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diff --git a/old/64443-0.txt b/old/64443-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 4fb3249..0000000 --- a/old/64443-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,3993 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Art principles in literature, by Francis P. -Donnelly - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Art principles in literature - -Author: Francis P. Donnelly - -Release Date: February 01, 2021 [eBook #64443] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Produced by: Charlene Taylor and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team - at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images - generously made available by The Internet Archive) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ART PRINCIPLES IN LITERATURE *** - - - - - - ART PRINCIPLES - IN LITERATURE - - [Illustration] - - THE MACMILLAN COMPANY - NEW YORK · BOSTON · CHICAGO · DALLAS - ATLANTA · SAN FRANCISCO - - MACMILLAN & CO., LIMITED - LONDON · BOMBAY · CALCUTTA - MELBOURNE - - THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, LTD. - TORONTO - - - - - ART PRINCIPLES - IN LITERATURE - - BY FRANCIS P. DONNELLY, S.J. - - [Illustration] - - THE MACMILLAN COMPANY - PUBLISHERS NEW YORK MCMXXV - - PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA - - COPYRIGHT, 1923, - BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY. - SET UP AND PRINTED. PUBLISHED OCTOBER, 1923. - REPRINTED APRIL, 1925. - - REPRINTED JULY, 1928. - - WYNKOOP HALLENBECK CRAWFORD COMPANY, NEW YORK, U. S. A. - - - - -INTRODUCTION - - -In the _Art of Interesting_ (Kenedy, 1920) the writer began a discussion -of the principles of art and of their application to writing and -speaking. In this work the discussion is carried further and is not -restricted to the one feature of arousing and fixing attention, -especially in oratory, which was the chief topic of the _Art of -Interesting_. The following chapters represent the reactions of the -writer to literature both as composed today and as taught in our schools. -Any active mind, bewildered by the ceaseless experimenting in literature -and education, and not satisfied with a passive acceptance of even -excellent critics, is necessarily forced back upon first principles. -Such a mind will not yield to the despair of skepticism, that there -are no first principles, nor to the despair of agnosticism, that there -may be such principles but we cannot know them, nor yet to the despair -of pragmatism, that we must wait and see whether the human race ages -from now will give us assurance that there really are principles of art -because the last man has seen that these principles have been found to -work up to the moment prior to which he joined Tutankhamen. - -Art, just as morals and pure science, differs entirely from the natural -sciences, which are generalizations based upon acquired information and -must change as long as the information upon which they are based can be -modified and enlarged. But where, as in art or pure science, principles -are based on final truths, the principles have also a finality and can -only be rejected if their basis can be changed or modified. Aristotle’s -principles have something of that finality. Aristotle had for his study -a body of literature that has for centuries met with the approval of -the best taste in every age and of every critic. Aristotle’s biology -or physics are not final, but his ethics, his logic, his esthetics -are in measurable distance of finality except where some additions -have been made to the materials upon which he based his analysis. In -religion, because of revelation, in music because of discoveries in -instrumentation, and perhaps in other arts, time has added to the -original store, but in literature there are few additions to the fields -which lay before Aristotle, and subsequent ages have not developed any -keener analytical powers than those of Aristotle. - -It is Aristotle’s principles that in the main have dominated the writer’s -reactions to modern art and literature. When Greek literature held an -honored place in our schools, there was less need of insisting on obvious -truths of art. The intense modernism now predominating everywhere has -driven classical literature and classical methods from school and life. -History is modernized too or fails to supply the vital contact with -the ever-living past which earlier schools experienced in the poets, -historians, orators and philosophers of Greece and Rome. So-called -cultural subjects in modern education are chiefly informational. Culture -is a word which calls for definition, but on its intellectual side at -least, culture for the largest number of persons in the world can be -gauged most satisfactorily by their appreciation of literature and by -their capacity to produce literature. The study of literature as an art -is the chief topic of this book, and Aristotle’s great principles need -all the more stressing now that his philosophy of art and the supreme -literature on which he based his conclusions are passing away from -present-day consciousness. - -The chapters that follow are popular rather than scientific in -presentation. Readers who seek a fuller and wider view may be interested -in such a work as Benedetto Croce’s _Æsthetic_, from the Italian by -Douglas Ainslie. Its historical summary, especially for modern times, -is valuable and good. For the Greeks and earlier periods, Butcher’s -_Aristotle’s Theory of Poetry and Fine Arts_ is easily best. Professor -Rhys Roberts’ editions of the works of Dionysius, Longinus and Demetrius -are excellent for the traditions of classical rhetoric, a tradition weak -in America. - -In theory Croce is an extreme intellectualist in the principles of art. -He locates all of esthetics in pure intuition, which is “lyrical,” -that is, emotional, because it represents “the states of the soul,” -“passionality, feeling, personality.” For Croce “natural beauty -is simply a stimulus to esthetic reproduction, which presupposes -previous production.” He is therefore an idealist in his conception of -beauty. Even monuments of art seem to be only “stimulants to esthetic -reproduction” and are not beautiful in themselves. In another place, -however, Croce seems to be a realist. “Art is governed entirely by -imagination; its only riches are images. Art does not classify objects -nor pronounce them real or imaginary nor qualify them nor define them. -Art feels and represents them. In as far as it apprehends ‘the real’ -immediately before it is modified and made clear by the concept, it must -be called pure intuition.” - -Quite to the other extreme in theory goes _The Psychology of Beauty_ -by Ethel D. Puffer. This author has much about sensations and their -physiology and but little about ideas. For Croce the last stage is in the -idea; for Puffer it would seem to be in the work of art. “The low-lying -wide expanse of some of the old Dutch landscapists give us repose, not -because they remind us of the peaceful happiness of the land but because -we cannot melt ourselves into all those horizontal lines without the -restful feeling which accompanies such relaxation.” This passage might -almost class the writer with the _Einfühlung_ school,—the school which -gives Ruskin’s “pathetic fallacy” a number of advocates. Pathetic fallacy -was a complete misnomer when applied by Ruskin to the well-known tropes -of metaphor and personification. Kingsley was not insane enough to -imagine that a wave was actually cruel and actually crawled. He likened -the wave that drowned to a wild animal. But the school of Lipps in -Germany desires you to moan with the wind and smile with the rose and lie -flat with painted horizontal lines. - -Perhaps Puffer’s formula of stimulation with repose and Croce’s formula -of intuition with lyricism can be reconciled with Aquinas’ definition of -the beautiful, _quæ visa placent_. A study of Maurice De Wulf’s excellent -little volume _L’Œuvre d’Art et la Beauté_ gives us briefly and clearly -the neo-scholastic solution of the esthetic problem. The book is a -good example of the reasonable discussion which has won for scholastic -philosophy the universal designation as the philosophy of common sense. -Longhaye’s _Théorie des Belles Lettres_, which is scholastic philosophy -applied to literature, is another clear and sane presentation of the -principles of the art. - -The reader who desires to supplement the popular exposition of this -book with a systematic treatise on the esthetic and its application to -literature is recommended to De Wulf and to Longhaye. English is rich in -criticism but is deficient in works treating of the philosophy of beauty -in literature. - - - - -CONTENTS - - - PAGE - - INTRODUCTION - - Connection with author’s _Art of Interesting_—Need of principles - of an art amidst violent experimentation in art and - education—Aristotle’s principles valid except where the basis - of his deductions has been modified—With Greek literature - leaving our schools, Greek taste is needed against excessive - modernism—Recent art discussions— Croce’s _Æsthetic_; Puffer’s - _Psychology of Beauty_; De Wulf’s _L’Œuvre d’Art et la Beauté_ v - - ART PRINCIPLES IN LITERATURE - - PART FIRST - - ART IN THE APPRECIATION OF LITERATURE - - I - - ART AND THE INDIVIDUAL - - 1. INDIVIDUALISM AND RESPONSIBILITY 1 - - Talking to oneself in art—Chaos in religion, morals - and art from unchecked individualism—Altruism a better - principle—Responsibility inevitable—Responsibility a - help, no hindrance to the artist—Greek drama; Italian - Madonnas; Horace. - - II - - ART AND THE INDIVIDUAL - - 2. VAGARIES OF INDIVIDUALISM 8 - - Modern literature and art and a sense of humor—Fiction, - biographical and pathological—New poetry shallow—Riot - of emotionalism—Novel of satire, European continental - type originating in low comedy—Novel of Scott, epic - in origin—Nature, experience, wisdom, the remedies of - individualism. - - III - - ART AND HUMAN NATURE - - 1. THE UNIVERSAL ELEMENT 14 - - Art movements begin in nature—Art is social—Permanence - of literature due to universal appeal—The camera and the - canvas—Personality and individuality—Shock of nerves not - the mental thrill of art. - - IV - - ART AND HUMAN NATURE - - 2. REALISM AND REALITY 20 - - Real cake of soap on a painted wave—Art a distinct world - from reality—Motivation, not through logical discussion - but through probable incident—Painting in the cake of - soap—Realism depressing because of cynic moralizing—Evil - in Shakespeare and Homer, relieved by pathos and humor, - not depressing. - - V - - ART AND THE DIVINE - - 1. RELIGIOUS ORIGIN OF ART 26 - - Rich tombs of the past testify to belief in - immortality—Cro-Magnon cave pictures probably - religious—Earliest art of all nations due to - religion—Dancing, song, music, sculpture, architecture, - drama, epic—Gothic cathedral of religious middle-ages, - synthesis of all arts. - - VI - - ART AND THE DIVINE - - 2. THE KINSHIP OF ART AND RELIGION 31 - - Hebraism, Puritanism, Islamism, reacting against art - and the result—Explanation of the origin of art—Taine’s - environment theory—Spencer’s play theory—Theory of fear - and magic spells—Adequate explanation found in man’s - intellectual nature—Art like religion intellectual—Art - and religion idealistic—Personal and emotional—Art and - religion social in appeal—Sublimity of art and the - revelation of _Genesis_—Harmonious equation between soul - and the truth of reality, between soul and the good of - morality, same as equation between soul and beauty, all - founded on the fact that both soul and triple reality are - images of God. - - VII - - ART AND THE DIVINE - - 3. ART IN ITS RELATION TO VIRTUE 39 - - The theomorphism of man in the threefold tendency - of science, morality and art—Religion, a virtue; - art, a function of perceptions—Ruskin’s school of - the religion of beauty—Moralizing not a function of - art—Estheticism neither asceticism nor sensualism—Evil - in art to be represented as evil—Evil to be a - rationalized element—Contemporary evil excites feelings - of reality—Art and religion ennobling—Art and religion - purifying—Creation and disinterestedness most divine - elements in art. - - VIII - - THE VISCERAL TEST OF BEAUTY - - The critic’s equipment—Defective philosophy of - some modern critics, Mencken, Murry, Cohen—Ugly - in art and its subdual—Esthetic feeling not - concupiscence—Disinterestedness of beauty excludes - sensuality of appetites—Visceral reactions not from beauty 48 - - PART SECOND - - ART IN THE TEACHING OF LITERATURE - - IX - - LOOKING FORWARD IN LITERATURE - - Literature taught for use in Greece, Rome, and - elsewhere—Science and history always changing; literature - lasting—Object of literature in university—True humanism, - equipping man’s faculties with art—Every school subject - teaches its like—Correlations of literature and - creation—Contemporary literature not suitable—Scientific - study partly; artistic study is wholly satisfying 57 - - X - - UNIFYING EDUCATION THROUGH LITERATURE - - Necessity of unity—In university through profession—No - unity in college electivism—Unity impaired by - departments and by specializing—Unity in France, Germany - and England—Departmental system destroying the art appeal - of literature—Science through knowing; art through - doing—Recent mental tests accentuate expression and - language—General education through art of literature 64 - - XI - - THE INTERESTING TEACHER OF LITERATURE - - Spread of science—System and eliminating of - personality—Dissertations for the doctorate—Scholarly - means encyclopedic—The impersonal lecturer—Justin - McCarthy’s teacher and his methods—Not scientific - specialization, but exercise of mental powers—Formulas - and personality—Another interesting teacher—Literature - educates equally with science—The ideal 70 - - XII - - EDUCATING THE EMOTIONS - - Life full of emotions—Emotions intense in our crowded - civilization—Morale, organized emotion—Emotions - neglected in education—Education of facts dominating - schools—Twofold nature of emotions—Emotions from concrete - imagining—Kindled by contact—Literature embodiment of - emotions—Emotions developed by self-expression and - controlled by exercise 83 - - XIII - - KEEP THE CLASSICS BUT TEACH THEM - - Classics to be kept but taught differently—Former help of - translation—Literature overwhelmed by erudition—Germany, - France, England, America—True use of erudition—Natural - sciences change; art endures—Reproduction, the soul of - literary teaching—Method of training—Modern literatures - not yet able to supplant ancient literatures 91 - - XIV - - THE VITALIZER OF THE WORLD - - Literary renaissances associated with Greek - literature—Revivals through Irish monks—Spain, - France, Scholasticism—Germany with Wolf, Winckelmann, - Lessing—England under Queen Anne and Queen Victoria—Youth - of civilization in Greece 100 - - XV - - TRUE PRINCIPLES OF HOMERIC CRITICISM - - Story of Phidias’ statue and Homer—Homer tested - by art—Flaws in material—Absorption in immediate - effects—Told story different from story read—Outline of - a study on a broad scale—Variety, alternation, growth in - Homeric battling—Homeric palace, the place of Homer’s - recital 106 - - XVI - - THE CHILD-TEST OF LITERATURE - - Child-test in religion and morals, in the Bible—Homer’s - mother and child—Hector and Andromache—Child in later - literature rare—Latin writers—Conventionality instead of - Homeric naturalness 114 - - XVII - - THE CHRIST-CHILD TEST OF LITERATURE - - Christ-Child in art—Christmas and the drama—In - Ireland—Medieval and Renaissance writers—Milton’s - war-like child—Wordsworth, Shelley, Tennyson, - Longfellow—Return of naturalness in Stevenson, Carroll - and others—Faith and its effects in Thompson and Tabb 119 - - APPENDIX - - GREEK SPEAKS FOR ITSELF - - Mosaic of etymology—Ecclesiastical sphere—Diet, posies - and programs—Geography, zoology, politics—Pharmacies and - surgery—Schools and composition—Apology and epitaph 129 - - NOTE: THE NATURE OF ESTHETIC ENJOYMENT - - Ownership not of the essence of beauty as of - good—Perception sufficient for the enjoyment of the - beautiful—No new faculty required—Pleasure is normal life - consciously localized—Esthetic Enjoyment in the simple - apprehension, not in judgment or inference as such—Fact - not of the essence of esthetic enjoyment, which is had - in fiction too—_Causa Exemplaris_—Imagination, source of - originality—Aristotle’s principles: creation, motivation, - unity, universality 134 - - A FORWARD-LOOKING LESSON IN LITERATURE 159 - - - - -ART PRINCIPLES IN LITERATURE - - - - -PART FIRST - -ART IN THE APPRECIATION OF LITERATURE - - - - -I - -ART AND THE INDIVIDUAL - - -1. INDIVIDUALISM AND RESPONSIBILITY - -A group was standing before a futurist or cubist picture. The group did -not know what the picture was all about, but one spoke up in defense -of the bewildering work: “Well, after all, art is a language, and why -shouldn’t a man be permitted to speak his own language?” A bystander, -not daring to address strangers, made answer under his breath: “If art -is a language, this artist is talking to himself.” Maudlin, incoherent -remarks, disjointed utterances, and in general talking to one’s self, -all that, does not pass for high art among men, but for something quite -different. To talk to one’s self is the extreme of individualism in -conversation; to ignore the world addressed through artistic composition -is the triumph of individualism in art. - -The abrupt break with all tradition in every art, and the untrammeled -expression of the individual, have worked out to the inevitable and -bizarre conclusions which a like rebellion has brought about in religion -and morals. Every man his own dogmatist; every man his own moralist; that -is the individualism which has divided mankind into multitudinous sects -and has made millions of moral, unmoral and immoral moralists eager for -legislation of infinite variety without any fixed principles to enforce -the observance of even one law. Conscience, the executive impulse of all -legislation, used to be the voice of God, but individualism has made it -anything from a survival of the fittest or an economic standard, through -countless varieties all the way to a Freudian complex. - -Individualism has run amuck in art from classicism to cubism. It is a -barren day which does not produce a new system of religion or morals, and -only the occurrence of earthquake, war, fire or some other tremendous -upheaval keeps our journals from recording some new theory of art, -some Tomism, Dickism or Harryism. Art for art’s sake has been given an -individualistic interpretation and has produced the same rich crop, as -the individualistic cry, every man his own dogmatist and moralist, has -produced—a rich crop of weeds. - -If ever an individual could pursue his blissful way oblivious of the -existence of a surrounding universe, surely he may not do so now when -the universe impinges upon him every moment through ticker, telephone, -wireless and unlimited “extras.” There is, however, no such thing as -unrestricted individualism. Of God alone can be predicated existence for -its own sake. Everybody his own dogmatist means ultimately everybody his -own god. Art for art’s sake, interpreted in an individualistic sense, -would not only destroy art but would destroy the world. Art for art’s -sake should read art for everybody’s sake and for the sake of God, and -such a reading will be infinitely better for art’s sake. - -It was an Irish colleen, accepting matrimony as a complete submergence -of individuality, who replied to a friend dwelling on the dangers of a -long ocean trip to be taken by the new bride and groom: “And why should I -be afraid, sure ’tis his loss if anything happen to me now!” She was the -counterpart of the Irish lad who sang under similar circumstances, “I’m -not myself at all.” There you have the complete altruism resulting from -the perfect union of matrimony. There is the antithesis of individualism, -and such matrimonial communism is far better for every one than any cry -of “wife for wife’s sake” or “husband for husband’s sake.” - -It is quite evident that no artist can exempt himself from responsibility -as though his art were a deity. If a picture or statue or poem would be -an incentive to murder or suicide, the artist must stay his hand. He may -not manufacture bombs for soul destruction, no matter how artistic the -container, even if someone else is to supply the detonator. A lie in -beautiful language is a more ugly lie. Recent pretended upholders of -the Volstead law have printed an emphatic warning on compounds of their -manufacture: “Do not add such an ingredient or this compound will violate -the law.” May an artist naïvely dissociate himself from responsibility by -stating: “Do not add human nature to my art-product or you will violate -the law”? Were the artist a real creator, he would have to forecast -results and be dominated by a purpose. Nor may the artist, like God, -permit evil, because no artist has omnipotence and infinite wisdom and -justice and mercy, governing the permission of evil and guaranteeing -good as the final result. May a man who owns a wild tiger of surpassing -beauty, trusting in the right of property, parade down a crowded -thoroughfare with his jungle pet tethered to a thread? - -But why all these truisms? Because individualism in art aims in principle -and production not only to free art from restrictions but even to exempt -the artist from responsibility. The artist may not talk to himself unless -he can find a South Sea island where there is neither man nor God. Nor -is it a deadening of his artistic impulse for the artist to be ruled by -high purposes, but rather it is a stimulus and an inspiration. Eschylus -and Sophocles have a sublimer beauty than Euripides because the earlier -dramatists recognized more fully and kept better in view the religious -purposes of Athenian drama. Euripides, wishing to cater more to theatric -effects, succeeded in being more emotional and in achieving a realistic -but transient interest, the hectic flush that marks decay and death -in twilight and autumn and sinister disease. Is the marked revival of -Euripides within recent years a sign of decadence? - -The Madonnas of Italian art received from the painter a solemn beauty -not only because they depict Divine maternity, but even too because they -were to grace a religious shrine and to constitute part of a religious -service. That may be one reason why the Madonnas of Italy are far -superior to the prettiness and sentimentality of more recent Madonnas -which are painted for private homes and for ephemeral interest. - -The purpose of the artist is one thing and the purpose of art is another -thing. The purpose of a watch is to keep time whatever purpose the -watch-maker may have. It is likely, however, that if he makes the watch -for his mother, he will produce better results than if he worked for -his usual wage or than if he functioned as part of a machine, having -no clearly defined ulterior purpose. So an artist will be inspired in -painting, in sculpture, in music, in all arts, to elicit better his -full powers and to achieve finer results when he toils for a cathedral -than when he works for a cabaret. Noble responsibility conscientiously -recognized and fulfilled is no check, but rather a spur to the artist. - -“Art for art’s sake” may, however, be taken to mean, “Embody beauty -wherever found, or realize to the full your ideal,” and such a meaning -is excellent and fruitful unless excessive individualism insists upon -expressing its own perverted ideas of beauty and its own eccentric -ideals. When Horace said, “Let justice be done though the heavens come -crashing down,” a line that might be rendered, “Justice for justice’s -sake,” he was far from advocating the explosion of a bomb by some Roman -anarchist whose idea of justice was to bring all to a dead level of ruin. -The progressive improvement in the realization of art-ideals may be very -well illustrated from the career of Horace. Horace gradually worked -himself free from the conventionality and baseness of his epodes and -earlier satires, experienced the cleansing process of true humor in later -satires, took fire at the moral degeneracy of Rome in the initial odes -of the third and last book of his first edited lyrics. There the _sæva -indignatio_ of Horace brought him within distant sight of sublimity. -His progress in philosophy weighted the wings of his song but dowered -him with the crystal and clean wisdom of his epistles, of which it has -been said one need not blot out a single line. Had Horace retained the -youthful vehemence of the republican amid the enervating peace of the new -empire, he might have followed Dante and Milton from lyric beauty to epic -sublimity, or might have risen with Shakespeare and Molière from song to -comedy or even to tragedy, but his hedonistic sleekness and his excessive -self-consciousness kept his ripened philosophy in brief letters, when a -more vigorous mentality with the help of philosophy might have converted -his ennobled power of satire into comedy or transformed the lyric -portraits of his early days into tragedy or epic story. - - - - -II - -ART AND THE INDIVIDUAL - - -2. VAGARIES OF INDIVIDUALISM - -Modern art has not followed Horace very far. It has broken with -conventionality as Horace did with the _clichés_ of Alexandria, but it -has not yet entered upon the path of right philosophy. The _Spoon River -Anthology_, a typical specimen from the individualistic school of what -might be called localists or village gossips, is in the epode-stage of -Horace, the stage of personalities, lubricity and garlic gruesomeness. -Hopes might be entertained that _Spoon River_ and _Main Street_ and other -individualistic photographs would progressively improve with Horace -except for one sad deficiency: Horace had humor and laughed at others, -and even at himself; modern individualists are so heavily armored with -the seriousness of their own views, that they don’t even smile. To -imagine the New Art laughing is impossible; if the New Art had humor -and laughed, it would cease to be New Art and would join the larger -brotherhood of art uncapitalized. Had the new artists a sense of humor, -it would probably be their death sentence. In the course of time they -might catch sight of their own art products, whether of painting or of -poetry. - -Is it not an indication of individualism that so many recent novels are -biographies, that the stage is not holding up the mirror to life but -applying the scalpel to an ulcer? The biography or personal views of -Scott and Shakespeare cannot be discovered in their works. The modern -pamphleteer distributes his paradoxes among various mouthpieces whose -only difference is in name, and this is called a play, when it is in -reality propaganda. There are probably now no less than 100,000 college -graduates turning college escapades and flirtations into chapters, -which their authors consider typical of life because the incidents -were individually experienced. And, as the long stories of the day are -biographies or problems and as the drama is a diagnosis of diseases, -in the same way many of the short stories are pathological, but all -are tending to be individualistic. The artist makes his own subjective -experience the full measure of his artistic expression and seems to -imagine that his own peculiarities are good art because he sincerely -expresses what he feels. Individual nature is not human nature. - -Aristotle has described poetry as the universal in the concrete. The -“new poets” give the individual in the concrete. Homer, Shakespeare, the -true poets, plumb to the depths of the human heart; they voice ripened -experience and enshrine mellow wisdom, and so appeal to all men of all -times. Much of the new poetry ostentatiously disdains tradition and -rejects the wisdom of the ages in discarding its dress. You may see the -rouge on the cheek and the freckle on the nose, but as far as life and -experience and heart are concerned, most of the new poetry is pitiably -young and callous. Meticulous recording of disconnected and unrelated -novelties is no adequate substitute for the warmth and depth of life -crystallized by the ardent gaze of the true poet out of his experience. -New poetry is contemporaneous with the invention and use of the Kodak and -has all the responsibility and profundity of that instrument. - -Individualism has come to such a pass in modern art that everything in -it is resolving itself into pure emotionalism, and that an emotionalism -which does not belong to art at all. Degenerates are the products of -civilization; they are decayed exotics. “The higher the organism, the -more noisome the decay,” a science professor used to say when paying -his respects to diseased metaphysics. As only a believer can blaspheme -luridly, so when an artist goes wrong, he goes wrong hideously. A -pistol in the hands of a marksman gone mad is more destructive than in -the hands of a savage. Colors, sounds, shapes, fair words and gorgeous -imaginings are instruments of degradation and death if they are a finer -veneer over what is false. Individual vagaries and whims, no matter how -unusual, will not have the permanence of art because they are based on no -principles, but devised simply to startle. Degrade the appeal of beauty -to a spinal thrill and your artist will pander to concupiscence. - -It is noteworthy that Homer’s worst lapse in story-telling takes place -among the luxurious Phæacians, ancient prototypes of degeneracy. Homer -may have felt justified artistically because he was depicting the -non-Grecian world through whose monsters and marvels Odysseus was passing -and making the first collection of sailors’ yarns. But Homer shocked even -the pagan world and set an unhappy precedent. Lucian and Ovid, Petronius -and Apuleius and the Byzantine eroticists made what was incidental in -Homer their chief concern and practice. They perverted fiction into -calculated suggestiveness. - -That depraved and sensual theory of story-telling was, however, more -Aristophanic than Homeric, despite the single unfortunate precedent in -the _Odyssey_. The tradition of Greek and Latin comedy was carried on -by the medieval troubadours and by the story-tellers who catered to the -decadent nobility of Italy and France. They retorted on their clerical -censors and stimulated jaded appetites, substituting in shameless -intrigues priests and nuns for the pagan gods. It was and is the glory -of Scott that he broke away from these evil traditions which made the -novel a hateful thing to our forefathers. Scott deserted the continental -school of novelists and their English imitators, Fielding, Sterne, -Smollett, the last of all Byron. Scott gave up the satirical purposes -which handed on in fiction the vulgar devices of low comedy. He went to -history, to chivalry, to healthy men and women and created romances, not -pathological studies. English, Irish and American fiction for a whole -century yielded to the healthy and bracing impulse of Scott, but the -younger novelists in vogue today in England, Ireland and America have -gone back to the continental type, individual, pathological biographical -problems, forsaking Scott’s revival through balladry of the best Homeric -manner, where men “drank delight of battle with their peers far on the -ringing plains of Troy.” - -The individualist must emancipate himself by the contemplation of nature. -Pathological specimens, freakish oddities, all the surface impressions of -the local colorists are not nature any more than a face contorted with a -toothache is a man’s likeness. Such exceptional exhibitions cannot form -the enduring basis of art. Personal experience must be widened by length -of time, by merging into the stream of wisdom, flowing freighted from the -past, or must, in exceptional cases, be won quickly by that intense and -probing comprehension of genius, which seems almost Divine intuition. -Excessive individualism, like the latest fashion, will be quaint and -incongruous on the morrow. Homer lives eternal because through strange -names and strange language and strange costumes we see our own sun and -fields and ocean and sky and put our fingers on a pulse which registers -the beat of a heart throbbing as ours. - - - - -III - -ART AND HUMAN NATURE - - -1. THE UNIVERSAL ELEMENT - -A serious defect in most modern art movements is that they start from -art; they are modifications of previous art movements. True art movements -start from human nature. When perfection in any art is standardized, when -tradition and conventionality prevail, and the artist has originality -enough to chafe at the restraints of classicism but not originality -enough to reveal finer ideals through classic expression, his temptation -is to rebel at conventionalities and to deem himself original because he -is unconventional. He wishes to be different from other artists and seeks -for the difference by discarding the traditional medium rather than by -improving his own personal message. He prefers to be different and even -original by cutting his ginger-bread into the shape of automobiles and -air-planes instead of going back to mother’s classic make and blending -his ingredients into a new creation, a creation which will make fresh -appeal even in former animal shapes or in the traditional ginger-bread -cart-wheels. - -Art is a social institution. If not by the people, art is of the people, -and certainly for the people. When Greek literary art grew conventional -in its different forms, the artists went back to the people for another -medium to be transfigured by art. Ruskin has called architecture a -“glorified roof.” The sonata is a glorified folk melody; epic is -glorified folk lore; and Greek drama is a glorified folk song, as -Elizabethan drama is a glorified folk chronicle. Both dramas have their -roots in the religious services of the people. Homer told us about the -public he had, but the nineteenth century would not trust his word until -Schliemann dug up the great halls where Demodokos and his fellows told -the people their own folk stories in a glorified, artistic form. Greek -lyric and Greek pastoral were as public as Greek oratory, Greek choruses, -temples and statuary. It was left for Roman conquerors to begin the -segregation of art into the cold storage of the modern millionaire and of -the modern museum. - -The permanence of Greek art is based upon that public appeal. Art is -long because it embodies nature, and most of all human nature. Homer -has appealed to man, woman and child for thousands of years. His human -nature is our human nature despite external differences of every -kind. Homer himself was aware of the appeal of nature in art. On the -shield of Achilles, he marveled at the field which grew black behind -the plowing, a marvel of Homer’s close study of nature as well as an -expression of his ideal for art. Nature is a language all can understand -and human nature is a language all must and do understand. When lament -was made over the body of Patroklos, the elegy of Briseis stirred all, -“and thereon the women wailed, in semblance for Patroklos, but each -for her own woe.” Similar is the appeal of art where in semblance of -something else, each sees what belongs to self. Aristotle in seeking to -explain the characteristic pleasure of art ascribes it to _mimesis_ or -re-presentation in another medium. Such staging, he says, not only robs -the terrifying of its terrors but enables all to understand and reason -to the nature of each art product. Such understanding and reasoning -mean surely something more than the mere recognition of photographic -accuracy and likeness. If we may press the meaning of the Greek word used -for reason, the process of art enjoyment is similar to the syllogistic -process which involves an appeal to a general statement. The process is -one which recognizes the general in a particular case, as the grief of -Briseis found an echoing grief in every heart. - -Whether Aristotle and this interpretation of him is correct or not, it -is evident that art must generalize. Art must select, both by choice of -the artist and by the limitations of his medium. Art does not photograph, -because it has no sensitive plate for its medium. The photographer’s -art largely precedes the camera and consists in selecting that pose -and that expression, out of many, which is yours. The camera is nature, -controlled by mechanism, and is not art. If the photographer or painter -or sculptor photographed you in some passing spasm, we should not -learn and reason that it was you. The spasm was realism and fact, but -it was peculiar and individual; it was not you whom we have known and -generalized from experience. In such a case, Aristotle says shrewdly, -we might get artistic pleasure from the workmanship or colors, that is, -from the medium and the mechanics of art, but we should have no artistic -pleasure from the soul and substance of the art product because the -product found no prototype in our experience, because we could not define -it or generalize it. Art selects. It cannot give everything, and if it -would be true, it must give what all may understand; it must give what is -generally true, and what is generally true of all men is human nature. - -Selective idealism has usually the advantage of being intelligible, but -it labors under the disadvantage of becoming merely intelligible. It -gives the truth, but through familiarity the beauty or artistic appeal -of the truth has been dulled and tarnished, or, like the dandelion, -until a Lowell gives it a new luster, its very commonness leaves us -unmoved. We enjoy human nature in Homer because he was the creator of -sleeping winds and of rosy-fingered dawns and of the mother’s smile -alight through tears. A modern who would transfer these same touches to -his own composition would leave us cold. He too must create; he must be -personal, but he must not be individual. Personality is the knowing and -loving principle, and looks to the many with its thoughts and wishes. -Individuality is the principle of separation and isolation and is looking -inward, not outward. When the artist, therefore, creates and gives his -own winds or dawn or mother love, he should speak to us in his own -concrete embodiments of nature, and of human nature, using a language man -understands. If selective idealism tends to become merely intelligible -and unappealing, individualism tends to become unintelligible and to -mystify. - -The poet, the novelist, the painter have more depth than silver nitrate -on a photographic plate. Artists do not simply mirror nature; they do -not catch at the odd or freakish. That is photography, not creation. -Horace did not give us a moving picture of a falling tree, but he saw -the humor and human interest of that “sorry log.” Burns did not give -us an anatomical study of the typhus-carrier on a lady’s bonnet in a -kirk, making it crawl upon ourselves and sending us after the kerosene -can and bath tub, but Burns soared away, from that sight with Horatian -humor and Horatian human nature, into the immortal lines, “O wad some -power the giftie gie us.” The artist who confounds the generalized mental -attractiveness found in true art with the shock of nerves or the tickling -of concupiscence or with misguided realism, will not produce things of -beauty. He gets a thrill, but it is not the permanent, undying thrill of -art, not the thing of beauty, which is a joy forever. - - - - -IV - -ART AND HUMAN NATURE - - -2. REALISM AND REALITY - -At an exhibition in New York City there was displayed a picture of an -ocean wave upon the crest of which the artist had nailed a real bar of -soap. The first idea of the spectator was to consider this peculiar -product an advertisement, but it seems to have been intended as a -serious, if perverted, attempt at art. If the artist was not slyly -proposing the caricature of excessive realism, the cake of soap will -serve well as a parable for those artists who do not distinguish between -realism and reality. - -The ultra-realist forgets that art is a creation, the making of another -world. The artist cannot really create what he puts into his new world -of sight or hearing or imagination, of color, of sound, of words. If -he could actually make something new, not based on nature or on human -nature, he would do so on the penalty of being unintelligible. Neither -should he go to the other extreme and not leave the world of reality at -all. He may not eat his cake and have it. If what he takes from actuality -is not merged fully into his art form, he tries to give us fact and -fiction, history and art, in the same product, and he nails a piece of -soap on a painted wave. - -Aristotle insists above all on probability in art, or motivation, as -it is now commonly called. A probable or well-motived impossibility, -he says, is more artistic and pleasing than an improbable, that is, -an unmotived fact. For a like reason he demands that fiction be more -philosophical than history. We accept a chronicle of facts without -necessarily being aware of their causal connections. In the realms of -art the connection must be established. This principle, so fruitful for -art, is not to be understood as justifying or approving that school of -subjective novelists which is parsimonious in happenings but diffuse -in reasoning and gives us a maximum of discussion with a minimum of -incident. Aristotle is thinking more of the people who witness the -drama. The spectators want the motivation and plausibility of action -rather than that of logic. The soliloquy has gone from the stage; the -printed soliloquy should be curtailed in the novel. A true understanding -of motivation will send all artists back to nature and to human nature -for those incidents which are the springs of action and do not require -lengthy logic to labor at their explanation. Homer is completely lacking -in logical refining. Incident leads to feeling and talk, which gives rise -to further incident. Action, feeling and character, Aristotle’s trinity -of art subjects, are mingled and detailed, and the story moves on in a -way plausible and pleasing to Homeric audiences. When Homer runs short of -motivation, he does not resort to logic; he refers the causality to the -gods, as modern writers refer all insoluble problems to evolution, which -puts hardly more restrictions upon imagination than Homeric mythology. - -The artist must transfer his product wholly to the world of art. -Sculptured horses must not neigh, nor painted flowers give perfume, but -neighing and scents may be suggested even in stone, and in lines by -art happenings, which all may read running if the artist will use the -language of human nature. He should paint his cake of soap in, not nail -it on. If the exigencies of the story demand it, costumes of the night -or costumes of bathing may be in place, but it is nailing on a cake of -soap, it is outraging probabilities, to force a story into a setting or -to adopt a style of dress or of undress simply for the sake of producing -a shock. That is the shock of reality, not of art and beauty. Should the -dramatist have an excellent quartet and stop the play in order to give a -song, he is nailing on a piece of soap, which may be magnificent soap, -but it is not art. - -Why is the so-called realism depressing? Why is the Russian novelist left -for the connoisseur but is caviar to the general? Is it the presence or -absence of evil? Hardly that. Homer’s stories are full of evil and of -death; Sophocles’ _King Œdipus_ and the _Prometheus_ of Eschylus are -surcharged with evil, but they do not depress. Euripides, on the other -hand, and Lucian have more alleged realism and are depressing, even when -they cause a smile. The realist is cynical, and cynics do not soar off -into the world of art, but keep tethering themselves to the real world. -They do not lose themselves in their story because they are always -thinking of keeping some one’s nose against their grindstone. Why should -the optimistic moralizing of Polyanna be resented by critics any more -than the cynic moralizing of Shaw or of _Main Street_? The cheerful idiot -and the purblind dyspeptic are depressing in real life, especially when -they are moralizing, but in and out of art we can laugh at the idiot, -while we squirm at the assumed superiority of the cynic. The moralizing -is a cake of soap. - -Shakespeare is not depressing and Homer is not depressing. They do not -blink the facts of life, and beyond the humor and humanity which saves -them and their audience, they lose themselves in their story. The evil -they depict is true evil, so recognized, in their art-world. It is, -besides, evil called for by their story, not lugged in for a moral or to -exemplify a theory of art. They know that drab is not the only color in -life. They know that bright things are as real as black things, but they -are not illustrating a theory but giving us a story. We pass with them -into a fictitious world, and the things which depress the denizens of -that world do not depress us if we are not brought back to reality by -stumbling on a cake of real soap, not integrated with the story. - -The sight of his dog Argos made the heart of Odysseus sink. Even for -those who think ugliness the only reality, Argos was covered with -realities and squatted on reality. He depressed his master but he does -not depress us. He lies upon Main Street and has a Polyanna wag to his -tail. His optimism and his pessimism are, however, not tacked on. “And -lo, a hound raised up his head and pricked his ears, Argos, the hound of -Odysseus.... Despised he lay (his master being afar) in the deep dung of -mules and swine.... There lay the dog Argos, full of vermin. Yet even now -when he was aware of Odysseus standing by, he wagged his tail and dropped -both his ears, but nearer to his master he had not the strength to draw. -But Odysseus looked aside and wiped a tear.” Argos is the ideal dog of -a far away master; “who has lost his dominion,” as Eumæus, the shepherd -of Odysseus, says. Argos registers the fate of his master. We feel, but -we do not feel depressed. It is human; it is all inevitable; it is real -as life but perfectly idealized by perfect transfer to the realm of art. -Eumæus gives us the morality of it, the truth of it, but he is far from -moralizing, either pessimistically or optimistically. Argos is the dog -Schneider that Jefferson’s Rip Van Winkle could not find to recognize -him; he is the picture in brief of his master’s fate. Eumæus is as free -from all obtrusive soap as Argos himself. The dog’s fate is ascribed -to the careless women who “are no more inclined to honest service when -their masters have lost dominion, for Zeus takes away the half of a man’s -virtue when the day of slavery comes upon him.” - - - - -V - -ART AND THE DIVINE - - -1. RELIGIOUS ORIGIN OF ART - -The recent discovery of the tomb of King Tutankhamen has aroused the -interest of the world. The perseverance of the explorer, the variety, -artistic excellence and intrinsic value of the discovery gave the news -a place in the press and signalized the latest triumph of the spade, -which Schliemann converted into the best of historians. Dig in your -back-yard, and you can read its past in the layers before your eyes. -Make a cross-section of the country, and successive deposits will -tell you its story. Lay bare the strata of the earth, and the buried -fossils, the minerals, the gas, the oil, reveal the history of the world. -Grave-digging is the most productive occupation to which science, art and -even commerce can now be vocationally guided. - -What was it that enriched the Egyptian tomb and other tombs of the past -in which man was buried? It was religion, and specifically it was belief -in the immortality of the soul. The latest opened tomb repeats the truth -that was manifest in the pyramids of Egypt, which were temples as well -as tombs. The beehive tombs of Mycenæ from which Schliemann actually -shoveled gold ornaments of various kinds were also temples as well as -tombs. The altar-stones in Catholic churches with their tiny _loculi_ for -the relic of a saint keep still the memory of the days when persecuted -Christians found the Catacombs of the dead places of worship as well as -of escape from the persecutor. - -The caves of Cro-Magnon and Aurignac and other ancient deposits in France -and Spain have disclosed the earliest evidence of man’s art. The man was -no mean artist, and the coloring and skillful drawing have astonished -every one. Why dark caverns, inaccessible to light, should have been -so decorated has puzzled observers. Reinach calls the pictures early -“magic,” painting of animals to capture them. But there are paintings of -men as well as of bisons and reindeer. Professor Osborne is quoted as -saying that it seems to be art for art’s sake, namely, that the sheer -pleasure of the drawing is its reason. An admission, it would seem, that -the professor has no real explanation to offer. Sir Bertram Windle has -recently asserted the religious origin of these pictures. They would -seem to be the earliest appearance of stained-glass windows. The caves -were temples, and the explanation is confirmed by a comparison with the -beehive tombs of Mycenæ and with the Egyptian tombs. The altar, the -sacrifice, the victims, the food, clothing and other accompaniments -of life, are all evidences of religious feelings and a belief in a -continued existence. The absence of the bodies in these caves may easily -be accounted for. Fleeting time with prowling animals has destroyed -them while it left the pictures on the wall. Art is even longer than -Longfellow imagined. - -If the earliest art so far found is religious in origin, these so called -Cro-Magnon or Aurignacian artists exemplify again what is a commonplace -in the history of art. It would be easy to add to the following -statements found under “Art” in Hasting’s _Dictionary of Religion_: -“The religious aspect of art in Egypt includes almost all that is known -of it.” “There is hardly any doubt that the high level of Assyrian and -Babylonian art is due to the deep religious feeling of the two nations.” -“The history of art in Greece is throughout its course intimately -connected with religion.” The fact is beyond all denying. Religion and -art are united, in music and song, from the dances of savages to the -Hebrew psalms and the stateliest liturgies; in painting, from the early -caveman to the modern man; in sculpture, from the crudest icons dug up -at Troy to the idol statues of Greece and Rome, in the lions and bulls -of buried Mycenæ and Crete, of Assyria and Egypt, in the tiny seal -rings, in the ornaments and statuary of our modern churches; in oratory, -from the prayers of the priest in the _Iliad_, to the fulminations of -the prophet and the eloquence of the pulpit; even in civic oratory -we find Demosthenes and Cicero in their sublimest heights touching -upon religious motives; in the poetry of incantation, of oracle, of -revelation, in liturgy and drama; in the little tale of the fable and -in the mighty story of the epic, for the full sweep of which Homer and -Virgil, Dante and Milton must stage their events upon the background of -a Divine Providence; in architecture, from the tombs and temples of the -eastern world, to the temples of the Aztecs and to the Gothic cathedral. - -Aquinas gave in his _Summa_ a synthesis of all science; Dante gave in -his _Divina Comedia_ a synthesis of man’s life and destiny; the Gothic -cathedral of the same age gave a synthesis of all the arts in one -structure, exemplifying in fullness and excellence the mutual interaction -of art and religion in the middle ages, where manifestly religion -held sway as never before or since. The Morgan “Collection” in the -Metropolitan Museum of Fine Arts in New York exhibits the dusty wreckage -of that wonderful union of religion and art. No poet’s imagination is -needed to rebuild those fragments into that marvelous structure, under -whose myriad statuary of serious saints and grotesque gargoyles, you pass -through carved portals into the spacious aisles over which arches leap -aspiringly. The painter fascinates you with the story of many colors -in the windows. The weaver hangs other pictures on the rich tapestry -curtaining the walls. The wood-carver is everywhere evoking beauty with -cunning fingers. Music and song in the dramatic and antiphonal liturgy, -the sublime eloquence of the pulpit in turn charm and rest the ears. - -The minutest detail is as artistic as the rich magnificence. The missal -on the altar will be a “Book of Kells,” a reflection on illuminated -parchment of the religious and monastic life which produced it, by -its patience, learning, devotion, silent application, and scrupulous -exactness; “examined with a microscope for hours,” says an authority, -“without detecting a false line or irregular interlacement.” Near the -missal of the Gothic cathedral would be found a jeweled chalice, like -that of Ardagh, with three hundred and fifty-four distinct pieces, -classic and rich in all kinds of ornament. Baldwin Brown was surely right -in declaring: “It is probable that nothing more artistically beautiful -has ever been seen than the Gothic cathedral,” and the Gothic cathedral -is the crowning glory of a deeply religious age. - - - - -VI - -ART AND THE DIVINE - - -2. THE KINSHIP OF ART AND RELIGION - -The history of art from its lowest manifestations to its highest gives -evidence of its union and intimacy with religion. The fact is admitted, -and might easily be confirmed by the very way in which religious -movements violently reacted against art. Hebraism knew the power of art -over its followers, and Hebraic antagonism to sculpture and painting -served to give religious impulse freer outlet in Hebrew poetry and -oratory and other literature. The Bible is the supreme illustration of -the influence of religion upon literary art. Islamism opposed art, but -gradually succumbed to its influence at least in architecture. That Islam -has not yielded more to art is an evidence of arrested civilization, as -well as of baser and more sensual religious feelings. Puritanism, the -intensest form of Protestantism, opposed art in all its manifestations, -but Puritanism either diverted art energy to poetry and literature or -provoked excesses by its attempt to check the natural impulses of art, -and Puritanism finally yielded to art. It is clear then that religious -opposition to art serves but to show more strikingly the union of -religion and art. The religion that opposes art must direct the art -impulse into other channels or the religion degenerates. By their nature -religion and art are congenial. - -What now is the explanation of this close and continuous union of art -and religion, found everywhere and in all ages? Taine and his school, -led astray by some details in the artist’s subject matter, have tried to -explain art by environment; but environment is an explanation absurd in -itself, and cannon be adequate for an ubiquitous fact which transcends -all environment. The theorists who ascribe the origin of art to play and -the deploying of superfluous energies liken, with Herbert Spencer, the -art impulse to the acts of a kitten playing with a ball. Play may be -partly an excess of energy, but not all energy is artistic, and animal -play is the stirring of appetite, bearing but a slight, superficial -resemblance to man’s early strivings for artistic expression. How many -games are imitative and made more attractive by art! From the very first, -mind enters into early and even child art, and at the last the devotion -of the artists to their ideals in the higher manifestations of art, a -devotion quite unlike play, shows that the art impulse is essentially -different from the instinctive impulse of the kitten, which pounces on a -rat as it pounced on a ball of wool.[1] - -Another school, striving to explain the connection between art and -religion, takes a directly opposite view to the play theory. Fear and -magic are, according to these authors, the controlling factors. The -difficulty in this theory is the utterly selfish element in the fear and -magic impulse, whereas the art impulse is disinterested and unselfish. -Besides, religious belief precedes the fear and magic propitiation of -offended powers. The voodoo and the hoodoo mark degradations of religious -impulses. Impulses in harmony with man’s nature may go down as well as -up, and even should we suppose that the unselfish impulse of art, which -finally becomes the evidence and glory of man’s highest civilization, -could be traced back to the sordid details of selfish superstition, why -should such an ugly duckling evolve into a fair swan? Devolution and -degradation are easier than evolution. Why did the art impulse take the -narrow, upward path and shun the broad way down to perdition? - -The perfection of the oak must have been in the potency of the acorn. The -oak could not come from a peanut, nor can all the powers of sun, rain -and soil or any other factor of the environment evolve the fruit of the -peanut vine into the majesty of the oak. We can explain by an extrinsic -cause the stunting of an oak or the rotting of an oak, but we cannot -account for the existence of the oak—except by an acorn. We may find -perhaps a thwarted or corrupted art tendency in superstitious fear and -its products, but that element of fear could not write a poem or compose -a sonata or rear a Gothic cathedral. The perfection reached by the art -product must have been in the potency of the first artistic impulse in -germ. - -Religion and art were then united potentially in the original art impulse -just as the strength and lofty beauty of the oak were latent in the -acorn. The art impulse is natural to man; it is intellectual. It requires -brains to be artistic, as it requires brains to laugh, and no animal -has done either or will ever do either. The bird in building its nest -displays an intelligence not its own; its nest building is inherited -just as its song is. Jean Fabre’s observations have shown conclusively -the wonders of instinct, coupled with the stupidity of the creature -possessing the instinct. But the earliest scrawl or daub of the child -displays the mind working on matter and the deliberate shaping of means -to an end. All intellectual testers from Simon-Binet to the latest have -found the making or interpreting of pictures a measure of intellectual -power. They are right. Art is rationalized pigments or sounds or words -with their images or some other rationalized material. Dr. James Harvey -Robinson in _Mind in the Making_ says that we are wrong in rationalizing -the past to make up our minds, and how does he show it? By rationalizing -another past for us. The truth is we must rationalize the past, and Dr. -Robinson should induce us, not to stop rationalizing, but to rationalize -correctly and should give us something better than universal skepticism -with which to rationalize. The art tendency is one with the religious -tendency in being rational and intellectual. - -Art and religion strive for high ideals; they are disinterested and -unselfish. LaFarge says to Saint Gaudens: “That work is not worthy of -you,” and Saint Gaudens picks up a hammer and smashes the sculpture. That -is an instance paralleling the heroic following of religious ideals with -like sacrifices. Was it fear of bogies or love of their dead which filled -so many tombs with precious articles? Believing in immortality, Egyptians -and Myceneans gave to the dead what was most precious, and what was most -precious was the finest art in the costliest material. Love keeps graves -green: fear erects a crematory. - -Art and religion are personal and emotional. Each has its own proper -expression. Of religion the expression is worship and of art it is -concrete embodiment of the ideal, and in both cases the expression is -intimately personal and permeated with feeling. Art is more sensible and -so more emotional because its expression must be presented to the senses -or at least to the imagination. Religion whose primary expression is -an act of the will, need not of its nature be attended with emotion or -external display but it usually is, and feeling and expression commonly -help to the fuller expression of religion. The rapture of art and the -ecstasy of religion, though differing in much, have also much in common. - -In their social appeal art and religion are akin. The artist and the -saint have their hours of solitary contemplation. St. Peter at Pentecost, -describing the religious ecstasy of the inspired apostles, cried out: -“These are not drunk as you suppose,” and, continuing, he quoted the -prophet Joel: “Your young men shall see visions and your old men shall -dream dreams.” In the forming of their visions and dreams saint and -artist are alike, though the substance of their visions differ. They -are alike also in their impulse to give their visions expression and to -influence men with them. Religion is apostolic and art is social, and -that is why in history they have gone forth so often hand in hand to -subdue the world. Whole nations had to conspire to erect the Egyptian -pyramids, the tower of Babel, the temples of Israel, of Rome, of Greece -and of the Orient, and the Gothic cathedrals. Only a union of art and -religion could produce such stupendous results. Patriotism and the -state have at times come near to these great effects, when patriotism -or love of country assumed the nature of religion. To produce these -national monuments a lasting cause as well as a cause of wide appeal -was necessary. Here again art and religion are akin. Art is long, and -religion is immortal. - -Art reaches its highest and most perfect expression in the sublime. Here -religion does not walk hand in hand with art, but bears art on high and -gives to art some of its own divinity by endowing the artistic expression -with sublimity. The literature of the Bible attained to heights which -writers of other nations could not dream of nor ambition. Genesis sets -poets and all artists upon a lofty eminence. By the revelation of -creation, the imagination and the vision of the artist became coterminous -almost with that of the Creator. Newton’s theory of gravitation which -shepherded the starry hosts of the universe into one obedient flock, -gives us a realization of the effect of Genesis upon the world’s -imagination. The creation _motif_ in literature emancipating man’s -imagination, enlarging the boundaries of vision, and dowering the artist -with sublimity, deserves a treatise by itself and a history worthy of its -greatness. - -Art and religion are united in fact, so history teaches; art and religion -are akin, so the study of their attributes reveals. What then is the only -and full explanation of that fact and of that harmony? Philosophers hold -that the only and the full explanation of the harmony subsisting between -the mind and reality, which is called truth, is found in the fact that -both mind and reality are reproductions in creation of God’s truthful -knowledge of Himself. Ethicists hold that the only and full explanation -of the harmony subsisting between the will and law, which is called moral -good, is found in the fact that both will and law are reproductions in -the finite of God’s love of Himself. So philosophers must hold that the -full and only explanation of the harmony subsisting between the soul and -art, which is called the expression of the beautiful, is found in the -fact that like the innate tendency to truth and good, the tendency to -beauty is a reproduction of God’s contemplation of Himself. Creation, as -has often been declared, is a manifestation of the art of God, a mimetic -presentation in finite matter and spirit of the infinite ideal. All -advance in truth and virtue is an approach to divine truth and goodness, -and all true progress in art is an approach to divine beauty. “Filled -with enthusiasm,” says De Wulf in _L’Œuvre d’Art et la Beauté_, “before -the greatness of the artist’s power, Dante Alighieri compares it to that -of Omnipotence: - - “‘Your art like the grand-child of God’ - - (_Inferno_, XI, 103). - -“Art is the grand-child of God because it is the offspring of man’s -creative power as man himself has come from the hands of God.” - - - - -VII - -ART AND THE DIVINE - - -3. ART IN ITS RELATION TO VIRTUE - -The fact that religion and art are connected is abundantly established -by history. The naturalness of that connection is made clear by the many -traits art and religion possess in common. As philosophers have argued -to the existence of God from the fact that the universal belief in His -existence can be accounted for satisfactorily on no other supposition; -as philosophers also argue to the immortality of the soul from man’s -universal and inevitable tendency to unending existence, so in like -manner, it may be argued that since always and everywhere the art impulse -is connected in its origin and growth with religion, that impulse too, -like belief in God and desire of immortality and conscience for law and -tendency to truth, is a projection of the divine upon humanity, not the -anthropomorphism of God but the theomorphism of man. The structure of our -eye, made to respond to light, justifies us in concluding there is light. -The nature of the soul, which can respond to infinite beauty, justifies -us in concluding there is infinite beauty. He who said, “Let there be -light,” said also, “Let us make man after our own image and likeness.” - -An explanation of the nature of these two human acts of art and religion -will disclose more analogies while revealing essential differences. -Religion is a virtue of the will, a habit developed by the free act of -man, a virtue which culminates in worship of God as the supreme being. -The impulse of art has not been analyzed as fully and as satisfactorily -as the virtue of religion, but from Aristotle’s analysis in the -_Poetics_, through the Neo-Platonists and the Scholastics down to Kant -and his followers, there is common agreement that the tendency to beauty -does not belong to the inclination towards good, actuating appetite and -will, but that the enjoyment of beauty is a function of the perceptions, -the imagination, and the mind. The admitted disinterestedness of the -art impulse is the paramount and irresistible evidence that it differs -essentially from the self-seeking tendency of will and appetite which -cannot be indifferent to good, since good is the very cause and condition -of the appetite’s existence. The enjoyment of a painted fruit is akin to -the enjoyment of verified theory or of a triumphant conclusion, and not -like the satisfaction felt in the ownership of the painting of fruit or -in the actual craving or eating of the fruit. - -It is evident, therefore, why a man may be artistic without being -religious. There is no more difficulty in understanding why an artist is -not a saint than in knowing that conscience is one thing and acting up -to it another thing. Improvement in art does not always mean improvement -in morals or in religion, any more than to know is to will. Nor, on the -other hand, will the evil of an artist or of his work be evidence against -the divinity of art. The divine origin of conscience and the natural law -is evident in the vice of the sinner as in the virtues of the saint. The -essential difference between art and religion shows also that the school -in which the prophet is Ruskin, the school which finds a religion in the -beauty of world or of art, is incorrect in its teaching. Love and fear -are the mainsprings of action, the incentives to virtue. Beauty may grace -the attraction of good; it cannot take the place of good in virtue and -religion. Estheticism is not asceticism. Francis of Assisi was a poet -and a saint, Francesca da Rimini enjoyed poetry, might have been a poet, -but was not always a saint, and many a Francisco and Francesca may be -found neither artistic nor religious, as many are talented without being -virtuous and virtuous without being talented. - -Despite the sad lack of harmony between the beauty of their art and the -virtue of their lives, artists have nevertheless always been revered. The -honor of their art has won them in their lapses a gentleness of treatment -not accorded to less favored mortals. They are fallen angels if they fall. - -Does the union of religion and art mean then that the artist must be -a moralist? To moralize is not a function of art as such. I enjoy -the beauty of a tree without any feeling that it conveys a truth or -inculcates a virtue. The artist may transfer the tree to canvas, where I -enjoy it as I did in nature without any accessory implication, informing -or ethical. Joyce Kilmer may put the tree in a poem and with it add -beauty to the truth that, “only God can make a tree.” The psalmist may -put a tree in his sacred hymn and with it add beauty to his praise of -the life of a good man, who shall be “like a tree planted near the -running waters.” Logical truth and moral good are not excluded from art, -although the artist by profession is not a teacher. Modern critics are -often inconsistent and hypocritical in welcoming every dramatist or poet -or novelist who undisguisedly advocates various theories, but will be -withering in their scorn for any one who advocates the ten commandments. -To moralize, to dogmatize, to theorize is not the function of art, and -though these actions are not incompatible with the functions of art, very -rarely in the history of art has it been successful when it undertook to -teach or to preach. Didactic poetry, satire poetry and propaganda drama, -have great difficulty in becoming poetry and remaining poetry. - -Religion then is a virtue of the will, resulting in acts of worship; -art, a power of the mind, resulting in various artistic creations. -Religion may remain wholly spiritual, even in its expression, but, though -the mind’s appreciation of beauty may rest on purely spiritual and -intellectual objects, such as theories or virtues or God and heaven, -art must express itself in sensible objects. Even in literature, the -most intellectual of arts, words and pictures of the imagination are -essential. Angels might be conceived as having an art whose sole medium -was spiritual ideas, not so man, whose mind works through imagination. -Aquinas, stressing the intellectual nature of beauty, calls attention -to the fact that while men speak of beautiful sights and beautiful -sounds, they will rarely and only figuratively consider the acts of other -senses, as taste, touch and scent, beautiful. The actions of these senses -are immersed in the material, whereas sight and hearing are closer to -the intellectual and spiritual. Man has not yet succeeded in making a -fine art whose medium would be tastes and touches and fragrances. The -unselfish enjoyment of art cannot be released in objects so material and -so near to the appetites. The sensualist is not an artist in yielding -to sense enjoyment, although he may wish to give his unhallowed ways -an artistic gloss. The one who sees only an apple pie in rosy apples -or senses slumbrous ease in soft velvets and in iridescent silks or -perceives only the perfume in flower and fruit, is not experiencing -esthetic emotions, but rather stirrings of the bodily appetites. If -estheticism is not asceticism, neither is it, on the other hand, -concupiscence or mere sensualism. - -Does the connection between art and religion exclude the presentation of -evil in art? Art would be much handicapped if it were restricted entirely -to good objects. Art is a manifestation of man’s intellect and must -act in accord with the nature of that faculty. If evil is artistically -presented, it must be depicted as evil. To present moral evil as a good -is a falsification as repugnant to the mind as would be the painting of -a blue sunrise, of a green moon or of a black-and-tan sea, and as absurd -as the sculpture of a five-legged lion. The enlightened mind rejects -such physical monstrosities, and the enlightened mind, despite the lower -appetites, rejects moral disorders with equal, if not greater, repugnance. - -Again, art requires that the evil, the moral ugliness or physical -ugliness, be a necessary and rational part of the presentation. A fact of -nature becomes at once the material of science, because science concerns -itself with unadorned truth. But for a fact of nature to be material of -art, it must be idealized, that is, it must be made an integral part of -the art product. The pleasure of art does not arise from deception but -from illusion which does not deceive. Painted grapes might deceive birds; -but did they deceive men, then the effect would not be that of art but of -reality. The evil or ugly can never be pleasant as long as it is present -and actual. The transfer of evil to the world of art if it becomes an -integral, justified and rationalized part of the illusion, is usually -enough to rob evil of its actuality and unpleasantness. - -Sometimes in contemporary realism, with every justification of ugliness -from the art product, there is depression and not true art pleasure, -because we cannot forget the actual world when contemplating the -imaginary world of art. Suppose “Macbeth” or “Œdipus” were really -historical and were acted in the presence of their contemporaries or of -the next generation. Would there be satisfaction and the emotional relief -arising from illusion? Hardly. Memories would be too much lacerated -with the actual to surrender to the illusion of art and to enjoy its -contemplation. Actuality would put back the salt into the tears that else -might have been sweetened by transfer of evil to remote and imaginary -realms. The Greeks and Shakespeare were right in making their tragedies -historical, whereas modern realists are somber with pessimism because -they never forsake the actual. - -Art and religion are both concerned with life and so they both must -touch evil and ugliness, unhappily a large part of life. Religion as -a virtue must overcome evil and not permit it to master the will. Art -depicts evil in such a way as not to offend the enlightened mind, by -approval of evil or by the artistically unjustified introduction of -evil or by actual experience of evil. In all these cases the mind would -not experience the true and lasting pleasure of art. The taste of fruit -passes; the contemplation of painted fruit is a joy forever. Art pleasure -is not the playing with toys, as Plato would seem to make it, but the -fine occupation of rational minds, which Aristotle made it, an occupation -worthy of man because art interprets nature and man to himself, because -art exercises man’s rational faculties, because art releases man’s -emotions under conditions where the evil of actual life is removed. -Macbeth and Œdipus in life were saddening spectacles; the echo of that -sadness felt through dramatic representation has high pleasure for the -mind. - -The cathartic function of art brings it close to the virtuous and the -divine. What virtue does really, art does ideally, transforming evil into -good. The vicarious sacrifice of Calvary was the catharsis of mankind, -an infinite cleansing, compared with which the vicarious feeling of -dramatically enacted evil is but as a drop to the ocean. Close to the -divine, too, although at the same time infinitely remote, is the creation -of art. Wisdom and love inspired God in His creation, but so also did -the quest of beauty. Aquinas called the universe God’s sermon, and the -universe is a divine picturing and sculpturing and harmonizing. The -artist follows far after, rethinking through finite images the ideals -which filled the thoughts of the Divine Artist. - -In idealizing, in creating, is art akin to the divine, and, lastly, -in its disinterestedness is art divine. All appreciation of beauty -is divine. Contemplation will be the occupation of eternity, and -contemplation is the proper and the congenial attitude of the soul -towards beauty. Good inspires love and attracts to union, but when union -has been effected in eternity, the enraptured ecstasy of the beautiful -will be the soul’s unending activity. Beauty is the supreme excellence -of truth, the polish on the granite of fact, the uncloying fascination -arrested upon perfection. In eternity infinite good and infinite truth, -obscured in time, will stream into the soul unclouded and refulgent, and -beauty will grace love and crown wisdom. - -The millions of mankind who admire the red of every morning, and the -forests breaking green through the silver mists and the birds in awakened -song rising from the flowers to the brightening sky, these millions -do not begrudge one another such beautiful spectacles, nor are they -mutually jealous as they listen to beautiful sounds. That unselfish, -that unenvious contemplation of beauty marks off man from animals by an -impassable chasm and makes him an image of the self-sufficing Creator, -the source of all beauty, the exemplar of all beauty, whom the Blessed -forever contemplate and forever enjoy, unenvying and unenviously. - - - - -VIII - -THE VISCERAL TEST OF BEAUTY - - -“What is the prime requisite of a critic?” was the question. “His -sincerity,” said one; “his sympathy,” said a second; “his philosophy,” -said a third, “because everything he says will be ruled by his -principles, even his sincerity and sympathy.” The answer of the third -speaker is pertinent to a symposium printed in the _New Republic_ on the -function of criticism. - -It is the common view of the seven writers that criticism is an art and -the critics, artists, but no one, except Mr. Francis Hackett, tries to -show what the label of artist means. Mr. Dickinson Miller, a professor -in a theological seminary, very justly and quite fittingly insists on -the social responsibility of the artist, as one who deals with life. -Mr. Lovett goes to history and prepares the ground for a discussion -of principles by grouping critics in several classes. Mr. Clive takes -the humblest and most practical view of the critic, calling him an -appraiser, a function which Mr. H. L. Mencken vehemently repudiates and -places a chip on his shoulder while belligerently proclaiming himself -impressionistic. He makes one deep remark which would seem to put him in -the same school of esthetics with Mr. Hackett. Presumably with humorous -intent, or perhaps seriously, Mr. Mencken locates the artistic impulse in -“hormones and intestinal flora.” Hormones are secretions of the glands -(we just looked it up!) and “intestinal flora” may mean ferments. Mr. -Mencken is abreast of the times. Graft on a new gland and masticate -yeast, these are the new specifics for all the ills that flesh is heir to. - -The other contributors to this interesting symposium, though not, with -the exception of Mr. Hackett, delving as deep as Mr. Mencken, would -appear to be in philosophy individualists and subjectivists. The former -editor of the _Athenæum_, Mr. J. Middleton Murry, accepts the dictum -of Rémy de Gourmont: “Erect personal impressions into laws,” as the -“true motto of a critic.” Mr. Murry is, however, too sensible to accord -to individual impressions undue freedom and with some violence to his -consistency asserts that personal laws stand or fall by their agreement -with common experience and with human nature. - -Mr. Morris Cohen puts himself into a fallacious dilemma from which he -does not successfully extricate himself. According to Mr. Cohen, all -critics are led by personal impressions or by the authority of others. He -should know that between the blind feeling of impressionism and the blind -faith of authority there is enlightened reason. Mr. Cohen does not take -the path of reason, but endeavors to escape the horns of his own dilemma -by recourse to pragmatism. He claims, what will be news to historians of -philosophy, that Euclid was the first pragmatist, although in the next -breath Mr. Cohen states that “mathematicians of the nineteenth century -have shown that Euclid’s axioms are mere guesses to be justified by -their consequences in the factual realm.” “Factual realm” seems to mean -the indefinitely remote future of pragmatism where the gold of truth -is separated from meaner elements. Some chosen spirits of the “factual -realm” now assure us that the “self-evident principles” of Euclid are -“guesses.” Mr. Cohen is equipped to write an inside history of philosophy -with some entirely original features. The “factual realm” leads back to -skepticism, and Mr. Cohen is still impaled by his dilemma. - -Mr. Francis Hackett makes the most serious attempt to get at the -philosophy of criticism and of art, and attacks at once the question -of the beautiful. It is evidence of his thoroughness that he goes -straightway to the great problem of esthetics, “Can an object be at once -beautiful and evil?” Mr. Hackett answers promptly in the negative, but -then proceeds to confuse the point by going to another and different -question, “Can evil or an ugly object be represented in art?” The answer -to this question is evident. The elopement of Helen, the patricide and -incest of Œdipus, the galleries of Dante’s Inferno and Purgatorio, and -countless other happenings in the world of art, show that the evil -and the ugly have been and may be represented in art. “I can hardly -conceive,” says Mr. Hackett, “an artist as subduing a cancerous object -to an esthetic design.” But why not? Marriage with one’s mother is -more repugnant than a cancer, and yet it was handled successfully by -Sophocles, however repulsive some of his imitators have been in their -details. - -The very transfer to the realm of art robs the ugly object of its -actuality and imminence. Surely the ugly and evil have been and may be -represented in art, but such objects may not be represented as beautiful -and good. That were as false and untrue to nature as a centipede cow in a -picture. Perhaps a cancer could not appear in a picture or poem or story -except by suggestion. A stark realism would disgust, but a true artist -might subdue a cancerous object to artistic design as effectively as -Homer subdued in his story the fleas of the dog, Argos, and the dung-heap -where he lay. - -Beauty in art would lose one of its charms, the splendor of contrast, did -not admitted ugliness or evil occur in art. Bad art disgusts and so does -badness in art, when badness is approved or when it is projected into art -for purposes not artistic. Mr. Hackett’s real trouble is that he has not -properly isolated the feeling of art awakened by beauty. He thinks that -the esthetic sense is sexual and visceral. If the mouth waters at painted -fruit, would Mr. Hackett call art salival? Human beings are composites, -and external objects while producing their essential and proper effects -may have concomitant effects accidentally brought into being. To admire -the beauty of an apple is an esthetic feeling entirely distinct in cause -and faculty and in operation from the feeling of sensible satisfaction, -anticipated or actual, which comes to the taste-buds, and different again -from any visceral qualms that may arise from associated ideas of unhappy -experience with other apples. - -Mr. Hackett has been led astray by not distinguishing the disinterested -emotions of beauty from the selfish emotions of appetite. He calls -beauty, “disinterested satisfaction,” and in that word “disinterested” -he has a fact about beauty, a fact solving his problems, a fact which -has been admitted by every one who has studied the subject, and a fact -which is capable of experimental demonstration at any moment. Professor -Phelps of Yale once called esthetic emotions a spinal thrill; Mr. Mencken -would call them “hormones or intestinal flora”; and Mr. Hackett declares -that “the true sources of esthetic satisfaction and dissatisfaction are -deep in our emotional and visceral life.” The one essential quality of -disinterestedness, found in esthetic satisfaction, shows the absurdity of -all such statements. Bodily emotions are all the outcome of appetites, -and appetites are never disinterested but always self-seeking by their -very nature. They are actuated by good; they tend to an end, an end which -they do not and cannot seek disinterestedly. Even the act of the highest -disinterested love may be akin to the sense of beauty, but it is not as -wholly disinterested because that unselfish love is still seeking good, -and good as such does not come within the purview of beauty at all. It is -impossible to be disinterested towards good or evil. - -Mr. Hackett speaks of beauty being a “sensuous satisfaction.” Here again -there is a confusion between beauty of art and other beauty. Art appeals -to the senses because art presents its beauty in concrete embodiments. To -that extent the satisfaction of beauty arises from sensible objects, but -the feeling of beauty transcends mere sensation. “Art is long.” “A thing -of beauty is a joy forever.” The satisfaction of appetite is passing; -the satisfaction of beauty abides. Mr. Hackett does well to seek the -springs of beauty in personality. Personality is an abiding principle -of intellectual beings. The enduring joy of beauty argues to an abiding -principle which bears the dynamic charge of that joy. Beauty supposes a -soul. - -“Beauty is a light that may follow any reality whatever and give us the -power to release our emotions happily in the presence of that reality.” -So states Mr. Hackett, and he is right, if he gives the correct meaning -to “emotions.” Light or luster has been recognized from all time as an -objective element of beauty, which has been defined as the light of -truth. Mr. Hackett paraphrases a definition which has been incorrectly -attributed to Plato. Kleutgen has defined beauty as the perfection of -anything resplendently manifested. - -Let us hope that Mr. Hackett will remove “visceral” from among the -qualities of beauty and preclude critics from adding a fiftieth -explanation of Aristotle’s _catharsis_ to the forty-nine varieties -already set forth. Wearers of Murphy buttons or those who have lost or -may lose sections of the intestinal tract should be assured in an amended -edition of Mr. Hackett’s esthetics that their sense of beauty has not -been abbreviated or impaired. Sane philosophy is the prime requisite of -true criticism. - - - - -PART SECOND - -ART IN THE TEACHING OF LITERATURE - - - - -IX - -LOOKING FORWARD IN LITERATURE - - -The teacher of literature today is looking backward when he should be -looking forward. Greek literature, Latin literature and, to a large -extent, English literature are not orientated; they do not face the -rising sun. It was not so in the Greek schools of Greek literature. -Gorgias and Isocrates taught literature for the morrow, and for practical -and immediately practical purposes. In the Roman schools it was so from -first to last. Recall Cicero’s studies under Greek rhetoricians and -Cicero’s own preachment in the _Archias_ speech. “Shame on those who bury -themselves so deep in literature that they harvest nothing for the good -of all and bring nothing to light for our eyes to look upon.” Recall -Quintilian’s _Institutes of Oratory_, and all the intervening schools -of Rome. Rome had no vocational schools for road-building, but Rome did -have schools of grammar, poetry, rhetoric and philosophy where it trained -leaders with vision and with the power to act. The brains of Rome trained -in literature guided barbarian hands to lay down the roads over which -Christianity traveled and civilization came down to us. - -Literature looked forward in every period of the world’s schooling. -Ausonius and Isidore, Alcuin and Petrarch, Boileau and Pope, England and -France, and even Germany until about the middle of the nineteenth century -and America until a little later, kept the literatures of Greece and Rome -orientated to the future by teaching them as arts, by making composition -of literature the goal of the teaching of literature. - -Science is ever growing old; history is always being rewritten; -literature is ever young. We know more about Homer’s history than -Longinus knew, but we do not taste the delight of his poetry any better -than Longinus tasted it. “Handing on the torch of learning” is a trite -phrase, but it is literally verified in the true teaching of literature. -Each age adds to the advance of science and information, but art is long. -Literature and art do not belong to the past. Literally and without -figure of speech they are the past living in the present. They are the -flaming torch, kindled in the past, never dimming and never to dim. - -Write a history of artists; do not write a history of art. “A thing -of beauty is a joy forever.” The information of science changes -every moment; the appreciation of art once gained is enduring. The -_Encyclopedia Britannica_ has rewritten all its science and history; it -reprints its appreciations of Sophocles by Campbell and of Demosthenes -by Jebb and even of Johnson by Macaulay. Where the cause is the same, -the effect is the same, and so the beauty of Homer’s rosy-fingered dawn -awakens still the same appreciation. - -Of literature as a subject of investigation in university or graduate -work there is here no question. The investigator studies the origin, the -development, the history of literature. He looks backward; his purpose -is to amass information and to codify a science. That is not or should -not be the purpose of the teacher in high school and college. He is -educating; he wishes to set in operation and perfect the faculties of -the class before him, to impress upon every faculty its own proper art, -that is, its habitual and excellent way of acting. The school teacher is -concerned with the education of acts; the university lecturer with the -education of facts. - -Take the _Ratio Studiorum_ of the Jesuits, a system embodying the -traditions of education and not differing fundamentally from other -systems of its time. The _Ratio Studiorum_ had no history of literature -or lectures on the evolution of literature. It did not approach -literature as a science but as an art. It took the standard authors of -Latin and Greek. Cicero was the staple of every class in Latin because -for nearly every kind of Latinity, history and poetry excepted, he was -a model. Cicero was analyzed, was appreciated, was imitated, that the -student might express himself in writing and speaking as clearly, as -interestingly, as forcibly as Cicero, that the student might be master -of acts of literature, not of facts about literature. That was and is -humanism; that is, making a man a man by equipping all his faculties with -the art proper to each. The humanities were so called because they embody -man. Science is classified nature; literature is nature brought into -touch with man’s personality and transmuted into art, man’s only creation. - -You cannot get grapes from thorns or figs from thistles. Every other -subject in the curriculum produces its kind; so should literature. -Mathematics makes mathematicians, chemistry chemists, and physics -physicists. Art should produce artists; literature should result in -literature, in artistic expression, but it is made to produce historians, -biographers, perhaps critics. The history of literature, the evolution -of literature should be put out of high school and college and relegated -to the university or handed over to the lectures on history, leaving the -valuable time of literature for appreciation and expression. - -Today we have literature in one class and composition in another -and perhaps rhetoric in another. Departments are the offspring of -universities and the instruments of science. The rational school of -literary expression correlates author, precept and exercise. Information -may be imparted piecemeal and from different sources; it is multitudinous -and capable of division. Formation is one and united; it is the faculty -or power brought to the perfection of self-expression. Art requires a -teacher and unifying of means; science may have a score of lecturers as -its truths are found in a score of books. Let the teacher of literature -therefore take standard literature, make it understood, feel its -personality that students may feel it, note and appreciate its beauty -that others may take fire or at least get heat from the enthusiasm -kindled within him, and then let the teacher see to it that his class -express their own selves as the author expressed himself. Let students -do for Lincoln what Shakespeare did for Julius Cæsar. If they cannot do -a play, perhaps they can do an act; if they cannot create a character, -perhaps they can give one characteristic action; if they cannot write a -description or tell a story, perhaps they can supply a noun for Lincoln -or visualize his deeds in a verb or paint him in an epithet or coin him -in a metaphor. And all this, not for an Elizabethan public, but for the -students’ own public here and now, looking forward, not backward. - -Desperate efforts have been made to galvanize literary courses by -lectures on modern novels, current magazines and daily papers. The -lamentable fact is that most recent products are not literature; that -if there is in them art, it has not been made available for students, -as the art of literary classics has been made available by centuries -of criticism, and that, finally, the contents of contemporary writings -are so easy of access and so inviting to the reader and yet often so -ephemeral, that the artistic form is neglected. There is no contemporary -history, neither is there contemporary criticism. Literature, like all -art, must pass beyond the prejudices and passions of the day to be known -and appreciated as art at all. It is for the enlightened teacher of -literature to make the students embody their own experience in the finest -art molds of the past, not distracting them by the multiplicity of modern -literature, but holding up the ideals, like torches, to light the paths -before them and, like expert guides, to direct the trembling steps of -beginners to new goals. - -Literature is not the study of words. Grammar or philology is the study -of words. Science dehumanizes everything; it eliminates the personal -equation; it is objective, unimpassioned, impersonal, subordinating -everything to laws and principles. Literature is the opposite in every -respect. It is embodied humanity. Science contains some of man’s -operations; literature enshrines all; not truth alone, but good and -beauty as well; not simply the clear idea, the accurate statement, the -correct conclusion, the consistent reasoning, but also the myriad visions -of the imagination, the subtle analogies, the suggestive creations, -haunting beauties and idealized good. So literature actuates every power -of man whether that power is a constituent part of man’s soul or is a -bodily power whose operation by reaction terminates in man’s soul. - -As literature is therefore the whole man, so far as humanity can be -put in language, the understanding of literature, its appreciation and -most of all its creation will make every power of the student operate, -if literature is taught as literature. Such results will not come -automatically; they come when the teacher by true appreciation creates -again before the student the literary masterpiece and when the student -strives to rival the masterpiece in the expression of his own experience -and of his own dawning humanity. Literature is looking forward when it is -making minds think and imaginations imagine and reasons reason and tastes -taste and emotions thrill. Teach literature as an art, which it is; not -as a science, which it is not. - - - - -X - -UNIFYING EDUCATION THROUGH LITERATURE - - -Unity is most useful, if not essential, to a satisfactory course of -studies. In the university this unity is effected by the profession which -the student has chosen. His field of concentration in art, literature, -law, medicine, science, engineering or divinity dictates to him his -subjects, and his own earnest choice, together with prescriptions and -examinations, insures unity and thoroughness in concentration courses. - -Lecturing is the predominant method of the university because professors -of higher branches are few and students are comparatively numerous. -Lecturing is the weakest and most ineffective of all means of education, -and is only saved from complete failure by the serious purposes of -university students and much more by the sanction of repetitions and -examinations. - -In the colleges, however, with the advent of electivism there was no -unifying bond to the studies. University methods of studies and lectures -prevailed where there were no university conditions. Thoroughgoing -electivists, like Dr. Eliot, admitted that the purpose of the college was -a general education or culture, but held that any and every study could -give such general training. President Lowell, Dr. Eliot’s successor, -began to put order into the chaos of extreme electivism. He saw his -coaches on the athletic fields build up expert athletes by a rigidly -prescribed course of training, and proclaimed the analogy between body -and mind, an analogy which would have been all the more cogent had his -philosophy been materialistic like that of Dr. Eliot. The prescribed -examination in one department at the end of four years is the latest -advance of Harvard toward definiteness and unity. - -All colleges in America took up electivism to some extent, and even -where studies were still prescribed they adopted in their catalogs the -language and methods of electivism. No longer were there classes, but -everywhere you had courses and departments. One effect of this system -has been to make coördinate and of equal importance many subjects which -had formerly been subordinate. Colleges whose major subject, or field -of concentration, had been language, with other subjects subordinate, -now tended to make every subject a major and every field a field of -concentration. The departmental system has helped to impair unity -of education by disturbing the hierarchy of studies and by removing -all subordination. It does not appear to be feasible to concentrate -on everything. In some cases colleges seem about to give up the -general-training idea and are tending to make their whole course -subservient to a profession, obliging every one to take a pre-medical -course because the American Medical Association is mighty and medical -schools are very exacting. - -Formerly high schools and colleges made language or self-expression the -field of concentration, and other subjects, like history, mathematics, -sciences, were kept subordinate. College and high school had then one -purpose, which unified all their studies, as a profession unified -lectures in the university—that purpose was the mastery of the art of -expression. The French lycées, the German gymnasia, the English public -schools, the Jesuit _Ratio Studiorum_, prepared for the university by -making students masters of writing and speaking. The writer and speaker -could express himself; his intellectual faculties could work properly, -and therefore they had received a general training which prepared them -for professional work of a special kind. The field of concentration was -shown in the names of the classes. The teachers were teachers, not of -Latin, Greek, English, but of grammar, of poetry, of oratory, of clear, -interesting, forceful expression. - -The departmental system destroys this fine unity or renders it very -difficult of attainment. The departmental system has been perhaps the -chief reason why the classics have been taught as means towards the -acquisition of various sciences rather than as exemplifications of -literary art. It is as literature and as models of perfect expression -that the classics have hitherto survived; as literature and models of -expression they were taught in the days preceding the university system -of departments. Cicero was a model of letter-writing, of essay-writing, -of speech-making. He was chosen with a view to composition; he was graded -with a view to composition. - -How can a department teacher preserve the former unity of system, where -all literature was studied with one dominating purpose, self-expression? -If the grade of the class is rhetoric or oratorical expression, will each -department teach its own authors, Greek, Latin and English, following -the same rhetorical precepts in the same order, or will each department -follow its own terminology and its own order, or will, as has happened -everywhere, the teaching of rhetoric be relegated to English or to a -separate professor, leaving Cicero and Demosthenes to be taught as -grammatical documents or historical documents or as legal documents, not -as speeches, not as models of oratorical expression? Will the professor -of Latin teach Virgil as epic poetry, and the professor of Greek teach -Homer as epic poetry, and the professor of English teach Milton as epic -poetry, or will the teaching of poetry be avoided by the Greek and Latin -departments entirely? Cicero and Demosthenes survive because they are -orators; Homer and Virgil live because they are epic poets, but the -departmental system either forgets that fact entirely or has three -professors teaching the same thing with confusion in the order and in -the rules of art. The departmental system, which is a university device -adapted for specialization, makes unity of education extremely difficult, -and has taken all the interest out of literature by teaching it as -everything else but literature! - -Besides, as art is the power of doing, and science is chiefly -systematized information, the process of education for doing will be -different from the process of acquiring information. Too many cooks may -spoil the broth because cooking is an art, but too many sign-posts may -not always confuse the traveler. It is far easier to divide information -among various agents and impart it piecemeal than to apportion the -different faculties used in an art to different individuals who will -train them to act together harmoniously. Different teachers may very well -teach the geography of different countries, but it would not be feasible -to let one teacher have the right hand and another the left in teaching -the art of piano-playing. - -Omitting the effect of personality, which is paramount in art, as the -history of all religious movements shows it also to have been in the -formation of character and in virtue, one cannot fail to see that -departments cannot well coöperate in giving the formation of art. In -fact, practically the art of composition has ceased to be the field of -concentration in modern high schools and colleges. All literatures, -even English, are taught mostly as sciences. The only wholesome reaction -in modern education against the predominance of science or systematized -information is found in the present vogue for psychological tests. -These are professedly tests of power, not of mere information, and in -them the power of self-expression through language is preëminent. All -the examinations are conditioned by the necessary medium of language, -and by far the greater number of tests are and must always be tests in -linguistic expression. - -Language is the only practical measure of intelligence, and if such -tests win favor, they may result in establishing once more the art of -expression as the field of concentration or major subject in high schools -and colleges which give a general education. Language, when taught as an -art, educates the mind, giving it the powers of expression which are the -guaranties of the mind’s adequate education. Professors become teachers -of an art, not lecturers in a science. Perfect unity is found where -the finest models of self-expression in all languages, especially the -classical languages, are directed by one teacher to the mastery of the -art of expression in one’s own language. - - - - -XI - -THE INTERESTING TEACHER OF LITERATURE - - -The nineteenth century was a century of science. Its atmosphere was -surcharged with scientific discoveries and scientific theories, and -radiated a scientific influence in every direction. Among other -effects of that all-pervading spirit we may mention two that entered -the classroom and deeply modified the teaching of literature. Science -insisted on concrete results and tended to emphasize mechanical methods, -enhancing system at the expense of personality. - -System was looked upon in some sense as automatic. Such a widespread -delusion, which is not yet fully dissipated, was the logical outcome -of the mechanical explanation of the universe. The world had evolved -along the lines of inflexible laws. Man was part of the machine, and -though the mechanism was complicated in his case, yet it was nothing but -mechanism after all. If system could run the universe without the help of -personality, it would not be hard for it to run the little universe of -man. The same reasoning would hold in a classroom. The teacher might be -asked to touch the button, but the system would do the rest. - -It would not seem to require much argumentation to show the fallacy of -such a theory. Do we not all know that nothing in this world is wholly -automatic? Motion is a function of personality. Perpetual motion in -systems and organizations, that would dispense with personality, is just -as absurd as the same proposal in the physical order. Nothing in this -world will run of itself without personal coöperation. Somewhere there -must be a living, breathing, responsible individual. We may have to -travel a long way to find him, but we shall find him, the man behind the -motion. It is so with machines; it is much more so with organizations and -systems and laws; it is most of all so in education. Latin or German or -physics or anything else without a teacher (cf. catalog of correspondence -schools) are phrases that belong to the language of advertisement which -has omitted from its ethics the chapter on lying. All success, all -interest, all enthusiasm are harvests whose sowing is in a human head or -human heart. Even the universe calls for the constantly applied force -of omnipotence to keep it from disintegrating into nothingness and the -watchfulness of Providence to prevent it from wrecking itself. While -writers on education have been tracing the causes of the decrease of -interest in the classics have they not been overlooking the necessary -factor of personality? - -The other depressing effect upon education exercised by the scientific -atmosphere was the insistence upon concrete results, leading likewise -to the elimination of human interest. Science said to every branch -of knowledge, “Collect your data, classify your instances, make your -deductions, enunciate your laws.” The literary classics were bade to -stand and deliver. They had to have data and deductions and laws. Homer -and Virgil, Demosthenes and Cicero became the chosen camping-ground -of the specialists. The pupils that finished the _Iliad_ with a taste -developed, an imagination warmed, a soul uplifted, might be refused -a degree. The pupil who had Homer undergo the surgical operations of -specialism, who had him pigeon-holed, who had him weighed and counted, -was the honor man of the class. He could write an essay on Homeric -Æolisms or Homeric ship-building or Homeric word-building. He knew more -about Homeric pottery than Homeric poetry. What if his heart never beat -faster as he read; what if he was too busy measuring the length of -Homeric swords or analyzing the metal of Homeric armor, to drink in the -imaginative delight of battle, with Homeric peers, “far on the ringing -plains of windy Troy,” he was scientific, he had some concrete results to -show for his schooling, and he was the pet child of the century. Assets -of the mind could not be weighed or measured; his doctor’s dissertation -in his grip could. It contained just twenty-five thousand words, and -weighed one pound and a half, and had a superficial area of about a -hundred square yards. - -The final outcome of the baneful influence of the scientific atmosphere -is the almost complete perversion of the good old word, scholar. No -one can lay claim now to the title scholarly, unless he is equipped -with a formidable array of facts and figures. He must bristle with the -fretful quills of half a hundred sciences. In the study of the classics -he is so busy with the words of the text that he has not time for their -meaning. When he has settled the conflicting claims of innumerable -variant readings and all the arguments for the same, he has no leisure -left for the old-fashioned practice of trying to appreciate the accepted -reading. Scholarship is now a matter of memory, a something that deals -with introductions, footnotes, excursuses and critical apparatuses. Plead -guilty to an ignorance of all this, and you may be indulgently permitted -to call yourself judicious, appreciative, discerning, capable of enjoying -a literary masterpiece, but you could not presume to call yourself -scholarly. Justin McCarthy, in an article about his old schoolmaster, -alludes to the same fact. “I never knew a scholar,” he declares, “so -thorough who was less of a pedant, but I ought to say, perhaps, that the -general character of his teaching was not what would be called in our -days scholarly.” - -This steady elimination of the subjective element of education with -the corresponding development of the objective side during the years of -the nineteenth century, all tended to the extinction of the individual. -Another factor also coöperated in achieving this result. The classes in -school and college grew more numerous, and the schoolmaster became in -turn a teacher, a professor, a lecturer. With each change he drew further -away from his hearers. The greater the audience the weaker the personal -note, the less individual the expression. The lecturer on a classical -author must stray more from the text than the teacher. He is necessarily -more general and hence more impersonal. He feels bound to give facts more -than impressions. He is committed to the formulating of theories based -on a dissection of the text, and shrinks from setting forth the feelings -which a masterpiece excites. The lecturer tends to subordinate the author -to his lecture, where the teacher’s more humble lot leads him to efface -himself in the presence of the author. - -This leads us to set forth the proper attitude of the teacher toward -the text, and we could not begin the discussion better than by giving a -further description of Justin McCarthy’s old schoolmaster. - - “I have,” he wrote, in March, 1899, “the most delightful and - tender memories of my dear old schoolmaster in Cork. He was - not, indeed, the first schoolmaster I ever had, but he taught - me all or put me in the way of learning all that I have ever - known, and after this long lapse of time I feel as strongly as - ever how much I owe him. His name was John Goulding, and he - kept a school in the city of Cork, my birthplace. - - “To make us understand what we were reading and enjoy it, to - make us wish to read more and understand it better—such was the - object of his whole method. There was very little of what is - called ‘getting by heart’ in his system, unless when he wished - to train memory merely for the sake of training it. When we - were studying some Latin author he told us all about the author - and the scenes described in the pages before us, and he invited - all manner of questions on the subject. He showed us on the - maps where the places were which the author was describing, and - he illustrated the author’s meaning as if he were an artist - illustrating a story. - - “I do not know to describe his method of teaching better than - by saying that it was literary rather than scholastic. His - great desire was that a boy should be able to read Greek and - Latin as easily as he read Shakespeare and Addison, and he - regarded grammar as a necessary means to that end, but not - as the end itself. He always took care that historical and - geographical knowledge should work in with and illustrate our - literary studies. - - “I can only say for myself that whatever love of books I - may have had I owe in the main to his teaching and to his - influence, and I can say with literal truthfulness that - throughout a busy life in public and in private his influence - and teaching have always been with me and are with me still.” - -John Goulding would not be considered in our day a remarkable pedagogist -and has not bequeathed his name to a system of education; yet he presents -many traits of the true teacher, and these details of his life are -pertinent to our question. - -The true commentator, whose suggestion we see in the Cork schoolmaster, -will not be a philologist, but will use philology; he will not be a -grammarian, but he will refuse no point of grammar that will help. He -will press every science into service, but he will be the slave of -none. He will remember that his supreme object in teaching is not to -compose a dictionary of antiquities nor to collect extracts for rhetoric -or examples for grammar. His object rather is and should be to bring -the pupil to the text, to bring the mind of the author to the mind of -the reader. Away from dictionary and grammar, away from footnote and -appendix, back to the text, should be the teacher’s cry. The text should -be the center upon which every source of information should be focused, -not the center from which to radiate to the cheerless circumference of -specializations. We do not contend for superficiality, for slipshod -grammar, for inaccurate erudition. Thoroughness, care, accuracy, must -rule in the classroom. We are simply for liberal education, which opposes -early specialization in courses and must equally oppose it in the -teaching of literature. - -The study of the classics should key up the whole intellectual apparatus. -It should sharpen the critical faculties, warm the imagination, cultivate -the judgment, develop the taste, ennoble the appreciation, exercise, -partially at least, the reasoning faculty, and finally endow the student -with perfected powers of expression. To subordinate literature to any one -of the swarm of sciences that sprang into life last century is to limit -its efficiency and degrade it as a means of general culture. - -The teacher, however, must not look for an infallible recipe in this -matter. He cannot expect to stir up interest in the pupils by any -prescribed formula, by a rigid system of handling the text. A scheme -of suggestions may be drawn up, topics for discussion or observation -may be arranged. Such devices are helpful, but they should not become -stereotyped, because they deaden when they are hard and fast. It is a -mark of a crystal to settle into straight lines at fixed angles; it is -characteristic of organisms to be yielding and pliable in their outlines, -while they retain their life. The meaning is the life of the text, the -meaning as it was in the author’s mind, with all the associations that it -had for him. Let the meaning be the guide, and the explanation will not -be dead. Let the teacher use systems and hints and topics and all other -devices as helps to arrive at the sense and meaning, not as inflexible -molds into which he must always pour his commentary. A chemist may have -weighed and labeled all the constituent elements of a living cell, and -he may even succeed in mingling them in such a way as to have all these -elements in the very places they are in life, but his mixture will not -have the principle of life, that wonderful, unanalyzable bond that -unites into one organism, permeates and vivifies the separate atoms and -molecules. Because his analysis is complete and perfect, it does not -follow that his synthesis will be complete and perfect. Neither may a -teacher expect to get the synthesis of a vital, interesting commentary -from the detailed formula of the literary laboratory. He must have his -finger on the pulse; he must have seized the beating, warm heart; he -must have grasped the permeating, vivifying soul of his author, if he -would make his commentary living, and there is no other way to the heart -blood of an author, except by loving, enthusiastic meditation of his full -meaning. - -I remember the first time in class that Homer ceased to be for me an -example factory for grammar or a shop for Grecian antiquities. We had -been translating Homer and parsing Homer; we now began to read him. The -change was as easy as it was pleasant. The teacher simply went back -behind the dictionary and the grammar, behind the cases and the tenses, -to the author’s meaning. He made us see the old priest of Apollo walking -along the seashore. He made us realize the fact that he was coming to -speak for his daughter. Our attention was called to the completeness and -appropriateness of his little speech. In a word, we began to move in -the poet’s world. We had used the grammar and dictionary to get there, -but when we reached our destination, we alighted from the train. We -were bound for the land of Homer, not for that of Goodwin or Liddell & -Scott, and the sooner we left our dusty, noisy cars, the better for us. -Our professor knew the translation and knew the grammar, but he had -left them behind him. He was on higher levels, and he threw away his -mountain staff and his guide rope. We were with him there, and we entered -into his enthusiasm for the broad view before us. Homer had been for us -a venerable mausoleum of well-preserved and dignified, but very dead -mummies. His enthusiasm let the life and light into that ancient tomb, -and the mummies took off their wraps and lived and moved. From that day -of resurrection until the present, Homer has lived for me; from that time -I have heard the Homeric heart beat and felt the Homeric pulse throb. - -Nor need the teacher who follows these methods have fear that he is going -wrong, or that he is neglecting the proper education of his pupils. He -is achieving, too, concrete results, an achievement that must not be -considered the monopoly of science. Science may not supplant literature -in the school-room. It would be a sad day for both if ever it did. As -regards observation and induction, it has not been our wish to protest -against the use of these methods, but rather against the limiting of -their scope. To observe grammar only or archeology or philology and -neglect the author’s meaning is as ridiculous as to observe the paint and -not the picture, to put a microscope to the marble and not notice the -statue. We do not want less development, rather we want more. Develop the -powers of observation, but do not think that the only powers are the -senses. The world of imagination and the world of thought offer wider -fields for observation than the world of external sense. The horizon of -the mind is not restricted to the sky line that narrows the vision of the -eye. - -If you train the powers of observation in the laboratory by asking -the pupil to see, to touch, to taste, to smell, train them, too, in -the classroom, by asking them to listen to the harmony of a sentence, -to trace out the development of a thought, to appreciate the wit, the -beauty, the sublimity of a passage. There was observation and training of -the powers of observation before the test tube was blown or the dynamo -was wound. Science has opened up new and wonderful worlds, not one of -which would we see closed; but the lands of literature have not ceased -for that reason to be inviting, and the soul, wearied with facts and -hampered with figures, gladly escapes into the restful regions of higher -and ampler realities. - -The crossing of the borders of mere expression, the living and moving -in the realms of meaning, the appreciative following of an author’s -mind in all journeyings, may not develop grammarians or philologists -or ethnologists or archeologists. Perhaps it is not the life-work of -classical literature to stock the market with such commodities. The -student who travels with a master-mind through the land of thought, now -captivated with a view just under his eyes, again catching a glimpse -of some far-off scene, all the more glorious in promise, because it -lacks definiteness of detail, such a one may turn out to be more of a -tourist than a local antiquarian and may suffer some inconveniences in -consequence. He will be set right by the local antiquarian on names and -dates connected with some obscure town, but in turn he will convey to his -learned friend some ideas on the relative importance of localities and on -the topography of the whole country. The tourist will not be provincial -or municipal or suburban. He will not mistake his native hamlet for the -world or make it the sole standard of excellence. The tourist will give -you a map; the local antiquarian will draw up a surveyor’s chart, with -the number of inches to the grade and the number of feet to the surface. -Should not the teacher of literature consider it his duty to encourage -the tourist, to introduce the student into the world of meaning, and not -to keep him with theodolite and the leveling-rod along the borders of -expression, counting words, measuring phrases, or drawing up lifeless -charts of tabulated facts? When the student has come home from his -travels, he may, if he chooses, lay aside his guide book, and, having -seen the world, confine his energies to mastering a portion of it. If, -however, he should have brought home from his wanderings nothing more -than a love of literature and all that means, will his teacher’s life -have been in vain? John Goulding of Cork might be considered not entirely -useless, if he gave us no more than Justin McCarthy, who thus describes -the results of his master’s work: - - “I do not venture to say that Mr. Goulding’s method of teaching - was directly adapted to create a thoroughly scholastic - knowledge of Greek and Latin, and I do not know whether his - pupils would have been likely by means of his instruction alone - to take honors in any university competition, but I know that - it made all of us, who had a taste for such, ready and fluent - readers in Greek and Latin and as familiar with most of the - Greek and Latin poets as with Shakespeare and Keats. It was in - truth literary rather than scholastic instruction.” - - - - -XII - -EDUCATING THE EMOTIONS - - -Life is full to the brim with emotions. Not war only nor political -rallies nor the excited throngs at sports are vibrant with emotion, but -there is not a single act of life which has not some emotion, quiet -or intense, as its source, its companion and its effect. Man ought to -be ruled by cold reason, but he responds to feelings and succumbs to -feelings. - -Today more than ever in the history of the world is emotionalism rampant. -Civilization has made mankind a crowd. We touch elbows with the world. -The Egyptian hermit has now “the privacy of a goldfish in a glass bowl.” -An individual by himself may indeed deliberate and philosophize, but -a crowd feels and acts. As soon as it stops cheering, it begins to -disintegrate into thinking individuals, who creep silently back to the -hermitage of home. The war, with its drives of all kinds, the elections, -the athletic contests, have made us familiar with the nature of a crowd. -The mob is a high-pressure crowd, and the feelings which burn in the -crowd explode violently in a mob. Civilization has brought mankind into -the closeness of a crowd, but not yet to the explosive confusion of a mob. - -War taught us too the great value of morale. What is morale? What is that -light in the sky, that solid ground under foot, that winged buoyancy of -the heart? Morale might be described as organized emotion. A crowd is -fickle because it feels instead of reasons. Morale is the counter-force -to fickleness. Emotions are awakened, are focused on a given point, are -stabilized, and the result is morale. Courage hardens to pluck, duty -flames into devotion and bravery is transfigured into heroism. - -Life therefore is flooded with emotion, all the way from every action of -the individual up to the responsive crowd, yielding to panic, exploding -into violence or steadied by morale. What then is education doing for the -emotions? Whether education be considered a development of the individual -capacities, or an adjustment of man to the community, education should -not neglect the emotions. The controlling tendencies, however, of the -modern school would seem to ignore or belittle emotions. Modern schools -pride themselves on being practical and scientific. They have become -more immersed in matter than in man. They are materialistic in the wide -sense, or naturalistic, but they are less and less humanistic. Three -great fields lie before the spirit of man, the field of truth, the field -of beauty and the field of good. No traveler can reach beauty and good -except through truth, but education seems to think its work is done if it -travels the regions of truth and ignores the regions of beauty and good. - -All education formerly could be divided into two stages, the earlier of -preparation, the later of application. The individual was taught to speak -and write and was equipped with the general information necessary to -all. He who was able to speak and write was able to express himself, and -self-expression, which argued that man’s powers were working normally, -was the satisfactory goal in the first stage of education. After the -development of the individual came his application to the study of his -life-work in professional schools and universities. - -In the former of these two stages, as self-expression was the end, -language was the chief and almost exclusive means. Sciences were -relegated to the university and informational subjects were left strictly -subordinated, and the whole course was predominately humanistic. -Modern education has profoundly changed this simple arrangement. The -university method of education and electivism and specialization have -been advanced to college, to high school and to grade school. Many -natural sciences have been systematized and brought into early classes. -The university chemistry and physics of fifty years ago are now in the -grades. Besides professional courses, pre-medical, pre-law, pre-divinity, -pre-engineering, pre-journalism, and in general pre-professional -studies are in our schools or at the doors. The trades are not behind -the professions. The million trades which concern themselves with the -production of raw material or with the manufacture of raw material into -finished products or with the distribution of finished products, all -these are knocking at the door or looking in the window of our school. -Nor is that all. As the professions want pre-professional and the trades -pre-trade courses, so the state demands pre-citizen courses in civic and -hygienics and military tactics, and the home exacts pre-family courses in -eugenics and many domestic sciences. Do not close your curriculum list -yet. The profession, the trade, the home, the state are not all, and to -leave out religion, which calls for pre-religious courses in private -schools, we have the whole field of sport and play in pre-dancing, -pre-ball-playing, and at last pre-movies. To make the conquest of the -practical complete, it is seriously advocated by a special committee of -the N. E. A. that this bewildering multiplicity of sciences, professions, -trades, civic, domestic and amusement courses should be begun at the -junior high school or seventh grade. - -There is the contrast. Life is emotional. The early schools that used -to be devoted chiefly to writing and speaking, are now crowded with -a multiplicity of fact subjects, and even language and literature, -the most humanistic and emotional subjects of our courses, are taught -theoretically by university and scientific methods. In the Jesuit _Ratio -Studiorum_, which did not differ essentially from other systems, four -years of the lower schools were given to correct expression of the truth, -one year to the element of interest, or beauty, in expression, and one -whole year to the element of force, or good, in expression. These two -latter classes were called humanities and rhetoric and correspond to the -present freshman and sophomore classes in Jesuit colleges. - -The reason why a whole year was given to the elements of interest and -force in self-expression is found in the twofold nature of emotions. -One set of emotions arises from the apprehension of good or avoidance -of evil. Another set arises from the perception of the novel, humorous -and beautiful. These latter comprehend the emotions of surprise, wonder, -delight, awe, in general, the esthetic emotions. The other emotions, -called appetitive, include love and hate, with desire and fear, joy and -sadness, pity and anger and many others. - -Fortunately for the teacher the teaching of emotions is somewhat -simplified by the fact that both kinds of emotions respond, not to -abstract truth but to truth in the concrete and concrete truth takes on -beauty or good and awakens emotions through the imaginations of teacher -and student. Teachers who themselves imagine will awaken emotions and -educate emotions by exercising them. Teachers who imagine will make -pupils imagine by making them translate all truth from the abstract -to the concrete. The perpetual question on the lips of the teacher, -“For instance?” will embody truth in the concrete, exercise students in -imagination and make truth emotional and abiding. - -Interesting and enthusiastic teachers are always training emotions. -Emotion is not imparted by instruction; it is kindled by contact. -Teachers who have their subjects transferred from dead books to their -warm, living imaginations, will be interesting, will be moving. They -will excite surprise and wonder by novelty and beauty of presentation. -They will make their classes expand with love or shrink in horror at the -pictures of good or evil. - -After imagination and actual feeling on the part of both student and -teacher, the next best means of educating emotions is the stimulating -of action, especially in the way of original self-expression through -the written and spoken word. One of the happy tendencies of our modern -education is the restoring of oral expression to its former high place. - -These means just mentioned will be helpful in any subject of the -curriculum, but the principal instrument in the schools for training -the emotions will be literature. Literature is the embodiment of human -emotions, in story, in essay, poem, and speech. The schools must hold -on to the teaching of literature. They must make a stand against the -imperialism of facts and so-called practical subjects. The schools must -never forget that it is at least just as practical to have a heart in -life as to have a head. A modern French scholar has said: “Humanities -and letters are man himself, to remove them from education, it would be -necessary to commence by taking man from man.” - -Instruction in trades is a knack, not an education of man. A savage can -learn to run an automobile, and there are many today running automobiles, -but a savage does not enjoy literature or produce literature. Science has -its center outside of man, it is impersonal and unemotional. Literature -is human, is personal, it appeals to the heart which must not be starved -while the head is stuffed. - -But even when the teachers of literature have the works of man in their -hands, they must not rob them of all emotions by making their teaching of -them historical only, or analytical only or theoretical only, lowering -Macbeth to a footnote in Scottish history or to an argument for the -theory of the romantic movement or to a dissertation on the psychology of -temptation. Literature must be taught as literature, not as history, not -as ethics. Literature should be taught as an art, not as a science. The -teacher should keep self-expression in view. The teacher will consider -the work of literature as the expression of a man. Before the class the -masterpiece of literature will grow and crystallize into unity. The -students will watch its creation; they will reflect the light from the -eyes of an enthusiastic teacher; they will grasp the truth vividly and -emotionally; they will be thrilled with the truth that has taken shape -in their teacher’s imagination, that has been dramatized before them in -suggestive detail, that will teach the students themselves how to think, -how to imagine, how to find for the embodied truth a local habitation and -a name, how to express themselves in words which fascinate and inflame. - -So will the emotions by their exercise be developed and by their -expression be controlled. The world of the classroom is a little world -and its tiny emotions are as dew-drops to a deluge, but for the young -hearts in school the world of the classroom is a gigantic world and its -slight emotions are adequate to teach beginners. For a dew drop may be a -deluge for a violet and its very food and life. - - - - -XIII - -KEEP THE CLASSICS BUT TEACH THEM - - -This is not the time to drop Latin or Greek openly or under the -subterfuge of optional electives. Colleges everywhere are crowded. -Buildings are too small for the students; classes are too large for the -professors. Now is the time to impose stricter conditions rather than to -open wider the doors to colleges, and now is the proper time to restore -the classical languages, and especially Greek, if not to favor, because -knowledge maketh a bloody entrance, and its weapons are resented, at -least to respectable toleration, by teaching them in the right way. Do -not empty the baby with the bath, but do draw off the stagnant waters -and let the bright showers sparkle and sing and refresh. Don’t throw out -Greek, but do teach Greek as literature, as the art of self-expression, -as a practical and permanent possession of the student through -appreciation and through composition in his own language. - -Greek authors used to be put in the students’ hands with a Latin -paraphrase. In Jesuit schools the explanation of the author included a -translation which might be dictated to the class. This was done because -in Latin, and especially in Greek, which was not the language to be -used in life, the proper and real work began after the interpretation -was known. That proper work was artistic appreciation and artistic -reproduction in one’s own language, formerly Latin and now various -languages. Rather than cast out Greek, furnish the students with Loeb -or Jebb or Murray or Lang, shorten grammatical drill, and then center -attention on the appreciation and the reproduction of the finest -literary art of all ages, exacting compositions written and spoken in -the student’s own language. This is not a revolutionary proposal, the -system now prevalent is revolutionary; but it is a proposal to relegate -to the university the specialism and scientific handling of literature, -and an earnest plea to retain or restore to the classics, especially -Greek, their age-old method, proper to the general training of academy -and of college and profitable to every student if the art of speaking and -writing is of lifelong utility. - -The teaching of literature has a handicap which is not found in the -teaching of other arts. A painter must know some practical facts about -preparing and applying paints, but he need not know the whole chemistry -of pigments or the physics of colors. The sculptor must choose the -right kind of marble, but he does not take a course in geology. In all -arts except literature the contact with the artist’s work is almost -immediate. But in literature a language must be mastered, and in -mastering that language a thousand sciences have obtruded themselves -between the student and the masterpiece. Gustav Foch of Leipsic published -some years ago a catalog of dissertations printed in Germany during the -latter part of the nineteenth century. The catalog, which was by no means -complete, containing only the items he was prepared to furnish, listed -27,000 titles. This formidable number concerned itself entirely with the -Greek and Roman writers and embodied special studies on the history, the -evolution, the text, the erudition of classical literature. Practically -nothing of this immense flood of special dissertations touched on the art -of literature. - -Now, if all this tremendous erudition were left to the university, -where it properly belongs, not much harm would be done; but unhappily -the study of literature as a science has almost completely excluded its -study as an art. The small school of Dissen, Rehdantz and Blass, who -represented in Germany the artistic appreciation of Greek literature, was -submerged by the immensely greater number of scientific investigators. -The classical poets, with the exception of Homer, fared better than the -prose authors; but all literature, instead of being a help to the art of -composition, was subordinated to establishing a theory or to exemplifying -a generalization. - -France resisted almost entirely this scientific obsession of literature. -England held out long. In both of these nations composition in the -classical languages was a fixed feature of the schools. Victorian -literature is steeped in the classics, especially of Greece; the golden -age of England’s eloquence, the age of Chatham, Fox and Burke, preceded -the scientific era of classicism and was the product of artistic -appreciation and of composition. - -What of America? The earlier schools followed French and English -traditions and taught the classics with literary appreciation and with -fruitful results for the literature of America. Then later America -sent its professors to Germany; specialism and the departmental system -separated literature entirely from the classics; composition ceased -except as a means of learning grammar, thus establishing a complete -reversal of the original practice, where grammar was a means to -composition. - -It would be untrue to say that all the erudition, discovered and -systematized by numerous sciences and centering upon the classics, was -useless or unprofitable. Even the immense library which the Wolfian -theory of Homeric origins brought into existence has not been entirely -in vain. Germany of the nineteenth century was the Alexandria of the -modern world, and as Alexandrian criticism was the forerunner of the -best in Latin literature, perhaps the immense activity of scientific -investigators may have an artistic outcome. A selection of what is -good and true, and a clear, concise presentation of well-established -facts, such as Père Laurand gives in his excellent series, _Manuels des -Etudes Grecques et Latines_ (Picard, Paris), will help the study of the -classics. Erudition should take now its proper place of subordination. -The classics should resume the functions which history, evolution, -origins and other scientific approaches have taken away; the classics -should once more be studied primarily as works of art. The medium -and materials do not dominate other arts; they should not dominate -literature. Self-expression is the goal of all art; it should be the goal -of literature. - -Have the teachers of the classics lost faith? Is artistic appreciation an -idle thing or is it a thing of beauty, a joy forever? The experimental -sciences are always changing in facts and theories. The chemistry of -a century ago is absurd; the chemistry of twenty-five years ago is -antiquated; the chemistry of today will be old tomorrow. As Remsen long -ago saw and insisted on, what is valuable in the teaching of chemistry -are the processes, not the theories, which will likely change tomorrow. -Chemistry, as a science, is a bit of classified information always -modified by research. Art and artistic appreciation is a thing of beauty -and a joy forever. Give a man appreciation of literature; let him taste -the beauty of Homer and of Sophocles and of Demosthenes, and you have -given him, not a catalog of facts which must always be rectified, not -a theory which must change with the facts, but a precious treasure in -the mind which will always remain. In teaching chemistry the processes -are more important than the temporary information; in the teaching of -literature the processes are at least equally valuable, and besides last -through life in abiding taste and in perfected self-expression. - -Formerly reproduction was the aim of the teacher of the classics. -“Reproduction is the soul of the explanation or prelection,” is the way -early Jesuit pedagogy put it, and every student of philosophy knows -what the soul or formal cause contributes to the effect. How many in -explaining classical literature today guide themselves throughout by -the principle that their students are to reproduce artistically the -masterpiece which they explain? No doubt professors insist upon the -formation of clear ideas and further demand explicit judgments in the -way of propositions. Most too require that the links of reasoning -be sharply and definitely stated. Interpretation, in a word, is -well done. The intellectual element of the masterpiece is handled -satisfactorily. But what of the artistic form? Does the literature take -shape in the student’s imagination? Is the picture realized in the -teacher’s imagination and then by suggestion, through the sparkling -eye and sympathetic voice and interpreting gesture, by vivid, though -not histrionic, dramatization, is the author’s message staged in the -student’s imagination? Scientific analysis, especially where a text -becomes a tag to some learned generalization, often prevents imaginative -realization and thus precludes artistic appreciation of literature. - -The teaching of the classics has been and is now justified by the general -training they impart, but it is chiefly when taught as literature that -they impart that general training. If the classics are subordinated to -the university lecturer’s specialty, then the classics are imparting -little general training and have hardly more right in the classroom, -except for indirect results which may accrue from contact with art, than -have special courses in conchology or entomology. Let the teacher look -upon the classics as art to be reproduced after being appreciated, and a -general training will be the outcome. Composition should be made the aim -of literature. - -Idioms of languages, and their vocabulary and their structure differ, but -thought and imagination may be the same. Set all the languages of the -world before a moving-picture, and each language will tell the common -story on the screen to its children in its own way of speaking. So the -student of any language may learn from Homer how to select details and -group them into artistic wholes, how to carry on the narrative through -significant and choice events, how to dwell on the important and touch -lightly on the insignificant, how to relieve a story and intensify a part -of it by appropriate comparisons. As the student learns how to tell a -story, so too may he master the art of describing a scene, of creating -a character, of making a speech. He will be taught the way to focus an -idea and give it discriminating expression by the right word, the way to -embody good or evil in concrete and picturesque words and the way to be -proficient in all the elements and processes of composition. The Greek -Homer made the Latin Æneid, the Greek Theocritus made the Latin Eclogue -and, if Stedman is right, also the Tennysonian Idyll. The literary art of -Greek and Latin has given and will give artistic form to the student’s -vernacular. - -The classics will give a general training if they are made to do so. -Literature will not impart a general training automatically. Art is -a habit arising from a repetition of acts. The art of thinking is -mastered by thinking, and the art of imagining by imagining, and that -thinking and imagining will be done well if done under the guidance of -masters. Has the literary art of Greece, which created Latin literature -and directly and indirectly shaped the literature of all civilization, -done its full work? Who can believe it? Every generation since Homer -has been influenced by the art of Homer in translation and imitation, -and no generations more so than those of Cowper and Morris and Lang in -England and of Bryant and Palmer in America. The time may come when -literary taste and literary art will be as well studied and demonstrated -in modern languages as in those of Latin and Greek; the time may come -when modern classics may be as well adapted for education as the -classics of Greek and Rome which have been in the classroom for century -upon century, but that time does not appear to be tomorrow or the day -after. If the art of self-expression is the best test of education, -if the art of self-expression is the most practical thing in life and -the most permanent treasure that can be gained in school, then Greek -literature, the finest masterpiece of self-expression, should remain, -and Greek literature should be taught, as for centuries it was taught, -with interpretation and translation furnished to the student, leaving -the time of training to be devoted not to special sciences proper to the -university, but to the general training in appreciation and expression, -proper to academy and college. - - - - -XIV - -THE VITALIZER OF THE WORLD - - -This title is not an advertisement for a patent medicine; it is the -brief statement of an important historical fact. “Every schoolboy knows” -that the revival of learning in Italy came from the vitalizing touch of -Greek. Out of that renaissance, which the Jesuits took over and embodied -in their system of teaching, grew modern scholarship in England through -Linacre, Lilly, Colet and More, the forerunners of the Elizabethans. It -was the beginning of modern scholarship in Germany, through Erasmus, the -friend of these Englishmen, and through Melanchthon, whose name, like -that of Erasmus, marks the power of Greek: out of that renaissance sprang -the rejuvenated civilization of our day. Every schoolboy knows that Greek -brought the modern world to life, but is it as well known or remembered -that Greek has always been vivifying everything it touched? - -The civilization of Rome in every part felt the influence of Greece. Rome -conquered the world by force of arms, but itself was humanized and then -humanized the world through Greece. Every modern language today feels -the force of Isocrates and Demosthenes through Cicero, and of Alcæus -and Sappho through Horace, and of Greek tragedy through Seneca and of -Homer through Virgil. When later the barbarians of the north severed -Rome from Greece and the Roman Empire and its civilization lay dead, who -brought the world to life again? “When the accurate knowledge of Latin -was declining in Gaul, even Greek was not unknown in Ireland.”[2] It -was the Irish monks who freshened into flame the blackening embers of -European civilization and began its restoration. The revival was brought -about through the schools of Bobbio and St. Gall, mostly indeed as the -scattered books of their libraries show, by means of Latin literature but -always with the help of Greek, as the same libraries testify. That was -an earlier renaissance in Italy and Switzerland. And who was the leading -figure in the revival in Spain about the same time? It was the Greek -scholars, Isidore of Seville and, a little earlier, Hosius of Cordova, -and, a little later, John of Gerona. Then France began to grope out of -barbarism under the leadership of Charlemagne, resuming close relations -with Greece and importing the Irish monks, Clement and Dungal, and the -English monk, Alcuin. But it was under Charlemagne’s successor, Charles -the Bald, that this new renaissance took on a fresh energy which did not -spend itself before the decline of scholasticism. John Scotus, John -the Irishman, who styled himself in his translation of Dionysius from -the Greek by the title of Erin-born, for a quarter of a century kept -France intellectually alive, and did it chiefly by his Greek. John, the -Erin-born, was the forerunner of scholastic philosophy, which caught -the vital force of Greek through another channel also. When Spain was -conquered by barbarians and lost its civilization, where did its Arabian -conquerors go for the seeds of the new life? The Arabs went to Greece, -gave Aristotle in translation to Europe, and ushered in the golden age -of medieval philosophy. Rightly does Traini (1345), on an altar-piece in -Pisa, picture St. Thomas Aquinas receiving the light of knowledge from -Christ through the Greek New Testament and from Aristotle on his right -and from Plato on his left. As Aquinas combined patristic and scholastic -theology, he merged in his works the twofold Greek influences of Plato -and Aristotle, who were the human aids in each of these theologies. - -Pass over several centuries to the time when the Italian renaissance -had grown senile and when scholarship left Spain, Italy and, to a large -extent, France, and found its home in the north. These nations lost -touch with Greek and their scholarship died down, while life moved -northward in the wake of Greek. When F. A. Wolf went to Halle about the -beginning of the nineteenth century, he represented the reaction against -the realism of that day, and “his conflict with the school of useful -knowledge brought into clear relief his ideal of a culture founded on -Greek traditions.”[3] Time has shown that Wolf’s theories of Homeric -authorship are all wrong, but the stimulus he gave to scholarship lasted -all through the nineteenth century, and to no other single influence more -than to Wolf may Germany ascribe its undoubted supremacy in classical -learning during the last century. His inspiration came from the Greek, -and in his vitalizing of Germany he was associated with others who had -felt the same inspiration and were already beginning the influence that -still in a measure persists: Heyne in the classics, Lessing in criticism -and Winckelmann in art. - -England’s partial reawakening under Queen Anne saw Bentley, the Greek -scholar, and his contemporary, Pope, translator of the _Iliad_ and -_Odyssey_, and let scholars say what they will about Pope’s translation, -they cannot impugn the fine criticism of his introductions or the -lasting influence for good of his versions. Passing over the prime of -English eloquence, whose living roots, as Goodrich has shown, are in -Greek literature, we come to the fresh memories of our own time and to -the Victorian era. Again it is Greek which vitalizes every branch of -literature, philosophy and art with new and unexpected truth and life. -Without Greek the Victorian revival would not have come about. In poetry -recall Keats, who awoke to life through the reflected glory of Homer; -recall Cowper, translator of Homer, and Byron, who died for Greece, -and Moore, who translated Anacreon, and Landor and Arnold and Tennyson -and Browning, all of whom took substance and form and fire from Greek -sources. In essay-writing you have Brougham, eloquent advocate of Greek -oratory; De Quincey, who could, as his tutor said, at the age of thirteen -harangue a Greek crowd; Macaulay, who, even in manhood, weeps over his -Homer on the streets of London. In art there are Ruskin and Morris and -Pater, who are saturated with Greek thought. Think of statesmanship and -you will recall Lord Derby and Gladstone, political rivals, at one in -their love of Homer; think of criticism, and Lang, Saintsbury, Blackie, -Butcher and Jebb will say that through Greek they have dominated modern -criticism; think of history, and the names of Rawlinson and Grote and -Hallam, Grecians, will come forward in your mind. History! Why, you will -remember that all ancient history has recently been rewritten with the -spade, and it was Schliemann under the spell of Homer who turned the -first sod. - -Go over the great names in literature and art, in philosophy, theology -and scripture, in the sciences of history, mathematics, law, government, -and you will find Greek giving life and vigor. Even in the newer sciences -founded on observation and experience, which have come into being within -a century, whenever an observer gets beyond the elementary stage of -research and classification, he will resort to Greece for principles -and intellectual categories just as he borrows the language of Greece -with which to name his discoveries. History shows that every people and -every system of education and every house of learning, when it gives up -Greek, is headed towards inferiority and decay, but when it turns with -fresh endeavor toward Greek it reaches forth to life and to light. Nor -is all this surprising or strained. Our civilization was born and grew -for centuries in Greece. Our Christianity was early translated into the -language of Greece and for centuries spoke and thought chiefly in that -tongue. So then in our minds and souls our youth will ever have been -Greek, and from Greek must ever come, as it has come in the past, the new -blood that will flush with dynamic energy the anemic arteries of cosmos, -the world, and of the microcosm, man. - - - - -XV - -TRUE PRINCIPLES OF HOMERIC CRITICISM - - -The story of Phidias and his pupil, Alcamenes has often been told. They -competed for a prize in sculpture. The statue of Alcamenes was about -to be chosen because of its exquisite finish when Phidias objected -to any decision until the statues should be put in the high position -they were designed to occupy. At once, the opinions of the judges were -reversed, for the apparently rough lines of Phidias’s creation stood out -in sublime majesty, while the polish of Alcamenes’s was lost when the -statues were raised aloft. The story illustrates a splendid rule of art -which has often been forgotten in the study of Homer. The epics of Homer -were not made for the test-tube and the microscope. They were not made -even for readers; they were composed for listeners. Put them on their -proper pedestals and the minutiæ revealed by the grammarian’s microscope -will be lost in the grand sweep of the story. You would as soon halt -Shakespeare’s _Macbeth_ because of the anachronisms, or condemn Leonardo -da Vinci’s “Last Supper” because of modern masonry in the walls or -carpentry in the table, as apply the philological and archeological tests -of the higher critics to Homer. - -Apply the tests of art to Homer and judge him by those. Take the matter -of the contradictions which critics have talked so much about. In many -cases, especially where mythology was concerned, the material the poet -had to handle bristled with inconsistencies and contradictions. Long ago -Aristotle laid down the sensible rule for drama, and it is equally true -for epic poetry, that the poet is not responsible for the improbabilities -in his materials. The sculptor may have flaws in his block of marble; the -painter may have defects in his lead or oil, or pigments; and the epic -poet found contradictions in the fairy stories of mankind which he wove -into the story he sang. That one consideration will sweep away instantly -heaps of higher criticism. - -Again, the artist is more taken up with the end than he is with -the means. In the fervor of his composition he wreaks himself upon -expression, he burns to embody his ideal and, engrossed in that, he is -likely to be less observant of the material of his art. The achieving of -the effect is more to him than mathematical accuracy in the use of the -instruments by which he achieves the effect. He makes his hero win his -battle; he may unhappily forget some of the tactics or even the geography -of the battlefield. His object is not to teach the art of warfare or -furnish the topography of the country, but to tell an interesting story -in an interesting way. The _Iliad_ has a wall that vexes many critics. -It was built in the tenth year of the war, which was no time to build a -wall, and was put up simply because Achilles left the field. Besides, -according to these critics the wall appears and disappears strangely. -So the conclusion is: Homer did not build the wall, but some other poet -came along and projected his masonry into the epic. In answer it has been -shown that the wall behaves very well, but, whether it does or not, it -matters little. The poet is not a surveyor or a street commissioner. He -wished to make his story interesting, to make the character of Achilles -prominent, to bring some agreeable variety into what might prove a -monotonous catalog of similar battles. Those are reasons enough for a -poet to build a Chinese wall or reduce it to dust when he does not want -it, or conveniently overlook it in the heat of an imaginary charge. - -A story-teller is more concerned to please his hearers than to guard -against inconsistencies which they would never detect as listeners, and -which even close readers did not detect for about thirty centuries. A -work of art is not to be judged as a mass of machinery is, nor is a poem -to be scrutinized with dictionary and grammar as you would a schoolboy’s -exercise. This is the statue of Phidias over again. A stage scene will -differ somewhat from a miniature, and an epic takes liberties with walls -and rivers and even mountains and oceans, liberties which would not be -tolerated in a quatrain. These principles are as obvious as daylight, but -apostles of the obvious are needed in abundance in the harvest fields of -higher criticism. - -What is needed for Homer is a study of his art in a broad but not shallow -way, comprehensive and fundamental like Aristotle’s brief discussion. -For the wonderfully analytical mind of Aristotle Homer’s _Iliad_ and -_Odyssey_ were models of unity, because he looked upon them as works of -art, not scrap-heaps of philology and archeology. Put the poems of Homer -on the pedestals for which he made them, for listeners who had to be -entertained and clamored for variety. “It is a trait of Homer,” says a -writer, “constantly to shift the scene. The motive may be weak, but the -eye of the poet was not on the motive, but on the scene; so he not only -shifts the scene but varies the description of the events.” The poet’s -eye, it might be added, is also like the orator’s, fixed steadily on his -audience, and the audience must be relieved even if masonry or geography -suffer. - -The paramount principles of variety and growth of interest which govern -every good story hold sway in Homer. Take a staple action of the _Iliad_, -the battles. Homer’s audience wanted fighting, yet jaded listeners -and the artistic poet knew there must be in the fighting variety and -growth of interest. Even in the matter of killing men, which seems to us -unimportant but which would not be to an audience of fighters, Homer has -shown a wonderful variety. A German professor has diagnosed the Homeric -surgery with all the thoroughness of his class. The conclusions may be -found in Seymour’s _Life in the Homeric Age_. The number and variety of -the wounds, the weapons used, the percentages of fatalities, are all -given in full detail. “Hardly could the poet have covered more completely -the possibilities of wounds for the human body if he had proceeded -systematically and mechanically.” Some will have it that Homer was a -surgeon and an army doctor. Certainly the history of anatomy has its -first chapter in the _Iliad_. - -But to pass over the variety displayed in the wounds and other smaller -points, consider the actual fighting. For the maneuvers we may refer to -two interesting chapters in Lang’s _World of Homer_, where the variety -and consistency of Homeric warfare are well described and defended -against the dissectionists. The point, however, we are working toward -is the variety shown in even the external circumstances of the warfare. -A closer study than we can afford to give would reveal more variety, -but we may mention the plain, the wall, the river, the night as in the -tenth book, the mist. These are the various circumstances which the poet -introduces into his battles, relieving the monotony and sustaining the -interest. There is no falling off. The different heroes, too, succeed one -another; the victory alternates from one side to the other; the battle -on earth has its echo among the gods. The interest rises. Patroclos -enters the fight, and then his fallen body becomes the center of the -struggle, as the wall and the ships had been before. Something, too, is -left for Achilles. Ferocious as may have been the fighting before, it -becomes a veritable shambles when Achilles enters the fray. Never were -such frightful wounds, never such rivers of blood as may be witnessed in -Book XX “when the black earth ran blood,” “when beneath the great-hearted -Achilles his whole-hooved horses trampled corpses and shields together; -and with blood all the axle-tree below was sprinkled and the rims that -ran around the car, for blood-drops from the horses’ hooves splashed -them and blood-drops from the tires of the wheels. But the son of Peleus -pressed on to win his glory, flecking with gore his irresistible hands.” - -Then follows the battle in the river, and finally the battle of the gods -themselves, and after the necessary relief and lull and reawakening of -interest comes the last battle of all and the climax of the poem in the -conflict of Achilles and Hector. - -A study of the art of Homer along its great lines will give us the true -principles upon which to judge him. Such a study will put him in the -right perspective. The statue of Phidias will mount on high where its -artist wished to have it enshrined. The _Iliad_ and _Odyssey_ were meant -to cross the bronze threshold of some great palace, “where there was -a gleam as it were of sun or moon through the high roofed hall of a -great-hearted King. Brazen were the walls which ran this way and that -from the threshold to the inmost chamber, and round then was a frieze of -blue and within were seats arrayed against the wall this way and that.” -Then “after the men had put from them the desire of meat and drink,” -they called upon the minstrel. “For minstrels from all men on earth get -their meed of honor and worship; inasmuch as the muse teacheth them the -paths of song and loveth the tribe of minstrels.” “And the minstrel being -stirred by the god began and showed forth his minstrelsy and took up the -tale where it tells how the Argives sailed away.” That was the setting of -the Homeric Epic, and thus speaks one whose “heart had melted at the song -and whose tears wet his cheeks beneath his eyelids.” “Verily it is a good -thing to list to a minstrel, like to the gods in voice. Nay, as for me, I -say there is no more gracious or perfect delight than when a whole people -makes merry, and the men sit orderly at feasts in the halls and listen -to the singer and the tables by them are laden with bread and flesh, and -pours it into cups. This fashion seems to me the fairest thing in the -world.” - -There is the place that Homer chose for his matchless poems, and there -they should be judged. The hearts that melt with song are not searching -for digammas or Æolic forms. They want the story, the long voyages and -the strange adventures, the swaying lines of battle and the prowess of -heroes. They look for and recognize the different characters which must -be as varied and as clearly marked as in the life around them. They must -not be surfeited with too much of anything. Voyages and battles must vary -and grow in intensity and be crossed with pictures of nature, brief but -thrilling and immensely relieving,—the lion, the wheat field, the tossing -ocean and the steady downfall of an unending snow storm. With these and -the plot entangling and disentangling, the listeners to Homeric song and -story will not look for that polished smoothness and frigid exactness, -the absence of which vexes the minds of modern Germany. Phidias’ statue -occupies its proper pedestal, and the true judges award to Phidias his -well-deserved prize. - - - - -XVI - -THE CHILD-TEST OF LITERATURE - - -Their elders are too busy these days devising tests for the children. Is -it not time for the children to retort on their testers? “Having pried -and prodded into us to see if we measure up to you, dear elders, let us -now see,” the children may well say, “whether you measure up to us.” A -great philosopher wished to make man the measure of everything. We have -a truer, a divine philosophy, a philosophy all the more persuasive, and -that philosophy makes the child the measure and test of man’s worth -and the arbiter of his eternal destiny. “Whosoever shall not receive -the kingdom of God, as a child, shall not enter it.” The millstone -mooring the scandalizer in the ooze of ocean’s darkest depths and the -angels who see the face of their little one’s Father, these are the -extreme sanctions which guarantee the accuracy of the child-test for the -measurement of man. - -The child-test has often been applied to man’s morals. Onan and Sanger, -Sparta and China, Calvin’s unchristian infant damnation and the -Christless infant sanctification of Pelagius, Malthus with his “Decrease -and subtract” and Moses with his “Increase and multiply,” all, from -individuals to nations, are ample evidence that the child is set for the -ruin and resurrection of many in Israel. The child-test is surely potent -in rating the world’s moral morons and moral geniuses. - -Can the child-test be applied to man’s art and literature? Recall the -words of Job, “Who shut up the sea with doors, when I made a cloud the -garment thereof and wrapt it in a mist in swaddling bands?” That view of -the sea in the swaddling bands of infancy is a proof of an imagination -looking at the universe with the eyes of the Creator. The child-test -is a measure of the sublimity of Hebrew literature. The revelation of -Genesis gave the literature of the Bible an outlook never reached by -other literatures. As the promise of the Messiah kept a hallowing guard -over the cradles of Israel, so the vision of the Creator blotted out from -the concepts of the Hebrew imagination the crude and monstrous nativities -which make all pagan mythologies hybrid and miscegenetic. - -Homer has fewer than others have of these nightmares, but it is not in -them nor in the tinsel sublimity of his divine machinery that Homer has -touched a wider circle of readers than any of his epic brethren. Rather -it is in his unaffected and transparent portrayal of the human nature -we all understand that Homer has set the heart of the world throbbing -faster. Not the celibate Virgil, nor the Puritanic Milton, dissolver -of matrimony, nor yet Dante, idealizer of the maiden Beatrice, gave us -childhood and motherhood as Homer has done. Homer is no sentimentalist, -but he has wider sympathies with mother and child than any author on the -rolls of literature. The mother cow, lowing over its first-born; the -mother dog, growling in defense of its litter; the mother lion, all its -brow wrinkled with the greatest frown ever sketched; the mother bird, -starving and dying for its young, yes, even the mother wasp, solicitous -for its menaced brood (note that, S. P. C. A.!) these are evidences of -Homer’s tenderness. Achilles likens his friend Patroclus to a little -maid fondly catching at her mother’s dress and getting in her way with -persistent tearful pleading till the mother takes her up. In the _Iliad_, -Helen’s sorrow for her abandoned Hermione is a pleasing element in her -repentance. Odysseus proudly styles himself the father of Telemachus; -the mother of Odysseus dies for longing of him, and his father, Laertes, -in the most exquisite of the many recognition scenes of the _Odyssey_, -passes from view in that story, while his long-absent son tells him of -the fruit trees, “which,” says Odysseus, “thou once gavest me for mine -own, and I was begging of thee this and that, being but a child and -following thee through the garden.” We have natural sketches of the -babyhood of his two heroes, Achilles and Odysseus. - -Yet, more than all these pictures, stands out in the world’s imagination -Hector’s boy, whose future fate Andromache, after Hector’s death, -details with a mother’s despairing vividness, whose childish terror at -his father’s helmet, while Andromache smiles through her tears, has -brought home to unnumbered thousands the grim specter of war. That scene -has etched itself so deeply into the heart of mankind that it has almost -ruined Homer’s poem, alienating universal sympathy from Achilles to -Hector. - -After Homer, the child _motif_ in literature is less in evidence. -Drama, of its nature, has little place for the child except to put a -keener poignancy in tragedy. So Sophocles used the children of Œdipus. -So in his time did Shakespeare with the princes of _Richard III_, with -Marcellus in _Coriolanus_, with Macduff’s sprightly lad, and with others. -Theocritus has a child to furnish an aside for the gossipy Syracusan -dames. Anacreon introduces the counterfeit of childhood in the Cupids, -whose sophisticated conventionality checked invention in Elizabethan -lyrics as it did in art from Pompeii to Rubens and later. Cupids are -symbols, children of the brain, not of the heart, and figure in song and -painting as signs. They have a message for the mind; they do not touch -the feelings, while on the other hand, they free the artist from seeking -in life the expressive significance that Homer gave the child. - -Literature had to wait long for the naturalness of Homer to reappear. -Virgil has a little of it in Ascanius, another Cupid, and it is -significant that Virgil’s one outstanding natural touch is found in -the famous Messianic eclogue: _Incipe, parve puer, risu cognoscere -matrem._ As for other Latins, whether it be bachelorship or the erotic -preoccupation of the lyricists, or the supreme power of the father -in Roman customs and law, Latin literature does not mirror for us -prominently the child and mother nor reflect their natural attractiveness -as found in Homer. Well, even Greece seems to have lost the art, and a -new inspiration was needed. That inspiration came with the Divine Child -of Bethlehem. - - - - -XVII - -THE CHRIST-CHILD TEST OF LITERATURE - - -The influence of the Christ-Child on painting was tremendous and -lasting. A history of Christian art could be written around the Madonna, -and the subject has attracted the notice of many writers, indexed in -art libraries. Alice Meynell has treated the subject attractively and -with her studious insight in the _Children of the Old Masters_. In the -Catacombs, Christian art felt and portrayed the Divine Child and His -Mother. Byzantine ornamentation and mosaics gave the Child a rigid -majesty which veiled His winsomeness, but the master painters came -closer to childhood and brought Madonnas from the walls of crypts and of -cathedrals to the devotional shrine and the chapel, making the Child less -architectural and more natural. - -In literature the Christ-Child had equal influence until Puritanism tried -to remove Christmas from the calendar. Drama originated in the liturgy -of Easter and of Christmas, and although Holy Week was more elaborate -and in substance more dramatic, Christmas to Twelfth Night, offering -more incentive to play and song and more holidays, exercised a larger -influence on the stage. In lyric poetry at the beginning of the sixth -century we have already the familiar, intimate and loving contact with -the Christ-Child, which finds its latest expression in Thompson and Tabb. -St. Ita, the Irish saint (480-570), is of their faith and tenderness in -the song of “Isucan,” “Little Jesus,” given in Sigerson’s _Bards of the -Gael and Gall_: - - Jesukin - Lives my little cell within - ... - Jesu of the skies who art - Next my heart thro’ every night. - -The bambino shines through medieval song in Adam of St. Victor and in -other writers of hymns. The Catholic writers of the Renaissance celebrate -the same theme in the revived meters of classicism. Sarbievius, the -Jesuit lyricist of Poland, is full of the Christ-Child, and in his -well-known lines “To the Violet” he calls upon that “dawn of spring” to -crown his “Little Lad” with its flowers in place of the gold and gems and -purple which weighted the Infant. Sarbievius was doing what the painters -did, discarding the Byzantine ornament and convention. - -Test Puritanism with the child and it fails; test it with the -Christ-Child, and you will get the ponderous “Hymn to the Nativity” of -Milton, an imperialistic ode which must have gladdened Cromwell. No -familiarity there, no mirthfulness, no Jesukin with violets for crown -jewels, not even Byzantine immobility. Milton does not even doff the -helmet of war, as Hector did; no, he sees - - from Juda’s land - The dreaded Infant’s hand; - The rays of Bethlehem blind his [Osiris’] dusky eyes. - ... Our Babe to show His Godhead true - Can in His swaddling clothes control the damnèd crew. - -A Prince of Peace indeed with a mailed fist! Merry medieval England would -not recognize Jesukin in Miltonic panoply. Fortunately for art it had -attained excellence before the Puritanic blight fell upon the world, but -for literature in the English language we must wait until the nineteenth -century to see the child come to its own. Wordsworth attempted a revival -of Plato’s philosophy and found immortality, if not familiarity, in -childhood when he wrote his “Ode on the Intimations of Immortality.” -Wordsworth took a more fruitful lesson from the Greeks when he went back -to nature in other poems to study childhood. Even before him, Blake, -painter and poet, influenced no doubt by the traditions of painting, -began to see the heart in childhood. The interminable moralizing stories -of Ann and Jane Taylor and of Elizabeth Turner, which date from this -time, are heavy with grown up condescension. E. V. Lucas would have done -better to republish in his _Book of Verses for Children_ the graceful -and humorous lessons of the Greek fables than perpetuate Taylor and -Turner. - -After Wordsworth we see the child _motif_ gradually taking a larger place -in the literature of England and America. Despite Francis Thompson’s -vigorous effort in his famous essay, he has not succeeded in making -Shelley pass the child-test. Shelley had no faith, no humility, no -humor, no real tenderness, and even granting him the dreaming power of -childhood, which in Thompson’s essay is largely a reflection of Thompson, -Shelley had not the heard of a child to enter into the Kingdom. Walter -Scott’s friendship for Marjorie Fleming shows that the great poet and -novelist had the necessary qualifications, but no performance comes -now to mind except a lullaby and the glorification of merry England at -Christmas. Swinburne glimpses gleams of a baby’s pink toes and lists to -low laughter of mouths of gold. The child is picturesque for him. Moore, -Byron, Browning, for different reasons, fail in the child-test. Tennyson -touched the surface, although in the “Princess” he came close to the -mystery. Patmore, uxorious and paternal, came closer and even touched the -depths of the child in “Toys.” Longfellow and Whittier were of the same -school. - -It was Stevenson, in a _Child’s Garden of Verses_ who brought back into -poetry, as Lewis Carroll did in prose and verse, the natural child -that Homer saw about him, and that painting discerned in the Babe of -Bethlehem. Humor, imagination, sympathy, these were the factors which -discovered the heart of childhood for our modern world. Barry and Belloc -in England, Eugene Field and Riley in America, Earls and “Tom” Daly and -many others have furthered the discoveries. There is no hope for the -child in the “New Poetry” which takes itself too seriously. Who would -hold up the world if the “new poets” started in to mind the baby? - -One more element was needed, and sorely needed, to enter fully into -the mystery of the child. That element is faith. Evolution looked on -the child as an epitome of its theory; pedagogy plotted out, weighed -and measured the child and drew up formidable statistics; eugenics -faced the child as though it were a dire microbe, source of poverty, -ignorance, bootlegging, war, pestilence and famines. The modern child -had and still has before it a dismal prospect. It is the camping ground -of the specialist, the experimental laboratory of the theorist, and the -peculiarly delectable victim of physical and moral vivisectionists. Faith -must save the child, faith in the Babe of Bethlehem. Tabb and Thompson -had that faith. They are the counterpart in literature of a St. Anthony -or a St. Stanislaus in life and art. They play with the Child Jesus. -Isucan has come into His own again. Tabb sings in “Out of Bounds”: - - O comrades, let us one and all - Join in to get Him back his ball! - -And Francis Thompson with medieval intimacy asks in “Ex Ore Infantium”: - - And did Thy Mother at the night - Kiss Thee, and fold the clothes in right? - And didst Thou feel quite good in bed, - Kissed, and sweet, and Thy prayers said? - -“Look for me in the nurseries of Heaven,” said Thompson. He will surely -be at home there, and Tabb and many another will be with him. - - - - -The first seven chapters of this work were given in substance as lectures -at the Champlain Assembly, Cliff Haven, N. Y. - -Chapter XII, Educating the Emotions, is a summary of an address given to -the Public School Teachers of Rhode Island. - -Other chapters have appeared in _America_, _Catholic World_, _Educational -Review of Washington_, _School Interests_, _Classical Weekly_, -_Magnificat_ and are reproduced through the courtesy of the editors. - - - - -APPENDIX - - - - -GREEK SPEAKS FOR ITSELF - -AN ETYMOLOGICAL PHANTASY[4] - - -During a period of lethargy I was petrified at a phantom, bounding from -my lexicon, with this cataract of phrases: “Are you Baptist, Methodist, -Presbyterian, Episcopalian, Catholic, or Christian? Without me, you are -anonymous. Do you stigmatize heresy and schism, hypocrisy and blasphemy. -Do you blame schemers against the Mosaic decalog? Do you impose anathemas -in apostates, idolaters and atheists or exorcise the devil and his demons -with their diabolical pomps? Are you zealous for proselytes, and to -baptize neophytes after catechism, and to canonize orthodox martyrs with -halos and emblems, scandalizing frenzied iconoclasts? Then all that is -done through me. - -The ecclesiastical sphere is practically mine. I am the architect -of churches, cathedrals and basilicas, from the asphalt base in the -crypts of the catacomb, up to the apse and the chimes in the dome. I am -architect of monasteries for monks and anchorites, and of asylums for -orphans and lepers and maniacs. Mine is the Hierarchy, from the Pope on -his dais with his tiara, to the mitered Bishop in his diocese, and to -the parish priest in his presbytery. Deacons and acolytes, clergy and -laity, Papal encyclicals, diocesan synods, parochial homilies, and all -dogmatic theology, with its mysteries and myriad topics, are mine. The -Bible is mine from Genesis, Exodus, Deuteronomy of the Pentateuch, to -the Paralipomenon and the Psalms, to patriarchs and prophets, to the -Evangelists of Christ, to the Epistles and Apocalypse of His Apostles. -Epiphany, Pentecost, the Parasceve are mine The tunes of the hymns, the -quiring of anthems, the Gregorian tones of the litanies and antiphons are -melodious through me and I composed the canon of liturgy with its symbols. - -Go to your home with me. Bushels of anthracite for the chimney, and a -diet of fancied nectar! Chairs and plates and dishes; oysters; butter -and treacle; perch or trout or sardines in olive oil; the aroma of capon -or partridge or pheasant; celery and asparagus and peppers; cherries -and dates and currants, citrons and melons, prunes and quinces and -plums; pumpkins marmalade and pastry; chestnuts and pippins; masses of -purple hyacinths, with lily and crocus, with geraniums and heliotropes, -with narcissus and peony, with asters and orchids and posies of roses. -What zest! Isn’t that a panorama of paradise to tantalize you? Be not -economical or dyspeptic. Masticate beneath your mustache. Let choruses -echo in the parlor with music of organ and guitar, or let there be -anecdotes on the piazza around a bottle of cheering tonic. - -I telephone or telegraph for my “auto,” and my machine goes to my -theater or hippodrome. There is on my program the symphony orchestra -with harmonious melodies; or on my program are scenes melancholy with -tragedy, or hilarious with pantomime and melodrama, with comic monolog or -dramatic dialog, with cyclists, gymnasts and acrobats. After the drama or -kinematic photography, with match and lamp you go to attic canopies, and -to the climes of Morpheus. For all these you are to reimburse me with the -treasuries of the purse. - -Go with me to the ocean, opposing the stratagems and tactics of barbarous -pirates, to meander by gulf and isthmus and archipelago, nomads through -all climates, charting geography with my nautical atlases, from the -Arctic to the Antarctic through the tropic zone, from Polynesia to its -antipodes. Then for my astronomy! What a panorama through my telescope in -the crystal atmosphere! Above the horizon in the empyrean are my planets -and comets and meteors and galaxies of asteroids. - -Without me where is your “zoo” with its panthers and leopards with -dolphin and crocodile and hippopotamus, with lynxes and hyenas, with -ostrich and pelican, with buffalo and dromedary, with ichneumons and -scorpions, with the gigantic elephant and its proboscis and the pygmy -squirrel! Oh, what of my chimerical and utopian “zoo,” with the phenix -and dragon and griffins and chameleons and gorgons and gnomes and -basilisks and sphinxes and hybrids! - -But I am not archaic; the scope of my dynamic energy is practical and -not eccentric. Mine are politics, the diadems of monarchs, the scepters -of tyrants, barbarous anarchy and despotic autocracy, the panics of -demagogue and the parliaments of autonomy and democracy. Chemistry and -chemical analysis, physics with phenomena of electricity, acoustics, and -optics, mechanics, botany, geology, entomology, and all the “ologies” -with their technical glossaries; they are mine. - -So are all the apothecaries and pharmacies with glycerine and licorice -and creosote and the antidotes for quinsy; for catarrh, dropsy, -neuralgia, and for every “-itis” and “-osis”; emetics for the stomach; -the cathartics, calomel and castor-oil; doses of paregoric for colic; -plasters for imposthumes; arsenic for spasms of epilepsy, and tonics for -anemic arteries; a peptonoic diet for dysentery; oxygen against bronchial -phlegm; bromides for asthma; iodine for pleurisy and parasites; narcotics -to calm hysteria; antipyrin for agonizing rheumatism; antitoxins for -diphtheria and for the deleterious microbes of cholera or typhoid, and -bottles of panaceas. - -Anatomy is mine and the surgeon, diagnosing symptoms, charting septic -organs on the diagrams, trepanning the cranium, cauterizing for -hemorrhage, is mine; so are his sponges and syringes and silk and his -styptics, and his prophylactic hygiene, and his anæsthetics, chloroform -and ether, and his antiseptics against bacteria and gangrene, and his -autopsy and his skeletons. - -The school is mine with its desks, its programs and schedule and the -scholars, from their alphabet to their diploma, their arithmetic and -geometry, their gymnasiums and athletics, and the school diamond and -amphitheater. Pause before you ostracize me from my schools. - -Would you be an essayist, sketching graphic stories or typical -characters; an historian, cataloging the treasures of archives, -and chronicling epochs of catastrophe and calm; or a philosopher, -systematizing theories of Stoics, Hedonists, Peripatetics and -Scholastics; or a poet, composing idylls and madrigals, lyrics and odes -with strophes and the epics with episodes, you are mine. Without me you -have not talents or ideas or paper or ink. Mine are your grammar and -syntax, your syllables, your paragraphs with their commas and colons and -parentheses, your lexicons and encyclopedias and card-catalogs, your -topics and themes for ecstatic rhapsodies or for austere logic, your -fantastic paradoxes and your idiotic theories. ’Tis I who phrase for you -your axioms, caustic criticisms, laconic epigrams, all your irony and -sardonic sarcasm. If your technique is idiomatic, your methods puzzling -or crystal, your tropes are metaphors graphic, your fancies hectic or -anæmic, you are mine. I am your enthusiastic stenographer, jotting down -and synopsizing your ideas and typing them to be stereotyped in your -authentic tomes, whether anonymous or under a pseudonym. - -I apologize for my tautologies, for this monotonous labyrinth, for the -phalanx of technicalities and for the etymological mosaic which strangles -your larynx with “ics” and “isms.” Whether it is all abysmal bathos, or -the climax and acme of the practical, I am to blame for it. - -But pause before you ostracize me from my schools; pause ere the nemesis -of chaos and disaster is yours; but if you are to be characterized as -adamant and without sympathy, let the poets echo a threnody about my -coffin; let there be a chorus of pæans under the cypress and cedar, the -larch and osier, the myrtle and amaranth, about my cenotaph; let there be -in my cemetery a mausoleum with a monolith, and on it my epitaph: - -The Lexicons of Europe Are the Trophies of Greece. - - - - -NOTE: THE NATURE OF ESTHETIC ENJOYMENT - - -Esthetic pleasure or the enjoyment of the beautiful is generally -admitted to be disinterested. Possession and ownership do not enter -into the esthetic act. The ownership of Da Vinci’s “Mona Lisa” is not -an object of indifference or of disinterested attention. Thieves scheme -for the ownership, thousands covet it, guards protect it. But the -enjoyment of “Mona Lisa” is not selfish and exclusive in its nature. -Esthetic enjoyment makes abstraction of possession and of selfish good. -It follows therefore that esthetic enjoyment is a function of man’s -knowledge, not of man’s desires and appetites. The only condition upon -which the appetites, whether bodily or spiritual, can operate is that -they be energized by personal good. Volition may be free, but it cannot -be disinterested. You may enjoy another’s picture; you cannot eat his -dinner, nor can you be indifferent to what you know to be for your good. - -Some have asserted that esthetic enjoyment belongs to a special power -apart from both knowledge and appetite. There is however no need of -such power. Certainly beauty must be known to be enjoyed, but is not -the knowledge itself adequate to produce the characteristic effect of -beauty? Is not Aquinas right in saying, “Pulchrum dicitur id cujus -ipsa apprehensio placet” (that is called beautiful which simply by -its perception pleases)? Good, being an end, cannot delight solely by -being perceived; good must be attained. But for beauty, is not its very -perception an enjoyment? The solution of this question will be found in -the nature of enjoyment. - -Emotions and feelings, pleasure and pain are easy to understand and -for that reason difficult to express in satisfactory formulas. By its -very nature every faculty of man operating normally has an accompanying -pleasure, while if operating abnormally it has pain. The faculty itself -is therefore the subject of the feeling just as life is inherent in the -organism. Indeed feeling is consciously localized life. The feeling of -the toe is felt by the toe; the joy of seeing is felt by the eye. No -distinct power is required to carry the feeling. So it is with esthetic -emotions. The mind itself feels the delight of beauty. Esthetic enjoyment -is a function of perception. - -Does esthetic enjoyment belong to the senses and to the imagination? -Here again there is difference of opinion. It is probable, however, that -sensible perception has no accompanying esthetic pleasure. St. Augustine -appealed to experience and declared that esthetic enjoyment of the -beauty, say, of the sun, was possible, even when the sight suffered pain. -A better reason may be found in the behavior of animals which, though -clothed in beauty, give us no certain evidence of esthetic appreciation -and enjoyment. - -Esthetic enjoyment therefore belongs to intellectual cognition. Now the -intellect has many operations. Which one of these carries the esthetic -pleasure or esthetic pain, which one is charged with the vital thrill -that creates and appreciates the world of art? The mind reasons, the mind -judges, the mind apprehends. Esthetic enjoyment belongs to the last. -Judgments and inferences may be objects of esthetic enjoyment; to reason, -to judge may precede or follow or may be even necessary conditions, -but the esthetic act is most probably one of simple apprehension. -There would seem to be general agreement that contemplation is the -characteristic attitude of the mind in the presence of beauty. Aquinas -excludes distinctly the idea of end from beauty. Beauty is a form which -we contemplate. Croce calls the esthetic perception intuition. Theodore -Watts-Dunton seems to be describing the same act when he calls poetry -“the renascence of wonder.” The efforts of reasoning and of judging -appear to be alien to the mental attitude in the presence of beauty. - -The simple apprehension is concerned with what is termed ontological -truth, whereas reasoning and judging result in logical truth. Now, just -as esthetic enjoyment abstracts from possession or good, so does it -abstract from the affirmations belonging to the logical truth of judgment -and of rational inference. There is esthetic enjoyment of fiction as -well as of fact. Aristotle long ago saw that although the substance of -art must be the persons, actions and feelings of man, the pleasure found -in the work of art does not arise from its correspondence with reality. -The correspondence with reality gives the satisfaction of logical truth, -of scientific truth, of historical fact. The truth which is the object -of esthetic pleasure in art is the truth of consistency, of realization -of ideal, the truth of reasonable congruity, of plot in a wide sense of -the term. This vision, this dream of the artist, scholastic philosophers -call _causa exemplaris_ or ideal. If we are right in our understanding -of Croce, his intuition is nothing else but the simple apprehension of -the ideal. Esthetic enjoyment comes also, as is clear, from the simple -apprehension of beauty in natural realities where there is no fiction of -art. - -To localize the esthetic enjoyment in this way does not determine the -constituent elements of beauty, but clear definitions help to exclude -many false notions of beauty. The ideal of the artist is embodied in his -imagination before it is expressed in its proper medium. The art of man -always must have a medium which can be perceived by the senses. That is -why a vigorous imagination, which stores up and dispenses to its owner -quickly and abundantly of its riches, is so useful to the artist. Through -his imagination the artist is original and personal. The pure thought of -science is abstract and alike in all minds; the artistic vision formed -from individual experience will be different in every one. Therefore no -two artists expressing themselves in the concrete can be alike as no two -scenes of nature are alike in beauty. - -Aristotle put the pleasure of art in perception. Art for him is a -_mimesis_, which does not mean an imitation, in the sense of mirroring or -copying. That was Plato’s notion, which Aristotle combated. Art is, in -Aristotle, a power analogous to nature, working like nature in another -and limited world, of sound, of color, of human thoughts. Art is fiction, -a dramatizing, a staging of life, to be judged, not by correspondence -with fact, but by its own plausible and convincing rationalization. No -one has done more for art than Aristotle in his insistence upon the -necessity of cause and effect, of a motivation, sufficient at least for -the artist’s public. Intrinsic unity, the fruit of perfect motivation, -was another necessary requisite in Aristotle’s analysis of art. It is -only when the varied elements of the artist’s imaginative experience -have fused themselves into a unity by having a well-motivated beginning, -middle and end that the mind feels the beauty of its vision. - -Universality in art is another fruitful idea of Aristotle. While confined -to his sensible medium, the artist must link up the separate elements -of his vision more closely than in the realm of fact. He will by that -very reason be general and universal because his motivation must approve -itself to all. A moving picture of the death of Cæsar as it really -occurred would be valuable history. It would, however, be individual. -Shakespeare’s death of Cæsar has a beginning, middle and end, and the -spectators see in it the working out of a plot in which every word -and act has been carefully planned and fitted into the design. The -individuating notes are left out, and the death of a Cæsar has universal -appeal. - -Artistic creation, motivation, unity, universality, these are great -principles of art formulated by Aristotle and not likely ever to -be superseded. The cognitive idea of beauty and those principles of -Aristotle have been followed in the chapters of this book. - -For further discussion of the nature of esthetic pleasure, see author’s -“Art of Interesting,” Chap. V, Interest from Emotions; Chap. XVII, Is -Esthetic Emotion a Spinal Thrill? - - - - -A FORWARD-LOOKING LESSON IN LITERATURE - -(_To exemplify Chapter IX_) - - -THE METHOD - -THE dry bones in the cold print of this lesson are to be galvanized into -life by a teacher in constant touch with the class and enlisting the -coöperation by questions, by having the passage read aloud, by writing -on the board, by interchanges of ideas, by lively disputes between -individuals. No mere lecture with passive listeners, no mere study period -with a passive overseer, but real teaching, which is a fine conversation, -directed upon select subjects and carried to a destined end under expert -guidance. - -All of the technical terms, apprehension, judgment, inference and the -rest are to be omitted. The intelligent use of such terms belongs to -college, although the operations and objects which the terms designate -belong to all grades. Through simple, untechnical questions the whole -truth may be understood by each, and every student may be made to go -through operations which are of daily occurrence and which the student -must make habitual by repeated exercise to insure a mastery of the art of -expression. The teacher is an expert mental director, and, setting before -the class a good passage of literature, he will make them think again -and put in order again and express again what the author has done; he -will make them conceive, arrange and express thoughts of their own with -the excellence which teacher and class have noted and appreciated in the -passage. The teacher of literature will be no lecturer in history or in -philosophy or in mathematics, but will be like the teacher of music or -like the physical trainer, who makes his class go through exercises which -he himself has exemplified and which the class immediately practice to -acquire bodily skill then and for the future. - -A passage of poetry is designedly taken in this lesson to show how poetry -can be made to contribute to the art of expression. Literature for some -is history, for others philosophy. These center attention on the facts -or ideas. Literature for others is a dreamy, mysterious thing, which you -must look at with awe, speak about with esoteric rhapsody and carefully -lock up again in a glass case. A forward looking lesson in literature -must know what the passage means, but is usually not concerned with the -origin and past history of the author’s meaning. The forward-looking -lesson will not pretend to solve all the mysteries of art and beauty but -will take out of the clouds and put clearly before the class some point -in the art of expression, a point which will be practical and of everyday -use. Such a lesson will be as decidedly vocational as hammering a nail or -rigging up a radio set or rushing around a gymnasium. - -The purpose ever before the literature teacher’s mind is appreciation, -leading to mental action and through repeated action to the art of -expression. - -THE LESSON - - The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, - The lowing herd wind slowly o’er the lea, - The ploughman homeward plods his weary way, - And leaves the world to darkness and to me. - - -I. ANALYSIS OF THOUGHT - -1. _Understanding._—The meaning of each word, the meaning of each line, -the meaning of the whole stanza. This should not be a mere passive -understanding. Students should be made to reëxpress the ideas, not only -by paraphrase in other words but especially by _imaginative realization_. -“For instance,” “Just like what?” are two phrases to be often on the -teacher’s lips. “Have you a heard a curfew?” “Have you heard a knell -tolling?” “Did you ever see in picture or in reality a lowing herd -winding o’er the lea?” A thought illustrated by the thinker’s imagination -is realized fully, is felt as well as grasped, and will persist. - -2. _Judgment._—What is the logical subject and logical predicate of each -line and of the whole stanza? That is, what is the author’s chief topic -and what does he say about it? This need not always be the grammatical -subject of the passage. The art of expression is not only apprehending by -vivid understanding, but it is also judging by predication, by affirming -or denying something of the subject. There is not a class of any grade -which cannot profitably exercise itself in clear and concise judgements. -The successive judgements briefly put are: The bell tells the end of day: -the cows return to the barn: the ploughman comes home: I am left alone in -the darkness. - -3. _Reasoning._—As as single sentence may be analyzed into a definite -subject and a definite predicate for a judgment, so two or more sentences -may be compared to grasp the relation between them. Poetry does not go -through a process of reasoning. It states thoughts and presents pictures, -permitting the mind to infer. The three pictures in the opening lines -have a common trait which the mind detects: all three pictures are signs -of nightfall. The mind draws an inference which is inductive in nature, -and the whole stanza may be briefly stated: The coming of night leaves me -alone in darkness. - -These stages in analyzing the thought are elaborated here. In practice -they may be expedited. Before being read, the judgment and inference -may be presented as problems for solution: What does the writer say in -each line? What one idea is found in the first three lines? What will -be the title, the head-line, the summary of each line and of the whole -stanza?[5] - - -II. ANALYSIS OF FORM - -Form includes not only the words and sentences, their choice and their -arrangement, but also the texture and color of the thoughts and their -modification ending in their perfect expression, as contrasted with -the bare and limited statements already determined. In the study of -literature, words are not merely materials for philologizing, or merely -sentences, free opportunities for grammatical anatomizing with all the -bones properly numbered and labeled. Such analyses look chiefly backward -and are not productive of writers. Language anatomy has its great -utility, but literature, or the art of expression, must look to the -flesh and blood of the thoughts, to the personality, to the imagination, -to the concrete embodiment of the writer’s art. The student will take -up, therefore, the thought already analyzed and note and appreciate how -his author has clothed the ideas, the judgments, the reasoning. He will -reënact the creative process the author went through, and so here, with a -view to expression, he will strive to rival the excellence of Gray, but -will do so with his own thoughts. - -_Grading._—At this stage the teacher may point out incidentally many -excellences in the art of expression, but will drill and have practice -on the particular excellence in expression, proper to his class. The -textbook ordinarily determines the grade, but if there is no textbook or -prescribed program, the teacher will determine his own order of matter. - -_Right Word._—Let us suppose the teacher is teaching the art of using the -right word (_Model English_, 3), the word which states the thing exactly -in kind. He may center attention on the line: - - The lowing herd wind slowly o’er the lea. - -The class will be drilled in the author’s choice of the right word -by considering other possible but less exact combinations, e.g.: A -number of noisy cows went reluctantly along. After this drill, the -class will appreciate what the right word is and be ready for the -expression of their own ideas in right words. They are not to paraphrase -Gray’s meaning. That has already been done, but they are to provide -subject-matter of their own and express it with a like excellence. Did -they continue to speak of cows, they could not better Gray, but if they -speak of bees or bloodhounds or cavalry or autumn leaves or rioters or -anything else that has come under their experience in life or in reading, -they might approach the exactness of Gray in giving the right word for -the sound, for the collection, for the action, for the manner and for the -place. - - _Bees_: the buzzing swarm of bees circled thickly about the - hive. - - _Bloodhounds_: the baying pack of hounds followed the trail - eagerly. - - _Cavalry_: the clattering squadron of cavalry galloped swiftly - along the road. - - _Autumn_: the heaps of rustling leaves were swept into every - corner by autumn winds. - - _Rioters_: the yelling mob of rioters rushed wildly towards the - jail. - -_Imagination._—Suppose the teacher is giving a lesson in imagination -(“Model English,” Chap. X). If one of the _General Methods_, say -_Reflecting_ (No. 69), is to be taught, then the class must vividly -picture in their imaginations Gray’s stanza. With the help of books on -the desk and with a gesture or two the scene and all its characters may -be _dramatized_. All this suggestively rather than with exact mimicry, -unless there is in question a passage that may be reproduced by the class -in a miniature pageant or play. To test whether the class is actually -imagining, have them quickly number, one after another, the things they -see and hear directly by the words and indirectly suggested by the words. -Or test in another way. Let each draw an outline of the frame of a -picture and show how they would illustrate any line or the whole stanza, -putting numbers on the blank space to locate the details and explaining -to the side what the numbers stand for. - -Suppose a _particular method, significant part for the whole_ (No. -73) be the matter of the lesson, then the whole which is expressed by -Gray is “evening,” or “parting day,” pictured by three significant -details—curfew, cows and ploughman. Have the class take an opposite -situation—not evening in a graveyard in preparation for gloomy thoughts, -but morning on the farm looking to a busy, joyous day. Or again, what -significant details will suggest the hush of evening in a city or on -the sea; noon in a factory, closing of school in the afternoon, coming -of winter in December, dawning of spring in April, etc. Interest may be -accentuated if one student gives the details and others imagine what is -the whole suggested. For example: The cock crows a greeting to the rising -sun; the team of horses is hitched to the mowing machine, and soon the -clicking knives lay low the waving grass (farm); the crank is whirled -about with a swift revolution and jerking stop; the low purr of a hidden -engine steals upon the ear and a cloud of dust swallows up the rattling -car (a Ford); a sprig of shamrock graces the lapel of the coat; green -ribbons flaunt gayly above ruddy cheeks, and down the street steps a band -jigging Garryowen (St. Patrick’s Day). In the same way elements of force -or interest, metrical charm or poetic thought and many other points could -be taught from this stanza, according to the grade of the class before -the teacher. Whatever the passage taken, once the grade has been settled, -the artistic drill should be carried through the stages of grasping the -thought definitely, of appreciating it with discrimination, of repeating -the process of creation, of dramatizing the complete product, and finally -of self-expression on the part of the student, striving to rival the -author in the excellence he has studied. - - - - -FOOTNOTES - - -[1] Cf. De Wulf: _L’Œuvre d’Art et la Beauté_, p. 40. - -[2] Sandys: _History of Classical Scholarship_, I, 438. - -[3] Sandys, III, 54. - -[4] This “mosaic of etymology” which I offer is not, I think, simply an -ingenious _tour de force_. It has a significance and a practical value. -It may illustrate the composite nature of the English language; it may -amuse a curious reader; it may enliven a Greek class with the touch of -actuality; it may disclose dim vistas into the distant past through the -medium of everyday language, exemplifying history through common things. -All the words of this phantasy are of Greek origin, except the article, -the pronouns, the prepositions and conjunctions, and a few other small -words: “so, as, then, home, let, go, do, all” and parts of the verb -“to be.” Skeat’s _Etymological Dictionary_ (Student’s edition) is the -authority. The exclusively technical words of modern sciences which are -almost wholly Greek have not, for the most part, been mentioned. It is -needless to remark that the prescriptions of the phantom’s pharmacy are -not authoritative. - -This _jeu d’esprit_ has attracted so much attention as to be reprinted -by the American Classical Association and to be noticed by several -metropolitan editors. That attention is the motive for giving the article -permanent position in a book with which a novel plea for Greek has a -certain, though remote, connection. - -[5] For analysis of thought, see _Model English_, bk. II, chap. X, by F. -P. Donnelly, S. J. 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