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diff --git a/16178-h/16178-h.htm b/16178-h/16178-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..09ffb08 --- /dev/null +++ b/16178-h/16178-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,4751 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of Essays on Art, by A. Clutton-Brock. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + p { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + hr { width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + } + + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + + .linenum {position: absolute; top: auto; left: 4%;} /* poetry number */ + .blockquot{margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 10%;} + .pagenum {position: absolute; left: 92%; font-size: smaller; text-align: right;} /* page numbers */ + .sidenote {width: 20%; padding-bottom: .5em; padding-top: .5em; + padding-left: .5em; padding-right: .5em; margin-left: 1em; + float: right; clear: right; margin-top: 1em; + font-size: smaller; background: #eeeeee; border: dashed 1px;} + + .bb {border-bottom: solid 2px;} + .bl {border-left: solid 2px;} + .bt {border-top: solid 2px;} + .br {border-right: solid 2px;} + .bbox {border: solid 2px;} + + .center {text-align: center;} + .centerbold {text-align: center; font-weight: bold;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + .u {text-decoration: underline;} + + .caption {font-weight: bold;} + .chapterhead {text-align: center; font-size: 1.6em; font-weight: bold; margin-top: 2.5em; margin-bottom: 1em;} + .return {text-align: center; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent: 0; font-size: 85%;} + .sig {text-align: right; margin-right: 10%; font-weight: bold;} + + .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} + + .figleft {float: left; clear: left; margin-left: 0; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: + 1em; margin-right: 1em; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + .figright {float: right; clear: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; + margin-top: 1em; margin-right: 0; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + .footnotes {border: dashed 1px;} + .footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + .footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} + .fnanchor {vertical-align: super; font-size: .8em; text-decoration: none;} + + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Essays on Art, by A. Clutton-Brock + +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: Essays on Art + +Author: A. Clutton-Brock + +Release Date: July 2, 2005 [EBook #16178] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ESSAYS ON ART *** + + + + +Produced by Ted Garvin, Peter Barozzi and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + + + +<h1>ESSAYS ON ART<br /><br /><br /></h1> + + +<h3>BY<br /><br /></h3> + +<h2>A. CLUTTON-BROCK<br /><br /><br /></h2> + + + + +<p class="centerbold">METHUEN & CO. LTD.<br /> +36 ESSEX STREET W.C.<br /> +LONDON</p> + + + +<p class="center"><i>First Published in 1919</i><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_v" id="Pg_v" title="Pg_v">[v]</a></span></div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p class="chapterhead">PREFACE</p> + + +<p>These essays, reprinted from the <i>Times +Literary Supplement</i> with a few additions +and corrections, are not all entirely or +directly concerned with art; but even the last +one—Waste or Creation?—does bear on the +question, How are we to improve the art of +our own time? After years of criticism I am +more interested in this question than in any +other that concerns the arts. Whistler said +that we could not improve it; the best we +could do for it was not to think about it. I +have discussed that opinion, as also the contrary +opinion of Tolstoy, and the truth that +seems to me to lie between them. If these +essays have any unity, it is given to them by +my belief that art, like other human activities, +is subject to the will of man. We cannot +cause men of artistic genius to be born; but +we can provide a public, namely, ourselves, for +the artist, who will encourage him to be an +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_vi" id="Pg_vi" title="Pg_vi">[vi]</a></span>artist, to do his best, not his worst. I believe +that the quality of art in any age depends, not +upon the presence or absence of individuals of +genius, but upon the attitude of the public +towards art.</p> + +<p>Because of the decline of all the arts, especially +the arts of use, which began at the end of +the eighteenth century and has continued up +to our own time, we are more interested in art +than any people of the past, with the interest +of a sick man in health. To say that this +interest must be futile or mischievous is to +deny the will of man in one of the chief of +human activities; but it often is denied by +those who do not understand how it can be +applied to art. We cannot make artists +directly; no government office can determine +their training; still less can any critic tell +them how they ought to practise their art. +But we can all aim at a state of society in +which they will be encouraged to do their best, +and at a state of mind in which we ourselves +shall learn to know good from bad and to +prefer the good. At present we have neither +the state of society nor the state of mind; and +we can attain to both not by connoisseurship, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_vii" id="Pg_vii" title="Pg_vii">[vii]</a></span>not by an anxiety to like the right thing or at +least to buy it, but by learning the difference +between good and bad workmanship and design +in objects of use. Anyone can do that, +and can resolve to pay a fair price for good +workmanship and design; and only so will the +arts of use, and all the arts, revive again. For +where the public has no sense of design in the +arts of use, it will have none in the "fine arts." +To aim at connoisseurship when you do not +know a good table or chair from a bad one is +to attempt flying before you can walk. So, I +think, professors of art at Oxford or Cambridge +should be chosen, not so much for their knowledge +of Greek sculpture, as for their success in +furnishing their own houses. What can they +know about Greek sculpture if their own +drawing-rooms are hideous? I believe that +the notorious fallibility of many experts is +caused by the fact that they concern themselves +with the fine arts before they have had +any training in the arts of use. So, if we are +to have a school of art at Oxford or Cambridge, +it should put this question to every pupil: If +you had to build and furnish a house of your +own, how would you set about it? And it +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_viii" id="Pg_viii" title="Pg_viii">[viii]</a></span>should train its pupils to give a rational answer +to that question. So we might get a public +knowing the difference between good and bad +in objects of use, valuing the good, and ready +to pay a fair price for it.</p> + +<p>At present we have no such public. A +liberal education should teach the difference +between good and bad in things of use, including +buildings. Oxford and Cambridge profess +to give a liberal education; but you have only +to look at their modern buildings to see that +their teachers themselves do not know a good +building from a bad one. They, like all the +rest of us, think that taste in art is an +irrational mystery; they trust in the expert +and usually in the wrong one, as the ignorant +and superstitious trust in the wrong priest. +For as religion is merely mischievous unless it +is tested in matters of conduct, so taste is mere +pedantry or frivolity unless it is tested on +things of use. These have their sense or nonsense, +their righteousness or unrighteousness, +which anyone can learn to see for himself, and, +until he has learned, he will be at the mercy of +charlatans.</p> + +<p>I have written all these essays as a member +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_ix" id="Pg_ix" title="Pg_ix">[ix]</a></span>of the public, as one who has to find a right +attitude towards art so that the arts may +flourish again. The critic is sure to be a +charlatan or a prig, unless he is to himself not +a pseudo-artist expounding the mysteries of art +and telling artists how to practise them, but +simply one of the public with a natural and +human interest in art. But one of these +essays is a defence of criticism, and I will not +repeat it here.</p> + +<p class="sig">A. CLUTTON-BROCK</p> + +<p> <i>July</i> 30, 1919<br /> +<span class="smcap">Farncombe, Surrey</span></p> + +<div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_xi" id="Pg_xi" title="Pg_xi">[xi]</a></span></div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div><a name="contents" id="contents"></a></div> + +<p class="chapterhead">CONTENTS</p> + + +<div class='centerbold'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="8" cellspacing="5" summary="toc"> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">"The Adoration of the Magi"</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Pg_1">1</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Leonardo da Vinci</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Pg_13">13</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Pompadour in Art</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Pg_27">27</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">An Unpopular Master</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Pg_37">37</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">A Defence of Criticism</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Pg_48">48</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Artist and his Audience</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Pg_58">58</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Wilfulness and Wisdom</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Pg_74">74</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">"The Magic Flute"</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Pg_86">86</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Process or Person?</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Pg_97">97</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Artist and the Tradesman</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Pg_110">110</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Professionalism in Art</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Pg_120">120</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Waste or Creation?</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Pg_132">132</a></td></tr> +</table></div> + + +<div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_1" id="Pg_1" title="Pg_1">[1]</a></span></div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>ESSAYS ON ART</h2> + + +<p class="chapterhead">"The Adoration of the Magi"</p> + +<p>There is one beauty of nature and +another of art, and many attempts have +been made to explain the difference between +them. Signor Croce's theory, now much in +favour, is that nature provides only the raw +material for art. The beginning of the artistic +process is the perception of beauty in nature; +but an artist does not see beauty as he sees a +cow. It is his own mind that imposes on the +chaos of nature an order, a relation, which is +beauty. All men have the faculty, in some +degree, of imposing this order; the artist only +does it more completely than other men, and +he owes his power of execution to that. He +can make the beauty which he has perceived +because he has perceived it clearly; and this +perceiving is part of the making.</p> + +<p>The defect of this theory is that it ends +by denying that very difference between the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_2" id="Pg_2" title="Pg_2">[2]</a></span>beauty of nature and the beauty of art which +it sets out to explain. If the artist makes the +beauty of nature in perceiving it, if it is produced +by the action of his own mind upon the +chaos of reality, then it is the very same beauty +that appears in his art; and if, to us, the +beauty of his art seems different from the +beauty of nature, as we perceive it, it is only +because we have not ourselves seen the beauty +of nature as completely as he has, we have not +reduced chaos so thoroughly to order. It is a +difference not of kind, but of degree; for the +artist himself there is no difference even of +degree. What he makes he sees, and what he +sees he makes. All beauty is artistic, and to +speak of natural beauty is to make a false +distinction.</p> + +<p>Yet it is a distinction that we remain constantly +aware of. In spite of Signor Croce +and all the subtlety and partial truth of his +theory, we do not believe that we make beauty +when we see it, or that the artist makes it +when he sees it. Nor do we believe that that +beauty which he makes is of the same nature +as that which he has perceived in reality. +Rather he, like us, values the beauty which he +perceives in reality because he knows that he +has not made it. It is something, independent +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_3" id="Pg_3" title="Pg_3">[3]</a></span>of himself, to which his own mind makes +answer: that answer is his art; it is the +passionate value expressed in it which gives +beauty to his art. If he knew that the beauty +he perceives was a product of his own mind, he +could not value it so; if he held Signor Croce's +theory, he would cease to be an artist.</p> + +<p>And, in fact, those who act on his theory +do cease to be artists. Nothing kills art so +certainly as the effort to produce a beauty of +the same kind as that which is perceived in +nature. In the beauty of nature, as we perceive +it, there is a perfection of workmanship +which is perfection because there is no workmanship. +Natural things are not made, but +born; works of art are made. There is the +essential difference between them and between +their beauties. If a work of art tries to have +the finish of a thing born, not made, if a piece +of enamel apes the gloss of a butterfly's wing, +it misses the peculiar beauty of art and is but +an inadequate imitation of the beauty of nature. +That beauty of the butterfly's wing, which the +artist like all of us perceives, is of a different +kind from any beauty he can make; and if he +is an artist he knows it and does not try to +make it. But all the arts, even those which +are not themselves imitative, are always being +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_4" id="Pg_4" title="Pg_4">[4]</a></span>perverted by the attempt to imitate the finish +of nature. There is a vanity of craftsmanship +in Louis Quinze furniture, in the later Chinese +porcelain, in modern jewelry, no less than in +Dutch painting, which is the death of art. All +great works of art show an effort, a roughness, +an inadequacy of craftsmanship, which is the +essence of their beauty and distinguishes it +from the beauty of nature. As soon as men +cease to understand this and despise this effort +and roughness and inadequacy, they demand +from art the beauty of nature and get something +which is mostly dead nature, not living +art.</p> + +<p>We can best understand the difference +between the two kinds of beauty if we consider +how beauty steals into language, that art which +we all practise more or less and in which it is +difficult, if not impossible, to imitate the finish +of natural beauty. There is no beauty whatever +in sentences like "Trespassers will be +prosecuted" or "Pass the mustard," because +they say exactly and completely all that they +have to say. There is beauty in sentences like +"The bright day is done, And we are for the +dark," or "After life's fitful fever he sleeps +well," because in them, although they seem +quite simple, the poet is trying to say a thousand +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_5" id="Pg_5" title="Pg_5">[5]</a></span>times more than he can say. It is the +effort to do something beyond the power of +words that brings beauty into them. That is +the very nature of the beauty of art, which +distinguishes it from the beauty of nature; it +is always produced by the effort to accomplish +the impossible, and what the artist knows to +be impossible. Whenever that effort ceases, +whenever the artist sets himself a task that he +can accomplish, a task of mere skill, then he +ceases to be an artist, because he no longer +experiences reality in the manner necessary to +an artist. The great poet is aware of some +excellence in reality so intensely that it is to +him beauty; for all excellence when we are +intensely aware of it is beauty to us. There +is that truth in Croce's theory. Our perception +of beauty does depend upon the intensity +of our perception of excellence. But that +intensity of perception remains perception, +and does not make what it perceives. That +the poet and every artist knows; and his art +is not merely an extension of the process of +perception, but an attempt to express his own +value for that excellence which he has perceived +as beauty. It is an answer to that beauty, a +worship of it, and is itself beautiful because it +makes no effort to compete with it.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_6" id="Pg_6" title="Pg_6">[6]</a></span>Thus in the beauty of art there is always +value and wonder, always a reference to another +beauty different in kind from itself; and we +too, if we are to see the beauty of art, must +share the same value and wonder. To enter +that Kingdom of Heaven we must become +little children as the artist himself does. Art +is the expression of a certain attitude towards +reality, an attitude of wonder and value, a +recognition of something greater than man; +and where that recognition is not, art dies. +In a society valuing only itself, believing that +it can make a heaven of itself out of its own +skill and knowledge and wisdom, the difference +between the beauty of nature and the beauty +of art is no longer seen, and art loses all its +own beauty. The surest sign of corruption +and death in a society is where men and women +see the best life as a life without wonder or +effort or failure, where labour is hidden underground +so that a few may seem to live in +Paradise; where there is perfect finish of all +things, human beings no less than their clothes +and furniture and buildings and pictures; +where the ideal is the lady so perfectly turned +out that any activity whatever would mar her +perfection. In such societies the artist becomes +a slave. He too must produce work that does +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_7" id="Pg_7" title="Pg_7">[7]</a></span>not seem to be work. He must express no +wonder or value for patrons who would be +ashamed to feel either. What he makes must +seem to be born and not made, so that it may +fit a world which pretends to be a born Paradise +populated by cynical angels who own +allegiance to no god. In such a world art +means, beauty means, the concealment of effort, +the pretence that it does not exist; and that +pretence is the end of art and beauty in all +things made by man. There is a close connexion +between the idea of life expressed in +Aristotle's ideal man and the later Greek +sculpture. The aim of that sculpture, as of +his ideal man, was proud and effortless perfection. +Both dread the confession of failure +above all things—and both are dull. In +Aristotle's age art had started upon a long +decline, which ended only when the pretence +of perfection was killed, both in art and in life, +by Christianity. Then the real beauty of art, +the beauty of value and wonder, superseded +the wearisome imitation of natural beauty; +and it is only lately that we have learnt again +to prefer the real beauty to the false.</p> + +<p>Men must free themselves from the contempt +of effort and the desire to conceal it, they must +be content with the perpetual, passionate +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_8" id="Pg_8" title="Pg_8">[8]</a></span>failure of art, before they can see its beauty +or demand that beauty from the artist. When +they themselves become like little children, +then they see that the greatest artists, in all +their seeming triumphs, are like little children +too. For in Michelangelo and Beethoven it +is not the arrogant, the accomplished, the +magnificent, that moves us. They are great +men to us; but they achieved beauty because +in their effort to achieve it they were little +children to themselves. They impose awe on +us, but it is their own awe that they impose. +It is not their achievement that makes beauty, +but their effort, always confessing its own +failure; and in that confession is the beauty of +art. That is why it moves and frees us; for it +frees us from our pretence that we are what +we would be, it carries us out of our own +egotism into the wonder and value of the artist +himself.</p> + +<p>Consider the beauty of a tune. Music itself +is the best means which man has found for +confessing that he cannot say what he would +say; and it is more purely and rapturously +beauty than any other form of art. A tune is +the very silencing of speech, and in the greatest +tunes there is always the hush of wonder: they +seem to tell us to be silent and listen, not to +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_9" id="Pg_9" title="Pg_9">[9]</a></span>what the musician has to say, but to what he +cannot say. The very beauty of a tune is in +its reference to something beyond all expression, +and in its perfection it speaks of a perfection +not its own. Pater said that all art tries +to attain to the condition of music. That is +true in a sense different from what he meant. +Art is always most completely art when it +makes music's confession of the ineffable; then +it comes nearest to the beauty of music. But +when it is no longer a forlorn hope, when it is +able to say what it wishes to say with calm +assurance, then it has ceased to be art and +become a game of skill.</p> + +<p>Often the great artist is imperious, impatient, +full of certainties; but his certainty is not of +himself; and he is impatient of the failure to +recognize, not himself, but what he recognizes. +Michelangelo, Beethoven, Tintoret, would snap +a critic's head off if he did not see what they +were trying to do. They may seem sometimes +to be arrogant in the mere display of power, +yet their beauty lies in the sudden change from +arrogance to humility. The arrogance itself +bows down and worships; the very muscle and +material force obey a spirit not their own. +They are lion-tamers, and they themselves are +the lions; out of the strong comes forth sweetness, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_10" id="Pg_10" title="Pg_10">[10]</a></span>and it is all the sweeter for the strength +that is poured into it and subdued by it. +What is the difference, as of different worlds, +between Rubens at his best and Tintoret at his +best? This: that Rubens always seems to be +uplifted by his own power, whereas Tintoret +has most power when he forgets it in wonder. +When he bows down all his turbulence in +worship, then he is most strong. Rubens, in +the "Descent from the Cross," is still the +supreme drawing-master; and painters flocking +to him for lessons pay homage to him. But, +in his "Crucifixion," it is Tintoret himself who +pays homage, and we forget the master in the +theme. We may say of Rubens's art, in a new +sense, "C'est magnifique, mais ce n'est pas la +guerre." The greatest art is not magnificent, +but it is war, desperate and without trappings, +a war in which victory comes through the +confession of defeat.</p> + +<p>Man, if he tries to be a god in his art, makes +a fool of himself. He becomes like God, he +makes beauty like God, when he is too much +aware of God to be aware of himself. Then +only does he not set himself too easy a task, +for then he does not make his theme so that he +may accomplish it; it is forced upon him by +his awareness of God, by his wonder and value +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_11" id="Pg_11" title="Pg_11">[11]</a></span>for an excellence not his own. So in all the +beauty of art there is a humility not only of +conception, but also of execution, which is mere +failure and ugliness to those who expect to find +in art the beauty and finish of nature, who +expect it to be born, not made. They are +always disappointed by the greatest works of +art, by their inadequacy and strain and labour. +They look for a proof of what man can do and +find a confession of what he cannot do; but +that confession, made sincerely and passionately, +is beauty. There is also a serenity in +the beauty of art, but it is the serenity of self-surrender, +not of self-satisfaction, of the saint, +not of the lady of fashion. And all the accomplishment +of great art, its infinite superiority +in mere skill over the work of the merely +skilful, comes from the incessant effort of the +artist to do more than he can. By that he is +trained; by that his work is distinguished from +the mere exclamation of wonder. He is not +content to applaud; he must also worship, and +make his offerings in his worship; and they +are the best he can do. It was not only the +shepherds who came to the birth of Christ; +the wise men came also and brought their +treasures with them. And the art of mankind +is the offering of its wise men, it is the adoration +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_12" id="Pg_12" title="Pg_12">[12]</a></span>of the Magi, who are one with the simplest +in their worship—</p> + + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="poem"> +<tr><td align='left'>Wise men, all ways of knowledge past,</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>To the Shepherd's wonder come at last.</td></tr> +</table></div> + + +<p>But they do not lose their wisdom in their +wonder. When it passes into wonder, when +all the knowledge and skill and passion of +mankind are poured into the acknowledgment +of something greater than themselves, then +that acknowledgment is art, and it has a +beauty which may be envied by the natural +beauty of God Himself.</p> + +<p class="return"><a href="#contents">[TABLE OF CONTENTS]</a></p> + +<div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_13" id="Pg_13" title="Pg_13">[13]</a></span></div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p class="chapterhead">Leonardo da Vinci</p> + + +<p>Leonardo da Vinci is one of the +most famous men in history—as a man +more famous than Michelangelo or Shakespeare +or Mozart—because posterity has elected him +the member for the Renaissance. Most great +artists live in what they did, and by that we +know them; but what Leonardo did gets much +of its life from what he was, or rather from +what he is to us. Of all great men he is the +most representative; we cannot think of him +as a mere individual, eating and drinking, +living and competing, on equal terms with +other men. We see him magnified by his own +legend from the first, with people standing +aside to watch and whisper as he passed through +the streets of Florence or Milan. "There he +goes to paint the Last Supper," they said to +each other; and we think of it as already the +most famous picture in the world before it was +begun. Every one knew that he had the most +famous picture in his brain, that he was born +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_14" id="Pg_14" title="Pg_14">[14]</a></span>to paint it, to initiate the High Renaissance; +from Giotto onwards all the painters had been +preparing for that, Florence herself had been +preparing for it. It makes no difference that +for centuries it has been a shadow on the +wall; it is still the most famous painting in +the world because it is the masterpiece of +Leonardo. There was a fate against the +survival of his masterpieces, but he has survived +them and they are remembered because +of him. We accept him for himself, like the +people of his own time, who, when he said +he could perform impossibilities, believed him. +To them he meant the new age which could do +anything, and still to us he means the infinite +capacities of man. He is the Adam awakened +whom Michelangelo only painted; and, if he +accomplished but little, we believe in him, as +in mankind, for his promise. If he did not +fulfil it, neither has mankind; but he believed +that all things could be done and lived a great +life in that faith.</p> + +<p>Another Florentine almost equals him in +renown. Men watched and whispered when +Dante passed through the streets of Florence; +but Dante lives in his achievement, Leonardo +in himself. Dante means to us an individual +soul quivering through a system, a creed, inherited +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_15" id="Pg_15" title="Pg_15">[15]</a></span>from the past. Leonardo is a spirit +unstraitened; not consenting to any past nor +rebelling against it, but newborn with a newborn +universe around it, seeing it without +memories or superstitions, without inherited +fears or pieties, yet without impiety or irreverence. +He is not an iconoclast, since for him +there are no images to be broken; whatever he +sees is not an image but itself, to be accepted +or rejected by himself; what he would do he +does without the help or hindrance of tradition. +In art and in science he means the same thing, +not a rebirth of any past, as the word Renaissance +seems to imply, but freedom from all the +past, life utterly in the present. He is concerned +not with what has been thought, or +said, or done, but with his own immediate relation +to all things, with what he sees and feels +and discovers. Authority is nothing to him, +whether of Galen or of St. Thomas, of Greek +or mediæval art. In science he looks at the +fact, in art at the object; nor will he allow +either to be hidden from him by the achievements +of the dead. Giotto had struck the +first blow for freedom when he allowed the +theme to dictate the picture; Leonardo +allowed the object to dictate the drawing. To +him the fact itself is sacred, and man fulfils +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_16" id="Pg_16" title="Pg_16">[16]</a></span>himself in his own immediate relation to +fact.</p> + +<p>All those who react and rebel against the +Renaissance have an easy case against its great +representative. What did he do in thought +compared with St. Thomas, or in art compared +with the builders of Chartres or Bourges? He +filled notebooks with sketches and conjectures; +he modelled a statue that was never cast; he +painted a fresco on a wall, and with a medium +so unsuited to fresco that it was a ruin in a few +years. Even in his own day there was a doubt +about him; it is expressed in the young +Michelangelo's sudden taunt that he could not +cast the statue he had modelled. Michelangelo +was one of those who see in life always the +great task to be performed and who judge a +man by his performance; to him Leonardo +was a dilettante, a talker; he made monuments, +but Leonardo remains his own monument, +a prophecy of what man shall be when +he comes into his kingdom. With him, we +must confess, it is more promise than performance; +he could paint "The Last Supper" +because it means the future; he could never, in +good faith, have painted "The Last Judgment," +for that means a judgment on the past, and to +him the past is nothing; to him man, in the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_17" id="Pg_17" title="Pg_17">[17]</a></span>future, is the judge, master, enjoyer of his own +fate. Compared with his, Michelangelo's mind +was still mediæval, his reproach the reproach +of one who cares for doing more than for +being, and certainly Michelangelo did a thousand +times more; but from his own day to ours +the world has not judged Leonardo by his +achievement. As Johnson had his Boswell so +he has had his legend; he means to us not +books or pictures, but himself. In his own +day kings bid for him as if he were a work +of art; and he died magnificently in France, +making nothing but foretelling a race of men +not yet fulfilled.</p> + +<p>Before Francis Bacon, before Velasquez or +Manet, he prophesied not merely the new artist +or the new man of science, but the new man +who is to free himself from his inheritance and +to see, feel, think, and act in all things with +the spontaneity of God. That is why he is a +legendary hero to us, with a legend that is not +in the past but in the future. For his prophecy +is still far from fulfilment; and the very science +that he initiated tells us how hard it is for +man to free himself from his inheritance. It +seems strange to us that Leonardo sang hymns +to causation as if to God. In its will was his +peace and his freedom.</p> + +<div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_18" id="Pg_18" title="Pg_18">[18]</a></span></div> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>O marvellous necessity, thou with supreme reason +constrainest all efforts to be the direct result of their +causes, and by a supreme and irrevocable law every +natural action obeys thee by the shortest possible +process.</p> + +<p>Who would believe that so small a space could +contain the images of all the universe? O mighty +process, what talent can avail to penetrate a nature +such as thine? What tongue will it be that can unfold +so great a wonder? Verily none. This it is that +guides the human discourse to the considering of +divine things.<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> The sayings of Leonardo quoted in this article are taken +from <i>Leonardo da Vinci's Notebooks</i>, by E. M'Curdy. +(Duckworth, 1906.)</p></div> + +<p>To Leonardo causation meant the escape +from caprice; it meant a secure relation +between man and all things, in which man +would gain power by knowledge, in which +every increase of knowledge would reveal to +him more and more of the supreme reason. +There was no chain for him in cause and effect, +no unthinking of the will of man. Rather by +knowledge man would discover his own will +and know that it was the universal will. So +man must never be afraid of knowledge. "The +eye is the window of the soul." Like Whitman +he tells us always to look with the eye, and so +to confound the wisdom of ages. There is in +every man's vision the power of relating himself +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_19" id="Pg_19" title="Pg_19">[19]</a></span>now and directly to reality by knowledge; and +in knowing other things he knows himself. By +knowledge man changes what seemed to be a +compulsion into a harmony; he gives up his +own caprice for the universal will.</p> + +<p>That is the religion of Leonardo, in art as +in science. For him the artist also must relate +himself directly to the visible world, in which +is the only inspiration; to accept any formula +is to see with dead men's eyes. That has been +said again and again by artists, but not with +Leonardo's mystical and philosophical conviction. +He knew that it is vain to study +Nature unless she is to you a goddess or a god; +you can learn nothing from reality unless you +adore it, and in adoring it he found his freedom. +How different is this doctrine from that with +which, after centuries of scientific advance, we +intimidate ourselves. We are threatened by +a creed far more enslaving than that of the +Middle Ages. If the Middle Ages turned to +the past to learn what they were to think or +to do, we turn to the past to learn what we +are. They may have feared the new; but we +say that there is no new, nothing but some +combination or variation of the old. Causation +is to us a chain that binds us to the past, +but to Leonardo it was freedom; and so he +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_20" id="Pg_20" title="Pg_20">[20]</a></span>prophesies a freedom that we may attain to +not by denying facts or making myths, but by +discovering what he hinted—that causation +itself is not compulsion but will, and our will +if, by knowledge, we make it ours.</p> + +<p>No one before him had been so much in love +with reality, whatever it may be. He was +called a sceptic, but it was only that he preferred +reality itself to any tales about it; and +his religion, his worship, was the search for the +very fact. This, because he was both artist +and man of science, he carried further than anyone +else, pursuing it with all his faculties. In +his drawings there is the beauty not of his +character, but of the character of what he +draws; he does not make a design, but finds +it. That beauty proves him a Florentine—Dürer +himself falls short of it—but it is the +beauty of the thing itself, discovered and insisted +upon with the passion of a lover. He +draws animals, trees, flowers, as Correggio +draws Antiope or Io; and it is only in his +drawings now that he speaks clearly to us. +The "Mona Lisa" is well enough, but another +hand might have executed the painting of it. +It owes its popular fame to the smile about +which it is so easy to write finely; but in the +drawings we see the experiencing passion of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_21" id="Pg_21" title="Pg_21">[21]</a></span>Leonardo himself, we see him feeling, as in +the notebooks we see him thinking. There is +the eagerness of discovery at which so often he +stopped short, turning away from a task to +further discovery, living always in the moment, +taking no thought either for the morrow or for +yesterday, unable to attend to any business, +even the business of the artist, seeing life not +as a struggle or a duty, but as an adventure of +all the senses and all the faculties. He is, even +with his pencil, the greatest talker in the world, +but without egotism, talking always of what he +sees, satisfying himself not with the common +appetites and passions of men, but with his one +supreme passion for reality. If Michelangelo +thought him a dilettante, there must have been +in his taunt some envy of Leonardo's freedom.</p> + +<p>Yet once at least Leonardo did achieve, and +something we should never have expected from +his drawings. "The Last Supper" is but a +shadow on the wall, yet still we can see its +greatness, which is the greatness of pure design, +of Giotto, Masaccio, Piero della Francesa. +Goethe and others have found all kinds of +psychological subtleties in it, meanings in every +gesture; but what we see now is only space, +grandeur, a supreme moment expressed in the +relation of all the forms. The pure music of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_22" id="Pg_22" title="Pg_22">[22]</a></span>the painting remains when the drama is almost +obliterated; and it proves that Leonardo, when +he chose, could withdraw himself from the +delight of hand-to-mouth experience into a +vision of his own, that he had the reserve and +the creative power of the earlier masters and of +that austere, laborious youth who taunted him. +If it were not for "The Last Supper" we might +doubt whether he could go further in art than +the vivid sketch of "The Magi"; but "The +Last Supper" tells us how great his passion for +reality must have been, since it could distract +him from the making of such masterpieces.</p> + +<p>That passion for reality itself made him cold +to other passions. We know Michelangelo +and Beethoven as men in some respects very +like other men. They were anxious, fretful, +full of affections and grievances, and much +concerned with their relations. Leonardo is +like Melchizedek, not only by the accident of +birth, for he was a natural son, but by choice. +He never married, he never had a home; there +is no evidence that he was ever tied to any +man or woman by his affections; yet it would +be stupid to call him cold, for his one grand +passion absorbed him. Monks suspected him, +but in his heart he was celibate like the great +monkish saints, celibate not by vows but by +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_23" id="Pg_23" title="Pg_23">[23]</a></span>preoccupation. It is clear that from youth to +age life had no cumulative power over him; +as we should say in our prosaic language, he +never settled down, for he let things happen to +him and valued the very happening. He was +always like a strange, wonderful creature from +another planet, taking notes with unstaled +delight but never losing his heart to any +particular. Sex itself seems hardly to exist for +him, or at least for his mind. Often the people +in his drawings are of no sex. Rembrandt +draws every one, Leonardo no one, as if he were +his own relation. Women and youths were as +much a subject of his impassioned curiosity +as flowers, and no more. He is always the +spectator, but a spectator who can exercise +every faculty of the human mind and every +passion in contemplation; he is the nearest +that any man has ever come to Aristotle's +Supreme Being.</p> + +<p>But we must not suppose that he went +solemnly through life living up to his own +story, that he was mysterious in manner or in +any respect like a charlatan. Rather, he lived +always in the moment and overcame mankind +by his spontaneity. He had the charm of the +real man of genius, not the reserve of the false +one. The famous statement of what he could +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_24" id="Pg_24" title="Pg_24">[24]</a></span>do, which he made to Ludovico Sforza, is not a +mere boast but an expression of his eagerness +to do it. These engines of war were splendid +toys to him, and all his life he enjoyed making +toys and seeing men wonder at them. His +delight was to do things for the first time like +a child, and then not to do them again. +Again and again he cries out against authority +and in favour of discovery. "Whoever in discussion +adduces authority," he says, "uses not +intellect but rather memory"; and, anticipating +Milton, he observes that all our knowledge +originates in opinions. Perhaps some one had +rebuked him for having too many opinions. +We can be sure that he chafed against dull, +cautious, safe men who wished for results. He +himself cared nothing for them; it was enough +for him to know what might be done, without +doing it. He was so sure of his insight that +he did not care to put it to the test of action; +that was for slower men, whether artists or +men of science. His notebooks were enough +for him.</p> + +<p>In spite of the notebooks and the sketches, +we know less about the man Leonardo than +about the man Shakespeare. Here and there +he makes a remark with some personal conviction +or experience in it. "Intellectual +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_25" id="Pg_25" title="Pg_25">[25]</a></span>passion," he says, "drives out sensuality." In +him it had driven out or sublimated all the +sensual part of character. We cannot touch +or see or hear him in anything he says or +draws. The passion is there, but it is too +much concerned with universals to be of like +nature with our own passions. He seems to +be speaking to himself as if he had forgotten +the whole audience of mankind, but in what +he says he ignores the personal part of himself; +he is most passionate when most impersonal. +"To the ambitious, whom neither the boon of +life nor the beauty of the world suffices to +content, it comes as a penance that life with +them is squandered and that they possess +neither the benefits nor the beauty of the +world." That might be a platitude said by +some one else; but we know that in it Leonardo +expresses his faith. The boon of life, the +beauty of the world, were enough for him +without ambition, without even further affections. +He left father and mother and wealth, +and even achievement, to follow them; and he +left all those not out of coldness, or fear, or +idleness, but because his own passion drew him +away. No cold man could have said, "Where +there is most power of feeling, there of martyrs +is the greatest martyr." It is difficult for +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_26" id="Pg_26" title="Pg_26">[26]</a></span>us northerners to understand the intellectual +passion of the South, to see even that it is +passion; most difficult of all for us to see that +in men like Leonardo the passion for beauty +itself is intellectual. We, with our romanticism, +our sense of exile, can never find that +identity which he found between beauty and +reality. "This benign nature so provides that +all over the world you find something to +imitate." To us imitation means prose, to +him it meant poetry; science itself meant +poetry, and illusion was the only ugliness. +"Nature never breaks her own law." It +is we who try to find freedom in lawlessness, +which is ignorance, ugliness, illusion. "Falsehood +is so utterly vile that, though it should +praise the great works of God, it offends +against His divinity." There is Leonardo's +religion; and if still it is too cold for us, it is +because we have not his pure spiritual fire in +ourselves.</p> + +<p class="return"><a href="#contents">[TABLE OF CONTENTS]</a></p> + +<div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_27" id="Pg_27" title="Pg_27">[27]</a></span></div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p class="chapterhead">The Pompadour in Art</p> + + +<p>It is an important fact in the history of the +arts for the last century or more that in +England and America, if not elsewhere, the +chief interest in all the arts, including literature, +has been taken by women rather than +by men. In the great ages of art it was not +so. Women, so far as we can tell, had little +to do with the art of Greece in the fifth century +or with the art of the Middle Ages. There +were female patrons of art at the Renaissance, +but they were exceptions subject to the prevailing +masculine taste. Art was and remained +a proper interest of men up to the eighteenth +century. Women first began to control it and +to affect its character at the mistress-ridden +Court of Louis XV. But in the nineteenth +century men began to think they were too busy +to concern themselves with the arts. Men of +power, when they were not working, needed +to take exercise and left it to their wives to +patronize the arts. And so the notion grew +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_28" id="Pg_28" title="Pg_28">[28]</a></span>that art was a feminine concern, and even +artists were pets for women. The great man, +especially in America, liked his wife to have +every luxury. The exquisite life she led was +itself a proof of his success; and she was for +him a living work of art, able to live so because +of the abundance of his strength. In her, that +strength passed into ornament and became +beautiful; she was a friendly, faithful Delilah +to his Samson, a Delilah who did not shear his +locks. And so he came to think of art itself +as being in its nature feminine if not effeminate, +as a luxury and ornament of life, as everything, +in fact, except a means of expression for himself +and other men.</p> + +<p>This female control of art began, as I have +said, at the mistress-ridden Court of Louis XV, +and it has unfortunately kept the stamp of its +origin. At that Court art, to suit the tastes +of the Pompadour and the Du Barri, became +consciously frivolous, became almost a part of +the toilet. The artist was the slave of the +mistress, and seems to have enjoyed his chains. +In this slavery he did produce something +charming; he did invest that narrow and +artificial Heaven of the Court with some of the +infinite beauty and music of a real Heaven. +But out of this refined harem art there has +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_29" id="Pg_29" title="Pg_29">[29]</a></span>sprung a harem art of the whole world which +has infested the homes even of perfectly respectable +ladies ever since. All over Europe the +ideals of applied art have remained the ideals +of the Pompadour; and only by a stern and conscious +effort have either women or men been able +to escape from them. Everywhere there has +spread a strange disease of romantic snobbery, +the sufferers from which, in their efforts at +æsthetic expression, always pretend to be what +they are not. Excellent mothers of families, +in their furniture and sometimes even in their +clothes, pretend to be King's mistresses. Of +course, if this pretence were put into words and +so presented to their consciousness, they would +be indignant. It has for them no connexion with +conduct; it is purely æsthetic, but art means to +them make-believe, the make-believe that they +live an entirely frivolous life of pleasure provided +for them by masculine power and devotion.</p> + +<p>Yet these ladies know that they have not the +revenues of the Pompadour; they must have +their art, their make-believe, as cheap as +possible; and it has been one of the triumphs +of modern industry to provide them with cheap +imitations of the luxury of the Pompadour. +Hence the machine-made frivolities of the most +respectable homes, the hair-brushes with backs +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_30" id="Pg_30" title="Pg_30">[30]</a></span>of stamped silver, the scent-bottles of imitation +cut-glass, the draperies with printed rose-buds +on them, the general artificial-floweriness and +flimsiness and superfluity of naughtiness of our +domestic art. It expresses a feminine romance +to which the male indulgently consents, as if +he were really the voluptuous monarch whose +mistress the female, æsthetically, pretends to +be. In this world of æsthetic make-believe +our homes are not respectable; they would +scorn to be so, for to the romantic female mind, +when it occupies itself with art, the improper +is the artistic.</p> + +<p>But this needs a more precise demonstration. +We wonder at our modern passion for superfluous +ornament. We shall understand it only +if we discover its origin. The King's mistress +liked everything about her to be ornamented, +because it was a point of honour with her to +advertise the King's devotion to her in the +costliness of all her surroundings. He loved +her so much that he had paid for all this ornamentation. +She, like Cleopatra, was always +proving the potency of her charms by melting +pearls in vinegar. Like a prize ox, she was +hung with the trophies of her physical pre-eminence. +In all the art which we call Louis +Quinze there is this advertisement of the labour +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_31" id="Pg_31" title="Pg_31">[31]</a></span>spent upon it. It proclaims that a vast deal +of trouble has been taken in the making of it, +and we can see the artist utterly subdued to +this trouble, utterly the slave of the mistress's +exorbitant whims. This advertisement of labour +spent, without the reality, has been the mark +of all popular domestic art ever since.</p> + +<p>The beautiful is the ornamented—namely, that +which looks as if it had taken a great deal of +trouble to make. The trouble now is taken by +machinery, and so, with the cost, is minimized; +and what it produces is ugliness, an ugliness +which could not be mistaken for beauty but for +the notion that it does express a desirable state +of being in those who possess it. And this +desirable state is the state of the King's mistress, +of a siren who can have whatever she desires +because of the potency of her charms. How +otherwise can we explain the passion for superfluous +machine-made ornament which makes our +respectable homes so hideous? The machine +simulates a trouble that has not been taken, +and so gives proof of a voluptuous infatuation +that does not exist. The hardworking mother +of a family buys out of her scanty allowance +a scent-bottle that looks as if it had been +laboriously cut for a King's mistress, whereas +really it has been moulded by machinery to +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_32" id="Pg_32" title="Pg_32">[32]</a></span>keep up the delusion, unconsciously cherished +by her, that she lives in a world of irresistible +and unscrupulous feminine charm. And her +husband endures indulgently all this superfluous +ugliness because he, too, believes that +it is the function of art to make the drawing-room +of the mother of a family look like the +boudoir of a siren.</p> + +<p>Most of this make-believe remains unconscious. +We are all so used to it that we do +not see in it the expression of the dying harem +instinct in women. Yet it persists, even where +the harem instinct would be passionately +repudiated. It persists often in the dress of +the most defiant suffragette, in outbreaks of +incongruous frivolity, forlorn tawdry roses that +still whisper memories of the Pompadour and +her triumphant guilty splendour.</p> + +<p>But besides all this unconscious feminine +influence upon art, there is the influence of +women who care consciously for art; and it +also has an enervating effect on the artist. +For the female patron of art, just because +there are so few male patrons of it, is apt to +take a motherly interest in the artist. To +her he is a delightful wayward child rather +than a real man occupied with real things, like +her husband or her father or her brother: not +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_33" id="Pg_33" title="Pg_33">[33]</a></span>one who can earn money for her and fight for +her and protect her, but rather one who needs +to be protected and humoured in a world which +cares so little for art. To her, with all her +passion for art, it is something in its nature +irrational, and, like a child, delightful because +irrational. It is an escape from reality rather +than a part of it. And so she will believe +whatever the artist tells her because he is an +artist, not because he is a man of sense; and +she encourages him to be more of an artist +than a man of sense. She encourages him to +be extravagantly æsthetic, and enjoys all his +extravagance as a diversion from the sound +masculinity of her own mankind. There is +room in her prosperous, easy world for these +diversions from business, just as there is room +for charity or, perhaps, religion. The world +can afford artists as it can afford pets; as it +can afford beautiful, cultivated women. And +that also is the view of her husband, if he is +good-natured. But to him, just because art +and artists are the proper concern of his wife, +they are even less serious than they are to her. +She may persuade herself that she takes them +quite seriously, but he pretends to do so only +out of politeness, and as he would pretend to +take her clothes seriously. For him the type +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_34" id="Pg_34" title="Pg_34">[34]</a></span>of the artist is still the pianist who gives locks +of his over-abundant hair to ladies. Even if +the artist is a painter and cuts his hair and +dresses like a man, he still belongs to the +feminine world and excites himself about +matters that do not concern men. Men can +afford him, and so they tolerate him; but he +is one of the expenses they would cut down if +it were necessary to cut down expenses.</p> + +<p>Well, it is necessary to cut down expenses +now; and yet in ages much sterner and poorer +than our own art was the concern of men, and +they afforded it because it was not to them +a mere feminine luxury. They afforded the +towering churches of the Middle Ages because +they expressed the religious passion of all mankind; +and have we nothing to express except +a dying harem instinct and the motherliness of +kind women to a neglected class? We ought +to be grateful to this motherliness, which has +kept art alive in an age of ignorance; but +we should see that it is only a <i>pis-aller</i>, and +women should see this as well as men. The +female attitude towards art has been itself +the result of a wrong relation between women +and men, a relation half-animal, half-romantic, +and therefore not quite real. This relation, +even while it has ceased to exist more and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_35" id="Pg_35" title="Pg_35">[35]</a></span>more in fact, has still continued to express +itself æsthetically; and in art it has become a +mere obsolete nuisance. One may care nothing +for art and yet long to be rid of the meaningless +frivolities of our domestic art. One may +wish to clear them away as so much litter and +trash; and this clearance is necessary so that +we may purge our vision and see what is beautiful. +We are almost rid of the manners of the +King's mistress, and most women no longer try +to appeal to men by their charming unreason. +It is not merely that the appeal fails now; they +themselves refuse to make it, out of self-respect. +But they still remain irrational in their tastes; +or at least they have not learned that all this +æsthetic irrationality misrepresents them, that +it is forced upon them by tradesmen, that +it is as inexpressive as a sentimental music-hall +song sung by a gramophone. But now +that men have given women the vote, and so +proved that they take them seriously at last, +they have the right to speak plainly on this +matter. The feminine influence upon art has +been bad. Let us admit that it has been the +result of a bad masculine influence upon women, +that it has been supreme because men have +become philistine; but the fact remains that +it has been bad. Art must be taken seriously +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_36" id="Pg_36" title="Pg_36">[36]</a></span>if it is to be worth anything. It must be the +expression of what is serious and real in the +human mind. But all this feminine art has +expressed, and has tried to glorify, something +false and worthless. Therefore it has been ugly, +and we are all sick of its ugliness. We look to +women, now that they are equalled with men +by an act of legal justice, to deliver us from +it. They disown the Pompadour in fact; let +them disown her in art.</p> + +<p class="return"><a href="#contents">[TABLE OF CONTENTS]</a></p> + +<div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_37" id="Pg_37" title="Pg_37">[37]</a></span></div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p class="chapterhead">An Unpopular Master</p> + + +<p>Nicholas Poussin is one of the great +painters of the world; yet it is easier +to give reasons for disliking him than for liking +him. After his death there was a war of +pamphlets about him; the one side, led by +Lebrun, holding him up as a model for all +painters to come, the other side, under de +Piles, calling him a mere pedant compared with +Rubens. Here is a passage from a poem +against Poussin:—</p> + + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="poem"> +<tr><td align='left'>Il sçavoit manier la régle et le compas,</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Parloit de la lumière et ne l'entendoit pas;</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Il estoit de l'antique un assez bon copiste,</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Mais sans invention, et mauvais coloriste.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Il ne pouvait marcher que sur le pas d'autruy:</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Le génie a manqué, c'est un malheur pour luy.</td></tr> +</table></div> + + +<p>Now this is just what the criticism of yesterday +said about him, the criticism of the eighties +and nineties, when it was supposed that Velasquez +had discovered the art of seeing, and with +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_38" id="Pg_38" title="Pg_38">[38]</a></span>it the art of painting. It sounds plausible, +but not a word of it is true. And yet it +remains difficult to show why it is not true, to +distinguish between the genius of Poussin and +the pedantry of his imitators, to convince +people that he was not a bad colourist, and +that he did not imitate the antique.</p> + +<p>This difficulty is connected with the age in +which he happened to live. Nobody calls +Mantegna a pedant nowadays; yet one might +say against him most of the things that have +been said against Poussin. But Mantegna +lived in a century that we like, and Poussin in +one that we dislike. The seventeenth century +is for us a time of pictorial platitude; there +was nothing then to discover about gesture or +expression, and painters, even the best of them, +used stock gestures and stock expressions without +any of the eagerness of discovery. Now +Poussin is, or appears to be, in many of his +works a dramatic painter, and for us his +drama is platitudinous. Take the "Plague +of Ashdod," in the National Gallery. There +are the gestures that we are already a little +weary of in Raphael's cartoons. The figures +express horror and fear with uplifted hands +or contorted features; but their real business +seems to be to make the picture. The drama +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_39" id="Pg_39" title="Pg_39">[39]</a></span>is thrust upon us, and we cannot ignore it; yet +we feel that it is no discovery for the artist, +but something that he has learnt like a second-rate +actor—that he has, in fact, a "bag of +tricks" in common with all the Italian painters +of his time, and that he is only pretending to +be surprised by his subject. Now every age +has its artistic platitudes; but these platitudes +of dramatic expression are peculiarly +wearisome to us because they have persisted in +European painting up to the present day, and +because most great painters in modern times +have struggled in one way or another to escape +from them. We associate them with mediocrity +and insincerity; and we do not understand +that for many of the better painters of +the seventeenth century they were only a basis +for discoveries of a different kind. Il Greco, +for instance, is often as dramatically platitudinous +as Guido Reni, but he also was making +discoveries in design which happen to interest +us now, so that we overlook his platitudes. +He was trying to express his emotions not so +much by gesture and the play of features as by +a rhythm really independent of those, a rhythm +carried through everything in the picture, to +which all his platitudes are subject. And +because this rhythm is new to us now we +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_40" id="Pg_40" title="Pg_40">[40]</a></span>hardly notice the platitudes. Poussin was +playing the same game, but his rhythm has +been imitated by so many dull painters that +we are tempted to think it as platitudinous +as his drama, and that is where we are unjust +to him.</p> + +<p>Poussin had a mind that was at once passionate +and determined to be master of its +passions. He would not suppress them, but +he would express them with complete composure; +and as Donne in poetry tried to attain +to an intellectual mastery over his passions by +means of conceits, so Poussin in painting tried +to attain to the same mastery through the +representation of an ideal world. Each was +enthralled with his experience of real life; but +each was dissatisfied with the haphazard, tyrannous +nature of that experience, and especially +with the divorce between passion and intellect, +which in actual experience is so painful to the +man who is both passionate and intelligent. So +each, in his art, tried to make a new kind of +experience, in which passion should be intelligent +and intellect passionate. This, no doubt, +is what every artist tries to do; but the effort +was peculiarly fierce in Donne and Poussin +because in them there was a more than common +discord between passion and intelligence, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_41" id="Pg_41" title="Pg_41">[41]</a></span>because they were instantly critical both of +what they desired and of their own process of +desire. Donne, at the very height of passion, +asked himself why he was passionate; and he +could not express his passion without trying to +justify it to his intelligence. So in his poetry +he endeavoured to experience it again with +simultaneous intellectual justification which in +that poetry was a part of the experience itself. +Poussin aims not so much at an intellectual +justification of passion as at an expression of it +in which there shall be also complete intellectual +composure. He aims in his art at an +experience in which the intellect shall be free +from the bewilderment of the passions and the +passions also free from the check of the +intellect; and to this he attains by the representation +of an ideal state in which the intellect +can make all the forms through which the +passion expresses itself. He is, in fact, nearer +than most painters to the musician; but still +he is a painter and appeals to us through the +representation of objects that we can recognize +by their likeness to what we have seen ourselves. +His intellect desires to make its forms, +not to have them imposed upon it by mere +ocular experience, since ocular experience for +him is full of the tyrannous bewilderment of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_42" id="Pg_42" title="Pg_42">[42]</a></span>actual passion. But at the same time those +forms which his intellect makes must be recognized +by their likeness to what men see in the +world about them. So he found a link +between his ideal forms and what men see in +what is vaguely called the antique.</p> + +<p>But he did not go to the antique out of any +artistic snobbery or because he distrusted his +own natural taste. The antique was not for +him an aristocratic world of art that he tried +to enter in the hope of becoming himself an +aristocrat. He showed that he was perfectly +at ease in that world by the manner in which he +painted its subjects. When, for instance, he +paints Bacchanals, he is really much less overawed +by the subject than Rubens would be. +Rubens, who was a man of culture and an +intellectual <i>parvenu</i>, tried desperately to combine +his natural tastes with classical subjects. +When he painted a Flemish cook as Venus he +really tried to make her look like Venus; and +the result is a Flemish cook pretending to be +Venus, an incongruity that betrays a like incongruity +in the artist's mind. Poussin's Venus, +far less flesh and blood, does belong entirely to +the world in which he imagines her—indeed, +so intensely that, if we have lost interest in +that world, she fails to interest us. The Venetians +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_43" id="Pg_43" title="Pg_43">[43]</a></span>have done this much better, we think; +and why, if Poussin was going to paint like +Titian, did he not use Titian's colour? The +answer is, Because his mood was very far from +Titian's, because he makes a comment that +Titian never makes upon his Venuses and +Bacchanals. Rubens makes no comment at all: +his attitude towards the classical is that of +the wondering <i>parvenu</i>. Titian through the +classical expresses the Renaissance liberation +from scruple and fear. But Poussin gives us a +mortal comment upon this immortal carelessness +and delight. Whether his figures are +tranquil or rapturous, there is in his colour an +expression of something far from their felicity. +Indeed, however voluptuous the forms may be, +the colour is always ascetic. It is not that he +seems to disapprove of those glorified pleasures +of the senses, but that he cannot satisfy himself +with his own conception of them, as Titian +could. Titian represents a world in which all +the mind consents to delight. His figures +are not foolish, but they are like dancers or +dreamers to the music of their own pleasure. +He makes us hear that music to which his +figures dance or dream; but, with Poussin, we +do not hear it, we only see the figures subject +to it as to some influence from which we +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_44" id="Pg_44" title="Pg_44">[44]</a></span>are cut off; and that which cuts us off is the +colour.</p> + +<p>Most painters, if they wished to paint a scene +of voluptuous pleasure, would conceive it first +in colour; for colour is the natural expression +of all delights of the senses. But Poussin +never allows the delight that he paints to +affect his colour at all. That is always an +expression of his own permanent mind, of a +mind that could not dance or dream to the +music of any pleasure possible in this world. +For him the ideal world was not merely one +of perpetual, intensified pleasure, but one in +which all the activities of the mind should +work like gratified senses and yet keep their +own character, in which passion should be freed +from its bewilderment and intellect from its +questioning. That was what he tried to +represent; and his colour was a comment, +half-unconscious perhaps, upon its impossibility. +For the everlasting conflict between +colour and form does itself express that +impossibility. Whatever he might represent, +Poussin could not, for one moment, lose his +interest in form or subordinate it to colour. +His figures, whatever their raptures, must +express his own intellectual mastery of them; +and it was impossible to combine this with a +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_45" id="Pg_45" title="Pg_45">[45]</a></span>colour that should express their raptures. But +Poussin, knowing this impossibility, was not +content with a compromise. He might have +used a faintly agreeable colour that would not +be incongruous with their raptures; but he +chose rather to express his own exasperation +in a colour that was violently incongruous with +them, but which at the same time heightens +his emphasis upon form. So, though there is +an incongruity between the subject itself and +the mood in which it is treated, there is none +in the treatment. Poussin himself seems to +look, and to make us look, at a mythological +Paradise, with the searching, mournful gaze of +a human spectator. This glory is forbidden to +us not merely by our circumstances but by the +nature of our own minds. It is, indeed, one of +our own conceptions of Heaven, but inadequate +like all the rest; and Poussin, by making the +conception clear to us, reveals its inadequacy.</p> + +<p>He paints the subjects of the Renaissance +like a man remembering his own youth, and +sad, not because he has lost the pleasures of +youth, but because he wasted himself upon +them. Here are these deities, he seems to tell +us, but there must be a secret in their felicity +that we do not understand. The joy they +seem to offer is below us, and he will not pretend +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_46" id="Pg_46" title="Pg_46">[46]</a></span>to have caught it from them in his art. +For that art is always sad, not with a particular +grief nor with mere low spirits, but with +the incongruity of the passions and the intellect; +and this noble sadness is expressed by +Poussin as no other painter has expressed it. +He was himself a melancholy man to whom art +was the one happiness of life; but he did not +use his art to talk of his sorrows. He used it +to create a world of clear and orderly design, +and satisfied his intellect in the creation of it. +In his art he could exercise the composure +which actual experience disturbed; he could +remake that reality so troubled by the conflict +of sense, emotion, and understanding; but, +even in remaking it, he added the comment +that it was only his in art. And that is the +reason why his art seems so impersonal to us, +why there is the same cold passion in all his +pictures, whether religious or mythological. +In all of them he expresses a sharp dissatisfaction +with the very nature of his actual experience. +A painter like Rubens is entranced +with his own actual vision of things; but +Poussin tells us that he has never even seen +anything as he wanted to see it. He is +not a vague idealist dissatisfied with reality +because of the weakness of his own senses or +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_47" id="Pg_47" title="Pg_47">[47]</a></span>understanding. Rather he seems to cry, like +Poe, of everything that he draws—</p> + + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="poem"> +<tr><td align='left'>O God, can I not grasp</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Them with a tighter clasp?</td></tr> +</table></div> + + +<p>It is the very substance and matter of things +that he tries to master; and that so intensely +that he never sees them flushed or dimmed by +any mood of his own. Nor does he allow the +passions of his figures to affect his representation +of them or of their surroundings. He is +cold, himself, towards these passions, for to +him they are only a part of the bewilderment +of actual experience. But in making forms he +escapes from that bewilderment and shows us +matter utterly subject to mind. Yet in this +triumph there is always implied the sadness +that such a triumph is impossible in life, that +the artist cannot be what he paints. The +Renaissance had failed, and Poussin's art was a +bitterly sincere announcement of its failure.</p> + +<p class="return"><a href="#contents">[TABLE OF CONTENTS]</a></p> + +<div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_48" id="Pg_48" title="Pg_48">[48]</a></span></div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p class="chapterhead">A Defence of Criticism</p> + + +<p>The only kind of critic taken seriously in +England is the art critic; and he is +taken seriously as an expert, that is to say, as +one who will tell us not what he has found in +a work of art, but who produced it. His very +judgment is valued not on a matter of art at +all, but on a matter of business. No one +wants to know whether a certain picture is +good or bad. The question is, Was it painted +by Romney? It might well have been and +yet be a very bad picture; but that is not the +point. Experts are called to say that it is by +Romney; and they are proved to be wrong. +Thereupon Sir Thomas Jackson writes to the +<i>Times</i> and says that if people learned to think +for themselves the profession of art critic +would be at an end. The art critic, for him, +is one who tells people what to think. And +then he proceeds—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>It is only for the public he writes; he is of +no use to artists. I doubt whether any man in +any branch of art could be found who would +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_49" id="Pg_49" title="Pg_49">[49]</a></span>honestly say he had ever learned anything +from the art critic, who, after all, is only an +amateur. The criticism we value, and that +which really helps, is that of our brother +artists, often sharp and unsparing, but always +salutary and useful. And if useless to the +artist, art criticism is harmful to the public, +who take their opinion from it at second hand. +Were all art criticism made penal for ten years +lovers of art would learn to think for themselves, +and a truer appreciation of art than the +commercial one would result, with the greatest +benefit both to art and to artists. It is the +artist and not the professional critic who +should be the real instructor of the public +taste.</p></div> + +<p>Here there seems to be an inconsistency; for +if we are to think for ourselves we do not need +to be instructed by artists any more than by +critics. But Sir Thomas Jackson may mean +that the artist is to instruct the public only +through his works. Still, the question remains, +How is the artist to be recognized? There is +a riddle—When is an artist not an artist? and +the answer is—Nine times out of ten. Certainly +the opinions of artists about each other +will not bring security to the public mind; +and does Sir T. Jackson really believe that +artists always value the criticism of brother +artists? Does an Academician value the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_50" id="Pg_50" title="Pg_50">[50]</a></span>criticism of a Vorticist, or <i>vice versa</i>? The +Academician, of course, would say that the +Vorticist was not an artist—and <i>vice versa</i>. +The artist values the opinion of the artist who +agrees with him; and at present there is less +agreement among artists than among critics. +They condemn each other more than the +critics condemn them.</p> + +<p>But these are minor points. What I am +concerned with is Sir T. Jackson's notion of +the function of criticism. For him, as for +most Englishmen, the critic is one who tells +people what to think; and the value of his +criticism depends upon his reputation; we +should pay no heed to art critics, because they +are not artists. But the critic, whether of art +or of anything else; is a writer; and he is to +be judged not by his reputation either as artist +or as critic, but by what he writes. Sir T. +Jackson thinks that he is condemning the +critic when he says that he writes only for the +public. He might as well think that he condemned +the artist if he said that he worked +only for the public. Of course the critic +writes for the public, as the painter paints for +the public; and he writes as one of the public, +not as an artist. Further, if he is a critic, he +does not write to tell the public what to think +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_51" id="Pg_51" title="Pg_51">[51]</a></span>any more than he writes to tell the painter +how to paint. Just as the painter in his +pictures expresses a general interest in the +visible world, so the critic in his criticism expresses +a general interest in art; and his +justification, like that of the painter, consists +in his power of expressing this interest. If he +cannot express it well, it is useless to talk +about his reputation either as artist or critic; +one might as well excuse a bad picture of a +garden by saying that the painter of it was a +good gardener and therefore a good judge of +gardens.</p> + +<p>It is a misfortune that the word critic should +be derived from a Greek word meaning judge. +A critic certainly does arrive at judgments; +but the value of his criticism, if it has any, +consists not in the judgment, but in the +process by which it is arrived at. This fact is +seldom understood in England, either by the +public or by artists. The artist cares only +about the judgment and complains that a +mere amateur has no right to judge him. He +would rather be judged by himself; and, being +himself an artist, he must be a better judge. +But the question to be asked about the critic +is not whether he is an amateur as an artist, +but whether he is an amateur as a critic; +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_52" id="Pg_52" title="Pg_52">[52]</a></span>and that can be decided only by his criticism. +The greatest artist might prove that he was +an amateur in criticism; and he could not disprove +it by appealing to his art. Sir Joshua +Reynolds, for instance, thinks like an amateur +in some of his discourses; and it is amateur +thinking to defend him by saying that he does +not paint like one.</p> + +<p>Certainly much of our criticism consists of +mere judgments, and is therefore worthless as +criticism. But much of our art consists also +of mere judgments; it tells us nothing except +that the artist admires this or that, or believes +that the public admires it; and it also is +worthless as art. But no critic therefore +writes to the papers to say that, if only the +public would learn to feel for themselves, the +profession of artist would be at an end. We +know that the business of an artist is not to +tell the public what to feel about the visible +world, or anything else, but to express his +own interest in the visible world or whatever +may be the subject-matter of his art. We +do not condemn art because of its failures. +Those who know anything at all about the +nature of art know that it has value because it +expresses the common interests of mankind +better than most men can express them; and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_53" id="Pg_53" title="Pg_53">[53]</a></span>for this reason it has value for mankind and +not merely for artists. For this reason, also, +criticism has value for mankind and not merely +for artists or for critics. But the value of it +does not lie in the judgment of the critic any +more than the value of art lies in the judgment, +taste, preference of the artist. The +value in both cases lies in power of expression; +and by that art and criticism are to be +judged.</p> + +<p>Needless to say, then, criticism is not to be +judged by the help it gives to artists. One +might as well suppose that philosophy was to +be judged by the help it gives to the Deity. +The philosopher does not tell the Deity how +He ought to have made the universe; nor do +we read philosophy for the sake of the judgments +at which philosophers arrive. We do +not want to know Kant's opinion because he +is Kant; what interests us is the process by +which he arrives at that opinion, and it is the +process which convinces us that his opinion is +right, if we are convinced. So it is, or should +be, with criticism. It ought to provoke thought +rather than to suppress it; and if it does not +provoke thought it is worthless.</p> + +<p>But in the best criticism judgment is rather +implied than expressed. For the proper +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_54" id="Pg_54" title="Pg_54">[54]</a></span>subject-matter of criticism is the experience of +works of art. The best critic is he who has +experienced a work of art so intensely that his +criticism is the spontaneous expression of his +experience. He tells us what has happened to +him, as the artist tells us what has happened +to him; and we, as we read, do not judge +either the criticism or the art criticized, but +share the experience. The value of art lies in +the fact that it communicates the experience +and the experiencing power of one man to +many. When we hear a symphony of +Beethoven, we are for the moment Beethoven; +and we ourselves are enriched for ever by the +fact that we have for the moment been +Beethoven. So the value of the best criticism +lies in the fact that it communicates the experience +and the experiencing power of the +critic to his readers and so enriches their +experiencing power. If he is futile, so is the +artist. If we cannot read him without danger +to our own independence of thought, neither +can we look at a picture without danger to our +own independence of vision. But believe in +the fellowship of mankind, believe that one +mind can pour into another and enrich it with +its own treasures, and you will know that +neither art nor criticism is futile. They stand +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_55" id="Pg_55" title="Pg_55">[55]</a></span>or fall together, and the artist who condemns +the critic condemns himself also.</p> + +<p>There remains the contention, half implied +by Sir T. Jackson, that the critic's experience of +art is of no value because he is not an artist. +Now if it is of no value to himself because he +is not an artist, then art is of no value to +anyone except the artist, and the artist who +practises the same kind of art; music is of +value only to musicians, and painting to +painters. It cannot be that mere technical +training gives a man the mysterious power of +experiencing works of art; for, as we all know, +it does not make an artist. No artist will +admit that anyone through technical training +can become a member of the sacred brotherhood +of those who understand the mystery of +art. Therefore they had all better admit that +there is no mystery about it, or, rather, a +mystery for us all. Either art is of value to +us all, and our own experience of it is of value +to us; or art has no value whatever to anyone, +but is the meaningless activity of a few oddities +who would be better employed in agriculture.</p> + +<p>But if our own experience of art is of value +to us, then it is possible for us to communicate +that experience to others so that it may be of +value to them; as it is possible for the painter +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_56" id="Pg_56" title="Pg_56">[56]</a></span>to communicate to others his experience of the +visible world. If he denies this, once again he +denies himself. He shuts himself within the +prison of his own arrogance, from which he +can escape only by a want of logic. But, +further, if our experience of art is of value to +ourselves, and if it is possible for us to communicate +that experience to others, it is also +possible for us to arrive at conclusions about +that experience which may be of value both to +ourselves and to others. Hence scientific or +philosophic criticism, which is based not, as +some artists seem to think, upon a fraudulent +pretence of the critic that he himself is an +artist, but upon that experience of art which +is, or may be, common to all men. The philosophic +critic writes not as one who knows how +to produce that which he criticizes better than +he who has produced it, but as one who has +experienced art; and his own experience is +really the subject-matter of his criticism. If +he <i>is</i> a philosophic critic, he will know that his +experience is itself necessarily imperfect. As +some one has said: "We do not judge works +of art; they judge us"; and the critic is to be +judged by the manner in which he has experienced +art, as the painter is to be judged by the +manner in which he has experienced the visible +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_57" id="Pg_57" title="Pg_57">[57]</a></span>world. All the imperfections of his experience +will be betrayed in his criticism; where he is +insensitive, there he will fail, both as artist +and as philosopher; and of this fact he must +be constantly aware. So if he gives himself +the airs of a judge, if he relies on his own +reputation to make or mar the reputation +of a work of art, he ceases to be a critic and +deserves all that artists in their haste have said +about him. Still, it is a pity that artists, in +their haste, should say these things; for when +they do so they, too, become critics of the +wrong sort, critics insensitive to criticism. +They may think that they are upholding the +cause of art; but they are upholding the cause +of stupidity, that common enemy of art and of +criticism.</p> + +<p class="return"><a href="#contents">[TABLE OF CONTENTS]</a></p> + +<div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_58" id="Pg_58" title="Pg_58">[58]</a></span></div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p class="chapterhead">The Artist and his Audience</p> + + +<p>According to Whistler art is not a +social activity at all; according to +Tolstoy it is nothing else. But art is clearly +a social activity and something more; yet no +one has yet reconciled the truth in Whistler's +doctrine with the truth in Tolstoy's. Each +leaves out an essential part of the truth, and +they remain opposed in their mixture of error +and truth. The main point of Whistler's +"Ten o'clock" is that art is not a social +activity. "Listen," he cries, "there never was +an artistic period. There never was an art-loving +nation. In the beginning man went +forth each day—some to battle, some to the +chase; others again to dig and to delve in the +field—all that they might gain and live or lose +and die. Until there was found among them +one, differing from the rest, whose pursuits +attracted him not, and so he stayed by the +tents with the women, and traced strange +devices with a burnt stick upon a gourd. This +man, who took no joy in the ways of his +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_59" id="Pg_59" title="Pg_59">[59]</a></span>brethren, who cared not for conquest and +fretted in the field, this designer of quaint +patterns, this deviser of the beautiful, who +perceived in Nature about him curious curvings, +as faces are seen in the fire—this dreamer +apart was the first artist."</p> + +<p>Then, he says, the hunters and the workers +drank from the artists' goblets, "taking no +note the while of the craftsman's pride, and +understanding not his glory in his work; drinking +at the cup not from choice, not from a +consciousness that it was beautiful, but because, +forsooth, there was none other!" Luxury +grew, and the great ages of art came. "Greece +was in its splendour, and art reigned supreme—by +force of fact, not by election. And the +people questioned not, and had nothing to +say in the matter." In fact art flourished +because mankind did not notice it. But +"there arose a new class, who discovered +the cheap, and foresaw fortune in the manufacture +of the sham." Then, according to +Whistler, a strange thing happened. "The +heroes filled from the jugs and drank from +the bowls—with understanding.... And +the people—this time—had much to say +in the matter, and all were satisfied. And +Birmingham and Manchester arose in their +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_60" id="Pg_60" title="Pg_60">[60]</a></span>might, and art was relegated to the curiosity +shop."</p> + +<p>Whistler does not explain why, if no one was +aware of the existence of art except the artist, +those who were not artists began to imitate it. +If no one prized art, why should sham art have +come into existence? According to him it was +the sham that made men aware of the true; +yet the sham could not exist until men were +aware of the true. But the account he gives +of the decadence of art is historically untrue as +well as unintelligible. We know little of the +primitive artist; but we have no proof that he +was utterly different from other men, or that +they did not enjoy his activities. If they had +not enjoyed them they would probably have +killed him. The primitive artist survived, no +doubt, because he was an artist in his leisure; +and all we know of more primitive art goes to +prove that it was, and is, practised not by a +special class but by the ordinary primitive man +in his leisure. Peasant art is produced by +peasants, not by lonely artists. Some, of +course, have more gift for it than others, but +all enjoy it, though they do not call it art. +Whistler saw himself in every primitive artist; +and seeing himself as a dreamer apart misunderstood +by the common herd, he saw the primitive +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_61" id="Pg_61" title="Pg_61">[61]</a></span>artist as one living in a primitive White +House, and producing primitive nocturnes for +his own amusement, unnoticed, happily, by +primitive critics.</p> + +<p>But his view, though refuted both by history +and by common sense, is still held by many +artists and amateurs. They themselves make +much of art, but do not see that their theory +makes little of it, makes it a mere caprice of +the human mind, like the collecting of postage +stamps. If art has any value or importance +for mankind, it is because it is a social activity. +If no one but an artist can enjoy art, it seems +to follow that no art can be completely enjoyed +except by him who has produced it; for in +relation to that art he alone is an artist. All +other artists, even, are the public; and, according +to Whistler, the public has nothing to do +with art; it flourishes best when they are not +aware of its existence. He is very contemptuous +of taste. All judgment of art must be +based on expert knowledge, for art, he says, +"is based upon laws as rigid and defined as +those of the known sciences." Yet whereas +"no polished member of society is at all +affected by admitting himself neither engineer, +mathematician, nor astronomer, and therefore +remains willingly discreet and taciturn upon +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_62" id="Pg_62" title="Pg_62">[62]</a></span>these subjects, still he would be highly offended +were he supposed to have no voice in what +clearly to him is a matter of taste." So to +Whistler art has no more to do with the life +of the ordinary man than astronomy or mathematics. +His mention of engineering is an +unfortunate slip, for, although we are not +engineers we all knew, when the Tay Bridge +broke down and threw hundreds of passengers +into the water, that it was not a good bridge. +We are all concerned with engineering in spite +of our ignorance of it, because we make use of +its works. Whistler assumes that we make no +use of works of art except as objects of use; +and since pictures, poems, music are not objects +of use, we can have no concern with them whatever—which +is absurd.</p> + +<p>But here comes Tolstoy, who tells us that all +works of art are merely objects of use and are +to be judged therefore by the extent of their +use. A work of art that few can enjoy fails as +much as a railway that few can travel by. +"Art," Tolstoy says, "is a human activity, +consisting in this—that one man consciously, +by means of certain external signs, hands on to +others feelings he has lived through, and that +other people are infected by these feelings and +also experience them." So it is the essence of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_63" id="Pg_63" title="Pg_63">[63]</a></span>a work of art that it shall infect others with +the feelings of the artist. Now certainly a +work of art is a work of art to us only if it +does so infect us, but Tolstoy is not content +with that. The individual is not to judge the +work of art by its infection of himself. He is +to consider also the extent of its infection. +"For a work to be esteemed good and to be +approved of and diffused it will have to satisfy +the demands, not of a few people living in +identical and often unnatural conditions, but +it will have to satisfy the demands of all those +great masses of people who are situated in the +natural conditions of laborious life."</p> + +<p>The two views are utterly irreconcilable. +According to Whistler the public are not to +judge art at all because they have no concern +with it, and it flourishes most when they do +not pretend to have any concern with it. +According to Tolstoy the individual is to +judge it, not by the effect it produces on him, +but by the effect it produces on others, "on all +those great masses of people who are situated +in the natural conditions of laborious life."</p> + +<p>Now, if we find ourselves intimidated by one +or other of these views, if we seem forced to +accept one of them against our will, it is a relief +and liberation from the tyranny of Whistler's +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_64" id="Pg_64" title="Pg_64">[64]</a></span>or Tolstoy's logic to ask ourselves simply what +does actually happen to us in our own experience +and enjoyment of a work of art. The +fact that we are able to enjoy and experience a +work of art does liberate us at once from the +tyranny of Whistler; for clearly, if we can +experience and enjoy a work of art, we are +concerned with it. It is vain for Whistler to +tell us that we ought not to be, or that we do +injury to art by our concern. The fact of our +enjoyment and experience makes art for us a +social activity; we know that our enjoyment +of it is good; we know also that the artist +likes us to enjoy it; and we do not believe that +either the primitive artist or the primitive man +was different from us in this respect. There is +now, and always has been, some kind of social +relation between the artist and the public; the +only question is how far that relation is the +essence of art.</p> + +<p>Tolstoy tells us that it is the essence of art, +because the proper aim of art is to do good. +This is implied in his doctrine that art can be +good only if it is intelligible to most men. +"The assertion that art may be good art and +at the same time incomprehensible to a great +number of people, is extremely unjust; and its +consequences are ruinous to art itself." The +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_65" id="Pg_65" title="Pg_65">[65]</a></span>word unjust implies the moral factor. I am +not to enjoy a work of art if I know that +others cannot enjoy it, because it is not fair +that I should have a pleasure not shared by +them. If I know that others cannot share it, +I am to take no account of my own experience, +but to condemn the work, however good it +may seem to me. From this logic also I can +liberate myself by concerning myself simply +with my own experience. Again, if I experience +and enjoy a work of art, I know that my +experience of it is good; and, in my judgment +of the work of art, I do not need to ask myself +how many others enjoy it. I may wish them +to enjoy it and try to make them do so, but +that effort of mine is not æsthetic but moral. +It does not affect my judgment of the work of +art, but is a result of that judgment. And, as +a matter of fact, if I am to experience a work +of art at all, I cannot be asking myself how +many others enjoy it. Judgments of art are +not formed in that way and cannot be; they +are, and must be, always formed out of our +own experience of art. If art is to be art to +us, we cannot think of it in terms of something +else. There would be no public for art at all +if we all agreed to judge it in terms of each +other's enjoyment or understanding. Each +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_66" id="Pg_66" title="Pg_66">[66]</a></span>individual of "the great masses of people who +are situated in the natural conditions of +laborious life" would also have to ask himself +whether the rest of the masses were enjoying +and understanding, before he could judge; +indeed, he would not feel a right to enjoy until +he knew that the rest were enjoying. That is +to say, no individual would ever enjoy art at +all. The fact is that art is produced by the +individual artist and experienced by the individual +man. Tolstoy says that it is experienced +by mankind in the mass, and not as individuals; +Whistler that it is not experienced at all, +either by the mass or by the individual. Each +is a heretic with some truth in his heresy; +what is the true doctrine?</p> + +<p>It is clear that every artist desires an +audience, not merely so that he may win +pudding and praise from them, nor so that he +may do them good; none of these aims will +make him an artist; he can accomplish all of +them without attempting to produce a work of +art. It is also clear that his artistic success is +not his success in winning an audience. Those +"great masses of people who are situated in +the natural conditions of laborious life" are a +figment of Tolstoy's mind. No conditions are +natural in the sense in which he uses the word; +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_67" id="Pg_67" title="Pg_67">[67]</a></span>nor do any existing conditions make one man a +better judge of art than another. There is no +multitude of simple, normal, unspoilt men able +and willing to enjoy any real art that is presented +to them. The right experience of art +comes with effort, like right thought and right +action; and no Russian peasant has it because +he works in the fields. Nor, on the other hand, +are there any artists who are mere "sports" +occupied with a queer game of their own self-expression +which no one else can enjoy. There +is a necessary relation between the work of art +and its audience, even if no actual audience for +it exists; and the fact that this relation must +be, even when there is no audience in existence, +is the paradox and problem of art. A work of +art claims an audience, entreats it, is indeed +made for it; but must have it on its own +terms. Men are artists because they are men, +because they have a faculty, at its height, +which is shared by all men. In that Croce is +right; and his doctrine that all men are artists +in some degree, and that the very experience of +art is itself an æsthetic activity, contains a +truth of great value. But his æsthetic ignores, +or seems to ignore, the fact that art is not +merely, as he calls it, expression, but is also a +means of address; in fact, that we do not +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_68" id="Pg_68" title="Pg_68">[68]</a></span>express ourselves except when we address ourselves +to others, even though we speak to no +particular, or even existing, audience. Yet +this fact is obvious; for all art gets its very +form from the fact that it is a method of +address. A story is a story because it is told, +and told to some one not the teller. A picture +is a picture because it is painted to be seen. +It has all its artistic qualities because it is +addressed to the eye. And music is music, +and has the form which makes it music, +because it is addressed to the ear. Without +this intention of address there could be no +form in art and no distinction between art and +day-dreaming. Day-dreaming is not expression, +is not art, because it is addressed to no +one but is a purposeless activity of the mind. +It becomes art only when there is the purpose +of address in it. That purpose will give it +form and turn it from day-dreaming into art. +Even in an object of use which is also a work +of art, the art is the effort of the maker to +emphasize, that is, to point out, the beauty of +that which he has made. It is this emphasis +that turns building into architecture; and it +implies that the building is made not merely +for the builder's or for anyone else's use, but +that its aim also is to address an audience, to +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_69" id="Pg_69" title="Pg_69">[69]</a></span>speak to the eye as a picture speaks to it. Art +is made for men as surely as boots are made for +them.</p> + +<p>But not as Tolstoy thinks, for any particular +class of men or even for the whole mass of +existing mankind. The artist will not and +cannot judge his work by its effects on any +actual men, any more than we can or will +judge it by its effects on anyone except ourselves. +As we, in our experience of it, must +be completely individual; so must he in his +production of it. He is not a public servant, +but a man speaking for himself, and with no +thought of effects, to anyone who will hear. +His audience consists only of those who will +hear, of those individuals who can understand +his individual expression which is also communication. +In his art he seeks the individual +who will hear. He has something to say; but +he can say it only to others, not to himself; it +is what it is because he says it to others. Yet +he says it also for its own sake and not for +theirs. The particular likes and dislikes, +stupidities, limitations, demands, of individual +men or classes are nothing to him. The condition +of his art is this alone, that he does +address it to an audience. So the relation +between the artist and his audience is the most +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_70" id="Pg_70" title="Pg_70">[70]</a></span>important fact of his art, even if he has no +actual audience. It is his attitude towards +the audience that makes him do his best or his +worst, makes him a good artist or a bad one, +that sets him free to express all he has to say +or hampers him with inhibitions. His business +is not to find an audience, but to find the right +attitude towards one, the attitude which is +that of the artist and not of the tradesman, or +peacock, or philanthropist. And it is plain +that in his effort to find this right attitude he +may be helped or hindered much by his actual +fellow-men. The artist is also a man and subject +to all the temptations of men. Whistler, +when he said that art happens, ignored this +fact, ignored the whole social relation of mankind +and the whole history of the arts; while +Tolstoy ignored no less the mind of the artist, +and the minds of all those who do actually +experience art. To Whistler the artist is a +<i>Chimæra bombinans in vacuo</i>; to Tolstoy he is +a philanthropist. For Whistler the public has +no function whatever in relation to art; for +Tolstoy the artist himself has no function +whatever except a moral one. In fact he +denies the existence of the artist, as Whistler +denies the existence of the public. Whistler's +truth is that the public must not tell the artist +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_71" id="Pg_71" title="Pg_71">[71]</a></span>what he is to do; Tolstoy's, that a public with +a right relation to the artist will help the artist +to have a right relation to the public.</p> + +<p>Artists are not "sports," but men; and men +engaged in one of the most difficult of human +activities. They are subject to æsthetic +temptation and sin, as all men are subject to +temptation and sin of all kinds. Their public +may tempt them to think more of themselves +than of what they have to express, either by +perverse admiration or by ignorant contempt. +An actual audience may be an obstruction +between them and the ideal audience to which +every artist should address himself. Every +artist must desire that his ideal audience should +exist, and may mistake an actual audience for +it. In the ideal relation between an artist and +his audience, it is the universal in him that +speaks to the universal in them, and yet this +universal finds an intensely personal expression. +Art, which is personal expression, tells, not of +what the artist wants, but of what he values. +But if his ego is provoked by the ego in a +particular audience, then he begins to tell of +what he wants or of what they want. The +audience may demand of him that he shall +please them by indulging their particular +vanities, appetites, sentimental desires, that he +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_72" id="Pg_72" title="Pg_72">[72]</a></span>shall present life to them as they wish it to be; +and if he yields to that demand it is because of +the demands of his own particular ego. There +is a transaction between him and that audience, +in its essence commercial. His art is the +particular supplying some kind of goods to the +particular, not the universal pouring itself out +to the universal.</p> + +<p>The function of the audience is not to +demand but to receive. It should not allow +its own expectations to hinder its receptiveness; +to that extent Whistler is right. Art happens +as the beauty of the universe happens; and it +is the business of the audience to experience it, +not to dictate how it shall happen. It has +been said: It is not we who judge works of +art; they judge us. The artist speaks and we +listen; but still he speaks to us and by listening +wisely we help him to speak his best, for +man is a social being; and all life, in so far as +it is what it wishes to be, is a fellowship. +Never is it so completely a fellowship as in the +relation between an artist and his audience. +There Tolstoy is right, but the fellowship has +to be achieved by both the artist and the +audience. There is no body of simple peasants, +any more than there are rich or cultured +people, to whom he must address himself or +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_73" id="Pg_73" title="Pg_73">[73]</a></span>whose demands he must satisfy. Art that +tries to satisfy any particular demand is of use +neither to the flesh nor to the spirit. It is +neither meat nor music. But where all is well +with it, the spirit in the artist speaks to the +spirit in his audience. There is a common +quality in both, with which he speaks and they +listen; and where this common quality is found +art thrives.</p> + +<p class="return"><a href="#contents">[TABLE OF CONTENTS]</a></p> + +<div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_74" id="Pg_74" title="Pg_74">[74]</a></span></div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p class="chapterhead">Wilfulness and Wisdom</p> + + +<p>There are people to whom the war was +merely the running amuck of a criminal +lunatic; and they get what pleasure they can +from calling that lunatic all the names they +can think of. To them the Germans are +different in kind from all other peoples, utterly +separated from the rest of us by their crimes. +We could learn nothing from them except how +to crush them; and, having done so, we shall +need to learn nothing except how to keep +them down. But such minds never learn anything +from experience, because they believe +that there is nothing to be learnt. They consume +all their mental energy in anger and the +expression of it; and in doing so they grow +more and more like those with whom they are +angry. Wisdom always goes contrary to what +our passions tell us, especially when they take +the form of righteous indignation. The creative +power of the mind begins with refusal of all +those tempting fierce delights which the passions +offer to it. Wisdom must be cold before it can +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_75" id="Pg_75" title="Pg_75">[75]</a></span>become warm; it must suppress the comforting +heat of the flesh before it can kindle with the +pure fire of the spirit. Above all, when we +say that we are not as other men, as the +Germans, for instance, it must insist that we +are, and that we shall avoid the German crime +only by recognizing our likeness to those who +have committed it.</p> + +<p>The Germans have committed the great +crime; but they have been born and nurtured +in an atmosphere which made that crime possible; +and we live in the same atmosphere. +Their error, though they carried it to an +extreme in theory and in practice with the +native extravagance of their race, is the error +of the whole Western world; and we shall not +understand what it is unless we are aware of it +in ourselves as well as in them. For it is a +world-error and one against which men have +been warned for ages; but in their pride they +will not listen to the warning. Many of the +old warnings, in the Gospels and elsewhere, +sound like platitudes to us; we expect the +clergyman to repeat them in church; but we +should never think of applying them to this +great, successful, progressive Western world of +ours. If we are not happy; if we do not even +see the way to happiness; if all our power +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_76" id="Pg_76" title="Pg_76">[76]</a></span>merely helps us to destroy each other, or to +make the rich more vulgarly rich and the poor +more squalidly poor; if the great energy of +Germany has hurried her to her own ruin; +still we do not ask whether we may not have +made some fundamental mistake about our +own nature and the nature of the universe, and +whether Germany has not merely made it more +systematically and more philosophically than +the rest of us.</p> + +<p>But the German, because he is systematic +and philosophical, may reveal to us what that +error is in us as well as in himself. We do not +state it as if it were a splendid truth; we +merely act upon it. He stated it for us with +such histrionic and towering absurdity that we +can laugh at his statement of it; but we must +not laugh at him without learning to laugh at +ourselves. All this talk about the iron will, +about set teeth and ruthlessness, what does it +mean except that the German chose to glorify +openly and to carry to a logical extreme the +peculiar error of the whole Western world—the +belief that the highest function of man is +to work his will upon people and things outside +him, that he can change the world without +changing himself?</p> + +<p>The Christian doctrine, preached so long in +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_77" id="Pg_77" title="Pg_77">[77]</a></span>vain and now almost forgotten, is the opposite +of this. It insists that man is by nature a +passive, an experiencing creature, and that he +can do nothing well in action unless he has +first learned a right passivity. Only by that +passivity can he enrich himself; and when he +has enriched himself he will act rightly. Man +has a will; but he must apply it at the right +point, or it will seem to him merely a blind +impulse. He must apply it to the manner in +which he experiences things; he must free himself +from his "will to live" or his "will to +power," and see all men and things not as they +are of material use to him, but with the object +of loving whatever there is of beauty or virtue +in them. His will, in fact, must be the will to +love, which is the will to experience in a certain +way; and out of that will to love right action +will naturally ensue. Is this a platitude? If +it is, it is flatly contradicted by the German +doctrine of wilfulness. For the Germanic hero +exercises his will always upon other men and +things, not upon himself; and we all admire +this Germanic hero, when he is not an obvious +danger to us all, and when he is not made +ridiculous by the German presentment of him. +We all believe that the will is to be exercised +first of all in action, that it is the function of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_78" id="Pg_78" title="Pg_78">[78]</a></span>the great man to change the world, not +to change himself. To us the great man is +one who does work a change upon the world, +no matter what that change may be. He may +change it only as an explosion changes things, +and at the end he may be left among the ruins +he has made; but still we admire him. We +compare him to the forces of nature, we say +that there is "something elemental" in him, +even though he has been merely an elemental +nuisance. We value force in itself, and do not +ask what it can find to value in itself when it +has exhausted itself upon the world. But out +of this worship of wilfulness there comes, sooner +or later, a profound scepticism and discouragement. +For while these wilful heroes do produce +some violent effect, it is not the effect +they aimed at. Something happens; something +has happened to Germany as the result +of Bismarck's wilfulness; but it is not what he +willed. The wilful hero is a cause in that he +acts; but the effect is not what he designed, +and so he seems to himself, and to the world, +only a link in an unending chain of cause and +effect; and as for his sense of will, it is nothing +but the illusion that he is all cause and not at +all effect.</p> + +<p><i>Quem Deus vult perdere dementat prius.</i> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_79" id="Pg_79" title="Pg_79">[79]</a></span>That old tag puts a truth wrongly. God does +not interfere to afflict the wilful man with +madness, but he has never thrown himself open +to the wisdom of God. His mind is like a +machine that acts with increasing speed and +fury because there is less and less material for +it to act upon. One act leads to another in a +blind chain of cause and effect; he does this +merely because he has done that, and seems to +be driven by fate on and on to his own ruin. +So it was with Napoleon in his later years. +He had lost the sense of any reality whatever +except his own action; he saw the world as a +passive object to be acted upon by himself. +And that is how the Germans saw it two years +ago. They could not understand that it was +possible for the world to react against them. +It was merely something that they were going +to remake, to work their will upon. The war, +at its beginning, was not to them a conflict +between human beings; it was a process by +which they would make of things what they +willed. There was no reality except in themselves +and their own will; for, in their worship +of action, they had lost the sense of external +reality, they had come to believe that there +was nothing to learn from it except what a +craftsman learns from his material by working +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_80" id="Pg_80" title="Pg_80">[80]</a></span>in it. It is by making that he learns; and +they thought that there was no learning except +by making.</p> + +<p>But that is the mistake of the whole Western +world, though we have none of us carried it so +far as Germany. Other men are to us still +men, they still have some reality to us; but +we see external reality as a material for us to +work in; we are to ourselves entirely active +and not at all passive beings. Even among all +the evil and sorrow of the war we still took a +pride in the enormous power of our instruments +of destruction, as if we were children playing +with big, dangerous toys. But these toys +are themselves the product of a society that +must always be making and never thinking or +feeling. They express the will for action that +has ousted the will to experience; and all the +changes which we work on the face of the +earth express that will too. We could not +live in the cities we have made for ourselves if +we thought that we had anything to learn +from the beauty of the earth. They are for us +merely places in which we learn to act, in +which no one could learn to think or feel. +Passive experience is impossible in them and +they do not consider the possibility of it. +So they express in every building, in every +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_81" id="Pg_81" title="Pg_81">[81]</a></span>object, in the very clothes of their inhabitants, +an utter poverty of passive experience. +In what we make we give out no stored +riches of the mind; we make only so that we +may act, never so that we may express ourselves; +and we have little art because our +making is entirely wilful. Our attempts at +art are themselves entirely wilful. We will +have art, we say; and so we plaster our utilities +with the ornaments of the past, as if we could +get the richness of experience secondhand from +our ancestors. And in the same way we are +always finding for our blind activities moral +motives, those motives which are real only +when they spring out of right experience. We +rationalize all that we do, but the rationalizing +is secondhand ornament to blind impulse; it +is an attempt to persuade ourselves that our +actions spring out of the experience which we +lack. There is among us an incessant activity +both of thought and of art; but much of it is +entirely wilful. The thinker makes theories to +justify what is done; he, too, sees all life in +terms of action, he is the parasite of action. +For a German professor the whole process of +history was but a prelude to the wilfulness of +Germany; he could not experience the past +except in terms of what Germany willed to do; +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_82" id="Pg_82" title="Pg_82">[82]</a></span>and the aim of his theorizing was to remove +all scrupulous impediments to the action of +Germany which she may have inherited from +the past. Think so that you may be stronger +to do what you wish to do; that is the modern +notion of thought, and that is the reason why +we throw up theories so easily; for thinking of +this kind needs no experience, it needs merely +an activity of the mind, the activity which +collects facts and does with them what it will. +And these theories are eagerly accepted so +long as the impulse lasts which they justify. +When that is spent they are forgotten, and +new theories take their place to justify fresh +impulses. And so it is with the incessant new +movements in art. Art now is conceived +entirely as action. The artist is as wilful as +the Germanic hero; the will to make excludes +in him the will to experience. The painter +cannot look at the visible world without considering +at once what kind of picture he will +make of it. It is to him mere passive material +for his artistic will, not an independent reality +to enrich his mind so that it will give out its +riches in the form of art. And as he is always +willing to make pictures so he must will the +kind of pictures he will make, as the Germans +willed the kind of world they would make. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_83" id="Pg_83" title="Pg_83">[83]</a></span>But this willing of his is a kind of theorizing +to justify his own action; and it changes incessantly +because he never can be satisfied with +his own poverty of experience. But still he +will do anything rather than try to enrich that +poverty.</p> + +<p>And that is the secret of all our restlessness, +the restlessness that forced the Germans +into the folly and crime of war. We are +always dissatisfied with our poverty of experience; +and we try to get rid of our dissatisfaction +in more blind activity, throwing up new +theories all the while as reasons why we should +act. We fidget about the earth as if we were +children, that could not read, left in a library; +and, like them, we do mischief. And that is +just what we are: children that have not learnt +to read let loose upon the library of the universe; +and all that we can do is to pull the +books about and play games with them and +scribble on their pages. Everywhere the earth +is defaced with our meaningless scribbling, and +we tell ourselves that it means something +because we want to scribble. Or sometimes we +tell ourselves that there is no meaning in anything, +no more in the books than in our +scribble.</p> + +<p>The only remedy is that we should learn to +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_84" id="Pg_84" title="Pg_84">[84]</a></span>read; and for this we need above all things +humility; not merely the personal humility of +a man who knows that other men excel him, +but a generic humility which acknowledges +in the universe a greater wisdom, power, +righteousness than his own. That is formally +acknowledged by our religion, but it is not +practically acknowledged in our way of life, in +our conduct or our thought. We think and +feel and behave as if we were the best and +wisest creatures in the universe, as if it existed +only for us to make use of it; and in so far as +we learn from it at all, we learn only to make +use of it. That is our idea of knowledge and +wisdom; more and more it is our idea of +science; and as for philosophy, we pay no heed +to it because, in its nature, it is not concerned +with making use of things. In every way we +betray the fact that we cannot listen humbly, +because we do not believe there is anything to +listen to. For a few of the devout God spoke +long ago, but He is not speaking now. "The +kings of modern thought are dumb," said +Matthew Arnold; but that is because everything +outside the mind of man is dumb; all +must be dumb to those who will not listen. +If we assume that there, is no intelligence anywhere +but in ourselves, we shall find none anywhere +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_85" id="Pg_85" title="Pg_85">[85]</a></span>else. There will be no meaning for us +in anything but our own actions; and they +will become more and more meaningless to us as +they become more and more wilful, until at last +we shall be to ourselves like squirrels in a cage, +or prisoners on a universal treadmill. Years +ago the war must have seemed a meaningless +treadmill to the Germans, but they cannot +escape from its consequences; they have done +and they must suffer. But will they learn from +their sufferings, shall we all learn, that doing +is not everything? Are we humbled enough +to listen to the wisdom of the ages, which tells +us that we can be wise only if we listen for a +wisdom that is not ours?</p> + +<p class="return"><a href="#contents">[TABLE OF CONTENTS]</a></p> + +<div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_86" id="Pg_86" title="Pg_86">[86]</a></span></div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p class="chapterhead">"The Magic Flute"</p> + + +<p>When <i>The Magic Flute</i> was produced +by the already dying Mozart it had +little success. At the first performance, it is +said, when the applause was faint, the leader +of the orchestra stole up to Mozart, who was +conducting, and kissed his hand; and Mozart +stroked him on the head. We may guess that +the leader knew what the music meant and +that Mozart knew that he knew. Neither +could put it into words and it is not put into +words in the libretto. But the libretto need +not be an obstruction to the meaning of the +music if only the audience will not ask themselves +what the libretto means. After Mozart's +death the opera was successful, no doubt because +the audience had given up asking what the +libretto meant and had learnt something of the +meaning of the music.</p> + +<p>There are worse librettos—librettos which +have some clear unmusical meaning of their +own beyond which the audience cannot penetrate +to the meaning of the music, if it has +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_87" id="Pg_87" title="Pg_87">[87]</a></span>any. This libretto, apart from the music, is +so nearly meaningless, it has so little coherence, +that one can easily pass through it to the +music. The author, Schickaneder, was Mozart's +friend, and he had wit enough to understand +the mood of Mozart. That mood does express +itself in the plot and the incidents of the +libretto, although in them it is empty of value +or passion. Schickaneder, in fact, constructed +a mere diagram to which Mozart gave life. +The life is all in the music, but the diagram +has its use, in that it supplies a shape, which +we recognize, to the life of the music. The +characters live in the music, but in the words +they tell us something about themselves which +enables us to understand their musical speech +better. Papageno tells us that he is a bird-catcher +and a child of nature. The words are +labels, but through them we pass more quickly +to an understanding of his song. Only we +shall miss that understanding if we try to reach +it through the words, if we look for the story +of the opera in them. In the words the events +of the opera have no connexion with each other. +There is no reason why one should follow +another. The logic of it is all in the music, +for the music creates a world in which events +happen naturally, in which one tune springs +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_88" id="Pg_88" title="Pg_88">[88]</a></span>out of another, or conflicts with it, like the +forces of nature or the thoughts and actions of +man. This world is the universe as Mozart +sees it; and the whole opera is an expression +of his peculiar faith. It is therefore a religious +work, though free from that meaningless and +timid solemnity which we associate with religion. +Mozart, in this world, was like an +angel who could not but laugh, though without +any malice, at all the bitter earnestness of mankind. +Even the wicked were only absurd to +him; they were naughty children whom, if one +had the spell, one could enchant into goodness. +And in <i>The Magic Flute</i> the spell works. It +works in the flute itself and in Papageno's lyre +when the wicked negro Monostatos threatens +him and Tamino with his ugly attendants. +Papageno has only to play a beautiful childish +tune on his lyre and the attendants all march +backwards to an absurd goose-step in time with +it. They are played off the stage; and the +music convinces one that they must yield to it. +So, we feel if we had had the music, we could +have made the Prussians march their goose-step +back to Potsdam; so we could play all solemn +perversity off the stage of life. If we had the +music—but there is solemn perversity in us too; +by reason of which we can hardly listen to the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_89" id="Pg_89" title="Pg_89">[89]</a></span>music, much less play it, hardly listen to it or +understand it even when Mozart makes it for +us. For he had the secret of it; he was a +philosopher who spoke in music and so simply +that the world missed his wisdom and thought +that he was just a beggar playing tunes in the +street. A generation ago he was commonly +said to be too tuney, as you might say that a +flower was too flowery. People would no more +consider him than they would consider the +lilies of the field. They preferred Wagner in +all his glory.</p> + +<p>Even now you can enjoy <i>The Magic Flute</i> as +a more than usually absurd musical comedy +with easy, old-fashioned tunes. You can enjoy +it anyway, if you are not solemn about it, as +you can enjoy <i>Hamlet</i> for a bloody melodrama. +But, like <i>Hamlet</i>, it has depths and depths of +meaning beyond our full comprehension. Papageno +is a pantomime figure, but he is also one +of the greatest figures in the drama of the +world. He is everyman, like Hamlet, if only +we had the wit to recognize ourselves in him. +Or rather he is that element in us which we all +like and despise in others, but which we will +never for one moment confess to in ourselves—the +coward, the boaster, the liar, but the child +of nature. He, because he knows himself for +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_90" id="Pg_90" title="Pg_90">[90]</a></span>all of these, can find his home in Sarostro's +paradise. He does not want Sarostro's high +wisdom; what he does want is a Papagena, an +Eve, a child of nature like himself; and she is +given to him. He has the wit to recognize +his mate, almost a bird like himself, and to +them Mozart gives their bird-duet, so that, +when they sing it, we feel that we might all +sing it together. It is not above our capacity +of understanding or delight. The angel has +learnt our earthly tongue, but transformed it +so that he makes a heaven of the earth, a +heaven that is not too high or difficult for us, +a wild-wood heaven, half-absurd, in which we +can laugh as well as sing, and in which the +angels will laugh at us and with us, laugh our +silly sorrows into joy.</p> + +<p>There is Mozart himself in Papageno, the +faun domesticated and sweetened by centuries +of Christian experience, yet still a faun and +always ready to play a trick on human +solemnity; and in this paradise which Mozart +makes for us the faun has his place and a +beauty not incongruous with it, like the imps +and gargoyles of a Gothic church. At any +moment the music will turn from sublimity +into fun, and in a moment it can turn back to +sublimity; and always the change seems natural. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_91" id="Pg_91" title="Pg_91">[91]</a></span>It is like a great cathedral with High Mass +and children playing hide-and-seek behind the +pillars; and the Mass would not be itself +without the children. That is the mind of +Mozart which people have called frivolous, just +because in his heaven there is room for everything +except the vulgar glory of Solomon and +cruelty and stupidity and ugliness. There +never was anything in art more profound or +beautiful than Sarostro's initiation music, but +it is not, like the solemnities of the half-serious, +incongruous with the twitterings of Papageno. +Mozart's religion is so real that it seems to be +not religion, but merely beauty, as real saints +seem to be not good, but merely charming. +And there are people to whom his beauty does +not seem to be art, because it is just beauty; +they think that he had the trick of it and +could turn it on as he chose; they prefer the +creaking of effort and egotism. His gifts are +so purely gifts and so lavish that they seem to +be cheap; and <i>The Magic Flute</i> is an absurdity +which he wrote in a hurry to please the crowd.</p> + +<p>We can hardly expect to see a satisfying performance +of it on the stage of to-day, but we +must be grateful for any performance, for the +life of the music is in it. One can see from it +what <i>The Magic Flute</i> might be. The music +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_92" id="Pg_92" title="Pg_92">[92]</a></span>is so sung, so played that it does transfigure +the peculiar theatrical hideousness of our time. +Tamino and Panina may look like figures out +of an Academy picture, as heroes and heroines +of opera always do. They may wear clothes +that belong to no world of reality or art, +clothes that suggest the posed and dressed-up +model. But the music mitigates even these, +and it helps every one to act, or rather to +forget what they have learnt about acting. It +evidently brings happiness and concord to those +who sing it, so that they seem to be taking +part in a religious act rather than in an act of +the theatre. One feels this most in the concerted +music, when the same wind from paradise +seems to be blowing through all the singers +and they move to it like flowers, in spite of +their absurd clothes.</p> + +<p>But what is needed for a satisfying performance +is a world congruous to the eye as +well as to the ear; and for this we need a +break with all our theatrical conventions. +Sarostro, for instance, lives among Egyptian +scenery—very likely the architecture of his +temple was Egyptian at the first performance—but, +for all that, this Egyptian world does +not suit the music, and to us it suggests the +miracles of the Egyptian Hall. But there is +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_93" id="Pg_93" title="Pg_93">[93]</a></span>one world which would perfectly suit the music, +a world in which it could pass naturally from +absurdity to beauty, and in which all the figures +could be harmonious and yet distinct, and that +is the Chinese world as we know it in Chinese +art. For in that there is something fantastic +yet spiritual, something comic but beautiful, a +mixture of the childish and the sacred, which +might say to the eye what Mozart's music says +to the ear. Only in Chinese art could Papageno +be a saint; only in that world, which ranges +from the willow-pattern plate to the Rishi in +his mystical ecstasy in the wilderness, could the +soul of Mozart, with its laughter and its wisdom, +be at home. That too is the world in which +flowers and all animals are of equal import with +mankind; it is the world of dragons in which +the serpent of the first act would not seem to +be made of pasteboard, and in which all the +magic would not seem to be mere conjuring. +In that world one might have beautiful landscapes +and beautiful figures to suit them. +There Sarostro would not be a stage magician, +but a priest; from Papageno and the lovers to +him would be only the change from Ming to +Sung, which would seem no change at all. +Chinese art, in fact, is the world of the magic +flute, the world where silver bells hang on +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_94" id="Pg_94" title="Pg_94">[94]</a></span>every flowering tree and the thickets are full +of enchanted nightingales. It is the world of +imps and monsters, and yet of impassioned +contemplation, where the sage sits in a moonlit +pavilion and smiles like a lover, and where the +lovers smile like sages; where everything is to +the eye what the music of Mozart is to the ear.</p> + +<p>In the Chinese world we could be rid of all +the drawling erotics of the modern theatre, +we could give up the orchid for the lotus and +the heavy egotism of Europe for the self-forgetful +gaiety of the East. It may be only +an ideal world, empty of the horrors of reality, +but it is one which the art of China makes +real to us and with which we are familiar in +that art; and there is a smiling wisdom in it, +there is a gaiety which comes from conquest +rather than refusal of reality, just like the +gaiety and wisdom of Mozart's music. He +knew sorrow well, but would not luxuriate in +it; he took the beauty of the universe more +seriously than himself. To him wickedness +was a matter of imps and monsters rather than +of villains, and of imps and monsters that +could be exorcized by music. He was the +Orpheus of the world who might tame the +beast in all of us if we would listen to him, the +wandering minstrel whom the world left to +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_95" id="Pg_95" title="Pg_95">[95]</a></span>play out in the street. And yet his ultimate +seriousness and the last secret of his beauty is +pity, not for himself and his own little troubles, +but for the whole bitter earnestness of mortal +children. And in this pity he seems not to +weep for us, still less for himself, but to tell us +to dry our tears and be good, and listen to his +magic flute. That is what he would have told +the Prussians, after he had set them marching +the goose-step backwards. Even they would +not be the villains of a tragedy for him, but +only beasts to be tamed with his music until +they should be fit to sing their own bass part +in the last chorus of reconciliation. And this +pity of his sounds all through <i>The Magic Flute</i> +and gives to its beauty a thrill and a wonder +far beyond what any fleshly passion can give. +Sarostro is a priest, not a magician, because there +is in him the lovely wisdom of pity, because he +has a place in his paradise for Papageno, the +child of nature, where he shall be made happy +with his mate Papagena. There is a moment +when Papageno is about to hang himself +because there is no one to love him; he will +hang himself in Sarostro's lonely paradise. +But there is a sly laughter in the music which +tells us that he will be interrupted with the +rope round his neck. And so he is, and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_96" id="Pg_96" title="Pg_96">[96]</a></span>Papagena is given to him, and the paradise is +no longer lonely; and the two sing their part +in the chorus of reconciliation at the end. +And we are sure that the Queen of Night, +and the ugly negro and all his goose-stepping +attendants, are not punished. They have been +naughty for no reason that anyone can discover, +just like Prussians and other human beings; +and now the magic flute triumphs over their +naughtiness, and the silver bells ring from +every tree and the enchanted nightingales sing +in all the thickets, and the sages and the +lovers smile like children; and the laughter +passes naturally into the divine beauty of +Mozart's religion, which is solemn because +laughter and pity are reconciled in it, not +rejected as profane.</p> + +<p class="return"><a href="#contents">[TABLE OF CONTENTS]</a></p> + +<div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_97" id="Pg_97" title="Pg_97">[97]</a></span></div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p class="chapterhead">Process or Person?</p> + + +<p>Nearly all war pictures in the past +have been merely pictures that happened +to represent war. Paolo Uccello's battle +scenes are but pretexts for his peculiar version +of the visible world. They might as +well be still life for all the effect the subject +has had upon his treatment of it. Leonardo, +in his lost battle picture, was no doubt +dramatic, and expressed in it his infinite +curiosity; he has left notes about the manner +in which fighting men and horses ought to be +represented, but he had this detached curiosity +about all things. Michelangelo's battle +picture, also lost, expressed his interest in the +nude in violent action, like his picture of the +"Last Judgment." Titian's "Battle of Cadore," +which we know from the copy of a fragment +of it, was a landscape with figures in +violent action. Tintoret's battle scenes are +parade pictures. Those of Rubens are like his +hunting scenes or his Bacchanals, expressions +of his own overweening energy. In none of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_98" id="Pg_98" title="Pg_98">[98]</a></span>these, except perhaps in Leonardo's, was there +implied any criticism of war, or any sense that +it is an abnormal activity of man. The men +who take part in it are just men fighting; +they are not men seen differently because they +are fighting, or in any way robbed of their +humanity because of their inhuman business. +As for Meissonier, he paints a battle scene just +as if he were a second-rate Dutchman painting +a <i>genre</i> picture; and most other modern +military painters make merely a patriotic +appeal. War to them also is a normal occupation; +and they paint battle pictures as they +might paint sporting pictures, because there is +a public that likes them.</p> + +<p>In Mr. Nevinson's war pictures there is +expressed a modern sense of war as an +abnormal occupation; and this sense shows +itself in the very method of the artist. He +was something of a Cubist before the war; but +in these pictures he has found a new reason for +being one; for his cubist method does express, +in the most direct way, his sense that in war +man behaves like a machine or part of a +machine, that war is a process in which man +is not treated as a human being but as an +item in a great instrument of destruction, in +which he ceases to be a person and is lost in a +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_99" id="Pg_99" title="Pg_99">[99]</a></span>process. The cubist method, with its repetition +and sharp distinction of planes, expresses +this sense of mechanical process better than +any other way of representation. Perhaps it +came into being to express the modern sense of +process as the ultimate reality of all things, +even of life and growth. This is the age of +mechanism; and machines have affected even our +view of the universe; we are overawed by our +own knowledge and inventions. Samuel Butler +imagined a future in which machines would +come to life and make us their slaves; but it +is not so much that machines have come to life +as that we ourselves have lost the pride and +sweetness of our humanity; not that the +machines seem more and more like us, but that +we seem more and more like the machines. +Everywhere we see processes to which we are +subject and of which our humanity is the +result, though in the past we have harboured +the delusion that our humanity was in some +way independent of processes. Now that delusion +is fading away from us; and it fades +away most of all in war, where all humanity +is evidently dominated by the struggle for life, +and is but a part of it, as raindrops are part of +a storm.</p> + +<p>It is this sense of tyrannous process that Mr. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_100" id="Pg_100" title="Pg_100">[100]</a></span>Nevinson expresses in his battle pictures, with, +we suspect, a bitter feeling of resentment +against it. His pictures look like a visible +<i>reductio ad absurdum</i> of it all. That is how +men look, he seems to say, when they are fighting +in modern war; and, being men, they +ought not to look so. That, at least, is the +effect the pictures produce on us. They are a +bitter satire on all the modern power of man +and the uses to which he has put it. He has +allowed it to make him its slave and to set him +to a business which has no purpose whatever, +which is as blind as the process of the universe +seems to one who has no faith. This struggle +for life might just as well be called a struggle +for death. It is, in fact, merely a struggle +between two machines intent on wrecking each +other; and part of the machines are the bodies +of men, which behave as if there were no souls +in them, as if there were not even life, but +merely energy; so that they collide and destroy +each other like masses of matter in space. +Nothing can be said of them except that they +obey certain laws; we call their obedience +discipline, but it is only the discipline of things +subject to a process.</p> + +<p>Now it is the sense of process, as the ultimate +reality in the universe, which has produced +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_101" id="Pg_101" title="Pg_101">[101]</a></span>war against the conscience of mankind, +and even of many Germans. Conscience was +powerless to prevent it because conscience had +ceased to believe in its own power, had come +to think of itself as a vain and inexplicable +rebellion against the nature of things. This +rebellion we call sentimentality, meaning +thereby that it is really not even moral; for +true morality would recognize the process to +which the nature of man is subject, of which +that nature is itself a part; and would cure +man of his futile rebellions so that he should +not suffer needlessly from them. It would +cure man of pity, because it is through pity +that he suffers. He is a machine, and, if he is +a conscious machine, he should be conscious of +the fact that he is one. Such is the belief that +has been growing upon us for fifty years or +more with many strange effects. It has not +destroyed our sense of pity, but has confused +and exasperated it. We pity and love still, +but with desperation, not like Christians +assured that these things are according to the +order of the universe, but fearing that they are +wilful exceptions to that order, costly luxuries +that we indulge in at our own peril. We +seem to ourselves lonely in our pity and +love; the supreme process knows nothing +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_102" id="Pg_102" title="Pg_102">[102]</a></span>of them; the God, who is love, does not +exist.</p> + +<p>In the past wars have happened with the +consent of mankind; but this war did not +happen so. Even in Germany there was +something hysterical in the praise of war, as if +it were the worship of an idol both hated and +feared. We must praise war, the German +worshippers of force seem to say, so that we +may survive. We must forgo the past hopes +of man so that we may find something real to +hope for. We must habituate ourselves to +the universe as it is, and break ourselves and +all mankind in to the bitter truth. They +praised war as we used in England to praise +industry. Labour, we believed, when all the +labour of the poor had been made joyless by +the industrial revolution, was the result of the +curse laid upon man by God. Therefore, man +must labour without joy and never dream of +happy work. And so now the very worshippers +of war believe that it is a curse laid upon man +by the nature of things. They may not believe +in the fall of man, but they do believe that he +can never rise, since he is himself part of a +process which is always war; and, if he tries to +escape from it, he will become extinct. So +they exhort us to consent to that process even +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_103" id="Pg_103" title="Pg_103">[103]</a></span>with our conscience; the more completely we +consent to it, the more we shall succeed in it. +But all the while they are doing violence to our +natures and to their own. They try to think +like machines, like the slaves of a process; but +thought itself is inconsistent with their effort; +their very praises of the heroism of their +victims are inconsistent with it. There is +a gaping incongruity between the obsolete +German romanticism and the new German +atheism which exploited it, between their talk +about Siegfried and their talk about the +struggle for life. And there is the same +incongruity between the cubist effort to see the +visible world as a mechanical process and art +itself. The cubist seems to force himself with +a savage irony into this caricature of nature; +we have emptied reality of its content in our +thought and he will empty it of its content to +our eyes; that is not how we really see things, +but it is how we ought to see them if what +we believe about the nature of things is true. +This irony we find in Mr. Nevinson's pictures +of the war, whether it be a despairing irony or +the rebellion of an unshaken faith. He has +emptied man of his content, just as the +Prussian drill sergeant would empty him of his +content for the purposes of war; and only a +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_104" id="Pg_104" title="Pg_104">[104]</a></span>Prussian drill sergeant could consent to this +version of man with any joy.</p> + +<p>That, perhaps, is how we shall all come to +see everything if we continue for some centuries +to believe that process and not person is the +ultimate reality. Emptying ourselves of all +our content in thought, we shall at last empty +ourselves of all content in reality; we shall +become what now we fear we are, and our very +senses will be obedient to our unfaith. For +unfaith is the belief in process; and faith is the +belief in person. It is the belief in process +that makes men sacrifice other men in +thousands to some idol; it is the belief in +person that makes them refuse to sacrifice +anyone but themselves; and they are afraid +when they sacrifice others, but confident when +they sacrifice themselves. Ultimately process +has no value and can have no value for us. It +is merely what exists or what we believe to +exist, and our effort to value it is only the +obsequiousness of the slave to the power that +he fears. All our values come from the sense +of person as more real than process. We will +not do wrong to a man because he is a man; +if he is to us only part of a process, we cannot +value him and we can do what we will to him +without any sense of wrong. All the old +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_105" id="Pg_105" title="Pg_105">[105]</a></span>cruelties and iniquities of the world arose out +of a belief in process and a fear of it. It is +not a modern scientific discovery, but the +oldest and darkest superstition that has +oppressed the mind of man. To all religious +persecutors salvation was a process, like that +struggle for life which is the modern form of +the struggle for salvation to the superstitious. +And because salvation was a process human +beings were sacrificed to it. It did not matter +how they were tortured, provided this abstract +process was maintained. So it does not matter +now how they are slaughtered, provided the +abstract process of the struggle for life is maintained. +To the German this war was part of a +process, the historical process of the triumph of +Germany, and it did not matter how many +Germans were killed in furthering it. If they +were all killed Germany would still have +asserted her faithless faith in process and +would have reduced it to a glorious absurdity.</p> + +<p>So, if we fought for anything beyond ourselves, +we fought for the belief in person as +against the belief in process. Indeed, it is the +chief glory of England, among her many follies +and crimes, that she has always believed in +person rather than in process; and that is +what we mean when we say that we refuse to +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_106" id="Pg_106" title="Pg_106">[106]</a></span>sacrifice facts to theories. Men themselves are +to us facts, and we distrust theories that +empty them of content. If we act like brutes, +we would rather do so because the brute has +mastered us for the moment than because we +believe that humanity is inconsistent with the +process that dominates the world. We ourselves +had rather be inconsistent than empty +ourselves of all reality for the sake of a theory. +And there is an intellectual as well as a moral +basis to this inconsistency of ours. For if you +believe that person, not process, is the ultimate +reality, you must offer some defiance to +the material facts of life. There is evidently +a conflict between person and process; and in +that conflict the process, which you perceive +with your intelligence, will be less real to you +than the person of whom you are aware with +all your faculties. So you will trust in this +union of all the faculties rather than in the +exercise of the pure intelligence; for to you +the pure intelligence will be part of the person +and will share in the person's universal imperfection. +In fact it will not be pure intelligence +at all, but rather a faculty that may be +obsequious to all the lower passions. Nothing +will free you from them, except the respect for +persons, except, in fact, loving your neighbour +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_107" id="Pg_107" title="Pg_107">[107]</a></span>as yourself. There is no way to consistency +but through that, and no way to the exercise of +the pure intelligence. Never sacrifice a person +to a process and you will never sacrifice a +person to your own lower passions. But, if you +believe in process rather than in person, you +will see your passions as part of the process and +glorify them when you think you are glorifying +the nature of the universe.</p> + +<p>Cubism and all those new methods of art +which subject facts to the tyranny of a process +may be good satire, but they will never, I +think, produce an independent beauty of their +own. Like all satire, they are parasitic upon +past art, negative and rebellious. They tell +us what the universe may look like to us if +we lose all faith in ourselves and each other; +and, when they are the result of a desperate +effort to see the universe so, they are unconscious +satire. The complete, convinced cubist +reduces his own method, his own beliefs, his +own state of mind, to an absurdity. The more +sincere he is, the more complete is the reduction. +For he, rejecting all that has been the subject-matter +of painting in the past, all the human +values and the complexes of association which +have invested the visible world with beauty for +men, proves to us in his tortured diagrams +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_108" id="Pg_108" title="Pg_108">[108]</a></span>that he has found nothing to take their place, +He gives us a <i>Chimæra bombinans in vacuo</i>, that +vacuum which the universe is to the human +spirit when it denies itself. He tries to make +art, having cut himself off from all the experience +and belief that produce art. For art +springs always out of a supreme value for the +personal and is an expression of that value. It +is an effort, no matter in what medium, to +find the personal in all things, to see trees as +men walking; and the new abstract methods +in painting reverse this process, they empty +all things, even men, of personality and subject +them to a process invented by the artist, which +expresses, if it expresses anything, his own loss +of personal values and nothing else. The +result may be ingenious, it may still have a +kind of beauty remembered from the great +design of past art; but it will lead nowhere, +since it is cut off from the very experience, the +passionate personal interest in people and +things, which gave design to the great art of +the past. It is at best satirical, at worst +parasitic, using up all devices of design and +turning from one to another in a restless ennui +which of itself can give no enrichment. It +may have its uses, since it insists upon the +supreme importance of design and provides a +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_109" id="Pg_109" title="Pg_109">[109]</a></span>new method for the expression of three dimensions; +but this method will be barren unless +those who practise it enrich it with their own +observation and delight. Already some of them +seem to be weary of the barrenness of pure +abstraction; they see that any fool can hide +his own commonplace in cubism as an ostrich +hides its head in the sand; but we would +rather have honest chocolate-box ladies than +the kaleidoscopic but betraying chocolate-box +fragments of the futurist.</p> + +<p class="return"><a href="#contents">[TABLE OF CONTENTS]</a></p> + +<div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_110" id="Pg_110" title="Pg_110">[110]</a></span></div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p class="chapterhead">The Artist and the Tradesman</p> + + +<p>The Exhibition of the Arts and Crafts +at Burlington House was an acknowledgment +of the fact that there are other arts +besides those of painting, sculpture, and architecture, +or rather perhaps that the arts subsidiary +to architecture are arts and not merely +commercial activities. Burlington House +would protest, of course, that it is not a shop; +but now at last objects are to be shown in it +which the great mass of the public expects to +see only in shops and expects to be produced +merely to sell. We remember how Lord +Grimthorpe called Morris a poetic upholsterer. +He meant there was something incongruous in +the combination of an upholsterer and a poet; +he would have seen nothing incongruous in +the combination of a poet and a painter, +because he would have called a painter an +artist; but an upholsterer was to him merely +a tradesman, and tradesmen are not expected +to write poetry. Their business is to sell +things and to make objects for sale.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_111" id="Pg_111" title="Pg_111">[111]</a></span>In that respect he thought like the mass of +the public now. For them the painter has +some prestige, because he is supposed not to be +a tradesman, not to paint his pictures merely +so that he may sell them. He has to live by +his art, of course, but he practises it also +because he enjoys it; and, if he is an artist, he +will not paint bad pictures merely because +they are what the public wants. But it is the +business of those who make furniture and such +things to produce what the public wants. No +one would blame them for producing what +they do not like themselves, any more than +one would blame a pill-maker for producing +pills that he would not swallow himself. The +pill-maker and the furniture-maker are both +tradesmen producing objects in answer to a +demand. They have no prestige and no conscience +is expected of them.</p> + +<p>Now in Italy in the fifteenth century this +distinction between the artist and the tradesman +did not exist. The painter was a tradesman; +he kept a shop and he had none of that +peculiar prestige which he possesses now. But +of the tradesman more was expected than is +expected now; for instance, good workmanship +and material were expected of him and +also good design. He did not produce articles +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_112" id="Pg_112" title="Pg_112">[112]</a></span>merely to sell, whether they were pictures or +wedding-chests or jewelry or pots and pans. +He made all these other things just as he +made pictures, with some pleasure and conscience +in his own work; and it was the best +craftsman who became a painter or sculptor, +merely because those were the most difficult +crafts. Now it is the gentleman with artistic +faculty who becomes a painter; the poor man, +however much of that faculty he possesses, +remains a workman without any artistic +prestige and without any temptation to consider +the quality of his work or to take any +pleasure in it. This is a commonplace, no +doubt; but it remains a fact, however often +it may have been repeated, and a social fact +with a constant evil effect upon all the arts. +Because the painter is supposed to be an artist +and nothing else and the craftsman a tradesman +and nothing else, we do not expect the +virtues of the craftsman from the painter nor +the virtues of the artist from the craftsman. +For us there is nothing but mystery in the +work of the artist and no mystery at all in +the work of the craftsman. The painter can +be as silly as he likes, and we do not laugh at +him, if we are persons of culture, because his +art is a sacred mystery. But, as for the craftsman, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_113" id="Pg_113" title="Pg_113">[113]</a></span>there is nothing sacred about his work. +It is sold in a shop and made to be sold; and +all we expect of it is that it shall be in the +fashion, which means that it shall be what the +commercial traveller thinks he can sell. There +are, of course, a few craftsman who are thought +of as artists, and their work at once becomes a +sacred mystery, like pictures. They too have +a right to be as silly as they like; and some +people will buy their work, however silly it +may be, as they would buy pictures—that is +to say, for the good of their souls and not +because they like it.</p> + +<p>How are we to get rid of this distinction +we have made between the artist and the +tradesman? How are we to recover for the +artist the virtues of the craftsman and for the +craftsman the virtues of the artist? At +present we get from neither what we really +like. Art remains to us a painful mystery; +most of us would define it, if we were honest, +as that which human beings buy because they +do not like it. While, as for objects of use, +they are bought mainly because they are sold; +they are forced upon us as a conjurer forces +a card. We think we like them while they +remain the fashion; but soon they are like +women's clothes of two years ago, if they last +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_114" id="Pg_114" title="Pg_114">[114]</a></span>long enough to be outmoded. It is vain for us +to reproach either the artist or the tradesman. +The fault is in ourselves; we have as a whole +society yielded to the most subtle temptation +of Satan. We have lost the power of knowing +what we like—that is to say, the power +of loving. We value nothing for itself, but +everything for its associations. The man of +culture buys a picture, not because he likes it, +but because he thinks it is art; at most what +he enjoys is not the picture itself but the +thought that he is cultured enough to enjoy it. +That thought comes between him and the +picture, and makes it impossible for him to experience +the picture at all. And so he is +ready to accept anything that the painter +chooses to give him, if only he believes the +painter to be a real artist. This is bad for the +painter, who has every temptation to become +a charlatan, and to think of his art as a sacred +mystery which no one can understand but +himself and a few other painters of his own +sect. But in this matter the man of culture +is just like the vulgar herd, as he would call +them. Their attitude to the arts of use is the +same as his attitude to pictures. They do not +buy furniture or china because they like them, +but because the shopman persuades them that +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_115" id="Pg_115" title="Pg_115">[115]</a></span>what they buy is the fashion. Or perhaps +they recognize it themselves as the fashion and +therefore instantly believe that they like it. +In both cases the buyer is hypnotized; he has +lost the faculty of finding out for himself what +he really likes, and his mind, being empty of +real affection, is open to the seven devils of +suggestion. He cannot enjoy directly any +beautiful thing, all he can enjoy is the belief +that he is enjoying it; and he can harbour +this belief about any nonsense or trash.</p> + +<p>It is a very curious disease that has become +endemic in the whole of Europe. People +impute it to machinery, but unjustly. There +are objects made by machinery, such as motor-cars, +which have real beauty of design; and +people do genuinely and unconsciously enjoy +this beauty, just because they never think of it +as beauty. They like the look of a car because +they can see that it is well made for its purpose. +If only they would like the look of any object +of use for the same reason, the arts of use +would once again begin to flourish among us. +But when once we ask ourselves whether any +thing is beautiful, we become incapable of +knowing our real feelings about it. Any +tradesman or artist can persuade us that we +think it beautiful when we do nothing of the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_116" id="Pg_116" title="Pg_116">[116]</a></span>kind. We are all like the crowd who admired +the Emperor's clothes; and there is no child +to tell us that the Emperor has no clothes on +at all. We are not so with human beings; +we cannot be persuaded that we like a man +when really we dislike him; if we could, our +whole society would soon dissolve in a moral +anarchy. But with regard to the works of +man, or that part of them which is supposed +to aim at beauty, we are in a state of æsthetic +anarchy, because there is a whole vast conspiracy, +itself unconscious for the most part, to +persuade us that we like what no human being +out of a madhouse could like.</p> + +<p>So the real problem for us is to discover, +not merely in pictures, but in all things that +are supposed to have beauty, what we really +do like. And we can best do that, perhaps, if +we dismiss the notions of art and beauty for a +time from our minds; not because art and +beauty do not exist, but because our notions +of them are wrong and misleading. The very +words intimidate us, as people used to be +intimidated by the jargon of pietistic religion, +so that they would believe that a very unpleasant +person was a saint. When once we +look for beauty in anything, we look no longer +for good design, good workmanship, or good +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_117" id="Pg_117" title="Pg_117">[117]</a></span>material. It is because we do not look for +beauty in motor-cars that we enjoy the excellence +of their design, workmanship, and +material, which is beauty, if only we knew it. +Beauty, in fact, is a symptom of success in +things made by man, not of success in selling, +but of success in making. If an object made +by man gives us pleasure in itself, then it has +beauty; if we got pleasure only from the belief +that in it we are enjoying what we ought to +enjoy, then very likely it is as naked of beauty +as the Emperor was of clothes. The great +mass of people now have a belief that ornament +is necessarily beauty, that, without it, +nothing can be beautiful. But ornament is +often only added ugliness, like a wen on a +man's face. It is always added ugliness when +it is machine-made, and when it is put on to +hide cheapness of material and faults of design +and workmanship. Unfortunately, it does hide +these things from us; we accept ornament as +a substitute for that beauty which can only +come of good design, material, and workmanship; +and we do not recognize these things +when we see them, except in objects like +motor-cars, which we prefer plain because we +do unconsciously enjoy their real beauty.</p> + +<p>So, in the matter of ornament, we need to +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_118" id="Pg_118" title="Pg_118">[118]</a></span>make a self-denying ordinance; not because +ornament is necessarily bad—it is the natural +expression of the artist's superfluous energy +and delight—but because we ourselves cannot +be trusted with ornament, as a drunkard cannot +be trusted with strong drink. We must learn +to see things plain before we can see them at +all, or enjoy them for their own real qualities +and not for what we think we see in them. A +man whose taste is for bad poetry can only +improve it by reading good, plain prose. He +must become rational before he can enjoy the +real beauties of literature. And so we need +to become rational before we can enjoy art, +whether in pictures or in objects of use. The +unreason of our painting has the same cause +as the unreason of our objects of use; and the +cause is in us, not in the artist. We think of +taste as something in its nature irrational. It +is no more so than conscience is. Indeed, there +is conscience in all good taste as in all the +good workmanship that pleases it. But where +the public has not this conscience, the artist +will not possess it either. At best he will have +only what he calls his artistic conscience—that +is to say, a determination to follow his own +whims rather than the taste of the public. +But where the public knows what it likes, and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_119" id="Pg_119" title="Pg_119">[119]</a></span>the artist makes what he likes, there is more +than a chance that both will like the same +thing, as they have in the great ages of art. +For a real liking must be a liking for something +good. It is Satan who persuades us +that we like what is bad by filling our mind +with sham likings, which are always really the +expression of our egotism disguised.</p> + +<p class="return"><a href="#contents">[TABLE OF CONTENTS]</a></p> + +<div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_120" id="Pg_120" title="Pg_120">[120]</a></span></div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p class="chapterhead">Professionalism in Art</p> + + +<p>Professionalism is a dull, ugly word; +but it means dull, ugly things, a perversion +of the higher activities of man, of art, +literature, religion, philosophy; and a perversion +to which we are all apt to be blind. We +know that in these activities specialization is +a condition of excellence. As Keats said to +Shelley, in art it is necessary to serve both God +and Mammon; and as Samuel Butler said, +"That is not easy, but then nothing that is +really worth doing ever is easy." The poet +may be born, not made; but no man can start +writing poetry as if it had never been written +before. In every art there is a medium, and +the poet, like all other artists, learns from the +poets of the past how to use his medium. +Often he does this unconsciously by reading +them for delight. He first becomes a poet +because he loves the poetry of others. And +the painter becomes a painter because he loves +the pictures of others. Each of them is apt to +begin—</p> + + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="poem"> +<tr><td align='left'>As if his whole vocation</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Were endless imitation.</td></tr> +</table></div> + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_121" id="Pg_121" title="Pg_121">[121]</a></span>So the artist insists to himself upon the value +of hard work. He is impatient of all the talk +about inspiration; for he knows that, though +nothing can be done without it, it comes only +with command of the medium. And this command, +like all craftsmanship, is traditional, +handed down from one generation to another. +Any kind of expression in this imperfect world +is as difficult as virtue itself. For expression, +like virtue, is a kind of transcendence. In it +the natural man rises above his animal functions, +above living so that he may continue to live; +he triumphs over those animal functions which +hold him down to the earth as incessantly as +the attraction of gravity itself. But, like the +airman, he can triumph only by material means, +and by means gradually perfected in the practice +of others. Yet there is always this difference, +that in mechanics anyone can learn to make use +of an invention; but in the higher activities, +invention, if it becomes mechanical, destroys the +activity itself, even in the original inventor. +The medium is always a medium, not merely a +material; and if it becomes merely a material +to be manipulated, it ceases to be a medium.</p> + +<p>Now professionalism is the result of a false +analogy between mechanical invention and the +higher activities. It happens whenever the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_122" id="Pg_122" title="Pg_122">[122]</a></span>medium is regarded merely as material to be +manipulated, when the artist thinks that he +can learn to fly by mastering some other artist's +machine, when his art is to him a matter of +invention gradually perfected and necessarily +progressing through the advance of knowledge +and skill. One often finds this false analogy +in books about the history of the arts, especially +of painting and music. It is assumed, +for instance, that Italian painting progressed +mechanically from Giotto to Titian, that +Titian had a greater power of expression than +Giotto because he had command of a number +of inventions in anatomy and perspective and +the like that were unknown to Giotto. So we +have histories of the development of the symphony, +in which Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven +are treated as if they were mechanical inventors +each profiting by the discoveries of his predecessors. +Beethoven was the greatest of the +three because he had the luck to be born last, +and Beethoven's earliest symphonies are necessarily +better than Mozart's latest because they +were composed later. But in such histories +there always comes a point at which artists +cease to profit by the inventions of their +predecessors. After Michelangelo, perhaps +after Beethoven, is the decadence. Then suddenly +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_123" id="Pg_123" title="Pg_123">[123]</a></span>there is talk of inspiration, or the lack +of it. Mere imitators appear, and the historian +who reviles them does not see that they have +only practised, and refuted, his theory of art. +They also have had the luck to be born later; +but it has been bad luck, not good, for +them, because to them their art has been all +a matter of mechanical invention, of professionalism.</p> + +<p>The worst of it is that the greatest artists +are apt themselves to fall in love with their +own inventions, not to see that they are +mechanical inventions because they themselves +have discovered them. Michelangelo +in his "Last Judgment" is very professional; +Titian was professional through all his middle +age; Tintoret was professional whenever he +was bored with his work, which happened +often; Shakespeare, whenever he was lazy, +which was not seldom. Beethoven, we now begin +to see, could be very earnestly professional; +and as for Milton—consider this end of the +last speech of Manoah, in <i>Samson Agonistes</i>, +where we expect a simple cadence:—</p> + + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="poem"> +<tr><td align='left'>The virgins also shall on feastful days</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Visit his tomb with flowers, only bewailing</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>His lot unfortunate in nuptial choice,</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>From whence captivity and loss of eyes</td></tr> +</table></div> + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_124" id="Pg_124" title="Pg_124">[124]</a></span>Milton was tempted into the jargon of these last +two lines, which are like a bad translation of a +Greek play, by professionalism. He was trying +to make his poetry as much unlike ordinary +speech as he could; he was for the moment a +slave to a tradition, and none the less a slave +because it was the tradition of his own past.</p> + +<p>Professionalism is a device for making expression +easy; and it is one used by the +greatest artists sometimes because their business +is to be always expressing themselves, and even +they have not always something to express. +But expression is so difficult, even for those +who have something to express, that they +must be always practising it if they are ever +to succeed in it. Wordsworth, for instance, +was a professed enemy of professionalism in +poetry; yet he, too, was for ever writing verses. +It was a hobby with him as well as an art; and +his professionalism was merely less accomplished +than that of Milton or Spenser:—</p> + + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="poem"> +<tr><td align='left'>Fair Ellen Irwin, when she sate</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Upon the Braes of Kirtle,</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Was lovely as a Grecian maid</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Adorned with wreaths of myrtle.</td></tr> +</table></div> + + +<p>Why adorned with wreaths of myrtle? Wordsworth +himself tells us. His subject had already +been treated in Scotch poems "in simple ballad +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_125" id="Pg_125" title="Pg_125">[125]</a></span>strain," so, he says, "at the outset I threw out +a classical image to prepare the reader for the +style in which I meant to treat the story, and +so to preclude all comparison." No one, whose +object was just to tell the story, would compare +Ellen with a Grecian maid and her wreaths of +myrtle; but Wordsworth must do so to show +us how he means to tell it, and, as he forgets +to mention, so that he may rhyme with Kirtle. +That is all professionalism, all a device for +making expression easy, practised by a great +poet because at the moment he had nothing to +express. But art is always difficult and cannot +be made easy by this means. We need not +take a malicious pleasure in such lapses of the +great poet; but it is well to know when Homer +nods, even though he uses all his craft to pretend +that he is wide awake. Criticism may +have a negative as well as a positive value. It +may set us on our guard against professionalism +even in the greatest artists, and most of +all in them. For it is they who begin professionalism +and, with the mere momentum of +their vitality, make it attractive. Because +they are great men and really accomplished, +they can say nothing with a grand air; and +these grand nothings of theirs allure us just +because they are nothings and make no +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_126" id="Pg_126" title="Pg_126">[126]</a></span>demands upon our intelligence. That is art +indeed, we cry: and we intoxicate ourselves with +it because it is merely art. "The quality of +mercy is not strained" is far more popular +than Lear's speech, "No, no, no! Come, let's +away to prison," because it is professional +rhetoric; it is what Shakespeare could write +at any moment, whereas the speech of Lear is +what Lear said at one particular moment. The +contrast between the two is the contrast well +put in the epigram about Barry and Garrick +in their renderings of King Lear:—</p> + + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="poem"> +<tr><td align='left'>A king, aye, every inch a king, such Barry doth appear.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>But Garrick's quite another thing; he's every inch King Lear.</td></tr> +</table></div> + + +<p>We admire the great artist when he is every +inch a king more than when he has lost his +kingship in his passion.</p> + +<p>He no doubt knows the difference well +enough. But he wishes to do everything well, +he has a natural human delight in his own +accomplishment; and a job to finish. Shakespeare, +Michelangelo, Beethoven were not +slaves to their own professionalism; no doubt +they could laugh at it themselves. But there +is always a danger that we shall be enslaved by +it; and it is the business of criticism to free us +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_127" id="Pg_127" title="Pg_127">[127]</a></span>from that slavery, to make us aware of this last +infirmity of great artists. We are on our guard +easily enough against a professionalism that is +out of fashion. The Wagnerian of a generation +ago could sneer at the professionalism of +Mozart; but the professionalism of Wagner +seemed to him to be inspiration made constant +and certain by a new musical invention. We +know now only too well, from Wagner's imitators, +that he did not invent a new method of +tapping inspiration; we ought to know that no +one can do that. The more complete the +method the more tiresome it becomes, even as +practised by the inventor.</p> + +<p>Decadence in art is always caused by professionalism, +which makes the technique of art +too difficult, and so destroys the artist's energy +and joy in his practice of it. Teachers of the +arts are always inclined to insist on their difficulty +and to set hard tasks to their pupils for +the sake of their hardness; and often the pupil +stays too long learning until he thinks that +anything which is difficult to do must therefore +be worth doing. This notion also overawes +the general public so that they value what +looks to them difficult; but in art that which +seems difficult to us fails with us, we are aware +of the difficulty, not of the art. The greater +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_128" id="Pg_128" title="Pg_128">[128]</a></span>the work of art the easier it seems to us. We +feel that we could have done it ourselves if only +we had had the luck to hit upon that way of +doing it; indeed, where our æsthetic experience +of it is complete, we feel as if we were doing it +ourselves; our minds jump with the artist's +mind; we are for the moment the artist himself +in his very act of creation. But we are +always apt to undervalue this true and complete +æsthetic experience, because it seems so easy +and simple, and we mistake for it a painful +sense of the artist's skill, of his professional +accomplishment. So we demand of artists, +that they shall impress us with their accomplishment; +we have not had our money's worth +unless we feel that we could not possibly do +ourselves what they have done. No doubt, +when the <i>Songs of Innocence</i> were first published, +anyone who did happen to read them +thought them doggerel. Blake in a moment +had freed himself from all the professionalism +of the followers of Pope, and even now they +make poetry seem an easy art to us, until we +try to write songs of innocence ourselves:—</p> + + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="poem"> +<tr><td align='left'>When the voices of children are heard on the green,</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">And laughing is heard on the hill,</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>My heart is at rest within my breast,</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">And everything else is still.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>"Then come home, my children, the sun is gone down,</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">And the dews of night arise;</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Come, come, leave off play, and let us away,</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Till the morning appears in the skies."</span></td></tr> +</table></div> + +<div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_129" id="Pg_129" title="Pg_129">[129]</a></span></div> + +<p>We call it artless, with still a hint of depreciation +in the word, or at least of wonder that we +should be so moved by such simple means. +It is a kind of cottage-poetry, and has that +beauty which in a cottage moves us more than +all the art of palaces. But we never learn +the lesson of that beauty because it seems to +us so easily won; and so our arts are always +threatened by the decadence of professionalism. +But poetry in England has been a living art +so long because it has had the power of freeing +itself from professionalism and choosing the +better path with Mary and with Ruth. The +value of the Romantic movement lay, not in +its escape to the wonders of the past, but in its +escape from professionalism and all its self-imposed +and easy difficulties. For it is much +easier to write professional verses in any style +than to write songs of innocence; and that is +why professionalism in all the arts tempts all +kinds of artists. Anyone can achieve it who +has the mind. It is a substitute for expression, +as mere duty is a substitute for virtue. But, as +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_130" id="Pg_130" title="Pg_130">[130]</a></span>a forbidding sense of duty makes virtue itself +seem unattractive, so professionalism destroys +men's natural delight in the arts. Like +the artist himself, his public becomes anxious, +perverse, exacting; afraid lest it shall admire +the wrong thing, because it has lost the immediate +sense of the right thing. Just as it +expects art to be difficult, so it expects its own +pleasure in art to be difficult; and thus we +have attained to our present notion about art +which is like the Puritan notion about virtue, +that it is what no human being could possibly +enjoy by nature. And if we do enjoy it, "like a +meadow gale in spring," it cannot be good art.</p> + +<p>But in painting as in poetry, all the new +movements of value are escapes from professionalism; +and they begin by shocking the +public because they seem to make the art too +easy. Dickens was horrified by an early work +of Millais; Ruskin was enraged by a nocturne +of Whistler. He said it was cockney impudence +because it lacked the professionalism he expected. +Artists and critics alike are always binding +burdens on the arts; and they are always +angry with the artist who cuts the burden off +his back. They think he is merely shirking +difficulties. But the difficulty of expression is +so much greater than the self-imposed difficulties +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_131" id="Pg_131" title="Pg_131">[131]</a></span>of mere professionalism that any man +who is afraid of difficulties will try to be a professional +rather than an artist.</p> + +<p>In art there is always humility, in professionalism +pride. And it is this pride that +makes art more ugly and tiresome than any +other work of man. Nothing is stranger in +human nature than the tyranny of boredom +it will endure in the pursuit of art; and the +more bored men are, the more they are convinced +of artistic salvation. Our museums are cumbered +with monstrous monuments of past professionalism; +our bookshelves groan with them. +Always we are trying to like things because +they seem to us very well done; never do we +dare to say to ourselves: It may be well done, +but it were better if it were not done at all; +and the artist is still to us a dog walking on his +hind legs, a performer whose merit lies in the +unnatural difficulty of his performance.</p> + +<p class="return"><a href="#contents">[TABLE OF CONTENTS]</a></p> + +<div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_132" id="Pg_132" title="Pg_132">[132]</a></span></div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p class="chapterhead">Waste or Creation?</p> + + +<p>The William Morris Celebration was not +so irrelevant to these times as it may +seem. Morris was always foretelling a catastrophe +to our society, and it has come. That +commercial system of ours, which seems to so +many part of the order of Nature, was to him +as evil and unnatural as slavery. His quarrel +with it was not political, but human; it was +the quarrel not of the oppressed, for he was +not the man to be oppressed in any society, but +of the workman. He was sure that a society +which encouraged bad work and discouraged +good must in some way or other come to a bad +end; and he would have seen in this war the +end that he predicted. Whatever its result, +there must be a change in the order of our +society, whether it sinks through incessant +wars, national and commercial, into barbarism +or is shocked into an effort to attain to civilization. +There were particular sayings of Morris's +to which no one at the time paid much heed. +They seemed mere grumblings against what +must be. He was, for instance, always crying +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_133" id="Pg_133" title="Pg_133">[133]</a></span>out against our waste of labour. If only all +men did work that was worth doing—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Think what a change that would make in +the world! I tell you I feel dazed at the +thought of the immensity of the work which +is undergone for the making of useless things. +It would be an instructive day's work, for any +one of us who is strong enough, to walk +through two or three of the principal streets +of London on a weekday, and take accurate +note of everything in the shop windows which +is embarrassing or superfluous to the daily life +of a serious man. Nay, the most of these +things no one, serious or unserious, wants at +all; only a foolish habit makes even the +lightest-minded of us suppose that he wants +them; and to many people, even of those who +buy them, they are obvious encumbrances to +real work, thought, and pleasure.</p></div> + +<p>At the time most people said that this waste +of labour was all a matter of demand and +supply, and thought no more about it; some +said that it was good for trade. Very few saw, +with Morris, that demand for such things is +something willed and something that ought +not to be willed.</p> + +<p>But then it was generally believed that we +could afford this waste of labour; and so it +went on until, after a year or two of war, we +found that we could not afford it. Then even +the most ignorant and thoughtless learned, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_134" id="Pg_134" title="Pg_134">[134]</a></span>from facts, not from books, certain lessons of +political economy. They learned that, in war-time +at least, a nation that wastes its labour +will be overcome by one that does not. At +once the common will was set against the waste +of labour; and, what would have seemed +strangest of all forty years ago, the Government, +with the consent of the people, set to +work to stop the waste of labour, and did to +a great extent succeed in stopping it. When +people thought in terms of munitions, instead +of in terms of general well-being, they saw that +the waste of labour must be, and could be, +stopped. They talked no longer about the +laws of supply and demand, but about munitions. +Those who had made trash must be +set to make munitions, or to fight, or in some +way to second the Army. Those who still +were ready to waste labour on trash for themselves +were no longer obeying the laws of +supply and demand; they were diverting +labour from its proper task; they were unpatriotic, +they were helping the Germans. +Money, in fact, had no longer the right to +an absolute command over labour. A man, +before he spent a sovereign, must ask himself +whether he was spending it for the good of the +nation; and if he did not ask himself that, the +Government would ask it for him.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_135" id="Pg_135" title="Pg_135">[135]</a></span>So much the war taught us, for purposes of +war. But Morris many years ago tried to +teach it for purposes of peace. When he +wrote those words which we have quoted, he +was not talking politics but ordinary common +sense. He was not even talking art, but rather +economics; and he was talking it not to any +vague abstraction called the community, but +to each individual human being. At that time +every one thought of economics as something +which concerned society or the universe. It +was, so to speak, a natural science; it observed +phenomena as if they were in the heavens; and +stated laws about them, laws not human but +natural. Perhaps it was the greatest achievement +of Morris in the way of thought that he +saw economics, even more clearly than Ruskin, +as a matter not of natural laws, but of conscience +and duty. He did not talk about +economics at all, but about the waste of labour, +just as we talk about it now. The only difference +is that he saw it to be one of the chief +causes of poverty in time of peace, whereas we +see it as a hindrance to victory in time of war. +We have, for war purposes, acquired the conscience +that he wished us to acquire for all +purposes. The question is whether we shall +keep it in peace.</p> + +<p>Upon that depends the question how soon +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_136" id="Pg_136" title="Pg_136">[136]</a></span>we shall recover from the war. For there is +no doubt that we shall not be able to afford +our former waste of labour; and, if we persist +in it, we shall be bankrupt as a society. It +may be said that we shall not have the money, +the power, to waste labour. But we shall certainly +have some superfluous energy, more and +more, it is to be hoped, as time goes on; and +our future recovery will depend upon the use +we make of this superfluous energy. We can +waste it, as we wasted it before the war; or we +can keep the conscience we have acquired in +war and ask ourselves in peace, with every +penny we spend, whether we are wasting +labour. It is true that what may be waste to +one will not be waste to another; but in that +matter every one must obey his own conscience. +The important thing is that every one should +have a conscience and obey it. There will be +plenty of people to tell us that no one can +define waste of labour. No one can define sin; +but each man has his own conscience on that +point and lives well or ill as he obeys it or disobeys +it. Besides, there are many things, all +the trash that Morris speaks about in the shop +windows, that every one knows to be waste. +We need not trouble ourselves about the fact +that art will seem waste to the philistine and +not to the artist. We must allow for differences +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_137" id="Pg_137" title="Pg_137">[137]</a></span>on that point as on most others. Some +things that might have been waste to Samuel +Smiles would have been to Morris a symptom +of well-being. But he knew, and often said, +that we cannot have the beauty which was to +him a symptom of well-being unless we end the +waste of labour on trash. Of luxury he said:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>By those who know of nothing better it has +even been taken for art, the divine solace of +human labour, the romance of each day's hard +practice of the difficult art of living. But I +say, art cannot live beside it nor self-respect in +any class of life. Effeminacy and brutality are +its companions on the right hand and the left.</p></div> + +<p>There is, we have all discovered now, only a +certain amount of labour in the country, in the +world. Even the most ignorant are aware at +last that money does not create labour but +only commands it, and may command it to do +what will or will not benefit us all. We were, +for the purposes of the war, much more of a +fellowship than we had ever been before. We +acknowledged a duty to each other, the duty +of commanding labour to the common good. +We asked with every sovereign we spent +whether it would help or hinder us in the war. +Morris would have us ask also whether it will +help or hinder us in the advance towards a +general happiness.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_138" id="Pg_138" title="Pg_138">[138]</a></span>And he put a further question, which in +time of war unfortunately we could not put, a +question not only about the work but about +the workman. Are we, with our money, forcing +him to work that is for him worth doing; +are we, to use an old phrase, considering the +good of his soul? Morris insisted on our duty +to the workman more even than on our duty +to society. He saw that where great masses +of men do work that they know to be futile +there must be a low standard of work and +incessant discontent. The workman may not +even know the cause of his discontent. He +may think he is angry with the rich because +they are rich; but the real source of his anger +is the work that they set him to do with their +riches. And no class war, no redistribution of +wealth, will end that discontent if the same +waste of labour continues. Double the wages +of every workman in the country, and if he +spends the increase on trash no one will be any +better off in mind or body. There will still be +poverty and still discontent, with the work if +not with the wages.</p> + +<p>The problem for us, for every modern society +now, is not so much to redistribute wealth; +that at best can be only a means to an end; +but to use our superfluous energy to the best +purpose, no longer to waste it piecemeal. That +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_139" id="Pg_139" title="Pg_139">[139]</a></span>problem we solved, to a great extent, in war. +We have to solve it also in peace if the peace +is to be worth having and is not to lead to +further wars at home or abroad. The war +itself has given us a great opportunity. It has +opened our eyes, if only we do not shut them +again. It has taught every one in the country +the most important of all lessons in political +economy which the books often seem to conceal. +And, better still, it has taught us that +in economics we can exercise our own wills, +that they concern each individual man and +woman as much as morals; that they are +morals, and not abstract mathematics; that +we have the same duty towards the country, +towards mankind, that we have to our own +families. The proverb, Waste not, want +not, does not apply merely to each private +income. We have accounts to settle not only +with our bankers, but with the community. +It will thrive or not according as we are thrifty +or thriftless; and our thrift depends upon how +we spend our income, not merely on how much +we spend of it. For all that part of it which we +do not spend on necessaries is the superfluous +energy of mankind, and we determine how it +shall be exercised; each individual determines +that, not an abstraction called society.</p> + +<p>One may present the thrift of labour as a +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_140" id="Pg_140" title="Pg_140">[140]</a></span>matter of duty to society. But Morris saw +that it was more than that; and he lit it with +the sunlight of the warmer virtues. It is not +merely society that we have to consider, or the +direction of its superfluous energy. It is also +the happiness, the life, of actual men and +women. We shall not cease to waste work +until we think always of the worker behind it, +until we see that it is our duty, if with our +money we have command over him, to set him +to work worth doing. Capital now is to most +of those who own it a means of earning interest. +We should think of it as creative, as the power +which may make the wilderness blossom like +the rose and change the slum into a home for +men and women; and, better still, as the power +that may train and set men to do work that +will satisfy their souls, so that they shall work +for the work's sake and not only for the wages. +Until capital becomes so creative in the hands +of those who own it there will always be a +struggle for the possession of it; and to those +who do possess it it will bring merely superfluities +and not happiness. If it becomes +creative, no one will mind much who possesses +it. The class war will be ended by a league of +classes, their aim not merely peace, but those +things which make men resolve not to spoil +peace with war.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_141" id="Pg_141" title="Pg_141">[141]</a></span>We shall be told that this is a dream, as we +are always told that the ending of war is a +dream. "So long as human nature is what it +is there will always be war." Those who talk +thus think of human nature as something not +ourselves making for unrighteousness. It is +not their own nature. They know that they +themselves do not wish for war; but, looking +at mankind in the mass and leaving themselves +out of that mass, they see it governed by some +force that is not really human nature, but +merely nature "red in tooth and claw," a +process become a malignant goddess, who forces +mankind to act contrary to their own desires, +contrary even to their own interests. She has +taken the place for us of the old original sin; +and the belief in her is far more primitive than +the belief in original sin. She is in fact but a +modern name for all the malignant idols that +savages have worshipped with sacrifices of blood +and tears that they did not wish to make. It +is strange that, priding ourselves as we do on +our modern scepticism which has taught us to +disbelieve in the miracle of the Gadarene swine, +we yet have not dared to affirm the plain fact +that this nature, this human nature, does not +exist. There is no force, no process, whether +within us or outside us, that compels us to +act contrary to our desires and our interests. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_142" id="Pg_142" title="Pg_142">[142]</a></span>There is nothing but fear; and fear can be +conquered, as by individuals, so by the collective +will of man. It is fear that produces war, +the fear that other men are not like ourselves, +that they are hostile animals governed utterly +by the instinct of self-preservation.</p> + +<p>So it is fear that produces the class war and +the belief that it must always continue. It is +our own fears that cut us off from happiness +by making us despair of it. The man who has +capital sees it as a means of protecting himself +and his children from poverty; it is to him a +negative, defensive thing, at best the safeguard +of a negative, defensive happiness. So others +see it as something which he has and they have +not, something they would like to snatch from +him if they could. But if he saw capital as a +creative thing, like the powers of the mind, +like the genius of the artist, then it would be +to him a means of positive happiness both for +himself and for others. He would say to himself, +not How can I protect myself with this +against the tyranny of the struggle for life? +not How can I invest this? but What can I do +with this? He would see it as Michelangelo +saw the marble when he looked for the shape +within it. And then he would rise above the +conception of mere duty as something we do +against our own wills, or of virtue as a luxury +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_143" id="Pg_143" title="Pg_143">[143]</a></span>of the spirit to which we escape in our little +leisure from the struggle for life. Virtue, duty, +would be for him life itself; in creation he +would attain to that harmony of duty and +pleasure which is happiness.</p> + +<p>If only we could see that the superfluous +energy of mankind is something out of which +to make the happiness of mankind we should +find our own happiness in the making of it. +There is still for us a gulf between doing good +to others and the delight of the artist, the +craftsman, in his work. The artist is one kind +of man and the philanthropist another; the +artist is a selfish person whom we like, and the +philanthropist an unselfish person whom we do +not like. What we need is to fuse them in our +use of capital, in our exercise of the superfluous +energy of mankind. There are single powerful +capitalists who know this joy of creation, who +are benevolent despots, and yet are suspect to +the poor because of their great power. But it +never enters the head of the smaller investor +that he, too, might create instead of merely +investing; that, instead of being a shareholder +in a limited liability company, he might be one +of a creative fellowship, not merely earning +dividends but transforming cities, exalting +things of use into things of beauty, giving to +himself and to mankind work worth doing for +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_144" id="Pg_144" title="Pg_144">[144]</a></span>its own sake, work in which all the obsolete +conflicts of rich and poor could be forgotten in +a commonwealth. That is the vision of peace +which our sacrifices in the war may earn for us. +We have learned sacrifice and the joy of it; +but, so far, only so that we may overcome an +enemy of our own kind. There remains to be +overcome, by a sacrifice more joyful and with +far greater rewards, this other old enemy not +of our own kind, the enemy we call nature or +human nature, the enemy that is so powerful +merely because we dare not believe that she +does not exist.</p> + +<p class="return"><a href="#contents">[TABLE OF CONTENTS]</a></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p class="centerbold"><small>PRINTED BY MORRISON AND GIBB LTD., EDINBURGH</small></p> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Essays on Art, by A. 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