all by its bulk, +its strength, or even its utility. In like manner, in the development +of the social organism, as the life of nations becomes more complex, +Thought assumes a more imperial character; and Literature, in its +widest sense, becomes a delicate index of social evolution. Barbarous +societies show only the germs of literary life. But advancing +civilisation, bringing with it increased conquest over material +agencies, disengages the mind from the pressure of immediate wants, and +the loosened energy finds in leisure both the demand and the means of a +new activity: the demand, because long unoccupied hours have to be +rescued from the weariness of inaction; the means, because this call +upon the energies nourishes a greater ambition and furnishes a wider +arena. + +Literature is at once the cause and the effect of social progress. It +deepens our natural sensibilities, and strengthens by exercise our +intellectual capacities. It stores up the accumulated experience of the +race, connecting Past and Present into a conscious unity; and with this +store it feeds successive generations, to be fed in turn by them. As +its importance emerges into more general recognition, it necessarily +draws after it a larger crowd of servitors, filling noble minds with a +noble ambition. + +There is no need in our day to be dithyrambic on the glory of +Literature. Books have become our dearest companions, yielding +exquisite delights and inspiring lofty aims. They are our silent +instructors, our solace in sorrow, our relief in weariness. With what +enjoyment we linger over the pages of some well-loved author! With +what gratitude we regard every honest book! Friendships, prefound and +generous, are formed with men long dead, and with men whom we may never +see. The lives of these men have a quite personal interest for us. +Their homes become as consecrated shrines. Their little ways and +familiar phrases become endeared to us, like the little ways and +phrases of our wives and children. + +It is natural that numbers who have once been thrilled with this +delight should in turn aspire to the privilege of exciting it. Success +in Literature has thus become not only the ambition of the highest +minds, it has also become the ambition of minds intensely occupied +with other means of influencing their fellow--with statesmen, +warriors, and rulers. Prime ministers and emperors have striven for +distinction as poets, scholars, critics, and historians. Unsatisfied +with the powers and privileges of rank, wealth, and their conspicuous +position in the eyes of men, they have longed also for the nobler +privilege of exercising a generous sway over the minds and hearts of +readers. To gain this they have stolen hours from the pressure of +affairs, and disregarded the allurements of luxurious ease, labouring +steadfastly, hoping eagerly. Nor have they mistaken the value of the +reward. Success in Literature is, in truth, the blue ribbon of +nobility. + +There is another aspect presented by Literature. It has become a +profession; to many a serious and elevating profession; to many more a +mere trade, having miserable trade-aims and trade-tricks. As in every +other profession, the ranks are thronged with incompetent aspirants, +without seriousness of aim, without the faculties demanded by their +work. They are led to waste powers which in other directions might have +done honest service, because they have failed to discriminate between +aspiration and inspiration, between the desire for greatness and the +consciousness of power. Still lower in the ranks are those who follow +Literature simply because they see no other opening for their +incompetence; just as forlorn widows and ignorant old maids thrown +suddenly on their own resources open a school--no other means of +livelihood seeming to be within their reach. Lowest of all are those +whose esurient vanity, acting on a frivolous levity of mind, urges them +to make Literature a plaything for display. To write for a livelihood, +even on a complete misapprehension of our powers, is at least a +respectable impulse. To play at Literature is altogether inexcusable: +the motive is vanity, the object notoriety, the end contempt. + +I propose to treat of the Principles of Success in Literature, in the +belief that if a clear recognition of the principles which underlie all +successful writing could once be gained, it would be no inconsiderable +help to many a young and thoughtful mind. Is it necessary to guard +against a misconception of my object, and to explain that I hope to +furnish nothing more than help and encouragement? There is help to be +gained from a clear understanding of the conditions of success; and +encouragement to be gained from a reliance on the ultimate victory of +true principles. More than this can hardly be expected from me, even on +the supposition that I have ascertained the real conditions. No one, it +is to be presumed, will imagine that I can have any pretension of +giving recipes for Literature, or of furnishing power and talent where +nature has withheld them. I must assume the presence of the talent, and +then assign the conditions under which that talent can alone achieve +real success, no man is made a discoverer by learning the principles of +scientific Method; but only by those principles can discoveries be +made; and if he has consciously mastered them, he will find them +directing his researches and saving him from an immensity of fruitless +labour. It is something in the nature of the Method of Literature that +I propose to expound. Success is not an accident. All Literature is +founded upon psychological laws, and involves principles which are true +for all peoples and for all times. These principles we are to consider +here. + +II. + +The rarity of good books in every department, and the enormous quantity +of imperfect, insincere books, has been the lament of all times. The +complaint being as old as Literature itself, we may dismiss without +notice all the accusations which throw the burden on systems of +education, conditions of society, cheap books, levity and superficialty +of readers, and analogous causes. None of these can be a VERA CAUSA; +though each may have had its special influence in determining the +production of some imperfect works. The main cause I take to be that +indicated in Goethe's aphorism: "In this world there are so few voices +and so many echoes." Books are generally more deficient in sincerity +than in cleverness. Talent, as will become apparent in the course of +our inquiry, holds a very subordinate position in Literature to that +usually assigned to it. Indeed, a cursory inspection of the Literature +of our day will detect an abundance of remarkable talent---that is, of +intellectual agility, apprehensiveness, wit, fancy, and power of +expression which is nevertheless impotent to rescue "clever writing" +from neglect or contempt. It is unreal splendour; for the most part +mere intellectual fireworks. In Life, as in Literature, our admiration +for mere cleverness has a touch of contempt in it, and is very unlike +the respect paid to character. And justly so. No talent can be +supremely effective unless it act in close alliance with certain moral +qualities. (What these qualities are will be specified hereafter.) + +Another cause, intimately allied with the absence of moral guidance +just alluded to, is MISDIRECTION of talent. Valuable energy is wasted +by being misdirected. Men are constantly attempting, without special +aptitude, work for which special aptitude is indispensable. + +"On peut etre honnete hornme et faire mal des vers." + +A man may be variously accomplished, and yet be a feeble poet. He may +be a real poet, yet a feeble dramatist, he may have dramatic faculty, +yet be a feeble novelist. He may be a good story-teller, yet a shallow +thinker and a slip-shod writer. For success in any special kind of work +it is obvious that a special talent is requisite; but obvious as this +seems, when stated as a general proposition, it rarely serves to check +a mistaken presumption. There are many writers endowed with a certain +susceptibility to the graces and refinements of Literature which has +been fostered by culture till they have mistaken it for native power; +and these men, being really destitute of native power, are forced to +imitate what others have created. They can understand how a man may +have musical sensibility and yet not be a good singer; but they fail to +understand, at least in their own case, how a man may have literary +sensibility, yet not be a good story-teller or an effective dramatist. +They imagine that if they are cultivated and clever, can write what is +delusively called a "brilliant style," and are familiar with the +masterpieces of Literature, they must be more competent to succeed in +fiction or the drama than a duller man, with a plainer style and +slenderer acquaintance with the "best models." Had they distinctly +conceived the real aims of Literature this mistake would often have +been avoided. A recognition of the aims would have pressed on their +attention a more distinct appreciation of the requirements. + +No one ever doubted that special aptitudes were required for music, +mathematics, drawing, or for wit; but other aptitudes not less special +are seldom recognised. It is with authors as with actors: mere delight +in the art deludes them into the belief that they could be artists. +There are born actors, as there are born authors. To an observant eye +such men reveal their native endowments. Even in conversation they +spontaneously throw themselves into the characters they speak of. They +mimic, often quite unconsciously the speech and gesture of the person. +They dramatise when they narrate. Other men with little of this +faculty, but with only so much of it as will enable them to imitate the +tones and gestures of some admired actor, are misled by their vanity +into the belief that they also are actors, that they also could move an +audience as their original moves it. + +In Literature we see a few original writers, and a crowd of imitators: +men of special aptitudes, and men who mistake their power of repeating +with slight variation what others have done, for a power of creating +anew. The imitator sees that it is easy to do that which has already +been done. He intends to improve on it; to add from his own stores +something which the originator could not give; to lend it the lustre of +a richer mind; to make this situation more impressive, and that +character more natural. He is vividly impressed with the imperfections +of the original. And it is a perpetual puzzle to him why the public, +which applauds his imperfect predecessor, stupidly fails to recognise +his own obvious improvements. + +It is from such men that the cry goes forth about neglected genius and +public caprice. In secret they despise many a distinguished writer, and +privately, if not publicly, assert themselves as immeasurably superior. +The success of a Dumas is to them a puzzle and an irritation. They do +not understand that a man becomes distinguished in virtue of some +special talent properly directed; and that their obscurity is due +either to the absence of a special talent, or to its misdirection. They +may probably be superior to Dumas in general culture, or various +ability; it is in particular ability that they are his inferiors. They +may be conscious of wider knowledge, a more exquisite sensibility, and +a finer taste more finely cultivated; yet they have failed to produce +any impression on the public in a direction where the despised +favourite has produced a strong impression. They are thus thrown upon +the alternative of supposing that he has had "the luck" denied to them, +or that the public taste is degraded and prefers trash. Both opinions +are serious mistakes. Both injure the mind that harbours them. + +In how far is success a test of merit? Rigorously considered it is an +absolute test. Nor is such a conclusion shaken by the undeniable fact +that temporary applause is often secured by works which have no lasting +value. For we must always ask, What is the nature of the applause, and +from what circles does it rise? A work which appears at a particular +juncture, and suits the fleeting wants of the hour, flattering the +passions of the hour, may make a loud noise, and bring its author into +strong relief. This is not luck, but a certain fitness between the +author's mind and the public needs. He who first seizes the occasion, +may be for general purposes intrinsically a feebler man than many who +stand listless or hesitating till the moment be passed; but in +Literature, as in Life, a sudden promptitude outrivals vacillating +power. + +Generally speaking, however, this promptitude has but rare occasions +for achieving success. We may lay it down as a rule that no work ever +succeeded, even for a day, but it deserved that success; no work ever +failed but under conditions which made failure inevltable. This will +seem hard to men who feel that in their case neglect arises from +prejudice or stupidity. Yet it is true even in extreme cases; true even +when the work once neglected has since been acknowleged superior to the +works which for a time eclipsed it. Success, temporary or enduring, is +the measure of the relatlon, temporary or enduring, which exists +between a work and the public mind. The millet seed may be +intrinsically less valuable than a pearl; but the hungry cock wisely +neglected the pearl, because pearls could not, and millet seeds could, +appease his hunger. Who shall say how much of the subsequent success of +a once neglected work is due to the preparation of the public mind +through the works which for a time eclipsed it? + +Let us look candidly at this matter. It interests us all; for we have +all more or less to contend against public misconception, no less than +against our own defects. The object of Literature is to instruct, to +animate, or to amuse. Any book which does one of these things +succeeds; any book which does none of these things fails. Failure is +the indication of an inability to perform what was attempted: the aim +was misdirected, or the arm was too weak: in either case the mark has +not been hit. + +"The public taste is degraded." Perhaps so; and perhaps not. But in +granting a want of due preparation in the public, we only grant that +the author has missed his aim. A reader cannot be expected to be +interested in ideas which are not presented intelligibly to him, nor +delighted by art which does not touch him; and for the writer to imply +that he furnishes arguments, but does not pretend to furnish brains to +understand the arguments, is arrogance. What Goethe says about the most +legible handwriting being illegible in the twilight, is doubtless true; +and should be oftener borne in mind by frivolous objectors, who declare +they do not understand this or do not admire that, as if their want of +taste and understanding were rather creditable than otherwise, and were +decisive proofs of an author's insignificance. But this reproof, which +is telling against individuals, has no justice as against the public. +For--and this is generally lost sight of--the public is composed of the +class or classes directly addressed by any work, and not of the +heterogeneous mass of readers. Mathematicians do not write for the +circulating library. Science is not addressed to poets. Philosophy is +meant for students, not for idle readers. If the members of a class do +not understand--if those directly addressed fail to listen, or +listening, fail to recognise a power in the voice--surely the fault +lies with the speaker, who, having attempted to secure their attention +and enlighten their understandings, has failed in the attempt? The +mathematician who is without value to mathematicians, the thinker who +is obscure or meaningless to thinkers, the dramatist who fails to move +the pit, may be wise, may be eminent, but as an author he has failed. +He attempted to make his wisdom and his power operate on the minds of +others. He has missed his mark. MARGARITAS ANTE PORCOS! is the soothing +maxim of a disappointed self-love. But we, who look on, may sometimes +doubt whether they WERE pearls thus ineffectually thrown; and always +doubt the judiciousness of strewing pearls before swine. The prosperity +of a book lies in the minds of readers. Public knowledge and public +taste fluctuate; and there come times when works which were once +capable of instructing and delighting thousands lose their power, and +works, before neglected, emerge into renown. A small minority to whom +these works appealed has gradually become a large minority, and in the +evolution of opinion will perhaps become the majority. No man can +pretend to say that the work neglected today will not be a household +word tomorrow; or that the pride and glory of our age will not be +covered with cobwebs on the bookshelves of our children. Those works +alone can have enduring success which successfully appeal to what is +permanent in human nature--which, while suiting the taste of the day, +contain truths and beauty deeper than the opinions and tastes of the +day; but even temperary success implies a certain temporary fitness. In +Homer, Sophocles, Dante, Shakspeare, Cervantes, we are made aware of +much that no longer accords with the wisdom or the taste of our +day--temporary and immature expressions of fluctuating opinions--but we +are also aware of much that is both true and noble now, and will be so +for ever. + +It is only posterity that can decide whether the success or failure +shall be enduring; for it is only posterity that can reveal whether the +relation now existing between the work and the public mind is or is not +liable to fluctuation. Yet no man really writes for posterity; no man +ought to do so. + +"Wer machte denn der Mitwelt Spass?" + +("Who is to amuse the present?") asks the wise Merry Andrew in +FAUST. We must leave posterity to choose its own idols. There is, +however, this chance in favour of any work which has once achieved +success, that what has pleased one generation may please another, +because it may be based upon a truth or beauty which cannot die; and +there is this chance against any work which has once failed, that its +unfitness may be owing to some falsehood or imperfection which cannot +live. + +III. + +In urging all writers to be steadfast in reliance on the ultimate +victory of excellence, we should no less strenuously urge upon them to +beware of the intemperate arrogance which attributes failure to a +degraded condition of the public mind. The instinct which leads the +world to worship success is not dangerous. The book which succeeds +accomplishes its aim. The book which fails may have many excellencies, +but they must have been misdirected. Let us, however, understand what +is meant by failure. From want of a clear recognition of this meaning, +many a serious writer has been made bitter by the reflection that +shallow, feeble works have found large audiences, whereas his own work +has not paid the printing expenses. He forgets that the readers who +found instruction and amusement in the shallow books could have found +none in his book, because he had not the art of making his ideas +intelligible and attractive to them, or had not duly considered what +food was assimilable by their minds. It is idle to write in +hieroglyphics for the mass when only priests can read the sacred +symbols. + +No one, it is hoped, will suppose that by what is here said I +countenance the notion which is held by some authors--a notion implying +either arrogant self-sufficiency or mercenary servility--that to +succeed, a man should write down to the public. Quite the reverse. To +succeed, a man should write up to his ideal. He should do his very +best; certain that the very best will still fall short of what the +public can appreciate. He will only degrade his own mind by putting +forth works avowedly of inferior quality; and will find himself greatly +surpassed by writers whose inferior workmanship has nevertheless the +indefinable aspect of being the best they can produce. The man of +common mind is more directly in sympathy with the vulgar public, and +can speak to it more intelligibly, than any one who is condescending to +it. If you feel yourself to be above the mass, speak so as to raise the +mass to the height of your argument. It may be that the interval is too +great. It may be that the nature of your arguments is such as to demand +from the audience an intellectual preparation, and a habit of +concentrated continuity of thought, which cannot be expected from a +miscellaneous assembly. The scholarship of a Scaliger or the philosophy +of a Kant will obviously require an audience of scholars and +philosophers. And in cases where the nature of the work limits the +class of readers, no man should complain if the readers he does not +address pass him by to follow another. He will not allure these by +writing down to them; or if he allure them, he will lose those who +properly constitute his real audience. + +A writer misdirects his talent if he lowers his standard of excellence. +Whatever he can do best let him do that, certain of reward in +proportion to his excellence. The reward is not always measurable by +the number of copies sold; that simply measures the extent of his +public. It may prove that he has stirred the hearts and enlightened the +minds of many. It may also prove, as Johnson says, "that his nonsense +suits their nonsense." The real reward of Literature is in the sympathy +of congenial minds, and is precious in proportion to the elevation of +those minds, and the gravity with which such sympathy moves: the +admiration of a mathematician for the MECANIQUE CELESTE, for example, +is altogether higher in kind than the admiration of a novel reader for +the last "delightful story." And what should we think of Laplace if he +were made bitter by the wider popularity of Dumas? Would he forfeit the +admiration of one philosopher for that of a thousand novel readers? + +To ask this question is to answer it; yet daily experience tells us +that not only in lowering his standard, but in running after a +popularity incompatible with the nature of his talent, does many a +writer forfeit his chance of success. The novel and the drama, by +reason of their commanding influence over a large audience, often +seduce writers to forsake the path on which they could labour with some +success, but on which they know that only a very small audience can be +found; as if it were quantity more than quality, noise rather than +appreciation, which their mistaken desires sought. Unhappily for them, +they lose the substance, and only snap at the shadow. The audience may +be large, but it will not listen to them. The novel may be more popular +and more lucrative, when successful, than the history or the essay; but +to make it popular and lucrative the writer needs a special talent, and +this, as was before hinted, seems frequently forgotten by those who +take to novel writing. Nay, it is often forgotten by the critics; they +being, in general, men without the special talent themselves, set no +great value on it. They imagine that Invention may be replaced by +culture, and that clever "writing" will do duty for dramatic power. +They applaud the "drawing" of a character, which drawing turns out on +inspection to be little more than an epigrammatic enumeration of +particularities, the character thus "drawn" losing all individuality as +soon as speech and action are called upon. Indeed, there are two +mistakes very common among reviewers: one is the overvaluation of what +is usually considered as literary ability ("brilliant writing" it is +called; "literary tinsel" would be more descriptive) to the prejudice +of Invention and Individuality; the other is the overvaluation of what +they call "solid acquirements," which really mean no more than an +acquaintance with the classics. As a fact, literary ability and solid +acquirements are to be had in abundance; invention, humour, and +originality are excessively rare. It may be a painful reflection to +those who, having had a great deal of money spent on their education, +and having given a great deal of time to their solid aquirements, now +see genius and original power of all kinds more esteemed than their +learning; but they should reflect that what is learning now is only the +diffused form of what was once invention. "Solid acquirement" is the +genius of wits become the wisdom of reviewers. + +IV. + +Authors are styled an irritable race, and justly, if the epithet be +understood in its physiological rather than its moral sense. This +irritability, which responds to the slightest stimulus, leads to much +of the misdirection of talent we have been considering. The greatness +of an author consists in having a mind extremely irritable, and at the +same time steadfastly imperial:--irritable that no stimulus may be +inoperative, even in its most evanescent solicitations; imperial, that +no solicitation may divert him from his deliberately chosen aims. A +magisterial subjection of all dispersive influences, a concentration of +the mind upon the thing that has to be done, and a proud renunciation +of all means of effect which do not spontaneously connect themselves +with it--these are the rare qualities which mark out the man of genius. +In men of lesser calibre the mind is more constantly open to +determination from extrinsic influences. Their movement is not +self-determined, self-sustained. In men of still smaller calibre the +mind is entirely determined by extrinsic influences. They are prompted +to write poems by no musical instinct, but simply because great poems +have enchanted the world. They resolve to write novels upon the +vulgarest provocations: they see novels bringing money and fame; they +think there is no difficulty in the art. The novel will afford them an +opportunity of bringing in a variety of scattered details; scraps of +knowledge too scanty for an essay, and scraps of experience too meagre +for independent publication. Others, again, attempt histories, or works +of popular philosophy and science; not because they have any special +stores of knowledge, or because any striking novelty of conception +urges them to use up old material in a new shape, but simply because +they have just been reading with interest some work of history or +science, and are impatient to impart to others the knowledge they have +just acquired for themselves. Generally it may be remarked that the +pride which follows the sudden emancipation of the mind from ignorance +of any subject, is accompanied by a feeling that all the world must be +in the state of darkness from which we have ourselves emerged. It is +the knowledge learned yesterday which is most freely imparted today. + +We need not insist on the obvious fact of there being more irritability +than mastery, more imitation than creation, more echoes than voices in +the world of Literature. Good writers are of necessity rare. But the +ranks would be less crowded with incompetent writers if men of real +ability were not so often misdirected in their aims. My object is to +decree, if possible, the Principles of Success--not to supply recipes +for absent power, but to expound the laws through which power is +efficient, and to explain the causes which determine success in exact +proportion to the native power on the one hand, and to the state of +public opinion on the other. + +The laws of Literature may be grouped under three heads. Perhaps we +might say they are three forms of one principle. They are founded on +our threefold nature--intellectual, moral, and aesthetic. + +The intellectual form is the PRINCIPLE OF VISION. + +The moral form is the PRINCIPLE OF SINCERITY. + +The aesthetic form is the PRINCIPLE OF BEAUTY. + +It will be my endeavour to give definite significance, in succeeding +chapters, to these expressions, which, standing unexplained and +unillustrated, probably convey very little meaning. We shall then see +that every work, no matter what its subject-matter, necessarily +involves these three principles in varying degrees; and that its +success is always strictly in accordance with its conformity to the +guidance of these principles. + +Unless a writer has what, for the sake of brevity, I have called +Vision, enabling him to see clearly the facts or ideas, the objects or +relations, which he places before us for our own instruction, his work +must obviously be defective. He must see clearly if we are to see +clearly. Unless a writer has Sincerity, urging him to place before us +what he sees and believes as he sees and believes it, the defective +earnestness of his presentation will cause an imperfect sympathy in us. +He must believe what he says, or we shall not believe it. Insincerity +is always weakness; sincerity even in error is strength. This is not so +obvious a principle as the first; at any rate it is one more profoundly +disregarded by writers. + +Finally, unless the writer has grace--the principle of Beauty I have +named it--enabling him to give some aesthetic charm to his +presentation, were it only the charm of well-arranged material, and +well-constructed sentences, a charm sensible through all the +intricacies of COMPOSITION and of STYLE, he will not do justice to his +powers, and will either fail to make his work acceptable, or will very +seriously limit its success. The amount of influence issuing from this +principle of Beauty will, of course, be greatly determined by the more +or less aesthetic nature of the work. + +Books minister to our knowledge, to our guidance, and to our delight, +by their truth, their uprightness, and their art. Truth is the aim of +Literature. Sincerity is moral truth. Beauty is aesthetic truth. How +rigorously these three principles determine the success of all works +whatever, and how rigorously every departure from them, no matter how +slight, determines proportional failure, with the inexorable sequence +of a physical law, it will be my endeavour to prove in the chapters +which are to follow. + +EDITOR. + + +CHAPTER II + +THE PRINCIPLE OF VISION. + +All good Literature rests primarily on insight. All bad Literature +rests upon imperfect insight, or upon imitation, which may be defined +as seeing at second-hand. + +There are men of clear insight who never become authors: some, because +no sufficient solicitation from internal or external impulses makes +them bond their energies to the task of giving literary expression to +their thoughts; and some, because they lack the adequate powers of +literary expression. But no man, be his felicity and facility of +expression what they may, ever produces good Literature unless he sees +for himself, and sees clearly. It is the very claim and purpose of +Literature to show others what they failed to see. Unless a man sees +this clearly for himself how can he show it to others? + +Literature delivers tidings of the world within and the world without. +It tells of the facts which have been witnessed, reproduces the +emotions which have been felt. It places before the reader symbols +which represent the absent facts, or the relations of these to other +facts; and by the vivid presentation of the symbols of emotion kindles +the emotive sympathy of readers. The art of selecting the fitting +symbols, and of so arranging them as to be intelligible and kindling, +distinguishes the great writer from the great thinker; it is an art +which also relies on clear insight. + +The value of the tidings brought by Literature is determined by their +authenticity. At all times the air is noisy with rumours, but the real +business of life is transacted on clear insight and authentic speech. +False tidings and idle rumours may for an hour clamorously usurp +attention, because they are believed to be true; but the cheat is soon +discovered, and the rumour dies. In like manner Literature which is +unauthentic may succeed as long as it is believed to be true: that is, +so long as our intellects have not discovered the falseness of its +pretensions, and our feelings have not disowned sympathy with its +expressions. These may be truisms, but they are constantly disregarded. +Writers have seldom any steadfast conviction that it is of primary +necessity for them to deliver tidings about what they themselves have +seen and felt. Perhaps their intimate consciousness assures them that +what they have seen or felt is neither new nor important. It may not be +new, it may not be intrinsically important; nevertheless, if authentic, +it has its value, and a far greater value than anything reported by +them at second-hand. We cannot demand from every man that he have +unusual depth of insight or exceptional experience; but we demand of +him that he give us of his best, and his best cannot be another's. The +facts seen through the vision of another, reported on the witness of +another, may be true, but the reporter cannot vouch for them. Let the +original observer speak for himself. Otherwise only rumours are set +afloat. If you have never seen an acid combine with a base you cannot +instructively speak to me of salts; and this, of course, is true in a +more emphatic degree with reference to more complex matters. + +Personal experience is the basis of all real Literature. The writer +must have thought the thoughts, seen the objects (with bodily or mental +vision), and felt the feelings; otherwise he can have no power over us. +Importance does not depend on rarity so much as on authenticity. The +massacre of a distant tribe, which is heard through the report of +others, falls far below the heart-shaking effect of a murder committed +in our presence. Our sympathy with the unknown victim may originally +have been as torpid as that with the unknown tribe; but it has been +kindled by the swift and vivid suggestions of details visible to us as +spectators; whereas a severe and continuous effort of imagination is +needed to call up the kindling suggestions of the distant massacre. + +So little do writers appreciate the importance of direct vision and +experience, that they are in general silent about what they themselves +have seen and felt, copious in reporting the experience of others. Nay, +they are urgently prompted to say what they know others think, and what +consequently they themselves may be expected to think. They are as if +dismayed at their own individuality, and suppress all traces of it in +order to catch the general tone. Such men may, indeed, be of service in +the ordinary commerce of Literature as distributors. All I wish to +point out is that they are distributors, not producers. The commerce +may be served by second-hand reporters, no less than by original seers; +but we must understand this service to be commercial and not literary. +The common stock of knowledge gains from it no addition. The man who +detects a new fact, a new property in a familiar substance, adds to the +science of the age; but the man who expounds the whole system of the +universe on the reports of others, unenlightened by new conceptions of +his own, does not add a grain to the common store. Great writers may +all be known by their solicitude about authenticity. A common incident, +a simple phenomenon, which has been a part of their experience, often +undergoes what may be called "a transfiguration" in their souls, and +issues in the form of Art; while many world-agitating events in which +they have not been acters, or majestic phenomena of which they were +never spectators, are by them left to the unhesitating incompetence of +writers who imagine that fine subjects make fine works. Either the +great writer leaves such materials untouched, or he employs them as the +vehicle of more cherished, because more authenticated tidings,--he +paints the ruin of an empire as the scenic background for his picture +of the distress of two simple hearts. The inferior writer, because he +lays no emphasis on authenticity, cannot understand this avoidance of +imposing themes. Condemned by naive incapacity to be a reporter, and +not a seer, he hopes to shine by the reflected glory of his subjects. +It is natural in him to mistake ambitious art for high art. He does not +feel that the best is the highest. + +I do not assert that inferior writers abstain from the familiar and +trivial. On the contrary, as imitators, they imitate everything which +great writers have shown to be sources of interest. But their bias is +towards great subjects. They make no new ventures in the direction of +personal experience. They are silent on all that they have really seen +for themselves. Unable to see the deep significance of what is common, +they spontaneously turn towards the uncommon. + +There is, at the present day, a fashion in Literature, and in Art +generally, which is very deporable, and which may, on a superficial +glance, appear at variance with what has just been said. The fashion is +that of coat-and-waistcoat realism, a creeping timidity of invention, +moving almost exclusively amid scenes of drawing-room existence, with +all the reticences and pettinesses of drawing-room conventions. Artists +have become photographers, and have turned the camera upon the +vulgarities of life, instead of representing the more impassioned +movements of life. The majority of books and pictures are addressed to +our lower faculties; they make no effort as they have no power to stir +our deeper emotions by the contagion of great ideas. Little that makes +life noble and solemn is reflected in the Art of our day; to amuse a +languid audience seems its highest aim. Seeing this, some of my readers +may ask whether the artists have not been faithful to the law I have +expounded, and chosen to paint the small things they have seen, rather +than the great things they have not seen? The answer is simple. For the +most part the artists have not painted what they have seen, but have +been false and conventional in their pretended realism. And whenever +they have painted truly, they have painted successfully. The +authenticity of their work has given it all the value which in the +nature of things such work could have. Titian's portrait of "The Young +Man with a Glove" is a great work of art, though not of great art. It +is infinitely higher than a portrait of Cromwell, by a painter unable +to see into the great soul of Cromwell, and to make us see it; but it +is infinitely lower than Titian's "Tribute Money," "Peter the Martyr," +or the "Assumption." Tennyson's "Northern Farmer" is incomparably +greater as a poem than Mr. Bailey's ambitious "Festus;" but the +"Northern Farmer" is far below "Ulysses" or "Guinevere," because moving +on a lower level, and recording the facts of a lower life. + +Insight is the first condition of Art. Yet many a man who has never +been beyond his village will be silent about that which he knows well, +and will fancy himself called upon to speak of the tropics or the +Andes---on the reports of others. Never having seen a greater man than +the parson and the squire and not having seen into them--he selects +Cromwell and Plato, Raphael and Napoleon, as his models, in the vain +belief that these impressive personalities will make his work +impressive. Of course I am speaking figuratively. By "never having been +beyond his village," I understand a mental no less than topographical +limitation. The penetrating sympathy of genius will, even from a +village, traverse the whole world. What I mean is, that unless by +personal experience, no matter through what avenues, a man has gained +clear insight into the facts of life, he cannot successfully place them +before us; and whatever insight he has gained, be it of important or of +unimportant facts, will be of value if truly reproduced. No sunset is +precisely similar to another, no two souls are affected by it in a +precisely similar way. Thus may the commonest phenomenon have a +novelty. To the eye that can read aright there is an infinite variety +even in the most ordinary human being. But to the careless +indiscriminating eye all individuality is merged in a misty generality. +Nature and men yield nothing new to such a mind. Of what avail is it +for a man to walk out into the tremulous mists of morning, to watch the +slow sunset, and wait for the rising stars, if he can tell us nothing +about these but what others have already told us---if he feels nothing +but what others have already felt? Let a man look for himself and tell +truly what he sees. We will listen to that. We must listen to it, for +its very authenticity has a subtle power of compulsion. What others +have seen and felt we can learn better from their own lips. + +II. + +I have not yet explained in any formal manner what the nature of that +insight is which constitutes what I have named the Principle of Vision; +although doubtless the reader has gathered its meaning from the remarks +already made. For the sake of future applications of the principle to +the various questions of philosophical criticism which must arise in +the course of this inquiry, it may be needful here to explain (as I +have already explained elsewhere) how the chief intellectual +operations--Perception, Inference, Reasoning, and Imagination--may be +viewed as so many forms of mental vision. + +Perception, as distinguished from Sensation, is the presentation before +Consciousness of the details which once were present in conjunction +with the object at this moment affecting Sense. These details are +inferred to be still in conjunction with the object, although not +revealed to Sense. Thus when an apple is perceived by me, who merely +see it, all that Sense reports is of a certain coloured surface: the +roundness, the firmness, the fragrance, and the taste of the apple are +not present to Sense, but are made present to Consciousness by the act +of Perception. The eye sees a certain coloured surface; the mind sees +at the same instant many other co-existent but unapparent facts--it +reinstates in their due order these unapparent facts. Were it not for +this mental vision supplying the deficiencies of ocular vision, the +coloured surface would be an enigma. But the suggestion of Sense +rapidly recalls the experiences previously associated with the object. +The apparent facts disclose the facts that are unapparent. + +Inference is only a higher form of the same process. We look from the +window, see the dripping leaves and the wet ground, and infer that rain +has fallen. It is on inferences of this kind that all knowledge +depends. The extension of the known to the unknown, of the apparent to +the unapparent, gives us Science. Except in the grandeur of its sweep, +the mind pursues the same course in the interpretation of geological +facts as in the interpretation of the ordinary incidents of daily +experience. To read the pages of the great Stone Book, and to perceive +from the wet streets that rain has recently fallen, are forms of the +same intellectual process. In the one case the inference traverses +immeasurable spaces of time, connecting the apparent facts with causes +(unapparent facts) similar to those which have been associated in +experience with such results; in the other case the inference connects +wet streets and swollen gutters with causes which have been associated +in experience with such results. Let the inference span with its mighty +arch a myriad of years, or link together the events of a few minutes, +in each case the arch rises from the ground of familiar facts, and +reaches an antecedent which is known to be a cause capable of producing +them. + +The mental vision by which in Perception we see the unapparent +details---i.e, by which sensations formerly co-existing with the one +now affecting us are reinstated under the form of ideas which REPRESENT +the objects--is a process implied in all Ratiocination, which also +presents an IDEAL SERIES, such as would be a series of sensations, if +the objects themselves were before us. A chain of reasoning is a chain +of inferences: IDEAL presentations of objects and relations not +apparent to Sense, or not presentable to Sense. Could we realise all +the links in this chain, by placing the objects in their actual order +as a VISIBLE series, the reasoning would be a succession of +perceptions. Thus the path of a planet is seen by reason to be an +ellipse. It would be perceived as a fact, if we were in a proper +position and endowed with the requisite means of following the planet +in its course; but not having this power, we are reduced to infer the +unapparent points in its course from the points which are apparent. We +see them mentally. Correct reasoning is the ideal assemblage of objects +in their actual order of co-existence and succession. It is seeing with +the mind's eye. False reasoning is owing to some misplacement of the +order of objects, or to the omission of some links in the chain, or to +the introduction of objects not properly belonging to the series. It is +distorted or defective vision. The terrified traveller sees a +highwayman in what is really a sign-post in the twilight; and in the +twilight of knowledge, the terrified philosopher sees a Pestilence +foreshadowed by an eclipse. + +Let attention also be called to one great source of error, which is +also a great source of power, namely, that much of our thinking is +carried on by signs instead of images. We use words as signs of +objects; these suffice to carry on the train of inference, when very +few images of the objects are called up. Let any one attend to his +thoughts and he will be surprised to find how rare and indistinct in +general are the images of objects which arise before his mind. If he +says "I shall take a cab and get to the railway by the shortest cut," +it is ten to one that he forms no image of cab or railway, and but a +very vague image of the streets through which the shortest cut will +lead. Imaginative minds see images where ordinary minds see nothing but +signs: this is a source of power; but it is also a source of weakness; +for in the practical affairs of life, and in the theoretical +investigations of philosophy, a too active imagination is apt to +distract the attention and scatter the energies of the mind. + +In complex trains of thought signs are indispensable. The images, when +called up, are only vanishing suggestions: they disappear before they +are more than half formed. And yet it is because signs are thus +substituted for images (paper transacting the business of money) that +we are so easily imposed upon by verbal fallacies and meaningless +phrases. A scientific man of some eminence was once taken in by a wag, +who gravely asked him whether he had read Bunsen's paper on the +MALLEABILITY of light. He confessed that he had not read it: "Bunsen +sent it to me, but I've not had time to look into it." + +The degree in which each mind habitually substitutes signs for images +will be, CETERIS PARIBUS, the degree in which it is liable to error. +This is not contradicted by the fact that mathematical, astronomical, +and physical reasonings may, when complex, be carried on more +suecessfully by the employment of signs; because in these cases the +signs themselves accurately represent the abstractness of the +relations. Such sciences deal only with relations, and not with +objects; hence greater simplification ensures greater accuracy. But no +sooner do we quit this sphere of abstractions to enter that of concrete +things, than the use of symbols becomes a source of weakness. Vigorous +and effective minds habitually deal with concrete images. This is +notably the case with poets and great literates. Their vision is keener +than that of other men. However rapid and remote their flight of +thought, it is a succession of images, not of abstractions. The details +which give significance, and which by us are seen vaguely as through a +vanishing mist, are by them seen in sharp outlines. The image which to +us is a mere suggestion, is to them almost as vivid as the object. And +it is because they see vividly that they can paint effectively. + +Most readers will recognise this to be true of poets, but will doubt +its application to philosophers, because imperfect psychology and +unscientific criticism have disguised the identity of intellectual +processes until it has become a paradox to say that imagination is not +less indispensable to the philosopher than to the poet. The paradox +falls directly we restate the proposition thus: both poet and +philosopher draw their power from the energy of their mental vision--an +energy which disengages the mind from the somnolence of habit and from +the pressure of obtrusive sensations. In general men are passive under +Sense and the routine of habitual inferences. They are unable to free +themselves from the importunities of the apparent facts and apparent +relations which solicit their attention; and when they make room for +unapparent facts it is only for those which are familiar to their +minds. Hence they can see little more than what they have been taught +to see; they can only think what they have been taught to think. For +independent vision, and original conception, we must go to children and +men of genius. The spontaneity of the one is the power of the other. +Ordinary men live among marvels and feel no wonder, grow familiar with +objects and learn nothing new about them. Then comes an independent +mind which sees; and it surprises us to find how servile we have been +to habit and opinion, how blind to what we also might have seen, had we +used our eyes. The link, so long hidden, has now been made visible to +us. We hasten to make it visible to others. But the flash of light +which revealed that obscured object does not help us to discover +others. Darkness still conceals much that we do not even suspect. We +continue our routine. We always think our views correct and complete; +if we thought otherwise they would cease to be our views; and when the +man of keener insight discloses our error, and reveals relations +hitherto unsuspected, we learn to see with his eyes and exclaim: "Now +surely we have got the truth." + +III. + +A child is playing with a piece of paper and brings it near the flame +of a candle; another child looks on. Both are completely absorbed by +the objects, both are ignorant or oblivious of the relation between the +combustible object and the flame: a relation which becomes apparent +only when the paper is alight. What is called the thoughtlessness of +childhood prevents their seeing this unapparent fact; it is a fact +which has not been sufficiently impressed upon their experience so as +to form an indissoluble element in their conception of the two in +juxtaposition. Whereas in the mind of the nurse this relation is so +vividly impressed that no sooner does the paper approach the flame than +the unapparent fact becomes almost as visible as the objects, and a +warning is given. She sees what the children do not, or cannot see. It +has become part of her organised experience. + +The superiority of one mind over another depends on the rapidity with +which experiences are thus organised. The superiority may be general or +special: it may manifest itself in a power of assimilating very various +experiences, so as to have manifold relations familiar to it, or in a +power of assimilating very special relations, so as to constitute a +distinctive aptitude for one branch of art or science. The experience +which is thus organised must of course have been originally a direct +object of consciousness, either as an impressive fact or impressive +inference. Unless the paper had been seen to burn, no one could know +that contact with flame would consume it. By a vivid remembrance the +experience of the past is made available to the present, so that we do +not need actually to burn paper once more,--we see the relation +mentally. In like manner Newton did not need to go through the +demonstrations of many complex problems, they flashed upon him as he +read the propositions; they were seen by him in that rapid glance, as +they would have been made visible through the slower process of +demonstration. A good chemist does not need to test many a proposition +by bringing actual gases or acids into operation, and seeing the +result; he FORESEES the result: his mental vision of the objects and +their properties is so keen, his experience is so organised, that the +result which would be visible in an experiment, is visible to him in an +intuition. A fine poet has no need of the actual presence of men and +women under the fluctuating impatience of emotion, or under the +steadfast hopelessness of grief; he needs no setting sun before his +window, under it no sullen sea. These are all visible, and their +fluctuations are visible. He sees the quivering lip, the agitated soul; +he hears the aching cry, and the dreary wash of waves upon the beach. + +The writer who pretends to instruct us should first assure himself that +he has clearer vision of the things he speaks of,--knows them and their +qualities, if not better than we, at least with some distinctive +knowledge. Otherwise he should announce himself as a mere echo, +a middleman, a distributor. Our need is for more light. This can be +given only by an independent seer who + +"Lends a precious seeing to the eye." + +All great authors are seers. "Perhaps if we should meet Shakspeare," +says Emerson, "we should not be conscious of any steep inferiority: no, +but of great equality; only he possessed a strange skill of using, of +classifying his facts, which we lacked. For, notwithstanding our utter +incapacity to preduce anything like HAMLET or OTHELLO, we see the +perfect reception this wit and immense knowledge of life and liquid +eloquence find in us all." This aggrandisement of our common stature +rests on questionable ground. If our capacity of being moved by +Shakspeare discloses a community, our incapacity of producing HAMLET no +less discloses our inferiority. It is certain that could we meet +Shakspeare we should find him strikingly like ourselves---with the same +faculties, the same sensibilities, though not in the same degree. The +secret of his power over us lies, of course, in our having the capacity +to appreciate him. Yet we seeing him in the unimpassioned moods of +daily life, it is more than probable that we should see nothing in him +but what was ordinary; nay, in some qualities he would seem inferior. +Heroes require a perspective. They are men who look superhuman only +when elevated on the pedestals of their achievements. In ordinary life +they look like ordinary men; not that they are of the common mould, but +seem so because their uncommon qualities are not then called forth. +Superiority requires an occasion. The common man is helpless in an +emergency: assailed by contradictory suggestions, or confused by his +incapacity, he cannot see his way. The hour of emergency finds a hero +calm and strong, and strong because calm and clear-sighted; he sees +what can be done, and does it. This is often a thing of great +simplicity, so that we marvel others did not see it. Now it has been +done, and proved successful, many underrate its value, thinking that +they also would have done precisely the same thing. The world is more +just. It refuses to men unassailed by the difficulties of a situation +the glory they have not earned. The world knows how easy most things +appear when they have once been done. We can all make the egg stand on +end after Columbus. + +Shakspeare, then, would probably not impress us with a sense of our +inferiority if we were to meet him tomorrow. Most likely we should be +bitterly disappointed; because, having formed our conception of him as +the man who wrote HAMLET and OTHELLO we forget that these were not the +preducts of his ordinary moods, but the manifestations of his power at +white heat. In ordinary moods he must be very much as ordinary men, and +it is in these we meet him. How notorious is the astonishment of +friends and associates when any man's achievements suddenly emerge into +renown. "They could never have believed it." Why should they? Knowing +him only as one of their circle, and not being gifted with the +penetration which discerns a latent energy, but only with the vision +which discerns apparent results, they are taken by surprise. Nay, so +biased are we by superficial judgments, that we frequently ignore the +palpable fact of achieved excellence simply because we cannot reconcile +it with our judgment of the man who achieved it. The deed has been +done, the work written, the picture painted; it is before the world, +and the world is ringing with applause. There is no doubt whatever that +the man whose name is in every mouth did the work; but because our +personal impressions of him do not correspond with our conceptions of a +powerful man, we abate or withdraw our admiration, and attribute his +success to lucky accident. This blear-eyed, taciturn, timid man, whose +knowledge of many things is manifestly imperfect, whose inaptitude for +many things is apparent, can HE be the creator of such glorious works? +Can HE be the large and patient thinker, the delicate humourist, the +impassioned poet? Nature seems to have answered this question for us; +yet so little are we inclined to accept Nature's emphatic testimony on +this point, that few of us ever see without disappointment the man +whose works have revealed his greatness. + +It stands to reason that we should not rightly appreciate Shakspeare if +we were to meet him simply because we should meet him as an ordinary +man, and not as the author of HAMLET. Yet if we had a keen insight we +should detect even in his quiet talk the marks of an original mind. We +could not, of course, divine, without evidence, how deep and clear his +insight, how mighty his power over grand representative symbols, how +prodigal his genius: these only could appear on adequate occasions. But +we should notice that he had an independent way of looking at things. +He would constantly bring before us some latent fact, some unsuspected +relation, some resemblance between dissimilar things. We should feel +that his utterances were not echoes. If therefore, in these moments of +equable serenity, his mind glancing over trivial things saw them with +great clearness, we might infer that in moments of intense activity his +mind gazing steadfastly on important things, would see wonderful +visions, where to us all was vague and shifting. During our quiet walk +with him across the fields he said little, or little that was +memorable; but his eye was taking in the varying forms and relations of +objects, and slowly feeding his mind with images. The common hedge-row, +the gurgling brook, the waving corn, the shifting cloud-architecture, +and the sloping uplands, have been seen by us a thousand times, but +they show us nothing new; they have been seen by him a thousand times, +and each time with fresh interest, and fresh discovery. If he describe +that walk he will surprise us with revelations: we can then and +thereafter see all that he points out; but we needed his vision to +direct our own. And it is one of the incalculable influences of poetry +that each new revelation is an education of the eye and the feelings. +We learn to see and feel Nature in a far clearer and profounder way, +now that we have been taught to look by poets. The incurious +unimpassioned gaze of the Alpine peasant on the scenes which +mysteriously and profoundly affect the cultivated tourist, is the gaze +of one who has never been taught to look. The greater sensibility of +educated Europeans to influences which left even the poetic Greeks +unmoved, is due to the directing vision of successive poets. + +The great difficulty which besets us all--Shakspeares and others, but +Shakspeares less than others---is the difficulty of disengaging the +mind from the thraldom of sensation and habit, and escaping from the +pressure of objects immediately present, or of ideas which naturally +emerge, linked together as they are by old associations. We have to see +anew, to think anew. It requires great vigour to escape from the old +and spontaneously recurrent trains of thought. And as this vigour is +native, not acquired, my readers may, perhaps, urge the futility of +expounding with so much pains a principle of success in Literature +which, however indispensable, must be useless as a guide; they may +object that although good Literature rests on insight, there is nothing +to be gained by saying "unless a man have the requisite insight he will +not succeed." But there is something to be gained. In the first place, +this is an analytical inquiry into the conditions of success: it aims +at discriminating the leading principles which inevitably determine +success. In the second place, supposing our analysis of the conditions +to be correct, practical guidance must follow. We cannot, it is true, +gain clearness of vision simply by recognising its necessity; but by +recognising its necessity we are taught to seek for it as a primary +condition of success; we are forced to come to an understanding with +ourselves as to whether we have or have not a distinct vision of the +thing we speak of, whether we are seers or reporters, whether the ideas +and feelings have been thought and felt by us as part and parcel of our +own individual experience, or have been echoed by us from the books and +conversation of others? We can always ask, are we painting farm-houses +or fairies because these are genuine visions of our own, or only +because farm-houses and fairies have been successfully painted by +others, and are poetic material? + +The man who first saw an acid redden a vegetable-blue, had something to +communicate; and the man who first saw (mentally) that all acids redden +vegetable-blues, had something to communicate. But no man can do this +again. In the course of his teaching he may have frequently to report +the fact; but this repetition is not of much value unless it can be +made to disclose some new relation. And so of other and more complex +cases. Every sincere man can determine for himself whether he has any +authentic tidings to communicate; and although no man can hope to +discover much that is actually new, he ought to assure himself that +even what is old in his work has been authenticated by his own +experience. He should not even speak of acids reddening vegetable-blues +upon mere hearsay, unless he is speaking figuratively. All his facts +should have been verified by himself, all his ideas should have been +thought by himself. In proportion to the fulfilment of this condition +will be his success; in proportion to its non-fulfilment, his failure. + +Literature in its vast extent includes writers of three different +classes, and in speaking of success we must always be understood to +mean the acceptance each writer gains in his own class; otherwise a +flashy novelist might seem more successful than a profound poet; a +clever compiler more successful than an original discoverer. + +The Primary Class is composed of the born seers--men who see for +themselves and who originate. These are poets, philosophers, +discoverers. The Secondary Class is composed of men less puissant in +faculty, but genuine also in their way, who travel along the paths +opened by the great originaters, and also point out many a side-path +and shorter cut. They reproduce and vary the materials furnished by +others, but they do this, not as echoes only, they authenticate their +tidings, they take care to see what the discoverers have taught them to +see, and in consequence of this clear vision they are enabled to +arrange and modify the materials so as to produce new results. The +Primary Class is composed of men of genius; the Secondary Class of men +of talent. It not unfrequently happens, especially in philosophy and +science, that the man of talent may confer a lustre on the original +invention; he takes it up a nugget and lays it down a coin. Finally, +there is the largest class of all, comprising the Imitators in Art, and +the Compilers in Philosophy. These bring nothing to the general stock. +They are sometimes (not often) useful; but it is as cornfactors, not as +corn-growers. They sometimes do good service by distributing knowledge +where otherwise it might never penetrate; but in general their work is +more hurtful than beneficial: hurtful, because it is essentially bad +work, being insincere work, and because it stands in the way of better +work. + +Even among Imitaters and Compilers there are almost infinite degrees of +merit and demerit: echoes of echoes reverberating echoes in endless +succession; compilations of all degrees of worth and worthlessness. +But, as will be shown hereafter, even in this lower sphere the worth of +the work is strictly proportional to the Vision, Sincerity, and Beauty; +so that an imitator whose eye is keen for the forms he imitates, whose +speech is honest, and whose talent has grace, will by these very +virtues rise almost to the Secondary Class, and will secure an +honourable success. + +I have as yet said but little, and that incidentally, of the part +played by the Principle of Vision in Art. Many readers who will admit +the principle in Science and Philosophy, may hesitate in extending it +to Art, which, as they conceive, draws its inspirations from the +Imagination. Properly understood there is no discrepancy between the +two opinions; and in the next chapter I shall endeavour to show how +Imagination is only another form of this very Principle of Vision which +we have been considering. + +EDITOR. + +CHAPTER III + +OF VISION IN ART. + +There are many who will admit, without hesitation, that in Philosophy +what I have called the Principle of Vision holds an important rank, +because the mind must necessarily err in its speculations unless it +clearly sees facts and relations; but there are some who will hesitate +before admitting the principle to a similar rank in Art, because, as +they conceive, Art is independent of the truth of facts, and is swayed +by the autocratic power of Imagination. + +It is on this power that our attention should first be arrested; the +more so because it is usually spoken of in vague rhapsodical language, +with intimations of its being something peculiarly mysterious. There +are few words more abused. The artist is called a creator, which in one +sense he is; and his creations are said to be produced by processes +wholly unallied to the creations of Philosophy, which they are not. +Hence it is a paradox to speak of the "Principia," as a creation +demanding severe and continuous exercise of the imagination; but it is +only a paradox to those who have never analysed the processes of +artistic and philosophic creation. + +I am far from desiring to innovate in language, or to raise +interminable discussions respecting the terms in general use. +Nevertheless we have here to deal with questions that lie deeper than +mere names. We have to examine processes, and trace, if possible, the +methods of intellectual activity pursued in all branches of Literature; +and we must not suffer our course to be obstructed by any confusion in +terms that can be cleared up. We may respect the demarcations +established by usage, but we must ascertain, if possible, the +fundamental affinities. There is, for instance, a broad distinction +between Science and Art, which, so far from requiring to be effaced, +requires to be emphasised: it is that in Science the paramount appeal +is to the Intellect---its purpose being instruction; in Art, the +paramount appeal is to the Emotions--its purpose being pleasure. A work +of Art must of course indirectly appeal to the Intellect, and a work of +Science will also indirectly appeal to the Feelings; nevertheless a +poem on the stars and a treatise on astronomy have distinct aims and +distinct methods. But having recognised the broadly-marked differences, +we are called upon to ascertain the underlying resemblances. Logic and +Imagination belong equally to both. It is only because men have been +attracted by the differences that they have overlooked the not less +important affinities. Imagination is an intellectual process common to +Philosophy and Art; but in each it is allied with different processes, +and directed to different ends; and hence, although the "Principia" +demanded an imagination of not less vivid and sustained power than was +demanded by "Othello," it would be very false psychology to infer that +the mind of Newton was competent to the creation of "Othello," or the +mind of Shakspeare capable of producing the "Principia." They were +specifically different minds; their works were specifically different. +But in both the imagination was intensely active. Newton had a mind +predominantly ratiocinative: its movement was spontaneously towards the +abstract relations of things. Shakspeare had a mind predominantly +emotive, the intellect always moving in alliance with the feelings, and +spontaneously fastening upon the concrete facts in preference to their +abstract relations. Their mental Vision was turned towards images of +different orders, and it moved in alliance with different faculties; +but this Vision was the cardinal quality of both. Dr. Johnson was +guilty of a surprising fallacy in saying that a great mathematician +might also be a great poet: "Sir, a man can walk east as far as he can +walk west." True, but mathematics and poetry do not differ as east and +west; and he would hardly assert that a man who could walk twenty miles +could therefore swim that distance. + +The real state of the case is somewhat obscured by our observing that +many men of science, and some even eminent as teachers and reporters, +display but slender claims to any unusual vigour of imagination. It +must be owned that they are often slightly dull; and in matters of Art +are not unfrequently blockheads. Nay, they would themselves repel it as +a slight if the epithet "imaginative" were applied to them; it would +seem to impugn their gravity, to cast doubts upon their accuracy. But +such men are the cisterns, not the fountains, of Science. They rely +upon the knowledge already organised; they do not bring accessions to +the common stock. They are not investigators, but imitators; they are +not discoverers--inventors. No man ever made a discovery (he may have +stumbled on one) without the exercise of as much imagination as, +employed in another direction and in alliance with other faculties, +would have gone to the creation of a poem. Every one who has seriously +investigated a novel question, who has really interrogated Nature with +a view to a distinct answer, will bear me out in saying that it +requires intense and sustained effort of imagination. The relations of +sequence among the phenomena must be seen; they are hidden; they can +only be seen mentally; a thousand suggestions rise before the mind, but +they are recognised as old suggestions, or as inadequate to reveal what +is sought; the experiments by which the problem may be solved have to +be imagined; and to imagine a good experiment is as difficult as to +invent a good fable, for we must have distinctly PRESENT--clear mental +vision--the known qualities and relations of all the objects, and must +see what will be the effect of introducing some new qualifying agent. +If any one thinks this is easy, let him try it: the trial will teach +him a lesson respecting the methods of intellectual activity not +without its use. Easy enough, indeed, is the ordinary practice of +experiment, which is either a mere repetition or variation of +experiments already devised (as ordinary story-tellers re-tell the +stories of others), or else a haphazard, blundering way of bringing +phenomena together, to see what will happen. To invent is another +process. The discoverer and the poet are inventors; and they are so +because their mental vision detects the unapparent, unsuspected facts, +almost as vividly as ocular vision rests on the apparent and familiar. + +It is the special aim of Philosophy to discover and systematise the +abstract relations of things; and for this purpose it is forced to +allow the things themselves to drop out of sight, fixing attention +solely on the quality immediately investigated, to the neglect of all +other qualities. Thus the philosopher, having to appreciate the mass, +density, refracting power, or chemical constitution of some object, +finds he can best appreciate this by isolating it from every other +detail. He abstracts this one quality from the complex bundle of +qualities which constitute the object, and he makes this one stand for +the whole. This is a necessary simplification. If all the qualities +were equally present to his mind, his vision would be perplexed by +their multiple suggestions. He may follow out the relations of each in +turn, but he cannot follow them out together. + +The aim of the poet is very different. He wishes to kindle the emotions +by the suggestion of objects themselves; and for this purpose he must +present images of the objects rather than of any single quality. It is +true that he also must exercise a power of abstraction and selection, +tie cannot without confusion present all the details. And it is here +that the fine selective instinct of the true artist shows itself, in +knowing what details to present and what to omit. Observe this: the +abstraction of the philosopher is meant to keep the object itself, with +its perturbing suggestions, out of sight, allowing only one quality to +fill the field of vision; whereas the abstraction of the poet is meant +to bring the object itself into more vivid relief, to make it visible +by means of the selected qualities. In other words, the one aims at +abstract symbols, the other at picturesque effects. The one can carry +on his deductions by the aid of colourless signs, X or Y. The other +appeals to the emotions through the symbols which will most vividly +express the real objects in their relations to our sensibilities. + +Imagination is obviously active in both. From known facts the +philosopher infers the facts that are unapparent. He does so by an +effort of imagination (hypothesis) which has to be subjected to +verification: he makes a mental picture of the unapparent fact, and +then sets about to prove that his picture does in some way correspond +with the reality. The correctness of his hypothesis and verification +must depend on the clearness of his vision. Were all the qualities of +things apparent to Sense, there would be no longer any mystery. A +glance would be Science. But only some of the facts are visible; and it +is because we see little, that we have to imagine much. We see a +feather rising in the air, and a quill, from the same bird, sinking to +the ground: these contradictory reports of sense lead the mind astray; +or perhaps excite a desire to know the reason. We cannot see,--we must +imagine,--the unapparent facts. Many mental pictures may be formed, but +to form the one which corresponds with the reality requires great +sagacity and a very clear vision of known facts. In trying to form this +mental picture we remember that when the air is removed the feather +fails as rapidly as the quill, and thus we see that the air is the +cause of the feather's rising; we mentally see the air pushing under +the feather, and see it almost as plainly as if the air were a visible +mass thrusting the feather upwards. + +From a mistaken appreciation of the real process this would by few be +called an effort of Imagination. On the contrary some "wild hypothesis" +would be lauded as imaginative in proportion as it departed from all +suggestion of experience, i.e. real mental vision. To have imagined +that the feather rose owing to its "specific lightness," and that the +quill fell owing to its "heaviness," would to many appear a more +decided effort of the imaginative faculty. Whereas it is no effort of +that faculty at all; it is simply naming differently the facts it +pretends to explain. To imagine---to form an image--we must have the +numerous relations of things present to the mind, and see the objects +in their actual order. In this we are of course greatly aided by the +mass of organised experience, which allows us rapidly to estimate the +relations of gravity or affinity just as we remember that fire burns +and that heated bodies expand. But be the aid great or small, and the +result victorious or disastrous, the imaginative process is always the +same. + +There is a slighter strain on the imagination of the poet, because of +his greater freedom. He is not, like the philosopher, limited to the +things which are, or were. His vision includes things which might be, +and things which never were. The philosopher is not entitled to assume +that Nature sympathises with man; he must prove the fact to be so if he +intend making any use of it ;--we admit no deductions from unproved +assumptions. But the poet is at perfect liberty to assume this; and +having done so, he paints what would be the manifestations of this +sympathy. The naturalist who should describe a hippogriff would incur +the laughing scorn of Europe; but the poet feigns its existence, and +all Europe is delighted when it rises with Astolfo in the air. We never +pause to ask the poet whether such an animal exists. He has seen it, +and we see it with his eyes. Talking trees do not startle us in Virgil +and Tennyson. Puck and Titania, Hamlet and Falstaff, are as true for us +as Luther and Napoleon so long as we are in the realm of Art. We grant +the poet a free privilege because he will use it only for our pleasure. +In Science pleasure is not an object, and we give no licence. + +Philosophy and Art both render the invisible visible by imagination. +Where Sense observes two isolated objects, Imagination discloses two +related objects. This relation is the nexus visible. We had not seen it +before; it is apparent now. Where we should only see a calamity the +poet makes us see a tragedy. Where we could only see a sunrise he +enables us to see + +"Day like a mighty river flowing in." + +Imagination is not the exclusive appanage of artists, but belongs in +varying degrees to all men. It is simply the power of forming images. +Supplying the energy of Sense where Sense cannot reach, it brings into +distinctness the facts, obscure or occult, which are grouped round an +object or an idea, but which are not actually present to Sense. Thus, +at the aspect of a windmill, the mind forms images of many +characteristic facts relating to it; and the kind of images will depend +very much on the general disposition, or particular mood, of the mind +affected by the object: the painter, the poet, and the moralist will +have different images suggested by the presence of the windmill or its +symbol. There are indeed sluggish minds so incapable of self-evolved +activity, and so dependent on the immediate suggestions of Sense, as to +be almost destitute of the power of forming distinct images beyond the +immediate circle of sensuous associations; and these are rightly named +unimaginative minds; but in all minds of energetic activity, groups and +clusters of images, many of them representing remote relations, +spontaneously present themselves in conjunction with objects or their +symbols. It should, however, be borne in mind that Imagination can only +recall what Sense has previously impressed. No man imagines any detail +of which he has not previously had direct or indirect experience. +Objects as fictitious as mermaids and hippogriffs are made up from the +gatherings of Sense. + +"Made up from the gatherings of Sense" is a phrase which may seem to +imply some peculiar plastic power such as is claimed exclusively for +artists: a power not of simple recollection, but of recollection and +recombination. Yet this power belongs also to philosophers. To combine +the half of a woman with the half of a fish,--to imagine the union as +an existing organism,--is not really a different process from that of +combining the experience of a chemical action with an electric action, +and seeing that the two are one existing fact. When the poet hears the +storm-cloud muttering, and sees the moonlight sleeping on the bank, he +transfers his experience of human phenomena to the cloud and the +moonlight: he personifies, draws Nature within the circle of emotion, +and is called a poet. When the philosopher sees electricity in the +storm-cloud, and sees the sunlight stimulating vegetable growth, he +transfers his experience of physical phenomena to these objects, and +draws within the circle of Law phenomena which hitherto have been +unclassified. Obviously the imagination has been as active in the one +case as in the other; the DIFFERENTIA lying in the purposes of the two, +and in the general constltution of the two minds. + +It has been noted that there is less strain on the imagination of the +poet; but even his greater freedom is not altogether disengaged from +the necessity of verification; his images must have at least subjective +truth; if they do not accurately correspond with objective realities, +they must correspond with our sense of congruity. No poet is allowed +the licence of creating images inconsistent with our conceptions. If he +said the moonlight burnt the bank, we should reject the image as +untrue, inconsistent with our conceptions of moonlight; whereas the +gentle repose of the moonlight on the bank readily associates itself +with images of sleep. + +The often mooted question, What is Imagination? thus receives a very +clear and definite answer. It is the power of forming images; it +reinstates, in a visible group, those objects which are invisible, +either from absence or from imperfection of our senses. That is its +generic character. Its specific character, which marks it off from +Memory, and which is derived from the powers of selection and +recombination, will be expounded further on. Here I only touch upon its +chief characteristic, in order to disengage the term from that +mysteriousness which writers have usually assigned to it, thereby +rendering philosophic criticism impossible. Thus disengaged it may be +used with more certainty in an attempt to estimate the imaginative +power of various works. + +Hitherto the amount of that power has been too frequently estimated +according to the extent of DEPARTURE from ordinary experience in the +images selected. Nineteen out of twenty would unhesitatingly declare +that a hippogriff was a greater effort of imagination than a +well-conceived human character; a Peri than a woman; Puck or Titania +than Falstaff or Imogen. A description of Paradise extremely unlike any +known garden must, it is thought, necessarily be more imaginative than +the description of a quiet rural nook. It may be more imaginative; it +may be less so. All depends upon the mind of the poet. To suppose that +it must, because of its departure from ordinary experience, is a +serious error. The muscular effort required to draw a cheque for a +thousand pounds might as reasonably be thought greater than that +required for a cheque of five pounds; and much as the one cheque seems +to surpass the other in value, the result of presenting both to the +bankers may show that the more modest cheque is worth its full five +pounds, whereas the other is only so much waste paper. The description +of Paradise may be a glittering farrago; the description of the +landscape may be full of sweet rural images: the one having a glare of +gaslight and Vauxhall splendour; the other having the scent of new-mown +hay. + +A work is imaginative in virtue of the power of its images over our +emotions; not in virtue of any rarity or surprisingness in the images +themselves. A Madonna and Child by Fra Angelico is more powerful over +our emotions than a Crucifixion by a vulgar artist; a beggar-boy by +Murillo is more imaginative than an Assumption by the same painter; but +the Assumption by Titian displays far greater imagination than elther. +We must guard against the natural tendency to attribute to the artist +what is entirely due to accidental conditions. A tropical scene, +luxuriant with tangled overgrowth and impressive in the grandeur of its +phenomena, may more decisively arrest our attention than an English +landscape with its green corn lands and plenteous homesteads. But this +superiority of interest is no proof of the artist's superior +imagination; and by a spectator familiar with the tropics, greater +interest may be felt in the English landscape, because its images may +more forcibly arrest his attentlon by their novelty. And were this not +so, were the inalienable impressiveness of tropical scenery always to +give the poet who described it a superiority in effect, this would not +prove the superiority of his imagination. For either he has been +familiar with such scenes, and imagines them just as the other poet +imagines his English landscape---by an effort of mental vision, calling +up the absent objects; or he has merely read the descriptions of +others, and from these makes up his picture. It is the same with his +rival, who also recalls and recombines. Foolish critics often betray +their ignorance by saying that a painter or a writer "only copies what +he has seen, or puts down what he has known." They forget that no man +imagines what he has not seen or known, and that it is in the SELECTION +OF THE CHARACTERISTIC DETAILS that the artistic power is manifested. +Those who suppose that familiarity with scenes or characters enables a +painter or a novelist to "copy" them with artistic effect, forget the +well-known fact that the vast majority of men are painfully incompetent +to avail themselves of this familiarity, and cannot form vivid pictures +even to themselves of scenes in which they pass their daily lives; and +if they could imagine these, they would need the delicate selective +instinct to guide them in the admission and omission of details, as +well as in the grouping of the images. Let any one try to "copy" the +wife or brother he knows so well,--to make a human image which shall +speak and act so as to impress strangers with a belief in its +truth,--and he will then see that the much-despised reliance on actual +experience is not the mechanical procedure it is believed to be. When +Scott drew Saladin and Ceaur de Lion he did not really display more +imaginative power than when he drew the Mucklebackits, although the +majority of readers would suppose that the one demanded a great effort +of imagination, whereas the other formed part of his familiar +experiences of Scottish life. The mistake here lies in confounding the +sources from which the materials were derived with the plastic power of +forming these materials into images. More conscious effort may have +been devoted to the collection of the materials in the one case than in +the other, but that this has nothing to do with the imaginative power +employed may readily be proved by an analysis of the intellectual +processes of composition. Scott had often been in fishermen's cottages +and heard them talk; from the registered experience of a thousand +details relating to the life of the poor, their feelings and their +thoughts, he gained that material upon which his imagination could +work; in the case of Saladin and Ceaur de Lion he had to gain these +principally through books and his general experience of life; and the +images he formed--the vision he had of Mucklebackit and Saladin--must +be set down to his artistic faculty, not to his experience or erudition. + +It has been well said by a very imaginative writer, that "when a poet +floats in the empyrean, and only takes a bird's-eye view of the earth, +some people accept the mere fact of his soaring for sublimity, and +mistake his dim vision of earth for proximity to heaven." And in like +manner, when a thinker frees himself from all the trammels of fact, and +propounds a "bold hypothesis," people mistake the vagabond erratic +flights of guessing for a higher range of philosophic power. In truth, +the imagination is most tasked when it has to paint pictures which +shall withstand the silent criticism of general experience, and to +frame hypotheses which shall withstand the confrontation with facts. I +cannot here enter into the interesting question of Realism and Idealism +in Art, which must be debated in a future chapter; but I wish to call +special attention to the psychological fact, that fairies and demons, +remote as they are from experience, are not created by a more vigorous +effort of imagination than milk maids and poachers. The intensity of +vision in the artist and of vividness in his creations are the sole +tests of his imaginative power. + +II. + +If this brief exposition has carried the reader's assent, he will +readily apply the principle, and recognise that an artist produces an +effect in virtue of the distinctness with which he sees the objects he +represents, seeing them not vaguely as in vanishing apparitions, but +steadily, and in their most characteristic relations. To this Vision he +adds artistic skill with which to make us see. He may have clear +conceptions, yet fail to make them clear to us: in this case he has +imagination, but is not an artist. Without clear Vision no skill can +avail. Imperfect Vision necessitates imperfect representation; words +take the place of ideas. + +In Young's "Night Thoughts" there are many examples of the +PSEUDO-imaginative, betraying an utter want of steady Vision. Here is +one:-- + +"His hand the good man fixes on the skies, +And bids earth roll, nor feels the idle whirl." + +"Pause for a moment," remarks a critic, "to realise the image, and the +monstrous absurdity of a man's grasping the skies and hanging +habitually suspended there, while he contemptuously bids earth roll, +warns you that no genuine feeling could have suggested so unnatural a +conception." [WESTMINSTER REVIEW, No. cxxxi., p. 27]. It is obvious +that if Young had imagined the position he assigned to the good man he +would have seen its absurdity; instead of imagining, he allowed the +vague transient suggestion of half-nascent images to shape themselves +in verse. + +Now compare with this a passage in which imagination is really active. +Wordsworth recalls how-- + +" In November days +When vapours rolling down the valleys made +A lonely scene more lonesome; among the woods +At noon; and mid the calm of summer nights, +When by the margin of the trembling lake +Beneath the gloomy hills homeward I went +In solitude, such intercourse was mine." + +There is nothing very grand or impressive in this passage, and +therefore it is a better illustration for my purpose. Note how happily +the one image, out of a thousand possible images by which November +might be characterised, is chosen to call up in us the feeling of the +lonely scene; and with what delicate selection the calm of summer +nights, the "trembling lake" (an image in an epithet), and the gloomy +hills, are brought before us. His boyhood might have furnished him with +a hundred different pictures, each as distinct as this; the power is +shown in selecting this one--painting it so vividly. He continues:-- + +"'Twas mine among the fields both day and night +And by the waters, all the summer long. +And in the frosty season, when the sun +Was set, and, visible for many a mile +The cottage windows through the twilight blazed, +I heeded not the summons: happy time +It was indeed for all of us; for me +It was a time of rapture! Clear and loud +The village clock tolled six--I wheeled about, +Proud and exulting like an untired horse +That cares not for his home. All shod with steel +We hissed along the polished ice, in games +Confederate, imitative of the chase +And woodland pleasures--the resounding horn, +The pack loud-chiming and the hunted hare." + +There is nothing very felicitous in these lines; yet even here the +poet, if languid, is never false. As he proceeds the vision brightens, +and the verse becomes instinct with life:-- + +"So through the darkness and the cold we flew +And not a voice was idle: with the din +Smitten, the precipices rang aloud; +THE LEAFLESS TREES AND EVERY ICY CRAG +TINKLED LIKE IRON; WHILE THE DISTANT HILLS +INTO THE TUMULT SENT AN ALIEN SOUND +OF MELANCHOLY, not unnoticed while the stars +Eastward were sparkling clear, and in the west +The orange sky of evening died away. + +"Not seldom from the uproar I retired +Into a silent bay, or sportively +Glanced sideway, leaving the tumultuous throng, +TO CUT ACROSS THE REFLEX OF A STAR; +IMAGE THAT FLYING STILL BEFORE ME gleamed +Upon the glassy plain: and oftentime +When we had given our bodies to the wind +AND ALL THE SHADOWY BANKS ON EITHER SIDE +CAME CREEPING THROUGH THE DARKNESS, spinning still +The rapid line of motion, then at once +Have I reclining back upon my heels +Stopped short; yet still the solitary cliffs +Wheeled by me--even as if the earth had rolled +With visible motion her diurnal round! +Behind me did they stretch in solemn train, +Feebler and feebler, and I stood and watched +Till all was tranquil as a summer sea." + +Every poetical reader will feel delight in the accuracy with which the +details are painted, and the marvellous clearness with which the whole +scene is imagined, both in its objective and subjective relations, +i.e., both in the objects seen and the emotions they suggest. + +What the majority of modern verse writers call "imagery," is not the +product of imagination, but a restless pursuit of comparison, and a lax +use of language. Instead of presenting us with an image of the object, +they present us with something which they tell us is like the +object---which it rarely is. The thing itself has no clear significance +to them, it is only a text for the display of their ingenuity. If, +however, we turn from poetasters to poets, we see great accuracy in +depicting the things themselves or their suggestions, so that we may be +certain the things presented themselves in the field of the poet's +vision, and were painted because seen. The images arose with sudden +vivacity, or were detained long enough to enable their characters to be +seized. It is this power of detention to which I would call particular +notice, because a valuable practical lesson may be learned through a +proper estimate of it. If clear Vision be indispensable to success in +Art, all means of securing that clearness should be sought. Now one +means is that of detaining an image long enough before the mind to +allow of its being seen in all its characteristics. The explanation +Newton gave of his discovery of the great law, points in this +direction; it was by always thinking of the subject, by keeping it +constantly before his mind, that he finally saw the truth. Artists +brood over the chaos of their suggestions, and thus shape them into +creations. Try and form a picture in your own mind of your early +skating experience. It may be that the scene only comes back upon you +in shifting outlines, you recall the general facts, and some few +particulars are vivid, but the greater part of the details vanish again +before they can assume decisive shape; they are but half nascent, or +die as soon as born: a wave of recollection washes over the mind, but +it quickly retires, leaving no trace behind. This is the common +experience. Or it may be that the whole scene flashes upon you with +peculiar vividness, so that you see, almost as in actual presence, all +the leading characteristics of the picture. Wordsworth may have seen +his early days in a succession of vivid flashes, or he may have +attained to his distinctness of vision by a steadfast continuity of +effort, in which what at first was vague became slowly definite as he +gazed. It is certain that only a very imaginative mind could have seen +such details as he has gathered together in the lines describing how he + +"Cut across the reflex of a star; +Image that flying still before me gleamed +Upon the glassy plain." + +The whole description may have been written with great rapidity, or +with anxious and tentative labour: the memories of boyish days may have +been kindled with a sudden illumination, or they may have grown slowly +into the requisite distinctness, detail after detail emerging from the +general obscurity, like the appearing stars at night. But whether the +poet felt his way to images and epithets, rapidly or slowly, is +unimportant; we have to do only with the result; and the result +implies, as an absolute condition, that the images were distinct. Only +thus could they serve the purposes of poetry, which must arouse in us +memories of similar scenes, and kindle emotions of pleasurable +experience. + +III. + +Having cited an example of bad writing consequent on imperfect Vision, +and an example of good writing consequent on accurate Vision, I might +consider that enough had been done for the immediate purpose of the +present chapter; the many other illustrations which the Principle of +Vision would require before it could be considered as adequately +expounded, I must defer till I come to treat of the application of +principles. But before closing this chapter it may be needful to +examine some arguments which have a contrary tendency, and imply, or +seem to imply, that distinctness of Vision is very far from necessary. + +At the outset we must come to an understanding as to this word "image," +and endeavour to free the word "vision" from all equivoque. If these +words were understood literally there would be an obvious absurdity in +speaking of an image of a sound, or of seeing an emotion. Yet if by +means of symbols the effect of a sound is produced in us, or the +psychological state of any human being is rendered intelligible to us, +we are said to have images of these things, which the poet has +imagined. It is because the eye is the most valued and intellectual of +our senses that the majority of metaphors are borrowed from its +sensations. Language, after all, is only the use of symbols, and Art +also can only affect us through symbols. If a phrase can summon a +terror resembling that summoned by the danger which it indicates, a man +is said to see the danger. Sometimes a phrase will awaken more vivid +images of danger than would be called up by the actual presence of the +dangerous object; because the mind will more readily apprehend the +symbols of the phrase than interpret the indications of unassisted +sense. + +Burke in his "Essay on the Sublime and Beautiful," lays down the +proposition that distinctness of imagery is often injurious to the +effect of art. "It is one thing," he says, "to make an idea clear, +another to make it AFFECTING to the imagination. If I make a drawing of +a palace or a temple or a landscape, I present a very clear idea of +those objects; but then (allowing for the effect of imitation, which is +something) my picture can at most affect only as the palace, temple, or +landscape would have affected in reality. On the other hand the most +lively and spirited verbal description I can give raises a very obscure +and imperfect IDEA of such objects; but then it is in my power to raise +a stronger EMOTION by the description than I can do by the best +painting. This experience constantly evinces. The proper manner of +conveying the AFFECTIONS of the mind from one to the other is by words; +there is great insufficiency in all other method of communication; and +so far is a clearness of imagery, from being absolutely necessary to an +influence upon the passions, that they may be considerably operated +upon without presenting any image at all, by certain sounds adapted to +that purpose." If by image is meant only what the eye can see, Burke is +undoubtedly right. But this is obviously not our restricted meaning of +the word when we speak of poetic imagery; and Burke's error becomes +apparent when he proceeds to show that there "are reasons in nature why +an obscure idea, when properly conveyed, should be more affecting than +the clear." He does not seem to have considered that the idea of an +indefinite object can only be properly conveyed by indefinite images; +any image of Eternity or Death that pretended to visual distinctness +would be false. Having overlooked this, he says, "We do not anywhere +meet a more sublime description than this justly celebrated one of +Milton, wherein he gives the portrait of Satan with a dignity so +suitable to the subject. + +"He above the rest +In shape and gesture proudly eminent +Stood like a tower; his form had not yet lost +All her original brightness, nor appeared +Less than archangel ruined and the excess +Of glory obscured: as when the sun new risen +Looks through the horizontal misty air +Shorn of his beams; or from behind the moon +In dim eclipse disastrous twilight sheds +On half the nations; and with fear of change +Perplexes monarchs." + +"Here is a very noble picture," adds Burke, "and in what does this +poetical picture consist? In images of a tower, an archangel, the sun +rising through mists, or an eclipse, the ruin of monarchs, and the +revolution of kingdoms." Instead of recognising the imagery here as the +source of the power, he says, "The mind is hurried out of itself, +[rather a strange result!], by a crowd of great and confused images; +which affect because they are crowded and confused For, separate them, +and you lose much of the greatness; and join them, and you infallibly +lose the clearness." This is altogether a mistake. The images are vivid +enough to make us feel the hovering presence of an awe-inspiring figure +having the height and firmness of a tower, and the dusky splendour of a +ruined archangel. The poet indicates only that amount of concreteness +which is necessary for the clearness of the picture,---only the height +and firmness of the tower and the brightness of the sun in eclipse. +More concretness would disturb the clearness by calling attention to +irrelevant details. To suppose that these images produce the effect +because they are crowded and confused (they are crowded and not +confused) is to imply that any other images would do equally well, if +they were equally crowded. "Separate them, and you lose much of the +greatness." Quite true: the image of the tower would want the splendour +of the sun. But this much may be said of all descriptions which proceed +upon details. And so far from the impressive clearness of the picture +vanishing in the crowd of images, it is by these images that the +clearness is produced: the details make it impressive, and affect our +imagination. + +It should be added that Burke came very near a true explanation in the +following passage:--"It is difficult to conceive how words can move the +passions which belong to real objects without representing these +objects clearly. This is difficult to us because we do not sufficiently +distinguish between a clear expression and a strong expression. The +former regards the understanding; the latter belongs to the passions. +The one describes a thing as it is, the other describes it as it is +felt. Now as there is a moving tone of voice, an impassioned +countenance, an agitated gesture, which affect independently of the +things about which they are exerted, so there are words and certain +dispositions of words which being peculiarly devoted to passionate +subjects, and always used by those who are under the influence of +passion, touch and move us more than those which far more clearly and +distinctly express the subject-matter." Burke here fails to see that +the tones, looks, and gestures are the intelligible symbols of +passion--the "images' in the true sense just as words are the +intelligible symbols of ideas. The subject-matter is as clearly +expressed by the one as by the other; for if the description of a Lion +be conveyed in the symbols of admiration or of terror, the +subject-matter is THEN a Lion passionately and not zoologically +considered. And this Burke himself was led to admit, for he adds, "We +yield to sympathy what we refuse to description. The truth is, all +verbal description, merely as naked description, though never so exact, +conveys so poor and insufficient an idea of the thing described, that +it could scarcely have the smallest eflfect if the speaker did not call +in to his aid those modes of speech that work a strong and lively +feeling in himself. Then, by the contagion of our passions, we catch a +fire already kindled in another." This is very true, and it sets +clearly forth the fact that naked description, addressed to the calm +understanding, has a different subject-matter from description +addressed to the feelings, and the symbols by which it is made +intelligible must likewise differ. But this in no way impugns the +principle of Vision. Intelligible symbols (clear images) are as +necessary in the one case as in the other. + +IV. + +By reducing imagination to the power of forming images, and by +insisting that no image can be formed except out of the elements +furnished by experience, I do not mean to confound imagination with +memory; indeed, the frequent occurrence of great strength of memory +with comparative feebleness of imagination, would suffice to warn us +against such a conclusion. + +Its specific character, that which marks it off from simple memory, is +its tendency to selection, abstraction, and recombination. Memory, as +passive, simply recalls previous experiences of objects and emotions; +from these, imagination, as an active faculty, selects the elements +which vividly symbolise the objects or emotions, and either by a +process of abstraction allows these to do duty for the whole, or else +by a process of recombination creates new objects and new relations in +which the objects stand to us or to each other (INVENTION), and the +result is an image of great vividness, which has perhaps no +corresponding reality in the external world. + +Minds differ in the vividness with which they recall the elements of +previous experience, and mentally see the absent objects; they differ +also in the aptitudes for selection, abstraction, and recombination: +the fine selective instinct of the artist, which makes him fasten upon +the details which will most powerfully affect us, without any +disturbance of the harmony of the general impression, does not depend +solely upon the vividness of his memory and the clearness with which +the objects are seen, but depends also upon very complex and peculiar +conditions of sympathy which we call genius. Hence we find one man +remembering a multitude of details, with a memory so vivid that it +almost amounts at times to hallucination, yet without any artistic +power; and we may find men--Blake was one--with an imagination of +unusual activity, who are nevertheless incapable, from deficient +sympathy, of seizing upon those symbols which will most affect us. Our +native susceptibilities and acquired tastes determine which of the many +qualities in an object shall most impress us, and be most clearly +recalled. One man remembers the combustible properties of a substance, +which to another is memorable for its polarising property; to one man a +stream is so much water-power, to another a rendezveus for lovers. + +In the close of the last paragraph we came face to face with the great +difficulty which constantly arrests speculation on these matters--the +existence of special aptitudes vaguely characterised as genius. These +are obviously incommunicable. No recipe can be given for genius. No man +can be taught how to exercise the power of imagination. But he can be +taught how to aid it, and how to assure himself whether he is using it +or not. Having once laid hold of the Principle of Vision as a +fundamental principle of Art, he can always thus far apply it, that he +can assure himself whether he does or does not distinctly see the +cottage he is describing, the rivulet that is gurgling through his +verses, or the character he is painting; he can assure himself whether +he hears the voice of the speakers, and feels that what they say is +true to their natures; he can assure himself whether he sees, as in +actual experience, the emotion he is depicting; and he will know that +if he does not see these things he must wait until he can, or he will +paint them ineffectively. With distinct Vision he will be able to make +the best use of his powers of expression; and the most splendid powers +of expression will not avail him if his Vision be indistinct. This is +true of objects that never were seen by the eye, that never could be +seen. It is as true of what are called the highest flights of +imagination as of the lowest flights. The mind must SEE the angel or +the demon, the hippogriff or centaur, the pixie or the mermaid. + +Ruskin notices how repeatedly Turner,--the most imaginative of +landscape painters,--introduced into his pictures, after a lapse of +many years, memories of something which, however small and unimportant, +had struck him in his earlier studies. He believes that all Turner's +"composition" was an arrangement of remembrances summoned just as they +were wanted, and each in its fittest place. His vision was primarily +composed of strong memory of the place itself, and secondarily of +memories of other places associated in a harmonious, helpful way with +the now central thought. He recalled and selected. + +I am prepared to hear of many readers, especially young readers, +protesting against the doctrine of this chapter as prosaic. They have +been so long accustomed to consider imagination as peculiarly +distinguished by its disdain of reality, and Invention as only +admirable when its products are not simply new by selection and +arrangement, but new in material, that they will reject the idea of +involuntary remembrance of something originally experienced as the +basis of all Art. Ruskin says of great artists, "Imagine all that any +of these men had seen or heard in the whole course of their lives, laid +up accurately in their memories as in vast storehouses, extending with +the poets even to the slightest intonations of syllables heard in the +beginning of their lives, and with painters down to minute folds of +drapery and shapes of leaves and stones; and over all this unindexed +and immeasurable mass of treasure, the imagination brooding and +wandering, but dream-gifted, so as to summon at any moment exactly such +a group of ideas as shall justly fit each other." This is the +explanation of their genius, as far as it can be explained. + +Genius is rarely able to give any account of its own processes. But +those who have had ample opportunities of intimately knowing the growth +of works in the minds of artists, will bear me out in saying that a +vivid memory supplies the elements from a thousand different sources, +most of which are quite beyond the power of localisation, the +experience of yesterday being strangely intermingled with the dim +suggestions of early years, the tones heard in childhood sounding +through the diapason of sorrowing maturity; and all these kaleidoscopic +fragments are recomposed into images that seem to have a corresponding +reality of their own. + +As all Art depends on Vision, so the different kinds of Art depend on +the different ways in which minds look at things. The painter can only +put into his pictures what he sees in Nature; and what he sees will be +different from what another sees. A poetical mind sees noble and +affecting suggestions in details which the prosaic mind will interpret +prosaically. And the true meaning of Idealism is precisely this vision +of realities in their highest and most affecting forms, not in the +vision of something removed from or opposed to realities. Titian's +grand picture of "Peter the Martyr" is, perhaps, as instructive an +example as could be chosen of successful Idealism; because in it we +have a marvellous presentation of reality as seen by a poetic mind. The +figure of the flying monk might have been equally real if it had been +an ignoble presentation of terror--the superb tree, which may almost be +called an actor in the drama, might have been painted with even greater +minuteness, though not perhaps with equal effect upon us, if it had +arrested our attention by its details--the dying martyr and the noble +assassin might have been made equally real in more vulgar types--but +the triumph achieved by Titian is that the mind is filled with a vision +of poetic beauty which is felt to be real. An equivalent reality, +without the ennobling beauty, would have made the picture a fine piece +of realistic art. It is because of this poetic way of seeing things +that one painter will give a faithful representation of a very common +scene which shall nevertheless affect all sensitive minds as ideal, +whereas another painter will represent the same with no greater +fidelity, but with a complete absence of poetry. The greater the +fidelity, the greater will be the merit of each representation; for if +a man pretends to represent an object, he pretends to represent it +accurately: the only difference is what the poetical or prosaic mind +sees in the object. + +Of late years there has been a reaction against conventionalism which +called itself Idealism, in favour of DETAILISM which calls itself +Realism. As a reaction it has been of service; but it has led to much +false criticism, and not a little false art, by an obtrusiveness of +Detail and a preference for the Familiar, under the misleading notion +of adherence to Nature. If the words Nature and Natural could be +entirely banished from language about Art there would be some chance of +coming to a rational philosophy of the subject; at present the +excessive vagueness and shiftiness of these terms cover any amount of +sophism. The pots and pans of Teniers and Van Mieris are natural; the +passions and humours of Shakspeare and Moliere are natural; the angels +of Fra Angelico and Luini are natural; the Sleeping Fawn and Fates of +Phidias are natural; the cows and misty marshes of Cuyp and the +vacillations of Hamlet are equally natural. In fact the natural means +TRUTH OF KIND. Each kind of character, each kind of representation, +must be judged by itself. Whereas the vulgar error of criticism is to +judge of one kind by another, and generally to judge the higher by the +lower, to remonstrate with Hamlet for not having the speech and manner +of Mr. Jones, to wish that Fra Angelico could have seen with the eyes +of the Carracci, to wish verse had been prose, and that ideal tragedy +were acted with the easy manner acceptable in drawing-rooms. + +The rage for "realism," which is healthy in as far as it insists on +truth, has become unhealthy, in as far as it confounds truth with +familiarity, and predominance of unessential details. There are other +truths besides coats and waistcoats, pots and pans, drawlng-rooms and +suburban villas. Life has other aims besides these which occupy the +conversation of "Society." And the painter who devotes years to a work +representing modern life, yet calls for even more attention to a +waistcoat than to the face of a philosopher, may exhibit truth of +detail which will delight the tailor-mind, but he is defective in +artistic truth, because he ought to be representing something higher +than waistcoats, and because our thoughts on modern life fall very +casually and without emphasis on waistcoats. In Piloty's much-admired +picture of the "Death of Wallenstein" (at Munich), the truth with which +the carpet, the velvet, and all other accessories are painted, is +certainly remarkable; but the falsehood of giving prominence to such +details in a picture representing the dead Wallenstein--as if they were +the objects which could possibly arrest our attention and excite our +sympathies in such a spectacle--is a falsehood of the realistic school. +If a man means to paint upholstery, by all means let him paint it so as +to delight and deceive an upholsterer; but if he means to paint a human +tragedy, the upholsterer must be subordinate, and velvet must not draw +our eyes away from faces. + +I have digressed a little from my straight route because I wish to +guard the Principle of Vision from certain misconceptions which might +arise on a simple statement of it. The principle insists on the artist +assuring himself that he distinctly sees what he attempts to represent. +WHAT he sees, and HOW he represents it, depend on other principles. To +make even this principle of Vision thoroughly intelligible in its +application to all forms of Literature and Art, it must be considered +in connection with the two other principles--Sincerity and Beauty, +which are involved in all successful works. In the next chapter we +shall treat of Sincerity. + +EDITOR. + +CHAPTER IV. + +THE PRINCIPLE OF SINCERITY. + +It is always understood as an expression of condemnation when anything +in Literature or Art is said to be done for effect; and yet to produce +an effect is the aim and end of both. + +There is nothing beyond a verbal ambiguity here if we look at it +closely, and yet there is a corresponding uncertainty in the conception +of Literature and Art commonly entertained, which leads many writers +and many critics into the belief that what are called "effects" should +be sought, and when found must succeed. It is desirable to clear up +this moral ambiguity, as I may call it, and to show that the real +method of securing the legitimate effect is not to aim at it, but to +aim at the truth, relying on that for securing effect. The condemnation +of whatever is "done for effect" obviously springs from indignation at +a disclosed insincerity in the artist, who is self-convicted of having +neglected truth for the sake of our applause; and we refuse our +applause to the flatterer, or give it contemptuously as to a mountebank +whose dexterity has amused us. + +It is unhappily true that much insincere Literature and Art, executed +solely with a view to effect, does succeed by deceiving the public. But +this is only because the simulation of truth or the blindness of the +public conceals the insincerity. As a maxim, the Principle of Sincerity +is admitted. Nothing but what is true, or is held to be true, can +succeed; anything which looks like insincerity is condemned. In this +respect we may compare it with the maxim of Honesty the best policy. No +far-reaching intellect fails to perceive that if all men were uniformly +upright and truthful, Life would be more victorious, and Literature +more noble. We find, however, both in Life and Literature, a practical +disregard of the truth of these propositions almost equivalent to a +disbelief in them. Many men are keenly alive to the social advantages +of honesty--in the practice of others. They are also strongly impressed +with the conviction that in their own particular case the advantage +will sometimes lie in not strictly adhering to the rule. Honesty is +doubtless the best policy in the long run; but somehow the run here +seems so very long, and a short-cut opens such allurements to impatient +desire. It requires a firm calm insight, or a noble habit of thought, +to steady the wavering mind, and direct it away from delusive +short-cuts: to make belief practice, and forego immediate triumph. Many +of those who unhesitatingly admit Sincerity to be one great condition +of success in Literature find it difficult, and often impossible, to +resist the temptation of an insincerity which promises immediate +advantage. It is not only the grocers who sand their sugar before +prayers. Writers who know well enough that the triumph of falsehood is +an unholy triumph, are not deterred from falsehood by that knowledge. +They know, perhaps, that, even if undetected, it will press on their +own consciences; but the knowledge avails them little. The immediate +pressure of the temptation is yielded to, and Sincerity remains a text +to be preached to others. To gain applause they will misstate facts, to +gain victory in argument they will misrepresent the opinions they +oppose; and they suppress the rising misgivings by the dangerous +sophism that to discredit error is good work, and by the hope that no +one will detect the means by which the work is effected. The saddest +aspect of this procedure is that in Literature, as in Life, a temporary +success often does reward dishonesty. It would be insincere to conceal +it. To gain a reputation as discoverers men will invent or suppress +facts. To appear learned they will array their writings in the +ostentation of borrowed citations. To solicit the "sweet voices" of the +crowd they will feign sentiments they do not feel, and utter what they +think the crowd will wish to hear, keeping back whatever the crowd will +hear with disapproval. And, as I said, such men often succeed for a +time; the fact is so, and we must not pretend that it is otherwise. But +it no more disturbs the fundamental truth of the Principle of +Sincerity, than the perturbations in the orbit of Mars disturb the +truth of Kepler's law. + +It is impossible to deny that dishonest men often grow rich and famous, +becoming powerful in their parish or in parliament. Their portraits +simper from shop windows; and they live and die respected. This success +is theirs; yet it is not the success which a noble soul will envy. +Apart from the risk of discovery and infamy, there is the certainty of +a conscience ill at ease, or if at ease, so blunted in its +sensibilities, so given over to lower lusts, that a healthy instinct +recoils from such a state. Observe, moreover, that in Literature the +possible rewards of dishonesty are small, and the probability of +detection great. In Life a dishonest man is chiefly moved by desires +towards some tangible result of money or power; if he get these he has +got all. The man of letters has a higher aim: the very object of his +toil is to secure the sympathy and respect of men; and the rewards of +his toil may be paid in money, fame, or consciousness of earnest +effort. The first of these may sometimes be gained without Sincerity. +Fame may also, for a time, be erected on an unstable ground, though it +will inevitably be destroyed again. But the last and not least reward +is to be gained by every one without fear of failure, without risk of +change. Sincere work is good work, be it never so humble; and sincere +work is not only an indestructible delight to the worker by its very +genuineness, but is immortal in the best sense, for it lives for ever +in its influence. There is no good Dictionary, not even a good Index, +that is not in this sense priceless, for it has honestly furthered the +work of the world, saving labour to others, setting an example to +successors. + +Whether I make a careful Index, or an inaccurate one, will probably in +no respect affect the money-payment I shall receive. My sins will never +fall heavily on me; my virtue will gain me neither extra pence nor +praise. I shall be hidden by obscurity from the indignation of those +whose valuable time is wasted over my pretence at accuracy, as from the +silent gratitude of those whose time is saved by my honest fidelity. +The consciousness of faithfulness even to the poor index maker may be a +better reward than pence or praise; but of course we cannot expect the +unconscientious to believe this. If I sand my sugar, and tell lies over +my counter, I may gain the rewards of dishonesty, or I may be overtaken +by its Nemesis. But if I am faithful in my work the reward cannot be +withheld from me. The obscure workers who, knowing that they will never +earn renown yet feel an honourable pride in doing their work +faithfully, may be likened to the benevolent who feel a noble delight +in performing generous actions which will never be known to be theirs, +the only end they seek in such actions being the good which is wrought +for others, and their delight being the sympathy with others. + +I should be ashamed to insist on truths so little likely to be +disputed, did they not point directly at the great source of bad +Literature, which, as was said in our first chapter, springs from a +want of proper moral guidance rather than from deficiency of talent. +The Principle of Sincerity comprises all those qualities of courage, +patience, honesty, and simplicity which give momentum to talent, and +determine successful Literature. It is not enough to have the eye to +see; there must also be the courage to express what the eye has seen, +and the steadfastness of a trust in truth. Insight, imagination, grace +of style are potent; but their power is delusive unless sincerely +guided. If any one should object that this is a truism, the answer is +ready: Writers disregard its truth, as traders disregard the truism of +honesty being the best policy. Nay, as even the most upright men are +occasionally liable to swerve from the truth, so the most upright +authors will in some passages desert a perfect sincerity; yet the ideal +of both is rigorous truth. Men who are never flagrantly dishonest are +at times unveracious in small matters, colouring or suppressing facts +with a conscious purpose; and writers who never stole an idea nor +pretended to honours for which they had not striven, may be found +lapsing into small insincerities, speaking a language which is not +theirs, uttering opinions which they expect to gain applause rather +than the opinions really believed by them. But if few men are perfectly +and persistently sincere, Sincerity is nevertheless the only enduring +strength. + +The principle is universal, stretching from the highest purposes of +Literature down to its smallest details. It underlies the labour of the +philosopher, the investigator, the moralist, the poet, the novelist, +the critic, the historian, and the compiler. It is visible in the +publication of opinions, in the structure of sentences, and in the +fidelity of citations. Men utter insincere thoughts, they express +themselves in echoes and affectations, and they are careless or +dishonest in their use of the labours of others, all the time believing +in the virtue of sincerity, all the time trying to make others believe +honesty to be the best policy. + +Let us glance for a moment at the most important applications of the +principle. A man must be himself convinced if he is to convince others. +The prophet must be his own disciple, or he will make none. Enthusiasm +is contagious: belief creates belief. There is no influence issuing +from unbelief or from languid acquiescence. This is peculiarly +noticeable in Art, because Art depends on sympathy for its influence, +and unless the artist has felt the emotions he depicts we remain +unmoved: in proportion to the depth of his feeling is our sympathetic +response; in proportion to the shallowness or falsehood of his +presentation is our coldness or indifference. Many writers who have +been fond of quoting the SI VIS ME FLERE of Horace have written as if +they did not believe a word of it; for they have been silent on their +own convictions, suppressed their own experience, and falsified their +own feelings to repeat the convictions and fine phrases of another. I +am sorry that my experience assures me that many of those who will read +with complete assent all here written respecting the power of +Sincerity, will basely desert their allegiance to the truth the next +time they begin to write; and they will desert it because their +misguided views of Literature prompt them to think more of what the +public is likely to applaud than of what is worth applause; +unfortunately for them their estimation of this likelihood is generally +based on a very erroneous assumption of public wants: they grossly +mistake the taste they pander to. + +In all sincere speech there is power, not necessarily great power, but +as much as the speaker is capable of. Speak for yourself and from +yourself, or be silent. It can be of no good that you should tell in +your "clever" feeble way what another has already told us with the +dynamic energy of conviction. If you can tell us something that your +own eyes have seen, your own mind has thought, your own heart has felt, +you will have power over us, and all the real power that is possible +for you. If what you have seen is trivial, if what you have thought is +erroneous, if what you have felt is feeble, it would assuredly be +better that you should not speak at all; but if you insist on speaking +Sincerity will secure the uttermost of power. + +The delusions of self-love cannot be prevented, but intellectual +misconceptions as to the means of achieving success may be corrected. +Thus although it may not be possible for any introspection to discover +whether we have genius or effective power, it is quite possible to know +whether we are trading upon borrowed capital, and whether the eagle's +feathers have been picked up by us, or grow from our own wings. I hear +some one of my young readers exclaim against the disheartening tendency +of what is here said. Ambitious of success, and conscious that he has +no great resources within his own experience, he shrinks from the idea +of being thrown upon his naked faculty and limited resources, when he +feels himself capable of dexterously using the resources of others, and +so producing an effective work. "Why," he asks, "must I confine myself +to my own small experience, when I feel persuaded that it will interest +no one? Why express the opinions to which my own investigations have +led me when I suspect that they are incomplete, perhaps altogether +erroneous, and when I know that they will not be popular because they +are unlike those which have hitherto found favour? Your restrictions +would reduce two-thirds of our writers to silence!" + +This reduction would, I suspect, be welcomed by every one except the +gagged writers; but as the idea of its being operative is too +chimerical for us to entertain it, and as the purpose of these pages is +to expound the principles of success and failure, not to make Quixotic +onslaughts on the windmills of stupidity and conceit, I answer my young +interrogator: "Take warning and do not write. Unless you believe in +yourself, only noodles will believe in you, and they but tepidly. If +your experience seems trivial to you, it must seem trivial to us. If +your thoughts are not fervid convictions, or sincere doubts, they will +not have the power of convictions and doubts. To believe in yourself is +the first step; to proclaim your belief the next. You cannot assume the +power of another. No jay becomes an eagle by borrowing a few eagle +feathers. It is true that your sincerity will not be a guarantee of +power. You may believe that to be important and novel which we all +recognise as trivial and old. You may be a madman, and believe yourself +a prophet. You may be a mere echo, and believe yourself a voice. These +are among the delusions against which none of us are protected. But if +Sincerity is not necessarily a guarantee of power, it is a necessary +condition of power, and no genius or prophet can exist without it." + +"The highest merit we ascribe to Moses, Plato, and Milton," says +Emerson, "is that they set at nought books and traditions, and spoke +not what men thought, but what they thought. A man should learn to +detect and watch that gleam of light which flashes across his mind from +within; more than the lustre of the firmament of bards and sages. Yet +he dismisses without notice his thought because it is his. In every +work of genius we recognise our own rejected thoughts; they come back +to us with a certain alienated majesty." It is strange that any one who +has recognised the individuality of all works of lasting influence, +should not also recognise the fact that his own individuality ought to +be steadfastly preserved. As Emerson says in continuation, "Great works +of art have no more affecting lesson for us than this. They teach us to +abide by our spontaneous impressions with good-humoured inflexibility, +then most when the whole cry of voices is on the other side. Else +tomorrow a stranger will say with masterly good sense, precisely what +we have thought and felt all the time, and we shall be forced to take +with shame our opinion from another." Accepting the opinions of another +and the tastes of another is very different from agreement in opinion +and taste. Originality is independence, not rebellion; it is sincerity, +not antagonism. Whatever you believe to be true and false, that +proclaim to be true and false; whatever you think admirable and +beautiful, that should be your model, even if all your friends and all +the critics storm at you as a crochet-monger and an eccentric. Whether +the public will feel its truth and beauty at once, or after long years, +or never cease to regard it as paradox and ugliness, no man can +foresee; enough for you to know that you have done your best, have been +true to yourself, and that the utmost power inherent in your work has +been displayed. + +An orator whose purpose is to persuade men must speak the things they +wish to hear; an orator, whose purpose is to move men, must also avoid +disturbing the emotional effect by any obtrusion of intellectual +antagonism; but an author whose purpose is to instruct men, who appeals +to the intellect, must be careless of their opinions, and think only of +truth. It will often be a question when a man is or is not wise in +advancing unpalateable opinions, or in preaching heresies; but it can +never be a question that a man should be silent if unprepared to speak +the truth as he conceives it. Deference to popular opinion is one great +source of bad writing, and is all the more disastrous because the +deference is paid to some purely hypothetical requirement. When a man +fails to see the truth of certain generally accepted views, there is no +law compelling him to provoke animosity by announcing his dissent. He +may be excused if he shrink from the lurid glory of martyrdom; he may +be justified in not placing himself in a position of singularity. He +may even be commended for not helping to perplex mankind with doubts +which he feels to be founded on limited and possibly erroneous +investigation. But if allegiance to truth lays no stern command upon +him to speak out his immature dissent, it does lay a stern command not +to speak out hypocritical assent. There are many justifications of +silence; there can be none of insincerity. + +Nor is this less true of minor questions; it applies equally to +opinions on matters of taste and personal feeling. Why should I echo +what seem to me the extravagant praises of Raphael's "Transfiguration," +when, in truth, I do not greatly admire that famous work ? There is no +necessity for me to speak on the subject at all; but if I do speak, +surely it is to utter my impressions, and not to repeat what others +have uttered. Here, then, is a dilemma; if I say what I really feel +about this work, after vainly endeavouring day after day to discover +the transcendent merits discovered by thousands (or at least proclaimed +by them), there is every likelihood of my incurring the contempt of +connoisseurs, and of being reproached with want of taste in art. This +is the bugbear which scares thousands. For myself, I would rather incur +the contempt of connoisseurs than my own; the repreach of defective +taste is more endurable than the reproach of insincerity. Suppose I am +deficient in the requisite knowledge and sensibility, shall I be less +so by pretending to admire what really gives me no exquisite enjoyment? +Will the pleasure I feel in pictures be enhanced because other men +consider me right in my admlration, or diminished because they consider +me wrong? + +[I have never thoroughly understood the painful anxiety of people to be +shielded against the dishonouring suspicion of not rightly appreciating +pictures, even when the very phrases they use betray their ignorance +and insensibility. Many will avow their indifference to music, and +almost boast of their ignorance of science; will sneer at abstract +theories, and profess the most tepid interest in history, who would +feel it an unpardonable insult if you doubted their enthusiasm for +painting and the "old masters" (by them secretly identified with the +brown masters). It is an insincerity fostered by general pretence. Each +man is afraid to declare his real sentiments in the presence of others +equally timid. Massive authority overawes genuine feeling]. + + The opinion of the majority is not lightly to be rejected; but +neither is it to be carelessly echoed. There is something noble in the +submission to a great renown, which makes all reverence a healthy +attitude if it be genuine. When I think of the immense fame of Raphael, +and of how many high and delicate minds have found exquisite delight +even in the "Transfiguration," and especially when I recall how others +of his works have affected me, it is natural to feel some diffidence in +opposing the judgment of men whose studies have given them the best +means of forming that judgment--a diffidence which may keep me silent +on the matter. To start with the assumption that you are right, and all +who oppose you are fools, cannot be a safe method. Nor in spite of a +conviction that much of the admiration expressed for the +"Transfiguration" is lip-homage and tradition, ought the non-admiring +to assume that all of it is insincere. It is quite compatible with +modesty to be perfectly independent, and with sincerity to be +respectful to the opinions and tastes of others. If you express any +opinion, you are bound to express your real opinion; let critics and +admirers utter what dithyrambs they please. Were this terror of not +being thought correct in taste once got rid of, how many stereotyped +judgments on books and pictures would be broken up! and the result of +this sincerity would be some really valuable criticism. In the presence +of Raphael's "Sistine Madonna," Titian's "Peter the Martyr," or +Masaccio's great frescoes in the Brancacci Chapel, one feels as if +there had been nothing written about these mighty works, so little does +any eulogy discriminate the elements of their profound effects, so +little have critics expressed their own thoughts and feelings. Yet +every day some wandering connoisseur stands before these pictures, and +at once, without waiting to let them sink deep into his mind, discovers +all the merits which are stereotyped in the criticisms, and discovers +nothing else. He does not wait to feel, he is impatient to range +himself with men of taste; he discards all genuine impressions, +replacing them with vague conceptions of what he is expected to see. + +Inasmuch as Success must be determined by the relation between the work +and the public, the sincerity which leads a man into open revolt +against established opinions may seem to be an obstacle. Indeed, +publishers, critics, and friends are always loud in their prophecies +against originality and independence on this very ground; they do their +utmost to stifle every attempt at novelty, because they fix their eyes +upon a hypothetical public taste, and think that only what has already +been proved successful can again succeed; forgetting that whatever has +once been done need not be done over again, and forgetting that what is +now commonplace was once originality. There are cases in which a +disregard of public opinion will inevitably call forth opprobrium or +neglect; but there is no case in which Sincerity is not strength. If I +advance new views in Philosophy or Theology, I cannot expect to have +many adherents among minds altogether unprepared for such views; yet it +is certain that even those who most fiercely oppose me will recognise +the power of my voice if it is not a mere echo; and the very novelty +will challenge attention, and at last gain adherents if my views have +any real insight. At any rate the point to be considered is this, that +whether the novel views excite opposition or applause, the one +condition of their success is that they be believed in by the +propagator. The public can only be really moved by what is genuine. +Even an error if believed in will have greater force than an insincere +truth. Lip-advocacy only rouses lip-homage. It is belief which gives +momentum. + +Nor is it any serious objection to what is here said, that insincerity +and timid acquiescence in the opinion and tastes of thc public do often +gain applause and temporary success. Sanding the sugar is not +immediately unprofitable. There is an unpleasant popularity given to +falsehood in this world of ours; but we love the truth notwithstanding, +and with a more enduring love. Who does not know what it is to listen +to public speakers pouring forth expressions of hollow belief and sham +enthusiasm, snatching at commonplaces with a fervour as of faith, +emphasising insincerities as if to make up by emphasis what is wanting +in feeling, all the while saying not only what they do not believe, but +what the listeners KNOW they do not believe, and what the listeners, +though they roar assent, do not themselves believe--a turbulence of +sham, the very noise of which stuns the conscience? Is such an orator +really enviable, although thunders of applause may have greeted his +efforts? Is that success, although the newspapers all over the kingdom +may be reporting the speech? What influence remains when the noise of +the shouts has died away? Whereas, if on the same occasion one man gave +utterance to a sincere thought, even if it were not a very wise +thought, although the silence of the public--perhaps its hisses--may +have produced an impression of failure, yet there is success, for the +thought will re-appear and mingle with the thoughts of men to be +adopted or combated by them, and may perhaps in a few years mark out +the speaker as a man better worth listening to than the noisy orator +whose insincerity was so much cheered. + +The same observation applies to books. An author who waits upon the +times, and utters only what he thinks the world will like to hear, who +sails with the stream, admiring everything which it is "correct taste" +to admire, despising everything which has not yet received that +Hall-mark, sneering at the thoughts of a great thinker not yet accepted +as such, and slavishly repeating the small phrases of a thinker who has +gained renown, flippant and contemptuous towards opinions which he has +not taken the trouble to understand, and never venturing to oppose even +the errors of men in authority, such an author may indeed by dint of a +certain dexterity in assorting the mere husks of opinion gain the +applause of reviewers, who will call him a thinker, and of indolent men +and women who will pronounce him "so clever ;" but triumphs of this +kind are like oratorical triumphs after dinner. Every autumn the earth +is strewed with the dead leaves of such vernal successes. + +I would not have the reader conclude that because I advocate +plain-speaking even of unpopular views, I mean to imply that +originality and sincerity are always in opposition to public opinion. +There are many points both of doctrine and feeling in which the world +is not likely to be wrong. But in all cases it is desirable that men +should not pretend to believe opinions which they really reject, or +express emotions they do not feel. And this rule is universal. Even +truthful and modest men will sometimes violate the rule under the +mistaken idea of being eloquent by means of the diction of eloquence. +This is a source of bad Literature. There are certain views in +Religion, Ethics, and Politics, which readily lend themselves to +eloquence, because eloquent men have written largely on them, and the +temptation to secure this facile effect often seduces men to advocate +these views in preference to views they really see to be more rational. +That this eloquence at second-hand is but feeble in its effect, does +not restrain others from repeating it. Experience never seems to teach +them that grand speech comes only from grand thoughts, passionate +speech from passionate emotions. The pomp and roll of words, the trick +of phrase, the rhytlnn and the gesture of an orator, may all be +imitated, but not his eloquence. No man was ever eloquent by trying to +be eloquent, but only by being so. Trying leads to the vice of "fine +writing"--the plague-spot of Literature, not only unhealthy in itself, +and vulgarising the grand language which should be reserved for great +thoughts, but encouraging that tendency to select only those views upon +which a spurious enthusiasm can most readily graft the representative +abstractions and stirring suggestions which will move public applause. +The "fine writer" will always prefer the opinion which is striking to +the opinion which is true. He frames his sentences by the ear, and is +only dissatisfied with them when their cadences are ill-distributed, or +their diction is too familiar. It seldom occurs to him that a sentence +should accurately express his meaning and no more; indeed there is not +often a definite meaning to be expressed, for the thought which arose +vanished while he tried to express it, and the sentence, instead of +being determined by and moulded on a thought, is determined by some +verbal suggestion. Open any book or periodical, and see how frequently +the writer does not, cannot, mean what he says; and you will observe +that in general the defect does not arise from any poverty in our +language, but from the habitual carelessness which allows expressions +to be written down unchallenged provided they are sufficiently +harmonious, and not glaringly inadequate. + +The slapdash insincerity of modern style entirely sets at nought the +first principle of writing, which is accuracy. The art of writing is +not, as many seem to imagine, the art of bringing fine phrases into +rhythmical order, but the art of placing before the reader intelligible +symbols of the thoughts and feelings in the writer's mind. Endeavour to +be faithful, and if there is any beauty in your thought, your style +will be beautiful; if there is any real emotion to express, the +expression will be moving. Never rouge your style. Trust to your native +pallor rather than to cosmetics. Try to make us see what you see and to +feel what you feel, and banish from your mind whatever phrases others +may have used to express what was in their thoughts, but is not in +yours. Have you never observed what a light impression writers have +produced, in spite of a profusion of images, antitheses, witty +epigrams, and rolling periods, whereas some simpler style, altogether +wanting in such "brilliant passage," has gained the attention and +respect of thousands? Whatever is stuck on as ornament affects us as +ornament; we do not think an old hag young and handsome because the +jewels flash from her brow and bosom; if we envy her wealth, we do not +admire her beauty. + +What "fine writing" is to prosaists, insincere imagery is to poets: it +is introduced for effect, not used as expression. To the real poet an +image comes spontaneously, or if it comes as an afterthought, it is +chosen because it expresses his meaning and helps to paint the picture +which is in his mind, not because it is beautiful in itself. It is a +symbol, not an ornament. Whether the image rise slowly before the mind +during contemplation, or is seen in the same flash which discloses the +picture, in each case it arises by natural association, and is SEEN, +not SOUGHT. The inferior poet is dissatisfied with what he sees, and +casts about in search after something more striking. He does not wait +till an image is borne in upon the tide of memory, he seeks for an +image that will be picturesque; and being without the delicate +selective instinct which guides the fine artist, he generally chooses +something which we feel to be not exactly in its right place. He thus-- + +"With gold and silver covers every part, +And hides with ornament his want of art." + +Be true to your own soul, and do not try to express the thought of +another. "If some people," says Ruskin, "really see angels where others +see only empty space, let them paint angels: only let not anybody else +think they can paint an angel too, on any calculated principles of the +angelic." Unhappily this is precisely what so many will attempt, +inspired by the success of the angelic painter. Nor will the failure of +others warn them. + +Whatever is sincerely felt or believed, whatever forms part of the +imaginative experience, and is not simply imitation or hearsay, may +fitly be given to the world, and will always maintain an infinite +superiority over imitative splendour; because although it by no means +follows that whatever has formed part of the artist's experience must +be impressive, or can do without artistic presentation, yet his +artistic power will always be greater over his own material than over +another's. Emerson has well remarked "that those facts, words, persons +which dwell in a man's memory without his being able to say why, remain +because they have a relation to him not less real for being as yet +unapprehended. They are symbols of value to him as they can interpret +parts of his consciousness which he would vainly seek words for in the +conventional images of books and other minds. What attracts my +attention shall have it; as I will go to the man who knocks at my door +while a thousand persons as worthy go by it to whom I give no regard. +It is enough that these particulars speak to me. A few anecdotes, a few +traits of character, manners, faces, a few incidents have an emphasis +in your memory out of all proportion to their apparent significance if +you measure them by ordinary standards. They relate to your gift. Let +them have their weight, and do not reject them, or cast about for +illustrations and facts more usual in literature." + +In the notes to the last edition of his poems, Wordsworth specified the +particular occasions which furnished him with particular images. It was +the things he had SEEN which he put into his verses; and that is why +they affect us. It matters little whether the poet draws his images +directly from present experience, or indirectly from memory--whether +the sight of the slow-sailing swan, that "floats double swan and +shadow" be at once transferred to the scene of the poem he is writing, +or come back upon him in after years to complete some picture in his +mind; enough that the image be suggested, and not sought. + +The sentence from Ruskin, quoted just now, will guard against the +misconception that a writer, because told to rely on his own +experience, is enjoined to forego the glory and delight of creation +even of fantastic types. He is only told never to pretend to see what +he has not seen. He is urged to follow Imagination in her most erratic +course, though like a will-o'-wisp she lead over marsh and fen away +from the haunts of mortals; but not to pretend that he is following a +will-o'-wisp when his vagrant fancy never was allured by one. It is +idle to paint fairies and goblins unless you have a genuine vision of +them which forces you to paint them. They are poetical objects, but +only to poetic minds. "Be a plain photographer if you possibly can," +says Ruskin, "if Nature meant you for anything else she will force you +to it; but never try to be a prophet; go on quietly with your hard camp +work, and the spirit will come to you as it did to Eldad and Medad if +you are appointed to it." Yes: if you are appointed to it; if your +faculties are such that this high success is possible, it will come, +provided the faculties are employed with sincerity. Otherwise it cannot +come. No insincere effort can secure it. + +If the advice I give to reject every insincerity in writing seem cruel, +because it robs the writer of so many of his effects---if it seem +disheartening to earnestly warn a man not to TRY to be eloquent, but +only to BE eloquent when his thoughts move with an impassioned +LARGO--if throwing a writer back upon his naked faculty seem especially +distasteful to those who have a painful misgiving that their faculty is +small, and that the uttermost of their own power would be far from +impressive, my answer is that I have no hope of dissuading feeble +writers from the practice of insincerity, but as under no circumstances +can they become good writers and achieve success, my analysis has no +reference to them, my advice has no aim at them. It is to the young and +strong, to the ambitious and the earnest, that my words are addressed. +It is to wipe the film from their eyes, and make them see, as they will +see directly the truth is placed before them, how easily we are all +seduced into greater or less insincerity of thought, of feeling, and of +style, either by reliance on other writers, from whom we catch the +trick of thought and turn of phrase, or from some preconceived view of +what the public will prefer. It is to the young and strong I say: Watch +vigilantly every phrase you write, and assure yourself that it +expresses what you mean; watch vigilantly every thought you express, +and assure yourself that it is yours, not another's; you may share it +with another, but you must not adopt it from him for the nonce. Of +course, if you are writing humorously or dramatically, you will not be +expected to write your own serious opinions. Humour may take its utmost +licence, yet be sincere. The dramatic genius may incarnate itself in a +hundred shapes, yet in each it will speak what it feels to be the +truth. If you are imaginatively representing the feelings of another, +as in some playful exaggeration or some dramatic personation, the truth +required of you is imaginative truth, not your personal views and +feelings. But when you write in your own person you must be rigidly +veracious, neither pretending to admire what you do not admire, or to +despise what in secret you rather like, nor surcharging your admiration +and enthusiasm to bring you into unison with the public chorus. This +vigilance may render Literature more laborious; but no one ever +supposed that success was to be had on easy terms; and if you only +write one sincere page where you might have written twenty insincere +pages, the one page is worth writing--it is Literature. + +Sincerity is not only effective and honourable, it is also much less +difficult than is commonly supposed. To take a trifling example: If for +some reason I cannot, or do not, choose to verify a quotation which may +be useful to my purpose, what is to prevent my saying that the +quotation is taken at second-hand? It is true, if my quotations are for +the most part second-hand and are acknowledged as such, my erudition +will appear scanty. But it will only appear what it is. Why should I +pretend to an erudition which is not mine? Sincerity forbids it. +Prudence whispers that the pretence is, after all, vain, because those, +and those alone, who can rightly estimate erudition will infallibly +detect my pretence, whereas those whom I have deceived were not worth +deceiving. Yet in spite of Sincerity and Prudence, how shamelessly men +compile second-hand references, and display in borrowed footnotes a +pretence of labour and of accuracy! I mention this merely to show how, +even in the humbler class of compilers, the Principle of Sincerity may +find fit illustrations, and how honest work, even in references, +belongs to the same category as honest work in philosophy or poetry. +EDITOR. + +CHAPTER V. + +THE PRINCIPLE OF BEAUTY. + +It is not enough that a man has clearness of Vision, and reliance on +Sincerity, he must also have the art of Expression, or he will remain +obscure. Many have had + +"The visionary eye, the faculty to see +The thing that hath been as the thing which is," + +but either from native defect, or the mistaken bias of education, have +been frustrated in the attempt to give their visions beautiful or +intelligible shape. The art which could give them shape is doubtless +intimately dependent on clearness of eye and sincerity of purpose, but +it is also something over and above these, and comes from an organic +aptitude not less special, when possessed with fulness, than the +aptitude for music or drawing. Any instructed person can write, as any +one can learn to draw; but to write well, to express ideas with +felicity and force, is not an accomplishment but a talent. The power of +seizing unapparent relations of things is not always conjoined with the +power of selecting the fittest verbal symbols by which they can be made +apparent to others: the one is the power of the thinker, the other the +power of the writer. + +"Style," says De Quincey, "has two separate functions---first, to +brighten the INTELLIGIBILITY of a subject which is obscure to the +understanding; secondly, to regenerate the normal POWER and +impressiveness of a subject which has become dormant to the +sensibilities. . . . . Decaying lineaments are to be retraced and faded +colouring to be refreshed." To effect these purposes we require a rich +verbal memory from which to select the symbols best fitted to call up +images in the reader's mind, and we also require the delicate selective +instinct to guide us in the choice and arrangement of those symbols, so +that the rhythm and cadence may agreeably attune the mind, rendering it +receptive to the impressions meant to be communicated. A copious verbal +memory, like a copious memory of facts, is only one source of power, +and without the high controlling faculty of the artist may lead to +diffusive indecision. Just as one man, gilted with keen insight, will +from a small stock of facts extricate unapparent relations to which +others, rich in knowledge, have been blind; so will a writer gifted +with a fine instinct select from a narrow range of phrases symbols of +beauty and of power utterly beyond the reach of commonplace minds. It +is often considered, both by writers and readers, that fine language +makes fine writers; yet no one supposes that fine colours make a fine +painter. The COPIA VERBORUM is often a weakness and a snare. As Arthur +Helps says, men use several epithets in the hope that one of them may +fit. But the artist knows which epithet does fit, uses that, and +rejects the rest. The characteristic weakness of bad writers is +inaccuracy: their symbols do not adequately express their ideas. Pause +but for a moment over their sentences, and you perceive that they are +using language at random, the choice being guided rather by some +indistinct association of phrases, or some broken echoes of familiar +sounds, than by any selection of words to represent ideas. I read the +other day of the truck system being "rampant" in a certain district; +and every day we may meet with similar echoes of familiar words which +betray the flaccid condition of the writer's mind drooping under the +labour of expression. + +Except in the rare cases of great dynamic thinkers whose thoughts are +as turning-points in the history of our race, it is by Style that +writers gain distinction, by Style they secure their immortality. In a +lower sphere many are remarked as writers although they may lay no +claim to distinction as thinkers, if they have the faculty of +felicitously expressing the ideas of others; and many who are really +remarkable as thinkers gain but slight recognition from the public, +simply because in them the faculty of expression is feeble. In +proportion as the work passes from the sphere of passionless +intelligence to that of impassioned intelligence, from the region of +demonstration to the region of emotion, the art of Style becomes more +complex, its necessity more imperious. But even in Philosophy and +Science the art is both subtle and necessary; the choice and +arrangement of the fitting symbols, though less difficult than in Art, +is quite indispensable to success. If the distinction which I formerly +drew between the Scientific and the Artistic tendencies be accepted, it +will disclose a corresponding difference in the Style which suits a +ratiocinative exposition fixing attention on abstract relations, and an +emotive exposition fixing attention on objects as related to the +feelings. We do not expect the scientific writer to stir our emotions, +otherwise than by the secondary influences which arise from our awe and +delight at the unveiling of new truths. In his own researches he should +extricate himself from the perturbing influences of emotion, and +consequently he should protect us from such suggestions in his +exposition. Feellng too often smites intellect with blindness, and +intellect too often paralyses the free play of emotion, not to call for +a decisive separation of the two. But this separation is no ground for +the disregard of Style in works, of pure demonstration--as we shall see +by-and-by. + +The Principle of Beauty is only another name for Style, which is an +art, incommunicable as are all other arts, but like them subordinated +to laws founded on psychological conditions. The laws constitute the +Philosophy of Criticism; and I shall have to ask the reader's +indulgence if for the first time I attempt to expound them +scientifically in the chapter to which the present is only an +introduction. A knowledge of these laws, even presuming them to be +accurately expounded, will no more give a writer the power of +felicitous expression than a knowledge of the laws of colour, +perspective, and proportion will enable a critic to paint a picture. +But all good writing must conform to these laws; all bad writing will +be found to violate them. And the utility of the knowledge will be that +of a constant monitor, warning the artist of the errors into which he +has slipped, or into which he may slip if unwarned. + +How is it that while every one acknowledges the importance of Style, +and numerous critics from Quinctilian and Longinus down to Quarterly +Reviewers have written upon it, very little has been done towards a +satisfactory establishment of principles? Is it not partly because the +critics have seldom held the true purpose of Style steadily before +their eyes, and still seldomer justified their canons by deducing them +from psychological conditions? To my apprehension they seem to have +mistaken the real sources of influence, and have fastened attention +upon some accidental or collateral details, instead of tracing the +direct connection between effects and causes. Misled by the splendour +of some great renown they have concluded that to write like Cicero or +to paint like Titian must be the pathway to success; which is true in +one sense, and profoundly false as they understand it. One pestilent +contagious error issued from this misconception, namely, that all +maxims confirmed by the practice of the great artists must be maxims +for the art; although a close examination might reveal that the +practice of these artists may have been the result of their peculiar +individualities or of the state of culture at their epoch. A true +Philosophy of Criticism would exhibit in how far such maxims were +universal, as founded on laws of human nature, and in how far +adaptations to particular individualities. A great talent will discover +new methods. A great success ought to put us on the track of new +principles. But the fundamental laws of Style, resting on the truths of +human nature, may be illustrated, they cannot be guaranteed by any +individual success. Moreover, the strong individuality of the artist +will create special modifications of the laws to suit himself, making +that excellent or endurable which in other hands would be intolerable. +If the purpose of Literature be the sincere expression of the +individual's own ideas and feelings it is obvious that the cant about +the "best models" tends to pervert and obstruct that expression. Unless +a man thinks and feels precisely after the manner of Cicero and Titian +it is manifestly wrong for him to express himself in their way. He may +study in them the principles of effect, and try to surprise some of +their secrets, but he should resolutely shun all imitation of them. +They ought to be illustrations not authorities, studies not models. + +The fallacy about models is seen at once if we ask this simple +question: Will the practice of a great writer justify a solecism in +grammar or a confusion in logic? No. Then why should it justify any +other detail not to be reconciled with universal truth? If we are +forced to invoke the arbitration of reason in the one case, we must do +so in the other. Unless we set aside the individual practice whenever +it is irreconcilable with general principles, we shall be unable to +discriminate in a successful work those merits which SECURED from those +demerits which ACCOMPANIED success. Now this is precisely the condition +in which Criticism has always been. It has been formal instead of being +psychological: it has drawn its maxims from the works of successful +artists, instead of ascertaining the psychological principles involved +in the effects of those works. When the perplexed dramatist called down +curses on the man who invented fifth acts, he never thought of escaping +from his tribulation by writing a play in four acts; the formal canon +which made five acts indispensable to a tragedy was drawn from the +practice of great dramatists, but there was no demonstration of any +psychological demand on the part of the audience for precisely five +acts. + +[English critics are much less pedantic in adherence to "rules" than +the French, yet when, many years ago, there appeared a tragedy in three +acts, and without a death, these innovations were considered +inadmissible; and if the success of the work had been such as to elicit +critical discussion, the necessity of five acts and a death would +doubtless have been generally insisted on]. + +Although no instructed mind will for a moment doubt the immense +advantage of the stimulus and culture derived from a reverent +familiarity with the works of our great predecessors and +contemperaries, there is a pernicious error which has been fostered by +many instructed minds, rising out of their reverence for greatness and +their forgetfulness of the ends of Literature. This error is the notion +of "models," and of fixed canons drawn from the practice of great +artists. It substitutes Imitation for Invention; reproduction of old +types instead of the creation of new. There is more bad than good work +produced in consequence of the assiduous following of models. And we +shall seldom be very wide of the mark if in our estimation of youthful +productions we place more reliance on their departures from what has +been already done, than on their resemblances to the best artists. An +energetic crudity, even a riotous absurdity, has more promise in it +than a clever and elegant mediocrity, because it shows that the young +man is speaking out of his own heart, and struggling to express himself +in his own way rather than in the way he finds in other men's books. +The early works of original writers are usually very bad; then succeeds +a short interval of imitation in which the influence of some favourite +author is distinctly traceable; but this does not last long, the native +independence of the mind reasserts itself, and although perhaps +academic and critical demands are somewhat disregarded, so that the +original writer on account of his very originality receives but slight +recognition from the authorities, nevertheless if there is any real +power in the voice it soon makes itself felt in the world. There is one +word of counsel I would give to young authors, which is that they +should be humbly obedient to the truth proclaimed by their own souls, +and haughtily indifferent to the remonstrances of critics founded +solely on any departure from the truths expressed by others. It by no +means follows that because a work is unlike works that have gone before +it, therefore it is excellent or even tolerable; it may be original in +error or in ugliness; but one thing is certain, that in proportion to +its close fidelity to the matter and manner of existing works will be +its intrinsic worthlessness. And one of the severest assaults on the +fortitude of an unacknowledged writer comes from the knowledge that his +critics, with rare exceptions, will judge his work in reference to +pre-existing models, and not in reference to the ends of Literature and +the laws of human nature. He knows that he will be compared with +artists whom he ought not to resemble if his work have truth and +originality; and finds himself teased with disparaging remarks which +are really compliments in their objections. He can comfort himself by +his trust in truth and the sincerity of his own work. He may also draw +strength from the reflection that the public and posterity may +cordially appreciate the work in which constituted authorities see +nothing but failure. The history of Literature abounds in examples of +critics being entirely at fault missing the old familiar landmarks, +these guides at once set up a shout of warning that the path has been +missed. + +Very noticeable is the fact that of the thousands who have devoted +years to the study of the classics, especially to the "niceties of +phrase" and "chastity of composition," so much prized in these +classics, very few have learned to write with felicity, and not many +with accuracy. Native incompetence has doubtless largely influenced +this result in men who are insensible to the nicer shades of +distinction in terms, and want the subtle sense of congruity; but the +false plan of studying "models" without clearly understanding the +psychological conditions which the effects involve, without seeing why +great writing is effective, and where it is merely individual +expression, has injured even vigorous minds and paralysed the weak. +From a similar mistake hundreds have deceived themselves in trying to +catch the trick of phrase peculiar tn some distinguished contemporary. +In vain do they imitate the Latinisms and antitheses of Johnson, the +epigrammatic sentences of Macaulay, the colloquial ease of Thackeray, +the cumulative pomp of Milton, the diffusive play of De Quincey: a few +friendly or ignorant reviewers may applaud it as "brilliant writing," +but the public remains unmoved. It is imitation, and as such it is +lifeless. + +We see at once the mistake directly we understand that a genuine style +is the living body of thought, not a costume that can be put on and +off; it is the expression of the writer's mind; it is not less the +incarnation of his thoughts in verbal symbols than a picture is the +painter's incarnation of his thoughts in symbols of form and colour. A +man may, if it please him, dress his thoughts in the tawdry splendour +of a masquerade. But this is no more Literature than the masquerade is +Life. + +No Style can be good that is not slncere. It must be the expression of +its author's mind. There are, of course, certain elements of +composition which must be mastered as a dancer learns his steps, but +the style of the writer, like the grace of the dancer, is only made +effective by such mastery; it springs from a deeper source. Initiation +into the rules of construction will save us from some gross errors of +composltion, but it will not make a style. Still less will imitation of +another's manner make one. In our day there are many who imitate +Macaulay's short sentences, iterations, antitheses, geographical and +historical illustrations, and eighteenth century diction, but who +accepts them as Macaulays? They cannot seize the secret of his charm, +because that charm lies in the felicity of his talent, not in the +structure of his sentences; in the fulness of his knowledge, not in the +character of his illustrations. Other men aim at ease and vigour by +discarding Latinisms, and admitting colloquialisms; but vigour and ease +are not to be had on recipe. No study of models, no attention to rules, +will give the easy turn, the graceful phrase, the simple word, the +fervid movement, or the large clearness; a picturesque talent will +express itself in concrete images; a genial nature will smile in +pleasant firms and inuendos; a rapid, unhesitating, imperious mind will +deliver its quick incisive phrases; a full deliberating mind will +overflow in ample paragraphs laden with the weight of parentheses and +qualifying suggestions. The style which is good in one case would be +vicious in another. The broken rhythm which increases the energy of one +style would ruin the LARGO of another. Both are excellencies where both +are natural. + +We are always disagreeably impressed by an obvious imitation of the +manner of another, because we feel it to be an insincerity, and also +because it withdraws our attention from the thing said, to the way of +saying it. And here lies the great lesson writers have to +learn--namely, that they should think of the immediate purpose of their +writing, which is to convey truths and emotions, in symbols and images, +intelligible and suggestive. The racket-player keeps his eye on the +ball he is to strike, not on the racket with which he strikes. If the +writer sees vividly, and will say honestly what he sees, and how he +sees it, he may want something of the grace and felicity of other men, +but he will have all the strength and felicity with which nature has +endowed him. More than that he cannot attain, and he will fall very +short of it in snatching at the grace which is another's. Do what he +will, he cannot escape from the infirmities of his own mind: the +affectation, arrogance, ostentation, hesitation, native in the man will +taint his style, no matter how closely he may copy the manner of +another. For evil and for good, LE STYLE EST DE L'HOMME MEME. + +The French critics, who are singularly servile to all established +reputations, and whose unreasoning idolatry of their own classics is +one of the reasons why their Literature is not richer, are fond of +declaring with magisterial emphasis that the rules of good taste and +the canons of style were fixed once and for ever by their great writers +in the seventeenth century. The true ambition of every modern is said +to be by careful study of these models to approach (though with no hope +of equalling) their chastity and elegance. That a writer of the +nineteenth century should express himself in the manner which was +admirable in the seventeenth is an absurdity which needs only to be +stated. It is not worth refuting. But it never presents itself thus to +the French. In their minds it is a lingering remnant of that older +superstition which believed the Ancients to have discovered all wisdom, +so that if we could only surprise the secret of Aristotle's thoughts +and clearly comprehend the drift of Plato's theories (which unhappily +was not clear) we should compass all knowledge. How long this +superstition lasted cannot accurately be settled; perhaps it is not +quite extinct even yet; but we know how little the most earnest +students succeeded in surprising the secrets of the universe by reading +Greek treatises, and how much by studying the universe itself. +Advancing Science daily discredits the superstition; yet the advance of +Criticism has not yet wholly discredited the parallel superstition in +Art. The earliest thinkers are no longer considered the wisest, but the +earliest artists are still proclaimed the finest. Even those who do not +believe in this superiority are, for the most part, overawed by +tradition and dare not openly question the supremacy of works which in +their private convictions hold a very subordinate rank. And this +reserve is encouraged by the intemperate scorn of those who question +the supremacy without having the knowledge or the sympathy which could +fairly appreciate the earlier artists. Attacks on the classics by men +ignorant of the classical languages tend to perpetuate the superstition. + +But be the merit of the classics, ancient and modern, what it may, no +writer can become a classic by imitating them. The principle of +Sincerity here ministers to the principle of Beauty by forbidding +imitation and enforcing rivalry. Write what you can, and if you have +the grace of felicitous expression or the power of energetic expression +your style will be admirable and admired. At any rate see that it be +your own, and not another's; on no other terms will the world listen to +it. You cannot be eloquent by borrowing from the opulence of another; +you cannot be humorous by mimicking the whims of another; what was a +pleasant smile dimpling his features becomes a grimace on yours. + +It will not be supposed that I would have the great writers +disregardod, as if nothing were to be learned from them; but the study +of great writers should be the study of general principles as +illustrated or revealed in these writers; and if properly pursued it +will of itself lead to a condemnation of the notion of models. What we +may learn from them is a nice discrimination of the symbols which +intelligibly express the shades of meaning and kindle emotion. The +writer wishes to give his thoughts a literary form. This is for others, +not for himself; consequently he must, before all things, desire to be +intelligible, and to be so he must adapt his expressions to the mental +condition of his audience. If he employs arbitrary symbols, such as old +words in new and unexpected senses, he may be clear as daylight to +himself, but to others, dark as fog. And the difficulty of original +writing lies in this, that what is new and individual must find +expression in old symbols. This difficulty can only be mastered by a +peculiar talent, strengthened and rendered nimble by practice, and the +commerce with original minds. Great writers should be our companions if +we would learn to write greatly; but no familiarity with their manner +will supply the place of native endowment. Writers are born, no less +than poets, and like poets, they learn to make their native gifts +effective. Practice, aiding their vigilant sensibility, teaches them, +perhaps unconsciously, certain methods of effective presentation, how +one arrangement of words carries with it more power than another, how +familiar and concrete expressions are demanded in one place, and in +another place abstract expressions unclogged with disturbing +suggestions. Every author thus silently amasses a store of empirical +rules, furnished by his own practice, and confirmed by the practice of +others. A true Philosophy of Criticism would reduce these empirical +rules to science by ranging them under psychological laws, thus +demonstrating the validity of the rules, not in virtue of their having +been employed by Cicero or Addison, by Burke or Sydney Smith, but in +virtue of their conformity with the constancies of human nature. + +The importance of Style is generally unsuspected by philosophers and +men of science, who are quite aware of its advantage in all departments +of BELLES LETTRES; and if you allude in their presence to the +deplorably defective presentation of the ideas in some work +distinguished for its learning, its profundity or its novelty, it is +probable that you will be despised as a frivolous setter up of manner +over matter, a light-minded DILLETANTE, unfitted for the simple +austerities of science. But this is itself a light-minded contempt; a +deeper insight would change the tone, and help to remove the +disgraceful slovenliness and feebleness of composition which deface the +majority of grave works, except those written by Frenchmen, who have +been taught that composition is an art and that no writer may neglect +it. In England and Germany, men who will spare no labour in research, +grudge all labour in style; a morning is cheerfully devoted to +verifying a quotation, by one who will not spare ten minutes to +reconstruct a clumsy sentence; a reference is sought with ardour, an +appropriate expression in lleu of the inexact phrase which first +suggests itself does not seem worth seeking. What are we to say to a +man who spends a quarter's income on a diamond pin which he sticks in a +greasy cravat? A man who calls public attention on him, and appears in +a slovenly undress? Am I to bestow applause on some insignificant +parade of erudition, and withhold blame from the stupidities of style +which surround it? + +Had there been a clear understanding of Style as the living body of +thought, and not its "dress," which might be more or less ornamental, +the error I am noticing would not have spread so widely. But, +naturally, when men regarded the grace of style as mere grace of +manner, and not as the delicate precision giving form and relief to +matter--as mere ornament, stuck on to arrest incurious eyes, and not as +effective expression--their sense of the deeper value of matter made +them despise such aid. A clearer conception would have rectified this +error. The matter is confluent with the manner; and only THROUGH the +style can thought reach the reader's mind. If the manner is involved, +awkward, abrupt, obscure, the reader will either be oppressed with a +confused sense of cumbrous material which awaits an artist to give it +shape, or he will have the labour thrown upon him of extricating the +material and reshaping it in his own mind. + +How entirely men misconceive the relation of style to thought may be +seen in the replies they make when their writing is objected to, or in +the ludicrous attempts of clumsy playfulness and tawdry eloquence when +they wish to be regarded as writers. + +"Le style le moins noble a pourtant sa noblesse," + +and the principle of Sincerity, not less than the suggestions of taste, +will preserve the integrity of each style. A philosopher, an +investigator, an historian, or a moralist so far from being required to +present the graces of a wit, an essayist, a pamphleteer, or a novelist, +would be warned off such ground by the necessity of expressing himself +sincerely. Pascal, Biot, Buffon, or Laplace are examples of the +clearness and beauty with which ideas may be presented wearing all the +graces of fine literature, and losing none of the severity of science. +Bacon, also, having an opulent and active intellect, spontaneously +expressed himself in forms of various excellence. But what a pitiable +contrast is presented by Kant! It is true that Kant having a much +narrower range of sensibility could have no such ample resource of +expression, and he was wise in not attempting to rival the splendour of +the NOVUM ORGANUM; but he was not simply unwise, he was extremely +culpable in sending forth his thoughts as so much raw material which +the public was invited to put into shape as it could. Had he been aware +that much of his bad writing was imperfect thinking, and always +imperfect adaptation of means to ends, he might have been induced to +recast it into more logical and more intelligible sentences, which +would have stimulated the reader's mind as much as they now oppress it. +Nor had Kant the excuse of a subject too abstruse for clear +presentation. The examples of Descartes, Spinoza, Hobbes, and Hume are +enough to show how such subjects can be mastered, and the very +implication of writing a book is that the writer has mastered his +material and can give it intelligible form. + +A grave treatise, dealing with a narrow range of subjects or moving +amid severe abstractions, demands a gravity and severity of style which +is dissimilar to that demanded by subjects of a wider scope or more +impassioned impulse; but abstract philosophy has its appropriate +elegance no less than mathematics. I do not mean that each subject +should necessarily be confined to one special mode of treatment, in the +sense which was understood when people spoke of the "dignity of +history," and so forth. The style must express the writer's mind; and +as variously constituted minds will treat one and the same subject, +there will be varieties in their styles. If a severe thinker be also a +man of wit, like Bacon, Hobbes, Pascal, or Galileo, the wit will flash +its sudden illuminations on the argument; but if he be not a man of +wit, and condescends to jest under the impression that by jesting he is +giving an airy grace to his argument, we resent it as an impertinence. + +I have throughout used Style in the narrower sense of expression rather +than in the wider sense of "treatment" which is sometimes affixed to +it. The mode of treating a subject is also no doubt the writer's or the +artist's way of expressing what is in his mind, but this is Style in +the more general sense, and does not admit of being reduced to laws +apart from those of Vision and Sincerity. A man necessarily sees a +subject in a particular light--ideal or grotesque, familiar or +fanciful, tragic or humorous, he may wander into fairy-land, or move +amid representative abstractions; he may follow his wayward fancy in +its grotesque combinations, or he may settle down amid the homeliest +details of daily life. But having chosen he must be true to his choice. +He is not allowed to represent fairy-land as if it resembled Walworth, +nor to paint Walworth in the colours of Venice. The truth of +consistency must be preserved in his treatment, truth in art meaning of +course only truth within the limits of the art; thus the painter may +produce the utmost relief he can by means of light and shade, but is +peremptorily forbidden to use actual solidities on a plane surface. He +must represent gold by colour, not by sticking gold on his fIgures. +[This was done with naivete by the early painters, and is really very +effective in the pictures of Gentile da Fabriano--that Paul Veronese of +the fifteenth century--as the reader will confess if he has seen the +"Adoration of the Magi," in the Florence Academy; but it could not be +tolerated now]. Our applause is greatly determined by our sense of +difficulty overcome, and to stick gold on a picture is an avoidance of +the difficulty of painting it. + +Truth of presentation has an inexplicable charm for us, and throws a +halo round even ignoble objects. A policeman idly standing at the +corner of the street, or a sow lazily sleeping against the sun, are not +in nature objects to excite a thrill of delight, but a painter may, by +the cunning of his art, represent them so as to delight every +spectator. The same objects represented by an inferior painter will +move only a languid interest; by a still more inferior painter they may +be represented so as to please none but the most uncultivated eye. Each +spectator is charmed in proportion to his recognition of a triumph over +difficulty which is measured by the degree of verisimilitude. The +degrees are many. In the lowest the pictured object is so remote from +the reality that we simply recognise what the artist meant to +represent. In like manner we recognise in poor novels and dramas what +the authors mean to be characters, rather than what our experience of +life suggests as characteristic. + +Not only do we apportion our applause according to the degree of +versimilitude attained, but also according to the difficulty each +involves. It is a higher difficulty, and implies a nobler art to +represent the movement and complexity of life and emotion than to catch +the fixed lineaments of outward aspect. To paint a policeman idly +lounging at the street corner with such verisimilitude that we are +pleased with the representation, admiring the solidity of the figure, +the texture of the clothes, and the human aspect of the features, is so +difficult that we loudly applaud the skill which enables an artist to +imitate what in itself is uninteresting; and if the imitation be +carried to a certain degree of verisimilitude the picture may be of +immense value. But no excellence of representation can make this high +art. To carry it into the region of high art, another and far greater +difficulty must be overcome; the man must be represented under the +strain of great emotion, and we must recognise an equal truthfulness in +the subtle indications of great mental agitation, the fleeting +characters of which are far less easy to observe and to reproduce, than +the stationary characters of form and costume. We may often observe how +the novelist or dramatist has tolerable success so long as his +personages are quiet, or moved only by the vulgar motives of ordinary +life, and how fatally uninteresting, because unreal, these very +personages become as soon as they are exhibited under the stress of +emotion: their language ceases at once to be truthful, and becomes +stagey; their conduct is no longer recognisable as that of human beings +such as we have known. Here we note a defect of treatment, a mingling +of styles, arising partly from defect of vision, and partly from an +imperfect sincerity; and success in art will always be found dependent +on integrity of style. The Dutch painters, so admirable in their own +style, would become pitiable on quitting it for a higher. + +But I need not enter at any length upon this subject of treatment. +Obviously a work must have charm or it cannot succeed; and the charm +will depend on very complex conditions in the artist's mind. What +treatment is in Art, composition is in Philosophy. The general +conception of the point of view, and the skilful distribution of the +masses, so as to secure the due preparation, development, and +culmination, without wasteful prodigality or confusing want of +symmetry, constitute Composition, which is to the structure of a +treatise what Style--in the narrower sense--is to the structure of +sentences. How far Style is reducible to law will be examined in the +next chapter. + +EDITOR. + +THE LAWS OF STYLE. + +From what was said in the preceding chapter, the reader will understand +that our present inquiry is only into the laws which regulate the +mechanism of Style. In such an analysis all that constitutes the +individuality, the life, the charm of a great writer, must escape. But +we may dissect Style, as we dissect an organism, and lay bare the +fundamental laws by which each is regulated. And this analogy may +indicate the utility of our attempt; the grace and luminousness of a +happy talent will no more be acquired by a knowledge of these laws, +than the force and elasticity of a healthy organism will be given by a +knowledge of anatomy; but the mistakes in Style, and the diseases of +the organism, may be often avoided, and sometimes remedied, by such +knowledge. + +On a subject like this, which has for many years engaged the researches +of many minds, I shall not be expected to bring forward discoveries; +indeed, novelty would not unjustly be suspected of fallacy. The only +claim my exposition can have on the reader's attention is that of being +an attempt to systematise what has been hitherto either empirical +observation, or the establishment of critical rules on a false basis. I +know but of one exception to this sweeping censure, and that is the +essay on the Philosophy of Style, by Mr. Herbert Spencer, [Spencer's +ESSAYS: SCIENTIFIC, POLITICAL, AND SPECULATIVE. First Series. 1858]. +where for the first time, I believe, the right method was pursued of +seeking in psychological conditions for the true laws of expression. + +The aims of Literature being instruction and delight, Style must in +varying degrees appeal to our intellect and our sensibilities, +sometimes reaching the intellect through the presentation of simple +ideas, and at others through the agitating influence of emotions; +sometimes awakening the sensibilities through the reflexes of ideas, +and sometimes through a direct appeal. A truth may be nakedly expressed +so as to stir the intellect alone; or it may be expressed in terms +which, without disturbing its clearness, may appeal to our sensibility +by their harmony or energy. It is not possible to distinguish the +combined influences of clearness, movement, and harmony, so as to +assign to each its relative effect; and if in the ensuing pages one law +is isolated from another, this must be understood as an artifice +inevitable in such investigations. + +There are five laws under which all the conditions of Style may be +grouped.--1. The Law of Economy. 2. The Law of Simplicity. 3. The Law +of Sequence. 4, The Law of Climax. 5. The Law of Variety. + +It would be easy to reduce these five to three, and range all +considerations under Economy, Climax, and Variety; or we might amplify +the divisions; but there are reasons of convenience as well as symmetry +which give a preference to the five. I had arranged them thus for +convenience some years ago, and I now find they express the equivalence +of the two great factors of Style---Intelligence and Sensibility. Two +out of the five, Economy and Simplicity, more specially derive their +significance from intellectual needs; another two, Climax and Variety, +from emotional needs; and between these is the Law of Sequence, which +is intermediate in its nature, and may be claimed with equal justice by +both. The laws of force and the laws of pleasure can only be +provisionally isolated in our inquiry; in style they are blended. The +following brief estimate of each considers it as an isolated principle +undetermined by any other. + +1. THE LAW OF ECONOMY. + +Our inquiry is scientific, not empirical; it therefore seeks the +psychological basis for every law, endeavouring to ascertain what +condition of a reader's receptivity determines the law. Fortunately for +us, in the case of the first and most important law the psychological +basis is extremely simple, and may be easily appreciated by a reference +to its analogue in Mechanics. + +What is the first object of a machine? Effective work--VIS VIVA. Every +means by which friction can be reduced, and the force thus economised +be rendered available, necessarily solicits the constructor's care. He +seeks as far as possible to liberate the motion which is absorbed in +the working of the machine, and to use it as VIS VIVA. He knows that +every superfluous detail, every retarding influence, is at the cost of +so much power, and is a mechanical defect though it may perhaps be an +aesthetic beauty or a practical convenience. He may retain it because +of the beauty, because of the convenience, but he knows the price of +effective power at which it is obtained. + +And thus it stands with Style. The first object of a writer is +effective expression, the power of communicating distinct thoughts and +emotional suggestions. He has to overcome the friction of ignorance and +pre-occupation. He has to arrest a wandering attention, and to clear +away the misconceptions which cling around verbal symbols. Words are +not llke iron and wood, coal and water, invariable in their properties, +calculable in their effects. They are mutable in their powers, deriving +force and subtle variations of force from very trifling changes of +position; colouring and coloured by the words which precede and +succeed; significant or insignificant from the powers of rhythm and +cadence. It is the writer's art so to arrange words that they shall +suffer the least possible retardation from the inevitable friction of +the reader's mind. The analogy of a machine is perfect. In both cases +the object is to secure the maximum of disposable force, by diminishing +the amount absorbed in the working. Obviously, if a reader is engaged +in extricating the meaning from a sentence which ought to have +reflected its meaning as in a mirror, the mental energy thus employed +is abstracted from the amount of force which he has to bestow on the +subject; he has mentally to form anew the sentence which has been +clumsily formed by the writer; he wastes, on interpretation of the +symbols, force which might have been concentrated on meditation of the +propositions. This waste is inappreciable in writing of ordinary +excellence, and on subjects not severely tasking to the attention; but +if inappreciable, it is always waste; and in bad writing, especially on +topics of philosophy and science, the waste is important. And it is +this which greatly narrows the circle for serious works. Interest in +the subjects treated of may not be wanting; but the abundant energy is +wanting which to the fatigue of consecutive thinking will add the +labour of deciphering the language. Many of us are but too familiar +with the fatigue of reconstructing unwieldy sentences in which the +clauses are not logically dependent, nor the terms free from equivoque; +we know what it is to have to hunt for the meaning hidden in a maze of +words; and we can understand the yawning indifference which must soon +settle upon every reader of such writing, unless he has some strong +external impulse or abundant energy. + +Economy dictates that the meaning should be presented in a form which +claims the least possible attention to itself as form, unless when that +form is part of the writer's object, and when the simple thought is +less important than the manner of presenting it. And even when the +manner is playful or impassioned, the law of Economy still presides, +and insists on the rejection of whatever is superfluous. Only a +delicate susceptibility can discriminate a superfluity in passages of +humour or rhetoric; but elsewhere a very ordinary understanding can +recognise the clauses and the epithets which are out of place, and in +excess, retarding or confusing the direct appreciation of the thought. +If we have written a clumsy or confused sentence, we shall often find +that the removal of an awkward inversion liberates the ides, or that +the modification of a cadence increases the effect. This is sometimes +strikingly seen at the rehearsal of a play: a passage which has fallen +flat upon the ear is suddenly brightened into effectiveness by the +removal of a superfluous phrase, which, by its retarding influence, had +thwarted the declamatory crescendo. + +Young writers may learn something of the secrets of Economy by careful +revision of their own compositions, and by careful dissection of +passages selected both from good and bad writers. They have simply to +strike out every word, every clause, and every sentence, the removal of +which will not carry away any of the constituent elements of the +thought. Having done this, let them compare the revised with the +unrevised passages, and see where the excision has improved, and where +it has injured, the effect. For Economy, although a primal law, is not +the only law of Style. It is subject to various limitations from the +pressure of other laws; and thus the removal of a trifling superfluity +will not be justified by a wise economy if that loss entails a +dissonance, or prevents a climax, or robs the expression of its ease +and variety. Economy is rejection of whatever is superfluous; it is not +Miserliness. A liberal expenditure is often the best economy, and is +always so when dictated by a generous impulse, not by a prodigal +carelessness or ostentatious vanity. That man would greatly err who +tried to make his style effective by stripping it of all redundancy and +ornament, presenting it naked before the indifferent public. Perhaps +the very redundancy which he lops away might have aided the reader to +see the thought more clearly, because it would have kept the thought a +little longer before his mind, and thus prevented him from hurrying on +to the next while this one was still imperfectly conceived. + +As a general rule, redundancy is injurious; and the reason of the rule +will enable us to discriminate when redundancy is injurious and when +beneficial. It is injurious when it hampers the rapid movement of the +reader's mind, diverting his attention to some collateral detail. But +it is beneficial when its retarding influence is such as only to detain +the mind longer on the thought, and thus to secure the fuller effect of +the thought. For rapid reading is often imperfect reading. The mind is +satisfied with a glimpse of that which it ought to have steadily +contemplated; and any artifice by which the thought can be kept long +enough before the mind, may indeed be a redundancy as regards the +meaning, but is an economy of power. Thus we see that the phrase or the +clause which we might be tempted to lop away because it threw no light +upon the proposition, would be retained by a skilful writer because it +added power. You may know the character of a redundancy by this one +test: does it divert the attention, or simply retard it? The former is +always a loss of power; the latter is sometlmes a gain of power. The +art of the writer consists in rejecting all redundancies that do not +conduce to clearness. The shortest sentences are not necessarily the +clearest. Concision gives energy, but it also adds restraint. The +labour of expanding a terse sentence to its full meaning is often +greater than the labour of picking out the meaning from a diffuse and +loitering passage. Tacitus is more tiresome than Cicero. + +There are occasions when the simplest and fewest words surpass in +effect all the wealth of rhetorical amplification. An example may be +seen in the passage which has been a favourite illustration from the +days of Longinus to our own. "God said: Let there be light! and there +was light." This is a conception of power so calm and simple that it +needs only to be presented in the fewest and the plainest words, and +would be confused or weakened by any suggestion of accessories. Let us +amplify the expression in the redundant style of miscalled eloquent +writers: "God, in the magnificent fulness of creative energy, +exclaimed: Let there be light! and lo! the agitating fiat immediately +went forth, and thus in one indivisible moment the whole universe was +illumlned." We have here a sentence which I am certain many a writer +would, in secret, prefer to the masterly plainness of Genesis. It is +not a sentence which would have captivated critics. + +Although this sentence from Genesis is sublime in its simplicity, we +are not to conclude that simple sentences are uniformly the best, or +that a style composed of propositions briefly expressed would obey a +wise Economy. The reader's pleasure must not be forgotten; and he +cannot be pleased by a style which always leaps and never flows. A +harsh, abrupt, and dislocated manner irritates and perplexes him by its +sudden jerks. It is easier to write short sentences than to read them. +An easy, fluent, and harmonious phrase steals unobtrusively upon the +mind, and allows the thought to expand quietly like an opening flower. +But the very suasiveness of harmonious writing needs to be varied lest +it become a drowsy monotony; and the sharp short sentences which are +intolerable when abundant, when used sparingly act like a trumpet-call +to the drooping attention. + +II. THE LAW OF SIMPLICITY. + +The first obligation of Economy is that of using the fewest words to +secure the fullest effect. It rejects whatever is superfluous; but the +question of superfluity must, as I showed just now, be determined in +each individual case by various conditions too complex and numerous to +be reduced within a formula. The same may be said of Simplicity, which +is indeed so intimately allied with Economy that I have only given it a +separate station for purposes of convenience. The psychological basis +is the same for both. The desire for simplicity is impatience at +superfluity, and the impatience arises from a sense of hindrance. + +The first obligation of Simplicity is that of using the simplest means +to secure the fullest effect. But although the mind instinctlvely +rejects all needless complexity, we shall greatly err if we fail to +recognise the fact, that what the mind recoils from is not the +complexity, but the needlessness. When two men are set to the work of +one, there is a waste of means; when two phrases are used to express +one meaning twice, there is a waste of power; when incidents are +multiplied and illustrations crowded without increase of illumination, +there is prodigality which only the vulgar can mistake for opulence. +Simplicity is a relative term. If in sketching the head of a man the +artist wishes only to convey the general characteristics of that head, +the fewest touches show the greatest power, selecting as they do only +those details which carry with them characteristic significance. The +means are simple, as the effect is simple. But if, besides the general +characteristics, he wishes to convey the modelling of the forms, the +play of light and shade, the textures, and the very complex effect of a +human head, he must use more complex means. The simplicity which was +adequate in the one case becomes totally inadequate in the other. + +Obvious as this is, it has not been sufficiently present to the mind of +critics who have called for plain, familiar, and concrete diction, as +if that alone could claim to be simple; who have demanded a style +unadorned by the artifices of involution, cadence, imagery, and +epigram, as if Simplicity were incompatible with these; and have +praised meagreness, mistaking it for Simplicity. Saxon words are words +which in their homeliness have deep-seated power, and in some places +they are the simplest because the most powerful words we can employ; +but their very homeliness excludes them from certain places where their +very power of suggestion is a disturbance of the general effect. The +selective instinct of the artist tells him when his language should be +homely, and when it should be more elevated; and it is precisely in the +imperceptible blending of the plain with the ornate that a great writer +is distinguished. He uses the simplest phrases without triviality, and +the grandest without a suggestion of grandiloquence. + +Simplicity of Style will therefore be understood as meaning absence of +needless superfluity: + +"Without o'erflowing full." + +Its plainness is never meagreness, but unity. Obedient to the primary +impulse of ADEQUATE expression, the style of a complex subject should +be complex; of a technical subject, technical; of an abstract subject, +abstract; of a familiar subject, familiar; of a pictorial subject, +picturesque. The structure of the "Antigone" is simple; but so also is +the structure of "Othello," though it contains many more elements; the +simplicity of both lies in their fulness without superfluity. + +Whatever is outside the purpose, or the feeling, of a scene, a speech, +a sentence, or a phrase, whatever may be omitted without sacrifice of +effect, is a sin against this law. I do not say that the incident, +description, or dialogue, which may be omitted without injury to the +unity of the work, is necessarily a sin against art; still less that, +even when acknowledged as a sin, it may not sometimes be condoned by +its success. The law of Simplicity is not the only law of art; and, +moreover, audiences are, unhappily, so little accustomed to judge works +as wholes, and so ready to seize upon any detail which pleases them, no +matter how incongruously the detail may be placed, + +["Was hilft's, wenn ihr ein Ganzes dargebracht! +Das I'ublicum wird es euch doch zerpfiucken."--GOETHE]. + +that a felicitous fault will captivate applause, let critics shake +reproving heads as they may. Nevertheless the law of Simplicity remains +unshaken, and ought only to give way to the pressure of the law of +Variety. + +The drama offers a good opportunity for studying the operation of this +law, because the limitations of time compel the dramatist to attend +closely to what is and what is not needful for his purpose. A drama +must compress into two or three hours material which may be diffused +through three volumes of a novel, because spectators are more impatient +than readers, and more unequivocally resent by their signs of weariness +any disregard of economy, which in the novel may be skipped. The +dramatist having little time in which to evolve his story, feels that +every scene which does not forward the progress of the action or +intensify the interest in the characters is an artistic defect; though +in itself it may be charmingly written, and may excite applause, it is +away from his immediate purpose. And what is true of purposeless scenes +and characters which divert the current of progress, is equally true, +in a minor degree, of speeches and sentences which arrest the +culminating interest by calling attention away to other objects. It is +an error which arises from a deficient earnestness on the writer's +part, or from a too pliant facility. The DRAMATIS PERSONAE wander in +their dialogue, not swayed by the fluctuations of feeling, but by the +author's desire to show his wit and wisdom, or else by his want of +power to control the vagrant suggestions of his fancy. The desire for +display and the inability to control are weaknesses that lead to almost +every transgression of Simplicity; but sometimes the transgressions are +made in more or less conscious obedience to the law of Variety, +although the highest reach of art is to secure variety by an opulent +simplicity. + +The novelist is not under the same limitations of time, nor has he +to contend against the same mental impatience on the part of his +public. He may therefore linger where the dramatist must hurry; he may +digress, and gain fresh impetus from the digression, where the +dramatist would seriously endanger the effect of his scene by retarding +its evolution. The novelist with a prudent prodigality may employ +descriptions, dialogues, and episodes, which would be fatal in a drama. +Characters may be introduced and dismissed without having any important +connection with the plot; it is enough if they serve the purpose of the +chapter in which they appear. Although as a matter of fine art no +character should have a place in a novel unless it form an integral +element of the story, and no episode should be introduced unless it +reflects some strong light on the characters or incidents, this is a +critical demand which only fine artists think of satisfying, and only +delicate tastes appreciate. For the mass of readers it is enough if +they are mused; and indeed all readers, no matter how critical their +taste, would rather be pleased by a transgression of the law than +wearied by prescription. Delight condones offence. The only question +for the writer is, whether the offence is so trivial as to be submerged +in the delight. And he will do well to remember that the greater +flexibility belonging to the novel by no means removes the novel from +the laws which rule the drama. The parts of a novel should have organic +relations. Push the licence to excess, and stitch together a volume of +unrelated chapters,--a patchwork of descriptions, dialogues, and +incidents,--no one will call that a novel; and the less the work has of +this unorganised character the greater will be its value, not only in +the eyes of critics, but in its effect on the emotions of the reader. + +Simplicity of structure means organic unity, whether the organism be +simple or complex; and hence in all times the emphasis which critics +have laid upon Simplicity, though they have not unfrequently confounded +it with narrowness of range. In like manner, as we said just now, when +treating of diction they have overlooked the fact that the simplest +must be that which best expresses the thought. Simplicity of diction is +integrity of speech; that which admits of least equivocation, that +which by the clearest verbal symbols most readily calls up in the +reader's mind the images and feelings which the writer wishes to call +up. Such diction may be concrete or abstract, familiar or technical; +its simplicity is determined by the nature of the thought. We shall +often be simpler in using abstract and technical terms than in using +concrete and familiar terms which by their very concreteness and +familiarity call up images and feelings foreign to our immediate +purpose. If we desire the attention to fall upon some general idea we +only blur its outlines by using words that call up particulars. Thus, +although it may be needful to give some definite direction to the +reader's thoughts by the suggestion of a particular fact, we must be +careful not to arrest his attention on the fact itself, still less to +divert it by calling up vivid images of facts unrelated to our present +purpose. For example, I wish to fix in the reader's mind a conception +of a lonely meditative man walking on the sea-shore, and I fall into +the vicious style of our day which is lauded as word-painting, and +write something like this :-- + +"The fishermen mending their storm-beaten boats upon the shore would +lay down the hammer to gaze after him as he passed abstractedly before +their huts, his hair streaming in the salt breeze, his feet crushing +the scattered seaweed, his eyes dreamily fixed upon the purple heights +of the precipitous crags." + +Now it is obvious that the details here assembled are mostly foreign to +my purpose, which has nothing whatever to do with fishermen, storms, +boats, sea-weeds, or purple crags; and by calling up images of these I +only divert the attention from my thought. Whereas, if it had been my +purpose to picture the scene itself, or the man's delight in it, then +the enumeration of details would give colour and distinctness to the +picture. + +The art of a great writer is seen in the perfect fitness of his +expressions. He knows how to blend vividness with vagueness, knows +where images are needed, and where by their vivacity they would be +obstacles to the rapid appreciation of his thought. The value of +concrete illustration artfully used may be seen illustrated in a +passage from Macaulay's invective against Frederick the Great: "On his +head is all the blood which was shod in a war which raged during many +years and in every quarter of the globe, the blood of the column at +Fentonoy, the blood of the mountaineers who were slaughtered at +Culloden. The evils produced by his wickedness were felt in lands where +the name of Prussia was unknown; and in order that he might rob a +neighbour whom he had promised to defend, black men fought on the coast +of Coromandel and red men scalped each other by the great lakes of +North America." Disregarding the justice or injustice of the thought, +note the singular force and beauty of this passage, delightful alike to +ear and mind; and observe how its very elaborateness has the effect of +the finest simplicity, because the successive pictures are constituents +of the general thought, and by their vividness render the conclusion +more impressive. Let us suppose him to have wrltten with the vague +generality of expression much patronised by dignified historians, and +told us that "Frederick was the cause of great European conflicts +extending over long periods; and in consequence of his political +aggression hideous crimes were perpetrated in the most distant parts of +the globe." This absence of concrete images would not have been +simplicity, inasmuch as the labour of converting the general +expressions into definite meanings would thus have been thrown upon the +reader. + +Pictorial illustration has its dangers, as we daily see in the clumsy +imitators of Macaulay, who have not the fine instinct of style, but +obey the vulgar instinct of display, and imagine they can produce a +brilliant effect by the use of strong lights, whereas they distract the +attention with images alien to the general impression, just as crude +colourists vex the eye with importunate splendours. Nay, even good +writers sometimes sacrifice the large effect of a diffusive light to +the small effect of a brilliant point. This is a defect of taste +frequently noticeable in two very good writers, De Quincey and Ruskin, +whose command of expression is so varied that it tempts them into +FIORITURA as flexibility of voice tempts singers to sin against +simplicity. At the close of an eloquent passage De Quincey writes :-- + +"Gravitation that works without holiday for ever and searches every +corner of the universe, what intellect can follow it to its fountains? +And yet, shyer than gravitation, less to be counted on than the +fluxions of sun-dials, stealthier than the growth of a forest, are the +footsteps of Christianity amongst the political workings of man." + +The association of holidays and shyness with an idea so abstract as +that of gravitation, the use of the learned word fluxions to express +the movements of the shadows on a dial, and the discordant suggestion +of stealthiness applied to vegetable growth and Christianity, are so +many offences against simplicity. Let the passage be contrasted with +one in which wealth of imagery is in accordance with the thought it +expresses:-- + +"In the edifices of man there should be found reverent worship and +following, not only of the spirit which rounds the pillars of the +forest, and arches the vault of the avenue--which gives veining to the +leaf and polish to the shell, and grace to every pulse that agitates +animal organisation but of that also which reproves the pillars of the +earth, and builds up her barren precipices into the coldness of the +clouds, and lifts her shadowy cones of mountain purple into the pale +arch of the sky; for these and other glories more than these refuse not +to connect themselves in his thoughts with the work of his own hand; +the grey cliff loses not its nobleness when it reminds us of some +Cyclopoan waste of mural stone; the pinnacles of the rocky promontory +arrange themselves, undegraded, into fantastic semblances of fortress +towns; and even the awful cone of the far-off mountain has a melancholy +mixed with that of its own solitude, which is cast from the images of +nameless tumuli on white sea-shores, and of the heaps of reedy clay +into which chambered cities melt in their mortality." [Ruskin]. + +I shall notice but two points in this singularly beautiful passage. The +one is the exquisite instinct of Sequence in several of the phrases, +not only as to harmony, but as to the evolution of the meaning, +especially in "builds up her barren precipices into the coldness of the +clouds, and lifts her shadowy cones of mountain purple into the pale +arch of the sky." The other is the injurious effect of three words in +the sentence, "for these and other glories more than these REFUSE NOT +TO connect themselves in his thoughts." Strike out the words printed in +italics, and you not only improve the harmony, but free the sentence +from a disturbing use of what Ruskin has named the "pathetic fallacy." +There are times in which Nature may be assumed as in sympathy with our +moods; and at such times the pathetic fallacy is a source of subtle +effect. But in the passage just quoted the introduction seems to me a +mistake: the simplicity of the thought is disturbed by this hint of an +active participation of Nature in man's feelings; it is preserved in +its integrity by the omission of that hint. + +These illustrations will suffice to show how the law we are considering +will command and forbid the use of concrete expressions and vivid +imagery according to the purpose of the writer. A fine taste guided by +Sincerity will determine that use. Nothing more than a general rule can +be laid down. Eloquence, as I said before, cannot spring from the +simple desire to be eloquent; the desire usually leads to +grandiloquence. But Sincerity will save us. We have but to remember +Montesquieu's advice: "Il faut prendre garde aux grandes phrases dans +les humbles sujets; elles produisent l'effet d'une masque a barbe +blanche sur la joue d'un enfant." + +Here another warning may be placed. In our anxiety lest we err on the +side of grandiloquence we may perhaps fall into the opposite error of +tameness. Sincerity will save us here also. Let us but express the +thought and feeling actually in our minds, then our very grandiloquence +(if that is our weakness) will have a certain movement and vivacity not +without effect, and our tameness (if we are tame) will have a +gentleness not without its charm. + +Finally, let us banish from our critical superstitions the notion that +chastity of composition, or simplicity of Style, is in any respect +allied to timidity. There are two kinds of timidity, or rather it has +two different origins, both of which cripple the free movement of +thought. The one is the timidity of fastidiousness, the other of placid +stupidity: the one shrinks from originality lest it should be regarded +as impertinent; the other lest, being new, it should be wrong. We +detect the one in the sensitive discreetness of the style. We detect +the other in the complacency of its platitudes and the stereotyped +commonness of its metaphors. The writer who is afraid of originality +feels himself in deep water when he launches into a commonplace. For +him who is timid because weak, there is no advice, except suggesting +the propriety of silence. For him who is timid because fastidious, +there is this advice: get rid of the superstition about chastity, and +recognise the truth that a style may be simple, even if it move amid +abstractions, or employ few Saxon words, or abound in concrete images +and novel turns of expression. + +III. THE LAW OF SEQUENCE. + +Much that might be included under this head would equally well find its +place under that of Economy or that of Climax. Indeed it is obvious +that to secure perfect Economy there must be that sequence of the words +which will present the least obstacle to the unfolding of the thought, +and that Climax is only attainable through a properly graduated +sequence. But there is another element we have to take into account, +and that is the rhythmical effect of Style. Mr. Herbert Spencer in his +Essay very clearly states the law of Sequence, but I infer that he +would include it entirely under the law of Economy; at any rate he +treats of it solely in reference to intelligibility, and not at all in +its scarcely less important relation to harmony. We have A PRIORI +reasons," he says, "for believing that in every sentence there is one +order of words more effective than any other, and that this order is +the one which presents the elements of the proposition in the +succession in which they may be most readily put together. As in a +narrative, the events should be stated in such sequence that the mind +may not have to go backwards and forwards in order rightly to connect +them; as in a group of sentences, the arrangement should be such that +each of them may be understood as it comes, without waiting for the +subsequent ones; so in every sentence, the sequence of the words should +be that which suggests the constituents of the thought in the order +most convenient for building up that thought." + +But Style appeals to the emotions as well as to the intellect, and the +arrangement of words and sentences which will be the most economical +may not be the most musical, and the most musical may not be the most +pleasurably effective. For Climax and Variety it may be necessary to +sacrifice something of rapid intelligibillty: hence involutions, +antitheses, and suspensions, which disturb the most orderly +arrangement, may yet, in virtue of their own subtle influences, be +counted as improvements on that arrangement. + +Tested by the Intellect and the Feelings, the law of Sequence is seen +to be a curious compound of the two. If we isolate these elements for +the purposes of exposition, we shall find that the principle of the +first is much simpler and more easy of obedience than the principle of +the second. It may be thus stated:-- + +The constituent elements of the conception expressed in the sentence +and the paragraph should be arranged in strict correspondence with an +inductive or a deductive progression. + +All exposition, like all research, is either inductive or deductive. It +groups particulars so as to lead up to a general conception which +embraces them all, but which could not be fully understood until they +had been estimated; or else it starts from some general conception, +already familar to the mind, and as it moves along, casts its light +upon numerous particulars, which are thus shown to be related to it, +but which without that light would have been overlooked. + +If the reader will meditate on that brief statement of the principle, +he will, I think, find it explain many doubtful points. Let me merely +notice one, namely, the dispute as to whether the direct or the +indirect style should be preferred. Some writers insist, and others +practise the precept without insistance, that the proposition should be +stated first, and all its qualifications as well as its evidences be +made to follow; others maintain that the proposition should be made to +grow up step by step with all its evidences and qualifications in their +due order, and the conclusion disclose itself as crowning the whole. +Are not both methods right under different circumstances? If my object +is to convince you of a general truth, or to impress you with a +feeling, which you are not already prepared to accept, it is obvious +that the most effective method is the inductive, which leads your mind +upon a culminating wave of evidence or emotion to the very point I aim +at. But the deductive method is best when I wish to direct the light of +familiar truths and roused emotions, upon new particulars, or upon +details in unsuspected relation to those truths; and when I wish the +attention to be absorbed by these particulars which are of interest in +themselves, not upon the general truths which are of no present +interest except in as far as they light up these details. A growing +thought requires the inductive exposition, an applied thought the +deductive. + +This principle, which is of very wide application, is subject to two +important qualifications--one pressed on it by the necessities of +Climax and Variety, the other by the feebleness of memory, which cannot +keep a long hold of details unless their significance is apprehended; +so that a paragraph of suspended meaning should never be long, and when +the necessities of the case bring together numerous particulars in +evidence of the conclusion, they should be so arranged as to have +culminating force: one clause leading up to another, and throwing its +impetus into it, instead of being linked on to another, and dragging +the mind down with its weight. + +It is surprising how few men understand that Style is a Fine Art; and +how few of those who are fastidious in their diction give much care to +the arrangement of their sentences, paragraphs, and chapters--in a +word, to Composition. The painter distributes his masses with a view to +general effect; so does the musician: writers seldom do so. Nor do they +usually arrange the members of their sentences in that sequence which +shall secure for each its proper emphasis and its determining influence +on the others--influence reflected back and influence projected +forward. As an example of the charm that lies in unostentatious +antiphony, consider this passage from Ruskin:--"Originality in +expression does not depend on invention of new words; nor originality +in poetry on invention of new measures; nor in painting on invention of +new colours or new modes of using them. The chords of music, the +harmonies of colour, the general principles of the arrangement of +sculptural masses, have been determined long ago, and in all +probability cannot be added to any more than they can be altered." Men +write like this by instinct; and I by no means wish to suggest that +writing like this can be produced by rule. What I suggest is, that in +this, as in every other Fine Art, instinct does mostly find itself in +accordance with rule; and a knowledge of rules helps to direct the +blind gropings of feeling, and to correct the occasional mistakes of +instinct. If, after working his way through a long and involved +sentence in which the meaning is rough hewn, the writer were to try its +effect upon ear and intellect, he might see its defects and re-shape it +into beauty and clearness. But in general men shirk this labour, partly +because it is irksome, and partly because they have no distinct +conception of the rules which would make the labour light. + +The law of Sequence, we have seen, rests upon the two requisites of +Clearness and Harmony. Men with a delicate sense of rhythm will +instinctively distribute their phrases in an order that falls agreeably +on the ear, without monotony, and without an echo of other voices; and +men with a keen sense of logical relation will instinctively arrange +their sentences in an order that best unfolds the meaning. The French +are great masters of the law of Sequence, and, did space Permit, I +could cite many excellent examples. One brief passage from Royer +Collard must suffice:--"Les faits que l'observation laisse epars et +muets la causalite les rassemble, les enchaine, leur prete un langage. +Chaque fait revele celui qui a precede, prophetise celui qui va suivre." + +The ear is only a guide to the harmony of a Period, and often tempts us +into the feebleness of expletives or approximative expressions for the +sake of a cadence. Yet, on the other hand, if we disregard the subtle +influences of harmonious arrangement, our thoughts lose much of the +force which would otherwise result from their logical subordination. +The easy evolution of thought in a melodious period, quietly taking up +on its way a variety of incidental details, yet never lingering long +enough over them to divert the attention or to suspend the continuous +crescendo of interest, but by subtle influences of proportion allowing +each clause of the sentence its separate significance, is the product +of a natural gift, as rare as the gift of music, or of poetry. But +until men come to understand that Style is an art, and an amazingly +difficult art, they will continue with careless presumption to tumble +out their sentences as they would lilt stones from a cart, trusting +very much to accident or gravitation for the shapeliness of the result. +I will write a passage which may serve as an example of what I mean, +although the defect is purposely kept within very ordinary limlts-- + +"To construct a sentence with many loosely and not obviously dependent +clauses, each clause containing an important meaning or a concrete +image the vivacity of which, like a boulder in a shallow stream, +disturbs the equable current of thought, and in such a case the more +beautiful the image the greater the obstacle, so that the laws of +simplicity and economy are violated by it,--while each clause really +requires for its interpretation a proposition that is however kept +suspended till the close, is a defect." + +The weariness produced by such writing as this is very great, and yet +the recasting of the passage is easy. Thus:-- + +"It is a defect when a sentence is constructed with many loosely and +not obviously dependent clauses, each of which requires for its +interpretation a preposition that is kept suspended till the close; and +this defect is exaggerated when each clause contains an important +meaning, or a concrete image which, like a boulder in a shallow stream, +disturbs the equable current of thought: the more beautiful the image, +the greater its violation of the laws of simplicity and economy." + +In this second form the sentence has no long suspension of the main +idea, no diversions of the current. The proposition is stated and +illustrated directly, and the mind of the reader follows that of the +writer. How injurious it is to keep the key in your pocket until all +the locks in succession have been displayed may be seen in such a +sentence as this:-- + +"Phantoms of lost power, sudden intuitions and shadowy restorations of +forgotten feelings, sometimes dim and perplexing, sometimes by bright +but furtive glimpses, sometimes by a full and steady revelation +overcharged with light, throw us back in a moment upon scenes and +remembrances that we have left full thirty years behind us." + +Had De Quincey liberated our minds from suspense by first presenting +the thought which first arose in his own mind,--namely, that we are +thrown back upon scenes and remembrances by phantoms of lost power, +&c.--the beauty of his language in its pregnant suggestiveness would +have been felt at once. Instead of that, he makes us accompany him in +darkness, and when the light appears we have to travel backwards over +the ground again to see what we have passed. The passage continues:-- + +"In solitudes, and chiefly in the solitudes of nature, and, above all, +amongst the great and enduring features of nature, such as mountains +and quiet dells, and the lawny recesses of forests, and the silent +shores of lakes--features with which (as being themselves less liable +to change) our feelings have a more abiding associatlon,--under these +circumstances it is that such evanescent hauntings of our forgotten +selves are most apt to startle and waylay us." + +The beauty of this passage seems to me marred by the awkward yet +necessary interruption, "under these circumstances it is," which would +have been avoided by opening the sentence with "such evanescent +hauntings of our forgotten selves are most apt to startle us in +solitudes," &c. Compare the effect of directness in the following:-- + +"This was one of the most common shapes of extinguished power from +which Coleridge fled to the great city. But sometimes the same decay +came back upon his heart in the more poignant shape of intimations and +vanishing glimpses recovered for one moment from the Paradise of youth, +and from fields of joy and power, over which for him too certainly he +felt that the cloud of night was settling for ever." + +Obedience to the law of Sequence gives strength by giving clearness and +beauty of rhythm; it economises force and creates music. A very +trifling disregard of it will mar an effect. See an example both of +obedience and trifling disobedience in the following passage from +Ruskin:-- + +"People speak in this working age, when they speak from their hearts, +as if houses and lands and food and raiment were alone useful, and as +if Sight, Thought, and Admiration were all profitless, so that men +insolently call themselves Utilitarians, who would turn, if they had +their way, themselves and their race into vegetables; men who think, as +far as such can be said to think, that the meat is more than life and +the raiment than the body, who look on earth as a stable and to its +fruit as fodder; vinedressers and husbandmen who love the corn they +grind and the grapes they crush better than the gardens of the angels +upon the slopes of Eden." + +It is instinctive to contrast the dislocated sentence, "who would turn, +if they had their way, themselves and their race," with the sentence +which succeeds it, "men who think, as far as such men can be said to +think, that the meat," &c. In the latter the parenthetic interruption +is a source of power: it dams the current to increase its force; in the +former the inversion is a loss of power: it is a dissonance to the ear +and a diversion of the thought. + +As illustrations of Sequence in composition, two passages may be quoted +from Macaulay which display the power of pictorial suggestions when, +instead of diverting attention from the main purpose, they are arranged +with progressive and culminating effect. + +"Such, or nearly such, was the change which passed on the Mogul empire +during the forty years which followed the death of Aurungzebe. A series +of nominal sovereigns, sunk in indolence and debauchery, sauntered away +life in secluded palaces, chewing bang, fondling dancing girls, and +listening to buffoons. A series of ferocious invaders had descended +through the western passes to prey on the defenceless wealth of +Hindostan. A Persian conqueror crossed the Indus, marched through the +gates of Delhi, and bore away in triumph those treasures of which the +magnificence had astounded Roe and Bernier;--the peacock throne, on +which the richest jewels of Golconda had been disposed by the most +skilful hands of Europe, and the inestimable Mountain of Light, which, +after many strange vicissitudes, lately shone in the bracelet of +Runjeet Sing, and is now destined to adorn the hideous idol of Prista. +The Afghan soon followed to complete the work of devastation which the +Persian had begun. The warlike tribe of Rajpoots threw off the +Mussulman yoke. A band of'mercenary soldiers occupied the Rohilcund. +The Seiks ruled on the Indus. The Jauts spread terror along the Jumnah. +The high lands which border on the western sea-coast of India poured +forth a yet more formidable race--a race which was long the terror of +every native power, and which yielded only after many desperate and +doubtful struggles to the fortune and genius of England. It was under +the reign of Aurungzebe that this wild clan of plunderers first +descended from the mountains; and soon after his death every corner of +his wide empire learned to tremble at the mighty name of the Mahrattas. +Many fertile viceroyalties were entirely subdued by them. Their +dominions stretched across the peninsula from sea to sea. Their +captains reigned at Poonah, at Gualior, in Guzerat, in Berar, and in +Tanjore." + +Such prose as this affects us like poetry. The pictures and suggestions +might possibly have been gathered together by any other historian; but +the artful succession, the perfect sequence, could only have been found +by a fine writer. I pass over a few paragraphs, and pause at this +second example of a sentence simple in structure, though complex in its +elements, fed but not overfed with material, and almost perfect in its +cadence and logical connection. "Scarcely any man, however sagacious, +would have thought it possible that a trading company, separated from +India by fifteen thousand miles of sea, and possessing in India only a +few acres for purposes of commerce, would in less than a hundred years +spread its empire from Cape Comorin to the eternal snows of the +Himalayas--would compel Mahratta and Mahomedan to forget their mutual +feuds in common subjection--would tame down even those wild races which +had resisted the most powerful of the Moguls; and having established a +government far stronger than any ever known in those countries, would +carry its victorious arms far to the east of the Burrampooter, and far +to the west of the Hydaspes--dictate terms of peace at the gates of +Ava, and seat its vassals on the throne of Candahar." + +Let us see the same principle exhibited in a passage at once pictorial +and argumentative. "We know more certainly every day," says Ruskin, +"that whatever appears to us harmful in the universe has some +beneficent or necessary operation; that the storm which destroys a +harvest brightens the sunbeams for harvests yet unsown, and that a +volcano which buries a city preserves a thousand from destruction. But +the evil is not for the time less fearful because we have learned it to +be necessary; and we can easily understand the timidity or the +tenderness of the spirit which could withdraw itself from the presence +of destruction, and create in its imagination a world of which the +peace should be unbroken, in which the sky should not darken nor the +sea rage, in which the leaf should not change nor the blossom wither. +That man is greater, however, who contemplates with an equal mind the +alternations of terror and of beauty; who, not rejoicing less beneath +the sunny sky, can also bear to watch the bars of twilight narrowing on +the horizon; and, not less sensible to the blessing of the peace of +nature, can rejoice in the magnificence of the ordinances by which that +peace is protected and secured. But separated from both by an +immeasurable distance would be the man who delighted in convulsion and +disease for their own sake; who found his daily food in the disorder of +nature mingled with the suffering of humanity; and watched joyfully at +the right hand of the Angel whose appointed work is to destroy as well +as to accuse, while the corners of the house of feasting were struck by +the wind from the wilderness." + +I will now cite a passage from Burke, which will seem tame after the +pictorial animation of the passages from Macaulay and Ruskin; but +which, because it is simply an exposition of opinions addressed to the +understanding, will excellently illustrate the principle I am +enforcing. He is treating of the dethronement of kings. "As it was not +made for common abuses, so it is not to be agitated by common minds. +The speculative line of demarcation, where obedience ought to end and +resistance must begin, is faint, obscure, and not easily definable. It +is not a single act or a single event which determines it. Governments +must be abused and deranged, indeed, before it can be thought of; and +the prospect of the future must be as bad as the experience of the +past. When things are in that lamentable condition, the nature of the +disease is to indicate the remedy to those whom nature has qualified to +administer in extremities this critical, ambiguous, bitter potion to a +distempered state. Times and occasions and provocations will teach +their own lessons. The wise will determine from the gravity of the +case; the irritable from sensibility to oppression; the high-minded +from disdain and indignation at abusive power in unworthy hands; the +brave and bold from love of honourable danger in a generous cause. But +with or without right, a revolution will be the very last resource of +the thinking and the good." + +As a final example I will cite a passage from M. Taine:--"De la encore +cette insolence contre les inferieurs, et ce mepris verse d'etage en +etage depuis le premier jusqu'au dernier. Lorsque dans une societe la +loi consacre les conditions inegales, personne n'est exempt d'insulte; +le grand seigneur, outrage par le roi, outrage le noble qui outrage le +peuple; la nature humaine est humilie a tous les etages, et la societe +n'est plus qu'un commerce d'affronts." + +The law of Sequence by no means prescribes that we should invariably +state the proposition before its qualifications--the thought before its +illustrations; it merely prescribes that we should arrange our phrases +in the order of logical dependence and rhythmical cadence, the order +best suited for clearness and for harmony. The nature of the thought +will determine the one, our sense of euphony the other. + +IV. THE LAW OF CLIMAX. + +We need not pause long over this; it is generally understood. The +condition of our sensibilities is such that to produce their effect +stimulants must be progressive in intensity and varied in kind. On this +condition rest the laws of Climax and Variety. The phrase or image +which in one position will have a mild power of occupying the thoughts, +or stimulating the emotions, loses this power if made to succeed one of +like kind but more agitating influence, and will gain an accession of +power if it be artfully placed on the wave of a climax. We laugh at + +"Then came Dalhousie, that great God of War, +Lieutenant-Colonel to the Earl of Mar," + +because of the relaxation which follows the sudden tension of the mind; +but if we remove the idea of the colonelcy from this position of +anti-climax, the same couplet becomes energetic rather than ludicrous-- + +"Lieutenant-Colonel to the Earl of Mar, +Then came Dalhousie, that great God of War." + +I have selected this strongly marked case, instead of several feeble +passages which might be chosen from the first book at hand, wherein +carelessness allows the sentences to close with the least important, +phrases, and the style droops under frequent anti-climax. Let me now +cite a passage from Macaulay which vividly illustrates the effect of +Climax:-- + +"Never, perhaps, was the change which the progress of civilisation has +produced in the art of war more strikingly illustrated than on that +day. Ajax beating down the Trojan leader with a rock which two ordinary +men could scarcely lift; Horatius defending the bridge against an army; +Richard, the lion-hearted, spurring along the whole Saracen line +without finding an enemy to withstand his assault; Robert Bruce +crushing with one blow the helmet and head of Sir Harry Bohun in sight +of the whole array of England and Scotland,--such are the heroes of a +dark age. [Here is an example of suspended meaning, where the suspense +intensifies the effect, because each particular is vividly apprehended +in itself, and all culminate in the conclusion; they do not complicate +the thought, or puzzle us, they only heighten expectation]. In such an +age bodily vigour is the most indispensable qualification of a warrior. +At Landen two poor sickly beings, who, in a rude state of society, +would have been regarded as too puny to bear any part in combats, were +the souls of two great armies. In some heathen countries they would +have been exposed while infants. In Christendom they would, six hundred +years earlier, have been sent to some quiet cloister. But their lot had +fallen on a time when men had discovered that the strength of the +muscles is far inferior in value to the strength of the mind. It is +probable that among the hundred and twenty thousand soldiers that were +marshalled round Neerwinden, under all the standards of Western Europe, +the two feeblest in body were the hunchbacked dwarf, who urged forward +the fiery onset of France, and the asthmatic skeleton who covered the +slow retreat of England." + +The effect of Climax is very marked in the drama. Every speech, every +scene, every act, should have its progressive sequence. Nothing can be +more injudicious than a trivial phrase following an energetic phrase, a +feeble thought succeeding a burst of passion, or even a passionate +thought succeeding one more passionate. Yet this error is frequently +committed. + +In the drama all laws of Style are more imperious than in fiction or +prose of any kind, because the art is more intense. But Climax is +demanded in every species of composition, for it springs from a +psychological necessity. It is pressed upon, however, by the law of +Variety in a way to make it far from safe to be too rigidly followed. +It easily degenerates into monotony. + +V. THE LAW OF VARIETY. + +Some one, after detailing an elaborate recipe for a salad, wound up the +enumeration of ingredients and quantities with the advice to "open the +window and throw it all away." This advice might be applied to the +foregoing enumeration of the laws of Style, unless these were +supplemented by the important law of Variety. A style which rigidly +interpreted the precepts of economy, simplicity, sequence, and climax, +which rejected all superfluous words and redundant ornaments, adopted +the easiest and most logical arrangement, and closed every sentence and +every paragraph with a climax, might be a very perfect bit of mosaic, +but would want the glow and movement of a living mind. Monotony would +settle on it like a paralysing frost. A series of sentences in which +every phrase was a distinct thought, would no more serve as pabulum for +the mind, than portable soup freed from all the fibrous tissues of meat +and vegetable would serve as food for the body. Animals perish from +hunger in the presence of pure albumen; and minds would lapse into +idiocy in the presence of unadulterated thought. But without invoking +extreme cases, let us simply remember the psychological fact that it is +as easy for sentences to be too compact as for food to be too +concentrated; and that many a happy negligence, which to microscopic +criticism may appear defective, will be the means of giving clearness +and grace to a style. Of course the indolent indulgence in this laxity +robs style of all grace and power. But monotony in the structure of +sentences, monotony of cadence, monotony of climax, monotony anywhere, +necessarily defeats the very aim and end of style; it calls attention +to the manner; it blunts the sensibilities; it renders excellences +odious. + +"Beauty deprived of its proper foils and adjuncts ceases to be enjoyed +as beauty, just as light deprived of all shadow ceases to be enjoyed as +light. A white canvas cannot produce an effect of sunshine; the painter +must darken it in some places before he can make it look luminous in +others; nor can the uninterrupted succession of beauty produce the true +effect of beauty; it must be foiled by inferiority before its own power +can be developed. Nature has for the most part mingled her inferior and +noble elements as she mingles sunshine with shade, giving due influence +to both. The truly high and beautiful art of Angelico is continually +refreshed and strengthened by his frank portraiture of the most +ordinary features of his brother monks, of the recorded peculiarities +of ungainly sanctity; but the modern German and Raphaelesque schools +lose all honour and nobleness in barber-like admiration of handsome +faces, and have in fact no real faith except in straight noses and +curled hair. Paul Veronese opposes the dwarf to the soldier, and the +negress to the queen; Shakspeare places Caliban beside Miranda, and +Autolycus beside Perdita; but the vulgar idealist withdraws his beauty +to the safety of the saloon, and his innocence to the seclusion of the +cloister; he pretends that he does this in delicacy of choice and +purity of sentiment, while in truth he has neither courage to front the +monster nor wit enough to furnish the knave.'' [Ruskin]. + +And how is Variety to be secured? The plan is simple, but like many +other simple plans, is not without difficulty. It is for the writer to +obey the great cardinal principle of Sincerity, and be brave enough to +express himself in his own way, following the mood of his own mind, +rather than endeavouring to catch the accents of another, or to adapt +himself to some standard of taste. No man really thinks and feels +monotonously. If he is monotonous in his manner of setting forth his +thoughts and feelings, that is either because he has not learned the +art of writing, or because he is more or less consciously imitating the +manner of others. The subtle play of thought will give movement and +life to his style if he do not clog it with critical superstitions. I +do not say that it will give him grace and power; I do not say that +relying on perfect sincerity will make him a fine writer, because +sincerity will not give talent; but I say that sincerity will give him +all the power that is possible to him, and will secure him the +inestimable excellence of Variety. + +EDITOR. + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 10420 *** diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..221cb03 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #10420 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/10420) diff --git a/old/10420.txt b/old/10420.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..229649e --- /dev/null +++ b/old/10420.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4464 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Principles of Success in Literature, by +George Henry Lewes + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere 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 + + + + + + + + +Title: The Principles of Success in Literature + +Author: George Henry Lewes + +Release Date: December 9, 2003 [eBook #10420] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: US-ASCII + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PRINCIPLES OF SUCCESS IN +LITERATURE*** + + +THE PRINCIPLES OF SUCCESS IN LITERATURE + +by + +George Henry Lewes + +This eBook was prepared by Roland Cheney. + +In the development of the great series of animal organisms, the Nervous +System assumes more and more of an imperial character. The rank held by +any animal is determined by this character, and not at all by its bulk, +its strength, or even its utility. In like manner, in the development +of the social organism, as the life of nations becomes more complex, +Thought assumes a more imperial character; and Literature, in its +widest sense, becomes a delicate index of social evolution. Barbarous +societies show only the germs of literary life. But advancing +civilisation, bringing with it increased conquest over material +agencies, disengages the mind from the pressure of immediate wants, and +the loosened energy finds in leisure both the demand and the means of a +new activity: the demand, because long unoccupied hours have to be +rescued from the weariness of inaction; the means, because this call +upon the energies nourishes a greater ambition and furnishes a wider +arena. + +Literature is at once the cause and the effect of social progress. It +deepens our natural sensibilities, and strengthens by exercise our +intellectual capacities. It stores up the accumulated experience of the +race, connecting Past and Present into a conscious unity; and with this +store it feeds successive generations, to be fed in turn by them. As +its importance emerges into more general recognition, it necessarily +draws after it a larger crowd of servitors, filling noble minds with a +noble ambition. + +There is no need in our day to be dithyrambic on the glory of +Literature. Books have become our dearest companions, yielding +exquisite delights and inspiring lofty aims. They are our silent +instructors, our solace in sorrow, our relief in weariness. With what +enjoyment we linger over the pages of some well-loved author! With +what gratitude we regard every honest book! Friendships, prefound and +generous, are formed with men long dead, and with men whom we may never +see. The lives of these men have a quite personal interest for us. +Their homes become as consecrated shrines. Their little ways and +familiar phrases become endeared to us, like the little ways and +phrases of our wives and children. + +It is natural that numbers who have once been thrilled with this +delight should in turn aspire to the privilege of exciting it. Success +in Literature has thus become not only the ambition of the highest +minds, it has also become the ambition of minds intensely occupied +with other means of influencing their fellow--with statesmen, +warriors, and rulers. Prime ministers and emperors have striven for +distinction as poets, scholars, critics, and historians. Unsatisfied +with the powers and privileges of rank, wealth, and their conspicuous +position in the eyes of men, they have longed also for the nobler +privilege of exercising a generous sway over the minds and hearts of +readers. To gain this they have stolen hours from the pressure of +affairs, and disregarded the allurements of luxurious ease, labouring +steadfastly, hoping eagerly. Nor have they mistaken the value of the +reward. Success in Literature is, in truth, the blue ribbon of +nobility. + +There is another aspect presented by Literature. It has become a +profession; to many a serious and elevating profession; to many more a +mere trade, having miserable trade-aims and trade-tricks. As in every +other profession, the ranks are thronged with incompetent aspirants, +without seriousness of aim, without the faculties demanded by their +work. They are led to waste powers which in other directions might have +done honest service, because they have failed to discriminate between +aspiration and inspiration, between the desire for greatness and the +consciousness of power. Still lower in the ranks are those who follow +Literature simply because they see no other opening for their +incompetence; just as forlorn widows and ignorant old maids thrown +suddenly on their own resources open a school--no other means of +livelihood seeming to be within their reach. Lowest of all are those +whose esurient vanity, acting on a frivolous levity of mind, urges them +to make Literature a plaything for display. To write for a livelihood, +even on a complete misapprehension of our powers, is at least a +respectable impulse. To play at Literature is altogether inexcusable: +the motive is vanity, the object notoriety, the end contempt. + +I propose to treat of the Principles of Success in Literature, in the +belief that if a clear recognition of the principles which underlie all +successful writing could once be gained, it would be no inconsiderable +help to many a young and thoughtful mind. Is it necessary to guard +against a misconception of my object, and to explain that I hope to +furnish nothing more than help and encouragement? There is help to be +gained from a clear understanding of the conditions of success; and +encouragement to be gained from a reliance on the ultimate victory of +true principles. More than this can hardly be expected from me, even on +the supposition that I have ascertained the real conditions. No one, it +is to be presumed, will imagine that I can have any pretension of +giving recipes for Literature, or of furnishing power and talent where +nature has withheld them. I must assume the presence of the talent, and +then assign the conditions under which that talent can alone achieve +real success, no man is made a discoverer by learning the principles of +scientific Method; but only by those principles can discoveries be +made; and if he has consciously mastered them, he will find them +directing his researches and saving him from an immensity of fruitless +labour. It is something in the nature of the Method of Literature that +I propose to expound. Success is not an accident. All Literature is +founded upon psychological laws, and involves principles which are true +for all peoples and for all times. These principles we are to consider +here. + +II. + +The rarity of good books in every department, and the enormous quantity +of imperfect, insincere books, has been the lament of all times. The +complaint being as old as Literature itself, we may dismiss without +notice all the accusations which throw the burden on systems of +education, conditions of society, cheap books, levity and superficialty +of readers, and analogous causes. None of these can be a VERA CAUSA; +though each may have had its special influence in determining the +production of some imperfect works. The main cause I take to be that +indicated in Goethe's aphorism: "In this world there are so few voices +and so many echoes." Books are generally more deficient in sincerity +than in cleverness. Talent, as will become apparent in the course of +our inquiry, holds a very subordinate position in Literature to that +usually assigned to it. Indeed, a cursory inspection of the Literature +of our day will detect an abundance of remarkable talent---that is, of +intellectual agility, apprehensiveness, wit, fancy, and power of +expression which is nevertheless impotent to rescue "clever writing" +from neglect or contempt. It is unreal splendour; for the most part +mere intellectual fireworks. In Life, as in Literature, our admiration +for mere cleverness has a touch of contempt in it, and is very unlike +the respect paid to character. And justly so. No talent can be +supremely effective unless it act in close alliance with certain moral +qualities. (What these qualities are will be specified hereafter.) + +Another cause, intimately allied with the absence of moral guidance +just alluded to, is MISDIRECTION of talent. Valuable energy is wasted +by being misdirected. Men are constantly attempting, without special +aptitude, work for which special aptitude is indispensable. + +"On peut etre honnete hornme et faire mal des vers." + +A man may be variously accomplished, and yet be a feeble poet. He may +be a real poet, yet a feeble dramatist, he may have dramatic faculty, +yet be a feeble novelist. He may be a good story-teller, yet a shallow +thinker and a slip-shod writer. For success in any special kind of work +it is obvious that a special talent is requisite; but obvious as this +seems, when stated as a general proposition, it rarely serves to check +a mistaken presumption. There are many writers endowed with a certain +susceptibility to the graces and refinements of Literature which has +been fostered by culture till they have mistaken it for native power; +and these men, being really destitute of native power, are forced to +imitate what others have created. They can understand how a man may +have musical sensibility and yet not be a good singer; but they fail to +understand, at least in their own case, how a man may have literary +sensibility, yet not be a good story-teller or an effective dramatist. +They imagine that if they are cultivated and clever, can write what is +delusively called a "brilliant style," and are familiar with the +masterpieces of Literature, they must be more competent to succeed in +fiction or the drama than a duller man, with a plainer style and +slenderer acquaintance with the "best models." Had they distinctly +conceived the real aims of Literature this mistake would often have +been avoided. A recognition of the aims would have pressed on their +attention a more distinct appreciation of the requirements. + +No one ever doubted that special aptitudes were required for music, +mathematics, drawing, or for wit; but other aptitudes not less special +are seldom recognised. It is with authors as with actors: mere delight +in the art deludes them into the belief that they could be artists. +There are born actors, as there are born authors. To an observant eye +such men reveal their native endowments. Even in conversation they +spontaneously throw themselves into the characters they speak of. They +mimic, often quite unconsciously the speech and gesture of the person. +They dramatise when they narrate. Other men with little of this +faculty, but with only so much of it as will enable them to imitate the +tones and gestures of some admired actor, are misled by their vanity +into the belief that they also are actors, that they also could move an +audience as their original moves it. + +In Literature we see a few original writers, and a crowd of imitators: +men of special aptitudes, and men who mistake their power of repeating +with slight variation what others have done, for a power of creating +anew. The imitator sees that it is easy to do that which has already +been done. He intends to improve on it; to add from his own stores +something which the originator could not give; to lend it the lustre of +a richer mind; to make this situation more impressive, and that +character more natural. He is vividly impressed with the imperfections +of the original. And it is a perpetual puzzle to him why the public, +which applauds his imperfect predecessor, stupidly fails to recognise +his own obvious improvements. + +It is from such men that the cry goes forth about neglected genius and +public caprice. In secret they despise many a distinguished writer, and +privately, if not publicly, assert themselves as immeasurably superior. +The success of a Dumas is to them a puzzle and an irritation. They do +not understand that a man becomes distinguished in virtue of some +special talent properly directed; and that their obscurity is due +either to the absence of a special talent, or to its misdirection. They +may probably be superior to Dumas in general culture, or various +ability; it is in particular ability that they are his inferiors. They +may be conscious of wider knowledge, a more exquisite sensibility, and +a finer taste more finely cultivated; yet they have failed to produce +any impression on the public in a direction where the despised +favourite has produced a strong impression. They are thus thrown upon +the alternative of supposing that he has had "the luck" denied to them, +or that the public taste is degraded and prefers trash. Both opinions +are serious mistakes. Both injure the mind that harbours them. + +In how far is success a test of merit? Rigorously considered it is an +absolute test. Nor is such a conclusion shaken by the undeniable fact +that temporary applause is often secured by works which have no lasting +value. For we must always ask, What is the nature of the applause, and +from what circles does it rise? A work which appears at a particular +juncture, and suits the fleeting wants of the hour, flattering the +passions of the hour, may make a loud noise, and bring its author into +strong relief. This is not luck, but a certain fitness between the +author's mind and the public needs. He who first seizes the occasion, +may be for general purposes intrinsically a feebler man than many who +stand listless or hesitating till the moment be passed; but in +Literature, as in Life, a sudden promptitude outrivals vacillating +power. + +Generally speaking, however, this promptitude has but rare occasions +for achieving success. We may lay it down as a rule that no work ever +succeeded, even for a day, but it deserved that success; no work ever +failed but under conditions which made failure inevltable. This will +seem hard to men who feel that in their case neglect arises from +prejudice or stupidity. Yet it is true even in extreme cases; true even +when the work once neglected has since been acknowleged superior to the +works which for a time eclipsed it. Success, temporary or enduring, is +the measure of the relatlon, temporary or enduring, which exists +between a work and the public mind. The millet seed may be +intrinsically less valuable than a pearl; but the hungry cock wisely +neglected the pearl, because pearls could not, and millet seeds could, +appease his hunger. Who shall say how much of the subsequent success of +a once neglected work is due to the preparation of the public mind +through the works which for a time eclipsed it? + +Let us look candidly at this matter. It interests us all; for we have +all more or less to contend against public misconception, no less than +against our own defects. The object of Literature is to instruct, to +animate, or to amuse. Any book which does one of these things +succeeds; any book which does none of these things fails. Failure is +the indication of an inability to perform what was attempted: the aim +was misdirected, or the arm was too weak: in either case the mark has +not been hit. + +"The public taste is degraded." Perhaps so; and perhaps not. But in +granting a want of due preparation in the public, we only grant that +the author has missed his aim. A reader cannot be expected to be +interested in ideas which are not presented intelligibly to him, nor +delighted by art which does not touch him; and for the writer to imply +that he furnishes arguments, but does not pretend to furnish brains to +understand the arguments, is arrogance. What Goethe says about the most +legible handwriting being illegible in the twilight, is doubtless true; +and should be oftener borne in mind by frivolous objectors, who declare +they do not understand this or do not admire that, as if their want of +taste and understanding were rather creditable than otherwise, and were +decisive proofs of an author's insignificance. But this reproof, which +is telling against individuals, has no justice as against the public. +For--and this is generally lost sight of--the public is composed of the +class or classes directly addressed by any work, and not of the +heterogeneous mass of readers. Mathematicians do not write for the +circulating library. Science is not addressed to poets. Philosophy is +meant for students, not for idle readers. If the members of a class do +not understand--if those directly addressed fail to listen, or +listening, fail to recognise a power in the voice--surely the fault +lies with the speaker, who, having attempted to secure their attention +and enlighten their understandings, has failed in the attempt? The +mathematician who is without value to mathematicians, the thinker who +is obscure or meaningless to thinkers, the dramatist who fails to move +the pit, may be wise, may be eminent, but as an author he has failed. +He attempted to make his wisdom and his power operate on the minds of +others. He has missed his mark. MARGARITAS ANTE PORCOS! is the soothing +maxim of a disappointed self-love. But we, who look on, may sometimes +doubt whether they WERE pearls thus ineffectually thrown; and always +doubt the judiciousness of strewing pearls before swine. The prosperity +of a book lies in the minds of readers. Public knowledge and public +taste fluctuate; and there come times when works which were once +capable of instructing and delighting thousands lose their power, and +works, before neglected, emerge into renown. A small minority to whom +these works appealed has gradually become a large minority, and in the +evolution of opinion will perhaps become the majority. No man can +pretend to say that the work neglected today will not be a household +word tomorrow; or that the pride and glory of our age will not be +covered with cobwebs on the bookshelves of our children. Those works +alone can have enduring success which successfully appeal to what is +permanent in human nature--which, while suiting the taste of the day, +contain truths and beauty deeper than the opinions and tastes of the +day; but even temperary success implies a certain temporary fitness. In +Homer, Sophocles, Dante, Shakspeare, Cervantes, we are made aware of +much that no longer accords with the wisdom or the taste of our +day--temporary and immature expressions of fluctuating opinions--but we +are also aware of much that is both true and noble now, and will be so +for ever. + +It is only posterity that can decide whether the success or failure +shall be enduring; for it is only posterity that can reveal whether the +relation now existing between the work and the public mind is or is not +liable to fluctuation. Yet no man really writes for posterity; no man +ought to do so. + +"Wer machte denn der Mitwelt Spass?" + +("Who is to amuse the present?") asks the wise Merry Andrew in +FAUST. We must leave posterity to choose its own idols. There is, +however, this chance in favour of any work which has once achieved +success, that what has pleased one generation may please another, +because it may be based upon a truth or beauty which cannot die; and +there is this chance against any work which has once failed, that its +unfitness may be owing to some falsehood or imperfection which cannot +live. + +III. + +In urging all writers to be steadfast in reliance on the ultimate +victory of excellence, we should no less strenuously urge upon them to +beware of the intemperate arrogance which attributes failure to a +degraded condition of the public mind. The instinct which leads the +world to worship success is not dangerous. The book which succeeds +accomplishes its aim. The book which fails may have many excellencies, +but they must have been misdirected. Let us, however, understand what +is meant by failure. From want of a clear recognition of this meaning, +many a serious writer has been made bitter by the reflection that +shallow, feeble works have found large audiences, whereas his own work +has not paid the printing expenses. He forgets that the readers who +found instruction and amusement in the shallow books could have found +none in his book, because he had not the art of making his ideas +intelligible and attractive to them, or had not duly considered what +food was assimilable by their minds. It is idle to write in +hieroglyphics for the mass when only priests can read the sacred +symbols. + +No one, it is hoped, will suppose that by what is here said I +countenance the notion which is held by some authors--a notion implying +either arrogant self-sufficiency or mercenary servility--that to +succeed, a man should write down to the public. Quite the reverse. To +succeed, a man should write up to his ideal. He should do his very +best; certain that the very best will still fall short of what the +public can appreciate. He will only degrade his own mind by putting +forth works avowedly of inferior quality; and will find himself greatly +surpassed by writers whose inferior workmanship has nevertheless the +indefinable aspect of being the best they can produce. The man of +common mind is more directly in sympathy with the vulgar public, and +can speak to it more intelligibly, than any one who is condescending to +it. If you feel yourself to be above the mass, speak so as to raise the +mass to the height of your argument. It may be that the interval is too +great. It may be that the nature of your arguments is such as to demand +from the audience an intellectual preparation, and a habit of +concentrated continuity of thought, which cannot be expected from a +miscellaneous assembly. The scholarship of a Scaliger or the philosophy +of a Kant will obviously require an audience of scholars and +philosophers. And in cases where the nature of the work limits the +class of readers, no man should complain if the readers he does not +address pass him by to follow another. He will not allure these by +writing down to them; or if he allure them, he will lose those who +properly constitute his real audience. + +A writer misdirects his talent if he lowers his standard of excellence. +Whatever he can do best let him do that, certain of reward in +proportion to his excellence. The reward is not always measurable by +the number of copies sold; that simply measures the extent of his +public. It may prove that he has stirred the hearts and enlightened the +minds of many. It may also prove, as Johnson says, "that his nonsense +suits their nonsense." The real reward of Literature is in the sympathy +of congenial minds, and is precious in proportion to the elevation of +those minds, and the gravity with which such sympathy moves: the +admiration of a mathematician for the MECANIQUE CELESTE, for example, +is altogether higher in kind than the admiration of a novel reader for +the last "delightful story." And what should we think of Laplace if he +were made bitter by the wider popularity of Dumas? Would he forfeit the +admiration of one philosopher for that of a thousand novel readers? + +To ask this question is to answer it; yet daily experience tells us +that not only in lowering his standard, but in running after a +popularity incompatible with the nature of his talent, does many a +writer forfeit his chance of success. The novel and the drama, by +reason of their commanding influence over a large audience, often +seduce writers to forsake the path on which they could labour with some +success, but on which they know that only a very small audience can be +found; as if it were quantity more than quality, noise rather than +appreciation, which their mistaken desires sought. Unhappily for them, +they lose the substance, and only snap at the shadow. The audience may +be large, but it will not listen to them. The novel may be more popular +and more lucrative, when successful, than the history or the essay; but +to make it popular and lucrative the writer needs a special talent, and +this, as was before hinted, seems frequently forgotten by those who +take to novel writing. Nay, it is often forgotten by the critics; they +being, in general, men without the special talent themselves, set no +great value on it. They imagine that Invention may be replaced by +culture, and that clever "writing" will do duty for dramatic power. +They applaud the "drawing" of a character, which drawing turns out on +inspection to be little more than an epigrammatic enumeration of +particularities, the character thus "drawn" losing all individuality as +soon as speech and action are called upon. Indeed, there are two +mistakes very common among reviewers: one is the overvaluation of what +is usually considered as literary ability ("brilliant writing" it is +called; "literary tinsel" would be more descriptive) to the prejudice +of Invention and Individuality; the other is the overvaluation of what +they call "solid acquirements," which really mean no more than an +acquaintance with the classics. As a fact, literary ability and solid +acquirements are to be had in abundance; invention, humour, and +originality are excessively rare. It may be a painful reflection to +those who, having had a great deal of money spent on their education, +and having given a great deal of time to their solid aquirements, now +see genius and original power of all kinds more esteemed than their +learning; but they should reflect that what is learning now is only the +diffused form of what was once invention. "Solid acquirement" is the +genius of wits become the wisdom of reviewers. + +IV. + +Authors are styled an irritable race, and justly, if the epithet be +understood in its physiological rather than its moral sense. This +irritability, which responds to the slightest stimulus, leads to much +of the misdirection of talent we have been considering. The greatness +of an author consists in having a mind extremely irritable, and at the +same time steadfastly imperial:--irritable that no stimulus may be +inoperative, even in its most evanescent solicitations; imperial, that +no solicitation may divert him from his deliberately chosen aims. A +magisterial subjection of all dispersive influences, a concentration of +the mind upon the thing that has to be done, and a proud renunciation +of all means of effect which do not spontaneously connect themselves +with it--these are the rare qualities which mark out the man of genius. +In men of lesser calibre the mind is more constantly open to +determination from extrinsic influences. Their movement is not +self-determined, self-sustained. In men of still smaller calibre the +mind is entirely determined by extrinsic influences. They are prompted +to write poems by no musical instinct, but simply because great poems +have enchanted the world. They resolve to write novels upon the +vulgarest provocations: they see novels bringing money and fame; they +think there is no difficulty in the art. The novel will afford them an +opportunity of bringing in a variety of scattered details; scraps of +knowledge too scanty for an essay, and scraps of experience too meagre +for independent publication. Others, again, attempt histories, or works +of popular philosophy and science; not because they have any special +stores of knowledge, or because any striking novelty of conception +urges them to use up old material in a new shape, but simply because +they have just been reading with interest some work of history or +science, and are impatient to impart to others the knowledge they have +just acquired for themselves. Generally it may be remarked that the +pride which follows the sudden emancipation of the mind from ignorance +of any subject, is accompanied by a feeling that all the world must be +in the state of darkness from which we have ourselves emerged. It is +the knowledge learned yesterday which is most freely imparted today. + +We need not insist on the obvious fact of there being more irritability +than mastery, more imitation than creation, more echoes than voices in +the world of Literature. Good writers are of necessity rare. But the +ranks would be less crowded with incompetent writers if men of real +ability were not so often misdirected in their aims. My object is to +decree, if possible, the Principles of Success--not to supply recipes +for absent power, but to expound the laws through which power is +efficient, and to explain the causes which determine success in exact +proportion to the native power on the one hand, and to the state of +public opinion on the other. + +The laws of Literature may be grouped under three heads. Perhaps we +might say they are three forms of one principle. They are founded on +our threefold nature--intellectual, moral, and aesthetic. + +The intellectual form is the PRINCIPLE OF VISION. + +The moral form is the PRINCIPLE OF SINCERITY. + +The aesthetic form is the PRINCIPLE OF BEAUTY. + +It will be my endeavour to give definite significance, in succeeding +chapters, to these expressions, which, standing unexplained and +unillustrated, probably convey very little meaning. We shall then see +that every work, no matter what its subject-matter, necessarily +involves these three principles in varying degrees; and that its +success is always strictly in accordance with its conformity to the +guidance of these principles. + +Unless a writer has what, for the sake of brevity, I have called +Vision, enabling him to see clearly the facts or ideas, the objects or +relations, which he places before us for our own instruction, his work +must obviously be defective. He must see clearly if we are to see +clearly. Unless a writer has Sincerity, urging him to place before us +what he sees and believes as he sees and believes it, the defective +earnestness of his presentation will cause an imperfect sympathy in us. +He must believe what he says, or we shall not believe it. Insincerity +is always weakness; sincerity even in error is strength. This is not so +obvious a principle as the first; at any rate it is one more profoundly +disregarded by writers. + +Finally, unless the writer has grace--the principle of Beauty I have +named it--enabling him to give some aesthetic charm to his +presentation, were it only the charm of well-arranged material, and +well-constructed sentences, a charm sensible through all the +intricacies of COMPOSITION and of STYLE, he will not do justice to his +powers, and will either fail to make his work acceptable, or will very +seriously limit its success. The amount of influence issuing from this +principle of Beauty will, of course, be greatly determined by the more +or less aesthetic nature of the work. + +Books minister to our knowledge, to our guidance, and to our delight, +by their truth, their uprightness, and their art. Truth is the aim of +Literature. Sincerity is moral truth. Beauty is aesthetic truth. How +rigorously these three principles determine the success of all works +whatever, and how rigorously every departure from them, no matter how +slight, determines proportional failure, with the inexorable sequence +of a physical law, it will be my endeavour to prove in the chapters +which are to follow. + +EDITOR. + + +CHAPTER II + +THE PRINCIPLE OF VISION. + +All good Literature rests primarily on insight. All bad Literature +rests upon imperfect insight, or upon imitation, which may be defined +as seeing at second-hand. + +There are men of clear insight who never become authors: some, because +no sufficient solicitation from internal or external impulses makes +them bond their energies to the task of giving literary expression to +their thoughts; and some, because they lack the adequate powers of +literary expression. But no man, be his felicity and facility of +expression what they may, ever produces good Literature unless he sees +for himself, and sees clearly. It is the very claim and purpose of +Literature to show others what they failed to see. Unless a man sees +this clearly for himself how can he show it to others? + +Literature delivers tidings of the world within and the world without. +It tells of the facts which have been witnessed, reproduces the +emotions which have been felt. It places before the reader symbols +which represent the absent facts, or the relations of these to other +facts; and by the vivid presentation of the symbols of emotion kindles +the emotive sympathy of readers. The art of selecting the fitting +symbols, and of so arranging them as to be intelligible and kindling, +distinguishes the great writer from the great thinker; it is an art +which also relies on clear insight. + +The value of the tidings brought by Literature is determined by their +authenticity. At all times the air is noisy with rumours, but the real +business of life is transacted on clear insight and authentic speech. +False tidings and idle rumours may for an hour clamorously usurp +attention, because they are believed to be true; but the cheat is soon +discovered, and the rumour dies. In like manner Literature which is +unauthentic may succeed as long as it is believed to be true: that is, +so long as our intellects have not discovered the falseness of its +pretensions, and our feelings have not disowned sympathy with its +expressions. These may be truisms, but they are constantly disregarded. +Writers have seldom any steadfast conviction that it is of primary +necessity for them to deliver tidings about what they themselves have +seen and felt. Perhaps their intimate consciousness assures them that +what they have seen or felt is neither new nor important. It may not be +new, it may not be intrinsically important; nevertheless, if authentic, +it has its value, and a far greater value than anything reported by +them at second-hand. We cannot demand from every man that he have +unusual depth of insight or exceptional experience; but we demand of +him that he give us of his best, and his best cannot be another's. The +facts seen through the vision of another, reported on the witness of +another, may be true, but the reporter cannot vouch for them. Let the +original observer speak for himself. Otherwise only rumours are set +afloat. If you have never seen an acid combine with a base you cannot +instructively speak to me of salts; and this, of course, is true in a +more emphatic degree with reference to more complex matters. + +Personal experience is the basis of all real Literature. The writer +must have thought the thoughts, seen the objects (with bodily or mental +vision), and felt the feelings; otherwise he can have no power over us. +Importance does not depend on rarity so much as on authenticity. The +massacre of a distant tribe, which is heard through the report of +others, falls far below the heart-shaking effect of a murder committed +in our presence. Our sympathy with the unknown victim may originally +have been as torpid as that with the unknown tribe; but it has been +kindled by the swift and vivid suggestions of details visible to us as +spectators; whereas a severe and continuous effort of imagination is +needed to call up the kindling suggestions of the distant massacre. + +So little do writers appreciate the importance of direct vision and +experience, that they are in general silent about what they themselves +have seen and felt, copious in reporting the experience of others. Nay, +they are urgently prompted to say what they know others think, and what +consequently they themselves may be expected to think. They are as if +dismayed at their own individuality, and suppress all traces of it in +order to catch the general tone. Such men may, indeed, be of service in +the ordinary commerce of Literature as distributors. All I wish to +point out is that they are distributors, not producers. The commerce +may be served by second-hand reporters, no less than by original seers; +but we must understand this service to be commercial and not literary. +The common stock of knowledge gains from it no addition. The man who +detects a new fact, a new property in a familiar substance, adds to the +science of the age; but the man who expounds the whole system of the +universe on the reports of others, unenlightened by new conceptions of +his own, does not add a grain to the common store. Great writers may +all be known by their solicitude about authenticity. A common incident, +a simple phenomenon, which has been a part of their experience, often +undergoes what may be called "a transfiguration" in their souls, and +issues in the form of Art; while many world-agitating events in which +they have not been acters, or majestic phenomena of which they were +never spectators, are by them left to the unhesitating incompetence of +writers who imagine that fine subjects make fine works. Either the +great writer leaves such materials untouched, or he employs them as the +vehicle of more cherished, because more authenticated tidings,--he +paints the ruin of an empire as the scenic background for his picture +of the distress of two simple hearts. The inferior writer, because he +lays no emphasis on authenticity, cannot understand this avoidance of +imposing themes. Condemned by naive incapacity to be a reporter, and +not a seer, he hopes to shine by the reflected glory of his subjects. +It is natural in him to mistake ambitious art for high art. He does not +feel that the best is the highest. + +I do not assert that inferior writers abstain from the familiar and +trivial. On the contrary, as imitators, they imitate everything which +great writers have shown to be sources of interest. But their bias is +towards great subjects. They make no new ventures in the direction of +personal experience. They are silent on all that they have really seen +for themselves. Unable to see the deep significance of what is common, +they spontaneously turn towards the uncommon. + +There is, at the present day, a fashion in Literature, and in Art +generally, which is very deporable, and which may, on a superficial +glance, appear at variance with what has just been said. The fashion is +that of coat-and-waistcoat realism, a creeping timidity of invention, +moving almost exclusively amid scenes of drawing-room existence, with +all the reticences and pettinesses of drawing-room conventions. Artists +have become photographers, and have turned the camera upon the +vulgarities of life, instead of representing the more impassioned +movements of life. The majority of books and pictures are addressed to +our lower faculties; they make no effort as they have no power to stir +our deeper emotions by the contagion of great ideas. Little that makes +life noble and solemn is reflected in the Art of our day; to amuse a +languid audience seems its highest aim. Seeing this, some of my readers +may ask whether the artists have not been faithful to the law I have +expounded, and chosen to paint the small things they have seen, rather +than the great things they have not seen? The answer is simple. For the +most part the artists have not painted what they have seen, but have +been false and conventional in their pretended realism. And whenever +they have painted truly, they have painted successfully. The +authenticity of their work has given it all the value which in the +nature of things such work could have. Titian's portrait of "The Young +Man with a Glove" is a great work of art, though not of great art. It +is infinitely higher than a portrait of Cromwell, by a painter unable +to see into the great soul of Cromwell, and to make us see it; but it +is infinitely lower than Titian's "Tribute Money," "Peter the Martyr," +or the "Assumption." Tennyson's "Northern Farmer" is incomparably +greater as a poem than Mr. Bailey's ambitious "Festus;" but the +"Northern Farmer" is far below "Ulysses" or "Guinevere," because moving +on a lower level, and recording the facts of a lower life. + +Insight is the first condition of Art. Yet many a man who has never +been beyond his village will be silent about that which he knows well, +and will fancy himself called upon to speak of the tropics or the +Andes---on the reports of others. Never having seen a greater man than +the parson and the squire and not having seen into them--he selects +Cromwell and Plato, Raphael and Napoleon, as his models, in the vain +belief that these impressive personalities will make his work +impressive. Of course I am speaking figuratively. By "never having been +beyond his village," I understand a mental no less than topographical +limitation. The penetrating sympathy of genius will, even from a +village, traverse the whole world. What I mean is, that unless by +personal experience, no matter through what avenues, a man has gained +clear insight into the facts of life, he cannot successfully place them +before us; and whatever insight he has gained, be it of important or of +unimportant facts, will be of value if truly reproduced. No sunset is +precisely similar to another, no two souls are affected by it in a +precisely similar way. Thus may the commonest phenomenon have a +novelty. To the eye that can read aright there is an infinite variety +even in the most ordinary human being. But to the careless +indiscriminating eye all individuality is merged in a misty generality. +Nature and men yield nothing new to such a mind. Of what avail is it +for a man to walk out into the tremulous mists of morning, to watch the +slow sunset, and wait for the rising stars, if he can tell us nothing +about these but what others have already told us---if he feels nothing +but what others have already felt? Let a man look for himself and tell +truly what he sees. We will listen to that. We must listen to it, for +its very authenticity has a subtle power of compulsion. What others +have seen and felt we can learn better from their own lips. + +II. + +I have not yet explained in any formal manner what the nature of that +insight is which constitutes what I have named the Principle of Vision; +although doubtless the reader has gathered its meaning from the remarks +already made. For the sake of future applications of the principle to +the various questions of philosophical criticism which must arise in +the course of this inquiry, it may be needful here to explain (as I +have already explained elsewhere) how the chief intellectual +operations--Perception, Inference, Reasoning, and Imagination--may be +viewed as so many forms of mental vision. + +Perception, as distinguished from Sensation, is the presentation before +Consciousness of the details which once were present in conjunction +with the object at this moment affecting Sense. These details are +inferred to be still in conjunction with the object, although not +revealed to Sense. Thus when an apple is perceived by me, who merely +see it, all that Sense reports is of a certain coloured surface: the +roundness, the firmness, the fragrance, and the taste of the apple are +not present to Sense, but are made present to Consciousness by the act +of Perception. The eye sees a certain coloured surface; the mind sees +at the same instant many other co-existent but unapparent facts--it +reinstates in their due order these unapparent facts. Were it not for +this mental vision supplying the deficiencies of ocular vision, the +coloured surface would be an enigma. But the suggestion of Sense +rapidly recalls the experiences previously associated with the object. +The apparent facts disclose the facts that are unapparent. + +Inference is only a higher form of the same process. We look from the +window, see the dripping leaves and the wet ground, and infer that rain +has fallen. It is on inferences of this kind that all knowledge +depends. The extension of the known to the unknown, of the apparent to +the unapparent, gives us Science. Except in the grandeur of its sweep, +the mind pursues the same course in the interpretation of geological +facts as in the interpretation of the ordinary incidents of daily +experience. To read the pages of the great Stone Book, and to perceive +from the wet streets that rain has recently fallen, are forms of the +same intellectual process. In the one case the inference traverses +immeasurable spaces of time, connecting the apparent facts with causes +(unapparent facts) similar to those which have been associated in +experience with such results; in the other case the inference connects +wet streets and swollen gutters with causes which have been associated +in experience with such results. Let the inference span with its mighty +arch a myriad of years, or link together the events of a few minutes, +in each case the arch rises from the ground of familiar facts, and +reaches an antecedent which is known to be a cause capable of producing +them. + +The mental vision by which in Perception we see the unapparent +details---i.e, by which sensations formerly co-existing with the one +now affecting us are reinstated under the form of ideas which REPRESENT +the objects--is a process implied in all Ratiocination, which also +presents an IDEAL SERIES, such as would be a series of sensations, if +the objects themselves were before us. A chain of reasoning is a chain +of inferences: IDEAL presentations of objects and relations not +apparent to Sense, or not presentable to Sense. Could we realise all +the links in this chain, by placing the objects in their actual order +as a VISIBLE series, the reasoning would be a succession of +perceptions. Thus the path of a planet is seen by reason to be an +ellipse. It would be perceived as a fact, if we were in a proper +position and endowed with the requisite means of following the planet +in its course; but not having this power, we are reduced to infer the +unapparent points in its course from the points which are apparent. We +see them mentally. Correct reasoning is the ideal assemblage of objects +in their actual order of co-existence and succession. It is seeing with +the mind's eye. False reasoning is owing to some misplacement of the +order of objects, or to the omission of some links in the chain, or to +the introduction of objects not properly belonging to the series. It is +distorted or defective vision. The terrified traveller sees a +highwayman in what is really a sign-post in the twilight; and in the +twilight of knowledge, the terrified philosopher sees a Pestilence +foreshadowed by an eclipse. + +Let attention also be called to one great source of error, which is +also a great source of power, namely, that much of our thinking is +carried on by signs instead of images. We use words as signs of +objects; these suffice to carry on the train of inference, when very +few images of the objects are called up. Let any one attend to his +thoughts and he will be surprised to find how rare and indistinct in +general are the images of objects which arise before his mind. If he +says "I shall take a cab and get to the railway by the shortest cut," +it is ten to one that he forms no image of cab or railway, and but a +very vague image of the streets through which the shortest cut will +lead. Imaginative minds see images where ordinary minds see nothing but +signs: this is a source of power; but it is also a source of weakness; +for in the practical affairs of life, and in the theoretical +investigations of philosophy, a too active imagination is apt to +distract the attention and scatter the energies of the mind. + +In complex trains of thought signs are indispensable. The images, when +called up, are only vanishing suggestions: they disappear before they +are more than half formed. And yet it is because signs are thus +substituted for images (paper transacting the business of money) that +we are so easily imposed upon by verbal fallacies and meaningless +phrases. A scientific man of some eminence was once taken in by a wag, +who gravely asked him whether he had read Bunsen's paper on the +MALLEABILITY of light. He confessed that he had not read it: "Bunsen +sent it to me, but I've not had time to look into it." + +The degree in which each mind habitually substitutes signs for images +will be, CETERIS PARIBUS, the degree in which it is liable to error. +This is not contradicted by the fact that mathematical, astronomical, +and physical reasonings may, when complex, be carried on more +suecessfully by the employment of signs; because in these cases the +signs themselves accurately represent the abstractness of the +relations. Such sciences deal only with relations, and not with +objects; hence greater simplification ensures greater accuracy. But no +sooner do we quit this sphere of abstractions to enter that of concrete +things, than the use of symbols becomes a source of weakness. Vigorous +and effective minds habitually deal with concrete images. This is +notably the case with poets and great literates. Their vision is keener +than that of other men. However rapid and remote their flight of +thought, it is a succession of images, not of abstractions. The details +which give significance, and which by us are seen vaguely as through a +vanishing mist, are by them seen in sharp outlines. The image which to +us is a mere suggestion, is to them almost as vivid as the object. And +it is because they see vividly that they can paint effectively. + +Most readers will recognise this to be true of poets, but will doubt +its application to philosophers, because imperfect psychology and +unscientific criticism have disguised the identity of intellectual +processes until it has become a paradox to say that imagination is not +less indispensable to the philosopher than to the poet. The paradox +falls directly we restate the proposition thus: both poet and +philosopher draw their power from the energy of their mental vision--an +energy which disengages the mind from the somnolence of habit and from +the pressure of obtrusive sensations. In general men are passive under +Sense and the routine of habitual inferences. They are unable to free +themselves from the importunities of the apparent facts and apparent +relations which solicit their attention; and when they make room for +unapparent facts it is only for those which are familiar to their +minds. Hence they can see little more than what they have been taught +to see; they can only think what they have been taught to think. For +independent vision, and original conception, we must go to children and +men of genius. The spontaneity of the one is the power of the other. +Ordinary men live among marvels and feel no wonder, grow familiar with +objects and learn nothing new about them. Then comes an independent +mind which sees; and it surprises us to find how servile we have been +to habit and opinion, how blind to what we also might have seen, had we +used our eyes. The link, so long hidden, has now been made visible to +us. We hasten to make it visible to others. But the flash of light +which revealed that obscured object does not help us to discover +others. Darkness still conceals much that we do not even suspect. We +continue our routine. We always think our views correct and complete; +if we thought otherwise they would cease to be our views; and when the +man of keener insight discloses our error, and reveals relations +hitherto unsuspected, we learn to see with his eyes and exclaim: "Now +surely we have got the truth." + +III. + +A child is playing with a piece of paper and brings it near the flame +of a candle; another child looks on. Both are completely absorbed by +the objects, both are ignorant or oblivious of the relation between the +combustible object and the flame: a relation which becomes apparent +only when the paper is alight. What is called the thoughtlessness of +childhood prevents their seeing this unapparent fact; it is a fact +which has not been sufficiently impressed upon their experience so as +to form an indissoluble element in their conception of the two in +juxtaposition. Whereas in the mind of the nurse this relation is so +vividly impressed that no sooner does the paper approach the flame than +the unapparent fact becomes almost as visible as the objects, and a +warning is given. She sees what the children do not, or cannot see. It +has become part of her organised experience. + +The superiority of one mind over another depends on the rapidity with +which experiences are thus organised. The superiority may be general or +special: it may manifest itself in a power of assimilating very various +experiences, so as to have manifold relations familiar to it, or in a +power of assimilating very special relations, so as to constitute a +distinctive aptitude for one branch of art or science. The experience +which is thus organised must of course have been originally a direct +object of consciousness, either as an impressive fact or impressive +inference. Unless the paper had been seen to burn, no one could know +that contact with flame would consume it. By a vivid remembrance the +experience of the past is made available to the present, so that we do +not need actually to burn paper once more,--we see the relation +mentally. In like manner Newton did not need to go through the +demonstrations of many complex problems, they flashed upon him as he +read the propositions; they were seen by him in that rapid glance, as +they would have been made visible through the slower process of +demonstration. A good chemist does not need to test many a proposition +by bringing actual gases or acids into operation, and seeing the +result; he FORESEES the result: his mental vision of the objects and +their properties is so keen, his experience is so organised, that the +result which would be visible in an experiment, is visible to him in an +intuition. A fine poet has no need of the actual presence of men and +women under the fluctuating impatience of emotion, or under the +steadfast hopelessness of grief; he needs no setting sun before his +window, under it no sullen sea. These are all visible, and their +fluctuations are visible. He sees the quivering lip, the agitated soul; +he hears the aching cry, and the dreary wash of waves upon the beach. + +The writer who pretends to instruct us should first assure himself that +he has clearer vision of the things he speaks of,--knows them and their +qualities, if not better than we, at least with some distinctive +knowledge. Otherwise he should announce himself as a mere echo, +a middleman, a distributor. Our need is for more light. This can be +given only by an independent seer who + +"Lends a precious seeing to the eye." + +All great authors are seers. "Perhaps if we should meet Shakspeare," +says Emerson, "we should not be conscious of any steep inferiority: no, +but of great equality; only he possessed a strange skill of using, of +classifying his facts, which we lacked. For, notwithstanding our utter +incapacity to preduce anything like HAMLET or OTHELLO, we see the +perfect reception this wit and immense knowledge of life and liquid +eloquence find in us all." This aggrandisement of our common stature +rests on questionable ground. If our capacity of being moved by +Shakspeare discloses a community, our incapacity of producing HAMLET no +less discloses our inferiority. It is certain that could we meet +Shakspeare we should find him strikingly like ourselves---with the same +faculties, the same sensibilities, though not in the same degree. The +secret of his power over us lies, of course, in our having the capacity +to appreciate him. Yet we seeing him in the unimpassioned moods of +daily life, it is more than probable that we should see nothing in him +but what was ordinary; nay, in some qualities he would seem inferior. +Heroes require a perspective. They are men who look superhuman only +when elevated on the pedestals of their achievements. In ordinary life +they look like ordinary men; not that they are of the common mould, but +seem so because their uncommon qualities are not then called forth. +Superiority requires an occasion. The common man is helpless in an +emergency: assailed by contradictory suggestions, or confused by his +incapacity, he cannot see his way. The hour of emergency finds a hero +calm and strong, and strong because calm and clear-sighted; he sees +what can be done, and does it. This is often a thing of great +simplicity, so that we marvel others did not see it. Now it has been +done, and proved successful, many underrate its value, thinking that +they also would have done precisely the same thing. The world is more +just. It refuses to men unassailed by the difficulties of a situation +the glory they have not earned. The world knows how easy most things +appear when they have once been done. We can all make the egg stand on +end after Columbus. + +Shakspeare, then, would probably not impress us with a sense of our +inferiority if we were to meet him tomorrow. Most likely we should be +bitterly disappointed; because, having formed our conception of him as +the man who wrote HAMLET and OTHELLO we forget that these were not the +preducts of his ordinary moods, but the manifestations of his power at +white heat. In ordinary moods he must be very much as ordinary men, and +it is in these we meet him. How notorious is the astonishment of +friends and associates when any man's achievements suddenly emerge into +renown. "They could never have believed it." Why should they? Knowing +him only as one of their circle, and not being gifted with the +penetration which discerns a latent energy, but only with the vision +which discerns apparent results, they are taken by surprise. Nay, so +biased are we by superficial judgments, that we frequently ignore the +palpable fact of achieved excellence simply because we cannot reconcile +it with our judgment of the man who achieved it. The deed has been +done, the work written, the picture painted; it is before the world, +and the world is ringing with applause. There is no doubt whatever that +the man whose name is in every mouth did the work; but because our +personal impressions of him do not correspond with our conceptions of a +powerful man, we abate or withdraw our admiration, and attribute his +success to lucky accident. This blear-eyed, taciturn, timid man, whose +knowledge of many things is manifestly imperfect, whose inaptitude for +many things is apparent, can HE be the creator of such glorious works? +Can HE be the large and patient thinker, the delicate humourist, the +impassioned poet? Nature seems to have answered this question for us; +yet so little are we inclined to accept Nature's emphatic testimony on +this point, that few of us ever see without disappointment the man +whose works have revealed his greatness. + +It stands to reason that we should not rightly appreciate Shakspeare if +we were to meet him simply because we should meet him as an ordinary +man, and not as the author of HAMLET. Yet if we had a keen insight we +should detect even in his quiet talk the marks of an original mind. We +could not, of course, divine, without evidence, how deep and clear his +insight, how mighty his power over grand representative symbols, how +prodigal his genius: these only could appear on adequate occasions. But +we should notice that he had an independent way of looking at things. +He would constantly bring before us some latent fact, some unsuspected +relation, some resemblance between dissimilar things. We should feel +that his utterances were not echoes. If therefore, in these moments of +equable serenity, his mind glancing over trivial things saw them with +great clearness, we might infer that in moments of intense activity his +mind gazing steadfastly on important things, would see wonderful +visions, where to us all was vague and shifting. During our quiet walk +with him across the fields he said little, or little that was +memorable; but his eye was taking in the varying forms and relations of +objects, and slowly feeding his mind with images. The common hedge-row, +the gurgling brook, the waving corn, the shifting cloud-architecture, +and the sloping uplands, have been seen by us a thousand times, but +they show us nothing new; they have been seen by him a thousand times, +and each time with fresh interest, and fresh discovery. If he describe +that walk he will surprise us with revelations: we can then and +thereafter see all that he points out; but we needed his vision to +direct our own. And it is one of the incalculable influences of poetry +that each new revelation is an education of the eye and the feelings. +We learn to see and feel Nature in a far clearer and profounder way, +now that we have been taught to look by poets. The incurious +unimpassioned gaze of the Alpine peasant on the scenes which +mysteriously and profoundly affect the cultivated tourist, is the gaze +of one who has never been taught to look. The greater sensibility of +educated Europeans to influences which left even the poetic Greeks +unmoved, is due to the directing vision of successive poets. + +The great difficulty which besets us all--Shakspeares and others, but +Shakspeares less than others---is the difficulty of disengaging the +mind from the thraldom of sensation and habit, and escaping from the +pressure of objects immediately present, or of ideas which naturally +emerge, linked together as they are by old associations. We have to see +anew, to think anew. It requires great vigour to escape from the old +and spontaneously recurrent trains of thought. And as this vigour is +native, not acquired, my readers may, perhaps, urge the futility of +expounding with so much pains a principle of success in Literature +which, however indispensable, must be useless as a guide; they may +object that although good Literature rests on insight, there is nothing +to be gained by saying "unless a man have the requisite insight he will +not succeed." But there is something to be gained. In the first place, +this is an analytical inquiry into the conditions of success: it aims +at discriminating the leading principles which inevitably determine +success. In the second place, supposing our analysis of the conditions +to be correct, practical guidance must follow. We cannot, it is true, +gain clearness of vision simply by recognising its necessity; but by +recognising its necessity we are taught to seek for it as a primary +condition of success; we are forced to come to an understanding with +ourselves as to whether we have or have not a distinct vision of the +thing we speak of, whether we are seers or reporters, whether the ideas +and feelings have been thought and felt by us as part and parcel of our +own individual experience, or have been echoed by us from the books and +conversation of others? We can always ask, are we painting farm-houses +or fairies because these are genuine visions of our own, or only +because farm-houses and fairies have been successfully painted by +others, and are poetic material? + +The man who first saw an acid redden a vegetable-blue, had something to +communicate; and the man who first saw (mentally) that all acids redden +vegetable-blues, had something to communicate. But no man can do this +again. In the course of his teaching he may have frequently to report +the fact; but this repetition is not of much value unless it can be +made to disclose some new relation. And so of other and more complex +cases. Every sincere man can determine for himself whether he has any +authentic tidings to communicate; and although no man can hope to +discover much that is actually new, he ought to assure himself that +even what is old in his work has been authenticated by his own +experience. He should not even speak of acids reddening vegetable-blues +upon mere hearsay, unless he is speaking figuratively. All his facts +should have been verified by himself, all his ideas should have been +thought by himself. In proportion to the fulfilment of this condition +will be his success; in proportion to its non-fulfilment, his failure. + +Literature in its vast extent includes writers of three different +classes, and in speaking of success we must always be understood to +mean the acceptance each writer gains in his own class; otherwise a +flashy novelist might seem more successful than a profound poet; a +clever compiler more successful than an original discoverer. + +The Primary Class is composed of the born seers--men who see for +themselves and who originate. These are poets, philosophers, +discoverers. The Secondary Class is composed of men less puissant in +faculty, but genuine also in their way, who travel along the paths +opened by the great originaters, and also point out many a side-path +and shorter cut. They reproduce and vary the materials furnished by +others, but they do this, not as echoes only, they authenticate their +tidings, they take care to see what the discoverers have taught them to +see, and in consequence of this clear vision they are enabled to +arrange and modify the materials so as to produce new results. The +Primary Class is composed of men of genius; the Secondary Class of men +of talent. It not unfrequently happens, especially in philosophy and +science, that the man of talent may confer a lustre on the original +invention; he takes it up a nugget and lays it down a coin. Finally, +there is the largest class of all, comprising the Imitators in Art, and +the Compilers in Philosophy. These bring nothing to the general stock. +They are sometimes (not often) useful; but it is as cornfactors, not as +corn-growers. They sometimes do good service by distributing knowledge +where otherwise it might never penetrate; but in general their work is +more hurtful than beneficial: hurtful, because it is essentially bad +work, being insincere work, and because it stands in the way of better +work. + +Even among Imitaters and Compilers there are almost infinite degrees of +merit and demerit: echoes of echoes reverberating echoes in endless +succession; compilations of all degrees of worth and worthlessness. +But, as will be shown hereafter, even in this lower sphere the worth of +the work is strictly proportional to the Vision, Sincerity, and Beauty; +so that an imitator whose eye is keen for the forms he imitates, whose +speech is honest, and whose talent has grace, will by these very +virtues rise almost to the Secondary Class, and will secure an +honourable success. + +I have as yet said but little, and that incidentally, of the part +played by the Principle of Vision in Art. Many readers who will admit +the principle in Science and Philosophy, may hesitate in extending it +to Art, which, as they conceive, draws its inspirations from the +Imagination. Properly understood there is no discrepancy between the +two opinions; and in the next chapter I shall endeavour to show how +Imagination is only another form of this very Principle of Vision which +we have been considering. + +EDITOR. + +CHAPTER III + +OF VISION IN ART. + +There are many who will admit, without hesitation, that in Philosophy +what I have called the Principle of Vision holds an important rank, +because the mind must necessarily err in its speculations unless it +clearly sees facts and relations; but there are some who will hesitate +before admitting the principle to a similar rank in Art, because, as +they conceive, Art is independent of the truth of facts, and is swayed +by the autocratic power of Imagination. + +It is on this power that our attention should first be arrested; the +more so because it is usually spoken of in vague rhapsodical language, +with intimations of its being something peculiarly mysterious. There +are few words more abused. The artist is called a creator, which in one +sense he is; and his creations are said to be produced by processes +wholly unallied to the creations of Philosophy, which they are not. +Hence it is a paradox to speak of the "Principia," as a creation +demanding severe and continuous exercise of the imagination; but it is +only a paradox to those who have never analysed the processes of +artistic and philosophic creation. + +I am far from desiring to innovate in language, or to raise +interminable discussions respecting the terms in general use. +Nevertheless we have here to deal with questions that lie deeper than +mere names. We have to examine processes, and trace, if possible, the +methods of intellectual activity pursued in all branches of Literature; +and we must not suffer our course to be obstructed by any confusion in +terms that can be cleared up. We may respect the demarcations +established by usage, but we must ascertain, if possible, the +fundamental affinities. There is, for instance, a broad distinction +between Science and Art, which, so far from requiring to be effaced, +requires to be emphasised: it is that in Science the paramount appeal +is to the Intellect---its purpose being instruction; in Art, the +paramount appeal is to the Emotions--its purpose being pleasure. A work +of Art must of course indirectly appeal to the Intellect, and a work of +Science will also indirectly appeal to the Feelings; nevertheless a +poem on the stars and a treatise on astronomy have distinct aims and +distinct methods. But having recognised the broadly-marked differences, +we are called upon to ascertain the underlying resemblances. Logic and +Imagination belong equally to both. It is only because men have been +attracted by the differences that they have overlooked the not less +important affinities. Imagination is an intellectual process common to +Philosophy and Art; but in each it is allied with different processes, +and directed to different ends; and hence, although the "Principia" +demanded an imagination of not less vivid and sustained power than was +demanded by "Othello," it would be very false psychology to infer that +the mind of Newton was competent to the creation of "Othello," or the +mind of Shakspeare capable of producing the "Principia." They were +specifically different minds; their works were specifically different. +But in both the imagination was intensely active. Newton had a mind +predominantly ratiocinative: its movement was spontaneously towards the +abstract relations of things. Shakspeare had a mind predominantly +emotive, the intellect always moving in alliance with the feelings, and +spontaneously fastening upon the concrete facts in preference to their +abstract relations. Their mental Vision was turned towards images of +different orders, and it moved in alliance with different faculties; +but this Vision was the cardinal quality of both. Dr. Johnson was +guilty of a surprising fallacy in saying that a great mathematician +might also be a great poet: "Sir, a man can walk east as far as he can +walk west." True, but mathematics and poetry do not differ as east and +west; and he would hardly assert that a man who could walk twenty miles +could therefore swim that distance. + +The real state of the case is somewhat obscured by our observing that +many men of science, and some even eminent as teachers and reporters, +display but slender claims to any unusual vigour of imagination. It +must be owned that they are often slightly dull; and in matters of Art +are not unfrequently blockheads. Nay, they would themselves repel it as +a slight if the epithet "imaginative" were applied to them; it would +seem to impugn their gravity, to cast doubts upon their accuracy. But +such men are the cisterns, not the fountains, of Science. They rely +upon the knowledge already organised; they do not bring accessions to +the common stock. They are not investigators, but imitators; they are +not discoverers--inventors. No man ever made a discovery (he may have +stumbled on one) without the exercise of as much imagination as, +employed in another direction and in alliance with other faculties, +would have gone to the creation of a poem. Every one who has seriously +investigated a novel question, who has really interrogated Nature with +a view to a distinct answer, will bear me out in saying that it +requires intense and sustained effort of imagination. The relations of +sequence among the phenomena must be seen; they are hidden; they can +only be seen mentally; a thousand suggestions rise before the mind, but +they are recognised as old suggestions, or as inadequate to reveal what +is sought; the experiments by which the problem may be solved have to +be imagined; and to imagine a good experiment is as difficult as to +invent a good fable, for we must have distinctly PRESENT--clear mental +vision--the known qualities and relations of all the objects, and must +see what will be the effect of introducing some new qualifying agent. +If any one thinks this is easy, let him try it: the trial will teach +him a lesson respecting the methods of intellectual activity not +without its use. Easy enough, indeed, is the ordinary practice of +experiment, which is either a mere repetition or variation of +experiments already devised (as ordinary story-tellers re-tell the +stories of others), or else a haphazard, blundering way of bringing +phenomena together, to see what will happen. To invent is another +process. The discoverer and the poet are inventors; and they are so +because their mental vision detects the unapparent, unsuspected facts, +almost as vividly as ocular vision rests on the apparent and familiar. + +It is the special aim of Philosophy to discover and systematise the +abstract relations of things; and for this purpose it is forced to +allow the things themselves to drop out of sight, fixing attention +solely on the quality immediately investigated, to the neglect of all +other qualities. Thus the philosopher, having to appreciate the mass, +density, refracting power, or chemical constitution of some object, +finds he can best appreciate this by isolating it from every other +detail. He abstracts this one quality from the complex bundle of +qualities which constitute the object, and he makes this one stand for +the whole. This is a necessary simplification. If all the qualities +were equally present to his mind, his vision would be perplexed by +their multiple suggestions. He may follow out the relations of each in +turn, but he cannot follow them out together. + +The aim of the poet is very different. He wishes to kindle the emotions +by the suggestion of objects themselves; and for this purpose he must +present images of the objects rather than of any single quality. It is +true that he also must exercise a power of abstraction and selection, +tie cannot without confusion present all the details. And it is here +that the fine selective instinct of the true artist shows itself, in +knowing what details to present and what to omit. Observe this: the +abstraction of the philosopher is meant to keep the object itself, with +its perturbing suggestions, out of sight, allowing only one quality to +fill the field of vision; whereas the abstraction of the poet is meant +to bring the object itself into more vivid relief, to make it visible +by means of the selected qualities. In other words, the one aims at +abstract symbols, the other at picturesque effects. The one can carry +on his deductions by the aid of colourless signs, X or Y. The other +appeals to the emotions through the symbols which will most vividly +express the real objects in their relations to our sensibilities. + +Imagination is obviously active in both. From known facts the +philosopher infers the facts that are unapparent. He does so by an +effort of imagination (hypothesis) which has to be subjected to +verification: he makes a mental picture of the unapparent fact, and +then sets about to prove that his picture does in some way correspond +with the reality. The correctness of his hypothesis and verification +must depend on the clearness of his vision. Were all the qualities of +things apparent to Sense, there would be no longer any mystery. A +glance would be Science. But only some of the facts are visible; and it +is because we see little, that we have to imagine much. We see a +feather rising in the air, and a quill, from the same bird, sinking to +the ground: these contradictory reports of sense lead the mind astray; +or perhaps excite a desire to know the reason. We cannot see,--we must +imagine,--the unapparent facts. Many mental pictures may be formed, but +to form the one which corresponds with the reality requires great +sagacity and a very clear vision of known facts. In trying to form this +mental picture we remember that when the air is removed the feather +fails as rapidly as the quill, and thus we see that the air is the +cause of the feather's rising; we mentally see the air pushing under +the feather, and see it almost as plainly as if the air were a visible +mass thrusting the feather upwards. + +From a mistaken appreciation of the real process this would by few be +called an effort of Imagination. On the contrary some "wild hypothesis" +would be lauded as imaginative in proportion as it departed from all +suggestion of experience, i.e. real mental vision. To have imagined +that the feather rose owing to its "specific lightness," and that the +quill fell owing to its "heaviness," would to many appear a more +decided effort of the imaginative faculty. Whereas it is no effort of +that faculty at all; it is simply naming differently the facts it +pretends to explain. To imagine---to form an image--we must have the +numerous relations of things present to the mind, and see the objects +in their actual order. In this we are of course greatly aided by the +mass of organised experience, which allows us rapidly to estimate the +relations of gravity or affinity just as we remember that fire burns +and that heated bodies expand. But be the aid great or small, and the +result victorious or disastrous, the imaginative process is always the +same. + +There is a slighter strain on the imagination of the poet, because of +his greater freedom. He is not, like the philosopher, limited to the +things which are, or were. His vision includes things which might be, +and things which never were. The philosopher is not entitled to assume +that Nature sympathises with man; he must prove the fact to be so if he +intend making any use of it ;--we admit no deductions from unproved +assumptions. But the poet is at perfect liberty to assume this; and +having done so, he paints what would be the manifestations of this +sympathy. The naturalist who should describe a hippogriff would incur +the laughing scorn of Europe; but the poet feigns its existence, and +all Europe is delighted when it rises with Astolfo in the air. We never +pause to ask the poet whether such an animal exists. He has seen it, +and we see it with his eyes. Talking trees do not startle us in Virgil +and Tennyson. Puck and Titania, Hamlet and Falstaff, are as true for us +as Luther and Napoleon so long as we are in the realm of Art. We grant +the poet a free privilege because he will use it only for our pleasure. +In Science pleasure is not an object, and we give no licence. + +Philosophy and Art both render the invisible visible by imagination. +Where Sense observes two isolated objects, Imagination discloses two +related objects. This relation is the nexus visible. We had not seen it +before; it is apparent now. Where we should only see a calamity the +poet makes us see a tragedy. Where we could only see a sunrise he +enables us to see + +"Day like a mighty river flowing in." + +Imagination is not the exclusive appanage of artists, but belongs in +varying degrees to all men. It is simply the power of forming images. +Supplying the energy of Sense where Sense cannot reach, it brings into +distinctness the facts, obscure or occult, which are grouped round an +object or an idea, but which are not actually present to Sense. Thus, +at the aspect of a windmill, the mind forms images of many +characteristic facts relating to it; and the kind of images will depend +very much on the general disposition, or particular mood, of the mind +affected by the object: the painter, the poet, and the moralist will +have different images suggested by the presence of the windmill or its +symbol. There are indeed sluggish minds so incapable of self-evolved +activity, and so dependent on the immediate suggestions of Sense, as to +be almost destitute of the power of forming distinct images beyond the +immediate circle of sensuous associations; and these are rightly named +unimaginative minds; but in all minds of energetic activity, groups and +clusters of images, many of them representing remote relations, +spontaneously present themselves in conjunction with objects or their +symbols. It should, however, be borne in mind that Imagination can only +recall what Sense has previously impressed. No man imagines any detail +of which he has not previously had direct or indirect experience. +Objects as fictitious as mermaids and hippogriffs are made up from the +gatherings of Sense. + +"Made up from the gatherings of Sense" is a phrase which may seem to +imply some peculiar plastic power such as is claimed exclusively for +artists: a power not of simple recollection, but of recollection and +recombination. Yet this power belongs also to philosophers. To combine +the half of a woman with the half of a fish,--to imagine the union as +an existing organism,--is not really a different process from that of +combining the experience of a chemical action with an electric action, +and seeing that the two are one existing fact. When the poet hears the +storm-cloud muttering, and sees the moonlight sleeping on the bank, he +transfers his experience of human phenomena to the cloud and the +moonlight: he personifies, draws Nature within the circle of emotion, +and is called a poet. When the philosopher sees electricity in the +storm-cloud, and sees the sunlight stimulating vegetable growth, he +transfers his experience of physical phenomena to these objects, and +draws within the circle of Law phenomena which hitherto have been +unclassified. Obviously the imagination has been as active in the one +case as in the other; the DIFFERENTIA lying in the purposes of the two, +and in the general constltution of the two minds. + +It has been noted that there is less strain on the imagination of the +poet; but even his greater freedom is not altogether disengaged from +the necessity of verification; his images must have at least subjective +truth; if they do not accurately correspond with objective realities, +they must correspond with our sense of congruity. No poet is allowed +the licence of creating images inconsistent with our conceptions. If he +said the moonlight burnt the bank, we should reject the image as +untrue, inconsistent with our conceptions of moonlight; whereas the +gentle repose of the moonlight on the bank readily associates itself +with images of sleep. + +The often mooted question, What is Imagination? thus receives a very +clear and definite answer. It is the power of forming images; it +reinstates, in a visible group, those objects which are invisible, +either from absence or from imperfection of our senses. That is its +generic character. Its specific character, which marks it off from +Memory, and which is derived from the powers of selection and +recombination, will be expounded further on. Here I only touch upon its +chief characteristic, in order to disengage the term from that +mysteriousness which writers have usually assigned to it, thereby +rendering philosophic criticism impossible. Thus disengaged it may be +used with more certainty in an attempt to estimate the imaginative +power of various works. + +Hitherto the amount of that power has been too frequently estimated +according to the extent of DEPARTURE from ordinary experience in the +images selected. Nineteen out of twenty would unhesitatingly declare +that a hippogriff was a greater effort of imagination than a +well-conceived human character; a Peri than a woman; Puck or Titania +than Falstaff or Imogen. A description of Paradise extremely unlike any +known garden must, it is thought, necessarily be more imaginative than +the description of a quiet rural nook. It may be more imaginative; it +may be less so. All depends upon the mind of the poet. To suppose that +it must, because of its departure from ordinary experience, is a +serious error. The muscular effort required to draw a cheque for a +thousand pounds might as reasonably be thought greater than that +required for a cheque of five pounds; and much as the one cheque seems +to surpass the other in value, the result of presenting both to the +bankers may show that the more modest cheque is worth its full five +pounds, whereas the other is only so much waste paper. The description +of Paradise may be a glittering farrago; the description of the +landscape may be full of sweet rural images: the one having a glare of +gaslight and Vauxhall splendour; the other having the scent of new-mown +hay. + +A work is imaginative in virtue of the power of its images over our +emotions; not in virtue of any rarity or surprisingness in the images +themselves. A Madonna and Child by Fra Angelico is more powerful over +our emotions than a Crucifixion by a vulgar artist; a beggar-boy by +Murillo is more imaginative than an Assumption by the same painter; but +the Assumption by Titian displays far greater imagination than elther. +We must guard against the natural tendency to attribute to the artist +what is entirely due to accidental conditions. A tropical scene, +luxuriant with tangled overgrowth and impressive in the grandeur of its +phenomena, may more decisively arrest our attention than an English +landscape with its green corn lands and plenteous homesteads. But this +superiority of interest is no proof of the artist's superior +imagination; and by a spectator familiar with the tropics, greater +interest may be felt in the English landscape, because its images may +more forcibly arrest his attentlon by their novelty. And were this not +so, were the inalienable impressiveness of tropical scenery always to +give the poet who described it a superiority in effect, this would not +prove the superiority of his imagination. For either he has been +familiar with such scenes, and imagines them just as the other poet +imagines his English landscape---by an effort of mental vision, calling +up the absent objects; or he has merely read the descriptions of +others, and from these makes up his picture. It is the same with his +rival, who also recalls and recombines. Foolish critics often betray +their ignorance by saying that a painter or a writer "only copies what +he has seen, or puts down what he has known." They forget that no man +imagines what he has not seen or known, and that it is in the SELECTION +OF THE CHARACTERISTIC DETAILS that the artistic power is manifested. +Those who suppose that familiarity with scenes or characters enables a +painter or a novelist to "copy" them with artistic effect, forget the +well-known fact that the vast majority of men are painfully incompetent +to avail themselves of this familiarity, and cannot form vivid pictures +even to themselves of scenes in which they pass their daily lives; and +if they could imagine these, they would need the delicate selective +instinct to guide them in the admission and omission of details, as +well as in the grouping of the images. Let any one try to "copy" the +wife or brother he knows so well,--to make a human image which shall +speak and act so as to impress strangers with a belief in its +truth,--and he will then see that the much-despised reliance on actual +experience is not the mechanical procedure it is believed to be. When +Scott drew Saladin and Ceaur de Lion he did not really display more +imaginative power than when he drew the Mucklebackits, although the +majority of readers would suppose that the one demanded a great effort +of imagination, whereas the other formed part of his familiar +experiences of Scottish life. The mistake here lies in confounding the +sources from which the materials were derived with the plastic power of +forming these materials into images. More conscious effort may have +been devoted to the collection of the materials in the one case than in +the other, but that this has nothing to do with the imaginative power +employed may readily be proved by an analysis of the intellectual +processes of composition. Scott had often been in fishermen's cottages +and heard them talk; from the registered experience of a thousand +details relating to the life of the poor, their feelings and their +thoughts, he gained that material upon which his imagination could +work; in the case of Saladin and Ceaur de Lion he had to gain these +principally through books and his general experience of life; and the +images he formed--the vision he had of Mucklebackit and Saladin--must +be set down to his artistic faculty, not to his experience or erudition. + +It has been well said by a very imaginative writer, that "when a poet +floats in the empyrean, and only takes a bird's-eye view of the earth, +some people accept the mere fact of his soaring for sublimity, and +mistake his dim vision of earth for proximity to heaven." And in like +manner, when a thinker frees himself from all the trammels of fact, and +propounds a "bold hypothesis," people mistake the vagabond erratic +flights of guessing for a higher range of philosophic power. In truth, +the imagination is most tasked when it has to paint pictures which +shall withstand the silent criticism of general experience, and to +frame hypotheses which shall withstand the confrontation with facts. I +cannot here enter into the interesting question of Realism and Idealism +in Art, which must be debated in a future chapter; but I wish to call +special attention to the psychological fact, that fairies and demons, +remote as they are from experience, are not created by a more vigorous +effort of imagination than milk maids and poachers. The intensity of +vision in the artist and of vividness in his creations are the sole +tests of his imaginative power. + +II. + +If this brief exposition has carried the reader's assent, he will +readily apply the principle, and recognise that an artist produces an +effect in virtue of the distinctness with which he sees the objects he +represents, seeing them not vaguely as in vanishing apparitions, but +steadily, and in their most characteristic relations. To this Vision he +adds artistic skill with which to make us see. He may have clear +conceptions, yet fail to make them clear to us: in this case he has +imagination, but is not an artist. Without clear Vision no skill can +avail. Imperfect Vision necessitates imperfect representation; words +take the place of ideas. + +In Young's "Night Thoughts" there are many examples of the +PSEUDO-imaginative, betraying an utter want of steady Vision. Here is +one:-- + +"His hand the good man fixes on the skies, +And bids earth roll, nor feels the idle whirl." + +"Pause for a moment," remarks a critic, "to realise the image, and the +monstrous absurdity of a man's grasping the skies and hanging +habitually suspended there, while he contemptuously bids earth roll, +warns you that no genuine feeling could have suggested so unnatural a +conception." [WESTMINSTER REVIEW, No. cxxxi., p. 27]. It is obvious +that if Young had imagined the position he assigned to the good man he +would have seen its absurdity; instead of imagining, he allowed the +vague transient suggestion of half-nascent images to shape themselves +in verse. + +Now compare with this a passage in which imagination is really active. +Wordsworth recalls how-- + +" In November days +When vapours rolling down the valleys made +A lonely scene more lonesome; among the woods +At noon; and mid the calm of summer nights, +When by the margin of the trembling lake +Beneath the gloomy hills homeward I went +In solitude, such intercourse was mine." + +There is nothing very grand or impressive in this passage, and +therefore it is a better illustration for my purpose. Note how happily +the one image, out of a thousand possible images by which November +might be characterised, is chosen to call up in us the feeling of the +lonely scene; and with what delicate selection the calm of summer +nights, the "trembling lake" (an image in an epithet), and the gloomy +hills, are brought before us. His boyhood might have furnished him with +a hundred different pictures, each as distinct as this; the power is +shown in selecting this one--painting it so vividly. He continues:-- + +"'Twas mine among the fields both day and night +And by the waters, all the summer long. +And in the frosty season, when the sun +Was set, and, visible for many a mile +The cottage windows through the twilight blazed, +I heeded not the summons: happy time +It was indeed for all of us; for me +It was a time of rapture! Clear and loud +The village clock tolled six--I wheeled about, +Proud and exulting like an untired horse +That cares not for his home. All shod with steel +We hissed along the polished ice, in games +Confederate, imitative of the chase +And woodland pleasures--the resounding horn, +The pack loud-chiming and the hunted hare." + +There is nothing very felicitous in these lines; yet even here the +poet, if languid, is never false. As he proceeds the vision brightens, +and the verse becomes instinct with life:-- + +"So through the darkness and the cold we flew +And not a voice was idle: with the din +Smitten, the precipices rang aloud; +THE LEAFLESS TREES AND EVERY ICY CRAG +TINKLED LIKE IRON; WHILE THE DISTANT HILLS +INTO THE TUMULT SENT AN ALIEN SOUND +OF MELANCHOLY, not unnoticed while the stars +Eastward were sparkling clear, and in the west +The orange sky of evening died away. + +"Not seldom from the uproar I retired +Into a silent bay, or sportively +Glanced sideway, leaving the tumultuous throng, +TO CUT ACROSS THE REFLEX OF A STAR; +IMAGE THAT FLYING STILL BEFORE ME gleamed +Upon the glassy plain: and oftentime +When we had given our bodies to the wind +AND ALL THE SHADOWY BANKS ON EITHER SIDE +CAME CREEPING THROUGH THE DARKNESS, spinning still +The rapid line of motion, then at once +Have I reclining back upon my heels +Stopped short; yet still the solitary cliffs +Wheeled by me--even as if the earth had rolled +With visible motion her diurnal round! +Behind me did they stretch in solemn train, +Feebler and feebler, and I stood and watched +Till all was tranquil as a summer sea." + +Every poetical reader will feel delight in the accuracy with which the +details are painted, and the marvellous clearness with which the whole +scene is imagined, both in its objective and subjective relations, +i.e., both in the objects seen and the emotions they suggest. + +What the majority of modern verse writers call "imagery," is not the +product of imagination, but a restless pursuit of comparison, and a lax +use of language. Instead of presenting us with an image of the object, +they present us with something which they tell us is like the +object---which it rarely is. The thing itself has no clear significance +to them, it is only a text for the display of their ingenuity. If, +however, we turn from poetasters to poets, we see great accuracy in +depicting the things themselves or their suggestions, so that we may be +certain the things presented themselves in the field of the poet's +vision, and were painted because seen. The images arose with sudden +vivacity, or were detained long enough to enable their characters to be +seized. It is this power of detention to which I would call particular +notice, because a valuable practical lesson may be learned through a +proper estimate of it. If clear Vision be indispensable to success in +Art, all means of securing that clearness should be sought. Now one +means is that of detaining an image long enough before the mind to +allow of its being seen in all its characteristics. The explanation +Newton gave of his discovery of the great law, points in this +direction; it was by always thinking of the subject, by keeping it +constantly before his mind, that he finally saw the truth. Artists +brood over the chaos of their suggestions, and thus shape them into +creations. Try and form a picture in your own mind of your early +skating experience. It may be that the scene only comes back upon you +in shifting outlines, you recall the general facts, and some few +particulars are vivid, but the greater part of the details vanish again +before they can assume decisive shape; they are but half nascent, or +die as soon as born: a wave of recollection washes over the mind, but +it quickly retires, leaving no trace behind. This is the common +experience. Or it may be that the whole scene flashes upon you with +peculiar vividness, so that you see, almost as in actual presence, all +the leading characteristics of the picture. Wordsworth may have seen +his early days in a succession of vivid flashes, or he may have +attained to his distinctness of vision by a steadfast continuity of +effort, in which what at first was vague became slowly definite as he +gazed. It is certain that only a very imaginative mind could have seen +such details as he has gathered together in the lines describing how he + +"Cut across the reflex of a star; +Image that flying still before me gleamed +Upon the glassy plain." + +The whole description may have been written with great rapidity, or +with anxious and tentative labour: the memories of boyish days may have +been kindled with a sudden illumination, or they may have grown slowly +into the requisite distinctness, detail after detail emerging from the +general obscurity, like the appearing stars at night. But whether the +poet felt his way to images and epithets, rapidly or slowly, is +unimportant; we have to do only with the result; and the result +implies, as an absolute condition, that the images were distinct. Only +thus could they serve the purposes of poetry, which must arouse in us +memories of similar scenes, and kindle emotions of pleasurable +experience. + +III. + +Having cited an example of bad writing consequent on imperfect Vision, +and an example of good writing consequent on accurate Vision, I might +consider that enough had been done for the immediate purpose of the +present chapter; the many other illustrations which the Principle of +Vision would require before it could be considered as adequately +expounded, I must defer till I come to treat of the application of +principles. But before closing this chapter it may be needful to +examine some arguments which have a contrary tendency, and imply, or +seem to imply, that distinctness of Vision is very far from necessary. + +At the outset we must come to an understanding as to this word "image," +and endeavour to free the word "vision" from all equivoque. If these +words were understood literally there would be an obvious absurdity in +speaking of an image of a sound, or of seeing an emotion. Yet if by +means of symbols the effect of a sound is produced in us, or the +psychological state of any human being is rendered intelligible to us, +we are said to have images of these things, which the poet has +imagined. It is because the eye is the most valued and intellectual of +our senses that the majority of metaphors are borrowed from its +sensations. Language, after all, is only the use of symbols, and Art +also can only affect us through symbols. If a phrase can summon a +terror resembling that summoned by the danger which it indicates, a man +is said to see the danger. Sometimes a phrase will awaken more vivid +images of danger than would be called up by the actual presence of the +dangerous object; because the mind will more readily apprehend the +symbols of the phrase than interpret the indications of unassisted +sense. + +Burke in his "Essay on the Sublime and Beautiful," lays down the +proposition that distinctness of imagery is often injurious to the +effect of art. "It is one thing," he says, "to make an idea clear, +another to make it AFFECTING to the imagination. If I make a drawing of +a palace or a temple or a landscape, I present a very clear idea of +those objects; but then (allowing for the effect of imitation, which is +something) my picture can at most affect only as the palace, temple, or +landscape would have affected in reality. On the other hand the most +lively and spirited verbal description I can give raises a very obscure +and imperfect IDEA of such objects; but then it is in my power to raise +a stronger EMOTION by the description than I can do by the best +painting. This experience constantly evinces. The proper manner of +conveying the AFFECTIONS of the mind from one to the other is by words; +there is great insufficiency in all other method of communication; and +so far is a clearness of imagery, from being absolutely necessary to an +influence upon the passions, that they may be considerably operated +upon without presenting any image at all, by certain sounds adapted to +that purpose." If by image is meant only what the eye can see, Burke is +undoubtedly right. But this is obviously not our restricted meaning of +the word when we speak of poetic imagery; and Burke's error becomes +apparent when he proceeds to show that there "are reasons in nature why +an obscure idea, when properly conveyed, should be more affecting than +the clear." He does not seem to have considered that the idea of an +indefinite object can only be properly conveyed by indefinite images; +any image of Eternity or Death that pretended to visual distinctness +would be false. Having overlooked this, he says, "We do not anywhere +meet a more sublime description than this justly celebrated one of +Milton, wherein he gives the portrait of Satan with a dignity so +suitable to the subject. + +"He above the rest +In shape and gesture proudly eminent +Stood like a tower; his form had not yet lost +All her original brightness, nor appeared +Less than archangel ruined and the excess +Of glory obscured: as when the sun new risen +Looks through the horizontal misty air +Shorn of his beams; or from behind the moon +In dim eclipse disastrous twilight sheds +On half the nations; and with fear of change +Perplexes monarchs." + +"Here is a very noble picture," adds Burke, "and in what does this +poetical picture consist? In images of a tower, an archangel, the sun +rising through mists, or an eclipse, the ruin of monarchs, and the +revolution of kingdoms." Instead of recognising the imagery here as the +source of the power, he says, "The mind is hurried out of itself, +[rather a strange result!], by a crowd of great and confused images; +which affect because they are crowded and confused For, separate them, +and you lose much of the greatness; and join them, and you infallibly +lose the clearness." This is altogether a mistake. The images are vivid +enough to make us feel the hovering presence of an awe-inspiring figure +having the height and firmness of a tower, and the dusky splendour of a +ruined archangel. The poet indicates only that amount of concreteness +which is necessary for the clearness of the picture,---only the height +and firmness of the tower and the brightness of the sun in eclipse. +More concretness would disturb the clearness by calling attention to +irrelevant details. To suppose that these images produce the effect +because they are crowded and confused (they are crowded and not +confused) is to imply that any other images would do equally well, if +they were equally crowded. "Separate them, and you lose much of the +greatness." Quite true: the image of the tower would want the splendour +of the sun. But this much may be said of all descriptions which proceed +upon details. And so far from the impressive clearness of the picture +vanishing in the crowd of images, it is by these images that the +clearness is produced: the details make it impressive, and affect our +imagination. + +It should be added that Burke came very near a true explanation in the +following passage:--"It is difficult to conceive how words can move the +passions which belong to real objects without representing these +objects clearly. This is difficult to us because we do not sufficiently +distinguish between a clear expression and a strong expression. The +former regards the understanding; the latter belongs to the passions. +The one describes a thing as it is, the other describes it as it is +felt. Now as there is a moving tone of voice, an impassioned +countenance, an agitated gesture, which affect independently of the +things about which they are exerted, so there are words and certain +dispositions of words which being peculiarly devoted to passionate +subjects, and always used by those who are under the influence of +passion, touch and move us more than those which far more clearly and +distinctly express the subject-matter." Burke here fails to see that +the tones, looks, and gestures are the intelligible symbols of +passion--the "images' in the true sense just as words are the +intelligible symbols of ideas. The subject-matter is as clearly +expressed by the one as by the other; for if the description of a Lion +be conveyed in the symbols of admiration or of terror, the +subject-matter is THEN a Lion passionately and not zoologically +considered. And this Burke himself was led to admit, for he adds, "We +yield to sympathy what we refuse to description. The truth is, all +verbal description, merely as naked description, though never so exact, +conveys so poor and insufficient an idea of the thing described, that +it could scarcely have the smallest eflfect if the speaker did not call +in to his aid those modes of speech that work a strong and lively +feeling in himself. Then, by the contagion of our passions, we catch a +fire already kindled in another." This is very true, and it sets +clearly forth the fact that naked description, addressed to the calm +understanding, has a different subject-matter from description +addressed to the feelings, and the symbols by which it is made +intelligible must likewise differ. But this in no way impugns the +principle of Vision. Intelligible symbols (clear images) are as +necessary in the one case as in the other. + +IV. + +By reducing imagination to the power of forming images, and by +insisting that no image can be formed except out of the elements +furnished by experience, I do not mean to confound imagination with +memory; indeed, the frequent occurrence of great strength of memory +with comparative feebleness of imagination, would suffice to warn us +against such a conclusion. + +Its specific character, that which marks it off from simple memory, is +its tendency to selection, abstraction, and recombination. Memory, as +passive, simply recalls previous experiences of objects and emotions; +from these, imagination, as an active faculty, selects the elements +which vividly symbolise the objects or emotions, and either by a +process of abstraction allows these to do duty for the whole, or else +by a process of recombination creates new objects and new relations in +which the objects stand to us or to each other (INVENTION), and the +result is an image of great vividness, which has perhaps no +corresponding reality in the external world. + +Minds differ in the vividness with which they recall the elements of +previous experience, and mentally see the absent objects; they differ +also in the aptitudes for selection, abstraction, and recombination: +the fine selective instinct of the artist, which makes him fasten upon +the details which will most powerfully affect us, without any +disturbance of the harmony of the general impression, does not depend +solely upon the vividness of his memory and the clearness with which +the objects are seen, but depends also upon very complex and peculiar +conditions of sympathy which we call genius. Hence we find one man +remembering a multitude of details, with a memory so vivid that it +almost amounts at times to hallucination, yet without any artistic +power; and we may find men--Blake was one--with an imagination of +unusual activity, who are nevertheless incapable, from deficient +sympathy, of seizing upon those symbols which will most affect us. Our +native susceptibilities and acquired tastes determine which of the many +qualities in an object shall most impress us, and be most clearly +recalled. One man remembers the combustible properties of a substance, +which to another is memorable for its polarising property; to one man a +stream is so much water-power, to another a rendezveus for lovers. + +In the close of the last paragraph we came face to face with the great +difficulty which constantly arrests speculation on these matters--the +existence of special aptitudes vaguely characterised as genius. These +are obviously incommunicable. No recipe can be given for genius. No man +can be taught how to exercise the power of imagination. But he can be +taught how to aid it, and how to assure himself whether he is using it +or not. Having once laid hold of the Principle of Vision as a +fundamental principle of Art, he can always thus far apply it, that he +can assure himself whether he does or does not distinctly see the +cottage he is describing, the rivulet that is gurgling through his +verses, or the character he is painting; he can assure himself whether +he hears the voice of the speakers, and feels that what they say is +true to their natures; he can assure himself whether he sees, as in +actual experience, the emotion he is depicting; and he will know that +if he does not see these things he must wait until he can, or he will +paint them ineffectively. With distinct Vision he will be able to make +the best use of his powers of expression; and the most splendid powers +of expression will not avail him if his Vision be indistinct. This is +true of objects that never were seen by the eye, that never could be +seen. It is as true of what are called the highest flights of +imagination as of the lowest flights. The mind must SEE the angel or +the demon, the hippogriff or centaur, the pixie or the mermaid. + +Ruskin notices how repeatedly Turner,--the most imaginative of +landscape painters,--introduced into his pictures, after a lapse of +many years, memories of something which, however small and unimportant, +had struck him in his earlier studies. He believes that all Turner's +"composition" was an arrangement of remembrances summoned just as they +were wanted, and each in its fittest place. His vision was primarily +composed of strong memory of the place itself, and secondarily of +memories of other places associated in a harmonious, helpful way with +the now central thought. He recalled and selected. + +I am prepared to hear of many readers, especially young readers, +protesting against the doctrine of this chapter as prosaic. They have +been so long accustomed to consider imagination as peculiarly +distinguished by its disdain of reality, and Invention as only +admirable when its products are not simply new by selection and +arrangement, but new in material, that they will reject the idea of +involuntary remembrance of something originally experienced as the +basis of all Art. Ruskin says of great artists, "Imagine all that any +of these men had seen or heard in the whole course of their lives, laid +up accurately in their memories as in vast storehouses, extending with +the poets even to the slightest intonations of syllables heard in the +beginning of their lives, and with painters down to minute folds of +drapery and shapes of leaves and stones; and over all this unindexed +and immeasurable mass of treasure, the imagination brooding and +wandering, but dream-gifted, so as to summon at any moment exactly such +a group of ideas as shall justly fit each other." This is the +explanation of their genius, as far as it can be explained. + +Genius is rarely able to give any account of its own processes. But +those who have had ample opportunities of intimately knowing the growth +of works in the minds of artists, will bear me out in saying that a +vivid memory supplies the elements from a thousand different sources, +most of which are quite beyond the power of localisation, the +experience of yesterday being strangely intermingled with the dim +suggestions of early years, the tones heard in childhood sounding +through the diapason of sorrowing maturity; and all these kaleidoscopic +fragments are recomposed into images that seem to have a corresponding +reality of their own. + +As all Art depends on Vision, so the different kinds of Art depend on +the different ways in which minds look at things. The painter can only +put into his pictures what he sees in Nature; and what he sees will be +different from what another sees. A poetical mind sees noble and +affecting suggestions in details which the prosaic mind will interpret +prosaically. And the true meaning of Idealism is precisely this vision +of realities in their highest and most affecting forms, not in the +vision of something removed from or opposed to realities. Titian's +grand picture of "Peter the Martyr" is, perhaps, as instructive an +example as could be chosen of successful Idealism; because in it we +have a marvellous presentation of reality as seen by a poetic mind. The +figure of the flying monk might have been equally real if it had been +an ignoble presentation of terror--the superb tree, which may almost be +called an actor in the drama, might have been painted with even greater +minuteness, though not perhaps with equal effect upon us, if it had +arrested our attention by its details--the dying martyr and the noble +assassin might have been made equally real in more vulgar types--but +the triumph achieved by Titian is that the mind is filled with a vision +of poetic beauty which is felt to be real. An equivalent reality, +without the ennobling beauty, would have made the picture a fine piece +of realistic art. It is because of this poetic way of seeing things +that one painter will give a faithful representation of a very common +scene which shall nevertheless affect all sensitive minds as ideal, +whereas another painter will represent the same with no greater +fidelity, but with a complete absence of poetry. The greater the +fidelity, the greater will be the merit of each representation; for if +a man pretends to represent an object, he pretends to represent it +accurately: the only difference is what the poetical or prosaic mind +sees in the object. + +Of late years there has been a reaction against conventionalism which +called itself Idealism, in favour of DETAILISM which calls itself +Realism. As a reaction it has been of service; but it has led to much +false criticism, and not a little false art, by an obtrusiveness of +Detail and a preference for the Familiar, under the misleading notion +of adherence to Nature. If the words Nature and Natural could be +entirely banished from language about Art there would be some chance of +coming to a rational philosophy of the subject; at present the +excessive vagueness and shiftiness of these terms cover any amount of +sophism. The pots and pans of Teniers and Van Mieris are natural; the +passions and humours of Shakspeare and Moliere are natural; the angels +of Fra Angelico and Luini are natural; the Sleeping Fawn and Fates of +Phidias are natural; the cows and misty marshes of Cuyp and the +vacillations of Hamlet are equally natural. In fact the natural means +TRUTH OF KIND. Each kind of character, each kind of representation, +must be judged by itself. Whereas the vulgar error of criticism is to +judge of one kind by another, and generally to judge the higher by the +lower, to remonstrate with Hamlet for not having the speech and manner +of Mr. Jones, to wish that Fra Angelico could have seen with the eyes +of the Carracci, to wish verse had been prose, and that ideal tragedy +were acted with the easy manner acceptable in drawing-rooms. + +The rage for "realism," which is healthy in as far as it insists on +truth, has become unhealthy, in as far as it confounds truth with +familiarity, and predominance of unessential details. There are other +truths besides coats and waistcoats, pots and pans, drawlng-rooms and +suburban villas. Life has other aims besides these which occupy the +conversation of "Society." And the painter who devotes years to a work +representing modern life, yet calls for even more attention to a +waistcoat than to the face of a philosopher, may exhibit truth of +detail which will delight the tailor-mind, but he is defective in +artistic truth, because he ought to be representing something higher +than waistcoats, and because our thoughts on modern life fall very +casually and without emphasis on waistcoats. In Piloty's much-admired +picture of the "Death of Wallenstein" (at Munich), the truth with which +the carpet, the velvet, and all other accessories are painted, is +certainly remarkable; but the falsehood of giving prominence to such +details in a picture representing the dead Wallenstein--as if they were +the objects which could possibly arrest our attention and excite our +sympathies in such a spectacle--is a falsehood of the realistic school. +If a man means to paint upholstery, by all means let him paint it so as +to delight and deceive an upholsterer; but if he means to paint a human +tragedy, the upholsterer must be subordinate, and velvet must not draw +our eyes away from faces. + +I have digressed a little from my straight route because I wish to +guard the Principle of Vision from certain misconceptions which might +arise on a simple statement of it. The principle insists on the artist +assuring himself that he distinctly sees what he attempts to represent. +WHAT he sees, and HOW he represents it, depend on other principles. To +make even this principle of Vision thoroughly intelligible in its +application to all forms of Literature and Art, it must be considered +in connection with the two other principles--Sincerity and Beauty, +which are involved in all successful works. In the next chapter we +shall treat of Sincerity. + +EDITOR. + +CHAPTER IV. + +THE PRINCIPLE OF SINCERITY. + +It is always understood as an expression of condemnation when anything +in Literature or Art is said to be done for effect; and yet to produce +an effect is the aim and end of both. + +There is nothing beyond a verbal ambiguity here if we look at it +closely, and yet there is a corresponding uncertainty in the conception +of Literature and Art commonly entertained, which leads many writers +and many critics into the belief that what are called "effects" should +be sought, and when found must succeed. It is desirable to clear up +this moral ambiguity, as I may call it, and to show that the real +method of securing the legitimate effect is not to aim at it, but to +aim at the truth, relying on that for securing effect. The condemnation +of whatever is "done for effect" obviously springs from indignation at +a disclosed insincerity in the artist, who is self-convicted of having +neglected truth for the sake of our applause; and we refuse our +applause to the flatterer, or give it contemptuously as to a mountebank +whose dexterity has amused us. + +It is unhappily true that much insincere Literature and Art, executed +solely with a view to effect, does succeed by deceiving the public. But +this is only because the simulation of truth or the blindness of the +public conceals the insincerity. As a maxim, the Principle of Sincerity +is admitted. Nothing but what is true, or is held to be true, can +succeed; anything which looks like insincerity is condemned. In this +respect we may compare it with the maxim of Honesty the best policy. No +far-reaching intellect fails to perceive that if all men were uniformly +upright and truthful, Life would be more victorious, and Literature +more noble. We find, however, both in Life and Literature, a practical +disregard of the truth of these propositions almost equivalent to a +disbelief in them. Many men are keenly alive to the social advantages +of honesty--in the practice of others. They are also strongly impressed +with the conviction that in their own particular case the advantage +will sometimes lie in not strictly adhering to the rule. Honesty is +doubtless the best policy in the long run; but somehow the run here +seems so very long, and a short-cut opens such allurements to impatient +desire. It requires a firm calm insight, or a noble habit of thought, +to steady the wavering mind, and direct it away from delusive +short-cuts: to make belief practice, and forego immediate triumph. Many +of those who unhesitatingly admit Sincerity to be one great condition +of success in Literature find it difficult, and often impossible, to +resist the temptation of an insincerity which promises immediate +advantage. It is not only the grocers who sand their sugar before +prayers. Writers who know well enough that the triumph of falsehood is +an unholy triumph, are not deterred from falsehood by that knowledge. +They know, perhaps, that, even if undetected, it will press on their +own consciences; but the knowledge avails them little. The immediate +pressure of the temptation is yielded to, and Sincerity remains a text +to be preached to others. To gain applause they will misstate facts, to +gain victory in argument they will misrepresent the opinions they +oppose; and they suppress the rising misgivings by the dangerous +sophism that to discredit error is good work, and by the hope that no +one will detect the means by which the work is effected. The saddest +aspect of this procedure is that in Literature, as in Life, a temporary +success often does reward dishonesty. It would be insincere to conceal +it. To gain a reputation as discoverers men will invent or suppress +facts. To appear learned they will array their writings in the +ostentation of borrowed citations. To solicit the "sweet voices" of the +crowd they will feign sentiments they do not feel, and utter what they +think the crowd will wish to hear, keeping back whatever the crowd will +hear with disapproval. And, as I said, such men often succeed for a +time; the fact is so, and we must not pretend that it is otherwise. But +it no more disturbs the fundamental truth of the Principle of +Sincerity, than the perturbations in the orbit of Mars disturb the +truth of Kepler's law. + +It is impossible to deny that dishonest men often grow rich and famous, +becoming powerful in their parish or in parliament. Their portraits +simper from shop windows; and they live and die respected. This success +is theirs; yet it is not the success which a noble soul will envy. +Apart from the risk of discovery and infamy, there is the certainty of +a conscience ill at ease, or if at ease, so blunted in its +sensibilities, so given over to lower lusts, that a healthy instinct +recoils from such a state. Observe, moreover, that in Literature the +possible rewards of dishonesty are small, and the probability of +detection great. In Life a dishonest man is chiefly moved by desires +towards some tangible result of money or power; if he get these he has +got all. The man of letters has a higher aim: the very object of his +toil is to secure the sympathy and respect of men; and the rewards of +his toil may be paid in money, fame, or consciousness of earnest +effort. The first of these may sometimes be gained without Sincerity. +Fame may also, for a time, be erected on an unstable ground, though it +will inevitably be destroyed again. But the last and not least reward +is to be gained by every one without fear of failure, without risk of +change. Sincere work is good work, be it never so humble; and sincere +work is not only an indestructible delight to the worker by its very +genuineness, but is immortal in the best sense, for it lives for ever +in its influence. There is no good Dictionary, not even a good Index, +that is not in this sense priceless, for it has honestly furthered the +work of the world, saving labour to others, setting an example to +successors. + +Whether I make a careful Index, or an inaccurate one, will probably in +no respect affect the money-payment I shall receive. My sins will never +fall heavily on me; my virtue will gain me neither extra pence nor +praise. I shall be hidden by obscurity from the indignation of those +whose valuable time is wasted over my pretence at accuracy, as from the +silent gratitude of those whose time is saved by my honest fidelity. +The consciousness of faithfulness even to the poor index maker may be a +better reward than pence or praise; but of course we cannot expect the +unconscientious to believe this. If I sand my sugar, and tell lies over +my counter, I may gain the rewards of dishonesty, or I may be overtaken +by its Nemesis. But if I am faithful in my work the reward cannot be +withheld from me. The obscure workers who, knowing that they will never +earn renown yet feel an honourable pride in doing their work +faithfully, may be likened to the benevolent who feel a noble delight +in performing generous actions which will never be known to be theirs, +the only end they seek in such actions being the good which is wrought +for others, and their delight being the sympathy with others. + +I should be ashamed to insist on truths so little likely to be +disputed, did they not point directly at the great source of bad +Literature, which, as was said in our first chapter, springs from a +want of proper moral guidance rather than from deficiency of talent. +The Principle of Sincerity comprises all those qualities of courage, +patience, honesty, and simplicity which give momentum to talent, and +determine successful Literature. It is not enough to have the eye to +see; there must also be the courage to express what the eye has seen, +and the steadfastness of a trust in truth. Insight, imagination, grace +of style are potent; but their power is delusive unless sincerely +guided. If any one should object that this is a truism, the answer is +ready: Writers disregard its truth, as traders disregard the truism of +honesty being the best policy. Nay, as even the most upright men are +occasionally liable to swerve from the truth, so the most upright +authors will in some passages desert a perfect sincerity; yet the ideal +of both is rigorous truth. Men who are never flagrantly dishonest are +at times unveracious in small matters, colouring or suppressing facts +with a conscious purpose; and writers who never stole an idea nor +pretended to honours for which they had not striven, may be found +lapsing into small insincerities, speaking a language which is not +theirs, uttering opinions which they expect to gain applause rather +than the opinions really believed by them. But if few men are perfectly +and persistently sincere, Sincerity is nevertheless the only enduring +strength. + +The principle is universal, stretching from the highest purposes of +Literature down to its smallest details. It underlies the labour of the +philosopher, the investigator, the moralist, the poet, the novelist, +the critic, the historian, and the compiler. It is visible in the +publication of opinions, in the structure of sentences, and in the +fidelity of citations. Men utter insincere thoughts, they express +themselves in echoes and affectations, and they are careless or +dishonest in their use of the labours of others, all the time believing +in the virtue of sincerity, all the time trying to make others believe +honesty to be the best policy. + +Let us glance for a moment at the most important applications of the +principle. A man must be himself convinced if he is to convince others. +The prophet must be his own disciple, or he will make none. Enthusiasm +is contagious: belief creates belief. There is no influence issuing +from unbelief or from languid acquiescence. This is peculiarly +noticeable in Art, because Art depends on sympathy for its influence, +and unless the artist has felt the emotions he depicts we remain +unmoved: in proportion to the depth of his feeling is our sympathetic +response; in proportion to the shallowness or falsehood of his +presentation is our coldness or indifference. Many writers who have +been fond of quoting the SI VIS ME FLERE of Horace have written as if +they did not believe a word of it; for they have been silent on their +own convictions, suppressed their own experience, and falsified their +own feelings to repeat the convictions and fine phrases of another. I +am sorry that my experience assures me that many of those who will read +with complete assent all here written respecting the power of +Sincerity, will basely desert their allegiance to the truth the next +time they begin to write; and they will desert it because their +misguided views of Literature prompt them to think more of what the +public is likely to applaud than of what is worth applause; +unfortunately for them their estimation of this likelihood is generally +based on a very erroneous assumption of public wants: they grossly +mistake the taste they pander to. + +In all sincere speech there is power, not necessarily great power, but +as much as the speaker is capable of. Speak for yourself and from +yourself, or be silent. It can be of no good that you should tell in +your "clever" feeble way what another has already told us with the +dynamic energy of conviction. If you can tell us something that your +own eyes have seen, your own mind has thought, your own heart has felt, +you will have power over us, and all the real power that is possible +for you. If what you have seen is trivial, if what you have thought is +erroneous, if what you have felt is feeble, it would assuredly be +better that you should not speak at all; but if you insist on speaking +Sincerity will secure the uttermost of power. + +The delusions of self-love cannot be prevented, but intellectual +misconceptions as to the means of achieving success may be corrected. +Thus although it may not be possible for any introspection to discover +whether we have genius or effective power, it is quite possible to know +whether we are trading upon borrowed capital, and whether the eagle's +feathers have been picked up by us, or grow from our own wings. I hear +some one of my young readers exclaim against the disheartening tendency +of what is here said. Ambitious of success, and conscious that he has +no great resources within his own experience, he shrinks from the idea +of being thrown upon his naked faculty and limited resources, when he +feels himself capable of dexterously using the resources of others, and +so producing an effective work. "Why," he asks, "must I confine myself +to my own small experience, when I feel persuaded that it will interest +no one? Why express the opinions to which my own investigations have +led me when I suspect that they are incomplete, perhaps altogether +erroneous, and when I know that they will not be popular because they +are unlike those which have hitherto found favour? Your restrictions +would reduce two-thirds of our writers to silence!" + +This reduction would, I suspect, be welcomed by every one except the +gagged writers; but as the idea of its being operative is too +chimerical for us to entertain it, and as the purpose of these pages is +to expound the principles of success and failure, not to make Quixotic +onslaughts on the windmills of stupidity and conceit, I answer my young +interrogator: "Take warning and do not write. Unless you believe in +yourself, only noodles will believe in you, and they but tepidly. If +your experience seems trivial to you, it must seem trivial to us. If +your thoughts are not fervid convictions, or sincere doubts, they will +not have the power of convictions and doubts. To believe in yourself is +the first step; to proclaim your belief the next. You cannot assume the +power of another. No jay becomes an eagle by borrowing a few eagle +feathers. It is true that your sincerity will not be a guarantee of +power. You may believe that to be important and novel which we all +recognise as trivial and old. You may be a madman, and believe yourself +a prophet. You may be a mere echo, and believe yourself a voice. These +are among the delusions against which none of us are protected. But if +Sincerity is not necessarily a guarantee of power, it is a necessary +condition of power, and no genius or prophet can exist without it." + +"The highest merit we ascribe to Moses, Plato, and Milton," says +Emerson, "is that they set at nought books and traditions, and spoke +not what men thought, but what they thought. A man should learn to +detect and watch that gleam of light which flashes across his mind from +within; more than the lustre of the firmament of bards and sages. Yet +he dismisses without notice his thought because it is his. In every +work of genius we recognise our own rejected thoughts; they come back +to us with a certain alienated majesty." It is strange that any one who +has recognised the individuality of all works of lasting influence, +should not also recognise the fact that his own individuality ought to +be steadfastly preserved. As Emerson says in continuation, "Great works +of art have no more affecting lesson for us than this. They teach us to +abide by our spontaneous impressions with good-humoured inflexibility, +then most when the whole cry of voices is on the other side. Else +tomorrow a stranger will say with masterly good sense, precisely what +we have thought and felt all the time, and we shall be forced to take +with shame our opinion from another." Accepting the opinions of another +and the tastes of another is very different from agreement in opinion +and taste. Originality is independence, not rebellion; it is sincerity, +not antagonism. Whatever you believe to be true and false, that +proclaim to be true and false; whatever you think admirable and +beautiful, that should be your model, even if all your friends and all +the critics storm at you as a crochet-monger and an eccentric. Whether +the public will feel its truth and beauty at once, or after long years, +or never cease to regard it as paradox and ugliness, no man can +foresee; enough for you to know that you have done your best, have been +true to yourself, and that the utmost power inherent in your work has +been displayed. + +An orator whose purpose is to persuade men must speak the things they +wish to hear; an orator, whose purpose is to move men, must also avoid +disturbing the emotional effect by any obtrusion of intellectual +antagonism; but an author whose purpose is to instruct men, who appeals +to the intellect, must be careless of their opinions, and think only of +truth. It will often be a question when a man is or is not wise in +advancing unpalateable opinions, or in preaching heresies; but it can +never be a question that a man should be silent if unprepared to speak +the truth as he conceives it. Deference to popular opinion is one great +source of bad writing, and is all the more disastrous because the +deference is paid to some purely hypothetical requirement. When a man +fails to see the truth of certain generally accepted views, there is no +law compelling him to provoke animosity by announcing his dissent. He +may be excused if he shrink from the lurid glory of martyrdom; he may +be justified in not placing himself in a position of singularity. He +may even be commended for not helping to perplex mankind with doubts +which he feels to be founded on limited and possibly erroneous +investigation. But if allegiance to truth lays no stern command upon +him to speak out his immature dissent, it does lay a stern command not +to speak out hypocritical assent. There are many justifications of +silence; there can be none of insincerity. + +Nor is this less true of minor questions; it applies equally to +opinions on matters of taste and personal feeling. Why should I echo +what seem to me the extravagant praises of Raphael's "Transfiguration," +when, in truth, I do not greatly admire that famous work ? There is no +necessity for me to speak on the subject at all; but if I do speak, +surely it is to utter my impressions, and not to repeat what others +have uttered. Here, then, is a dilemma; if I say what I really feel +about this work, after vainly endeavouring day after day to discover +the transcendent merits discovered by thousands (or at least proclaimed +by them), there is every likelihood of my incurring the contempt of +connoisseurs, and of being reproached with want of taste in art. This +is the bugbear which scares thousands. For myself, I would rather incur +the contempt of connoisseurs than my own; the repreach of defective +taste is more endurable than the reproach of insincerity. Suppose I am +deficient in the requisite knowledge and sensibility, shall I be less +so by pretending to admire what really gives me no exquisite enjoyment? +Will the pleasure I feel in pictures be enhanced because other men +consider me right in my admlration, or diminished because they consider +me wrong? + +[I have never thoroughly understood the painful anxiety of people to be +shielded against the dishonouring suspicion of not rightly appreciating +pictures, even when the very phrases they use betray their ignorance +and insensibility. Many will avow their indifference to music, and +almost boast of their ignorance of science; will sneer at abstract +theories, and profess the most tepid interest in history, who would +feel it an unpardonable insult if you doubted their enthusiasm for +painting and the "old masters" (by them secretly identified with the +brown masters). It is an insincerity fostered by general pretence. Each +man is afraid to declare his real sentiments in the presence of others +equally timid. Massive authority overawes genuine feeling]. + + The opinion of the majority is not lightly to be rejected; but +neither is it to be carelessly echoed. There is something noble in the +submission to a great renown, which makes all reverence a healthy +attitude if it be genuine. When I think of the immense fame of Raphael, +and of how many high and delicate minds have found exquisite delight +even in the "Transfiguration," and especially when I recall how others +of his works have affected me, it is natural to feel some diffidence in +opposing the judgment of men whose studies have given them the best +means of forming that judgment--a diffidence which may keep me silent +on the matter. To start with the assumption that you are right, and all +who oppose you are fools, cannot be a safe method. Nor in spite of a +conviction that much of the admiration expressed for the +"Transfiguration" is lip-homage and tradition, ought the non-admiring +to assume that all of it is insincere. It is quite compatible with +modesty to be perfectly independent, and with sincerity to be +respectful to the opinions and tastes of others. If you express any +opinion, you are bound to express your real opinion; let critics and +admirers utter what dithyrambs they please. Were this terror of not +being thought correct in taste once got rid of, how many stereotyped +judgments on books and pictures would be broken up! and the result of +this sincerity would be some really valuable criticism. In the presence +of Raphael's "Sistine Madonna," Titian's "Peter the Martyr," or +Masaccio's great frescoes in the Brancacci Chapel, one feels as if +there had been nothing written about these mighty works, so little does +any eulogy discriminate the elements of their profound effects, so +little have critics expressed their own thoughts and feelings. Yet +every day some wandering connoisseur stands before these pictures, and +at once, without waiting to let them sink deep into his mind, discovers +all the merits which are stereotyped in the criticisms, and discovers +nothing else. He does not wait to feel, he is impatient to range +himself with men of taste; he discards all genuine impressions, +replacing them with vague conceptions of what he is expected to see. + +Inasmuch as Success must be determined by the relation between the work +and the public, the sincerity which leads a man into open revolt +against established opinions may seem to be an obstacle. Indeed, +publishers, critics, and friends are always loud in their prophecies +against originality and independence on this very ground; they do their +utmost to stifle every attempt at novelty, because they fix their eyes +upon a hypothetical public taste, and think that only what has already +been proved successful can again succeed; forgetting that whatever has +once been done need not be done over again, and forgetting that what is +now commonplace was once originality. There are cases in which a +disregard of public opinion will inevitably call forth opprobrium or +neglect; but there is no case in which Sincerity is not strength. If I +advance new views in Philosophy or Theology, I cannot expect to have +many adherents among minds altogether unprepared for such views; yet it +is certain that even those who most fiercely oppose me will recognise +the power of my voice if it is not a mere echo; and the very novelty +will challenge attention, and at last gain adherents if my views have +any real insight. At any rate the point to be considered is this, that +whether the novel views excite opposition or applause, the one +condition of their success is that they be believed in by the +propagator. The public can only be really moved by what is genuine. +Even an error if believed in will have greater force than an insincere +truth. Lip-advocacy only rouses lip-homage. It is belief which gives +momentum. + +Nor is it any serious objection to what is here said, that insincerity +and timid acquiescence in the opinion and tastes of thc public do often +gain applause and temporary success. Sanding the sugar is not +immediately unprofitable. There is an unpleasant popularity given to +falsehood in this world of ours; but we love the truth notwithstanding, +and with a more enduring love. Who does not know what it is to listen +to public speakers pouring forth expressions of hollow belief and sham +enthusiasm, snatching at commonplaces with a fervour as of faith, +emphasising insincerities as if to make up by emphasis what is wanting +in feeling, all the while saying not only what they do not believe, but +what the listeners KNOW they do not believe, and what the listeners, +though they roar assent, do not themselves believe--a turbulence of +sham, the very noise of which stuns the conscience? Is such an orator +really enviable, although thunders of applause may have greeted his +efforts? Is that success, although the newspapers all over the kingdom +may be reporting the speech? What influence remains when the noise of +the shouts has died away? Whereas, if on the same occasion one man gave +utterance to a sincere thought, even if it were not a very wise +thought, although the silence of the public--perhaps its hisses--may +have produced an impression of failure, yet there is success, for the +thought will re-appear and mingle with the thoughts of men to be +adopted or combated by them, and may perhaps in a few years mark out +the speaker as a man better worth listening to than the noisy orator +whose insincerity was so much cheered. + +The same observation applies to books. An author who waits upon the +times, and utters only what he thinks the world will like to hear, who +sails with the stream, admiring everything which it is "correct taste" +to admire, despising everything which has not yet received that +Hall-mark, sneering at the thoughts of a great thinker not yet accepted +as such, and slavishly repeating the small phrases of a thinker who has +gained renown, flippant and contemptuous towards opinions which he has +not taken the trouble to understand, and never venturing to oppose even +the errors of men in authority, such an author may indeed by dint of a +certain dexterity in assorting the mere husks of opinion gain the +applause of reviewers, who will call him a thinker, and of indolent men +and women who will pronounce him "so clever ;" but triumphs of this +kind are like oratorical triumphs after dinner. Every autumn the earth +is strewed with the dead leaves of such vernal successes. + +I would not have the reader conclude that because I advocate +plain-speaking even of unpopular views, I mean to imply that +originality and sincerity are always in opposition to public opinion. +There are many points both of doctrine and feeling in which the world +is not likely to be wrong. But in all cases it is desirable that men +should not pretend to believe opinions which they really reject, or +express emotions they do not feel. And this rule is universal. Even +truthful and modest men will sometimes violate the rule under the +mistaken idea of being eloquent by means of the diction of eloquence. +This is a source of bad Literature. There are certain views in +Religion, Ethics, and Politics, which readily lend themselves to +eloquence, because eloquent men have written largely on them, and the +temptation to secure this facile effect often seduces men to advocate +these views in preference to views they really see to be more rational. +That this eloquence at second-hand is but feeble in its effect, does +not restrain others from repeating it. Experience never seems to teach +them that grand speech comes only from grand thoughts, passionate +speech from passionate emotions. The pomp and roll of words, the trick +of phrase, the rhytlnn and the gesture of an orator, may all be +imitated, but not his eloquence. No man was ever eloquent by trying to +be eloquent, but only by being so. Trying leads to the vice of "fine +writing"--the plague-spot of Literature, not only unhealthy in itself, +and vulgarising the grand language which should be reserved for great +thoughts, but encouraging that tendency to select only those views upon +which a spurious enthusiasm can most readily graft the representative +abstractions and stirring suggestions which will move public applause. +The "fine writer" will always prefer the opinion which is striking to +the opinion which is true. He frames his sentences by the ear, and is +only dissatisfied with them when their cadences are ill-distributed, or +their diction is too familiar. It seldom occurs to him that a sentence +should accurately express his meaning and no more; indeed there is not +often a definite meaning to be expressed, for the thought which arose +vanished while he tried to express it, and the sentence, instead of +being determined by and moulded on a thought, is determined by some +verbal suggestion. Open any book or periodical, and see how frequently +the writer does not, cannot, mean what he says; and you will observe +that in general the defect does not arise from any poverty in our +language, but from the habitual carelessness which allows expressions +to be written down unchallenged provided they are sufficiently +harmonious, and not glaringly inadequate. + +The slapdash insincerity of modern style entirely sets at nought the +first principle of writing, which is accuracy. The art of writing is +not, as many seem to imagine, the art of bringing fine phrases into +rhythmical order, but the art of placing before the reader intelligible +symbols of the thoughts and feelings in the writer's mind. Endeavour to +be faithful, and if there is any beauty in your thought, your style +will be beautiful; if there is any real emotion to express, the +expression will be moving. Never rouge your style. Trust to your native +pallor rather than to cosmetics. Try to make us see what you see and to +feel what you feel, and banish from your mind whatever phrases others +may have used to express what was in their thoughts, but is not in +yours. Have you never observed what a light impression writers have +produced, in spite of a profusion of images, antitheses, witty +epigrams, and rolling periods, whereas some simpler style, altogether +wanting in such "brilliant passage," has gained the attention and +respect of thousands? Whatever is stuck on as ornament affects us as +ornament; we do not think an old hag young and handsome because the +jewels flash from her brow and bosom; if we envy her wealth, we do not +admire her beauty. + +What "fine writing" is to prosaists, insincere imagery is to poets: it +is introduced for effect, not used as expression. To the real poet an +image comes spontaneously, or if it comes as an afterthought, it is +chosen because it expresses his meaning and helps to paint the picture +which is in his mind, not because it is beautiful in itself. It is a +symbol, not an ornament. Whether the image rise slowly before the mind +during contemplation, or is seen in the same flash which discloses the +picture, in each case it arises by natural association, and is SEEN, +not SOUGHT. The inferior poet is dissatisfied with what he sees, and +casts about in search after something more striking. He does not wait +till an image is borne in upon the tide of memory, he seeks for an +image that will be picturesque; and being without the delicate +selective instinct which guides the fine artist, he generally chooses +something which we feel to be not exactly in its right place. He thus-- + +"With gold and silver covers every part, +And hides with ornament his want of art." + +Be true to your own soul, and do not try to express the thought of +another. "If some people," says Ruskin, "really see angels where others +see only empty space, let them paint angels: only let not anybody else +think they can paint an angel too, on any calculated principles of the +angelic." Unhappily this is precisely what so many will attempt, +inspired by the success of the angelic painter. Nor will the failure of +others warn them. + +Whatever is sincerely felt or believed, whatever forms part of the +imaginative experience, and is not simply imitation or hearsay, may +fitly be given to the world, and will always maintain an infinite +superiority over imitative splendour; because although it by no means +follows that whatever has formed part of the artist's experience must +be impressive, or can do without artistic presentation, yet his +artistic power will always be greater over his own material than over +another's. Emerson has well remarked "that those facts, words, persons +which dwell in a man's memory without his being able to say why, remain +because they have a relation to him not less real for being as yet +unapprehended. They are symbols of value to him as they can interpret +parts of his consciousness which he would vainly seek words for in the +conventional images of books and other minds. What attracts my +attention shall have it; as I will go to the man who knocks at my door +while a thousand persons as worthy go by it to whom I give no regard. +It is enough that these particulars speak to me. A few anecdotes, a few +traits of character, manners, faces, a few incidents have an emphasis +in your memory out of all proportion to their apparent significance if +you measure them by ordinary standards. They relate to your gift. Let +them have their weight, and do not reject them, or cast about for +illustrations and facts more usual in literature." + +In the notes to the last edition of his poems, Wordsworth specified the +particular occasions which furnished him with particular images. It was +the things he had SEEN which he put into his verses; and that is why +they affect us. It matters little whether the poet draws his images +directly from present experience, or indirectly from memory--whether +the sight of the slow-sailing swan, that "floats double swan and +shadow" be at once transferred to the scene of the poem he is writing, +or come back upon him in after years to complete some picture in his +mind; enough that the image be suggested, and not sought. + +The sentence from Ruskin, quoted just now, will guard against the +misconception that a writer, because told to rely on his own +experience, is enjoined to forego the glory and delight of creation +even of fantastic types. He is only told never to pretend to see what +he has not seen. He is urged to follow Imagination in her most erratic +course, though like a will-o'-wisp she lead over marsh and fen away +from the haunts of mortals; but not to pretend that he is following a +will-o'-wisp when his vagrant fancy never was allured by one. It is +idle to paint fairies and goblins unless you have a genuine vision of +them which forces you to paint them. They are poetical objects, but +only to poetic minds. "Be a plain photographer if you possibly can," +says Ruskin, "if Nature meant you for anything else she will force you +to it; but never try to be a prophet; go on quietly with your hard camp +work, and the spirit will come to you as it did to Eldad and Medad if +you are appointed to it." Yes: if you are appointed to it; if your +faculties are such that this high success is possible, it will come, +provided the faculties are employed with sincerity. Otherwise it cannot +come. No insincere effort can secure it. + +If the advice I give to reject every insincerity in writing seem cruel, +because it robs the writer of so many of his effects---if it seem +disheartening to earnestly warn a man not to TRY to be eloquent, but +only to BE eloquent when his thoughts move with an impassioned +LARGO--if throwing a writer back upon his naked faculty seem especially +distasteful to those who have a painful misgiving that their faculty is +small, and that the uttermost of their own power would be far from +impressive, my answer is that I have no hope of dissuading feeble +writers from the practice of insincerity, but as under no circumstances +can they become good writers and achieve success, my analysis has no +reference to them, my advice has no aim at them. It is to the young and +strong, to the ambitious and the earnest, that my words are addressed. +It is to wipe the film from their eyes, and make them see, as they will +see directly the truth is placed before them, how easily we are all +seduced into greater or less insincerity of thought, of feeling, and of +style, either by reliance on other writers, from whom we catch the +trick of thought and turn of phrase, or from some preconceived view of +what the public will prefer. It is to the young and strong I say: Watch +vigilantly every phrase you write, and assure yourself that it +expresses what you mean; watch vigilantly every thought you express, +and assure yourself that it is yours, not another's; you may share it +with another, but you must not adopt it from him for the nonce. Of +course, if you are writing humorously or dramatically, you will not be +expected to write your own serious opinions. Humour may take its utmost +licence, yet be sincere. The dramatic genius may incarnate itself in a +hundred shapes, yet in each it will speak what it feels to be the +truth. If you are imaginatively representing the feelings of another, +as in some playful exaggeration or some dramatic personation, the truth +required of you is imaginative truth, not your personal views and +feelings. But when you write in your own person you must be rigidly +veracious, neither pretending to admire what you do not admire, or to +despise what in secret you rather like, nor surcharging your admiration +and enthusiasm to bring you into unison with the public chorus. This +vigilance may render Literature more laborious; but no one ever +supposed that success was to be had on easy terms; and if you only +write one sincere page where you might have written twenty insincere +pages, the one page is worth writing--it is Literature. + +Sincerity is not only effective and honourable, it is also much less +difficult than is commonly supposed. To take a trifling example: If for +some reason I cannot, or do not, choose to verify a quotation which may +be useful to my purpose, what is to prevent my saying that the +quotation is taken at second-hand? It is true, if my quotations are for +the most part second-hand and are acknowledged as such, my erudition +will appear scanty. But it will only appear what it is. Why should I +pretend to an erudition which is not mine? Sincerity forbids it. +Prudence whispers that the pretence is, after all, vain, because those, +and those alone, who can rightly estimate erudition will infallibly +detect my pretence, whereas those whom I have deceived were not worth +deceiving. Yet in spite of Sincerity and Prudence, how shamelessly men +compile second-hand references, and display in borrowed footnotes a +pretence of labour and of accuracy! I mention this merely to show how, +even in the humbler class of compilers, the Principle of Sincerity may +find fit illustrations, and how honest work, even in references, +belongs to the same category as honest work in philosophy or poetry. +EDITOR. + +CHAPTER V. + +THE PRINCIPLE OF BEAUTY. + +It is not enough that a man has clearness of Vision, and reliance on +Sincerity, he must also have the art of Expression, or he will remain +obscure. Many have had + +"The visionary eye, the faculty to see +The thing that hath been as the thing which is," + +but either from native defect, or the mistaken bias of education, have +been frustrated in the attempt to give their visions beautiful or +intelligible shape. The art which could give them shape is doubtless +intimately dependent on clearness of eye and sincerity of purpose, but +it is also something over and above these, and comes from an organic +aptitude not less special, when possessed with fulness, than the +aptitude for music or drawing. Any instructed person can write, as any +one can learn to draw; but to write well, to express ideas with +felicity and force, is not an accomplishment but a talent. The power of +seizing unapparent relations of things is not always conjoined with the +power of selecting the fittest verbal symbols by which they can be made +apparent to others: the one is the power of the thinker, the other the +power of the writer. + +"Style," says De Quincey, "has two separate functions---first, to +brighten the INTELLIGIBILITY of a subject which is obscure to the +understanding; secondly, to regenerate the normal POWER and +impressiveness of a subject which has become dormant to the +sensibilities. . . . . Decaying lineaments are to be retraced and faded +colouring to be refreshed." To effect these purposes we require a rich +verbal memory from which to select the symbols best fitted to call up +images in the reader's mind, and we also require the delicate selective +instinct to guide us in the choice and arrangement of those symbols, so +that the rhythm and cadence may agreeably attune the mind, rendering it +receptive to the impressions meant to be communicated. A copious verbal +memory, like a copious memory of facts, is only one source of power, +and without the high controlling faculty of the artist may lead to +diffusive indecision. Just as one man, gilted with keen insight, will +from a small stock of facts extricate unapparent relations to which +others, rich in knowledge, have been blind; so will a writer gifted +with a fine instinct select from a narrow range of phrases symbols of +beauty and of power utterly beyond the reach of commonplace minds. It +is often considered, both by writers and readers, that fine language +makes fine writers; yet no one supposes that fine colours make a fine +painter. The COPIA VERBORUM is often a weakness and a snare. As Arthur +Helps says, men use several epithets in the hope that one of them may +fit. But the artist knows which epithet does fit, uses that, and +rejects the rest. The characteristic weakness of bad writers is +inaccuracy: their symbols do not adequately express their ideas. Pause +but for a moment over their sentences, and you perceive that they are +using language at random, the choice being guided rather by some +indistinct association of phrases, or some broken echoes of familiar +sounds, than by any selection of words to represent ideas. I read the +other day of the truck system being "rampant" in a certain district; +and every day we may meet with similar echoes of familiar words which +betray the flaccid condition of the writer's mind drooping under the +labour of expression. + +Except in the rare cases of great dynamic thinkers whose thoughts are +as turning-points in the history of our race, it is by Style that +writers gain distinction, by Style they secure their immortality. In a +lower sphere many are remarked as writers although they may lay no +claim to distinction as thinkers, if they have the faculty of +felicitously expressing the ideas of others; and many who are really +remarkable as thinkers gain but slight recognition from the public, +simply because in them the faculty of expression is feeble. In +proportion as the work passes from the sphere of passionless +intelligence to that of impassioned intelligence, from the region of +demonstration to the region of emotion, the art of Style becomes more +complex, its necessity more imperious. But even in Philosophy and +Science the art is both subtle and necessary; the choice and +arrangement of the fitting symbols, though less difficult than in Art, +is quite indispensable to success. If the distinction which I formerly +drew between the Scientific and the Artistic tendencies be accepted, it +will disclose a corresponding difference in the Style which suits a +ratiocinative exposition fixing attention on abstract relations, and an +emotive exposition fixing attention on objects as related to the +feelings. We do not expect the scientific writer to stir our emotions, +otherwise than by the secondary influences which arise from our awe and +delight at the unveiling of new truths. In his own researches he should +extricate himself from the perturbing influences of emotion, and +consequently he should protect us from such suggestions in his +exposition. Feellng too often smites intellect with blindness, and +intellect too often paralyses the free play of emotion, not to call for +a decisive separation of the two. But this separation is no ground for +the disregard of Style in works, of pure demonstration--as we shall see +by-and-by. + +The Principle of Beauty is only another name for Style, which is an +art, incommunicable as are all other arts, but like them subordinated +to laws founded on psychological conditions. The laws constitute the +Philosophy of Criticism; and I shall have to ask the reader's +indulgence if for the first time I attempt to expound them +scientifically in the chapter to which the present is only an +introduction. A knowledge of these laws, even presuming them to be +accurately expounded, will no more give a writer the power of +felicitous expression than a knowledge of the laws of colour, +perspective, and proportion will enable a critic to paint a picture. +But all good writing must conform to these laws; all bad writing will +be found to violate them. And the utility of the knowledge will be that +of a constant monitor, warning the artist of the errors into which he +has slipped, or into which he may slip if unwarned. + +How is it that while every one acknowledges the importance of Style, +and numerous critics from Quinctilian and Longinus down to Quarterly +Reviewers have written upon it, very little has been done towards a +satisfactory establishment of principles? Is it not partly because the +critics have seldom held the true purpose of Style steadily before +their eyes, and still seldomer justified their canons by deducing them +from psychological conditions? To my apprehension they seem to have +mistaken the real sources of influence, and have fastened attention +upon some accidental or collateral details, instead of tracing the +direct connection between effects and causes. Misled by the splendour +of some great renown they have concluded that to write like Cicero or +to paint like Titian must be the pathway to success; which is true in +one sense, and profoundly false as they understand it. One pestilent +contagious error issued from this misconception, namely, that all +maxims confirmed by the practice of the great artists must be maxims +for the art; although a close examination might reveal that the +practice of these artists may have been the result of their peculiar +individualities or of the state of culture at their epoch. A true +Philosophy of Criticism would exhibit in how far such maxims were +universal, as founded on laws of human nature, and in how far +adaptations to particular individualities. A great talent will discover +new methods. A great success ought to put us on the track of new +principles. But the fundamental laws of Style, resting on the truths of +human nature, may be illustrated, they cannot be guaranteed by any +individual success. Moreover, the strong individuality of the artist +will create special modifications of the laws to suit himself, making +that excellent or endurable which in other hands would be intolerable. +If the purpose of Literature be the sincere expression of the +individual's own ideas and feelings it is obvious that the cant about +the "best models" tends to pervert and obstruct that expression. Unless +a man thinks and feels precisely after the manner of Cicero and Titian +it is manifestly wrong for him to express himself in their way. He may +study in them the principles of effect, and try to surprise some of +their secrets, but he should resolutely shun all imitation of them. +They ought to be illustrations not authorities, studies not models. + +The fallacy about models is seen at once if we ask this simple +question: Will the practice of a great writer justify a solecism in +grammar or a confusion in logic? No. Then why should it justify any +other detail not to be reconciled with universal truth? If we are +forced to invoke the arbitration of reason in the one case, we must do +so in the other. Unless we set aside the individual practice whenever +it is irreconcilable with general principles, we shall be unable to +discriminate in a successful work those merits which SECURED from those +demerits which ACCOMPANIED success. Now this is precisely the condition +in which Criticism has always been. It has been formal instead of being +psychological: it has drawn its maxims from the works of successful +artists, instead of ascertaining the psychological principles involved +in the effects of those works. When the perplexed dramatist called down +curses on the man who invented fifth acts, he never thought of escaping +from his tribulation by writing a play in four acts; the formal canon +which made five acts indispensable to a tragedy was drawn from the +practice of great dramatists, but there was no demonstration of any +psychological demand on the part of the audience for precisely five +acts. + +[English critics are much less pedantic in adherence to "rules" than +the French, yet when, many years ago, there appeared a tragedy in three +acts, and without a death, these innovations were considered +inadmissible; and if the success of the work had been such as to elicit +critical discussion, the necessity of five acts and a death would +doubtless have been generally insisted on]. + +Although no instructed mind will for a moment doubt the immense +advantage of the stimulus and culture derived from a reverent +familiarity with the works of our great predecessors and +contemperaries, there is a pernicious error which has been fostered by +many instructed minds, rising out of their reverence for greatness and +their forgetfulness of the ends of Literature. This error is the notion +of "models," and of fixed canons drawn from the practice of great +artists. It substitutes Imitation for Invention; reproduction of old +types instead of the creation of new. There is more bad than good work +produced in consequence of the assiduous following of models. And we +shall seldom be very wide of the mark if in our estimation of youthful +productions we place more reliance on their departures from what has +been already done, than on their resemblances to the best artists. An +energetic crudity, even a riotous absurdity, has more promise in it +than a clever and elegant mediocrity, because it shows that the young +man is speaking out of his own heart, and struggling to express himself +in his own way rather than in the way he finds in other men's books. +The early works of original writers are usually very bad; then succeeds +a short interval of imitation in which the influence of some favourite +author is distinctly traceable; but this does not last long, the native +independence of the mind reasserts itself, and although perhaps +academic and critical demands are somewhat disregarded, so that the +original writer on account of his very originality receives but slight +recognition from the authorities, nevertheless if there is any real +power in the voice it soon makes itself felt in the world. There is one +word of counsel I would give to young authors, which is that they +should be humbly obedient to the truth proclaimed by their own souls, +and haughtily indifferent to the remonstrances of critics founded +solely on any departure from the truths expressed by others. It by no +means follows that because a work is unlike works that have gone before +it, therefore it is excellent or even tolerable; it may be original in +error or in ugliness; but one thing is certain, that in proportion to +its close fidelity to the matter and manner of existing works will be +its intrinsic worthlessness. And one of the severest assaults on the +fortitude of an unacknowledged writer comes from the knowledge that his +critics, with rare exceptions, will judge his work in reference to +pre-existing models, and not in reference to the ends of Literature and +the laws of human nature. He knows that he will be compared with +artists whom he ought not to resemble if his work have truth and +originality; and finds himself teased with disparaging remarks which +are really compliments in their objections. He can comfort himself by +his trust in truth and the sincerity of his own work. He may also draw +strength from the reflection that the public and posterity may +cordially appreciate the work in which constituted authorities see +nothing but failure. The history of Literature abounds in examples of +critics being entirely at fault missing the old familiar landmarks, +these guides at once set up a shout of warning that the path has been +missed. + +Very noticeable is the fact that of the thousands who have devoted +years to the study of the classics, especially to the "niceties of +phrase" and "chastity of composition," so much prized in these +classics, very few have learned to write with felicity, and not many +with accuracy. Native incompetence has doubtless largely influenced +this result in men who are insensible to the nicer shades of +distinction in terms, and want the subtle sense of congruity; but the +false plan of studying "models" without clearly understanding the +psychological conditions which the effects involve, without seeing why +great writing is effective, and where it is merely individual +expression, has injured even vigorous minds and paralysed the weak. +From a similar mistake hundreds have deceived themselves in trying to +catch the trick of phrase peculiar tn some distinguished contemporary. +In vain do they imitate the Latinisms and antitheses of Johnson, the +epigrammatic sentences of Macaulay, the colloquial ease of Thackeray, +the cumulative pomp of Milton, the diffusive play of De Quincey: a few +friendly or ignorant reviewers may applaud it as "brilliant writing," +but the public remains unmoved. It is imitation, and as such it is +lifeless. + +We see at once the mistake directly we understand that a genuine style +is the living body of thought, not a costume that can be put on and +off; it is the expression of the writer's mind; it is not less the +incarnation of his thoughts in verbal symbols than a picture is the +painter's incarnation of his thoughts in symbols of form and colour. A +man may, if it please him, dress his thoughts in the tawdry splendour +of a masquerade. But this is no more Literature than the masquerade is +Life. + +No Style can be good that is not slncere. It must be the expression of +its author's mind. There are, of course, certain elements of +composition which must be mastered as a dancer learns his steps, but +the style of the writer, like the grace of the dancer, is only made +effective by such mastery; it springs from a deeper source. Initiation +into the rules of construction will save us from some gross errors of +composltion, but it will not make a style. Still less will imitation of +another's manner make one. In our day there are many who imitate +Macaulay's short sentences, iterations, antitheses, geographical and +historical illustrations, and eighteenth century diction, but who +accepts them as Macaulays? They cannot seize the secret of his charm, +because that charm lies in the felicity of his talent, not in the +structure of his sentences; in the fulness of his knowledge, not in the +character of his illustrations. Other men aim at ease and vigour by +discarding Latinisms, and admitting colloquialisms; but vigour and ease +are not to be had on recipe. No study of models, no attention to rules, +will give the easy turn, the graceful phrase, the simple word, the +fervid movement, or the large clearness; a picturesque talent will +express itself in concrete images; a genial nature will smile in +pleasant firms and inuendos; a rapid, unhesitating, imperious mind will +deliver its quick incisive phrases; a full deliberating mind will +overflow in ample paragraphs laden with the weight of parentheses and +qualifying suggestions. The style which is good in one case would be +vicious in another. The broken rhythm which increases the energy of one +style would ruin the LARGO of another. Both are excellencies where both +are natural. + +We are always disagreeably impressed by an obvious imitation of the +manner of another, because we feel it to be an insincerity, and also +because it withdraws our attention from the thing said, to the way of +saying it. And here lies the great lesson writers have to +learn--namely, that they should think of the immediate purpose of their +writing, which is to convey truths and emotions, in symbols and images, +intelligible and suggestive. The racket-player keeps his eye on the +ball he is to strike, not on the racket with which he strikes. If the +writer sees vividly, and will say honestly what he sees, and how he +sees it, he may want something of the grace and felicity of other men, +but he will have all the strength and felicity with which nature has +endowed him. More than that he cannot attain, and he will fall very +short of it in snatching at the grace which is another's. Do what he +will, he cannot escape from the infirmities of his own mind: the +affectation, arrogance, ostentation, hesitation, native in the man will +taint his style, no matter how closely he may copy the manner of +another. For evil and for good, LE STYLE EST DE L'HOMME MEME. + +The French critics, who are singularly servile to all established +reputations, and whose unreasoning idolatry of their own classics is +one of the reasons why their Literature is not richer, are fond of +declaring with magisterial emphasis that the rules of good taste and +the canons of style were fixed once and for ever by their great writers +in the seventeenth century. The true ambition of every modern is said +to be by careful study of these models to approach (though with no hope +of equalling) their chastity and elegance. That a writer of the +nineteenth century should express himself in the manner which was +admirable in the seventeenth is an absurdity which needs only to be +stated. It is not worth refuting. But it never presents itself thus to +the French. In their minds it is a lingering remnant of that older +superstition which believed the Ancients to have discovered all wisdom, +so that if we could only surprise the secret of Aristotle's thoughts +and clearly comprehend the drift of Plato's theories (which unhappily +was not clear) we should compass all knowledge. How long this +superstition lasted cannot accurately be settled; perhaps it is not +quite extinct even yet; but we know how little the most earnest +students succeeded in surprising the secrets of the universe by reading +Greek treatises, and how much by studying the universe itself. +Advancing Science daily discredits the superstition; yet the advance of +Criticism has not yet wholly discredited the parallel superstition in +Art. The earliest thinkers are no longer considered the wisest, but the +earliest artists are still proclaimed the finest. Even those who do not +believe in this superiority are, for the most part, overawed by +tradition and dare not openly question the supremacy of works which in +their private convictions hold a very subordinate rank. And this +reserve is encouraged by the intemperate scorn of those who question +the supremacy without having the knowledge or the sympathy which could +fairly appreciate the earlier artists. Attacks on the classics by men +ignorant of the classical languages tend to perpetuate the superstition. + +But be the merit of the classics, ancient and modern, what it may, no +writer can become a classic by imitating them. The principle of +Sincerity here ministers to the principle of Beauty by forbidding +imitation and enforcing rivalry. Write what you can, and if you have +the grace of felicitous expression or the power of energetic expression +your style will be admirable and admired. At any rate see that it be +your own, and not another's; on no other terms will the world listen to +it. You cannot be eloquent by borrowing from the opulence of another; +you cannot be humorous by mimicking the whims of another; what was a +pleasant smile dimpling his features becomes a grimace on yours. + +It will not be supposed that I would have the great writers +disregardod, as if nothing were to be learned from them; but the study +of great writers should be the study of general principles as +illustrated or revealed in these writers; and if properly pursued it +will of itself lead to a condemnation of the notion of models. What we +may learn from them is a nice discrimination of the symbols which +intelligibly express the shades of meaning and kindle emotion. The +writer wishes to give his thoughts a literary form. This is for others, +not for himself; consequently he must, before all things, desire to be +intelligible, and to be so he must adapt his expressions to the mental +condition of his audience. If he employs arbitrary symbols, such as old +words in new and unexpected senses, he may be clear as daylight to +himself, but to others, dark as fog. And the difficulty of original +writing lies in this, that what is new and individual must find +expression in old symbols. This difficulty can only be mastered by a +peculiar talent, strengthened and rendered nimble by practice, and the +commerce with original minds. Great writers should be our companions if +we would learn to write greatly; but no familiarity with their manner +will supply the place of native endowment. Writers are born, no less +than poets, and like poets, they learn to make their native gifts +effective. Practice, aiding their vigilant sensibility, teaches them, +perhaps unconsciously, certain methods of effective presentation, how +one arrangement of words carries with it more power than another, how +familiar and concrete expressions are demanded in one place, and in +another place abstract expressions unclogged with disturbing +suggestions. Every author thus silently amasses a store of empirical +rules, furnished by his own practice, and confirmed by the practice of +others. A true Philosophy of Criticism would reduce these empirical +rules to science by ranging them under psychological laws, thus +demonstrating the validity of the rules, not in virtue of their having +been employed by Cicero or Addison, by Burke or Sydney Smith, but in +virtue of their conformity with the constancies of human nature. + +The importance of Style is generally unsuspected by philosophers and +men of science, who are quite aware of its advantage in all departments +of BELLES LETTRES; and if you allude in their presence to the +deplorably defective presentation of the ideas in some work +distinguished for its learning, its profundity or its novelty, it is +probable that you will be despised as a frivolous setter up of manner +over matter, a light-minded DILLETANTE, unfitted for the simple +austerities of science. But this is itself a light-minded contempt; a +deeper insight would change the tone, and help to remove the +disgraceful slovenliness and feebleness of composition which deface the +majority of grave works, except those written by Frenchmen, who have +been taught that composition is an art and that no writer may neglect +it. In England and Germany, men who will spare no labour in research, +grudge all labour in style; a morning is cheerfully devoted to +verifying a quotation, by one who will not spare ten minutes to +reconstruct a clumsy sentence; a reference is sought with ardour, an +appropriate expression in lleu of the inexact phrase which first +suggests itself does not seem worth seeking. What are we to say to a +man who spends a quarter's income on a diamond pin which he sticks in a +greasy cravat? A man who calls public attention on him, and appears in +a slovenly undress? Am I to bestow applause on some insignificant +parade of erudition, and withhold blame from the stupidities of style +which surround it? + +Had there been a clear understanding of Style as the living body of +thought, and not its "dress," which might be more or less ornamental, +the error I am noticing would not have spread so widely. But, +naturally, when men regarded the grace of style as mere grace of +manner, and not as the delicate precision giving form and relief to +matter--as mere ornament, stuck on to arrest incurious eyes, and not as +effective expression--their sense of the deeper value of matter made +them despise such aid. A clearer conception would have rectified this +error. The matter is confluent with the manner; and only THROUGH the +style can thought reach the reader's mind. If the manner is involved, +awkward, abrupt, obscure, the reader will either be oppressed with a +confused sense of cumbrous material which awaits an artist to give it +shape, or he will have the labour thrown upon him of extricating the +material and reshaping it in his own mind. + +How entirely men misconceive the relation of style to thought may be +seen in the replies they make when their writing is objected to, or in +the ludicrous attempts of clumsy playfulness and tawdry eloquence when +they wish to be regarded as writers. + +"Le style le moins noble a pourtant sa noblesse," + +and the principle of Sincerity, not less than the suggestions of taste, +will preserve the integrity of each style. A philosopher, an +investigator, an historian, or a moralist so far from being required to +present the graces of a wit, an essayist, a pamphleteer, or a novelist, +would be warned off such ground by the necessity of expressing himself +sincerely. Pascal, Biot, Buffon, or Laplace are examples of the +clearness and beauty with which ideas may be presented wearing all the +graces of fine literature, and losing none of the severity of science. +Bacon, also, having an opulent and active intellect, spontaneously +expressed himself in forms of various excellence. But what a pitiable +contrast is presented by Kant! It is true that Kant having a much +narrower range of sensibility could have no such ample resource of +expression, and he was wise in not attempting to rival the splendour of +the NOVUM ORGANUM; but he was not simply unwise, he was extremely +culpable in sending forth his thoughts as so much raw material which +the public was invited to put into shape as it could. Had he been aware +that much of his bad writing was imperfect thinking, and always +imperfect adaptation of means to ends, he might have been induced to +recast it into more logical and more intelligible sentences, which +would have stimulated the reader's mind as much as they now oppress it. +Nor had Kant the excuse of a subject too abstruse for clear +presentation. The examples of Descartes, Spinoza, Hobbes, and Hume are +enough to show how such subjects can be mastered, and the very +implication of writing a book is that the writer has mastered his +material and can give it intelligible form. + +A grave treatise, dealing with a narrow range of subjects or moving +amid severe abstractions, demands a gravity and severity of style which +is dissimilar to that demanded by subjects of a wider scope or more +impassioned impulse; but abstract philosophy has its appropriate +elegance no less than mathematics. I do not mean that each subject +should necessarily be confined to one special mode of treatment, in the +sense which was understood when people spoke of the "dignity of +history," and so forth. The style must express the writer's mind; and +as variously constituted minds will treat one and the same subject, +there will be varieties in their styles. If a severe thinker be also a +man of wit, like Bacon, Hobbes, Pascal, or Galileo, the wit will flash +its sudden illuminations on the argument; but if he be not a man of +wit, and condescends to jest under the impression that by jesting he is +giving an airy grace to his argument, we resent it as an impertinence. + +I have throughout used Style in the narrower sense of expression rather +than in the wider sense of "treatment" which is sometimes affixed to +it. The mode of treating a subject is also no doubt the writer's or the +artist's way of expressing what is in his mind, but this is Style in +the more general sense, and does not admit of being reduced to laws +apart from those of Vision and Sincerity. A man necessarily sees a +subject in a particular light--ideal or grotesque, familiar or +fanciful, tragic or humorous, he may wander into fairy-land, or move +amid representative abstractions; he may follow his wayward fancy in +its grotesque combinations, or he may settle down amid the homeliest +details of daily life. But having chosen he must be true to his choice. +He is not allowed to represent fairy-land as if it resembled Walworth, +nor to paint Walworth in the colours of Venice. The truth of +consistency must be preserved in his treatment, truth in art meaning of +course only truth within the limits of the art; thus the painter may +produce the utmost relief he can by means of light and shade, but is +peremptorily forbidden to use actual solidities on a plane surface. He +must represent gold by colour, not by sticking gold on his fIgures. +[This was done with naivete by the early painters, and is really very +effective in the pictures of Gentile da Fabriano--that Paul Veronese of +the fifteenth century--as the reader will confess if he has seen the +"Adoration of the Magi," in the Florence Academy; but it could not be +tolerated now]. Our applause is greatly determined by our sense of +difficulty overcome, and to stick gold on a picture is an avoidance of +the difficulty of painting it. + +Truth of presentation has an inexplicable charm for us, and throws a +halo round even ignoble objects. A policeman idly standing at the +corner of the street, or a sow lazily sleeping against the sun, are not +in nature objects to excite a thrill of delight, but a painter may, by +the cunning of his art, represent them so as to delight every +spectator. The same objects represented by an inferior painter will +move only a languid interest; by a still more inferior painter they may +be represented so as to please none but the most uncultivated eye. Each +spectator is charmed in proportion to his recognition of a triumph over +difficulty which is measured by the degree of verisimilitude. The +degrees are many. In the lowest the pictured object is so remote from +the reality that we simply recognise what the artist meant to +represent. In like manner we recognise in poor novels and dramas what +the authors mean to be characters, rather than what our experience of +life suggests as characteristic. + +Not only do we apportion our applause according to the degree of +versimilitude attained, but also according to the difficulty each +involves. It is a higher difficulty, and implies a nobler art to +represent the movement and complexity of life and emotion than to catch +the fixed lineaments of outward aspect. To paint a policeman idly +lounging at the street corner with such verisimilitude that we are +pleased with the representation, admiring the solidity of the figure, +the texture of the clothes, and the human aspect of the features, is so +difficult that we loudly applaud the skill which enables an artist to +imitate what in itself is uninteresting; and if the imitation be +carried to a certain degree of verisimilitude the picture may be of +immense value. But no excellence of representation can make this high +art. To carry it into the region of high art, another and far greater +difficulty must be overcome; the man must be represented under the +strain of great emotion, and we must recognise an equal truthfulness in +the subtle indications of great mental agitation, the fleeting +characters of which are far less easy to observe and to reproduce, than +the stationary characters of form and costume. We may often observe how +the novelist or dramatist has tolerable success so long as his +personages are quiet, or moved only by the vulgar motives of ordinary +life, and how fatally uninteresting, because unreal, these very +personages become as soon as they are exhibited under the stress of +emotion: their language ceases at once to be truthful, and becomes +stagey; their conduct is no longer recognisable as that of human beings +such as we have known. Here we note a defect of treatment, a mingling +of styles, arising partly from defect of vision, and partly from an +imperfect sincerity; and success in art will always be found dependent +on integrity of style. The Dutch painters, so admirable in their own +style, would become pitiable on quitting it for a higher. + +But I need not enter at any length upon this subject of treatment. +Obviously a work must have charm or it cannot succeed; and the charm +will depend on very complex conditions in the artist's mind. What +treatment is in Art, composition is in Philosophy. The general +conception of the point of view, and the skilful distribution of the +masses, so as to secure the due preparation, development, and +culmination, without wasteful prodigality or confusing want of +symmetry, constitute Composition, which is to the structure of a +treatise what Style--in the narrower sense--is to the structure of +sentences. How far Style is reducible to law will be examined in the +next chapter. + +EDITOR. + +THE LAWS OF STYLE. + +From what was said in the preceding chapter, the reader will understand +that our present inquiry is only into the laws which regulate the +mechanism of Style. In such an analysis all that constitutes the +individuality, the life, the charm of a great writer, must escape. But +we may dissect Style, as we dissect an organism, and lay bare the +fundamental laws by which each is regulated. And this analogy may +indicate the utility of our attempt; the grace and luminousness of a +happy talent will no more be acquired by a knowledge of these laws, +than the force and elasticity of a healthy organism will be given by a +knowledge of anatomy; but the mistakes in Style, and the diseases of +the organism, may be often avoided, and sometimes remedied, by such +knowledge. + +On a subject like this, which has for many years engaged the researches +of many minds, I shall not be expected to bring forward discoveries; +indeed, novelty would not unjustly be suspected of fallacy. The only +claim my exposition can have on the reader's attention is that of being +an attempt to systematise what has been hitherto either empirical +observation, or the establishment of critical rules on a false basis. I +know but of one exception to this sweeping censure, and that is the +essay on the Philosophy of Style, by Mr. Herbert Spencer, [Spencer's +ESSAYS: SCIENTIFIC, POLITICAL, AND SPECULATIVE. First Series. 1858]. +where for the first time, I believe, the right method was pursued of +seeking in psychological conditions for the true laws of expression. + +The aims of Literature being instruction and delight, Style must in +varying degrees appeal to our intellect and our sensibilities, +sometimes reaching the intellect through the presentation of simple +ideas, and at others through the agitating influence of emotions; +sometimes awakening the sensibilities through the reflexes of ideas, +and sometimes through a direct appeal. A truth may be nakedly expressed +so as to stir the intellect alone; or it may be expressed in terms +which, without disturbing its clearness, may appeal to our sensibility +by their harmony or energy. It is not possible to distinguish the +combined influences of clearness, movement, and harmony, so as to +assign to each its relative effect; and if in the ensuing pages one law +is isolated from another, this must be understood as an artifice +inevitable in such investigations. + +There are five laws under which all the conditions of Style may be +grouped.--1. The Law of Economy. 2. The Law of Simplicity. 3. The Law +of Sequence. 4, The Law of Climax. 5. The Law of Variety. + +It would be easy to reduce these five to three, and range all +considerations under Economy, Climax, and Variety; or we might amplify +the divisions; but there are reasons of convenience as well as symmetry +which give a preference to the five. I had arranged them thus for +convenience some years ago, and I now find they express the equivalence +of the two great factors of Style---Intelligence and Sensibility. Two +out of the five, Economy and Simplicity, more specially derive their +significance from intellectual needs; another two, Climax and Variety, +from emotional needs; and between these is the Law of Sequence, which +is intermediate in its nature, and may be claimed with equal justice by +both. The laws of force and the laws of pleasure can only be +provisionally isolated in our inquiry; in style they are blended. The +following brief estimate of each considers it as an isolated principle +undetermined by any other. + +1. THE LAW OF ECONOMY. + +Our inquiry is scientific, not empirical; it therefore seeks the +psychological basis for every law, endeavouring to ascertain what +condition of a reader's receptivity determines the law. Fortunately for +us, in the case of the first and most important law the psychological +basis is extremely simple, and may be easily appreciated by a reference +to its analogue in Mechanics. + +What is the first object of a machine? Effective work--VIS VIVA. Every +means by which friction can be reduced, and the force thus economised +be rendered available, necessarily solicits the constructor's care. He +seeks as far as possible to liberate the motion which is absorbed in +the working of the machine, and to use it as VIS VIVA. He knows that +every superfluous detail, every retarding influence, is at the cost of +so much power, and is a mechanical defect though it may perhaps be an +aesthetic beauty or a practical convenience. He may retain it because +of the beauty, because of the convenience, but he knows the price of +effective power at which it is obtained. + +And thus it stands with Style. The first object of a writer is +effective expression, the power of communicating distinct thoughts and +emotional suggestions. He has to overcome the friction of ignorance and +pre-occupation. He has to arrest a wandering attention, and to clear +away the misconceptions which cling around verbal symbols. Words are +not llke iron and wood, coal and water, invariable in their properties, +calculable in their effects. They are mutable in their powers, deriving +force and subtle variations of force from very trifling changes of +position; colouring and coloured by the words which precede and +succeed; significant or insignificant from the powers of rhythm and +cadence. It is the writer's art so to arrange words that they shall +suffer the least possible retardation from the inevitable friction of +the reader's mind. The analogy of a machine is perfect. In both cases +the object is to secure the maximum of disposable force, by diminishing +the amount absorbed in the working. Obviously, if a reader is engaged +in extricating the meaning from a sentence which ought to have +reflected its meaning as in a mirror, the mental energy thus employed +is abstracted from the amount of force which he has to bestow on the +subject; he has mentally to form anew the sentence which has been +clumsily formed by the writer; he wastes, on interpretation of the +symbols, force which might have been concentrated on meditation of the +propositions. This waste is inappreciable in writing of ordinary +excellence, and on subjects not severely tasking to the attention; but +if inappreciable, it is always waste; and in bad writing, especially on +topics of philosophy and science, the waste is important. And it is +this which greatly narrows the circle for serious works. Interest in +the subjects treated of may not be wanting; but the abundant energy is +wanting which to the fatigue of consecutive thinking will add the +labour of deciphering the language. Many of us are but too familiar +with the fatigue of reconstructing unwieldy sentences in which the +clauses are not logically dependent, nor the terms free from equivoque; +we know what it is to have to hunt for the meaning hidden in a maze of +words; and we can understand the yawning indifference which must soon +settle upon every reader of such writing, unless he has some strong +external impulse or abundant energy. + +Economy dictates that the meaning should be presented in a form which +claims the least possible attention to itself as form, unless when that +form is part of the writer's object, and when the simple thought is +less important than the manner of presenting it. And even when the +manner is playful or impassioned, the law of Economy still presides, +and insists on the rejection of whatever is superfluous. Only a +delicate susceptibility can discriminate a superfluity in passages of +humour or rhetoric; but elsewhere a very ordinary understanding can +recognise the clauses and the epithets which are out of place, and in +excess, retarding or confusing the direct appreciation of the thought. +If we have written a clumsy or confused sentence, we shall often find +that the removal of an awkward inversion liberates the ides, or that +the modification of a cadence increases the effect. This is sometimes +strikingly seen at the rehearsal of a play: a passage which has fallen +flat upon the ear is suddenly brightened into effectiveness by the +removal of a superfluous phrase, which, by its retarding influence, had +thwarted the declamatory crescendo. + +Young writers may learn something of the secrets of Economy by careful +revision of their own compositions, and by careful dissection of +passages selected both from good and bad writers. They have simply to +strike out every word, every clause, and every sentence, the removal of +which will not carry away any of the constituent elements of the +thought. Having done this, let them compare the revised with the +unrevised passages, and see where the excision has improved, and where +it has injured, the effect. For Economy, although a primal law, is not +the only law of Style. It is subject to various limitations from the +pressure of other laws; and thus the removal of a trifling superfluity +will not be justified by a wise economy if that loss entails a +dissonance, or prevents a climax, or robs the expression of its ease +and variety. Economy is rejection of whatever is superfluous; it is not +Miserliness. A liberal expenditure is often the best economy, and is +always so when dictated by a generous impulse, not by a prodigal +carelessness or ostentatious vanity. That man would greatly err who +tried to make his style effective by stripping it of all redundancy and +ornament, presenting it naked before the indifferent public. Perhaps +the very redundancy which he lops away might have aided the reader to +see the thought more clearly, because it would have kept the thought a +little longer before his mind, and thus prevented him from hurrying on +to the next while this one was still imperfectly conceived. + +As a general rule, redundancy is injurious; and the reason of the rule +will enable us to discriminate when redundancy is injurious and when +beneficial. It is injurious when it hampers the rapid movement of the +reader's mind, diverting his attention to some collateral detail. But +it is beneficial when its retarding influence is such as only to detain +the mind longer on the thought, and thus to secure the fuller effect of +the thought. For rapid reading is often imperfect reading. The mind is +satisfied with a glimpse of that which it ought to have steadily +contemplated; and any artifice by which the thought can be kept long +enough before the mind, may indeed be a redundancy as regards the +meaning, but is an economy of power. Thus we see that the phrase or the +clause which we might be tempted to lop away because it threw no light +upon the proposition, would be retained by a skilful writer because it +added power. You may know the character of a redundancy by this one +test: does it divert the attention, or simply retard it? The former is +always a loss of power; the latter is sometlmes a gain of power. The +art of the writer consists in rejecting all redundancies that do not +conduce to clearness. The shortest sentences are not necessarily the +clearest. Concision gives energy, but it also adds restraint. The +labour of expanding a terse sentence to its full meaning is often +greater than the labour of picking out the meaning from a diffuse and +loitering passage. Tacitus is more tiresome than Cicero. + +There are occasions when the simplest and fewest words surpass in +effect all the wealth of rhetorical amplification. An example may be +seen in the passage which has been a favourite illustration from the +days of Longinus to our own. "God said: Let there be light! and there +was light." This is a conception of power so calm and simple that it +needs only to be presented in the fewest and the plainest words, and +would be confused or weakened by any suggestion of accessories. Let us +amplify the expression in the redundant style of miscalled eloquent +writers: "God, in the magnificent fulness of creative energy, +exclaimed: Let there be light! and lo! the agitating fiat immediately +went forth, and thus in one indivisible moment the whole universe was +illumlned." We have here a sentence which I am certain many a writer +would, in secret, prefer to the masterly plainness of Genesis. It is +not a sentence which would have captivated critics. + +Although this sentence from Genesis is sublime in its simplicity, we +are not to conclude that simple sentences are uniformly the best, or +that a style composed of propositions briefly expressed would obey a +wise Economy. The reader's pleasure must not be forgotten; and he +cannot be pleased by a style which always leaps and never flows. A +harsh, abrupt, and dislocated manner irritates and perplexes him by its +sudden jerks. It is easier to write short sentences than to read them. +An easy, fluent, and harmonious phrase steals unobtrusively upon the +mind, and allows the thought to expand quietly like an opening flower. +But the very suasiveness of harmonious writing needs to be varied lest +it become a drowsy monotony; and the sharp short sentences which are +intolerable when abundant, when used sparingly act like a trumpet-call +to the drooping attention. + +II. THE LAW OF SIMPLICITY. + +The first obligation of Economy is that of using the fewest words to +secure the fullest effect. It rejects whatever is superfluous; but the +question of superfluity must, as I showed just now, be determined in +each individual case by various conditions too complex and numerous to +be reduced within a formula. The same may be said of Simplicity, which +is indeed so intimately allied with Economy that I have only given it a +separate station for purposes of convenience. The psychological basis +is the same for both. The desire for simplicity is impatience at +superfluity, and the impatience arises from a sense of hindrance. + +The first obligation of Simplicity is that of using the simplest means +to secure the fullest effect. But although the mind instinctlvely +rejects all needless complexity, we shall greatly err if we fail to +recognise the fact, that what the mind recoils from is not the +complexity, but the needlessness. When two men are set to the work of +one, there is a waste of means; when two phrases are used to express +one meaning twice, there is a waste of power; when incidents are +multiplied and illustrations crowded without increase of illumination, +there is prodigality which only the vulgar can mistake for opulence. +Simplicity is a relative term. If in sketching the head of a man the +artist wishes only to convey the general characteristics of that head, +the fewest touches show the greatest power, selecting as they do only +those details which carry with them characteristic significance. The +means are simple, as the effect is simple. But if, besides the general +characteristics, he wishes to convey the modelling of the forms, the +play of light and shade, the textures, and the very complex effect of a +human head, he must use more complex means. The simplicity which was +adequate in the one case becomes totally inadequate in the other. + +Obvious as this is, it has not been sufficiently present to the mind of +critics who have called for plain, familiar, and concrete diction, as +if that alone could claim to be simple; who have demanded a style +unadorned by the artifices of involution, cadence, imagery, and +epigram, as if Simplicity were incompatible with these; and have +praised meagreness, mistaking it for Simplicity. Saxon words are words +which in their homeliness have deep-seated power, and in some places +they are the simplest because the most powerful words we can employ; +but their very homeliness excludes them from certain places where their +very power of suggestion is a disturbance of the general effect. The +selective instinct of the artist tells him when his language should be +homely, and when it should be more elevated; and it is precisely in the +imperceptible blending of the plain with the ornate that a great writer +is distinguished. He uses the simplest phrases without triviality, and +the grandest without a suggestion of grandiloquence. + +Simplicity of Style will therefore be understood as meaning absence of +needless superfluity: + +"Without o'erflowing full." + +Its plainness is never meagreness, but unity. Obedient to the primary +impulse of ADEQUATE expression, the style of a complex subject should +be complex; of a technical subject, technical; of an abstract subject, +abstract; of a familiar subject, familiar; of a pictorial subject, +picturesque. The structure of the "Antigone" is simple; but so also is +the structure of "Othello," though it contains many more elements; the +simplicity of both lies in their fulness without superfluity. + +Whatever is outside the purpose, or the feeling, of a scene, a speech, +a sentence, or a phrase, whatever may be omitted without sacrifice of +effect, is a sin against this law. I do not say that the incident, +description, or dialogue, which may be omitted without injury to the +unity of the work, is necessarily a sin against art; still less that, +even when acknowledged as a sin, it may not sometimes be condoned by +its success. The law of Simplicity is not the only law of art; and, +moreover, audiences are, unhappily, so little accustomed to judge works +as wholes, and so ready to seize upon any detail which pleases them, no +matter how incongruously the detail may be placed, + +["Was hilft's, wenn ihr ein Ganzes dargebracht! +Das I'ublicum wird es euch doch zerpfiucken."--GOETHE]. + +that a felicitous fault will captivate applause, let critics shake +reproving heads as they may. Nevertheless the law of Simplicity remains +unshaken, and ought only to give way to the pressure of the law of +Variety. + +The drama offers a good opportunity for studying the operation of this +law, because the limitations of time compel the dramatist to attend +closely to what is and what is not needful for his purpose. A drama +must compress into two or three hours material which may be diffused +through three volumes of a novel, because spectators are more impatient +than readers, and more unequivocally resent by their signs of weariness +any disregard of economy, which in the novel may be skipped. The +dramatist having little time in which to evolve his story, feels that +every scene which does not forward the progress of the action or +intensify the interest in the characters is an artistic defect; though +in itself it may be charmingly written, and may excite applause, it is +away from his immediate purpose. And what is true of purposeless scenes +and characters which divert the current of progress, is equally true, +in a minor degree, of speeches and sentences which arrest the +culminating interest by calling attention away to other objects. It is +an error which arises from a deficient earnestness on the writer's +part, or from a too pliant facility. The DRAMATIS PERSONAE wander in +their dialogue, not swayed by the fluctuations of feeling, but by the +author's desire to show his wit and wisdom, or else by his want of +power to control the vagrant suggestions of his fancy. The desire for +display and the inability to control are weaknesses that lead to almost +every transgression of Simplicity; but sometimes the transgressions are +made in more or less conscious obedience to the law of Variety, +although the highest reach of art is to secure variety by an opulent +simplicity. + +The novelist is not under the same limitations of time, nor has he +to contend against the same mental impatience on the part of his +public. He may therefore linger where the dramatist must hurry; he may +digress, and gain fresh impetus from the digression, where the +dramatist would seriously endanger the effect of his scene by retarding +its evolution. The novelist with a prudent prodigality may employ +descriptions, dialogues, and episodes, which would be fatal in a drama. +Characters may be introduced and dismissed without having any important +connection with the plot; it is enough if they serve the purpose of the +chapter in which they appear. Although as a matter of fine art no +character should have a place in a novel unless it form an integral +element of the story, and no episode should be introduced unless it +reflects some strong light on the characters or incidents, this is a +critical demand which only fine artists think of satisfying, and only +delicate tastes appreciate. For the mass of readers it is enough if +they are mused; and indeed all readers, no matter how critical their +taste, would rather be pleased by a transgression of the law than +wearied by prescription. Delight condones offence. The only question +for the writer is, whether the offence is so trivial as to be submerged +in the delight. And he will do well to remember that the greater +flexibility belonging to the novel by no means removes the novel from +the laws which rule the drama. The parts of a novel should have organic +relations. Push the licence to excess, and stitch together a volume of +unrelated chapters,--a patchwork of descriptions, dialogues, and +incidents,--no one will call that a novel; and the less the work has of +this unorganised character the greater will be its value, not only in +the eyes of critics, but in its effect on the emotions of the reader. + +Simplicity of structure means organic unity, whether the organism be +simple or complex; and hence in all times the emphasis which critics +have laid upon Simplicity, though they have not unfrequently confounded +it with narrowness of range. In like manner, as we said just now, when +treating of diction they have overlooked the fact that the simplest +must be that which best expresses the thought. Simplicity of diction is +integrity of speech; that which admits of least equivocation, that +which by the clearest verbal symbols most readily calls up in the +reader's mind the images and feelings which the writer wishes to call +up. Such diction may be concrete or abstract, familiar or technical; +its simplicity is determined by the nature of the thought. We shall +often be simpler in using abstract and technical terms than in using +concrete and familiar terms which by their very concreteness and +familiarity call up images and feelings foreign to our immediate +purpose. If we desire the attention to fall upon some general idea we +only blur its outlines by using words that call up particulars. Thus, +although it may be needful to give some definite direction to the +reader's thoughts by the suggestion of a particular fact, we must be +careful not to arrest his attention on the fact itself, still less to +divert it by calling up vivid images of facts unrelated to our present +purpose. For example, I wish to fix in the reader's mind a conception +of a lonely meditative man walking on the sea-shore, and I fall into +the vicious style of our day which is lauded as word-painting, and +write something like this :-- + +"The fishermen mending their storm-beaten boats upon the shore would +lay down the hammer to gaze after him as he passed abstractedly before +their huts, his hair streaming in the salt breeze, his feet crushing +the scattered seaweed, his eyes dreamily fixed upon the purple heights +of the precipitous crags." + +Now it is obvious that the details here assembled are mostly foreign to +my purpose, which has nothing whatever to do with fishermen, storms, +boats, sea-weeds, or purple crags; and by calling up images of these I +only divert the attention from my thought. Whereas, if it had been my +purpose to picture the scene itself, or the man's delight in it, then +the enumeration of details would give colour and distinctness to the +picture. + +The art of a great writer is seen in the perfect fitness of his +expressions. He knows how to blend vividness with vagueness, knows +where images are needed, and where by their vivacity they would be +obstacles to the rapid appreciation of his thought. The value of +concrete illustration artfully used may be seen illustrated in a +passage from Macaulay's invective against Frederick the Great: "On his +head is all the blood which was shod in a war which raged during many +years and in every quarter of the globe, the blood of the column at +Fentonoy, the blood of the mountaineers who were slaughtered at +Culloden. The evils produced by his wickedness were felt in lands where +the name of Prussia was unknown; and in order that he might rob a +neighbour whom he had promised to defend, black men fought on the coast +of Coromandel and red men scalped each other by the great lakes of +North America." Disregarding the justice or injustice of the thought, +note the singular force and beauty of this passage, delightful alike to +ear and mind; and observe how its very elaborateness has the effect of +the finest simplicity, because the successive pictures are constituents +of the general thought, and by their vividness render the conclusion +more impressive. Let us suppose him to have wrltten with the vague +generality of expression much patronised by dignified historians, and +told us that "Frederick was the cause of great European conflicts +extending over long periods; and in consequence of his political +aggression hideous crimes were perpetrated in the most distant parts of +the globe." This absence of concrete images would not have been +simplicity, inasmuch as the labour of converting the general +expressions into definite meanings would thus have been thrown upon the +reader. + +Pictorial illustration has its dangers, as we daily see in the clumsy +imitators of Macaulay, who have not the fine instinct of style, but +obey the vulgar instinct of display, and imagine they can produce a +brilliant effect by the use of strong lights, whereas they distract the +attention with images alien to the general impression, just as crude +colourists vex the eye with importunate splendours. Nay, even good +writers sometimes sacrifice the large effect of a diffusive light to +the small effect of a brilliant point. This is a defect of taste +frequently noticeable in two very good writers, De Quincey and Ruskin, +whose command of expression is so varied that it tempts them into +FIORITURA as flexibility of voice tempts singers to sin against +simplicity. At the close of an eloquent passage De Quincey writes :-- + +"Gravitation that works without holiday for ever and searches every +corner of the universe, what intellect can follow it to its fountains? +And yet, shyer than gravitation, less to be counted on than the +fluxions of sun-dials, stealthier than the growth of a forest, are the +footsteps of Christianity amongst the political workings of man." + +The association of holidays and shyness with an idea so abstract as +that of gravitation, the use of the learned word fluxions to express +the movements of the shadows on a dial, and the discordant suggestion +of stealthiness applied to vegetable growth and Christianity, are so +many offences against simplicity. Let the passage be contrasted with +one in which wealth of imagery is in accordance with the thought it +expresses:-- + +"In the edifices of man there should be found reverent worship and +following, not only of the spirit which rounds the pillars of the +forest, and arches the vault of the avenue--which gives veining to the +leaf and polish to the shell, and grace to every pulse that agitates +animal organisation but of that also which reproves the pillars of the +earth, and builds up her barren precipices into the coldness of the +clouds, and lifts her shadowy cones of mountain purple into the pale +arch of the sky; for these and other glories more than these refuse not +to connect themselves in his thoughts with the work of his own hand; +the grey cliff loses not its nobleness when it reminds us of some +Cyclopoan waste of mural stone; the pinnacles of the rocky promontory +arrange themselves, undegraded, into fantastic semblances of fortress +towns; and even the awful cone of the far-off mountain has a melancholy +mixed with that of its own solitude, which is cast from the images of +nameless tumuli on white sea-shores, and of the heaps of reedy clay +into which chambered cities melt in their mortality." [Ruskin]. + +I shall notice but two points in this singularly beautiful passage. The +one is the exquisite instinct of Sequence in several of the phrases, +not only as to harmony, but as to the evolution of the meaning, +especially in "builds up her barren precipices into the coldness of the +clouds, and lifts her shadowy cones of mountain purple into the pale +arch of the sky." The other is the injurious effect of three words in +the sentence, "for these and other glories more than these REFUSE NOT +TO connect themselves in his thoughts." Strike out the words printed in +italics, and you not only improve the harmony, but free the sentence +from a disturbing use of what Ruskin has named the "pathetic fallacy." +There are times in which Nature may be assumed as in sympathy with our +moods; and at such times the pathetic fallacy is a source of subtle +effect. But in the passage just quoted the introduction seems to me a +mistake: the simplicity of the thought is disturbed by this hint of an +active participation of Nature in man's feelings; it is preserved in +its integrity by the omission of that hint. + +These illustrations will suffice to show how the law we are considering +will command and forbid the use of concrete expressions and vivid +imagery according to the purpose of the writer. A fine taste guided by +Sincerity will determine that use. Nothing more than a general rule can +be laid down. Eloquence, as I said before, cannot spring from the +simple desire to be eloquent; the desire usually leads to +grandiloquence. But Sincerity will save us. We have but to remember +Montesquieu's advice: "Il faut prendre garde aux grandes phrases dans +les humbles sujets; elles produisent l'effet d'une masque a barbe +blanche sur la joue d'un enfant." + +Here another warning may be placed. In our anxiety lest we err on the +side of grandiloquence we may perhaps fall into the opposite error of +tameness. Sincerity will save us here also. Let us but express the +thought and feeling actually in our minds, then our very grandiloquence +(if that is our weakness) will have a certain movement and vivacity not +without effect, and our tameness (if we are tame) will have a +gentleness not without its charm. + +Finally, let us banish from our critical superstitions the notion that +chastity of composition, or simplicity of Style, is in any respect +allied to timidity. There are two kinds of timidity, or rather it has +two different origins, both of which cripple the free movement of +thought. The one is the timidity of fastidiousness, the other of placid +stupidity: the one shrinks from originality lest it should be regarded +as impertinent; the other lest, being new, it should be wrong. We +detect the one in the sensitive discreetness of the style. We detect +the other in the complacency of its platitudes and the stereotyped +commonness of its metaphors. The writer who is afraid of originality +feels himself in deep water when he launches into a commonplace. For +him who is timid because weak, there is no advice, except suggesting +the propriety of silence. For him who is timid because fastidious, +there is this advice: get rid of the superstition about chastity, and +recognise the truth that a style may be simple, even if it move amid +abstractions, or employ few Saxon words, or abound in concrete images +and novel turns of expression. + +III. THE LAW OF SEQUENCE. + +Much that might be included under this head would equally well find its +place under that of Economy or that of Climax. Indeed it is obvious +that to secure perfect Economy there must be that sequence of the words +which will present the least obstacle to the unfolding of the thought, +and that Climax is only attainable through a properly graduated +sequence. But there is another element we have to take into account, +and that is the rhythmical effect of Style. Mr. Herbert Spencer in his +Essay very clearly states the law of Sequence, but I infer that he +would include it entirely under the law of Economy; at any rate he +treats of it solely in reference to intelligibility, and not at all in +its scarcely less important relation to harmony. We have A PRIORI +reasons," he says, "for believing that in every sentence there is one +order of words more effective than any other, and that this order is +the one which presents the elements of the proposition in the +succession in which they may be most readily put together. As in a +narrative, the events should be stated in such sequence that the mind +may not have to go backwards and forwards in order rightly to connect +them; as in a group of sentences, the arrangement should be such that +each of them may be understood as it comes, without waiting for the +subsequent ones; so in every sentence, the sequence of the words should +be that which suggests the constituents of the thought in the order +most convenient for building up that thought." + +But Style appeals to the emotions as well as to the intellect, and the +arrangement of words and sentences which will be the most economical +may not be the most musical, and the most musical may not be the most +pleasurably effective. For Climax and Variety it may be necessary to +sacrifice something of rapid intelligibillty: hence involutions, +antitheses, and suspensions, which disturb the most orderly +arrangement, may yet, in virtue of their own subtle influences, be +counted as improvements on that arrangement. + +Tested by the Intellect and the Feelings, the law of Sequence is seen +to be a curious compound of the two. If we isolate these elements for +the purposes of exposition, we shall find that the principle of the +first is much simpler and more easy of obedience than the principle of +the second. It may be thus stated:-- + +The constituent elements of the conception expressed in the sentence +and the paragraph should be arranged in strict correspondence with an +inductive or a deductive progression. + +All exposition, like all research, is either inductive or deductive. It +groups particulars so as to lead up to a general conception which +embraces them all, but which could not be fully understood until they +had been estimated; or else it starts from some general conception, +already familar to the mind, and as it moves along, casts its light +upon numerous particulars, which are thus shown to be related to it, +but which without that light would have been overlooked. + +If the reader will meditate on that brief statement of the principle, +he will, I think, find it explain many doubtful points. Let me merely +notice one, namely, the dispute as to whether the direct or the +indirect style should be preferred. Some writers insist, and others +practise the precept without insistance, that the proposition should be +stated first, and all its qualifications as well as its evidences be +made to follow; others maintain that the proposition should be made to +grow up step by step with all its evidences and qualifications in their +due order, and the conclusion disclose itself as crowning the whole. +Are not both methods right under different circumstances? If my object +is to convince you of a general truth, or to impress you with a +feeling, which you are not already prepared to accept, it is obvious +that the most effective method is the inductive, which leads your mind +upon a culminating wave of evidence or emotion to the very point I aim +at. But the deductive method is best when I wish to direct the light of +familiar truths and roused emotions, upon new particulars, or upon +details in unsuspected relation to those truths; and when I wish the +attention to be absorbed by these particulars which are of interest in +themselves, not upon the general truths which are of no present +interest except in as far as they light up these details. A growing +thought requires the inductive exposition, an applied thought the +deductive. + +This principle, which is of very wide application, is subject to two +important qualifications--one pressed on it by the necessities of +Climax and Variety, the other by the feebleness of memory, which cannot +keep a long hold of details unless their significance is apprehended; +so that a paragraph of suspended meaning should never be long, and when +the necessities of the case bring together numerous particulars in +evidence of the conclusion, they should be so arranged as to have +culminating force: one clause leading up to another, and throwing its +impetus into it, instead of being linked on to another, and dragging +the mind down with its weight. + +It is surprising how few men understand that Style is a Fine Art; and +how few of those who are fastidious in their diction give much care to +the arrangement of their sentences, paragraphs, and chapters--in a +word, to Composition. The painter distributes his masses with a view to +general effect; so does the musician: writers seldom do so. Nor do they +usually arrange the members of their sentences in that sequence which +shall secure for each its proper emphasis and its determining influence +on the others--influence reflected back and influence projected +forward. As an example of the charm that lies in unostentatious +antiphony, consider this passage from Ruskin:--"Originality in +expression does not depend on invention of new words; nor originality +in poetry on invention of new measures; nor in painting on invention of +new colours or new modes of using them. The chords of music, the +harmonies of colour, the general principles of the arrangement of +sculptural masses, have been determined long ago, and in all +probability cannot be added to any more than they can be altered." Men +write like this by instinct; and I by no means wish to suggest that +writing like this can be produced by rule. What I suggest is, that in +this, as in every other Fine Art, instinct does mostly find itself in +accordance with rule; and a knowledge of rules helps to direct the +blind gropings of feeling, and to correct the occasional mistakes of +instinct. If, after working his way through a long and involved +sentence in which the meaning is rough hewn, the writer were to try its +effect upon ear and intellect, he might see its defects and re-shape it +into beauty and clearness. But in general men shirk this labour, partly +because it is irksome, and partly because they have no distinct +conception of the rules which would make the labour light. + +The law of Sequence, we have seen, rests upon the two requisites of +Clearness and Harmony. Men with a delicate sense of rhythm will +instinctively distribute their phrases in an order that falls agreeably +on the ear, without monotony, and without an echo of other voices; and +men with a keen sense of logical relation will instinctively arrange +their sentences in an order that best unfolds the meaning. The French +are great masters of the law of Sequence, and, did space Permit, I +could cite many excellent examples. One brief passage from Royer +Collard must suffice:--"Les faits que l'observation laisse epars et +muets la causalite les rassemble, les enchaine, leur prete un langage. +Chaque fait revele celui qui a precede, prophetise celui qui va suivre." + +The ear is only a guide to the harmony of a Period, and often tempts us +into the feebleness of expletives or approximative expressions for the +sake of a cadence. Yet, on the other hand, if we disregard the subtle +influences of harmonious arrangement, our thoughts lose much of the +force which would otherwise result from their logical subordination. +The easy evolution of thought in a melodious period, quietly taking up +on its way a variety of incidental details, yet never lingering long +enough over them to divert the attention or to suspend the continuous +crescendo of interest, but by subtle influences of proportion allowing +each clause of the sentence its separate significance, is the product +of a natural gift, as rare as the gift of music, or of poetry. But +until men come to understand that Style is an art, and an amazingly +difficult art, they will continue with careless presumption to tumble +out their sentences as they would lilt stones from a cart, trusting +very much to accident or gravitation for the shapeliness of the result. +I will write a passage which may serve as an example of what I mean, +although the defect is purposely kept within very ordinary limlts-- + +"To construct a sentence with many loosely and not obviously dependent +clauses, each clause containing an important meaning or a concrete +image the vivacity of which, like a boulder in a shallow stream, +disturbs the equable current of thought, and in such a case the more +beautiful the image the greater the obstacle, so that the laws of +simplicity and economy are violated by it,--while each clause really +requires for its interpretation a proposition that is however kept +suspended till the close, is a defect." + +The weariness produced by such writing as this is very great, and yet +the recasting of the passage is easy. Thus:-- + +"It is a defect when a sentence is constructed with many loosely and +not obviously dependent clauses, each of which requires for its +interpretation a preposition that is kept suspended till the close; and +this defect is exaggerated when each clause contains an important +meaning, or a concrete image which, like a boulder in a shallow stream, +disturbs the equable current of thought: the more beautiful the image, +the greater its violation of the laws of simplicity and economy." + +In this second form the sentence has no long suspension of the main +idea, no diversions of the current. The proposition is stated and +illustrated directly, and the mind of the reader follows that of the +writer. How injurious it is to keep the key in your pocket until all +the locks in succession have been displayed may be seen in such a +sentence as this:-- + +"Phantoms of lost power, sudden intuitions and shadowy restorations of +forgotten feelings, sometimes dim and perplexing, sometimes by bright +but furtive glimpses, sometimes by a full and steady revelation +overcharged with light, throw us back in a moment upon scenes and +remembrances that we have left full thirty years behind us." + +Had De Quincey liberated our minds from suspense by first presenting +the thought which first arose in his own mind,--namely, that we are +thrown back upon scenes and remembrances by phantoms of lost power, +&c.--the beauty of his language in its pregnant suggestiveness would +have been felt at once. Instead of that, he makes us accompany him in +darkness, and when the light appears we have to travel backwards over +the ground again to see what we have passed. The passage continues:-- + +"In solitudes, and chiefly in the solitudes of nature, and, above all, +amongst the great and enduring features of nature, such as mountains +and quiet dells, and the lawny recesses of forests, and the silent +shores of lakes--features with which (as being themselves less liable +to change) our feelings have a more abiding associatlon,--under these +circumstances it is that such evanescent hauntings of our forgotten +selves are most apt to startle and waylay us." + +The beauty of this passage seems to me marred by the awkward yet +necessary interruption, "under these circumstances it is," which would +have been avoided by opening the sentence with "such evanescent +hauntings of our forgotten selves are most apt to startle us in +solitudes," &c. Compare the effect of directness in the following:-- + +"This was one of the most common shapes of extinguished power from +which Coleridge fled to the great city. But sometimes the same decay +came back upon his heart in the more poignant shape of intimations and +vanishing glimpses recovered for one moment from the Paradise of youth, +and from fields of joy and power, over which for him too certainly he +felt that the cloud of night was settling for ever." + +Obedience to the law of Sequence gives strength by giving clearness and +beauty of rhythm; it economises force and creates music. A very +trifling disregard of it will mar an effect. See an example both of +obedience and trifling disobedience in the following passage from +Ruskin:-- + +"People speak in this working age, when they speak from their hearts, +as if houses and lands and food and raiment were alone useful, and as +if Sight, Thought, and Admiration were all profitless, so that men +insolently call themselves Utilitarians, who would turn, if they had +their way, themselves and their race into vegetables; men who think, as +far as such can be said to think, that the meat is more than life and +the raiment than the body, who look on earth as a stable and to its +fruit as fodder; vinedressers and husbandmen who love the corn they +grind and the grapes they crush better than the gardens of the angels +upon the slopes of Eden." + +It is instinctive to contrast the dislocated sentence, "who would turn, +if they had their way, themselves and their race," with the sentence +which succeeds it, "men who think, as far as such men can be said to +think, that the meat," &c. In the latter the parenthetic interruption +is a source of power: it dams the current to increase its force; in the +former the inversion is a loss of power: it is a dissonance to the ear +and a diversion of the thought. + +As illustrations of Sequence in composition, two passages may be quoted +from Macaulay which display the power of pictorial suggestions when, +instead of diverting attention from the main purpose, they are arranged +with progressive and culminating effect. + +"Such, or nearly such, was the change which passed on the Mogul empire +during the forty years which followed the death of Aurungzebe. A series +of nominal sovereigns, sunk in indolence and debauchery, sauntered away +life in secluded palaces, chewing bang, fondling dancing girls, and +listening to buffoons. A series of ferocious invaders had descended +through the western passes to prey on the defenceless wealth of +Hindostan. A Persian conqueror crossed the Indus, marched through the +gates of Delhi, and bore away in triumph those treasures of which the +magnificence had astounded Roe and Bernier;--the peacock throne, on +which the richest jewels of Golconda had been disposed by the most +skilful hands of Europe, and the inestimable Mountain of Light, which, +after many strange vicissitudes, lately shone in the bracelet of +Runjeet Sing, and is now destined to adorn the hideous idol of Prista. +The Afghan soon followed to complete the work of devastation which the +Persian had begun. The warlike tribe of Rajpoots threw off the +Mussulman yoke. A band of'mercenary soldiers occupied the Rohilcund. +The Seiks ruled on the Indus. The Jauts spread terror along the Jumnah. +The high lands which border on the western sea-coast of India poured +forth a yet more formidable race--a race which was long the terror of +every native power, and which yielded only after many desperate and +doubtful struggles to the fortune and genius of England. It was under +the reign of Aurungzebe that this wild clan of plunderers first +descended from the mountains; and soon after his death every corner of +his wide empire learned to tremble at the mighty name of the Mahrattas. +Many fertile viceroyalties were entirely subdued by them. Their +dominions stretched across the peninsula from sea to sea. Their +captains reigned at Poonah, at Gualior, in Guzerat, in Berar, and in +Tanjore." + +Such prose as this affects us like poetry. The pictures and suggestions +might possibly have been gathered together by any other historian; but +the artful succession, the perfect sequence, could only have been found +by a fine writer. I pass over a few paragraphs, and pause at this +second example of a sentence simple in structure, though complex in its +elements, fed but not overfed with material, and almost perfect in its +cadence and logical connection. "Scarcely any man, however sagacious, +would have thought it possible that a trading company, separated from +India by fifteen thousand miles of sea, and possessing in India only a +few acres for purposes of commerce, would in less than a hundred years +spread its empire from Cape Comorin to the eternal snows of the +Himalayas--would compel Mahratta and Mahomedan to forget their mutual +feuds in common subjection--would tame down even those wild races which +had resisted the most powerful of the Moguls; and having established a +government far stronger than any ever known in those countries, would +carry its victorious arms far to the east of the Burrampooter, and far +to the west of the Hydaspes--dictate terms of peace at the gates of +Ava, and seat its vassals on the throne of Candahar." + +Let us see the same principle exhibited in a passage at once pictorial +and argumentative. "We know more certainly every day," says Ruskin, +"that whatever appears to us harmful in the universe has some +beneficent or necessary operation; that the storm which destroys a +harvest brightens the sunbeams for harvests yet unsown, and that a +volcano which buries a city preserves a thousand from destruction. But +the evil is not for the time less fearful because we have learned it to +be necessary; and we can easily understand the timidity or the +tenderness of the spirit which could withdraw itself from the presence +of destruction, and create in its imagination a world of which the +peace should be unbroken, in which the sky should not darken nor the +sea rage, in which the leaf should not change nor the blossom wither. +That man is greater, however, who contemplates with an equal mind the +alternations of terror and of beauty; who, not rejoicing less beneath +the sunny sky, can also bear to watch the bars of twilight narrowing on +the horizon; and, not less sensible to the blessing of the peace of +nature, can rejoice in the magnificence of the ordinances by which that +peace is protected and secured. But separated from both by an +immeasurable distance would be the man who delighted in convulsion and +disease for their own sake; who found his daily food in the disorder of +nature mingled with the suffering of humanity; and watched joyfully at +the right hand of the Angel whose appointed work is to destroy as well +as to accuse, while the corners of the house of feasting were struck by +the wind from the wilderness." + +I will now cite a passage from Burke, which will seem tame after the +pictorial animation of the passages from Macaulay and Ruskin; but +which, because it is simply an exposition of opinions addressed to the +understanding, will excellently illustrate the principle I am +enforcing. He is treating of the dethronement of kings. "As it was not +made for common abuses, so it is not to be agitated by common minds. +The speculative line of demarcation, where obedience ought to end and +resistance must begin, is faint, obscure, and not easily definable. It +is not a single act or a single event which determines it. Governments +must be abused and deranged, indeed, before it can be thought of; and +the prospect of the future must be as bad as the experience of the +past. When things are in that lamentable condition, the nature of the +disease is to indicate the remedy to those whom nature has qualified to +administer in extremities this critical, ambiguous, bitter potion to a +distempered state. Times and occasions and provocations will teach +their own lessons. The wise will determine from the gravity of the +case; the irritable from sensibility to oppression; the high-minded +from disdain and indignation at abusive power in unworthy hands; the +brave and bold from love of honourable danger in a generous cause. But +with or without right, a revolution will be the very last resource of +the thinking and the good." + +As a final example I will cite a passage from M. Taine:--"De la encore +cette insolence contre les inferieurs, et ce mepris verse d'etage en +etage depuis le premier jusqu'au dernier. Lorsque dans une societe la +loi consacre les conditions inegales, personne n'est exempt d'insulte; +le grand seigneur, outrage par le roi, outrage le noble qui outrage le +peuple; la nature humaine est humilie a tous les etages, et la societe +n'est plus qu'un commerce d'affronts." + +The law of Sequence by no means prescribes that we should invariably +state the proposition before its qualifications--the thought before its +illustrations; it merely prescribes that we should arrange our phrases +in the order of logical dependence and rhythmical cadence, the order +best suited for clearness and for harmony. The nature of the thought +will determine the one, our sense of euphony the other. + +IV. THE LAW OF CLIMAX. + +We need not pause long over this; it is generally understood. The +condition of our sensibilities is such that to produce their effect +stimulants must be progressive in intensity and varied in kind. On this +condition rest the laws of Climax and Variety. The phrase or image +which in one position will have a mild power of occupying the thoughts, +or stimulating the emotions, loses this power if made to succeed one of +like kind but more agitating influence, and will gain an accession of +power if it be artfully placed on the wave of a climax. We laugh at + +"Then came Dalhousie, that great God of War, +Lieutenant-Colonel to the Earl of Mar," + +because of the relaxation which follows the sudden tension of the mind; +but if we remove the idea of the colonelcy from this position of +anti-climax, the same couplet becomes energetic rather than ludicrous-- + +"Lieutenant-Colonel to the Earl of Mar, +Then came Dalhousie, that great God of War." + +I have selected this strongly marked case, instead of several feeble +passages which might be chosen from the first book at hand, wherein +carelessness allows the sentences to close with the least important, +phrases, and the style droops under frequent anti-climax. Let me now +cite a passage from Macaulay which vividly illustrates the effect of +Climax:-- + +"Never, perhaps, was the change which the progress of civilisation has +produced in the art of war more strikingly illustrated than on that +day. Ajax beating down the Trojan leader with a rock which two ordinary +men could scarcely lift; Horatius defending the bridge against an army; +Richard, the lion-hearted, spurring along the whole Saracen line +without finding an enemy to withstand his assault; Robert Bruce +crushing with one blow the helmet and head of Sir Harry Bohun in sight +of the whole array of England and Scotland,--such are the heroes of a +dark age. [Here is an example of suspended meaning, where the suspense +intensifies the effect, because each particular is vividly apprehended +in itself, and all culminate in the conclusion; they do not complicate +the thought, or puzzle us, they only heighten expectation]. In such an +age bodily vigour is the most indispensable qualification of a warrior. +At Landen two poor sickly beings, who, in a rude state of society, +would have been regarded as too puny to bear any part in combats, were +the souls of two great armies. In some heathen countries they would +have been exposed while infants. In Christendom they would, six hundred +years earlier, have been sent to some quiet cloister. But their lot had +fallen on a time when men had discovered that the strength of the +muscles is far inferior in value to the strength of the mind. It is +probable that among the hundred and twenty thousand soldiers that were +marshalled round Neerwinden, under all the standards of Western Europe, +the two feeblest in body were the hunchbacked dwarf, who urged forward +the fiery onset of France, and the asthmatic skeleton who covered the +slow retreat of England." + +The effect of Climax is very marked in the drama. Every speech, every +scene, every act, should have its progressive sequence. Nothing can be +more injudicious than a trivial phrase following an energetic phrase, a +feeble thought succeeding a burst of passion, or even a passionate +thought succeeding one more passionate. Yet this error is frequently +committed. + +In the drama all laws of Style are more imperious than in fiction or +prose of any kind, because the art is more intense. But Climax is +demanded in every species of composition, for it springs from a +psychological necessity. It is pressed upon, however, by the law of +Variety in a way to make it far from safe to be too rigidly followed. +It easily degenerates into monotony. + +V. THE LAW OF VARIETY. + +Some one, after detailing an elaborate recipe for a salad, wound up the +enumeration of ingredients and quantities with the advice to "open the +window and throw it all away." This advice might be applied to the +foregoing enumeration of the laws of Style, unless these were +supplemented by the important law of Variety. A style which rigidly +interpreted the precepts of economy, simplicity, sequence, and climax, +which rejected all superfluous words and redundant ornaments, adopted +the easiest and most logical arrangement, and closed every sentence and +every paragraph with a climax, might be a very perfect bit of mosaic, +but would want the glow and movement of a living mind. Monotony would +settle on it like a paralysing frost. A series of sentences in which +every phrase was a distinct thought, would no more serve as pabulum for +the mind, than portable soup freed from all the fibrous tissues of meat +and vegetable would serve as food for the body. Animals perish from +hunger in the presence of pure albumen; and minds would lapse into +idiocy in the presence of unadulterated thought. But without invoking +extreme cases, let us simply remember the psychological fact that it is +as easy for sentences to be too compact as for food to be too +concentrated; and that many a happy negligence, which to microscopic +criticism may appear defective, will be the means of giving clearness +and grace to a style. Of course the indolent indulgence in this laxity +robs style of all grace and power. But monotony in the structure of +sentences, monotony of cadence, monotony of climax, monotony anywhere, +necessarily defeats the very aim and end of style; it calls attention +to the manner; it blunts the sensibilities; it renders excellences +odious. + +"Beauty deprived of its proper foils and adjuncts ceases to be enjoyed +as beauty, just as light deprived of all shadow ceases to be enjoyed as +light. A white canvas cannot produce an effect of sunshine; the painter +must darken it in some places before he can make it look luminous in +others; nor can the uninterrupted succession of beauty produce the true +effect of beauty; it must be foiled by inferiority before its own power +can be developed. Nature has for the most part mingled her inferior and +noble elements as she mingles sunshine with shade, giving due influence +to both. The truly high and beautiful art of Angelico is continually +refreshed and strengthened by his frank portraiture of the most +ordinary features of his brother monks, of the recorded peculiarities +of ungainly sanctity; but the modern German and Raphaelesque schools +lose all honour and nobleness in barber-like admiration of handsome +faces, and have in fact no real faith except in straight noses and +curled hair. Paul Veronese opposes the dwarf to the soldier, and the +negress to the queen; Shakspeare places Caliban beside Miranda, and +Autolycus beside Perdita; but the vulgar idealist withdraws his beauty +to the safety of the saloon, and his innocence to the seclusion of the +cloister; he pretends that he does this in delicacy of choice and +purity of sentiment, while in truth he has neither courage to front the +monster nor wit enough to furnish the knave.'' [Ruskin]. + +And how is Variety to be secured? The plan is simple, but like many +other simple plans, is not without difficulty. It is for the writer to +obey the great cardinal principle of Sincerity, and be brave enough to +express himself in his own way, following the mood of his own mind, +rather than endeavouring to catch the accents of another, or to adapt +himself to some standard of taste. No man really thinks and feels +monotonously. If he is monotonous in his manner of setting forth his +thoughts and feelings, that is either because he has not learned the +art of writing, or because he is more or less consciously imitating the +manner of others. The subtle play of thought will give movement and +life to his style if he do not clog it with critical superstitions. I +do not say that it will give him grace and power; I do not say that +relying on perfect sincerity will make him a fine writer, because +sincerity will not give talent; but I say that sincerity will give him +all the power that is possible to him, and will secure him the +inestimable excellence of Variety. + +EDITOR. + + + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PRINCIPLES OF SUCCESS IN +LITERATURE*** + + +******* This file should be named 10420.txt or 10420.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/4/2/10420 + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions 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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