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diff --git a/old/64908-0.txt b/old/64908-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 695d1ea..0000000 --- a/old/64908-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,9300 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of What Is Art?, by Leo Tolstoy - -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: What Is Art? - -Author: Leo Tolstoy - -Translator: Aylmer Maude - -Release Date: March 23, 2021 [eBook #64908] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Produced by: Tim Lindell, David King, and the Online Distributed - Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net. (This file was - produced from images generously made available by The Internet - Archive/Canadian Archives.) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WHAT IS ART? *** - - - - - WHAT IS ART? - - - - - WHAT IS ART? - - BY - LEO TOLSTOY - - TRANSLATED FROM THE ORIGINAL MS., - WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY - AYLMER MAUDE - - NEW YORK - FUNK & WAGNALLS COMPANY - 1904 - - - - - Introduction - - -What thoughtful man has not been perplexed by problems relating to art? - -An estimable and charming Russian lady I knew, felt the charm of the -music and ritual of the services of the Russo-Greek Church so strongly -that she wished the peasants, in whom she was interested, to retain -their blind faith, though she herself disbelieved the church doctrines. -“Their lives are so poor and bare—they have so little art, so little -poetry and colour in their lives—let them at least enjoy what they have; -it would be cruel to undeceive them,” said she. - -A false and antiquated view of life is supported by means of art, and is -inseparably linked to some manifestations of art which we enjoy and -prize. If the false view of life be destroyed this art will cease to -appear valuable. Is it best to screen the error for the sake of -preserving the art? Or should the art be sacrificed for the sake of -truthfulness? - -Again and again in history a dominant church has utilised art to -maintain its sway over men. Reformers (early Christians, Mohammedans, -Puritans, and others) have perceived that art bound people to the old -faith, and they were angry with art. They diligently chipped the noses -from statues and images, and were wroth with ceremonies, decorations, -stained-glass windows, and processions. They were even ready to banish -art altogether, for, besides the superstitions it upheld, they saw that -it depraved and perverted men by dramas, drinking-songs, novels, -pictures, and dances, of a kind that awakened man’s lower nature. Yet -art always reasserted her sway, and to-day we are told by many that art -has nothing to do with morality—that “art should be followed for art’s -sake.” - -I went one day, with a lady artist, to the Bodkin Art Gallery in Moscow. -In one of the rooms, on a table, lay a book of coloured pictures, issued -in Paris and supplied, I believe, to private subscribers only. The -pictures were admirably executed, but represented scenes in the private -cabinets of a restaurant. Sexual indulgence was the chief subject of -each picture. Women extravagantly dressed and partly undressed, women -exposing their legs and breasts to men in evening dress; men and women -taking liberties with each other, or dancing the “can-can,” etc., etc. -My companion the artist, a maiden lady of irreproachable conduct and -reputation, began deliberately to look at these pictures. I could not -let my attention dwell on them without ill effects. Such things had a -certain attraction for me, and tended to make me restless and nervous. I -ventured to suggest that the subject-matter of the pictures was -objectionable. But my companion (who prided herself on being an artist) -remarked with conscious superiority, that from an artist’s point of view -the _subject_ was of no consequence. The pictures being very well -executed were artistic, and therefore worthy of attention and study. -Morality had nothing to do with art. - -Here again is a problem. One remembers Plato’s advice not to let our -thoughts run upon women, for if we do we shall think clearly about -nothing else, and one knows that to neglect this advice is to lose -tranquillity of mind; but then one does not wish to be considered -narrow, ascetic, or inartistic, nor to lose artistic pleasures which -those around us esteem so highly. - -Again, the newspapers last year printed proposals to construct a Wagner -Opera House, to cost, if I recollect rightly, £100,000—about as much as -a hundred labourers may earn by fifteen or twenty years’ hard work. The -writers thought it would be a good thing if such an Opera House were -erected and endowed. But I had a talk lately with a man who, till his -health failed him, had worked as a builder in London. He told me that -when he was younger he had been very fond of theatre-going, but, later, -when he thought things over and considered that in almost every number -of his weekly paper he read of cases of people whose death was hastened -by lack of good food, he felt it was not right that so much labour -should be spent on theatres. - -In reply to this view it is urged that food for the mind is as important -as food for the body. The labouring classes work to produce food and -necessaries for themselves and for the cultured, while some of the -cultured class produce plays and operas. It is a division of labour. But -this again invites the rejoinder that, sure enough, the labourers -produce food for themselves and also food that the cultured class accept -and consume, but that the artists seem too often to produce their -spiritual food for the cultured only—at any rate that a singularly small -share seems to reach the country labourers who work to supply the bodily -food! Even were the “division of labour” shown to be a fair one, the -“division of products” seems remarkably one-sided. - -Once again: how is it that often when a new work is produced, neither -the critics, the artists, the publishers, nor the public, seem to know -whether it is valuable or worthless? Some of the most famous books in -English literature could hardly find a publisher, or were savagely -derided by leading critics; while other works once acclaimed as -masterpieces are now laughed at or utterly forgotten. A play which -nobody now reads was once passed off as a newly-discovered masterpiece -of Shakespear’s, and was produced at a leading London theatre. Are the -critics playing blind-man’s buff? Are they relying on each other? Is -each following his own whim and fancy? Or do they possess a criterion -which they never reveal to those outside the profession? - -Such are a few of the many problems relating to art which present -themselves to us all, and it is the purpose of this book to enable us to -reach such a comprehension of art, and of the position art should occupy -in our lives, as will enable us to answer such questions. - -The task is one of enormous difficulty. Under the cloak of “art,” so -much selfish amusement and self-indulgence tries to justify itself, and -so many mercenary interests are concerned in preventing the light from -shining in upon the subject, that the clamour raised by this book can -only be compared to that raised by the silversmiths of Ephesus when they -shouted, “Great is Diana of the Ephesians!” for about the space of two -hours. - -Elaborate theories blocked the path with subtle sophistries or ponderous -pseudo-erudition. Merely to master these, and expose them, was by itself -a colossal labour, but necessary in order to clear the road for a -statement of any fresh view. To have accomplished this work of exposure -in a few chapters is a wonderful achievement. To have done it without -making the book intolerably dry is more wonderful still. In Chapter III. -(where a rapid summary of some sixty æsthetic writers is given) even -Tolstoy’s powers fail to make the subject interesting, except to the -specialist, and he has to plead with his readers “not to be overcome by -dulness, but to read these extracts through.” - -Among the writers mentioned, English readers miss the names of John -Ruskin and William Morris, especially as so much that Tolstoy says, is -in accord with their views. - -Of Ruskin, Tolstoy has a very high opinion. I have heard him say, “I -don’t know why you English make such a fuss about Gladstone—you have a -much greater man in Ruskin.” As a stylist, too, Tolstoy speaks of him -with high commendation. Ruskin, however, though he has written on art -with profound insight, and has said many things with which Tolstoy fully -agrees, has, I think, nowhere so systematised and summarised his view -that it can be readily quoted in the concise way which has enabled -Tolstoy to indicate his points of essential agreement with Home, Véron, -and Kant. Even the attempt to summarise Kant’s æsthetic philosophy in a -dozen lines will hardly be of much service except to readers who have -already some acquaintance with the subject. For those to whom the -difference between “subjective” and “objective” perceptions is fresh, a -dozen pages would be none too much. And to summarise Ruskin would be -perhaps more difficult than to condense Kant. - -As to William Morris, we are reminded of his dictum that art is the -workman’s expression of joy in his work, by Tolstoy’s “As soon as the -author is not producing art for his own satisfaction,—does not himself -feel what he wishes to express,—a resistance immediately springs up” (p. -154); and again, “In such transmission to others of the feelings that -have arisen in him, he (the artist) will find his happiness” (p. 195). -Tolstoy sweeps over a far wider range of thought, but he and Morris are -not opposed. Morris was emphasising part of what Tolstoy is implying. - -But to return to the difficulties of Tolstoy’s task. There is one, not -yet mentioned, lurking in the hearts of most of us. We have enjoyed -works of “art.” We have been interested by the information conveyed in a -novel, or we have been thrilled by an unexpected “effect”; have admired -the exactitude with which real life has been reproduced, or have had our -feelings touched by allusions to, or reproductions of, works—old German -legends, Greek myths, or Hebrew poetry—which moved us long ago, as they -moved generations before us. And we thought all this was “art.” Not -clearly understanding what art is, and wherein its importance lies, we -were not only attached to these things, but attributed importance to -them, calling them “artistic” and “beautiful,” without well knowing what -we meant by those words. - -But here is a book that obliges us to clear our minds. It challenges us -to define “art” and “beauty,” and to say why we consider these things, -that pleased us, to be specially important. And as to beauty, we find -that the definition given by æsthetic writers amounts merely to this, -that “Beauty is a kind of pleasure received by us, not having personal -advantage for its object.” But it follows from this, that “beauty” is a -matter of taste, differing among different people, and to attach special -importance to what pleases _me_ (and others who have had the same sort -of training that I have had) is merely to repeat the old, old mistake -which so divides human society; it is like declaring that my race is the -best race, my nation the best nation, my church the best church, and my -family the “best” family. It indicates ignorance and selfishness. - -But “truth angers those whom it does not convince;”—people do not wish -to understand these things. It seems, at first, as though Tolstoy were -obliging us to sacrifice something valuable. We do not realise that we -are being helped to select the best art, but we do feel that we are -being deprived of our sense of satisfaction in Rudyard Kipling. - -Both the magnitude and the difficulty of the task were therefore very -great, but they have been surmounted in a marvellous manner. Of the -effect this book has had on me personally, I can only say that “whereas -I was blind, now I see.” Though sensitive to some forms of art, I was, -when I took it up, much in the dark on questions of æsthetic philosophy; -when I had done with it, I had grasped the main solution of the problem -so clearly that—though I waded through nearly all that the critics and -reviewers had to say about the book—I never again became perplexed upon -the central issues. - -Tolstoy was indeed peculiarly qualified for the task he has -accomplished. It was after many years of work as a writer of fiction, -and when he was already standing in the very foremost rank of European -novelists, that he found himself compelled to face, in deadly earnest, -the deepest problems of human life. He not only could not go on writing -books, but he felt he could not live, unless he found clear guidance, so -that he might walk sure-footedly and know the purpose and meaning of his -life. Not as a mere question of speculative curiosity, but as a matter -of vital necessity, he devoted years to rediscover the truths which -underlie all religion. - -To fit him for this task he possessed great knowledge of men and books, -a wide experience of life, a knowledge of languages, and a freedom from -bondage to any authority but that of reason and conscience. He was -pinned to no Thirty-nine Articles, and was in receipt of no retaining -fee which he was not prepared to sacrifice. Another gift, rare among men -of his position, was his wonderful sincerity and (due, I think, to that -sincerity) an amazing power of looking at the phenomena of our complex -and artificial life with the eyes of a little child; going straight to -the real, obvious facts of the case, and brushing aside the sophistries, -the conventionalities, and the “authorities” by which they are obscured. - -He commenced the task when he was about fifty years of age, and since -then (_i.e._, during the last twenty years) he has produced nine -philosophical or scientific works of first-rate importance, besides a -great many stories and short articles. These works, in chronological -order, are— - - _My Confession._ - - _A Criticism of Dogmatic Theology_, which has never been translated. - - _The Four Gospels Harmonised and Translated_, of which only two - parts, out of three, have as yet appeared in English. - - _What I Believe_, sometimes called _My Religion_. - - _The Gospel in Brief._ - - _What are we to do then?_ sometimes called in English _What to do?_ - - _On Life_, which is not an easy work in the original, and has not - been satisfactorily translated.[1] - - _The Kingdom of God is within you_; and - - _The Christian Teaching_, which appeared after _What is Art?_ though - it was written before it. - -To these scientific works I am inclined to add _The Kreutzer Sonata_, -with the _Sequel_ or _Postscript_ explaining its purpose; for though -_The Kreutzer Sonata_ is a story, the understanding of sexual problems, -dealt with explicitly in the _Sequel_, is an integral part of that -comprehension of life which causes Tolstoy to admire Christ, Buddha, or -Francis of Assisi. - -These ten works treat of the meaning of our life; of the problems raised -by the fact that we approve of some things and disapprove of others, and -find ourselves deciding which of two courses to pursue. - -Religion, Government, Property, Sex, War, and all the relations in which -man stands to man, to his own consciousness, and to the ultimate source -(which we call God) from whence that consciousness proceeds—are examined -with the utmost frankness. - -And all this time the problems of Art: What is Art? What importance is -due to it? How is it related to the rest of life?—were working in his -mind. He was a great artist, often upbraided for having abandoned his -art. He, of all men, was bound to clear his thoughts on this perplexing -subject, and to express them. His whole philosophy of life—the -“religious perception” to which, with such tremendous labour and effort, -he had attained, forbade him to detach art from life, and place it in a -water-tight compartment where it should not act on life or be re-acted -upon by life. - -Life to him is rational. It has a clear aim and purpose, discernible by -the aid of reason and conscience. And no human activity can be fully -understood or rightly appreciated until the central purpose of life is -perceived. - -You cannot piece together a puzzle-map as long as you keep one bit in a -wrong place, but when the pieces all fit together, then you have a -demonstration that they are all in their right places. Tolstoy used that -simile years ago when explaining how the comprehension of the text, -“resist not him that is evil,” enabled him to perceive the -reasonableness of Christ’s teaching, which had long baffled him. So it -is with the problem of Art. Wrongly understood, it will tend to confuse -and perplex your whole comprehension of life. But given the clue -supplied by true “religious perception,” and you can place art so that -it shall fit in with a right understanding of politics, economics, -sex-relationships, science, and all other phases of human activity. - -The basis on which this work rests, is a perception of the meaning of -human life. This has been quite lost sight of by some of the reviewers, -who have merely misrepresented what Tolstoy says, and then demonstrated -how very stupid he would have been had he said what they attributed to -him. Leaving his premises and arguments untouched, they dissent from -various conclusions—as though it were all a mere question of taste. They -say that they are very fond of things which Tolstoy ridicules, and that -they can’t understand why he does not like what they like—which is quite -possible, especially if they have not understood the position from which -he starts. But such criticism can lead to nothing. Discussions as to why -one man likes pears and another prefers meat, do not help towards -finding a definition of what is essential in nourishment; and just so, -“the solution of questions of taste in art does not help to make clear -what this particular human activity which we call art really consists -in.” - -The object of the following brief summary of a few main points is to -help the reader to avoid pitfalls into which many reviewers have fallen. -It aims at being no more than a bare statement of the positions—for more -than that, the reader must turn to the book itself. - -Let it be granted at the outset, that Tolstoy writes for those who have -“ears to hear.” He seldom pauses to safeguard himself against the -captious critic, and cares little for minute verbal accuracy. For -instance, on page 144, he mentions “Paris,” where an English writer -(even one who knew to what an extent Paris is the art centre of France, -and how many artists flock thither from Russia, America, and all ends of -the earth) would have been almost sure to have said “France,” for fear -of being thought to exaggerate. One needs some alertness of mind to -follow Tolstoy in his task of compressing so large a subject into so -small a space. Moreover, he is an emphatic writer who says what he -means, and even, I think, sometimes rather overemphasizes it. With this -much warning let us proceed to a brief summary of Tolstoy’s view of art. - -“Art is a human activity,” and consequently does not exist for its own -sake, but is valuable or objectionable in proportion as it is -serviceable or harmful to mankind. The object of this activity is to -transmit to others feeling the artist has experienced. Such -feelings—intentionally re-evoked and successfully transmitted to -others—are the subject-matter of all art. By certain external -signs—movements, lines, colours, sounds, or arrangements of words—an -artist infects other people so that they share his feelings. Thus “art -is a means of union among men, joining them together in the same -feelings.” - -Chapters II. to V. contain an examination of various theories which have -taken art to be something other than this, and step by step we are -brought to the conclusion that art is this, and nothing but this. - -Having got our definition of art, let us first consider art -independently of its subject-matter, _i.e._, without asking whether the -feelings transmitted are good, bad, or indifferent. Without adequate -expression there is no art, for there is no infection, no transference -to others of the author’s feeling. The test of art is infection. If an -author has moved you so that you feel as he felt, if you are so united -to him in feeling that it seems to you that he has expressed just what -you have long wished to express, the work that has so infected you is a -work of art. - -In this sense, it is true that art has nothing to do with morality; for -the test lies in the “infection,” and not in any consideration of the -goodness or badness of the emotions conveyed. Thus the test of art is an -_internal_ one. The activity of art is based on the fact that a man, -receiving, through his sense of hearing or sight, another man’s -expression of feeling, is capable of experiencing the emotion that moved -the man who expressed it. We all share the same common human nature, and -in this sense, at least, are sons of one Father. To take the simplest -example: a man laughs, and another, who hears, becomes merry; or a man -weeps, and another, who hears, feels sorrow. Note in passing that it -does not amount to art “if a man infects others directly, immediately, -at the very time he experiences the feeling; if he causes another man to -yawn when he himself cannot help yawning,” etc. Art begins when some -one, _with the object of making others share his feeling_, expresses his -feeling by certain external indications. - -Normal human beings possess this faculty to be infected by the -expression of another man’s emotions. For a plain man of unperverted -taste, living in contact with nature, with animals, and with his -fellow-men—say, for “a country peasant of unperverted taste, this is -as easy as it is for an animal of unspoilt scent to follow the trace -he needs.” And he will know indubitably whether a work presented to -him does, or does not, unite him in feeling with the author. But -very many people “of our circle” (upper and middle class society) -live such unnatural lives, in such conventional relations to the -people around them, and in such artificial surroundings, that they -have lost “that simple feeling, that sense of infection with -another’s feeling—compelling us to joy in another’s gladness, to -sorrow in another’s grief, and to mingle souls with another—which is -the essence of art.” Such people, therefore, have no inner test by -which to recognise a work of art; and they will always be mistaking -other things for art, and seeking for external guides, such as the -opinions of “recognised authorities.” Or they will mistake for art -something that produces a merely physiological effect—lulling or -exciting them; or some intellectual puzzle that gives them something -to think about. - -But if most people of the “cultured crowd” are impervious to true art, -is it really possible that a common Russian country peasant, for -instance, whose work-days are filled with agricultural labour, and whose -brief leisure is largely taken up by his family life and by his -participation in the affairs of the village commune—is it possible that -_he_ can recognise and be touched by works of art? Certainly it is! Just -as in ancient Greece crowds assembled to hear the poems of Homer, so -to-day in Russia, as in many countries and many ages, the Gospel -parables, and much else of the highest art, are gladly heard by the -common people. And this does not refer to any superstitious use of the -Bible, but to its use as literature. - -Not only do normal, labouring country people possess the capacity to be -infected by good art—“the epic of Genesis, folk-legends, fairy-tales, -folk-songs, etc.,” but they themselves produce songs, stories, dances, -decorations, etc., which are works of true art. Take as examples the -works of Burns or Bunyan, and the peasant women’s song mentioned by -Tolstoy in Chapter XIV., or some of those melodies produced by the negro -slaves on the southern plantations, which have touched, and still touch, -many of us with the emotions felt by their unknown and unpaid composers. - -The one great quality which makes a work of art truly contagious is its -_sincerity_. If an artist is really actuated by a feeling, and is -strongly impelled to communicate that feeling to other people—not for -money or fame, or anything else, but because he feels he must share -it—then he will not be satisfied till he has found a _clear_ way of -expressing it. And the man who is not borrowing his feelings, but has -drawn what he expresses from the depths of his nature, is sure to be -_original_, for in the same way that no two people have exactly similar -faces or forms, no two people have exactly similar minds or souls. - -That in briefest outline is what Tolstoy says about art, considered -apart from its subject-matter. And this is how certain critics have met -it. They say that when Tolstoy says the test of art is _internal_, he -must mean that it is _external_. When he says that country peasants have -in the past appreciated, and do still appreciate, works of the highest -art, he means that the way to detect a work of art is to see what is -apparently most popular among the masses. Go into the streets or -music-halls of the cities in any particular country and year, and -observe what is most frequently sung, shouted, or played on the -barrel-organs. It may happen to be - - “Tarara-boom-deay,” - -or, - - “We don’t want to fight, - But, by Jingo, if we do.” - -But whatever it is, you may at once declare these songs to be the -highest musical art, without even pausing to ask to what they owe their -vogue—what actress, or singer, or politician, or wave of patriotic -passion has conduced to their popularity. Nor need you consider whether -that popularity is not merely temporary and local. Tolstoy has said that -works of the highest art are understood by unperverted country -peasants—and here are things which are popular with the mob, _ergo_, -these things must be the highest art. - -The critics then proceed to say that such a test is utterly absurd. And -on this point I am able to agree with the critics. - -Some of these writers commence their articles by saying that Tolstoy is -a most profound thinker, a great prophet, an intellectual force, etc. -Yet when Tolstoy, in his emphatic way, makes the sweeping remark that -“good art always pleases every one,” the critics do not read on to find -out what he means, but reply: “No! good art does not please every one; -some people are colour-blind, and some are deaf, or have no ear for -music.” - -It is as though a man strenuously arguing a point were to say, “Every -one knows that two and two make four,” and a boy who did not at all see -what the speaker was driving at, were to reply: “No, our new-born baby -doesn’t know it!” It would distract attention from the subject in hand, -but it would not elucidate matters. - -There is, of course, a verbal contradiction between the statements that -“good art always pleases every one” (p. 100), and the remark concerning -“people of our circle,” who, “with very few exceptions, artists and -public and critics, ... cannot distinguish true works of art from -counterfeits, but continually mistake for real art the worst and most -artificial” (p. 151). But I venture to think that any one of -intelligence, and free from prejudice, reading this book carefully, need -not fail to reach the author’s meaning. - -A point to be carefully noted is the distinction between science and -art. “Science investigates and brings to human perception such truths -and such knowledge as the people of a given time and society consider -most important. Art transmits these truths from the region of perception -to the region of emotion” (p. 102). Science is an “activity of the -understanding which demands preparation and a certain sequence of -knowledge, so that one cannot learn trigonometry before knowing -geometry.” “The business of art,” on the other hand, “lies just in -this—to make that understood and felt which, in the form of an argument, -might be incomprehensible and inaccessible” (p. 102). It “infects any -man whatever his plane of development,” and “the hindrance to -understanding the best and highest _feelings_ (as is said in the gospel) -does not at all lie in deficiency of development or learning, but, on -the contrary, in false development and false learning” (pp. 102, 103). -Science and art are frequently blended in one work—_e.g._, in the gospel -elucidation of Christ’s comprehension of life, or, to take a modern -instance, in Henry George’s elucidation of the land question in -_Progress and Poverty_. - -The class distinction to which Tolstoy repeatedly alludes needs some -explanation. The position of the lower classes in England and in Russia -is different. In Russia a much larger number of people live on the verge -of starvation; the condition of the factory-hands is much worse than in -England, and there are many glaring cases of brutal cruelty inflicted on -the peasants by the officials, the police, or the military,—but in -Russia a far greater proportion of the population live in the country, -and a peasant usually has his own house, and tills his share of the -communal lands. The “unperverted country peasant” of whom Tolstoy speaks -is a man who perhaps suffers grievous want when there is a bad harvest -in his province, but he is a man accustomed to the experiences of a -natural life, to the management of his own affairs, and to a real voice -in the arrangements of the village commune. The Government interferes, -from time to time, to collect its taxes by force, to take the young men -for soldiers, or to maintain the “rights” of the upper classes; but -otherwise the peasant is free to do what he sees to be necessary and -reasonable. On the other hand, English labourers are, for the most part, -not so poor, they have more legal rights, and they have votes; but a far -larger number of them live in towns and are engaged in unnatural -occupations, while even those that do live in touch with nature are -usually mere wage-earners, tilling other men’s land, and living often in -abject submission to the farmer, the parson, or the lady-bountiful. They -are dependent on an employer for daily bread, and the condition of a -wage-labourer is as unnatural as that of a landlord. - -The tyranny of the St. Petersburg bureaucracy is more dramatic, but less -omnipresent—and probably far less fatal to the capacity to enjoy -art—than the tyranny of our respectable, self-satisfied, and -property-loving middle-class. I am therefore afraid that we have no -great number of “unperverted” country labourers to compare with those of -whom Tolstoy speaks—and some of whom I have known personally. But the -truth Tolstoy elucidates lies far too deep in human nature to be -infringed by such differences of local circumstance. Whatever those -circumstances may be, the fact remains that in proportion as a man -approaches towards the condition not only of “earning his subsistence by -some kind of labour,” but of “living on all its sides the life natural -and proper to mankind,” his capacity to appreciate true art tends to -increase. On the other hand, when a class settles down into an -artificial way of life,—loses touch with nature, becomes confused in its -perceptions of what is good and what is bad, and prefers the condition -of a parasite to that of a producer,—its capacity to appreciate true art -must diminish. Having lost all clear perception of the meaning of life, -such people are necessarily left without any criterion which will enable -them to distinguish good from bad art, and they are sure to follow -eagerly after beauty, or “that which pleases them.” - -The artists of our society can usually only reach people of the upper -and middle classes. But who is the great artist?—he who delights a -select audience of his own day and class, or he whose works link -generation to generation and race to race in a common bond of feeling? -Surely art should fulfil its purpose as completely as possible. A work -of art that united every one with the author, and with one another, -would be perfect art. Tolstoy, in his emphatic way, speaks of works of -“universal” art, and (though the profound critics hasten to inform us -that no work of art ever reached everybody) certainly the more nearly a -work of art approaches to such expression of feeling that every one may -be infected by it—the nearer (apart from all question of subject-matter) -it approaches perfection. - -But now as to subject-matter. The subject-matter of art consists of -feelings which can be spread from man to man, feelings which are -“contagious” or “infectious.” Is it of no importance _what_ feelings -increase and multiply among men? - -One man feels that submission to the authority of _his_ church, and -belief in all that it teaches him, is good; another is embued by a sense -of each man’s duty to think with his own head—to use for his guidance in -life the reason and conscience given to him. One man feels that his -nation _ought to_ wipe out in blood the shame of a defeat inflicted on -her; another feels that we are brothers, sons of one spirit, and that -the slaughter of man by man is always wrong. One man feels that the most -desirable thing in life is the satisfaction obtainable by the love of -women; another man feels that sex-love is an entanglement and a snare, -hindering his real work in life. And each of these, if he possess an -artist’s gift of expression, and if the feeling be really his own and -sincere, may infect other men. But some of these feelings will benefit -and some will harm mankind, and the more widely they are spread the -greater will be their effect. - -Art unites men. Surely it is desirable that the feelings in which it -unites them should be “the best and highest to which men have risen,” or -at least should not run contrary to our perception of what makes for the -well-being of ourselves and of others. And our perception of what makes -for the well-being of ourselves and of others is what Tolstoy calls our -“religious perception.” - -Therefore the subject-matter of what we, in our day, can esteem as being -the best art, can be of two kinds only— - -(1) Feelings flowing from the highest perception now attainable by man -of our right relation to our neighbour and to the Source from which we -come. Dickens’ “Christmas Carol,” uniting us in a more vivid sense of -compassion and love, is a ready example of such art. - -(2) The simple feelings of common life, accessible to every one—provided -that they are such as do not hinder progress towards well-being. Art of -this kind makes us realise to how great an extent we already are members -one of another—sharing the feelings of one common human nature. - -The success of a very primitive novel—the story of Joseph, which made -its way into the sacred books of the Jews, spread from land to land and -from age to age, and continues to be read to-day among people quite free -from bibliolatry—shows how nearly “universal” may be the appeal of this -kind of art. This branch includes all harmless jokes, folk-stories, -nursery rhymes, and even dolls, if only the author or designer has -expressed a feeling (tenderness, pleasure, humour, or what not) so as to -infect others. - -But how are we to know what _are_ the “best” feelings? What is good? and -what is evil? This is decided by “religious perception.” Some such -perception exists in every human being; there is always something he -approves of, and something he disapproves of. Reason and conscience are -always present, active or latent, as long as man lives. Miss Flora Shaw -tells that the most degraded cannibal she ever met, drew the line at -eating his own mother—nothing would induce him to entertain the thought, -his moral sense was revolted by the suggestion. In most societies the -“religious perception,” to which they have advanced,—the foremost stage -in mankind’s long march towards perfection, which has been -discerned,—has been clearly expressed by some one, and more or less -consciously accepted as an ideal by the many. But there are transition -periods in history when the worn-out formularies of a past age have -ceased to satisfy men, or have become so incrusted with superstitions -that their original brightness is lost. The “religious perception” that -is dawning may not yet have found such expression as to be generally -understood, but for all that it exists, and shows itself by compelling -men to repudiate beliefs that satisfied their forefathers, the outward -and visible signs of which are still endowed and dominant long after -their spirit has taken refuge in temples not made with hands. - -At such times it is difficult for men to understand each other, for the -very _words_ needed to express the deepest experiences of men’s -consciousness mean different things to different men. So among us -to-day, to many minds _faith_ means _credulity_, and _God_ suggests a -person of the male sex, father of one only-begotten son, and creator of -the universe. - -This is why Tolstoy’s clear and rational “religious perception,” -expressed in the books named on a previous page, is frequently spoken of -by people who have not grasped it, as “mysticism.” - -The narrow materialist is shocked to find that Tolstoy will not confine -himself to the “objective” view of life. Encountering in himself that -“inner voice” which compels us all to choose between good and evil, -Tolstoy refuses to be diverted from a matter which is of immediate and -vital importance to him, by discussions as to the derivation of the -external manifestations of conscience which biologists are able to -detect in remote forms of life. The real mystic, on the other hand, -shrinks from Tolstoy’s desire to try all things by the light of reason, -to depend on nothing vague, and to accept nothing on authority. The man -who does not trust his own reason, fears that life thus squarely faced -will prove less worth having than it is when clothed in mist. - -In this work, however, Tolstoy does not recapitulate at length what he -has said before. He does not pause to re-explain why he condemns -Patriotism—_i.e._, each man’s preference for the predominance of _his -own_ country, which leads to the murder of man by man in war; or -Churches, which are sectarian—_i.e._, which striving to assert that your -doxy is heterodoxy, but that _our_ doxy is orthodoxy, make external -authorities (Popes, Bibles, Councils) supreme, and cling to -superstitions (_their own_ miracles, legends, and myths), thus -separating themselves from communion with the rest of mankind. Nor does -he re-explain why he (like Christ) says “pitiable is your plight—ye -rich,” who live artificial lives, maintainable only by the unbrotherly -use of force (police and soldiers), but blessed are ye poor—who, by your -way of life, are within easier reach of brotherly conditions, if you -will but trust to reason and conscience, and change the direction of -your hearts and of your labour,—working no more primarily from fear or -greed, but seeking _first_ the kingdom of righteousness, in which all -good things will be added unto you. He merely summarises it all in a few -sentences, defining the “religious perception” of to-day, which alone -can decide for us “the degree of importance both of the feelings -transmitted by art and of the information transmitted by science.” - -“The religious perception of our time, in its widest and most practical -application, is the consciousness that our well-being, both material and -spiritual, individual and collective, temporal and eternal, lies in the -growth of brotherhood among men—in their loving harmony with one -another” (p. 159). - -And again: - -“However differently in form people belonging to our Christian world may -define the destiny of man; whether they see it in human progress in -whatever sense of the words, in the union of all men in a socialistic -realm, or in the establishment of a commune; whether they look forward -to the union of mankind under the guidance of one universal Church, or -to the federation of the world,—however various in form their -definitions of the destination of human life may be, all men in our -times already admit that the highest well-being attainable by men is to -be reached by their union with one another” (p. 188). - -This is the foundation on which the whole work is based. It follows -necessarily from this perception that we should consider as most -important in science “investigations into the results of good and bad -actions, considerations of the reasonableness or unreasonableness of -human institutions and beliefs, considerations of how human life should -be lived in order to obtain the greatest well-being for each; as to what -one may and ought, and what one cannot and should not believe; how to -subdue one’s passions, and how to acquire the habit of virtue.” This is -the science that “occupied Moses, Solon, Socrates, Epictetus, Confucius, -Mencius, Marcus Aurelius, Spinoza, and all those who have taught men to -live a moral life,” and it is precisely the kind of scientific -investigation to which Tolstoy has devoted most of the last twenty -years, and for the sake of which he is often said to have “abandoned -art.” - -Since science, like art, is a “human activity,” _that_ science best -deserves our esteem, best deserves to be “chosen, tolerated, approved, -and diffused,” which treats of what is supremely important to man; which -deals with urgent, vital, inevitable problems of actual life. Such -science as this brings “to the consciousness of men the truths that flow -from the religious perception of our times,” and “indicates the various -methods of applying this consciousness to life.” “Art should transform -this perception into feeling.” - -The “science” which is occupied in “pouring liquids from one jar into -another, or analysing the spectrum, or cutting up frogs and porpoises,” -is no use for rendering such guidance to art, though capable of -practical applications which, under a more righteous system of society, -might greatly have lightened the sufferings of mankind. - -Naturally enough, the last chapter of the book deals with the relation -between science and art. And the conclusion is that: - -“The destiny of art in our time is to transmit from the realm of reason -to the realm of feeling the truth that well-being for men consists in -being united together, and to set up, in place of the existing reign of -force, that kingdom of God, _i.e._ of love, which we all recognise to be -the highest aim of human life.” - -And this art of the future will not be poorer, but far richer, in -subject-matter than the art of to-day. From the lullaby—that will -delight millions of people, generation after generation—to the highest -religious art, dealing with strong, rich, and varied emotions flowing -from a fresh outlook upon life and all its problems—the field open for -good art is enormous. With so much to say that is urgently important to -all, the art of the future will, in matter of form also, be far superior -to our art in “clearness, beauty, simplicity, and compression” (p. 194). - -For beauty (_i.e._, “that which pleases”)—though it depends on taste, -and can furnish no _criterion_ for art—will be a natural characteristic -of work done, not for hire, nor even for fame, but because men, living a -natural and healthy life, wish to share the “highest spiritual strength -which passes through them” with the greatest possible number of others. -The feelings such an artist wishes to share, he will transmit in a way -that will please him, and will please other men who share his nature. - -Morality is in the nature of things—we cannot escape it. - -In a society where each man sets himself to obtain wealth, the -difficulty of obtaining an honest living tends to become greater and -greater. The more keenly a society pants to obtain “that which pleases,” -and puts this forward as the first and great consideration, the more -puerile and worthless will their art become. But in a society which -sought, primarily, for right relations between its members, an abundance -would easily be obtainable for all; and when “religious perception” -guides a people’s art—beauty inevitably results, as has always been the -case when men have seized a fresh perception of life and of its purpose. - - * * * * * - -An illustration which Tolstoy struck out of the work while it was being -printed, may serve to illustrate how, with the aid of the principles -explained above, we may judge of the merits of any work professing to be -art. - -Take _Romeo and Juliet_. The conventional view is that Shakespear is the -greatest of artists, and that _Romeo and Juliet_ is one of his good -plays. Why this is so nobody can tell you. It is so: that is the way -certain people feel about it. They are “the authorities,” and to doubt -their dictum is to show that you know nothing about art. Tolstoy does -not agree with them in their estimate of Shakespear, therefore Tolstoy -is wrong! - -But now let us apply Tolstoy’s view of art to _Romeo and Juliet_. He -does not deny that it infects. “Let us admit that it is a work of art, -that it infects (though it is so artificial that it can infect only -those who have been carefully educated thereunto); but what are the -feelings it transmits?” - -That is to say, judging by the _internal_ test, Tolstoy admits that -_Romeo and Juliet_ unites him to its author and to other people in -feeling. But the work is very far from being one of “universal” art—only -a small minority of people ever have cared, or ever will care, for it. -Even in England, or even in the layer of European society it is best -adapted to reach, it only touches a minority, and does not approach the -universality attained by the story of Joseph and many pieces of -folk-lore. - -But perhaps the subject-matter, the _feeling_ with which _Romeo and -Juliet_ infects those whom it does reach, lifts it into the class of the -highest religious art? Not so. The feeling is one of the attractiveness -of “love at first sight.” A girl fourteen years old and a young man meet -at an aristocratic party, where there is feasting and pleasure and -idleness, and, without knowing each other’s minds, they fall in love as -the birds and beasts do. If any feeling is transmitted to us, it is the -feeling that there _is_ a pleasure in these things. Somewhere, in most -natures, there dwells, dominant or dormant, an inclination to let such -physical sexual attraction guide our course in life. To give it a plain -name, it is “sensuality.” “How can I, father or mother of a daughter of -Juliet’s age, wish that those foul feelings which the play transmits -should be communicated to my daughter? And if the feelings transmitted -by the play are bad, how can I call it good in subject-matter?” - -But, objects a friend, the _moral_ of _Romeo and Juliet_ is excellent. -See what disasters followed from the physical “love at first sight.” But -that is quite another matter. It is the feelings with which you are -infected when reading, and not any moral you can deduce, that is -subject-matter of art. Pondering upon the consequences that flow from -Romeo and Juliet’s behaviour may belong to the domain of moral science, -but not to that of art. - -I have hesitated to use an illustration Tolstoy had struck out, but I -think it serves its purpose. No doubt there are other, subordinate, -feelings (_e.g._ humour) to be found in _Romeo and Juliet_; but many -quaint conceits that are ingenious, and have been much admired, are not, -I think, infectious. - -Tried by such tests, the enormous majority of the things we have been -taught to consider great works of art are found wanting. Either they -fail to infect (and attract merely by being interesting, realistic, -effectful, or by borrowing from others), and are therefore not works of -art at all; or they are works of “exclusive art,” bad in form and -capable of infecting only a select audience trained and habituated to -such inferior art; or they are bad in subject-matter, transmitting -feelings harmful to mankind. - -Tolstoy does not shrink from condemning his own artistic productions; -with the exception of two short stories, he tells us they are works of -bad art. Take, for instance, the novel _Resurrection_, which is now -appearing, and of which he has, somewhere, spoken disparagingly, as -being “written in my former style,” and being therefore bad art. What -does this mean? The book is a masterpiece in its own line; it is eagerly -read in many languages; it undoubtedly infects its readers, and the -feelings transmitted are, in the main, such as Tolstoy approves of—in -fact, they are the feelings to which his religious perception has -brought him. If lust is felt in one chapter, the reaction follows as -inevitably as in real life, and is transmitted with great artistic -power. Why a work of such rare merit does not satisfy Tolstoy, is -because it is a work of “exclusive art,” laden with details of time and -place. It has not the “simplicity and compression” necessary in works of -“universal” art. Things are mentioned which might apparently be quite -well omitted. The style, also, is not one of great simplicity; the -sentences are often long and involved, as is commonly the case in -Tolstoy’s writings. It is a novel appealing mainly to the class that has -leisure for novel reading because it neglects to produce its own food, -make its own clothes, or build its own houses. If Tolstoy is stringent -in his judgment of other artists, he is more stringent still in his -judgment of his own artistic works. Had _Resurrection_ been written by -Dickens, or by Hugo, Tolstoy would, I think, have found a place for it -(with whatever reservations) among the examples of religious art. For -indeed, strive as we may to be clear and explicit, our approval and -disapproval is a matter of degree. The thought which underlay the -remark: “Why callest thou me good? none is good, save one, even God,” -applies not to man only, but to all things human. - -_What is Art?_ itself is a work of science—though many passages, and -even some whole chapters, appeal to us as works of art, and we feel the -contagion of the author’s hope, his anxiety to serve the cause of truth -and love, his indignation (sometimes rather sharply expressed) with what -blocks the path of advance, and his contempt for much that the “cultured -crowd,” in our erudite, perverted society, have persuaded themselves, -and would fain persuade others, is the highest art. - -One result which follows inevitably from Tolstoy’s view (and which -illustrates how widely his views differ from the fashionable æsthetic -mysticism), is that art is not stationary but progressive. It is true -that our highest religious perception found expression eighteen hundred -years ago, and then served as the basis of an art which is still -unmatched; and similar cases can be instanced from the East. But -allowing for such great exceptions,—to which, not inaptly, the term of -“inspiration” has been specially applied,—the subject-matter of art -improves, though long periods of time may have to be considered in order -to make this obvious. Our power of verbal expression, for instance, may -now be no better than it was in the days of David, but we must no longer -esteem as good _in subject-matter_ poems which appeal to the Eternal to -destroy a man’s private or national foes; for we have reached a -“religious perception” which bids us have no foes, and the ultimate -source (undefinable by us) from which this consciousness has come, is -what we mean when we speak of God. - -AYLMER MAUDE. - -Wickham’s Farm, -Near Danbury, Essex, -_23rd March 1899_. - -Footnote 1: - - Bolton Hall has recently published a little work, _Life, and Love, and - Death_, with the object of making the philosophy contained in _On - Life_ more easily accessible in English. - - - - - The Author’s Preface - - -This book of mine, “What is Art?” appears now for the first time in its -true form. More than one edition has already been issued in Russia, but -in each case it has been so mutilated by the “Censor,” that I request -all who are interested in my views on art only to judge of them by the -work in its present shape. The causes which led to the publication of -the book—with my name attached to it—in a mutilated form, were the -following:—In accordance with a decision I arrived at long ago,—not to -submit my writings to the “Censorship” (which I consider to be an -immoral and irrational institution), but to print them only in the shape -in which they were written,—I intended not to attempt to print this work -in Russia. However, my good acquaintance Professor Grote, editor of a -Moscow psychological magazine, having heard of the contents of my work, -asked me to print it in his magazine, and promised me that he would get -the book through the “Censor’s” office unmutilated if I would but agree -to a few very unimportant alterations, merely toning down certain -expressions. I was weak enough to agree to this, and it has resulted in -a book appearing, under my name, from which not only have some essential -thoughts been excluded, but into which the thoughts of other men—even -thoughts utterly opposed to my own convictions—have been introduced. - -The thing occurred in this way. First, Grote softened my expressions, -and in some cases weakened them. For instance, he replaced the words: -_always_ by _sometimes_, _all_ by _some_, _Church_ religion by _Roman -Catholic_ religion, “_Mother of God_” by _Madonna_, _patriotism_ by -_pseudo-patriotism_, _palaces_ by _palatii_,[2] etc., and I did not -consider it necessary to protest. But when the book was already in type, -the Censor required that whole sentences should be altered, and that -instead of what I said about the evil of landed property, a remark -should be substituted on the evils of a landless proletariat.[3] I -agreed to this also and to some further alterations. It seemed not worth -while to upset the whole affair for the sake of one sentence, and when -one alteration had been agreed to it seemed not worth while to protest -against a second and a third. So, little by little, expressions crept -into the book which altered the sense and attributed things to me that I -could not have wished to say. So that by the time the book was printed -it had been deprived of some part of its integrity and sincerity. But -there was consolation in the thought that the book, even in this form, -if it contains something that is good, would be of use to Russian -readers whom it would otherwise not have reached. Things, however, -turned out otherwise. _Nous comptions sans notre hôte._ After the legal -term of four days had already elapsed, the book was seized, and, on -instructions received from Petersburg, it was handed over to the -“Spiritual Censor.” Then Grote declined all further participation in the -affair, and the “Spiritual Censor” proceeded to do what he would with -the book. The “Spiritual Censorship” is one of the most ignorant, venal, -stupid, and despotic institutions in Russia. Books which disagree in any -way with the recognised state religion of Russia, if once it gets hold -of them, are almost always totally suppressed and burnt; which is what -happened to all my religious works when attempts were made to print them -in Russia. Probably a similar fate would have overtaken this work also, -had not the editors of the magazine employed all means to save it. The -result of their efforts was that the “Spiritual Censor,” a priest who -probably understands art and is interested in art as much as I -understand or am interested in church services, but who gets a good -salary for destroying whatever is likely to displease his superiors, -struck out all that seemed to him to endanger his position, and -substituted his thoughts for mine wherever he considered it necessary to -do so. For instance, where I speak of Christ going to the Cross for the -sake of the truth He professed, the “Censor” substituted a statement -that Christ died for mankind, _i.e._ he attributed to me an assertion of -the dogma of the Redemption, which I consider to be one of the most -untrue and harmful of Church dogmas. After correcting the book in this -way, the “Spiritual Censor” allowed it to be printed. - -To protest in Russia is impossible, no newspaper would publish such a -protest, and to withdraw my book from the magazine and place the editor -in an awkward position with the public was also not possible. - -So the matter has remained. A book has appeared under my name containing -thoughts attributed to me which are not mine. - -I was persuaded to give my article to a Russian magazine, in order that -my thoughts, which may be useful, should become the possession of -Russian readers; and the result has been that my name is affixed to a -work from which it might be assumed that I quite arbitrarily assert -things contrary to the general opinion, without adducing my reasons; -that I only consider false patriotism bad, but patriotism in general a -very good feeling; that I merely deny the absurdities of the Roman -Catholic Church and disbelieve in the Madonna, but that I believe in the -Orthodox Eastern faith and in the “Mother of God”; that I consider all -the writings collected in the Bible to be holy books, and see the chief -importance of Christ’s life in the Redemption of mankind by his death. - -I have narrated all this in such detail because it strikingly -illustrates the indubitable truth, that all compromise with institutions -of which your conscience disapproves,—compromises which are usually made -for the sake of the general good,—instead of producing the good you -expected, inevitably lead you not only to acknowledge the institution -you disapprove of, but also to participate in the evil that institution -produces. - -I am glad to be able by this statement at least to do something to -correct the error into which I was led by my compromise. - -I have also to mention that besides reinstating the parts excluded by -the Censor from the Russian editions, other corrections and additions of -importance have been made in this edition. - -LEO TOLSTOY. - -_29th March 1898._ - -Footnote 2: - - Tolstoy’s remarks on Church religion were re-worded so as to seem to - relate only to the Western Church, and his disapproval of luxurious - life was made to apply not, say, to Queen Victoria or Nicholas II., - but to the Cæsars or the Pharaohs.—Trans. - -Footnote 3: - - The Russian peasant is usually a member of a village commune, and has - therefore a right to a share in the land belonging to the village. - Tolstoy disapproves of the order of society which allows less land for - the support of a whole village full of people than is sometimes owned - by a single landed proprietor. The “Censor” will not allow disapproval - of this state of things to be expressed, but is prepared to admit that - the laws and customs, say, of England—where a yet more extreme form of - landed property exists, and the men who actually labour on the land - usually possess none of it—deserve criticism.—Trans. - - - - - Contents - - -INTRODUCTION v - -AUTHOR’S PREFACE xxxiii - -CHAPTER I - -Time and labour spent on art—Lives stunted in its service—Morality -sacrificed to and anger justified by art—The rehearsal of an opera -described 1 - -CHAPTER II - -Does art compensate for so much evil?—What is art?—Confusion of -opinions—Is it “that which produces beauty”?—The word “beauty” in -Russian—Chaos in æsthetics 9 - -CHAPTER III - -Summary of various æsthetic theories and definitions, from Baumgarten to -to-day 20 - -CHAPTER IV - -Definitions of art founded on beauty—Taste not definable—A clear -definition needed to enable us to recognise works of art 38 - -CHAPTER V - -Definitions not founded on beauty—Tolstoy’s definition—The extent and -necessity of art—How people in the past have distinguished good from bad -in art 46 - -CHAPTER VI - -How art for pleasure has come into esteem—Religions indicate what is -considered good and bad—Church Christianity—The Renaissance—Scepticism -of the upper classes—They confound beauty with goodness 53 - -CHAPTER VII - -An æsthetic theory framed to suit this view of life 61 - -CHAPTER VIII - -Who have adopted it?—Real art needful for all men—Our art too expensive, -too unintelligible, and too harmful for the masses—The theory of “the -elect” in art 67 - -CHAPTER IX - -Perversion of our art—It has lost its natural subject-matter—Has no flow -of fresh feeling—Transmits chiefly three base emotions 73 - -CHAPTER X - -Loss of comprehensibility—Decadent art—Recent French art—Have we a right -to say it is bad and that what we like is good art?—The highest art has -always been comprehensible to normal people—What fails to infect normal -people is not art 79 - -CHAPTER XI - -Counterfeits of art produced by: Borrowing; Imitating; Striking; -Interesting—Qualifications needful for production of real works of art, -and those sufficient for production of counterfeits 106 - -CHAPTER XII - -Causes of production of counterfeits—Professionalism—Criticism—Schools -of art 118 - -CHAPTER XIII - -Wagner’s “Nibelung’s Ring” a type of counterfeit art—Its success, and -the reasons thereof 128 - -CHAPTER XIV - -Truths fatal to preconceived views are not readily recognised—Proportion -of works of art to counterfeits—Perversion of taste and incapacity to -recognise art—Examples 143 - -CHAPTER XV - -=The quality of art, considered apart from its subject-matter=—The sign -of art: infectiousness—Incomprehensible to those whose taste is -perverted—Conditions of infection: Individuality; Clearness; Sincerity -152 - -CHAPTER XVI - -=The quality of art, considered according to its subject-matter=—The -better the feeling the better the art—The cultured crowd—The religious -perception of our age—The new ideals put fresh demands to art—Art -unites—Religious art—Universal art—Both co-operate to one result—The new -appraisement of art—Bad art—Examples of art—How to test a work claiming -to be art 156 - -CHAPTER XVII - -Results of absence of true art—Results of perversion of art: Labour and -lives spent on what is useless and harmful—The abnormal life of the -rich—Perplexity of children and plain folk—Confusion of right and -wrong—Nietzsche and Redbeard—Superstition, Patriotism, and Sensuality -175 - -CHAPTER XVIII - -The purpose of human life is the brotherly union of man—Art must be -guided by this perception 187 - -CHAPTER XIX - -The art of the future not a possession of a select minority, but a means -towards perfection and unity 192 - -CHAPTER XX - -The connection between science and art—The mendacious sciences; the -trivial sciences—Science should deal with the great problems of human -life, and serve as a basis for art 200 - - - - - APPENDICES - -Appendix I 215 - -Appendix II 218 - -Appendix III 226 - -Appendix IV 232 - - - - - What is Art? - - -Take up any one of our ordinary newspapers, and you will find a part -devoted to the theatre and music. In almost every number you will find a -description of some art exhibition, or of some particular picture, and -you will always find reviews of new works of art that have appeared, of -volumes of poems, of short stories, or of novels. - -Promptly, and in detail, as soon as it has occurred, an account is -published of how such and such an actress or actor played this or that -rôle in such and such a drama, comedy, or opera; and of the merits of -the performance, as well as of the contents of the new drama, comedy, or -opera, with its defects and merits. With as much care and detail, or -even more, we are told how such and such an artist has sung a certain -piece, or has played it on the piano or violin, and what were the merits -and defects of the piece and of the performance. In every large town -there is sure to be at least one, if not more than one, exhibition of -new pictures, the merits and defects of which are discussed in the -utmost detail by critics and connoisseurs. - -New novels and poems, in separate volumes or in the magazines, appear -almost every day, and the newspapers consider it their duty to give -their readers detailed accounts of these artistic productions. - -For the support of art in Russia (where for the education of the people -only a hundredth part is spent of what would be required to give -everyone the opportunity of instruction) the Government grants millions -of roubles in subsidies to academies, conservatoires and theatres. In -France twenty million francs are assigned for art, and similar grants -are made in Germany and England. - -In every large town enormous buildings are erected for museums, -academies, conservatoires, dramatic schools, and for performances and -concerts. Hundreds of thousands of workmen,—carpenters, masons, -painters, joiners, paperhangers, tailors, hairdressers, jewellers, -moulders, type-setters,—spend their whole lives in hard labour to -satisfy the demands of art, so that hardly any other department of human -activity, except the military, consumes so much energy as this. - -Not only is enormous labour spent on this activity, but in it, as in -war, the very lives of men are sacrificed. Hundreds of thousands of -people devote their lives from childhood to learning to twirl their legs -rapidly (dancers), or to touch notes and strings very rapidly -(musicians), or to draw with paint and represent what they see -(artists), or to turn every phrase inside out and find a rhyme to every -word. And these people, often very kind and clever, and capable of all -sorts of useful labour, grow savage over their specialised and -stupefying occupations, and become one-sided and self-complacent -specialists, dull to all the serious phenomena of life, and skilful only -at rapidly twisting their legs, their tongues, or their fingers. - -But even this stunting of human life is not the worst. I remember being -once at the rehearsal of one of the most ordinary of the new operas -which are produced at all the opera houses of Europe and America. - -I arrived when the first act had already commenced. To reach the -auditorium I had to pass through the stage entrance. By dark entrances -and passages, I was led through the vaults of an enormous building past -immense machines for changing the scenery and for illuminating; and -there in the gloom and dust I saw workmen busily engaged. One of these -men, pale, haggard, in a dirty blouse, with dirty, work-worn hands and -cramped fingers, evidently tired and out of humour, went past me, -angrily scolding another man. Ascending by a dark stair, I came out on -the boards behind the scenes. Amid various poles and rings and scattered -scenery, decorations and curtains, stood and moved dozens, if not -hundreds, of painted and dressed-up men, in costumes fitting tight to -their thighs and calves, and also women, as usual, as nearly nude as -might be. These were all singers, or members of the chorus, or -ballet-dancers, awaiting their turns. My guide led me across the stage -and, by means of a bridge of boards, across the orchestra (in which -perhaps a hundred musicians of all kinds, from kettle-drum to flute and -harp, were seated), to the dark pit-stalls. - -On an elevation, between two lamps with reflectors, and in an arm-chair -placed before a music-stand, sat the director of the musical part, -_bâton_ in hand, managing the orchestra and singers, and, in general, -the production of the whole opera. - -The performance had already commenced, and on the stage a procession of -Indians who had brought home a bride was being represented. Besides men -and women in costume, two other men in ordinary clothes bustled and ran -about on the stage; one was the director of the dramatic part, and the -other, who stepped about in soft shoes and ran from place to place with -unusual agility, was the dancing-master, whose salary per month exceeded -what ten labourers earn in a year. - -These three directors arranged the singing, the orchestra, and the -procession. The procession, as usual, was enacted by couples, with -tinfoil halberds on their shoulders. They all came from one place, and -walked round and round again, and then stopped. The procession took a -long time to arrange: first the Indians with halberds came on too late; -then too soon; then at the right time, but crowded together at the exit; -then they did not crowd, but arranged themselves badly at the sides of -the stage; and each time the whole performance was stopped and -recommenced from the beginning. The procession was introduced by a -recitative, delivered by a man dressed up like some variety of Turk, -who, opening his mouth in a curious way, sang, “Home I bring the -bri-i-ide.” He sings and waves his arm (which is of course bare) from -under his mantle. The procession commences, but here the French horn, in -the accompaniment of the recitative, does something wrong; and the -director, with a shudder as if some catastrophe had occurred, raps with -his stick on the stand. All is stopped, and the director, turning to the -orchestra, attacks the French horn, scolding him in the rudest terms, as -cabmen abuse each other, for taking the wrong note. And again the whole -thing recommences. The Indians with their halberds again come on, -treading softly in their extraordinary boots; again the singer sings, -“Home I bring the bri-i-ide.” But here the pairs get too close together. -More raps with the stick, more scolding, and a recommencement. Again, -“Home I bring the bri-i-ide,” again the same gesticulation with the bare -arm from under the mantle, and again the couples, treading softly with -halberds on their shoulders, some with sad and serious faces, some -talking and smiling, arrange themselves in a circle and begin to sing. -All seems to be going well, but again the stick raps, and the director, -in a distressed and angry voice, begins to scold the men and women of -the chorus. It appears that when singing they had omitted to raise their -hands from time to time in sign of animation. “Are you all dead, or -what? Cows that you are! Are you corpses, that you can’t move?” Again -they re-commence, “Home I bring the bri-i-ide,” and again, with -sorrowful faces, the chorus women sing, first one and then another of -them raising their hands. But two chorus-girls speak to each -other,—again a more vehement rapping with the stick. “Have you come here -to talk? Can’t you gossip at home? You there in red breeches, come -nearer. Look towards me! Recommence!” Again, “Home I bring the -bri-i-ide.” And so it goes on for one, two, three hours. The whole of -such a rehearsal lasts six hours on end. Raps with the stick, -repetitions, placings, corrections of the singers, of the orchestra, of -the procession, of the dancers,—all seasoned with angry scolding. I -heard the words, “asses,” “fools,” “idiots,” “swine,” addressed to the -musicians and singers at least forty times in the course of one hour. -And the unhappy individual to whom the abuse is addressed,—flautist, -horn-blower, or singer,—physically and mentally demoralised, does not -reply, and does what is demanded of him. Twenty times is repeated the -one phrase, “Home I bring the bri-i-ide,” and twenty times the striding -about in yellow shoes with a halberd over the shoulder. The conductor -knows that these people are so demoralised that they are no longer fit -for anything but to blow trumpets and walk about with halberds and in -yellow shoes, and that they are also accustomed to dainty, easy living, -so that they will put up with anything rather than lose their luxurious -life. He therefore gives free vent to his churlishness, especially as he -has seen the same thing done in Paris and Vienna, and knows that this is -the way the best conductors behave, and that it is a musical tradition -of great artists to be so carried away by the great business of their -art that they cannot pause to consider the feelings of other artists. - -It would be difficult to find a more repulsive sight. I have seen one -workman abuse another for not supporting the weight piled upon him when -goods were being unloaded, or, at hay-stacking, the village elder scold -a peasant for not making the rick right, and the man submitted in -silence. And, however unpleasant it was to witness the scene, the -unpleasantness was lessened by the consciousness that the business in -hand was needful and important, and that the fault for which the -head-man scolded the labourer was one which might spoil a needful -undertaking. - -But what was being done here? For what, and for whom? Very likely the -conductor was tired out, like the workman I passed in the vaults; it was -even evident that he was; but who made him tire himself? And for what -was he tiring himself? The opera he was rehearsing was one of the most -ordinary of operas for people who are accustomed to them, but also one -of the most gigantic absurdities that could possibly be devised. An -Indian king wants to marry; they bring him a bride; he disguises himself -as a minstrel; the bride falls in love with the minstrel and is in -despair, but afterwards discovers that the minstrel is the king, and -everyone is highly delighted. - -That there never were, or could be, such Indians, and that they were not -only unlike Indians, but that what they were doing was unlike anything -on earth except other operas, was beyond all manner of doubt; that -people do not converse in such a way as recitative, and do not place -themselves at fixed distances, in a quartet, waving their arms to -express their emotions; that nowhere, except in theatres, do people walk -about in such a manner, in pairs, with tinfoil halberds and in slippers; -that no one ever gets angry in such a way, or is affected in such a way, -or laughs in such a way, or cries in such a way; and that no one on -earth can be moved by such performances; all this is beyond the -possibility of doubt. - -Instinctively the question presents itself—For whom is this being done? -Whom _can_ it please? If there are, occasionally, good melodies in the -opera, to which it is pleasant to listen, they could have been sung -simply, without these stupid costumes and all the processions and -recitatives and hand-wavings. - -The ballet, in which half-naked women make voluptuous movements, -twisting themselves into various sensual wreathings, is simply a lewd -performance. - -So one is quite at a loss as to whom these things are done for. The man -of culture is heartily sick of them, while to a real working man they -are utterly incomprehensible. If anyone can be pleased by these things -(which is doubtful), it can only be some young footman or depraved -artisan, who has contracted the spirit of the upper classes but is not -yet satiated with their amusements, and wishes to show his breeding. - -And all this nasty folly is prepared, not simply, nor with kindly -merriment, but with anger and brutal cruelty. - -It is said that it is all done for the sake of art, and that art is a -very important thing. But is it true that art is so important that such -sacrifices should be made for its sake? This question is especially -urgent, because art, for the sake of which the labour of millions, the -lives of men, and above all, love between man and man, are being -sacrificed,—this very art is becoming something more and more vague and -uncertain to human perception. - -Criticism, in which the lovers of art used to find support for their -opinions, has latterly become so self-contradictory, that, if we exclude -from the domain of art all that to which the critics of various schools -themselves deny the title, there is scarcely any art left. - -The artists of various sects, like the theologians of the various sects, -mutually exclude and destroy themselves. Listen to the artists of the -schools of our times, and you will find, in all branches, each set of -artists disowning others. In poetry the old romanticists deny the -parnassians and the decadents; the parnassians disown the romanticists -and the decadents; the decadents disown all their predecessors and the -symbolists; the symbolists disown all their predecessors and _les -mages_; and _les mages_ disown all, all their predecessors. Among -novelists we have naturalists, psychologists, and “nature-ists,” all -rejecting each other. And it is the same in dramatic art, in painting -and in music. So that art, which demands such tremendous -labour-sacrifices from the people, which stunts human lives and -transgresses against human love, is not only _not_ a thing clearly and -firmly defined, but is understood in such contradictory ways by its own -devotees that it is difficult to say what is meant by art, and -especially what is good, useful art,—art for the sake of which we might -condone such sacrifices as are being offered at its shrine. - - - - - CHAPTER II - - -For the production of every ballet, circus, opera, operetta, exhibition, -picture, concert, or printed book, the intense and unwilling labour of -thousands and thousands of people is needed at what is often harmful and -humiliating work. It were well if artists made all they require for -themselves, but, as it is, they all need the help of workmen, not only -to produce art, but also for their own usually luxurious maintenance. -And, one way or other, they get it; either through payments from rich -people, or through subsidies given by Government (in Russia, for -instance, in grants of millions of roubles to theatres, conservatoires -and academies). This money is collected from the people, some of whom -have to sell their only cow to pay the tax, and who never get those -æsthetic pleasures which art gives. - -It was all very well for a Greek or Roman artist, or even for a Russian -artist of the first half of our century (when there were still slaves, -and it was considered right that there should be), with a quiet mind to -make people serve him and his art; but in our day, when in all men there -is at least some dim perception of the equal rights of all, it is -impossible to constrain people to labour unwillingly for art, without -first deciding the question whether it is true that art is so good and -so important an affair as to redeem this evil. - -If not, we have the terrible probability to consider, that while fearful -sacrifices of the labour and lives of men, and of morality itself, are -being made to art, that same art may be not only useless but even -harmful. - -And therefore it is necessary for a society in which works of art arise -and are supported, to find out whether all that professes to be art is -really art; whether (as is presupposed in our society) all that which is -art is good; and whether it is important and worth those sacrifices -which it necessitates. It is still more necessary for every -conscientious artist to know this, that he may be sure that all he does -has a valid meaning; that it is not merely an infatuation of the small -circle of people among whom he lives which excites in him the false -assurance that he is doing a good work; and that what he takes from -others for the support of his often very luxurious life, will be -compensated for by those productions at which he works. And that is why -answers to the above questions are especially important in our time. - -What is this art, which is considered so important and necessary for -humanity that for its sake these sacrifices of labour, of human life, -and even of goodness may be made? - -“What is art? What a question! Art is architecture, sculpture, painting, -music, and poetry in all its forms,” usually replies the ordinary man, -the art amateur, or even the artist himself, imagining the matter about -which he is talking to be perfectly clear, and uniformly understood by -everybody. But in architecture, one inquires further, are there not -simple buildings which are not objects of art, and buildings with -artistic pretensions which are unsuccessful and ugly and therefore -cannot be considered as works of art? wherein lies the characteristic -sign of a work of art? - -It is the same in sculpture, in music, and in poetry. Art, in all its -forms, is bounded on one side by the practically useful and on the other -by unsuccessful attempts at art. How is art to be marked off from each -of these? The ordinary educated man of our circle, and even the artist -who has not occupied himself especially with æsthetics, will not -hesitate at this question either. He thinks the solution has been found -long ago, and is well known to everyone. - -“Art is such activity as produces beauty,” says such a man. - -If art consists in that, then is a ballet or an operetta art? you -inquire. - -“Yes,” says the ordinary man, though with some hesitation, “a good -ballet or a graceful operetta is also art, in so far as it manifests -beauty.” - -But without even asking the ordinary man what differentiates the “good” -ballet and the “graceful” operetta from their opposites (a question he -would have much difficulty in answering), if you ask him whether the -activity of costumiers and hairdressers, who ornament the figures and -faces of the women for the ballet and the operetta, is art; or the -activity of Worth, the dressmaker; of scent-makers and men-cooks, then -he will, in most cases, deny that their activity belongs to the sphere -of art. But in this the ordinary man makes a mistake, just because he is -an ordinary man and not a specialist, and because he has not occupied -himself with æsthetic questions. Had he looked into these matters, he -would have seen in the great Renan’s book, _Marc Aurele_, a dissertation -showing that the tailor’s work is art, and that those who do not see in -the adornment of woman an affair of the highest art are very -small-minded and dull. “_C’est le grand art_” says Renan. Moreover, he -would have known that in many æsthetic systems—for instance, in the -æsthetics of the learned Professor Kralik, _Weltschönheit_, _Versuch -einer allgemeinen Æsthetik_, _von Richard Kralik_, and in _Les problèmes -de l’Esthétique Contemporaine_, by Guyau—the arts of costume, of taste, -and of touch are included. - -“_Es Folgt nun ein Fünfblatt von Künsten, die der subjectiven -Sinnlichkeit entkeimen_” (There results then a pentafoliate of arts, -growing out of the subjective perceptions), says Kralik (p. 175). “_Sie -sind die ästhetische Behandlung der fünf Sinne._” (They are the æsthetic -treatment of the five senses.) - -These five arts are the following:— - -_Die Kunst des Geschmacksinns_—The art of the sense of taste (p. 175). - -_Die Kunst des Geruchsinns_—The art of the sense of smell (p. 177). - -_Die Kunst des Tastsinns_—The art of the sense of touch (p. 180). - -_Die Kunst des Gehörsinns_—The art of the sense of hearing (p. 182). - -_Die Kunst des Gesichtsinns_—The art of the sense of sight (p. 184). - -Of the first of these—_die Kunst des Geschmacksinns_—he says: “_Man hält -zwar gewöhnlich nur zwei oder höchstens drei Sinne für würdig, den Stoff -künstlerischer Behandlung abzugeben, aber ich glaube nur mit bedingtem -Recht. Ich will kein allzugrosses Gewicht darauf legen, dass der gemeine -Sprachgebrauch manch andere Künste, wie zum Beispiel die Kochkunst -kennt._”[4] - -And further: “_Und es ist doch gewiss eine ästhetische Leistung, wenn es -der Kochkunst gelingt aus einem thierischen Kadaver einen Gegenstand des -Geschmacks in jedem Sinne zu machen. Der Grundsatz der Kunst des -Geschmacksinns (die weiter ist als die sogenannte Kochkunst) ist also -dieser: Es soll alles Geniessbare als Sinnbild einer Idee behandelt -werden und in jedesmaligem Einklang zur auszudrückenden Idee._”[5] - -This author, like Renan, acknowledges a _Kostümkunst_ (Art of Costume) -(p. 200), etc. - -Such is also the opinion of the French writer, Guyau, who is highly -esteemed by some authors of our day. In his book, _Les problèmes de -l’esthétique contemporaine_, he speaks seriously of touch, taste, and -smell as giving, or being capable of giving, aesthetic impressions: “_Si -la couleur manque au toucher, il nous fournit en revanche une notion que -l’œil seul ne peut nous donner, et qui a une valeur esthétique -considérable, celle du doux, du soyeux du poli. Ce qui caractérise la -beauté du velours, c’est sa douceur au toucher non moins que son -brillant. Dans l’idée que nous nous faisons de la beauté d’une femme, le -velouté de sa peau entre comme élément essentiel._” - -“_Chacun de nous probablement avec un peu d’attention se rappellera des -jouissances du goût, qui out été de véritables jouissances -esthétiques._”[6] And he recounts how a glass of milk drunk by him in -the mountains gave him æsthetic enjoyment. - -So it turns out that the conception of art as consisting in making -beauty manifest is not at all so simple as it seemed, especially now, -when in this conception of beauty are included our sensations of touch -and taste and smell, as they are by the latest æsthetic writers. - -But the ordinary man either does not know, or does not wish to know, all -this, and is firmly convinced that all questions about art may be simply -and clearly solved by acknowledging beauty to be the subject-matter of -art. To him it seems clear and comprehensible that art consists in -manifesting beauty, and that a reference to beauty will serve to explain -all questions about art. - -But what is this beauty which forms the subject-matter of art? How is it -defined? What is it? - -As is always the case, the more cloudy and confused the conception -conveyed by a word, with the more _aplomb_ and self-assurance do people -use that word, pretending that what is understood by it is so simple and -clear that it is not worth while even to discuss what it actually means. - -This is how matters of orthodox religion are usually dealt with, and -this is how people now deal with the conception of beauty. It is taken -for granted that what is meant by the word beauty is known and -understood by everyone. And yet not only is this not known, but, after -whole mountains of books have been written on the subject by the most -learned and profound thinkers during one hundred and fifty years (ever -since Baumgarten founded æsthetics in the year 1750), the question, What -is beauty? remains to this day quite unsolved, and in each new work on -æsthetics it is answered in a new way. One of the last books I read on -æsthetics is a not ill-written booklet by Julius Mithalter, called -_Rätsel des Schönen_ (The Enigma of the Beautiful). And that title -precisely expresses the position of the question, What is beauty? After -thousands of learned men have discussed it during one hundred and fifty -years, the meaning of the word beauty remains an enigma still. The -Germans answer the question in their manner, though in a hundred -different ways. The physiologist-æstheticians, especially the -Englishmen: Herbert Spencer, Grant Allen and his school, answer it, each -in his own way; the French eclectics, and the followers of Guyau and -Taine, also each in his own way; and all these people know all the -preceding solutions given by Baumgarten, and Kant, and Schelling, and -Schiller, and Fichte, and Winckelmann, and Lessing, and Hegel, and -Schopenhauer, and Hartmann, and Schasler, and Cousin, and Lévêque and -others. - -What is this strange conception “beauty,” which seems so simple to those -who talk without thinking, but in defining which all the philosophers of -various tendencies and different nationalities can come to no agreement -during a century and a half? What is this conception of beauty, on which -the dominant doctrine of art rests? - -In Russian, by the word _krasota_ (beauty) we mean only that which -pleases the sight. And though latterly people have begun to speak of “an -ugly deed,” or of “beautiful music,” it is not good Russian. - -A Russian of the common folk, not knowing foreign languages, will not -understand you if you tell him that a man who has given his last coat to -another, or done anything similar, has acted “beautifully,” that a man -who has cheated another has done an “ugly” action, or that a song is -“beautiful.” - -In Russian a deed may be kind and good, or unkind and bad. Music may be -pleasant and good, or unpleasant and bad; but there can be no such thing -as “beautiful” or “ugly” music. - -Beautiful may relate to a man, a horse, a house, a view, or a movement. -Of actions, thoughts, character, or music, if they please us, we may say -that they are good, or, if they do not please us, that they are not -good. But beautiful can be used only concerning that which pleases the -sight. So that the word and conception “good” includes the conception of -“beautiful,” but the reverse is not the case; the conception “beauty” -does not include the conception “good.” If we say “good” of an article -which we value for its appearance, we thereby say that the article is -beautiful; but if we say it is “beautiful,” it does not at all mean that -the article is a good one. - -Such is the meaning ascribed by the Russian language, and therefore by -the sense of the people, to the words and conceptions “good” and -“beautiful.” - -In all the European languages, _i.e._ the languages of those nations -among whom the doctrine has spread that beauty is the essential thing in -art, the words “beau,” “schön,” “beautiful,” “bello,” etc., while -keeping their meaning of beautiful in form, have come to also express -“goodness,” “kindness,” _i.e._ have come to act as substitutes for the -word “good.” - -So that it has become quite natural in those languages to use such -expressions as “belle ame,” “schöne Gedanken,” of “beautiful deed.” -Those languages no longer have a suitable word wherewith expressly to -indicate beauty of form, and have to use a combination of words such as -“beau par la forme,” “beautiful to look at,” etc., to convey that idea. - -Observation of the divergent meanings which the words “beauty” and -“beautiful” have in Russian on the one hand, and in those European -languages now permeated by this æsthetic theory on the other hand, shows -us that the word “beauty” has, among the latter, acquired a special -meaning, namely, that of “good.” - -What is remarkable, moreover, is that since we Russians have begun more -and more to adopt the European view of art, the same evolution has begun -to show itself in our language also, and some people speak and write -quite confidently, and without causing surprise, of beautiful music and -ugly actions, or even thoughts; whereas forty years ago, when I was -young, the expressions “beautiful music” and “ugly actions” were not -only unusual but incomprehensible. Evidently this new meaning given to -beauty by European thought begins to be assimilated by Russian society. - -And what really is this meaning? What is this “beauty” as it is -understood by the European peoples? - -In order to answer this question, I must here quote at least a small -selection of those definitions of beauty most generally adopted in -existing æsthetic systems. I especially beg the reader not to be -overcome by dulness, but to read these extracts through, or, still -better, to read some one of the erudite æsthetic authors. Not to mention -the voluminous German æstheticians, a very good book for this purpose -would be either the German book by Kralik, the English work by Knight, -or the French one by Lévêque. It is necessary to read one of the learned -æsthetic writers in order to form at first-hand a conception of the -variety in opinion and the frightful obscurity which reigns in this -region of speculation; not, in this important matter, trusting to -another’s report. - -This, for instance, is what the German æsthetician Schasler says in the -preface to his famous, voluminous, and detailed work on æsthetics:— - -“Hardly in any sphere of philosophic science can we find such divergent -methods of investigation and exposition, amounting even to -self-contradiction, as in the sphere of æsthetics. On the one hand we -have elegant phraseology without any substance, characterised in great -part by most one-sided superficiality; and on the other hand, -accompanying undeniable profundity of investigation and richness of -subject-matter, we get a revolting awkwardness of philosophic -terminology, enfolding the simplest thoughts in an apparel of abstract -science as though to render them worthy to enter the consecrated palace -of the system; and finally, between these two methods of investigation -and exposition, there is a third, forming, as it were, the transition -from one to the other, a method consisting of eclecticism, now flaunting -an elegant phraseology and now a pedantic erudition.... A style of -exposition that falls into none of these three defects but it is truly -concrete, and, having important matter, expresses it in clear and -popular philosophic language, can nowhere be found less frequently than -in the domain of æsthetics.”[7] - -It is only necessary, for instance, to read Schasler’s own book to -convince oneself of the justice of this observation of his. - -On the same subject the French writer Véron, in the preface to his very -good work on æsthetics, says, “_Il n’y a pas de science, qui ait été -plus que l’esthétique livrée aux rêveries des métaphysiciens. Depuis -Platon jusqu’ aux doctrines officielles de nos jours, on a fait de l’art -je ne sais quel amalgame de fantaisies quintessenciées, et de mystères -transcendantaux qui trouvent leur expression suprême dans la conception -absolue du Beau idéal, prototype immuable et divin des choses réelles_” -(_L’esthétique_, 1878, p. 5).[8] - -If the reader will only be at the pains to peruse the following -extracts, defining beauty, taken from the chief writers on æsthetics, he -may convince himself that this censure is thoroughly deserved. - -I shall not quote the definitions of beauty attributed to the -ancients,—Socrates, Plato, Aristotle, etc., down to Plotinus,—because, -in reality, the ancients had not that conception of beauty separated -from goodness which forms the basis and aim of æsthetics in our time. By -referring the judgments of the ancients on beauty to our conception of -it, as is usually done in æsthetics, we give the words of the ancients a -meaning which is not theirs.[9] - -Footnote 4: - - Only two, or at most three, senses are generally held worthy to supply - matter for artistic treatment, but I think this opinion is only - conditionally correct. I will not lay too much stress on the fact that - our common speech recognises many other arts, as, for instance, the - art of cookery. - -Footnote 5: - - And yet it is certainly an æsthetic achievement when the art of - cooking succeeds in making of an animal’s corpse an object in all - respects tasteful. The principle of the Art of Taste (which goes - beyond the so-called Art of Cookery) is therefore this: All that is - eatable should be treated as the symbol of some Idea, and always in - harmony with the Idea to be expressed. - -Footnote 6: - - If the sense of touch lacks colour, it gives us, on the other hand, a - notion which the eye alone cannot afford, and one of considerable - æsthetic value, namely, that of _softness_, _silkiness_, _polish_. The - beauty of velvet is characterised not less by its softness to the - touch than by its lustre. In the idea we form of a woman’s beauty, the - softness of her skin enters as an essential element. - - Each of us probably, with a little attention, can recall pleasures of - taste which have been real æsthetic pleasures. - -Footnote 7: - - M. Schasler, _Kritische Geschichte der Aesthetik_, 1872, vol. i. p. - 13. - -Footnote 8: - - There is no science which more than æsthetics has been handed over to - the reveries of the metaphysicians. From Plato down to the received - doctrines of our day, people have made of art a strange amalgam of - quintessential fancies and transcendental mysteries, which find their - supreme expression in the conception of an absolute ideal Beauty, - immutable and divine prototype of actual things. - -Footnote 9: - - See on this matter Benard’s admirable book, _L’esthétique d’Aristote_, - also Walter’s _Geschichte der Aesthetik im Altertum_. - - - - - CHAPTER III - - -I begin with the founder of æsthetics, Baumgarten (1714-1762). - -According to Baumgarten,[10] the object of logical knowledge is Truth, -the object of æsthetic (_i.e._ sensuous) knowledge is Beauty. Beauty is -the Perfect (the Absolute), recognised through the senses; Truth is the -Perfect perceived through reason; Goodness is the Perfect reached by -moral will. - -Beauty is defined by Baumgarten as a correspondence, _i.e._ an order of -the parts in their mutual relations to each other and in their relation -to the whole. The aim of beauty itself is to please and excite a desire, -“_Wohlgefallen und Erregung eines Verlangens._” (A position precisely -the opposite of Kant’s definition of the nature and sign of beauty.) - -With reference to the manifestations of beauty, Baumgarten considers -that the highest embodiment of beauty is seen by us in nature, and he -therefore thinks that the highest aim of art is to copy nature. (This -position also is directly contradicted by the conclusions of the latest -æstheticians.) - -Passing over the unimportant followers of Baumgarten,—Maier, Eschenburg, -and Eberhard,—who only slightly modified the doctrine of their teacher -by dividing the pleasant from the beautiful, I will quote the -definitions given by writers who came immediately after Baumgarten, and -defined beauty quite in another way. These writers were Sulzer, -Mendelssohn, and Moritz. They, in contradiction to Baumgarten’s main -position, recognise as the aim of art, not beauty, but goodness. Thus -Sulzer (1720-1777) says that only that can be considered beautiful which -contains goodness. According to his theory, the aim of the whole life of -humanity is welfare in social life. This is attained by the education of -the moral feelings, to which end art should be subservient. Beauty is -that which evokes and educates this feeling. - -Beauty is understood almost in the same way by Mendelssohn (1729-1786). -According to him, art is the carrying forward of the beautiful, -obscurely recognised by feeling, till it becomes the true and good. The -aim of art is moral perfection.[11] - -For the æstheticians of this school, the ideal of beauty is a beautiful -soul in a beautiful body. So that these æstheticians completely wipe out -Baumgarten’s division of the Perfect (the Absolute), into the three -forms of Truth, Goodness, and Beauty; and Beauty is again united with -the Good and the True. - -But this conception is not only not maintained by the later -æstheticians, but the æsthetic doctrine of Winckelmann arises, again in -complete opposition. This divides the mission of art from the aim of -goodness in the sharpest and most positive manner, makes external beauty -the aim of art, and even limits it to visible beauty. - -According to the celebrated work of Winckelmann (1717-1767), the law and -aim of all art is beauty only, beauty quite separated from and -independent of goodness. There are three kinds of beauty:—(1) beauty of -form, (2) beauty of idea, expressing itself in the position of the -figure (in plastic art), (3) beauty of expression, attainable only when -the two first conditions are present. This beauty of expression is the -highest aim of art, and is attained in antique art; modern art should -therefore aim at imitating ancient art.[12] - -Art is similarly understood by Lessing, Herder, and afterwards by Goethe -and by all the distinguished æstheticians of Germany till Kant, from -whose day, again, a different conception of art commences. - -Native æsthetic theories arose during this period in England, France, -Italy, and Holland, and they, though not taken from the German, were -equally cloudy and contradictory. And all these writers, just like the -German æstheticians, founded their theories on a conception of the -Beautiful, understanding beauty in the sense of a something existing -absolutely, and more or less intermingled with Goodness or having one -and the same root. In England, almost simultaneously with Baumgarten, -even a little earlier, Shaftesbury, Hutcheson, Home, Burke, Hogarth, and -others, wrote on art. - -According to Shaftesbury (1670-1713), “That which is beautiful is -harmonious and proportionable, what is harmonious and proportionable is -true, and what is at once both beautiful and true is of consequence -agreeable and good.”[13] Beauty, he taught, is recognised by the mind -only. God is fundamental beauty; beauty and goodness proceed from the -same fount. - -So that, although Shaftesbury regards beauty as being something separate -from goodness, they again merge into something inseparable. - -According to Hutcheson (1694-1747—“Inquiry into the Original of our -Ideas of Beauty and Virtue”), the aim of art is beauty, the essence of -which consists in evoking in us the perception of uniformity amid -variety. In the recognition of what is art we are guided by “an internal -sense.” This internal sense may be in contradiction to the ethical one. -So that, according to Hutcheson, beauty does not always correspond with -goodness, but separates from it and is sometimes contrary to it.[14] - -According to Home, Lord Kames (1696-1782), beauty is that which is -pleasant. Therefore beauty is defined by taste alone. The standard of -true taste is that the maximum of richness, fulness, strength, and -variety of impression should be contained in the narrowest limits. That -is the ideal of a perfect work of art. - -According to Burke (1729-1797—“Philosophical Inquiry into the Origin of -our Ideas of the Sublime and Beautiful”), the sublime and beautiful, -which are the aim of art, have their origin in the promptings of -self-preservation and of society. These feelings, examined in their -source, are means for the maintenance of the race through the -individual. The first (self-preservation) is attained by nourishment, -defence, and war; the second (society) by intercourse and propagation. -Therefore self-defence, and war, which is bound up with it, is the -source of the sublime; sociability, and the sex-instinct, which is bound -up with it, is the source of beauty.[15] - -Such were the chief English definitions of art and beauty in the -eighteenth century. - -During that period, in France, the writers on art were Père André and -Batteux, with Diderot, D’Alembert, and, to some extent, Voltaire, -following later. - -According to Père André (“Essai sur le Beau,” 1741), there are three -kinds of beauty—divine beauty, natural beauty, and artificial -beauty.[16] - -According to Batteux (1713-1780), art consists in imitating the beauty -of nature, its aim being enjoyment.[17] Such is also Diderot’s -definition of art. - -The French writers, like the English, consider that it is taste that -decides what is beautiful. And the laws of taste are not only not laid -down, but it is granted that they cannot be settled. The same view was -held by D’Alembert and Voltaire.[18] - -According to the Italian æsthetician of that period, Pagano, art -consists in uniting the beauties’ dispersed in nature. The capacity to -perceive these beauties is taste, the capacity to bring them into one -whole is artistic genius. Beauty commingles with goodness, so that -beauty is goodness made visible, and goodness is inner beauty.[19] - -According to the opinion of other Italians: Muratori -(1672-1750),—“_Riflessioni sopra il buon gusto intorno le science e le -arti_,”—and especially Spaletti,[20]—“_Saggio sopra la bellezza_” -(1765),—art amounts to an egotistical sensation, founded (as with Burke) -on the desire for self-preservation and society. - -Among Dutch writers, Hemsterhuis (1720-1790), who had an influence on -the German æstheticians and on Goethe, is remarkable. According to him, -beauty is that which gives most pleasure, and that gives most pleasure -which gives us the greatest number of ideas in the shortest time. -Enjoyment of the beautiful, because it gives the greatest quantity of -perceptions in the shortest time, is the highest notion to which man can -attain.[21] - -Such were the æsthetic theories outside Germany during the last century. -In Germany, after Winckelmann, there again arose a completely new -æsthetic theory, that of Kant (1724-1804), which more than all others -clears up what this conception of beauty, and consequently of art, -really amounts to. - -The æsthetic teaching of Kant is founded as follows:—Man has a knowledge -of nature outside him and of himself in nature. In nature, outside -himself, he seeks for truth; in himself he seeks for goodness. The first -is an affair of pure reason, the other of practical reason (free-will). -Besides these two means of perception, there is yet the judging capacity -(_Urteilskraft_), which forms judgments without reasonings and produces -pleasure without desire (_Urtheil ohne Begriff und Vergnügen ohne -Begehren_). This capacity is the basis of æsthetic feeling. Beauty, -according to Kant, in its subjective meaning is that which, in general -and necessarily, without reasonings and without practical advantage, -pleases. In its objective meaning it is the form of a suitable object in -so far as that object is perceived without any conception of its -utility.[22] - -Beauty is defined in the same way by the followers of Kant, among whom -was Schiller (1759-1805). According to Schiller, who wrote much on -æsthetics, the aim of art is, as with Kant, beauty, the source of which -is pleasure without practical advantage. So that art may be called a -game, not in the sense of an unimportant occupation, but in the sense of -a manifestation of the beauties of life itself without other aim than -that of beauty.[23] - -Besides Schiller, the most remarkable of Kant’s followers in the sphere -of æsthetics was Wilhelm Humboldt, who, though he added nothing to the -definition of beauty, explained various forms of it,—the drama, music, -the comic, etc.[24] - -After Kant, besides the second-rate philosophers, the writers on -æsthetics were Fichte, Schelling, Hegel, and their followers. Fichte -(1762-1814) says that perception of the beautiful proceeds from this: -the world—_i.e._ nature—has two sides: it is the sum of our limitations, -and it is the sum of our free idealistic activity. In the first aspect -the world is limited, in the second aspect it is free. In the first -aspect every object is limited, distorted, compressed, confined—and we -see deformity; in the second we perceive its inner completeness, -vitality, regeneration—and we see beauty. So that the deformity or -beauty of an object, according to Fichte, depends on the point of view -of the observer. Beauty therefore exists, not in the world, but in the -beautiful soul (_schöner Geist_). Art is the manifestation of this -beautiful soul, and its aim is the education, not only of the mind—that -is the business of the _savant_; not only of the heart—that is the -affair of the moral preacher; but of the whole man. And so the -characteristic of beauty lies, not in anything external, but in the -presence of a beautiful soul in the artist.[25] - -Following Fichte, and in the same direction, Friedrich Schlegel and Adam -Müller also defined beauty. According to Schlegel (1772—1829), beauty in -art is understood too incompletely, one-sidedly, and disconnectedly. -Beauty exists not only in art, but also in nature and in love; so that -the truly beautiful is expressed by the union of art, nature, and love. -Therefore, as inseparably one with aesthetic art, Schlegel acknowledges -moral and philosophic art.[26] - -According to Adam Muller (1779-1829), there are two kinds of beauty; the -one, general beauty, which attracts people as the sun attracts the -planet—this is found chiefly in antique art—and the other, individual -beauty, which results from the observer himself becoming a sun -attracting beauty,—this is the beauty of modern art. A world in which -all contradictions are harmonised is the highest beauty. Every work of -art is a reproduction of this universal harmony.[27] The highest art is -the art of life.[28] - -Next after Fichte and his followers came a contemporary of his, the -philosopher Schelling (1775-1854), who has had a great influence on the -æsthetic conceptions of our times. According to Schelling’s philosophy, -art is the production or result of that conception of things by which -the subject becomes its own object, or the object its own subject. -Beauty is the perception of the infinite in the finite. And the chief -characteristic of works of art is unconscious infinity. Art is the -uniting of the subjective with the objective, of nature with reason, of -the unconscious with the conscious, and therefore art is the highest -means of knowledge. Beauty is the contemplation of things in themselves -as they exist in the prototype (_In den Urbildern_). It is not the -artist who by his knowledge or skill produces the beautiful, but the -idea of beauty in him itself produces it.[29] - -Of Schelling’s followers the most noticeable was Solger -(1780-1819—_Vorlesungen über Aesthetik_). According to him, the idea of -beauty is the fundamental idea of everything. In the world we see only -distortions of the fundamental idea, but art, by imagination, may lift -itself to the height of this idea. Art is therefore akin to -creation.[30] - -According to another follower of Schelling, Krause (1781-1832), true, -positive beauty is the manifestation of the Idea in an individual form; -art is the actualisation of the beauty existing in the sphere of man’s -free spirit. The highest stage of art is the art of life, which directs -its activity towards the adornment of life so that it may be a beautiful -abode for a beautiful man.[31] - -After Schelling and his followers came the new æsthetic doctrine of -Hegel, which is held to this day, consciously by many, but by the -majority unconsciously. This teaching is not only no clearer or better -defined than the preceding ones, but is, if possible, even more cloudy -and mystical. - -According to Hegel (1770-1831), God manifests himself in nature and in -art in the form of beauty. God expresses himself in two ways: in the -object and in the subject, in nature and in spirit. Beauty is the -shining of the Idea through matter. Only the soul, and what pertains to -it, is truly beautiful; and therefore the beauty of nature is only the -reflection of the natural beauty of the spirit—the beautiful has only a -spiritual content. But the spiritual must appear in sensuous form. The -sensuous manifestation of spirit is only appearance (_schein_), and this -appearance is the only reality of the beautiful. Art is thus the -production of this appearance of the Idea, and is a means, together with -religion and philosophy, of bringing to consciousness and of expressing -the deepest problems of humanity and the highest truths of the spirit. - -Truth and beauty, according to Hegel, are one and the same thing; the -difference being only that truth is the Idea itself as it exists in -itself, and is thinkable. The Idea, manifested externally, becomes to -the apprehension not only true but beautiful. The beautiful is the -manifestation of the Idea.[32] - -Following Hegel came his many adherents, Weisse, Arnold Ruge, -Rosenkrantz, Theodor Vischer and others. - -According to Weisse (1801-1867), art is the introduction (_Einbildung_) -of the absolute spiritual reality of beauty into external, dead, -indifferent matter, the perception of which latter apart from the beauty -brought into it presents the negation of all existence in itself -(_Negation alles Fürsichseins_). - -In the idea of truth, Weisse explains, lies a contradiction between the -subjective and the objective sides of knowledge, in that an individual -_I_ discerns the Universal. This contradiction can be removed by a -conception that should unite into one the universal and the individual, -which fall asunder in our conceptions of truth. Such a conception would -be reconciled (_aufgehoben_) truth. Beauty is such a reconciled -truth.[33] - -According to Ruge (1802-1880), a strict follower of Hegel, beauty is the -Idea expressing itself. The spirit, contemplating itself, either finds -itself expressed completely, and then that full expression of itself is -beauty; or incompletely, and then it feels the need to alter this -imperfect expression of itself, and becomes creative art.[34] - -According to Vischer (1807-1887), beauty is the Idea in the form of a -finite phenomenon. The Idea itself is not indivisible, but forms a -system of ideas, which may be represented by ascending and descending -lines. The higher the idea the more beauty it contains; but even the -lowest contains beauty, because it forms an essential link of the -system. The highest form of the Idea is personality, and therefore the -highest art is that which has for its subject-matter the highest -personality.[35] - -Such were the theories of the German æstheticians in the Hegelian -direction, but they did not monopolise æsthetic dissertations. In -Germany, side by side and simultaneously with the Hegelian theories, -there appeared theories of beauty not only independent of Hegel’s -position (that beauty is the manifestation of the Idea), but directly -contrary to this view, denying and ridiculing it. Such was the line -taken by Herbart and, more particularly, by Schopenhauer. - -According to Herbart (1776-1841), there is not, and cannot be, any such -thing as beauty existing in itself. What does exist is only our opinion, -and it is necessary to find the base of this opinion (_Ästhetisches -Elementarurtheil_). Such bases are connected with our impressions. There -are certain relations which we term beautiful; and art consists in -finding these relations, which are simultaneous in painting, the plastic -art, and architecture, successive and simultaneous in music, and purely -successive in poetry. In contradiction to the former æstheticians, -Herbart holds that objects are often beautiful which express nothing at -all, as, for instance, the rainbow, which is beautiful for its lines and -colours, and not for its mythological connection with Iris or Noah’s -rainbow.[36] - -Another opponent of Hegel was Schopenhauer, who denied Hegel’s whole -system, his æsthetics included. - -According to Schopenhauer (1788-1860), Will objectivizes itself in the -world on various planes; and although the higher the plane on which it -is objectivized the more beautiful it is, yet each plane has its own -beauty. Renunciation of one’s individuality and contemplation of one of -these planes of manifestation of Will gives us a perception of beauty. -All men, says Schopenhauer, possess the capacity to objectivize the Idea -on different planes. The genius of the artist has this capacity in a -higher degree, and therefore makes a higher beauty manifest.[37] - -After these more eminent writers there followed, in Germany, less -original and less influential ones, such as Hartmann, Kirkmann, -Schnasse, and, to some extent, Helmholtz (as an æsthetician), Bergmann, -Jungmann, and an innumerable host of others. - -According to Hartmann (1842), beauty lies, not in the external world, -nor in “the thing in itself,” neither does it reside in the soul of man, -but it lies in the “seeming” (_Schein_) produced by the artist. The -thing in itself is not beautiful, but is transformed into beauty by the -artist.[38] - -According to Schnasse (1798-1875), there is no perfect beauty in the -world. In nature there is only an approach towards it. Art gives what -nature cannot give. In the energy of the free _ego_, conscious of -harmony not found in nature, beauty is disclosed.[39] - -Kirkmann wrote on experimental aesthetics. All aspects of history in his -system are joined by pure chance. Thus, according to Kirkmann -(1802-1884), there are six realms of history:—The realm of Knowledge, of -Wealth, of Morality, of Faith, of Politics, and of Beauty; and activity -in the last-named realm is art.[40] - -According to Helmholtz (1821), who wrote on beauty as it relates to -music, beauty in musical productions is attained only by following -unalterable laws. These laws are not known to the artist; so that beauty -is manifested by the artist unconsciously, and cannot be subjected to -analysis.[41] - -According to Bergmann (1840) (_Ueber das Schöne_, 1887), to define -beauty objectively is impossible. Beauty is only perceived subjectively, -and therefore the problem of æsthetics is to define what pleases -whom.[42] - -According to Jungmann (d. 1885), firstly, beauty is a suprasensible -quality of things; secondly, beauty produces in us pleasure by merely -being contemplated; and, thirdly, beauty is the foundation of love.[43] - -The æsthetic theories of the chief representatives of France, England, -and other nations in recent times have been the following:— - -In France, during this period, the prominent writers on æsthetics were -Cousin, Jouffroy, Pictet, Ravaisson, Lévêque. - -Cousin (1792-1867) was an eclectic, and a follower of the German -idealists. According to his theory, beauty always has a moral -foundation. He disputes the doctrine that art is imitation and that the -beautiful is what pleases. He affirms that beauty may be defined -objectively, and that it essentially consists in variety in unity.[44] - -After Cousin came Jouffroy (1796-1842), who was a pupil of Cousin’s and -also a follower of the German æstheticians. According to his definition, -beauty is the expression of the invisible by those natural signs which -manifest it. The visible world is the garment by means of which we see -beauty.[45] - -The Swiss writer Pictet repeated Hegel and Plato, supposing beauty to -exist in the direct and free manifestation of the divine Idea revealing -itself in sense forms.[46] - -Lévêque was a follower of Schelling and Hegel. He holds that beauty is -something invisible behind nature—a force or spirit revealing itself in -ordered energy.[47] - -Similar vague opinions about the nature of beauty were expressed by the -French metaphysician Ravaisson, who considered beauty to be the ultimate -aim and purpose of the world. “_La beauté la plus divine et -principalement la plus parfaite contient le secret du monde._”[48] And -again:—_“Le monde entier est l’œuvre d’une beauté absolue, qui n’est la -cause des choses que par l’amour qu’elle met en elles_.” - -I purposely abstain from translating these metaphysical expressions, -because, however cloudy the Germans may be, the French, once they absorb -the theories of the Germans and take to imitating them, far surpass them -in uniting heterogeneous conceptions into one expression, and putting -forward one meaning or another indiscriminately. For instance, the -French philosopher Renouvier, when discussing beauty, says:—“_Ne -craignons pas de dire qu’une vérité qui ne serait pas belle, ne serait -qu’un jeu logique de notre esprit et que la seule vérité solide et digne -de ce nom c’est la beauté._”[49] - -Besides the æsthetic idealists who wrote and still write under the -influence of German philosophy, the following recent writers have also -influenced the comprehension of art and beauty in France: Taine, Guyau, -Cherbuliez, Coster, and Véron. - -According to Taine (1828-1893), beauty is the manifestation of the -essential characteristic of any important idea more completely than it -is expressed in reality.[50] - -Guyau (1854-1888) taught that beauty is not something exterior to the -object itself,—is not, as it were, a parasitic growth on it,—but is -itself the very blossoming forth of that on which it appears. Art is the -expression of reasonable and conscious life, evoking in us both the -deepest consciousness of existence and the highest feelings and loftiest -thoughts. Art lifts man from his personal life into the universal life, -by means, not only of participation in the same ideas and beliefs, but -also by means of similarity in feeling.[51] - -According to Cherbuliez, art is an activity, (1) satisfying our innate -love of forms (_apparences_), (2) endowing these forms with ideas, (3) -affording pleasure alike to our senses, heart, and reason. Beauty is not -inherent in objects, but is an act of our souls. Beauty is an illusion; -there is no absolute beauty. But what we consider characteristic and -harmonious appears beautiful to us. - -Coster held that the ideas of the beautiful, the good, and the true are -innate. These ideas illuminate our minds and are identical with God, who -is Goodness, Truth, and Beauty. The idea of Beauty includes unity of -essence, variety of constitutive elements, and order, which brings unity -into the various manifestations of life.[52] - -For the sake of completeness, I will further cite some of the very -latest writings upon art. - -_La psychologie du Beau et de l’Art, par Mario Pilo_ (1895), says that -beauty is a product of our physical feelings. The aim of art is -pleasure, but this pleasure (for some reason) he considers to be -necessarily highly moral. - -The _Essai sur l’art contemporain, par Fierens Gevaert_ (1897), says -that art rests on its connection with the past, and on the religious -ideal of the present which the artist holds when giving to his work the -form of his individuality. - -Then again, Sar Peladan’s _L’art idéaliste et mystique_ (1894) says that -beauty is one of the manifestations of God. “_Il n’y a pas d’autre -Réalité que Dieu, n’y a pas d’autre Vérité que Dieu, il n’y a pas -d’autre Beauté, que Dieu_” (p. 33). This book is very fantastic and very -illiterate, but is characteristic in the positions it takes up, and -noticeable on account of a certain success it is having with the younger -generation in France. - -All the æsthetics diffused in France up to the present time are similar -in kind, but among them Véron’s _L’esthétique_ (1878) forms an -exception, being reasonable and clear. That work, though it does not -give an exact definition of art, at least rids æsthetics of the cloudy -conception of an absolute beauty. - -According to Véron (1825-1889), art is the manifestation of emotion -transmitted externally by a combination of lines, forms, colours, or by -a succession of movements, sounds, or words subjected to certain -rhythms.[53] - -In England, during this period, the writers on æsthetics define beauty -more and more frequently, not by its own qualities, but by taste, and -the discussion about beauty is superseded by a discussion on taste. - -After Reid (1704-1796), who acknowledged beauty as being entirely -dependent on the spectator, Alison, in his _Essay on the Nature and -Principles of Taste_ (1790), proved the same thing. From another side -this was also asserted by Erasmus Darwin (1731-1802), the grandfather of -the celebrated Charles Darwin. - -He says that we consider beautiful that which is connected in our -conception with what we love. Richard Knight’s work, _An Analytical -Inquiry into the Principles of Taste_, also tends in the same direction. - -Most of the English theories of æsthetics are on the same lines. The -prominent writers on æsthetics in England during the present century -have been Charles Darwin, (to some extent), Herbert Spencer, Grant -Allen, Ker, and Knight. - -According to Charles Darwin (1809-1882—_Descent of Man_, 1871), beauty -is a feeling natural not only to man but also to animals, and -consequently to the ancestors of man. Birds adorn their nests and esteem -beauty in their mates. Beauty has an influence on marriages. Beauty -includes a variety of diverse conceptions. The origin of the art of -music is the call of the males to the females.[54] - -According to Herbert Spencer (b. 1820), the origin of art is play, a -thought previously expressed by Schiller. In the lower animals all the -energy of life is expended in life-maintenance and race-maintenance; in -man, however, there remains, after these needs are satisfied, some -superfluous strength. This excess is used in play, which passes over -into art. Play is an imitation of real activity, so is art. The sources -of æsthetic pleasure are threefold:—(1) That “which exercises the -faculties affected in the most complete ways, with the fewest drawbacks -from excess of exercise,” (2) “the difference of a stimulus in large -amount, which awakens a glow of agreeable feeling,” (3) the partial -revival of the same, with special combinations.[55] - -In Todhunter’s _Theory of the Beautiful_ (1872), beauty is infinite -loveliness, which we apprehend both by reason and by the enthusiasm of -love. The recognition of beauty as being such depends on taste; there -can be no criterion for it. The only approach to a definition is found -in culture. (What culture is, is not defined.) Intrinsically, art—that -which affects us through lines, colours, sounds, or words—is not the -product of blind forces, but of reasonable ones, working, with mutual -helpfulness, towards a reasonable aim. Beauty is the reconciliation of -contradictions.[56] - -Grant Allen is a follower of Spencer, and in his _Physiological -Æsthetics_ (1877) he says that beauty has a physical origin. Æsthetic -pleasures come from the contemplation of the beautiful, but the -conception of beauty is obtained by a physiological process. The origin -of art is play; when there is a superfluity of physical strength man -gives himself to play; when there is a superfluity of receptive power -man gives himself to art. The beautiful is that which affords the -maximum of stimulation with the minimum of waste. Differences in the -estimation of beauty proceed from taste. Taste can be educated. We must -have faith in the judgments “of the finest-nurtured and most -discriminative” men. These people form the taste of the next -generation.[57] - -According to Ker’s _Essay on the Philosophy of Art_ (1883), beauty -enables us to make part of the objective world intelligible to ourselves -without being troubled by reference to other parts of it, as is -inevitable for science. So that art destroys the opposition between the -one and the many, between the law and its manifestation, between the -subject and its object, by uniting them. Art is the revelation and -vindication of freedom, because it is free from the darkness and -incomprehensibility of finite things.[58] - -According to Knight’s _Philosophy of the Beautiful_, Part II. (1893), -beauty is (as with Schelling) the union of object and subject, the -drawing forth from nature of that which is cognate to man, and the -recognition in oneself of that which is common to all nature. - -The opinions on beauty and on Art here mentioned are far from exhausting -what has been written on the subject. And every day fresh writers on -æsthetics arise, in whose disquisitions appear the same enchanted -confusion and contradictoriness in defining beauty. Some, by inertia, -continue the mystical æsthetics of Baumgarten and Hegel with sundry -variations; others transfer the question to the region of subjectivity, -and seek for the foundation of the beautiful in questions of taste; -others—the æstheticians of the very latest formation—seek the origin of -beauty in the laws of physiology; and finally, others again investigate -the question quite independently of the conception of beauty. Thus, -Sully in his _Sensation and Intuition: Studies in Psychology and -Æsthetics_ (1874), dismisses the conception of beauty altogether, art, -by his definition, being the production of some permanent object or -passing action fitted to supply active enjoyment to the producer, and a -pleasurable impression to a number of spectators or listeners, quite -apart from any personal advantage derived from it.[59] - -Footnote 10: - - Schasler, p. 361. - -Footnote 11: - - Schasler, p. 369. - -Footnote 12: - - Schasler, pp. 388-390. - -Footnote 13: - - Knight, _Philosophy of the Beautiful_, i. pp. 165, 166. - -Footnote 14: - - Schasler, p. 289. Knight, pp. 168, 169. - -Footnote 15: - - R. Kralik, _Weltschönheit, Versuch einer allgemeinen Aesthetik_, pp. - 304-306. - -Footnote 16: - - Knight, p. 101. - -Footnote 17: - - Schasler, p. 316. - -Footnote 18: - - Knight, pp. 102-104. - -Footnote 19: - - R. Kralik, p. 124. - -Footnote 20: - - Spaletti, Schasler, p. 328. - -Footnote 21: - - Schasler, pp. 331-333. - -Footnote 22: - - Schasler, pp. 525-528. - -Footnote 23: - - Knight, pp. 61-63. - -Footnote 24: - - Schasler, pp. 740-743. - -Footnote 25: - - Schasler, pp. 769-771. - -Footnote 26: - - Schasler, pp. 786, 787. - -Footnote 27: - - Kralik, p. 148. - -Footnote 28: - - Kralik, p. 820. - -Footnote 29: - - Schasler, pp. 828, 829, 834-841. - -Footnote 30: - - Schasler, p. 891. - -Footnote 31: - - Schasler, p. 917. - -Footnote 32: - - Schasler, pp. 946, 1085, 984, 985, 990. - -Footnote 33: - - Schasler, pp. 966, 655, 956. - -Footnote 34: - - Schasler, p. 1017. - -Footnote 35: - - Schasler, pp. 1065, 1066. - -Footnote 36: - - Schasler, pp. 1097-1100. - -Footnote 37: - - Schasler, pp. 1124, 1107. - -Footnote 38: - - Knight, pp. 81, 82. - -Footnote 39: - - Knight, p. 83. - -Footnote 40: - - Schasler, p. 1121. - -Footnote 41: - - Knight, pp. 85, 86. - -Footnote 42: - - Knight, p. 88. - -Footnote 43: - - Knight, p. 88. - -Footnote 44: - - Knight, p. 112. - -Footnote 45: - - Knight, p. 116. - -Footnote 46: - - Knight, pp. 118, 119. - -Footnote 47: - - Knight, pp. 123, 124. - -Footnote 48: - - _La philosophie en France_, p. 232. - -Footnote 49: - - _Du fondement de l’induction._ - -Footnote 50: - - _Philosophie de l’art_, vol. i. 1893, p. 47. - -Footnote 51: - - Knight, p. 139-141. - -Footnote 52: - - Knight, pp. 134. - -Footnote 53: - - _L’esthétique_, p. 106. - -Footnote 54: - - Knight, p. 238. - -Footnote 55: - - Knight, pp. 239, 240. - -Footnote 56: - - Knight, pp. 240-243. - -Footnote 57: - - Knight, pp. 250-252. - -Footnote 58: - - Knight, pp. 258, 259. - -Footnote 59: - - Knight, p. 243. - - - - - CHAPTER IV - - -To what do these definitions of beauty amount? Not reckoning the -thoroughly inaccurate definitions of beauty which fail to cover the -conception of art, and which suppose beauty to consist either in -utility, or in adjustment to a purpose, or in symmetry, or in order, or -in proportion, or in smoothness, or in harmony of the parts, or in unity -amid variety, or in various combinations of these,—not reckoning these -unsatisfactory attempts at objective definition, all the æsthetic -definitions of beauty lead to two fundamental conceptions. The first is -that beauty is something having an independent existence (existing in -itself), that it is one of the manifestations of the absolutely Perfect, -of the Idea, of the Spirit, of Will, or of God; the other is that beauty -is a kind of pleasure received by us, not having personal advantage for -its object. - -The first of these definitions was accepted by Fichte, Schelling, Hegel, -Schopenhauer, and the philosophising Frenchmen, Cousin, Jouffroy, -Ravaisson, and others, not to enumerate the second-rate æsthetic -philosophers. And this same objective-mystical definition of beauty is -held by a majority of the educated people of our day. It is a conception -very widely spread, especially among the elder generation. - -The second view, that beauty is a certain kind of pleasure received by -us, not having personal advantage for its aim, finds favour chiefly -among the English æsthetic writers, and is shared by the other part of -our society, principally by the younger generation. - -So there are (and it could not be otherwise) only two definitions of -beauty: the one objective, mystical, merging this conception into that -of the highest perfection, God—a fantastic definition, founded on -nothing; the other, on the contrary, a very simple and intelligible -subjective one, which considers beauty to be that which pleases (I do -not add to the word “pleases” the words “without the aim of advantage,” -because “pleases” naturally presupposes the absence of the idea of -profit). - -On the one hand, beauty is viewed as something mystical and very -elevated, but unfortunately at the same time very indefinite, and -consequently embracing philosophy, religion, and life itself (as in the -theories of Schelling and Hegel, and their German and French followers); -or, on the other hand (as necessarily follows from the definition of -Kant and his adherents), beauty is simply a certain kind of -disinterested pleasure received by us. And this conception of beauty, -although it seems very clear, is, unfortunately, again inexact; for it -widens out on the other side, _i.e._ it includes the pleasure derived -from drink, from food, from touching a delicate skin, etc., as is -acknowledged by Guyau, Kralik, and others. - -It is true that, following the development of the æsthetic doctrines on -beauty, we may notice that, though at first (in the times when the -foundations of the science of æsthetics were being laid) the -metaphysical definition of beauty prevailed, yet the nearer we get to -our own times the more does an experimental definition (recently -assuming a physiological form) come to the front, so that at last we -even meet with such æstheticians as Véron and Sully, who try to escape -entirely from the conception of beauty. But such æstheticians have very -little success, and with the majority of the public, as well as of -artists and the learned, a conception of beauty is firmly held which -agrees with the definitions contained in most of the æsthetic treatises, -_i.e._ which regards beauty either as something mystical or -metaphysical, or as a special kind of enjoyment. - -What then is this conception of beauty, so stubbornly held to by people -of our circle and day as furnishing a definition of art? - -In the subjective aspect, we call beauty that which supplies us with a -particular kind of pleasure. - -In the objective aspect, we call beauty something absolutely perfect, -and we acknowledge it to be so only because we receive, from the -manifestation of this absolute perfection, a certain kind of pleasure; -so that this objective definition is nothing but the subjective -conception differently expressed. In reality both conceptions of beauty -amount to one and the same thing, namely, the reception by us of a -certain kind of pleasure, _i.e._ we call “beauty” that which pleases us -without evoking in us desire. - -Such being the position of affairs, it would seem only natural that the -science of art should decline to content itself with a definition of art -based on beauty (_i.e._ on that which pleases), and seek a general -definition, which should apply to all artistic productions, and by -reference to which we might decide whether a certain article belonged to -the realm of art or not. But no such definition is supplied, as the -reader may see from those summaries of the æsthetic theories which I -have given, and as he may discover even more clearly from the original -æsthetic works, if he will be at the pains to read them. All attempts to -define absolute beauty in itself—whether as an imitation of nature, or -as suitability to its object, or as a correspondence of parts, or as -symmetry, or as harmony, or as unity in variety, etc.—either define -nothing at all, or define only some traits of some artistic productions, -and are far from including all that everybody has always held, and still -holds, to be art. - -There is no objective definition of beauty. The existing definitions, -(both the metaphysical and the experimental), amount only to one and the -same subjective definition which (strange as it seems to say so) is, -that art is that which makes beauty manifest, and beauty is that which -pleases (without exciting desire). Many æstheticians have felt the -insufficiency and instability of such a definition, and, in order to -give it a firm basis, have asked themselves why a thing pleases. And -they have converted the discussion on beauty into a question concerning -taste, as did Hutcheson, Voltaire, Diderot, and others. But all attempts -to define what taste is must lead to nothing, as the reader may see both -from the history of æsthetics and experimentally. There is and can be no -explanation of why one thing pleases one man and displeases another, or -_vice versâ_. So that the whole existing science of æsthetics fails to -do what we might expect from it, being a mental activity calling itself -a science, namely, it does not define the qualities and laws of art, or -of the beautiful (if that be the content of art), or the nature of taste -(if taste decides the question of art and its merit), and then, on the -basis of such definitions, acknowledge as art those productions which -correspond to these laws, and reject those which do not come under them. -But this science of æsthetics consists in first acknowledging a certain -set of productions to be art (because they please us), and then framing -such a theory of art that all those productions which please a certain -circle of people should fit into it. There exists an art canon, -according to which certain productions favoured by our circle are -acknowledged as being art,—Phidias, Sophocles, Homer, Titian, Raphael, -Bach, Beethoven, Dante, Shakespear, Goethe, and others,—and the æsthetic -laws must be such as to embrace all these productions. In æsthetic -literature you will incessantly meet with opinions on the merit and -importance of art, founded not on any certain laws by which this or that -is held to be good or bad, but merely on the consideration whether this -art tallies with the art canon we have drawn up. - -The other day I was reading a far from ill-written book by Folgeldt. -Discussing the demand for morality in works of art, the author plainly -says that we must not demand morality in art. And in proof of this he -advances the fact that if we admit such a demand, Shakespear’s _Romeo -and Juliet_ and Goethe’s _Wilhelm Meister_ would not fit into the -definition of good art; but since both these books are included in our -canon of art, he concludes that the demand is unjust. And therefore it -is necessary to find a definition of art which shall fit the works; and -instead of a demand for morality, Folgeldt postulates as the basis of -art a demand for the important (_Bedeutungsvolles_). - -All the existing æsthetic standards are built on this plan. Instead of -giving a definition of true art, and then deciding what is and what is -not good art by judging whether a work conforms or does not conform to -the definition, a certain class of works, which for some reason please a -certain circle of people, is accepted as being art, and a definition of -art is then devised to cover all these productions. I recently came upon -a remarkable instance of this method in a very good German work, _The -History of Art in the Nineteenth Century_, by Muther. Describing the -pre-Raphaelites, the Decadents and the Symbolists (who are already -included in the canon of art), he not only does not venture to blame -their tendency, but earnestly endeavours to widen his standard so that -it may include them all, they appearing to him to represent a legitimate -reaction from the excesses of realism. No matter what insanities appear -in art, when once they find acceptance among the upper classes of our -society a theory is quickly invented to explain and sanction them; just -as if there had never been periods in history when certain special -circles of people recognised and approved false, deformed, and insensate -art which subsequently left no trace and has been utterly forgotten. And -to what lengths the insanity and deformity of art may go, especially -when, as in our days, it knows that it is considered infallible, may be -seen by what is being done in the art of our circle to-day. - -So that the theory of art, founded on beauty, expounded by æsthetics, -and, in dim outline, professed by the public, is nothing but the setting -up as good, of that which has pleased and pleases us, _i.e._ pleases a -certain class of people. - -In order to define any human activity, it is necessary to understand its -sense and importance. And, in order to do that, it is primarily -necessary to examine that activity in itself, in its dependence on its -causes, and in connection with its effects, and not merely in relation -to the pleasure we can get from it. - -If we say that the aim of any activity is merely our pleasure, and -define it solely by that pleasure, our definition will evidently be a -false one. But this is precisely what has occurred in the efforts to -define art. Now, if we consider the food question, it will not occur to -anyone to affirm that the importance of food consists in the pleasure we -receive when eating it. Everyone understands that the satisfaction of -our taste cannot serve as a basis for our definition of the merits of -food, and that we have therefore no right to presuppose that the dinners -with cayenne pepper, Limburg cheese, alcohol, etc., to which we are -accustomed and which please us, form the very best human food. - -And in the same way, beauty, or that which pleases us, can in no sense -serve as the basis for the definition of art; nor can a series of -objects which afford us pleasure serve as the model of what art should -be. - -To see the aim and purpose of art in the pleasure we get from it, is -like assuming (as is done by people of the lowest moral development, -_e.g._ by savages) that the purpose and aim of food is the pleasure -derived when consuming it. - -Just as people who conceive the aim and purpose of food to be pleasure -cannot recognise the real meaning of eating, so people who consider the -aim of art to be pleasure cannot realise its true meaning and purpose, -because they attribute to an activity, the meaning of which lies in its -connection with other phenomena of life, the false and exceptional aim -of pleasure. People come to understand that the meaning of eating lies -in the nourishment of the body only when they cease to consider that the -object of that activity is pleasure. And it is the same with regard to -art. People will come to understand the meaning of art only when they -cease to consider that the aim of that activity is beauty, _i.e._ -pleasure. The acknowledgment of beauty (_i.e._ of a certain kind of -pleasure received from art) as being the aim of art, not only fails to -assist us in finding a definition of what art is, but, on the contrary, -by transferring the question into a region quite foreign to art (into -metaphysical, psychological, physiological, and even historical -discussions as to why such a production pleases one person, and such -another displeases or pleases someone else), it renders such definition -impossible. And since discussions as to why one man likes pears and -another prefers meat do not help towards finding a definition of what is -essential in nourishment, so the solution of questions of taste in art -(to which the discussions on art involuntarily come) not only does not -help to make clear what this particular human activity which we call art -really consists in, but renders such elucidation quite impossible, until -we rid ourselves of a conception which justifies every kind of art, at -the cost of confusing the whole matter. - -To the question, What is this art, to which is offered up the labour of -millions, the very lives of men, and even morality itself? we have -extracted replies from the existing æsthetics, which all amount to this: -that the aim of art is beauty, that beauty is recognised by the -enjoyment it gives, and that artistic enjoyment is a good and important -thing, because it _is_ enjoyment. In a word, that enjoyment is good -because it is enjoyment. Thus, what is considered the definition of art -is no definition at all, but only a shuffle to justify existing art. -Therefore, however strange it may seem to say so, in spite of the -mountains of books written about art, no exact definition of art has -been constructed. And the reason of this is that the conception of art -has been based on the conception of beauty. - - - - - CHAPTER V - - -What is art, if we put aside the conception of beauty, which confuses -the whole matter? The latest and most comprehensible definitions of art, -apart from the conception of beauty, are the following:—(1 _a_) Art is -an activity arising even in the animal kingdom, and springing from -sexual desire and the propensity to play (Schiller, Darwin, Spencer), -and (1 _b_) accompanied by a pleasurable excitement of the nervous -system (Grant Allen). This is the physiological-evolutionary definition. -(2) Art is the external manifestation, by means of lines, colours, -movements, sounds, or words, of emotions felt by man (Véron). This is -the experimental definition. According to the very latest definition -(Sully), (3) Art is “the production of some permanent object, or passing -action, which is fitted not only to supply an active enjoyment to the -producer, but to convey a pleasurable impression to a number of -spectators or listeners, quite apart from any personal advantage to be -derived from it.” - -Notwithstanding the superiority of these definitions to the metaphysical -definitions which depended on the conception of beauty, they are yet far -from exact. (1 _a_) The first, the physiological-evolutionary -definition, is inexact, because, instead of speaking about the artistic -activity itself, which is the real matter in hand, it treats of the -derivation of art. The modification of it (1 _b_), based on the -physiological effects on the human organism, is inexact, because within -the limits of such definition many other human activities can be -included, as has occurred in the neo-æsthetic theories, which reckon as -art the preparation of handsome clothes, pleasant scents, and even of -victuals. - -The experimental definition (2), which makes art consist in the -expression of emotions, is inexact, because a man may express his -emotions by means of lines, colours, sounds, or words, and yet may not -act on others by such expression; and then the manifestation of his -emotions is not art. - -The third definition (that of Sully) is inexact, because in the -production of objects or actions affording pleasure to the producer and -a pleasant emotion to the spectators or hearers apart from personal -advantage, may be included the showing of conjuring tricks or gymnastic -exercises, and other activities which are not art. And, further, many -things, the production of which does not afford pleasure to the -producer, and the sensation received from which is unpleasant, such as -gloomy, heart-rending scenes in a poetic description or a play, may -nevertheless be undoubted works of art. - -The inaccuracy of all these definitions arises from the fact that in -them all (as also in the metaphysical definitions) the object considered -is the pleasure art may give, and not the purpose it may serve in the -life of man and of humanity. - -In order correctly to define art, it is necessary, first of all, to -cease to consider it as a means to pleasure, and to consider it as one -of the conditions of human life. Viewing it in this way, we cannot fail -to observe that art is one of the means of intercourse between man and -man. - -Every work of art causes the receiver to enter into a certain kind of -relationship both with him who produced, or is producing, the art, and -with all those who, simultaneously, previously or subsequently, receive -the same artistic impression. - -Speech, transmitting the thoughts and experiences of men, serves as a -means of union among them, and art acts in a similar manner. The -peculiarity of this latter means of intercourse, distinguishing it from -intercourse by means of words, consists in this, that whereas by words a -man transmits his thoughts to another, by means of art he transmits his -feelings. - -The activity of art is based on the fact that a man, receiving through -his sense of hearing or sight another man’s expression of feeling, is -capable of experiencing the emotion which moved the man who expressed -it. To take the simplest example: one man laughs, and another, who -hears, becomes merry; or a man weeps, and another, who hears, feels -sorrow. A man is excited or irritated, and another man, seeing him, -comes to a similar state of mind. By his movements, or by the sounds of -his voice, a man expresses courage and determination, or sadness and -calmness, and this state of mind passes on to others. A man suffers, -expressing his sufferings by groans and spasms, and this suffering -transmits itself to other people; a man expresses his feeling of -admiration, devotion, fear, respect, or love to certain objects, -persons, or phenomena, and others are infected by the same feelings of -admiration, devotion, fear, respect, or love to the same objects, -persons, and phenomena. - -And it is on this capacity of man to receive another man’s expression of -feeling, and experience those feelings himself, that the activity of art -is based. - -If a man infects another or others, directly, immediately, by his -appearance, or by the sounds he gives vent to at the very time he -experiences the feeling; if he causes another man to yawn when he -himself cannot help yawning, or to laugh or cry when he himself is -obliged to laugh or cry, or to suffer when he himself is suffering—that -does not amount to art. - -Art begins when one person, with the object of joining another or others -to himself in one and the same feeling, expresses that feeling by -certain external indications. To take the simplest example: a boy, -having experienced, let us say, fear on encountering a wolf, relates -that encounter; and, in order to evoke in others the feeling he has -experienced, describes himself, his condition before the encounter, the -surroundings, the wood, his own lightheartedness, and then the wolf’s -appearance, its movements, the distance between himself and the wolf, -etc. All this, if only the boy when telling the story, again experiences -the feelings he had lived through and infects the hearers and compels -them to feel what the narrator had experienced, is art. If even the boy -had not seen a wolf but had frequently been afraid of one, and if, -wishing to evoke in others the fear he had felt, he invented an -encounter with a wolf, and recounted it so as to make his hearers share -the feelings he experienced when he feared the wolf, that also would be -art. And just in the same way it is art if a man, having experienced -either the fear of suffering or the attraction of enjoyment (whether in -reality or in imagination), expresses these feelings on canvas or in -marble so that others are infected by them. And it is also art if a man -feels or imagines to himself feelings of delight, gladness, sorrow, -despair, courage, or despondency, and the transition from one to another -of these feelings, and expresses these feelings by sounds, so that the -hearers are infected by them, and experience them as they were -experienced by the composer. - -The feelings with which the artist infects others may be most -various—very strong or very weak, very important or very insignificant, -very bad or very good: feelings of love for native land, self-devotion -and submission to fate or to God expressed in a drama, raptures of -lovers described in a novel, feelings of voluptuousness expressed in a -picture, courage expressed in a triumphal march, merriment evoked by a -dance, humour evoked by a funny story, the feeling of quietness -transmitted by an evening landscape or by a lullaby, or the feeling of -admiration evoked by a beautiful arabesque—it is all art. - -If only the spectators or auditors are infected by the feelings which -the author has felt, it is art. - -_To evoke in oneself a feeling one has once experienced, and having -evoked it in oneself then, by means of movements, lines, colours, -sounds, or forms expressed in words, so to transmit that feeling that -others may experience the same feeling—this is the activity of art._ - -_Art is a human activity, consisting in this, that one man consciously, -by means of certain external signs, hands on to others feelings he has -lived through, and that other people are infected by these feelings, and -also experience them._ - -Art is not, as the metaphysicians say, the manifestation of some -mysterious Idea of beauty, or God; it is not, as the æsthetical -physiologists say, a game in which man lets off his excess of stored-up -energy; it is not the expression of man’s emotions by external signs; it -is not the production of pleasing objects; and, above all, it is not -pleasure; but it is a means of union among men, joining them together in -the same feelings, and indispensable for the life and progress towards -well-being of individuals and of humanity. - -As, thanks to man’s capacity to express thoughts by words, every man may -know all that has been done for him in the realms of thought by all -humanity before his day, and can, in the present, thanks to this -capacity to understand the thoughts of others, become a sharer in their -activity, and can himself hand on to his contemporaries and descendants -the thoughts he has assimilated from others, as well as those which have -arisen within himself; so, thanks to man’s capacity to be infected with -the feelings of others by means of art, all that is being lived through -by his contemporaries is accessible to him, as well as the feelings -experienced by men thousands of years ago, and he has also the -possibility of transmitting his own feelings to others. - -If people lacked this capacity to receive the thoughts conceived by the -men who preceded them, and to pass on to others their own thoughts, men -would be like wild beasts, or like Kaspar Hauser.[60] - -And if men lacked this other capacity of being infected by art, people -might be almost more savage still, and, above all, more separated from, -and more hostile to, one another. - -And therefore the activity of art is a most important one, as important -as the activity of speech itself, and as generally diffused. - -We are accustomed to understand art to be only what we hear and see in -theatres, concerts, and exhibitions; together with buildings, statues, -poems, novels.... But all this is but the smallest part of the art by -which we communicate with each other in life. All human life is filled -with works of art of every kind—from cradle-song, jest, mimicry, the -ornamentation of houses, dress and utensils, up to church services, -buildings, monuments, and triumphal processions. It is all artistic -activity. So that by art, in the limited sense of the word, we do not -mean all human activity transmitting feelings, but only that part which -we for some reason select from it and to which we attach special -importance. - -This special importance has always been given by all men to that part of -this activity which transmits feelings flowing from their religious -perception, and this small part of art they have specifically called -art, attaching to it the full meaning of the word. - -That was how men of old—Socrates, Plato, and Aristotle—looked on art. -Thus did the Hebrew prophets and the ancient Christians regard art; thus -it was, and still is, understood by the Mahommedans, and thus is it -still understood by religious folk among our own peasantry. - -Some teachers of mankind—as Plato in his _Republic_, and people such as -the primitive Christians, the strict Mahommedans, and the Buddhists—have -gone so far as to repudiate all art. - -People viewing art in this way (in contradiction to the prevalent view -of to-day, which regards any art as good if only it affords pleasure) -considered, and consider, that art (as contrasted with speech, which -need not be listened to) is so highly dangerous in its power to infect -people against their wills, that mankind will lose far less by banishing -all art than by tolerating each and every art. - -Evidently such people were wrong in repudiating all art, for they denied -that which cannot be denied—one of the indispensable means of -communication, without which mankind could not exist. But not less wrong -are the people of civilised European society of our class and day, in -favouring any art if it but serves beauty, _i.e._ gives people pleasure. - -Formerly, people feared lest among the works of art there might chance -to be some causing corruption, and they prohibited art altogether. Now, -they only fear lest they should be deprived of any enjoyment art can -afford, and patronise any art. And I think the last error is much -grosser than the first, and that its consequences are far more harmful. - -Footnote 60: - - “The foundling of Nuremberg,” found in the market-place of that town - on 26th May 1828, apparently some sixteen years old. He spoke little, - and was almost totally ignorant even of common objects. He - subsequently explained that he had been brought up in confinement - underground, and visited by only one man, whom he saw but - seldom.—Trans. - - - - - CHAPTER VI - - -But how could it happen that that very art, which in ancient times was -merely tolerated (if tolerated at all), should have come, in our times, -to be invariably considered a good thing if only it affords pleasure? - -It has resulted from the following causes. The estimation of the value -of art (_i.e._ of the feelings it transmits) depends on men’s perception -of the meaning of life; depends on what they consider to be the good and -the evil of life. And what is good and what is evil is defined by what -are termed religions. - -Humanity unceasingly moves forward from a lower, more partial, and -obscure understanding of life, to one more general and more lucid. And -in this, as in every movement, there are leaders,—those who have -understood the meaning of life more clearly than others,—and of these -advanced men there is always one who has, in his words and by his life, -expressed this meaning more clearly, accessibly, and strongly than -others. This man’s expression of the meaning of life, together with -those superstitions, traditions, and ceremonies which usually form -themselves round the memory of such a man, is what is called a religion. -Religions are the exponents of the highest comprehension of life -accessible to the best and foremost men at a given time in a given -society; a comprehension towards which, inevitably and irresistibly, all -the rest of that society must advance. And therefore only religions have -always served, and still serve, as bases for the valuation of human -sentiments. If feelings bring men nearer the ideal their religion -indicates, if they are in harmony with it and do not contradict it, they -are good; if they estrange men from it and oppose it, they are bad. - -If the religion places the meaning of life in worshipping one God and -fulfilling what is regarded as His will, as was the case among the Jews, -then the feelings flowing from love to that God, and to His law, -successfully transmitted through the art of poetry by the prophets, by -the psalms, or by the epic of the book of Genesis, is good, high art. -All opposing that, as for instance the transmission of feelings of -devotion to strange gods, or of feelings incompatible with the law of -God, would be considered bad art. Or if, as was the case among the -Greeks, the religion places the meaning of life in earthly happiness, in -beauty and in strength, then art successfully transmitting the joy and -energy of life would be considered good art, but art which transmitted -feelings of effeminacy or despondency would be bad art. If the meaning -of life is seen in the well-being of one’s nation, or in honouring one’s -ancestors and continuing the mode of life led by them, as was the case -among the Romans and the Chinese respectively, then art transmitting -feelings of joy at sacrificing one’s personal well-being for the common -weal, or at exalting one’s ancestors and maintaining their traditions, -would be considered good art; but art expressing feelings contrary to -this would be regarded as bad. If the meaning of life is seen in freeing -oneself from the yoke of animalism, as is the case among the Buddhists, -then art successfully transmitting feelings that elevate the soul and -humble the flesh will be good art, and all that transmits feelings -strengthening the bodily passions will be bad art. - -In every age, and in every human society, there exists a religious -sense, common to that whole society, of what is good and what is bad, -and it is this religious conception that decides the value of the -feelings transmitted by art. And therefore, among all nations, art which -transmitted feelings considered to be good by this general religious -sense was recognised as being good and was encouraged; but art which -transmitted feelings considered to be bad by this general religious -conception, was recognised as being bad, and was rejected. All the rest -of the immense field of art by means of which people communicate one -with another, was not esteemed at all, and was only noticed when it ran -counter to the religious conception of its age, and then merely to be -repudiated. Thus it was among all nations,—Greeks, Jews, Indians, -Egyptians, and Chinese,—and so it was when Christianity appeared. - -The Christianity of the first centuries recognised as productions of -good art, only legends, lives of saints, sermons, prayers and -hymn-singing, evoking love of Christ, emotion at his life, desire to -follow his example, renunciation of worldly life, humility, and the love -of others; all productions transmitting feelings of personal enjoyment -they considered to be bad, and therefore rejected: for instance, -tolerating plastic representations only when they were symbolical, they -rejected all the pagan sculptures. - -This was so among the Christians of the first centuries, who accepted -Christ’s teaching, if not quite in its true form, at least not in the -perverted, paganised form in which it was accepted subsequently. - -But besides this Christianity, from the time of the wholesale conversion -of nations by order of the authorities, as in the days of Constantine, -Charlemagne, and Vladimir, there appeared another, a Church -Christianity, which was nearer to paganism than to Christ’s teaching. -And this Church Christianity, in accordance with its own teaching, -estimated quite otherwise the feelings of people and the productions of -art which transmitted those feelings. - -This Church Christianity not only did not acknowledge the fundamental -and essential positions of true Christianity,—the immediate relationship -of each man to the Father, the consequent brotherhood and equality of -all men, and the substitution of humility and love in place of every -kind of violence—but, on the contrary, having set up a heavenly -hierarchy similar to the pagan mythology, and having introduced the -worship of Christ, of the Virgin, of angels, of apostles, of saints, and -of martyrs, and not only of these divinities themselves, but also of -their images, it made blind faith in the Church and its ordinances the -essential point of its teaching. - -However foreign this teaching may have been to true Christianity, -however degraded, not only in comparison with true Christianity, but -even with the life-conception of Romans such as Julian and others; it -was, for all that, to the barbarians who accepted it, a higher doctrine -than their former adoration of gods, heroes, and good and bad spirits. -And therefore this teaching was a religion to them, and on the basis of -that religion the art of the time was assessed. And art transmitting -pious adoration of the Virgin, Jesus, the saints and the angels, a blind -faith in and submission to the Church, fear of torments and hope of -blessedness in a life beyond the grave, was considered good; all art -opposed to this was considered bad. - -The teaching on the basis of which this art arose was a perversion of -Christ’s teaching, but the art which sprang up on this perverted -teaching was nevertheless a true art, because it corresponded to the -religious view of life held by the people among whom it arose. - -The artists of the Middle Ages, vitalised by the same source of -feeling—religion—as the mass of the people, and transmitting, in -architecture, sculpture, painting, music, poetry or drama, the feelings -and states of mind they experienced, were true artists; and their -activity, founded on the highest conceptions accessible to their age and -common to the entire people, though, for our times a mean art, was, -nevertheless a true one, shared by the whole community. - -And this was the state of things until, in the upper, rich, more -educated classes of European society, doubt arose as to the truth of -that understanding of life which was expressed by Church Christianity. -When, after the Crusades and the maximum development of papal power and -its abuses, people of the rich classes became acquainted with the wisdom -of the classics, and saw, on the one hand, the reasonable lucidity of -the teaching of the ancient sages, and, on the other hand, the -incompatibility of the Church doctrine with the teaching of Christ, they -lost all possibility of continuing to believe the Church teaching. - -If, in externals, they still kept to the forms of Church teaching, they -could no longer believe in it, and held to it only by inertia and for -the sake of influencing the masses, who continued to believe blindly in -Church doctrine, and whom the upper classes, for their own advantage, -considered it necessary to support in those beliefs. - -So that a time came when Church Christianity ceased to be the general -religious doctrine of all Christian people; some—the masses—continued -blindly to believe in it, but the upper classes—those in whose hands lay -the power and wealth, and therefore the leisure to produce art and the -means to stimulate it—ceased to believe in that teaching. - -In respect to religion, the upper circles of the Middle Ages found -themselves in the same position in which the educated Romans were before -Christianity arose, _i.e._ they no longer believed in the religion of -the masses, but had no beliefs to put in place of the worn-out Church -doctrine which for them had lost its meaning. - -There was only this difference, that whereas for the Romans who lost -faith in their emperor-gods and household-gods it was impossible to -extract anything further from all the complex mythology they had -borrowed from all the conquered nations, and it was consequently -necessary to find a completely new conception of life, the people of the -Middle Ages, when they doubted the truth of the Church teaching, had no -need to seek a fresh one. That Christian teaching which they professed -in a perverted form as Church doctrine, had mapped out the path of human -progress so far ahead, that they had but to rid themselves of those -perversions which hid the teaching announced by Christ, and to adopt its -real meaning—if not completely, then at least in some greater degree -than that in which the Church had held it. - -And this was partially done, not only in the reformations of Wyclif, -Huss, Luther, and Calvin, but by all that current of non-Church -Christianity, represented in earlier times by the Paulicians, the -Bogomili,[61] and, afterwards, by the Waldenses and the other non-Church -Christians who were called heretics. But this could be, and was, done -chiefly by poor people—who did not rule. A few of the rich and strong, -like Francis of Assisi and others, accepted the Christian teaching in -its full significance, even though it undermined their privileged -positions. But most people of the upper classes (though in the depth of -their souls they had lost faith in the Church teaching) could not or -would not act thus, because the essence of that Christian view of life, -which stood ready to be adopted when once they rejected the Church -faith, was a teaching of the brotherhood (and therefore the equality) of -man, and this negatived those privileges on which they lived, in which -they had grown up and been educated, and to which they were accustomed. -Not, in the depth of their hearts, believing in the Church -teaching,—which had outlived its age and had no longer any true meaning -for them,—and not being strong enough to accept true Christianity, men -of these rich, governing classes—popes, kings, dukes, and all the great -ones of the earth—were left without any religion, with but the external -forms of one, which they supported as being profitable and even -necessary for themselves, since these forms screened a teaching which -justified those privileges which they made use of. In reality, these -people believed in nothing, just as the Romans of the first centuries of -our era believed in nothing. But at the same time these were the people -who had the power and the wealth, and these were the people who rewarded -art and directed it. - -And, let it be noticed, it was just among these people that there grew -up an art esteemed not according to its success in expressing men’s -religious feelings, but in proportion to its beauty,—in other words, -according to the enjoyment it gave. - -No longer able to believe in the Church religion whose falsehood they -had detected, and incapable of accepting true Christian teaching, which -denounced their whole manner of life, these rich and powerful people, -stranded without any religious conception of life, involuntarily -returned to that pagan view of things which places life’s meaning in -personal enjoyment. And then took place among the upper classes what is -called the “Renaissance of science and art,” and which was really not -only a denial of every religion but also an assertion that religion is -unnecessary. - -The Church doctrine is so coherent a system that it cannot be altered or -corrected without destroying it altogether. As soon as doubt arose with -regard to the infallibility of the pope (and this doubt was then in the -minds of all educated people), doubt inevitably followed as to the truth -of tradition. But doubt as to the truth of tradition is fatal not only -to popery and Catholicism, but also to the whole Church creed with all -its dogmas: the divinity of Christ, the resurrection, and the Trinity; -and it destroys the authority of the Scriptures, since they were -considered to be inspired only because the tradition of the Church -decided it so. - -So that the majority of the highest classes of that age, even the popes -and the ecclesiastics, really believed in nothing at all. In the Church -doctrine these people did not believe, for they saw its insolvency; but -neither could they follow Francis of Assisi, Keltchitsky,[62] and most -of the heretics, in acknowledging the moral, social teaching of Christ, -for that teaching undermined their social position. And so these people -remained without any religious view of life. And, having none, they -could have no standard wherewith to estimate what was good and what was -bad art but that of personal enjoyment. And, having acknowledged their -criterion of what was good to be pleasure, _i.e._, beauty, these people -of the upper classes of European society went back in their -comprehension of art to the gross conception of the primitive Greeks -which Plato had already condemned. And conformably to this understanding -of life a theory of art was formulated. - -Footnote 61: - - Eastern sects well known in early Church history, who rejected the - Church’s rendering of Christ’s teaching and were cruelly - persecuted.—Trans. - -Footnote 62: - - Keltchitsky, a Bohemian of the fifteenth century, was the author of a - remarkable book, _The Net of Faith_, directed against Church and - State. It is mentioned in Tolstoy’s _The Kingdom of God is Within - You_.—Trans. - - - - - CHAPTER VII - - -From the time that people of the upper classes lost faith in Church -Christianity, beauty (_i.e._ the pleasure received from art) became -their standard of good and bad art. And, in accordance with that view, -an æsthetic theory naturally sprang up among those upper classes -justifying such a conception,—a theory according to which the aim of art -is to exhibit beauty. The partisans of this æsthetic theory, in -confirmation of its truth, affirmed that it was no invention of their -own, but that it existed in the nature of things, and was recognised -even by the ancient Greeks. But this assertion was quite arbitrary, and -has no foundation other than the fact that among the ancient Greeks, in -consequence of the low grade of their moral ideal (as compared with the -Christian), their conception of the good, τὸ ἀγαθόν, was not yet sharply -divided from their conception of the beautiful, τὸ καλόν. - -That highest perfection of goodness (not only not identical with beauty, -but, for the most part, contrasting with it) which was discerned by the -Jews even in the times of Isaiah, and fully expressed by Christianity, -was quite unknown to the Greeks. They supposed that the beautiful must -necessarily also be the good. It is true that their foremost -thinkers—Socrates, Plato, Aristotle—felt that goodness may happen not to -coincide with beauty. Socrates expressly subordinated beauty to -goodness; Plato, to unite the two conceptions, spoke of spiritual -beauty; while Aristotle demanded from art that it should have a moral -influence on people (κάθαρσις). But, notwithstanding all this, they -could not quite dismiss the notion that beauty and goodness coincide. - -And consequently, in the language of that period, a compound word -(καλο-κἀγαθία, beauty-goodness), came into use to express that notion. - -Evidently the Greek sages began to draw near to that perception of -goodness which is expressed in Buddhism and in Christianity, and they -got entangled in defining the relation between goodness and beauty. -Plato’s reasonings about beauty and goodness are full of contradictions. -And it was just this confusion of ideas that those Europeans of a later -age, who had lost all faith, tried to elevate into a law. They tried to -prove that this union of beauty and goodness is inherent in the very -essence of things; that beauty and goodness must coincide; and that the -word and conception καλο-κἀγαθία (which had a meaning for Greeks but has -none at all for Christians) represents the highest ideal of humanity. On -this misunderstanding the new science of æsthetics was built up. And, to -justify its existence, the teachings of the ancients on art were so -twisted as to make it appear that this invented science of æsthetics had -existed among the Greeks. - -In reality, the reasoning of the ancients on art was quite unlike ours. -As Benard, in his book on the æsthetics of Aristotle, quite justly -remarks: “_Pour qui veut y regarder de près, la théorie du beau et celle -de l’art sont tout à fait séparées dans Aristote, comme elles le sont -dans Platon et chez tous leurs successeurs_” (_L’esthétique d’Aristote -et de ses successeurs_, Paris, 1889, p. 28).[63] And indeed the -reasoning of the ancients on art not only does not confirm our science -of æsthetics, but rather contradicts its doctrine of beauty. But -nevertheless all the æsthetic guides, from Schasler to Knight, declare -that the science of the beautiful—æsthetic science—was commenced by the -ancients, by Socrates, Plato, Aristotle; and was continued, they say, -partially by the Epicureans and Stoics: by Seneca and Plutarch, down to -Plotinus. But it is supposed that this science, by some unfortunate -accident, suddenly vanished in the fourth century, and stayed away for -about 1500 years, and only after these 1500 years had passed did it -revive in Germany, A.D. 1750, in Baumgarten’s doctrine. - -After Plotinus, says Schasler, fifteen centuries passed away during -which there was not the slightest scientific interest felt for the world -of beauty and art. These one and a half thousand years, says he, have -been lost to æsthetics and have contributed nothing towards the erection -of the learned edifice of this science.[64] - -In reality nothing of the kind happened. The science of æsthetics, the -science of the beautiful, neither did nor could vanish because it never -existed. Simply, the Greeks (just like everybody else, always and -everywhere) considered art (like everything else) good only when it -served goodness (as they understood goodness), and bad when it was in -opposition to that goodness. And the Greeks themselves were so little -developed morally, that goodness and beauty seemed to them to coincide. -On that obsolete Greek view of life was erected the science of -æsthetics, invented by men of the eighteenth century, and especially -shaped and mounted in Baumgarten’s theory. The Greeks (as anyone may see -who will read Benard’s admirable book on Aristotle and his successors, -and Walter’s work on Plato) never had a science of æsthetics. - -Æsthetic theories arose about one hundred and fifty years ago among the -wealthy classes of the Christian European world, and arose -simultaneously among different nations,—German, Italian, Dutch, French, -and English. The founder and organiser of it, who gave it a scientific, -theoretic form, was Baumgarten. - -With a characteristically German, external exactitude, pedantry and -symmetry, he devised and expounded this extraordinary theory. And, -notwithstanding its obvious insolidity, nobody else’s theory so pleased -the cultured crowd, or was accepted so readily and with such an absence -of criticism. It so suited the people of the upper classes, that to this -day, notwithstanding its entirely fantastic character and the arbitrary -nature of its assertions, it is repeated by learned and unlearned as -though it were something indubitable and self-evident. - -_Habent sua fata libelli pro capite lectoris_, and so, or even more so, -theories _habent sua fata_ according to the condition of error in which -that society is living, among whom and for whom the theories are -invented. If a theory justifies the false position in which a certain -part of a society is living, then, however unfounded or even obviously -false the theory may be, it is accepted, and becomes an article of faith -to that section of society. Such, for instance, was the celebrated and -unfounded theory expounded by Malthus, of the tendency of the population -of the world to increase in geometrical progression, but of the means of -sustenance to increase only in arithmetical progression, and of the -consequent overpopulation of the world; such, also, was the theory (an -outgrowth of the Malthusian) of selection and struggle for existence as -the basis of human progress. Such, again, is Marx’s theory, which -regards the gradual destruction of small private production by large -capitalistic production now going on around us, as an inevitable decree -of fate. However unfounded such theories are, however contrary to all -that is known and confessed by humanity, and however obviously immoral -they may be, they are accepted with credulity, pass uncriticised, and -are preached, perchance for centuries, until the conditions are -destroyed which they served to justify, or until their absurdity has -become too evident. To this class belongs this astonishing theory of the -Baumgartenian Trinity—Goodness, Beauty, and Truth, according to which it -appears that the very best that can be done by the art of nations after -1900 years of Christian teaching, is to choose as the ideal of their -life the ideal that was held by a small, semi-savage, slave-holding -people who lived 2000 years ago, who imitated the nude human body -extremely well, and erected buildings pleasant to look at. All these -incompatibilities pass completely unnoticed. Learned people write long, -cloudy treatises on beauty as a member of the æsthetic trinity of -Beauty, Truth, and Goodness; _das Schöne, das Wahre, das Gute_; _le -Beau, le Vrai, le Bon_, are repeated, with capital letters, by -philosophers, æstheticians and artists, by private individuals, by -novelists and by _feuilletonistes_, and they all think, when pronouncing -these sacrosanct words, that they speak of something quite definite and -solid—something on which they can base their opinions. In reality, these -words not only have no definite meaning, but they hinder us in attaching -any definite meaning to existing art; they are wanted only for the -purpose of justifying the false importance we attribute to an art that -transmits every kind of feeling if only those feelings afford us -pleasure. - -Footnote 63: - - Any one examining closely may see that the theory of beauty and that - of art are quite separated in Aristotle as they are in Plato and in - all their successors. - -Footnote 64: - - Die Lücke von fünf Jahrhunderten, welche zwischen den - Kunstphilosophischen Betrachtungen des Plato und Aristoteles und die - des Plotins fällt, kann zwar auffällig erscheinen; dennoch kann man - eigentlich nicht sagen, dass in dieser Zwischenzeit überhaupt von - ästhetischen Dingen nicht die Rede gewesen; oder dass gar ein völliger - Mangel an Zusammenhang zwischen den Kunst-anscliauungen des - letztgenannten Philosophen und denen der ersteren existire. Freilich - wurde die von Aristoteles begründete Wissenschaft in Nichts dadurch - gefördert; immerhin aber zeigt sich in jener Zwischenzeit noch ein - gewisses Interesse für ästhetische Fragen. Nach Plotin aber, die - wenigen, ihm in der Zeit nahestehenden Philosophen, wie Longin, - Augustin, u. s. f. kommen, wie wir gesehen, kaum in Betracht und - schliessen sich übrigens in ihrer Anschauungsweise an ihn an,—vergehen - nicht fünf, sondern _fünfzehn Jahrhunderte_, in denen von irgend einer - wissenschaftlichen Interesse für die Welt des Schönen und der Kunst - nichts zu spüren ist. - - Diese anderthalbtausend Jahre, innerhalb deren der Weltgeist durch die - mannigfachsten Kämpfe hindurch zu einer völlig neuen Gestaltung des - Lebens sich durcharbeitete, sind für die Aesthetik, hinsichtlich des - weiteren Ausbaus dieser Wissenschaft verloren.—Max Schasler. - - - - - CHAPTER VIII - - -But if art is a human activity having for its purpose the transmission -to others of the highest and best feelings to which men have risen, how -could it be that humanity for a certain rather considerable period of -its existence (from the time people ceased to believe in Church doctrine -down to the present day) should exist without this important activity, -and, instead of it, should put up with an insignificant artistic -activity only affording pleasure? - -In order to answer this question, it is necessary, first of all, to -correct the current error people make in attributing to our art the -significance of true, universal art. We are so accustomed, not only -naïvely to consider the Circassian family the best stock of people, but -also the Anglo-Saxon race the best race if we are Englishmen or -Americans, or the Teutonic if we are Germans, or the Gallo-Latin if we -are French, or the Slavonic if we are Russians, that when speaking of -our own art we feel fully convinced, not only that our art is true art, -but even that it is the best and only true art. But in reality our art -is not only not the only art (as the Bible once was held to be the only -book), but it is not even the art of the whole of Christendom,—only of a -small section of that part of humanity. It was correct to speak of a -national Jewish, Grecian, or Egyptian art, and one may speak of a -now-existing Chinese, Japanese, or Indian art shared in by a whole -people. Such art, common to a whole nation, existed in Russia till Peter -the First’s time, and existed in the rest of Europe until the thirteenth -or fourteenth century; but since the upper classes of European society, -having lost faith in the Church teaching, did not accept real -Christianity but remained without any faith, one can no longer speak of -an art of the Christian nations in the sense of the whole of art. Since -the upper classes of the Christian nations lost faith in Church -Christianity, the art of those upper classes has separated itself from -the art of the rest of the people, and there have been two arts—the art -of the people and genteel art. And therefore the answer to the question -how it could occur that humanity lived for a certain period without real -art, replacing it by art which served enjoyment only, is, that not all -humanity, nor even any considerable portion of it, lived without real -art, but only the highest classes of European Christian society, and -even they only for a comparatively short time—from the commencement of -the Renaissance down to our own day. - -And the consequence of this absence of true art showed itself, -inevitably, in the corruption of that class which nourished itself on -the false art. All the confused, unintelligible theories of art, all the -false and contradictory judgments on art, and particularly the -self-confident stagnation of our art in its false path, all arise from -the assertion, which has come into common use and is accepted as an -unquestioned truth, but is yet amazingly and palpably false, the -assertion, namely, that the art of our upper classes[65] is the whole of -art, the true, the only, the universal art. And although this assertion -(which is precisely similar to the assertion made by religious people of -the various Churches who consider that theirs is the only true religion) -is quite arbitrary and obviously unjust, yet it is calmly repeated by -all the people of our circle with full faith in its infallibility. - -The art we have is the whole of art, the real, the only art, and yet -two-thirds of the human race (all the peoples of Asia and Africa) live -and die knowing nothing of this sole and supreme art. And even in our -Christian society hardly one per cent. of the people make use of this -art which we speak of as being the _whole_ of art; the remaining -ninety-nine per cent. live and die, generation after generation, crushed -by toil and never tasting this art, which moreover is of such a nature -that, if they could get it, they would not understand anything of it. -We, according to the current æsthetic theory, acknowledge art either as -one of the highest manifestations of the Idea, God, Beauty, or as the -highest spiritual enjoyment; furthermore, we hold that all people have -equal rights, if not to material, at any rate to spiritual well-being; -and yet ninety-nine per cent. of our European population live and die, -generation after generation, crushed by toil, much of which toil is -necessary for the production of our art which they never use, and we, -nevertheless, calmly assert that the art which we produce is the real, -true, only art—all of art! - -To the remark that if our art is the true art everyone should have the -benefit of it, the usual reply is that if not everybody at present makes -use of existing art, the fault lies, not in the art, but in the false -organisation of society; that one can imagine to oneself, in the future, -a state of things in which physical labour will be partly superseded by -machinery, partly lightened by its just distribution, and that labour -for the production of art will be taken in turns; that there is no need -for some people always to sit below the stage moving the decorations, -winding up the machinery, working at the piano or French horn, and -setting type and printing books, but that the people who do all this -work might be engaged only a few hours per day, and in their leisure -time might enjoy all the blessings of art. - -That is what the defenders of our exclusive art say. But I think they do -not themselves believe it. They cannot help knowing that fine art can -arise only on the slavery of the masses of the people, and can continue -only as long as that slavery lasts, and they cannot help knowing that -only under conditions of intense labour for the workers, can -specialists—writers, musicians, dancers, and actors—arrive at that fine -degree of perfection to which they do attain, or produce their refined -works of art; and only under the same conditions can there be a fine -public to esteem such productions. Free the slaves of capital, and it -will be impossible to produce such refined art. - -But even were we to admit the inadmissible, and say that means may be -found by which art (that art which among us is considered to be art) may -be accessible to the whole people, another consideration presents itself -showing that fashionable art cannot be the whole of art, viz. the fact -that it is completely unintelligible to the people. Formerly men wrote -poems in Latin, but now their artistic productions are as unintelligible -to the common folk as if they were written in Sanskrit. The usual reply -to this is, that if the people do not now understand this art of ours, -it only proves that they are undeveloped, and that this has been so at -each fresh step forward made by art. First it was not understood, but -afterwards people got accustomed to it. - -“It will be the same with our present art; it will be understood when -everybody is as well educated as are we—the people of the upper -classes—who produce this art,” say the defenders of our art. But this -assertion is evidently even more unjust than the former; for we know -that the majority of the productions of the art of the upper classes, -such as various odes, poems, dramas, cantatas, pastorals, pictures, -etc., which delighted the people of the upper classes when they were -produced, never were afterwards either understood or valued by the great -masses of mankind, but have remained, what they were at first, a mere -pastime for rich people of their time, for whom alone they ever were of -any importance. It is also often urged in proof of the assertion that -the people will some day understand our art, that some productions of -so-called “classical” poetry, music, or painting, which formerly did not -please the masses, do—now that they have been offered to them from all -sides—begin to please these same masses; but this only shows that the -crowd, especially the half-spoilt town crowd, can easily (its taste -having been perverted) be accustomed to any sort of art. Moreover, this -art is not produced by these masses, nor even chosen by them, but is -energetically thrust upon them in those public places in which art is -accessible to the people. For the great majority of working people, our -art, besides being inaccessible on account of its costliness, is strange -in its very nature, transmitting as it does the feelings of people far -removed from those conditions of laborious life which are natural to the -great body of humanity. That which is enjoyment to a man of the rich -classes, is incomprehensible, as a pleasure, to a working man, and -evokes in him either no feeling at all, or only a feeling quite contrary -to that which it evokes in an idle and satiated man. Such feelings as -form the chief subjects of present-day art—say, for instance, -honour,[66] patriotism and amorousness, evoke in a working man only -bewilderment and contempt, or indignation. So that even if a possibility -were given to the labouring classes, in their free time, to see, to -read, and to hear all that forms the flower of contemporary art (as is -done to some extent in towns, by means of picture galleries, popular -concerts, and libraries), the working man (to the extent to which he is -a labourer, and has not begun to pass into the ranks of those perverted -by idleness) would be able to make nothing of our fine art, and if he -did understand it, that which he understood would not elevate his soul, -but would certainly, in most cases, pervert it. To thoughtful and -sincere people there can therefore be no doubt that the art of our upper -classes never can be the art of the whole people. But if art is an -important matter, a spiritual blessing, essential for all men (“like -religion,” as the devotees of art are fond of saying), then it should be -accessible to everyone. And if, as in our day, it is not accessible to -all men, then one of two things: either art is not the vital matter it -is represented to be, or that art which we call art is not the real -thing. - -The dilemma is inevitable, and therefore clever and immoral people avoid -it by denying one side of it, viz. denying that the common people have a -right to art. These people simply and boldly speak out (what lies at the -heart of the matter), and say that the participators in and utilisers of -what in their esteem is highly beautiful art, _i.e._ art furnishing the -greatest enjoyment, can only be “schöne Geister,” “the elect,” as the -romanticists called them, the “Uebermenschen,” as they are called by the -followers of Nietzsche; the remaining vulgar herd, incapable of -experiencing these pleasures, must serve the exalted pleasures of this -superior breed of people. The people who express these views at least do -not pretend and do not try to combine the incombinable, but frankly -admit, what is the case, that our art is an art of the upper classes -only. So, essentially, art has been, and is, understood by everyone -engaged on it in our society. - -Footnote 65: - - The contrast made is between the classes and the masses: between those - who do not and those who do earn their bread by productive manual - labour; the middle classes being taken as an offshoot of the upper - classes.—Trans. - -Footnote 66: - - Duelling is still customary among the higher circles in Russia, as in - other Continental countries.—Trans. - - - - - CHAPTER IX - - -The unbelief of the upper classes of the European world had this effect, -that instead of an artistic activity aiming at transmitting the highest -feelings to which humanity has attained,—those flowing from religious -perception,—we have an activity which aims at affording the greatest -enjoyment to a certain class of society. And of all the immense domain -of art, that part has been fenced off, and is alone called art, which -affords enjoyment to the people of this particular circle. - -Apart from the moral effects on European society of such a selection -from the whole sphere of art of what did not deserve such a valuation, -and the acknowledgment of it as important art, this perversion of art -has weakened art itself, and well-nigh destroyed it. The first great -result was that art was deprived of the infinite, varied, and profound -religious subject-matter proper to it. The second result was that having -only a small circle of people in view, it lost its beauty of form and -became affected and obscure; and the third and chief result was that it -ceased to be either natural or even sincere, and became thoroughly -artificial and brain-spun. - -The first result—the impoverishment of subject-matter—followed because -only that is a true work of art which transmits fresh feelings not -before experienced by man. As thought-product is only then real -thought-product when it transmits new conceptions and thoughts, and does -not merely repeat what was known before, so also an art-product is only -then a genuine art-product when it brings a new feeling (however -insignificant) into the current of human life. This explains why -children and youths are so strongly impressed by those works of art -which first transmit to them feelings they had not before experienced. - -The same powerful impression is made on people by feelings which are -quite new, and have never before been expressed by man. And it is the -source from which such feelings flow of which the art of the upper -classes has deprived itself by estimating feelings, not in conformity -with religious perception, but according to the degree of enjoyment they -afford. There is nothing older and more hackneyed than enjoyment, and -there is nothing fresher than the feelings springing from the religious -consciousness of each age. It could not be otherwise: man’s enjoyment -has limits established by his nature, but the movement forward of -humanity, that which is voiced by religious perception, has no limits. -At every forward step taken by humanity—and such steps are taken in -consequence of the greater and greater elucidation of religious -perception—men experience new and fresh feelings. And therefore only on -the basis of religious perception (which shows the highest level of -life-comprehension reached by the men of a certain period) can fresh -emotion, never before felt by man, arise. From the religious perception -of the ancient Greeks flowed the really new, important, and endlessly -varied feelings expressed by Homer and the tragic writers. It was the -same among the Jews, who attained the religious conception of a single -God,—from that perception flowed all those new and important emotions -expressed by the prophets. It was the same for the poets of the Middle -Ages, who, if they believed in a heavenly hierarchy, believed also in -the Catholic commune; and it is the same for a man of to-day who has -grasped the religious conception of true Christianity—the brotherhood of -man. - -The variety of fresh feelings flowing from religious perception is -endless, and they are all new, for religious perception is nothing else -than the first indication of that which is coming into existence, viz. -the new relation of man to the world around him. But the feelings -flowing from the desire for enjoyment are, on the contrary, not only -limited, but were long ago experienced and expressed. And therefore the -lack of belief of the upper classes of Europe has left them with an art -fed on the poorest subject-matter. - -The impoverishment of the subject-matter of upper-class art was further -increased by the fact that, ceasing to be religious, it ceased also to -be popular, and this again diminished the range of feelings which it -transmitted. For the range of feelings experienced by the powerful and -the rich, who have no experience of labour for the support of life, is -far poorer, more limited, and more insignificant than the range of -feelings natural to working people. - -People of our circle, æstheticians, usually think and say just the -contrary of this. I remember how Gontchareff, the author, a very clever -and educated man but a thorough townsman and an æsthetician, said to me -that after Tourgenieff’s _Memoirs of a Sportsman_ there was nothing left -to write about in peasant life. It was all used up. The life of working -people seemed to him so simple that Tourgenieff’s peasant stories had -used up all there was to describe. The life of our wealthy people, with -their love affairs and dissatisfaction with themselves, seemed to him -full of inexhaustible subject-matter. One hero kissed his lady on her -palm, another on her elbow, and a third somewhere else. One man is -discontented through idleness, and another because people don’t love -him. And Gontchareff thought that in this sphere there is no end of -variety. And this opinion—that the life of working people is poor in -subject-matter, but that our life, the life of the idle, is full of -interest—is shared by very many people in our society. The life of a -labouring man, with its endlessly varied forms of labour, and the -dangers connected with this labour on sea and underground; his -migrations, the intercourse with his employers, overseers, and -companions and with men of other religions and other nationalities; his -struggles with nature and with wild beasts, the associations with -domestic animals, the work in the forest, on the steppe, in the field, -the garden, the orchard; his intercourse with wife and children, not -only as with people near and dear to him, but as with co-workers and -helpers in labour, replacing him in time of need; his concern in all -economic questions, not as matters of display or discussion, but as -problems of life for himself and his family; his pride in -self-suppression and service to others, his pleasures of refreshment; -and with all these interests permeated by a religious attitude towards -these occurrences—all this to us, who have not these interests and -possess no religious perception, seems monotonous in comparison with -those small enjoyments and insignificant cares of our life,—a life, not -of labour nor of production, but of consumption and destruction of that -which others have produced for us. We think the feelings experienced by -people of our day and our class are very important and varied; but in -reality almost all the feelings of people of our class amount to but -three very insignificant and simple feelings—the feeling of pride, the -feeling of sexual desire, and the feeling of weariness of life. These -three feelings, with their outgrowths, form almost the only -subject-matter of the art of the rich classes. - -At first, at the very beginning of the separation of the exclusive art -of the upper classes from universal art, its chief subject-matter was -the feeling of pride. It was so at the time of the Renaissance and after -it, when the chief subject of works of art was the laudation of the -strong—popes, kings, and dukes: odes and madrigals were written in their -honour, and they were extolled in cantatas and hymns; their portraits -were painted, and their statues carved, in various adulatory ways. Next, -the element of sexual desire began more and more to enter into art, and -(with very few exceptions, and in novels and dramas almost without -exception) it has now become an essential feature of every art product -of the rich classes. - -The third feeling transmitted by the art of the rich—that of discontent -with life—appeared yet later in modern art. This feeling, which, at the -commencement of the present century, was expressed only by exceptional -men; by Byron, by Leopardi, and afterwards by Heine, has latterly become -fashionable and is expressed by most ordinary and empty people. Most -justly does the French critic Doumic characterise the works of the new -writers—“_c’est la lassitude de vivre, le mépris de l’époque présente, -le regret d’un autre temps aperçu à travers l’illusion de l’art, le goût -du paradoxe, le besoin de se singulariser, une aspiration de raffinés -vers la simplicité, l’adoration enfantine du merveilleux, la séduction -maladive de la rêverie, l’ébranlement des nerfs,—surtout l’appel -exaspéré de la sensualité_” (_Les Jeunes_, René Doumic).[67] And, as a -matter of fact, of these three feelings it is sensuality, the lowest -(accessible not only to all men but even to all animals) which forms the -chief subject-matter of works of art of recent times. - -From Boccaccio to Marcel Prévost, all the novels, poems, and verses -invariably transmit the feeling of sexual love in its different forms. -Adultery is not only the favourite, but almost the only theme of all the -novels. A performance is not a performance unless, under some pretence, -women appear with naked busts and limbs. Songs and _romances_—all are -expressions of lust, idealised in various degrees. - -A majority of the pictures by French artists represent female nakedness -in various forms. In recent French literature there is hardly a page or -a poem in which nakedness is not described, and in which, relevantly or -irrelevantly, their favourite thought and word _nu_ is not repeated a -couple of times. There is a certain writer, René de Gourmond, who gets -printed, and is considered talented. To get an idea of the new writers, -I read his novel, _Les Chevaux de Diomède_. It is a consecutive and -detailed account of the sexual connections some gentleman had with -various women. Every page contains lust-kindling descriptions. It is the -same in Pierre Louÿs’ book, _Aphrodite_, which met with success; it is -the same in a book I lately chanced upon—Huysmans’ _Certains_, and, with -but few exceptions, it is the same in all the French novels. They are -all the productions of people suffering from erotic mania. And these -people are evidently convinced that as their whole life, in consequence -of their diseased condition, is concentrated on amplifying various -sexual abominations, therefore the life of all the world is similarly -concentrated. And these people, suffering from erotic mania, are -imitated throughout the whole artistic world of Europe and America. - -Thus in consequence of the lack of belief and the exceptional manner of -life of the wealthy classes, the art of those classes became -impoverished in its subject-matter, and has sunk to the transmission of -the feelings of pride, discontent with life, and, above all, of sexual -desire. - -Footnote 67: - - It is the weariness of life, contempt for the present epoch, regret - for another age seen through the illusion of art, a taste for paradox, - a desire to be singular, a sentimental aspiration after simplicity, an - infantine adoration of the marvellous, a sickly tendency towards - reverie, a shattered condition of nerves, and, above all, the - exasperated demand of sensuality. - - - - - CHAPTER X - - -In consequence of their unbelief the art of the upper classes became -poor in subject-matter. But besides that, becoming continually more and -more exclusive, it became at the same time continually more and more -involved, affected, and obscure. - -When a universal artist (such as were some of the Grecian artists or the -Jewish prophets) composed his work, he naturally strove to say what he -had to say in such a manner that his production should be intelligible -to all men. But when an artist composed for a small circle of people -placed in exceptional conditions, or even for a single individual and -his courtiers,—for popes, cardinals, kings, dukes, queens, or for a -king’s mistress,—he naturally only aimed at influencing these people, -who were well known to him, and lived in exceptional conditions familiar -to him. And this was an easier task, and the artist was involuntarily -drawn to express himself by allusions comprehensible only to the -initiated, and obscure to everyone else. In the first place, more could -be said in this way; and secondly, there is (for the initiated) even a -certain charm in the cloudiness of such a manner of expression. This -method, which showed itself both in euphemism and in mythological and -historical allusions, came more and more into use, until it has, -apparently, at last reached its utmost limits in the so-called art of -the Decadents. It has come, finally, to this: that not only is haziness, -mysteriousness, obscurity, and exclusiveness (shutting out the masses) -elevated to the rank of a merit and a condition of poetic art, but even -incorrectness, indefiniteness, and lack of eloquence are held in esteem. - -Théophile Gautier, in his preface to the celebrated _Fleurs du Mal_, -says that Baudelaire, as far as possible, banished from poetry -eloquence, passion, and truth too strictly copied (“_l’éloquence, la -passion, et la vérité calquée trop exactement_”). - -And Baudelaire not only expressed this, but maintained his thesis in his -verses, and yet more strikingly in the prose of his _Petits Poèmes en -Prose_, the meanings of which have to be guessed like a rebus, and -remain for the most part undiscovered. - -The poet Verlaine (who followed next after Baudelaire, and was also -esteemed great) even wrote an “_Art poétique_,” in which he advises this -style of composition:— - - _De la musique avant toute chose, - Et pour cela préfère l’Impair - Plus vague et plus soluble dans l’air, - Sans rien en lui qui pèse ou qui pose._ - - _Il faut aussi que tu n’ailles point - Choisir tes mots sans quelque méprise: - Rien de plus cher que la chanson grise - Où l’Indécis au Précis se joint._ - -And again:— - - _De la musique encore et toujours! - Que ton vers soit la chose envolée - Qu’on sent qui fuit d’une âme en allée - Vers d’autres cieux à d’autres amours._ - - _Que ton vers soit la bonne aventure - Éparse au vent crispé du matin, - Qui va fleurant la menthe et le thym ... - Et tout le reste est littérature._[68] - -After these two comes Mallarmé, considered the most important of the -young poets, and he plainly says that the charm of poetry lies in our -having to guess its meaning—that in poetry there should always be a -puzzle:— - -_Je pense qu’il faut qu’il n’y ait qu’allusion_, says he. _La -contemplation des objets, l’image s’envolant des rêveries suscitées par -eux, sont le chant: les Parnassiens, eux, prennent la chose entièrement -et la montrent; par là ils manquent de mystère; ils retirent aux esprits -cette joie délicieuse de croire qu’ils créent. Nommer un objet, c’est -supprimer les trois quarts de la jouissance du poème, qui est faite du -bonheur de deviner peu à peu: le suggérer, voilà le rêve. C’est le -parfait usage de ce mystère qui constitue le symbole: évoquer petit à -petit un objet pour montrer un état d’âme, ou, inversement, choisir un -objet et en dégager un état d’âme, par une sèrie de déchiffrements._ - -... _Si un être d’une intelligence moyenne, et d’une préparation -littéraire insuffisante, ouvre par hasard un livre ainsi fait et prétend -en jouir, il y a malentendu, il faut remettre les choses à leur place. -Il doit y avoir toujours énigme en poèsie, et c’est le but de la -littérature, il n’y en a pas d’autre,—d’évoquer les objets._—“_Enquête -sur l’évolution littéraire_,” Jules Huret, pp. 60, 61.[69] - -Thus is obscurity elevated into a dogma among the new poets. As the -French critic Doumic (who has not yet accepted the dogma) quite -correctly says:— - -“_Il serait temps aussi d’en finir avec cette fameuse ‘théorie de -l’obscurité’ que la nouvelle école a élevée, en effet, à la hauteur d’un -dogme._”—_Les Jeunes_, par René Doumic.[70] - -But it is not French writers only who think thus. The poets of all other -countries think and act in the same way: German, and Scandinavian, and -Italian, and Russian, and English. So also do the artists of the new -period in all branches of art: in painting, in sculpture, and in music. -Relying on Nietzsche and Wagner, the artists of the new age conclude -that it is unnecessary for them to be intelligible to the vulgar crowd; -it is enough for them to evoke poetic emotion in “the finest nurtured,” -to borrow a phrase from an English æsthetician. - -In order that what I am saying may not seem to be mere assertion, I will -quote at least a few examples from the French poets who have led this -movement. The name of these poets is legion. I have taken French -writers, because they, more decidedly than any others, indicate the new -direction of art, and are imitated by most European writers. - -Besides those whose names are already considered famous, such as -Baudelaire and Verlaine, here are the names of a few of them: Jean -Moréas, Charles Morice, Henri de Régnier, Charles Vignier, Adrien -Remacle, René Ghil, Maurice Maeterlinck, G. Albert Aurier, Rémy de -Gourmont, Saint-Pol-Roux-le-Magnifique, Georges Rodenbach, le comte -Robert de Montesquiou-Fezensac. These are Symbolists and Decadents. Next -we have the “Magi”: Joséphin Péladan, Paul Adam, Jules Bois, M. Papus, -and others. - -Besides these, there are yet one hundred and forty-one others, whom -Doumic mentions in the book referred to above. - -Here are some examples from the work of those of them who are considered -to be the best, beginning with that most celebrated man, acknowledged to -be a great artist worthy of a monument—Baudelaire. This is a poem from -his celebrated _Fleurs du Mal_:— - - No. XXIV. - - _Je t’adore à l’égal de la voûte nocturne, - O vase de tristesse, ô grande taciturne, - Et t’aime d’autant plus, belle, que tu me fuis, - Et que tu me parais, ornement de mes nuits, - Plus ironiquement accumuler les lieues - Qui séparent mes bras des immensités bleues._ - - _Je m’avance à l’attaque, et je grimpe aux assauts, - Comme après un cadavre un chœur de vermisseaux, - Et je chéris, ô bête implacable et cruelle, - Jusqu’à cette froideur par où tu m’es plus belle!_[71] - -And this is another by the same writer:— - - No. XXXVI. - - _DUELLUM._ - - _Deux guerriers ont couru l’un sur l’autre; leurs armes - Ont éclaboussé l’air de lueurs et de sang. - Ces jeux, ces cliquetis du fer sont les vacarmes - D’une jeunesse en proie à l’amour vagissant._ - - - _Les glaives sont brisés! comme notre jeunesse, - Ma chère! Mais les dents, les ongles acérés, - Vengent bientôt l’épée et la dague traîtresse. - O fureur des cœurs mûrs par l’amour ulcérés!_ - - - _Dans le ravin hanté des chats-pards et des onces - Nos héros, s’étreignant méchamment, ont roulé, - Et leur peau fleurira l’aridité des ronces._ - - _Ce gouffre, c’est l’enfer, de nos amis peuplé! - Roulons-y sans remords, amazone inhumaine, - Afin d’éterniser l’ardeur de notre haine!_[72] - -To be exact, I should mention that the collection contains verses less -comprehensible than these, but not one poem which is plain and can be -understood without a certain effort—an effort seldom rewarded, for the -feelings which the poet transmits are evil and very low ones. And these -feelings are always, and purposely, expressed by him with eccentricity -and lack of clearness. This premeditated obscurity is especially -noticeable in his prose, where the author could, if he liked, speak -plainly. - -Take, for instance, the first piece from his _Petits Poèmes_:— - - _L’ÉTRANGER._ - - _Qui aimes-tu le mieux, homme énigmatique, dis? ton père, ta mère, - ta sœur, ou ton frère?_ - - _Je n’ai ni père, ni mère, ni sœur, ni frère._ - - _Tes amis?_ - - _Vous vous servez là d’une parole dont le sens m’est resté jusqu’ à - ce jour inconnu._ - - _Ta patrie?_ - - _J’ignore sous quelle latitude elle est située._ - - _La beauté?_ - - _Je l’aimerais volontiers, déesse et immortelle._ - - _L’or?_ - - _Je le hais comme vous haïssez Dieu._ - - _Et qu ’aimes-tu donc, extraordinaire étranger?_ - - _J’aime les nuages ... les nuages qui passent ... là bas, ... les - merveilleux nuages!_ - -The piece called _La Soupe et les Nuages_ is probably intended to -express the unintelligibility of the poet even to her whom he loves. -This is the piece in question:— - - _Ma petite folle bien-aimée me donnait à dîner, et par la fenêtre - ouverte de la salle à manger je contemplais les mouvantes - architectures que Dieu fait avec les vapeurs, les merveilleuses - constructions de l’impalpable. Et je me disais, à travers ma - contemplation: “Toutes ces fantasmagories sont presque aussi belles - que les yeux de ma belle bien-aimée, la petite folle monstrueuse aux - yeux verts.”_ - - _Et tout à coup je reçus un violent coup de poing dans le dos, et - j’entendis une voix rauque et charmante, une voix hystérique et - comme enrouée par l’eau-de-vie, la voix de ma chère petite - bien-aimée, qui me disait, “Allez-vous bientôt manger votre soupe, s - ... b ... de marchand de nuages?”_[73] - -However artificial these two pieces may be, it is still possible, with -some effort, to guess at what the author meant them to express, but some -of the pieces are absolutely incomprehensible—at least to me. _Le Galant -Tireur_ is a piece I was quite unable to understand. - - _LE GALANT TIREUR._ - - _Comme la voiture traversait le bois, il la fit arrêter dans le - voisinage d’un tir, disant qu’il lui serait agréable de tirer - quelques balles pour tuer le Temps. Tuer ce monstre-là, n’est-ce pas - l’occupation la plus ordinaire et la plus légitime de chacun?—Et il - offrit galamment la main à sa chère, délicieuse et exécrable femme, - à cette mystérieuse femme à laquelle il doit tant de plaisirs, tant - de douleurs, et peut-être aussi une grande partie de son génie._ - - _Plusieurs balles frappèrent loin du but proposé, l’une d’elles - s’enfonça même dans le plafond; et comme la charmante créature riait - follement, se moquant de la maladresse de son époux, celui-ci se - tourna brusquement vers elle, et lui dit: “Observez cette poupée, - là-bas, à droite, qui porte le nez en l’air et qui a la mine si - hautaine. Eh bien! cher ange, je me figure que c’est vous.” Et il - ferma les yeux et il lâcha la détente. La poupée fut nettement - décapitée._ - - _Alors s’ inclinant vers sa chère, sa délicieuse, son exécrable - femme, son inévitable et impitoyable Muse, et lui baisant - respectueusement la main, il ajouta: “Ah! mon cher ange, combien je - vous remercie de mon adresse!”_[74] - -The productions of another celebrity, Verlaine, are not less affected -and unintelligible. This, for instance, is the first poem in the section -called _Ariettes Oubliées_. - - “_Le vent dans la plaine - Suspend son haleine_.”—FAVART. - - _C’est l’extase langoureuse, - C’est la fatigue amoureuse, - C’est tous les frissons des bois - Parmi l’étreinte des brises, - C’est, vers les ramures grises, - Le chœur des petites voix._ - - _O le frêle et frais murmure! - Cela gazouille et susurre, - Cela ressemble au cri doux - Que l’herbe agitée expire ... - Tu dirais, sous l’eau qui vire, - Le roulis sourd des cailloux._ - - _Cette âme qui se lamente - En cette plainte dormante - C’est la nôtre, n’est-ce pas? - La mienne, dis, et la tienne, - Dont s’exhale l’humble antienne - Par ce tiède soir, tout has?_[75] - -What “_chœur des petites voix_”? and what “_cri doux que l’herbe agitée -expire_”? and what it all means, remains altogether unintelligible to -me. - -And here is another _Ariette_:— - - _VIII._ - - _Dans l’interminable - Ennui de la plaine, - La neige incertaine - Luit comme du sable._ - - _Le ciel est de cuivre, - Sans lueur aucune. - On croirait voir vivre - Et mourir la lune._ - - _Comme des nuées - Flottent gris les chênes - Des forêts prochaines - Parmi les buées._ - - _Le ciel est de cuivre, - Sans lueur aucune. - On croirait voir vivre - Et mourir la lune._ - - _Corneille poussive - Et vous, les loups maigres, - Par ces bises aigres - Quoi donc vous arrive?_ - - _Dans l’interminable - Ennui de la plaine, - La neige incertaine - Luit comme du sable._[76] - -How does the moon seem to live and die in a copper heaven? And how can -snow shine like sand? The whole thing is not merely unintelligible, but, -under pretence of conveying an impression, it passes off a string of -incorrect comparisons and words. - -Besides these artificial and obscure poems, there are others which are -intelligible, but which make up for it by being altogether bad, both in -form and in subject. Such are all the poems under the heading _La -Sagesse_. The chief place in these verses is occupied by a very poor -expression of the most commonplace Roman Catholic and patriotic -sentiments. For instance, one meets with verses such as this:— - - _Je ne veux plus penser qu’ à ma mère Marie, - Siège de la sagesse et source de pardons, - Mère de France aussi de qui nous attendons - Inébranlablement l’honneur de la patrie._[77] - -Before citing examples from other poets, I must pause to note the -amazing celebrity of these two versifiers, Baudelaire and Verlaine, who -are now accepted as being great poets. How the French, who had Chénier, -Musset, Lamartine, and, above all, Hugo,—and among whom quite recently -flourished the so-called Parnassiens: Leconte de Lisle, Sully-Prudhomme, -etc.,—could attribute such importance to these two versifiers, who were -far from skilful in form and most contemptible and commonplace in -subject-matter, is to me incomprehensible. The conception-of-life of one -of them, Baudelaire, consisted in elevating gross egotism into a theory, -and replacing morality by a cloudy conception of beauty, and especially -artificial beauty. Baudelaire had a preference, which he expressed, for -a woman’s face painted rather than showing its natural colour, and for -metal trees and a theatrical imitation of water rather than real trees -and real water. - -The life-conception of the other, Verlaine, consisted in weak -profligacy, confession of his moral impotence, and, as an antidote to -that impotence, in the grossest Roman Catholic idolatry. Both, moreover, -were quite lacking in naïveté, sincerity, and simplicity, and both -overflowed with artificiality, forced originality, and self-assurance. -So that in their least bad productions one sees more of M. Baudelaire or -M. Verlaine than of what they were describing. But these two indifferent -versifiers form a school, and lead hundreds of followers after them. - -There is only one explanation of this fact: it is that the art of the -society in which these versifiers lived is not a serious, important -matter of life, but is a mere amusement. And all amusements grow -wearisome by repetition. And, in order to make wearisome amusement again -tolerable, it is necessary to find some means to freshen it up. When, at -cards, ombre grows stale, whist is introduced; when whist grows stale, -écarté is substituted; when écarté grows stale, some other novelty is -invented, and so on. The substance of the matter remains the same, only -its form is changed. And so it is with this kind of art. The -subject-matter of the art of the upper classes growing continually more -and more limited, it has come at last to this, that to the artists of -these exclusive classes it seems as if everything has already been said, -and that to find anything new to say is impossible. And therefore, to -freshen up this art, they look out for fresh forms. - -Baudelaire and Verlaine invent such a new form, furbish it up, moreover, -with hitherto unused pornographic details, and—the critics and the -public of the upper classes hail them as great writers. - -This is the only explanation of the success, not of Baudelaire and -Verlaine only, but of all the Decadents. - -For instance, there are poems by Mallarmé and Maeterlinck which have no -meaning, and yet for all that, or perhaps on that very account, are -printed by tens of thousands, not only in various publications, but even -in collections of the best works of the younger poets. - -This, for example, is a sonnet by Mallarmé:— - - _A la nue accablante tu - Basse de basalte et de laves - A même les échos esclaves - Par une trompe sans vertu._ - - _Quel sépulcral naufrage (tu - Le soir, écume, mais y baves) - Suprême une entre les épaves - Abolit le mât dévêtu._ - - _Ou cela que furibond faute - De quelque perdition haute - Tout l’abîme vain éployé_ - - _Dans le si blanc cheveu qui traîne - Avarement aura noyé - Le flanc enfant d’une sirène._[78] - - (“Pan,” 1895, No. 1.) - -This poem is not exceptional in its incomprehensibility. I have read -several poems by Mallarmé, and they also had no meaning whatever. I give -a sample of his prose in Appendix I. There is a whole volume of this -prose, called “_Divagations_.” It is impossible to understand any of it. -And that is evidently what the author intended. - -And here is a song by Maeterlinck, another celebrated author of to-day:— - - _Quand il est sorti, - (J’entendis la porte) - Quand il est sorti - Elle avait souri ..._ - - _Mais quand il entra - (J’entendis la lampe) - Mais quand il entra - Une autre était là ..._ - - _Et j’ai vu la mort, - (J’entendis son âme) - Et j’ai vu la mort - Qui l’attend encore ..._ - - _On est venu dire, - (Mon enfant j’ai peur) - On est venu dire - Qu’il allait partir ..._ - - _Ma lampe allumée, - (Mon enfant j’ai peur) - Ma lampe allumée - Me suis approchée ..._ - - _A la première porte, - (Mon enfant j’ai peur) - A la première porte, - La flamme a tremblé ..._ - - _A la seconde porte, - (Mon enfant j’ai peur) - A la seconde porte, - La flamme a parlé ..._ - - _A la troisième porte, - (Mon enfant j’ai peur) - A la troisième porte, - La lumière est morte ..._ - - _Et s’il revenait un jour - Que faut-il lui dire? - Dites-lui qu’on l’attendit - Jusqu’à s’en mourir ..._ - - _Et s’il demande où vous êtes - Que faut-il répondre? - Donnez-lui mon anneau d’or - Sans rien lui répondre ..._ - - _Et s’il m’interroge alors - Sur la dernière heure? - Dites lui que fai souri - De peur qu’il ne pleure ..._ - - _Et s’il m’interroge encore - Sans me reconnaître? - Parlez-lui comme une sœur, - Il souffre peut-être ..._ - - _Et s’il veut savoir pourquoi - La salle est déserte? - Montrez lui la lampe éteinte - Et la porte ouverte ..._[79] - - (“Pan,” 1895, No. 2.) - -Who went out? Who came in? Who is speaking? Who died? - -I beg the reader to be at the pains of reading through the samples I -cite in Appendix II. of the celebrated and esteemed young poets—Griffin, -Verhaeren, Moréas, and Montesquiou. It is important to do so in order to -form a clear conception of the present position of art, and not to -suppose, as many do, that Decadentism is an accidental and transitory -phenomenon. To avoid the reproach of having selected the worst verses, I -have copied out of each volume the poem which happened to stand on page -28. - -All the other productions of these poets are equally unintelligible, or -can only be understood with great difficulty, and then not fully. All -the productions of those hundreds of poets, of whom I have named a few, -are the same in kind. And among the Germans, Swedes, Norwegians, -Italians, and us Russians, similar verses are printed. And such -productions are printed and made up into book form, if not by the -million, then by the hundred thousand (some of these works sell in tens -of thousands). For type-setting, paging, printing, and binding these -books, millions and millions of working days are spent—not less, I -think, than went to build the great pyramid. And this is not all. The -same is going on in all the other arts: millions and millions of working -days are being spent on the production of equally incomprehensible works -in painting, in music, and in the drama. - -Painting not only does not lag behind poetry in this matter, but rather -outstrips it. Here is an extract from the diary of an amateur of art, -written when visiting the Paris exhibitions in 1894:— - -“I was to-day at three exhibitions: the Symbolists’, the -Impressionists’, and the Neo-Impressionists’. I looked at the pictures -conscientiously and carefully, but again felt the same stupefaction and -ultimate indignation. The first exhibition, that of Camille Pissarro, -was comparatively the most comprehensible, though the pictures were out -of drawing, had no subject, and the colourings were most improbable. The -drawing was so indefinite that you were sometimes unable to make out -which way an arm or a head was turned. The subject was generally, -‘_effets_’—_Effet de brouillard_, _Effet du soir_, _Soleil couchant_. -There were some pictures with figures, but without subjects. - -“In the colouring, bright blue and bright green predominated. And each -picture had its special colour, with which the whole picture was, as it -were, splashed. For instance in ‘A Girl guarding Geese’ the special -colour is _vert de gris_, and dots of it were splashed about everywhere: -on the face, the hair, the hands, and the clothes. In the same -gallery—‘Durand Ruel’—were other pictures, by Puvis de Chavannes, Manet, -Monet, Renoir, Sisley—who are all Impressionists. One of them, whose -name I could not make out,—it was something like Redon,—had painted a -blue face in profile. On the whole face there is only this blue tone, -with white-of-lead. Pissarro has a water-colour all done in dots. In the -foreground is a cow entirely painted with various-coloured dots. The -general colour cannot be distinguished, however much one stands back -from, or draws near to, the picture. From there I went to see the -Symbolists. I looked at them long without asking anyone for an -explanation, trying to guess the meaning; but it is beyond human -comprehension. One of the first things to catch my eye was a wooden -_haut-relief_, wretchedly executed, representing a woman (naked) who -with both hands is squeezing from her two breasts streams of blood. The -blood flows down, becoming lilac in colour. Her hair first descends and -then rises again and turns into trees. The figure is all coloured -yellow, and the hair is brown. - -“Next—a picture: a yellow sea, on which swims something which is neither -a ship nor a heart; on the horizon is a profile with a halo and yellow -hair, which changes into a sea, in which it is lost. Some of the -painters lay on their colours so thickly that the effect is something -between painting and sculpture. A third exhibit was even less -comprehensible: a man’s profile; before him a flame and black -stripes—leeches, as I was afterwards told. At last I asked a gentleman -who was there what it meant, and he explained to me that the -_haut-relief_ was a symbol, and that it represented ‘_La Terre_.’ The -heart swimming in a yellow sea was ‘_Illusion perdue_,’ and the -gentleman with the leeches was ‘_Le Mal_.’ There were also some -Impressionist pictures: elementary profiles, holding some sort of -flowers in their hands: in monotone, out of drawing, and either quite -blurred or else marked out with wide black outlines.” - -This was in 1894; the same tendency is now even more strongly defined, -and we have Böcklin, Stuck, Klinger, Sasha Schneider, and others. - -The same thing is taking place in the drama. The play-writers give us an -architect who, for some reason, has not fulfilled his former high -intentions, and who consequently climbs on to the roof of a house he has -erected and tumbles down head foremost; or an incomprehensible old woman -(who exterminates rats), and who, for an unintelligible reason, takes a -poetic child to the sea and there drowns him; or some blind men, who, -sitting on the seashore, for some reason always repeat one and the same -thing; or a bell of some kind, which flies into a lake and there rings. - -And the same is happening in music—in that art which, more than any -other, one would have thought, should be intelligible to everybody. - -An acquaintance of yours, a musician of repute, sits down to the piano -and plays you what he says is a new composition of his own, or of one of -the new composers. You hear the strange, loud sounds, and admire the -gymnastic exercises performed by his fingers; and you see that the -performer wishes to impress upon you that the sounds he is producing -express various poetic strivings of the soul. You see his intention, but -no feeling whatever is transmitted to you except weariness. The -execution lasts long, or at least it seems very long to you, because you -do not receive any clear impression, and involuntarily you remember the -words of Alphonse Karr, “_Plus ça va vite, plus ça dure longtemps._”[80] -And it occurs to you that perhaps it is all a mystification; perhaps the -performer is trying you—just throwing his hands and fingers wildly about -the key-board in the hope that you will fall into the trap and praise -him, and then he will laugh and confess that he only wanted to see if he -could hoax you. But when at last the piece does finish, and the -perspiring and agitated musician rises from the piano evidently -anticipating praise, you see that it was all done in earnest. - -The same thing takes place at all the concerts with pieces by Liszt, -Wagner, Berlioz, Brahms, and (newest of all) Richard Strauss, and the -numberless other composers of the new school, who unceasingly produce -opera after opera, symphony after symphony, piece after piece. - -The same is occurring in a domain in which it seemed hard to be -unintelligible—in the sphere of novels and short stories. - -Read _Là-Bas_ by Huysmans, or some of Kipling’s short stories, or -_L’annonciateur_ by Villiers de l’Isle Adam in his _Contes Cruels_, -etc., and you will find them not only “abscons” (to use a word adopted -by the new writers), but absolutely unintelligible both in form and in -substance. Such, again, is the work by E. Morel, _Terre Promise_, now -appearing in the _Revue Blanche_, and such are most of the new novels. -The style is very high-flown, the feelings seem to be most elevated, but -you can’t make out what is happening, to whom it is happening, and where -it is happening. And such is the bulk of the young art of our time. - -People who grew up in the first half of this century, admiring Goethe, -Schiller, Musset, Hugo, Dickens, Beethoven, Chopin, Raphael, da Vinci, -Michael Angelo, Delaroche, being unable to make head or tail of this new -art, simply attribute its productions to tasteless insanity and wish to -ignore them. But such an attitude towards this new art is quite -unjustifiable, because, in the first place, that art is spreading more -and more, and has already conquered for itself a firm position in -society, similar to the one occupied by the Romanticists in the third -decade of this century; and secondly and chiefly, because, if it is -permissible to judge in this way of the productions of the latest form -of art, called by us Decadent art, merely because we do not understand -it, then remember, there are an enormous number of people,—all the -labourers and many of the non-labouring folk,—who, in just the same way, -do not comprehend those productions of art which we consider admirable: -the verses of our favourite artists—Goethe, Schiller, and Hugo; the -novels of Dickens, the music of Beethoven and Chopin, the pictures of -Raphael, Michael Angelo, da Vinci, etc. - -If I have a right to think that great masses of people do not understand -and do not like what I consider undoubtedly good because they are not -sufficiently developed, then I have no right to deny that perhaps the -reason why I cannot understand and cannot like the new productions of -art, is merely that I am still insufficiently developed to understand -them. If I have a right to say that I, and the majority of people who -are in sympathy, with me, do not understand the productions of the new -art simply because there is nothing in it to understand and because it -is bad art, then, with just the same right, the still larger majority, -the whole labouring mass, who do not understand what I consider -admirable art, can say that what I reckon as good art is bad art, and -there is nothing in it to understand. - -I once saw the injustice of such condemnation of the new art with -especial clearness, when, in my presence, a certain poet, who writes -incomprehensible verses, ridiculed incomprehensible music with gay -self-assurance; and, shortly afterwards, a certain musician, who -composes incomprehensible symphonies, laughed at incomprehensible poetry -with equal self-confidence. I have no right, and no authority, to -condemn the new art on the ground that I (a man educated in the first -half of the century) do not understand it; I can only say that it is -incomprehensible to me. The only advantage the art I acknowledge has -over the Decadent art, lies in the fact that the art I recognise is -comprehensible to a somewhat larger number of people than the -present-day art. - -The fact that I am accustomed to a certain exclusive art, and can -understand it, but am unable to understand another still more exclusive -art, does not give me a right to conclude that my art is the real true -art, and that the other one, which I do not understand, is an unreal, a -bad art. I can only conclude that art, becoming ever more and more -exclusive, has become more and more incomprehensible to an -ever-increasing number of people, and that, in this its progress towards -greater and greater incomprehensibility (on one level of which I am -standing, with the art familiar to me), it has reached a point where it -is understood by a very small number of the elect, and the number of -these chosen people is ever becoming smaller and smaller. - -As soon as ever the art of the upper classes separated itself from -universal art, a conviction arose that art may be art and yet be -incomprehensible to the masses. And as soon as this position was -admitted, it had inevitably to be admitted also that art may be -intelligible only to the very smallest number of the elect, and, -eventually, to two, or to one, of our nearest friends, or to oneself -alone. Which is practically what is being said by modern artists:—“I -create and understand myself, and if anyone does not understand me, so -much the worse for him.” - -The assertion that art may be good art, and at the same time -incomprehensible to a great number of people, is extremely unjust, and -its consequences are ruinous to art itself; but at the same time it is -so common and has so eaten into our conceptions, that it is impossible -sufficiently to elucidate all the absurdity of it. - -Nothing is more common than to hear it said of reputed works of art, -that they are very good but very difficult to understand. We are quite -used to such assertions, and yet to say that a work of art is good, but -incomprehensible to the majority of men, is the same as saying of some -kind of food that it is very good but that most people can’t eat it. The -majority of men may not like rotten cheese or putrefying grouse—dishes -esteemed by people with perverted tastes; but bread and fruit are only -good when they please the majority of men. And it is the same with art. -Perverted art may not please the majority of men, but good art always -pleases everyone. - -It is said that the very best works of art are such that they cannot be -understood by the mass, but are accessible only to the elect who are -prepared to understand these great works. But if the majority of men do -not understand, the knowledge necessary to enable them to understand -should be taught and explained to them. But it turns out that there is -no such knowledge, that the works cannot be explained, and that those -who say the majority do not understand good works of art, still do not -explain those works, but only tell us that, in order to understand them, -one must read, and see, and hear these same works over and over again. -But this is not to explain, it is only to habituate! And people may -habituate themselves to anything, even to the very worst things. As -people may habituate themselves to bad food, to spirits, tobacco, and -opium, just in the same way they may habituate themselves to bad art—and -that is exactly what is being done. - -Moreover, it cannot be said that the majority of people lack the taste -to esteem the highest works of art. The majority always have understood, -and still understand, what we also recognise as being the very best art: -the epic of Genesis, the Gospel parables, folk-legends, fairy-tales, and -folk-songs are understood by all. How can it be that the majority has -suddenly lost its capacity to understand what is high in our art? - -Of a speech it may be said that it is admirable, but incomprehensible to -those who do not know the language in which it is delivered. A speech -delivered in Chinese may be excellent, and may yet remain -incomprehensible to me if I do not know Chinese; but what distinguishes -a work of art from all other mental activity is just the fact that its -language is understood by all, and that it infects all without -distinction. The tears and laughter of a Chinese infect me just as the -laughter and tears of a Russian; and it is the same with painting and -music and poetry, when it is translated into a language I understand. -The songs of a Kirghiz or of a Japanese touch me, though in a lesser -degree than they touch a Kirghiz or a Japanese. I am also touched by -Japanese painting, Indian architecture, and Arabian stories. If I am but -little touched by a Japanese song and a Chinese novel, it is not that I -do not understand these productions, but that I know and am accustomed -to higher works of art. It is not because their art is above me. Great -works of art are only great because they are accessible and -comprehensible to everyone. The story of Joseph, translated into the -Chinese language, touches a Chinese. The story of Sakya Muni touches us. -And there are, and must be, buildings, pictures, statues, and music of -similar power. So that, if art fails to move men, it cannot be said that -this is due to the spectators’ or hearers’ lack of understanding; but -the conclusion to be drawn may, and should be, that such art is either -bad art, or is not art at all. - -Art is differentiated from activity of the understanding, which demands -preparation and a certain sequence of knowledge (so that one cannot -learn trigonometry before knowing geometry), by the fact that it acts on -people independently of their state of development and education, that -the charm of a picture, of sounds, or of forms, infects any man whatever -his plane of development. - -The business of art lies just in this—to make that understood and felt -which, in the form of an argument, might be incomprehensible and -inaccessible. Usually it seems to the recipient of a truly artistic -impression that he knew the thing before but had been unable to express -it. - -And such has always been the nature of good, supreme art; the _Iliad_, -the _Odyssey_, the stories of Isaac, Jacob, and Joseph, the Hebrew -prophets, the psalms, the Gospel parables, the story of Sakya Muni, and -the hymns of the Vedas: all transmit very elevated feelings, and are -nevertheless quite comprehensible now to us, educated or uneducated, as -they were comprehensible to the men of those times, long ago, who were -even less educated than our labourers. People talk about -incomprehensibility; but if art is the transmission of feelings flowing -from man’s religious perception, how can a feeling be incomprehensible -which is founded on religion, _i.e._ on man’s relation to God? Such art -should be, and has actually, always been, comprehensible to everybody, -because every man’s relation to God is one and the same. And therefore -the churches and the images in them were always comprehensible to -everyone. The hindrance to understanding the best and highest feelings -(as is said in the gospel) does not at all lie in deficiency of -development or learning, but, on the contrary, in false development and -false learning. A good and lofty work of art may be incomprehensible, -but not to simple, unperverted peasant labourers (all that is highest is -understood by them)—it may be, and often is, unintelligible to erudite, -perverted people destitute of religion. And this continually occurs in -our society, in which the highest feelings are simply not understood. -For instance, I know people who consider themselves most refined, and -who say that they do not understand the poetry of love to one’s -neighbour, of self-sacrifice, or of chastity. - -So that good, great, universal, religious art may be incomprehensible to -a small circle of spoilt people, but certainly not to any large number -of plain men. - -Art cannot be incomprehensible to the great masses only because it is -very good,—as artists of our day are fond of telling us. Rather we are -bound to conclude that this art is unintelligible to the great masses -only because it is very bad art, or even is not art at all. So that the -favourite argument (naïvely accepted by the cultured crowd), that in -order to feel art one has first to understand it (which really only -means habituate oneself to it), is the truest indication that what we -are asked to understand by such a method is either very bad, exclusive -art, or is not art at all. - -People say that works of art do not please the people because they are -incapable of understanding them. But if the aim of works of art is to -infect people with the emotion the artist has experienced, how can one -talk about not understanding? - -A man of the people reads a book, sees a picture, hears a play or a -symphony, and is touched by no feeling. He is told that this is because -he cannot understand. People promise to let a man see a certain show; he -enters and sees nothing. He is told that this is because his sight is -not prepared for this show. But the man well knows that he sees quite -well, and if he does not see what people promised to show him, he only -concludes (as is quite just) that those who undertook to show him the -spectacle have not fulfilled their engagement. And it is perfectly just -for a man who does feel the influence of some works of art to come to -this conclusion concerning artists who do not, by their works, evoke -feeling in him. To say that the reason a man is not touched by my art is -because he is still too stupid, besides being very self-conceited and -also rude, is to reverse the rôles, and for the sick to send the hale to -bed. - -Voltaire said that “_Tous les genres sont bons, hors le genre -ennuyeux_”;[81] but with even more right one may say of art that _Tous -les genres sons bons, hors celui qu’on ne comprend pas_, or _qui ne -produit pas son effet_,[82] for of what value is an article which fails -to do that for which it was intended? - -Mark this above all: if only it be admitted that art may be art and yet -be unintelligible to anyone of sound mind, there is no reason why any -circle of perverted people should not compose works tickling their own -perverted feelings and comprehensible to no one but themselves, and call -it “art,” as is actually being done by the so-called Decadents. - -The direction art has taken may be compared to placing on a large circle -other circles, smaller and smaller, until a cone is formed, the apex of -which is no longer a circle at all. That is what has happened to the art -of our times. - -Footnote 68: - - Music, music before all things - The eccentric still prefer, - Vague in air, and nothing weighty, - Soluble. Yet do not err, - - Choosing words; still do it lightly, - Do it too with some contempt; - Dearest is the song that’s tipsy, - Clearness, dimness not exempt. - - - Music always, now and ever - Be thy verse the thing that flies - From a soul that’s gone, escaping, - Gone to other loves and skies. - - Gone to other loves and regions, - Following fortunes that allure, - Mint and thyme and morning crispness ... - All the rest’s mere literature. - -Footnote 69: - - I think there should be nothing but allusions. The contemplation of - objects, the flying image of reveries evoked by them, are the song. - The Parnassiens state the thing completely, and show it, and thereby - lack mystery; they deprive the mind of that delicious joy of imagining - that it creates. To _name an object is to take three-quarters from the - enjoyment of the poem, which consists in the happiness of guessing - little by little: to suggest, that is the dream_. It is the perfect - use of this mystery that constitutes the symbol: little by little, to - evoke an object in order to show a state of the soul; or inversely, to - choose an object, and from it to disengage a state of the soul by a - series of decipherings. - - ... If a being of mediocre intelligence and insufficient literary - preparation chance to open a book made in this way and pretends to - enjoy it, there is a misunderstanding—things must be returned to their - places. _There should always be an enigma in poetry_, and the aim of - literature—it has no other—is to evoke objects. - -Footnote 70: - - It were time also to have done with this famous “theory of obscurity,” - which the new school have practically raised to the height of a dogma. - -Footnote 71: - - For translation, see Appendix IV. - -Footnote 72: - - For translation, see Appendix IV. - -Footnote 73: - - For translation, see Appendix IV. - -Footnote 74: - - For translation, see Appendix IV. - -Footnote 75: - - For translation, see Appendix IV. - -Footnote 76: - - For translation, see Appendix IV. - -Footnote 77: - - I do not wish to think any more, except about my mother Mary, - Seat of wisdom and source of pardon, - Also Mother of France, _from whom we - Steadfastly expect the honour of our country_. - -Footnote 78: - - This sonnet seems too unintelligible for translation.—Trans. - -Footnote 79: - - For translation, see Appendix IV. - -Footnote 80: - - The quicker it goes the longer it lasts. - -Footnote 81: - - All styles are good except the wearisome style. - -Footnote 82: - - All styles are good except that which is not understood, _or_ which - fails to produce its effect. - - - - - CHAPTER XI - - -Becoming ever poorer and poorer in subject-matter and more and more -unintelligible in form, the art of the upper classes, in its latest -productions, has even lost all the characteristics of art, and has been -replaced by imitations of art. Not only has upper-class art, in -consequence of its separation from universal art, become poor in -subject-matter and bad in form, _i.e._ ever more and more -unintelligible, it has, in course of time, ceased even to be art at all, -and has been replaced by counterfeits. - -This has resulted from the following causes. Universal art arises only -when some one of the people, having experienced a strong emotion, feels -the necessity of transmitting it to others. The art of the rich classes, -on the other hand, arises not from the artist’s inner impulse, but -chiefly because people of the upper classes demand amusement and pay -well for it. They demand from art the transmission of feelings that -please them, and this demand artists try to meet. But it is a very -difficult task, for people of the wealthy classes, spending their lives -in idleness and luxury, desire to be continually diverted by art; and -art, even the lowest, cannot be produced at will, but has to generate -spontaneously in the artist’s inner self. And therefore, to satisfy the -demands of people of the upper classes, artists have had to devise -methods of producing imitations of art. And such methods have been -devised. - -These methods are those of (1) borrowing, (2) imitating, (3) striking -(effects), and (4) interesting. - -The first method consists in borrowing whole subjects, or merely -separate features, from former works recognised by everyone as being -poetical, and in so re-shaping them, with sundry additions, that they -should have an appearance of novelty. - -Such works, evoking in people of a certain class memories of artistic -feelings formerly experienced, produce an impression similar to art, -and, provided only that they conform to other needful conditions, they -pass for art among those who seek for pleasure from art. Subjects -borrowed from previous works of art are usually called poetical -subjects. Objects and people thus borrowed are called poetical objects -and people. Thus, in our circle, all sorts of legends, sagas, and -ancient traditions are considered poetical subjects. Among poetical -people and objects we reckon maidens, warriors, shepherds, hermits, -angels, devils of all sorts, moonlight, thunder, mountains, the sea, -precipices, flowers, long hair, lions, lambs, doves, and nightingales. -In general, all those objects are considered poetical which have been -most frequently used by former artists in their productions. - -Some forty years ago a stupid but highly cultured—_ayant beaucoup -d’acquis_—lady (since deceased) asked me to listen to a novel written by -herself. It began with a heroine who, in a poetic white dress, and with -poetically flowing hair, was reading poetry near some water in a poetic -wood. The scene was in Russia, but suddenly from behind the bushes the -hero appears, wearing a hat with a feather _à la Guillaume Tell_ (the -book specially mentioned this) and accompanied by two poetical white -dogs. The authoress deemed all this highly poetical, and it might have -passed muster if only it had not been necessary for the hero to speak. -But as soon as the gentleman in the hat _à la Guillaume Tell_ began to -converse with the maiden in the white dress, it became obvious that the -authoress had nothing to say, but had merely been moved by poetic -memories of other works, and imagined that by ringing the changes on -those memories she could produce an artistic impression. But an artistic -impression, _i.e._ infection, is only received when an author has, in -the manner peculiar to himself, experienced the feeling which he -transmits, and not when he passes on another man’s feeling previously -transmitted to him. Such poetry from poetry cannot infect people, it can -only simulate a work of art, and even that only to people of perverted -æsthetic taste. The lady in question being very stupid and devoid of -talent, it was at once apparent how the case stood; but when such -borrowing is resorted to by people who are erudite and talented and have -cultivated the technique of their art, we get those borrowings from the -Greek, the antique, the Christian or mythological world which have -become so numerous, and which, particularly in our day, continue to -increase and multiply, and are accepted by the public as works of art, -if only the borrowings are well mounted by means of the technique of the -particular art to which they belong. - -As a characteristic example of such counterfeits of art in the realm of -poetry, take Rostand’s _Princesse Lointaine_, in which there is not a -spark of art, but which seems very poetical to many people, and probably -also to its author. - -The second method of imparting a semblance of art is that which I have -called imitating. The essence of this method consists in supplying -details accompanying the thing described or depicted. In literary art -this method consists in describing, in the minutest details, the -external appearance, the faces, the clothes, the gestures, the tones, -and the habitations of the characters represented, with all the -occurrences met with in life. For instance, in novels and stories, when -one of the characters speaks we are told in what voice he spoke, and -what he was doing at the time. And the things said are not given so that -they should have as much sense as possible, but, as they are in life, -disconnectedly, and with interruptions and omissions. In dramatic art, -besides such imitation of real speech, this method consists in having -all the accessories and all the people just like those in real life. In -painting this method assimilates painting to photography and destroys -the difference between them. And, strange to say, this method is used -also in music: music tries to imitate not only by its rhythm but also by -its very sounds, the sounds which in real life accompany the thing it -wishes to represent. - -The third method is by action, often purely physical, on the outer -senses. Work of this kind is said to be “striking,” “effectful.” In all -arts these effects consist chiefly in contrasts; in bringing together -the terrible and the tender, the beautiful and the hideous, the loud and -the soft, darkness and light, the most ordinary and the most -extraordinary. In verbal art, besides effects of contrast, there are -also effects consisting in the description of things that have never -before been described. These are usually pornographic details evoking -sexual desire, or details of suffering and death evoking feelings of -horror, as, for instance, when describing a murder, to give a detailed -medical account of the lacerated tissues, of the swellings, of the -smell, quantity and appearance of the blood. It is the same in painting: -besides all kinds of other contrasts, one is coming into vogue which -consists in giving careful finish to one object and being careless about -all the rest. The chief and usual effects in painting are effects of -light and the depiction of the horrible. In the drama, the most common -effects, besides contrasts, are tempests, thunder, moonlight, scenes at -sea or by the sea-shore, changes of costume, exposure of the female -body, madness, murders, and death generally: the dying person exhibiting -in detail all the phases of agony. In music the most usual effects are a -_crescendo_, passing from the softest and simplest sounds to the loudest -and most complex crash of the full orchestra; a repetition of the same -sounds _arpeggio_ in all the octaves and on various instruments; or that -the harmony, tone, and rhythm be not at all those naturally flowing from -the course of the musical thought, but such as strike one by their -unexpectedness. Besides these, the commonest effects in music are -produced in a purely physical manner by strength of sound, especially in -an orchestra. - -Such are some of the most usual effects in the various arts, but there -yet remains one common to them all, namely, to convey by means of one -art what it would be natural to convey by another: for instance, to make -music describe (as is done by the programme music of Wagner and his -followers), or to make painting, the drama, or poetry, induce a frame of -mind (as is aimed at by all the Decadent art). - -The fourth method is that of interesting (that is, absorbing the mind) -in connection with works of art. The interest may lie in an intricate -plot—a method till quite recently much employed in English novels and -French plays, but now going out of fashion and being replaced by -authenticity, _i.e._ by detailed description of some historical period -or some branch of contemporary life. For example, in a novel, -interestingness may consist in a description of Egyptian or Roman life, -the life of miners, or that of the clerks in a large shop. The reader -becomes interested and mistakes this interest for an artistic -impression. The interest may also depend on the very method of -expression; a kind of interest that has now come much into use. Both -verse and prose, as well as pictures, plays, and music, are constructed -so that they must be guessed like riddles, and this process of guessing -again affords pleasure and gives a semblance of the feeling received -from art. - -It is very often said that a work of art is very good because it is -poetic, or realistic, or striking, or interesting; whereas not only can -neither the first, nor the second, nor the third, nor the fourth of -these attributes supply a standard of excellence in art, but they have -not even anything in common with art. - -Poetic—means borrowed. All borrowing merely recalls to the reader, -spectator, or listener some dim recollection of artistic impressions -they have received from previous works of art, and does not infect them -with feeling which the artist has himself experienced. A work founded on -something borrowed, like Goethe’s _Faust_ for instance, may be very well -executed and be full of mind and every beauty, but because it lacks the -chief characteristic of a work of art—completeness, oneness, the -inseparable unity of form and contents expressing the feeling the artist -has experienced—it cannot produce a really artistic impression. In -availing himself of this method, the artist only transmits the feeling -received by him from a previous work of art; therefore every borrowing, -whether it be of whole subjects, or of various scenes, situations, or -descriptions, is but a reflection of art, a simulation of it, but not -art itself. And therefore, to say that a certain production is good -because it is poetic,—_i.e._ resembles a work of art,—is like saying of -a coin that it is good because it resembles real money. - -Equally little can imitation, realism, serve, as many people think, as a -measure of the quality of art. Imitation cannot be such a measure, for -the chief characteristic of art is the infection of others with the -feelings the artist has experienced, and infection with a feeling is not -only not identical with description of the accessories of what is -transmitted, but is usually hindered by superfluous details. The -attention of the receiver of the artistic impression is diverted by all -these well-observed details, and they hinder the transmission of feeling -even when it exists. - -To value a work of art by the degree of its realism, by the accuracy of -the details reproduced, is as strange as to judge of the nutritive -quality of food by its external appearance. When we appraise a work -according to its realism, we only show that we are talking, not of a -work of art, but of its counterfeit. - -Neither does the third method of imitating art—by the use of what is -striking or effectful—coincide with real art any better than the two -former methods, for in effectfulness—the effects of novelty, of the -unexpected, of contrasts, of the horrible—there is no transmission of -feeling, but only an action on the nerves. If an artist were to paint a -bloody wound admirably, the sight of the wound would strike me, but it -would not be art. One prolonged note on a powerful organ will produce a -striking impression, will often even cause tears, but there is no music -in it, because no feeling is transmitted. Yet such physiological effects -are constantly mistaken for art by people of our circle, and this not -only in music, but also in poetry, painting, and the drama. It is said -that art has become refined. On the contrary, thanks to the pursuit of -effectfulness, it has become very coarse. A new piece is brought out and -accepted all over Europe, such, for instance, as _Hannele_, in which -play the author wishes to transmit to the spectators pity for a -persecuted girl. To evoke this feeling in the audience by means of art, -the author should either make one of the characters express this pity in -such a way as to infect everyone, or he should describe the girl’s -feelings correctly. But he cannot, or will not, do this, and chooses -another way, more complicated in stage management but easier for the -author. He makes the girl die on the stage; and, still further to -increase the physiological effect on the spectators, he extinguishes the -lights in the theatre, leaving the audience in the dark, and to the -sound of dismal music he shows how the girl is pursued and beaten by her -drunken father. The girl shrinks—screams—groans—and falls. Angels appear -and carry her away. And the audience, experiencing some excitement while -this is going on, are fully convinced that this is true æsthetic -feeling. But there is nothing æsthetic in such excitement, for there is -no infecting of man by man, but only a mingled feeling of pity for -another, and of self-congratulation that it is not I who am suffering: -it is like what we feel at the sight of an execution, or what the Romans -felt in their circuses. - -The substitution of effectfulness for æsthetic feeling is particularly -noticeable in musical art—that art which by its nature has an immediate -physiological action on the nerves. Instead of transmitting by means of -a melody the feelings he has experienced, a composer of the new school -accumulates and complicates sounds, and by now strengthening, now -weakening them, he produces on the audience a physiological effect of a -kind that can be measured by an apparatus invented for the purpose.[83] -And the public mistake this physiological effect for the effect of art. - -As to the fourth method—that of interesting—it also is frequently -confounded with art. One often hears it said, not only of a poem, a -novel, or a picture, but even of a musical work, that it is interesting. -What does this mean? To speak of an interesting work of art means either -that we receive from a work of art information new to us, or that the -work is not fully intelligible, and that little by little, and with -effort, we arrive at its meaning, and experience a certain pleasure in -this process of guessing it. In neither case has the interest anything -in common with artistic impression. Art aims at infecting people with -feeling experienced by the artist. But the mental effort necessary to -enable the spectator, listener, or reader to assimilate the new -information contained in the work, or to guess the puzzles propounded, -by distracting him, hinders the infection. And therefore the -interestingness of a work not only has nothing to do with its excellence -as a work of art, but rather hinders than assists artistic impression. - -We may, in a work of art, meet with what is poetic, and realistic, and -striking, and interesting, but these things cannot replace the essential -of art—feeling experienced by the artist. Latterly, in upper-class art, -most of the objects given out as being works of art are of the kind -which only resemble art, and are devoid of its essential quality—feeling -experienced by the artist. And, for the diversion of the rich, such -objects are continually being produced in enormous quantities by the -artisans of art. - -Many conditions must be fulfilled to enable a man to produce a real work -of art. It is necessary that he should stand on the level of the highest -life-conception of his time, that he should experience feeling and have -the desire and capacity to transmit it, and that he should, moreover, -have a talent for some one of the forms of art. It is very seldom that -all these conditions necessary to the production of true art are -combined. But in order—aided by the customary methods of borrowing, -imitating, introducing effects, and interesting—unceasingly to produce -counterfeits of art which pass for art in our society and are well paid -for, it is only necessary to have a talent for some branch of art; and -this is very often to be met with. By talent I mean ability: in literary -art, the ability to express one’s thoughts and impressions easily and to -notice and remember characteristic details; in the depictive arts, to -distinguish and remember lines, forms, and colours; in music, to -distinguish the intervals, and to remember and transmit the sequence of -sounds. And a man, in our times, if only he possesses such a talent and -selects some specialty, may, after learning the methods of -counterfeiting used in his branch of art,—if he has patience and if his -æsthetic feeling (which would render such productions revolting to him) -be atrophied,—unceasingly, till the end of his life, turn out works -which will pass for art in our society. - -To produce such counterfeits, definite rules or recipes exist in each -branch of art. So that the talented man, having assimilated them, may -produce such works _à froid_, cold drawn, without any feeling. - -In order to write poems a man of literary talent needs only these -qualifications: to acquire the knack, conformably with the requirements -of rhyme and rhythm, of using, instead of the one really suitable word, -ten others meaning approximately the same; to learn how to take any -phrase which, to be clear, has but one natural order of words, and -despite all possible dislocations still to retain some sense in it; and -lastly, to be able, guided by the words required for the rhymes, to -devise some semblance of thoughts, feelings, or descriptions to suit -these words. Having acquired these qualifications, he may unceasingly -produce poems—short or long, religious, amatory or patriotic, according -to the demand. - -If a man of literary talent wishes to write a story or novel, he need -only form his style—_i.e._ learn how to describe all that he sees—and -accustom himself to remember or note down details. When he has -accustomed himself to this, he can, according to his inclination or the -demand, unceasingly produce novels or stories—historical, naturalistic, -social, erotic, psychological, or even religious, for which latter kind -a demand and fashion begins to show itself. He can take subjects from -books or from the events of life, and can copy the characters of the -people in his book from his acquaintances. - -And such novels and stories, if only they are decked out with well -observed and carefully noted details, preferably erotic ones, will be -considered works of art, even though they may not contain a spark of -feeling experienced. - -To produce art in dramatic form, a talented man, in addition to all that -is required for novels and stories, must also learn to furnish his -characters with as many smart and witty sentences as possible, must know -how to utilise theatrical effects, and how to entwine the action of his -characters so that there should not be any long conversations, but as -much bustle and movement on the stage as possible. If the writer is able -to do this, he may produce dramatic works one after another without -stopping, selecting his subjects from the reports of the law courts, or -from the latest society topic, such as hypnotism, heredity, etc., or -from deep antiquity, or even from the realms of fancy. - -In the sphere of painting and sculpture it is still easier for the -talented man to produce imitations of art. He need only learn to draw, -paint, and model—especially naked bodies. Thus equipped he can continue -to paint pictures, or model statues, one after another, choosing -subjects according to his bent—mythological, or religious, or fantastic, -or symbolical; or he may depict what is written about in the papers—a -coronation, a strike, the Turko-Grecian war, famine scenes; or, -commonest of all, he may just copy anything he thinks beautiful—from -naked women to copper basins. - -For the production of musical art the talented man needs still less of -what constitutes the essence of art, _i.e._ feeling wherewith to infect -others; but, on the other hand, he requires more physical, gymnastic -labour than for any other art, unless it be dancing. To produce works of -musical art, he must first learn to move his fingers on some instrument -as rapidly as those who have reached the highest perfection; next he -must know how in former times polyphonic music was written, must study -what are called counterpoint and fugue; and furthermore, he must learn -orchestration, _i.e._ how to utilise the effects of the instruments. But -once he has learned all this, the composer may unceasingly produce one -work after another; whether programme-music, opera, or song (devising -sounds more or less corresponding to the words), or chamber music, -_i.e._ he may take another man’s themes and work them up into definite -forms by means of counterpoint and fugue; or, what is commonest of all, -he may compose fantastic music, _i.e._ he may take a conjunction of -sounds which happens to come to hand, and pile every sort of -complication and ornamentation on to this chance combination. - -Thus, in all realms of art, counterfeits of art are manufactured to a -ready-made, prearranged recipe, and these counterfeits the public of our -upper classes accept for real art. - -And this substitution of counterfeits for real works of art was the -third and most important consequence of the separation of the art of the -upper classes from universal art. - -Footnote 83: - - An apparatus exists by means of which a very sensitive arrow, in - dependence on the tension of a muscle of the arm, will indicate the - physiological action of music on the nerves and muscles. - - - - - CHAPTER XII - - -In our society three conditions co-operate to cause the production of -objects of counterfeit art. They are—(1) the considerable remuneration -of artists for their productions and the professionalisation of artists -which this has produced, (2) art criticism, and (3) schools of art. - -While art was as yet undivided, and only religious art was valued and -rewarded while indiscriminate art was left unrewarded, there were no -counterfeits of art, or, if any existed, being exposed to the criticism -of the whole people, they quickly disappeared. But as soon as that -division occurred, and the upper classes acclaimed every kind of art as -good if only it afforded them pleasure, and began to reward such art -more highly than any other social activity, immediately a large number -of people devoted themselves to this activity, and art assumed quite a -different character and became a profession. - -And as soon as this occurred, the chief and most precious quality of -art—its sincerity—was at once greatly weakened and eventually quite -destroyed. - -The professional artist lives by his art, and has continually to invent -subjects for his works, and does invent them. And it is obvious how -great a difference must exist between works of art produced on the one -hand by men such as the Jewish prophets, the authors of the Psalms, -Francis of Assisi, the authors of the _Iliad_ and _Odyssey_, of -folk-stories, legends, and folk-songs, many of whom not only received no -remuneration for their work, but did not even attach their names to it; -and, on the other hand, works produced by court poets, dramatists and -musicians receiving honours and remuneration; and later on by -professional artists, who lived by the trade, receiving remuneration -from newspaper editors, publishers, impresarios, and in general from -those agents who come between the artists and the town public—the -consumers of art. - -Professionalism is the first condition of the diffusion of false, -counterfeit art. - -The second condition is the growth, in recent times, of artistic -criticism, _i.e._ the valuation of art not by everybody, and, above all, -not by plain men, but by erudite, that is, by perverted and at the same -time self-confident individuals. - -A friend of mine, speaking of the relation of critics to artists, -half-jokingly defined it thus: “Critics are the stupid who discuss the -wise.” However partial, inexact, and rude this definition may be, it is -yet partly true, and is incomparably juster than the definition which -considers critics to be men who can explain works of art. - -“Critics explain!” What do they explain? - -The artist, if a real artist, has by his work transmitted to others the -feeling he experienced. What is there, then, to explain? - -If a work be good as art, then the feeling expressed by the artist—be it -moral or immoral—transmits itself to other people. If transmitted to -others, then they feel it, and all interpretations are superfluous. If -the work does not infect people, no explanation can make it contagious. -An artist’s work cannot be interpreted. Had it been possible to explain -in words what he wished to convey, the artist would have expressed -himself in words. He expressed it by his art, only because the feeling -he experienced could not be otherwise transmitted. The interpretation of -works of art by words only indicates that the interpreter is himself -incapable of feeling the infection of art. And this is actually the -case, for, however strange it may seem to say so, critics have always -been people less susceptible than other men to the contagion of art. For -the most part they are able writers, educated and clever, but with their -capacity of being infected by art quite perverted or atrophied. And -therefore their writings have always largely contributed, and still -contribute, to the perversion of the taste of that public which reads -them and trusts them. - -Artistic criticism did not exist—could not and cannot exist—in societies -where art is undivided, and where, consequently, it is appraised by the -religious understanding-of-life common to the whole people. Art -criticism grew, and could grow, only on the art of the upper classes, -who did not acknowledge the religious perception of their time. - -Universal art has a definite and indubitable internal -criterion—religious perception; upper-class art lacks this, and -therefore the appreciators of that art are obliged to cling to some -external criterion. And they find it in “the judgments of the -finest-nurtured,” as an English æsthetician has phrased it, that is, in -the authority of the people who are considered educated, nor in this -alone, but also in a tradition of such authorities. This tradition is -extremely misleading, both because the opinions of “the finest-nurtured” -are often mistaken, and also because judgments which were valid once -cease to be so with the lapse of time. But the critics, having no basis -for their judgments, never cease to repeat their traditions. The -classical tragedians were once considered good, and therefore criticism -considers them to be so still. Dante was esteemed a great poet, Raphael -a great painter, Bach a great musician—and the critics, lacking a -standard by which to separate good art from bad, not only consider these -artists great, but regard all their productions as admirable and worthy -of imitation. Nothing has contributed, and still contributes, so much to -the perversion of art as these authorities set up by criticism. A man -produces a work of art, like every true artist expressing in his own -peculiar manner a feeling he has experienced. Most people are infected -by the artist’s feeling; and his work becomes known. Then criticism, -discussing the artist, says that the work is not bad, but all the same -the artist is not a Dante, nor a Shakespear, nor a Goethe, nor a -Raphael, nor what Beethoven was in his last period. And the young artist -sets to work to copy those who are held up for his imitation, and he -produces not only feeble works, but false works, counterfeits of art. - -Thus, for instance, our Pushkin writes his short poems, _Evgeniy -Onegin_, _The Gipsies_, and his stories—works all varying in quality, -but all true art. But then, under the influence of false criticism -extolling Shakespear, he writes _Boris Godunoff_, a cold, brain-spun -work, and this production is lauded by the critics, set up as a model, -and imitations of it appear: _Minin_ by Ostrovsky, and _Tsar Boris_ by -Alexée Tolstoy, and such imitations of imitations as crowd all -literatures with insignificant productions. The chief harm done by the -critics is this, that themselves lacking the capacity to be infected by -art (and that is the characteristic of all critics; for did they not -lack this they could not attempt the impossible—the interpretation of -works of art), they pay most attention to, and eulogise, brain-spun, -invented works, and set these up as models worthy of imitation. That is -the reason they so confidently extol, in literature, the Greek -tragedians, Dante, Tasso, Milton, Shakespear, Goethe (almost all he -wrote), and, among recent writers, Zola and Ibsen; in music, Beethoven’s -last period, and Wagner. To justify their praise of these brain-spun, -invented works, they devise entire theories (of which the famous theory -of beauty is one); and not only dull but also talented people compose -works in strict deference to these theories; and often even real -artists, doing violence to their genius, submit to them. - -Every false work extolled by the critics serves as a door through which -the hypocrites of art at once crowd in. - -It is solely due to the critics, who in our times still praise rude, -savage, and, for us, often meaningless works of the ancient Greeks: -Sophocles, Euripides, Æschylus, and especially Aristophanes; or, of -modern writers, Dante, Tasso, Milton, Shakespear; in painting, all of -Raphael, all of Michael Angelo, including his absurd “Last Judgment”; in -music, the whole of Bach, and the whole of Beethoven, including his last -period,—thanks only to them, have the Ibsens, Maeterlincks, Verlaines, -Mallarmés, Puvis de Chavannes, Klingers, Böcklins, Stucks, Schneiders; -in music, the Wagners, Liszts, Berliozes, Brahmses, and Richard -Strausses, etc., and all that immense mass of good-for-nothing imitators -of these imitators, become possible in our day. - -As a good illustration of the harmful influence of criticism, take its -relation to Beethoven. Among his innumerable hasty productions written -to order, there are, notwithstanding their artificiality of form, works -of true art. But he grows deaf, cannot hear, and begins to write -invented, unfinished works, which are consequently often meaningless and -musically unintelligible. I know that musicians can imagine sounds -vividly enough, and can almost hear what they read, but imaginary sounds -can never replace real ones, and every composer must hear his production -in order to perfect it. Beethoven, however, could not hear, could not -perfect his work, and consequently published productions which are -artistic ravings. But criticism, having once acknowledged him to be a -great composer, seizes on just these abnormal works with special gusto, -and searches for extraordinary beauties in them. And, to justify its -laudations (perverting the very meaning of musical art), it attributed -to music the property of describing what it cannot describe. And -imitators appear—an innumerable host of imitators of these abnormal -attempts at artistic productions which Beethoven wrote when he was deaf. - -Then Wagner appears, who at first in critical articles praises just -Beethoven’s last period, and connects this music with Schopenhauer’s -mystical theory that music is the expression of Will—not of separate -manifestations of will objectivised on various planes, but of its very -essence—which is in itself as absurd as this music of Beethoven. And -afterwards he composes music of his own on this theory, in conjunction -with another still more erroneous system of the union of all the arts. -After Wagner yet new imitators appear, diverging yet further from art: -Brahms, Richard Strauss, and others. - -Such are the results of criticism. But the third condition of the -perversion of art, namely, art schools, is almost more harmful still. - -As soon as art became, not art for the whole people but for a rich -class, it became a profession; as soon as it became a profession, -methods were devised to teach it; people who chose this profession of -art began to learn these methods, and thus professional schools sprang -up: classes of rhetoric or literature in the public schools, academies -for painting, conservatoires for music, schools for dramatic art. - -In these schools art is taught! But art is the transmission to others of -a special feeling experienced by the artist. How can this be taught in -schools? - -No school can evoke feeling in a man, and still less can it teach him -how to manifest it in the one particular manner natural to him alone. -But the essence of art lies in these things. - -The one thing these schools can teach is how to transmit feelings -experienced by other artists in the way those other artists transmitted -them. And this is just what the professional schools do teach; and such -instruction not only does not assist the spread of true art, but, on the -contrary, by diffusing counterfeits of art, does more than anything else -to deprive people of the capacity to understand true art. - -In literary art people are taught how, without having anything they wish -to say, to write a many-paged composition on a theme about which they -have never thought, and, moreover, to write it so that it should -resemble the work of an author admitted to be celebrated. This is taught -in schools. - -In painting the chief training consists in learning to draw and paint -from copies and models, the naked body chiefly (the very thing that is -never seen, and which a man occupied with real art hardly ever has to -depict), and to draw and paint as former masters drew and painted. The -composition of pictures is taught by giving out themes similar to those -which have been treated by former acknowledged celebrities. - -So also in dramatic schools, the pupils are taught to recite monologues -just as tragedians, considered celebrated, declaimed them. - -It is the same in music. The whole theory of music is nothing but a -disconnected repetition of those methods which the acknowledged? masters -of composition made use of. - -I have elsewhere quoted the profound remark of the Russian artist -Bruloff on art, but I cannot here refrain from repeating it, because -nothing better illustrates what can and what can not be taught in the -schools. Once when correcting a pupil’s study, Bruloff just touched it -in a few places, and the poor dead study immediately became animated. -“Why, you only touched it a _wee bit_, and it is quite another thing!” -said one of the pupils. “Art begins where the _wee bit_ begins,” replied -Bruloff, indicating by these words just what is most characteristic of -art. The remark is true of all the arts, but its justice is particularly -noticeable in the performance of music. That musical execution should be -artistic, should be art, _i.e._ should infect, three chief conditions -must be observed,—there are many others needed for musical perfection; -the transition from one sound to another must be interrupted or -continuous; the sound must increase or diminish steadily; it must be -blended with one and not with another sound; the sound must have this or -that timbre, and much besides,—but take the three chief conditions: the -pitch, the time, and the strength of the sound. Musical execution is -only then art, only then infects, when the sound is neither higher nor -lower than it should be, that is, when exactly the infinitely small -centre of the required note is taken; when that note is continued -exactly as long as is needed; and when the strength of the sound is -neither more nor less than is required. The slightest deviation of pitch -in either direction, the slightest increase or decrease in time, or the -slightest strengthening or weakening of the sound beyond what is needed, -destroys the perfection and, consequently, the infectiousness of the -work. So that the feeling of infection by the art of music, which seems -so simple and so easily obtained, is a thing we receive only when the -performer finds those infinitely minute degrees which are necessary to -perfection in music. It is the same in all arts: a wee bit lighter, a -wee bit darker, a wee bit higher, lower, to the right or the left—in -painting; a wee bit weaker or stronger in intonation, or a wee bit -sooner or later—in dramatic art; a wee bit omitted, over-emphasised, or -exaggerated—in poetry, and there is no contagion. Infection is only -obtained when an artist finds those infinitely minute degrees of which a -work of art consists, and only to the extent to which he finds them. And -it is quite impossible to teach people by external means to find these -minute degrees: they can only be found when a man yields to his feeling. -No instruction can make a dancer catch just the tact of the music, or a -singer or a fiddler take exactly the infinitely minute centre of his -note, or a sketcher draw of all possible lines the only right one, or a -poet find the only meet arrangement of the only suitable words. All this -is found only by feeling. And therefore schools may teach what is -necessary in order to produce something resembling art, but not art -itself. - -The teaching of the schools stops there where the _wee bit_ -begins—consequently where art begins. - -Accustoming people to something resembling art, disaccustoms them to the -comprehension of real art. And that is how it comes about that none are -more dull to art than those who have passed through the professional -schools and been most successful in them. Professional schools produce -an hypocrisy of art precisely akin to that hypocrisy of religion which -is produced by theological colleges for training priests, pastors, and -religious teachers generally. As it is impossible in a school to train a -man so as to make a religious teacher of him, so it is impossible to -teach a man how to become an artist. - -Art schools are thus doubly destructive of art: first, in that they -destroy the capacity to produce real art in those who have the -misfortune to enter them and go through a 7 or 8 years’ course; -secondly, in that they generate enormous quantities of that counterfeit -art which perverts the taste of the masses and overflows our world. In -order that born artists may know the methods of the various arts -elaborated by former artists, there should exist in all elementary -schools such classes for drawing and music (singing) that, after passing -through them, every talented scholar may, by using existing models -accessible to all, be able to perfect himself in his art independently. - -These three conditions—the professionalisation of artists, art -criticism, and art schools—have had this effect that most people in our -times are quite unable even to understand what art is, and accept as art -the grossest counterfeits of it. - - - - - CHAPTER XIII - - -To what an extent people of our circle and time have lost the capacity -to receive real art, and have become accustomed to accept as art things -that have nothing in common with it, is best seen from the works of -Richard Wagner, which have latterly come to be more and more esteemed, -not only by the Germans but also by the French and the English, as the -very highest art, revealing new horizons to us. - -The peculiarity of Wagner’s music, as is known, consists in this, that -he considered that music should serve poetry, expressing all the shades -of a poetical work. - -The union of the drama with music, devised in the fifteenth century in -Italy for the revival of what they imagined to have been the ancient -Greek drama with music, is an artificial form which had, and has, -success only among the upper classes, and that only when gifted -composers, such as Mozart, Weber, Rossini, and others, drawing -inspiration from a dramatic subject, yielded freely to the inspiration -and subordinated the text to the music, so that in their operas the -important thing to the audience was merely the music on a certain text, -and not the text at all, which latter, even when it was utterly absurd, -as, for instance, in the _Magic Flute_, still did not prevent the music -from producing an artistic impression. - -Wagner wishes to correct the opera by letting music submit to the -demands of poetry and unite with it. But each art has its own definite -realm, which is not identical with the realm of other arts, but merely -comes in contact with them; and therefore, if the manifestation of, I -will not say several, but even of two arts—the dramatic and the -musical—be united in one complete production, then the demands of the -one art will make it impossible to fulfil the demands of the other, as -has always occurred in the ordinary operas, where the dramatic art has -submitted to, or rather yielded place to, the musical. Wagner wishes -that musical art should submit to dramatic art, and that both should -appear in full strength. But this is impossible, for every work of art, -if it be a true one, is an expression of intimate feelings of the -artist, which are quite exceptional, and not like anything else. Such is -a musical production, and such is a dramatic work, if they be true art. -And therefore, in order that a production in the one branch of art -should coincide with a production in the other branch, it is necessary -that the impossible should happen: that two works from different realms -of art should be absolutely exceptional, unlike anything that existed -before, and yet should coincide, and be exactly alike. - -And this cannot be, just as there cannot be two men, or even two leaves -on a tree, exactly alike. Still less can two works from different realms -of art, the musical and the literary, be absolutely alike. If they -coincide, then either one is a work of art and the other a counterfeit, -or both are counterfeits. Two live leaves cannot be exactly alike, but -two artificial leaves may be. And so it is with works of art. They can -only coincide completely when neither the one nor the other is art, but -only cunningly devised semblances of it. - -If poetry and music may be joined, as occurs in hymns, songs, and -_romances_—(though even in these the music does not follow the changes -of each verse of the text, as Wagner wants to, but the song and the -music merely produce a coincident effect on the mind)—this occurs only -because lyrical poetry and music have, to some extent, one and the same -aim: to produce a mental condition, and the conditions produced by -lyrical poetry and by music can, more or less, coincide. But even in -these conjunctions the centre of gravity always lies in one of the two -productions, so that it is one of them that produces the artistic -impression while the other remains unregarded. And still less is it -possible for such union to exist between epic or dramatic poetry and -music. - -Moreover, one of the chief conditions of artistic creation is the -complete freedom of the artist from every kind of preconceived demand. -And the necessity of adjusting his musical work to a work from another -realm of art is a preconceived demand of such a kind as to destroy all -possibility of creative power; and therefore works of this kind, -adjusted to one another, are, and must be, as has always happened, not -works of art but only imitations of art, like the music of a melodrama, -signatures to pictures, illustrations, and librettos to operas. - -And such are Wagner’s productions. And a confirmation of this is to be -seen in the fact that Wagner’s new music lacks the chief characteristic -of every true work of art, namely, such entirety and completeness that -the smallest alteration in its form would disturb the meaning of the -whole work. In a true work of art—poem, drama, picture, song, or -symphony—it is impossible to extract one line, one scene, one figure, or -one bar from its place and put it in another, without infringing the -significance of the whole work; just as it is impossible, without -infringing the life of an organic being, to extract an organ from one -place and insert it in another. But in the music of Wagner’s last -period, with the exception of certain parts of little importance which -have an independent musical meaning, it is possible to make all kinds of -transpositions, putting what was in front behind, and _vice, versâ_, -without altering the musical sense. And the reason why these -transpositions do not alter the sense of Wagner’s music is because the -sense lies in the words and not in the music. - -The musical score of Wagner’s later operas is like what the result would -be should one of those versifiers—of whom there are now many, with -tongues so broken that they can write verses on any theme to any rhymes -in any rhythm, which sound as if they had a meaning—conceive the idea of -illustrating by his verses some symphony or sonata of Beethoven, or some -ballade of Chopin, in the following manner. To the first bars, of one -character, he writes verses corresponding in his opinion to those first -bars. Next come some bars of a different character, and he also writes -verses corresponding in his opinion to them, but with no internal -connection with the first verses, and, moreover, without rhymes and -without rhythm. Such a production, without the music, would be exactly -parallel in poetry to what Wagner’s operas are in music, if heard -without the words. - -But Wagner is not only a musician, he is also a poet, or both together; -and therefore, to judge of Wagner, one must know his poetry also—that -same poetry which the music has to subserve. The chief poetical -production of Wagner is _The Nibelung’s Ring_. This work has attained -such enormous importance in our time, and has such influence on all that -now professes to be art, that it is necessary for everyone to-day to -have some idea of it. I have carefully read through the four booklets -which contain this work, and have drawn up a brief summary of it, which -I give in Appendix III. I would strongly advise the reader (if he has -not perused the poem itself, which would be the best thing to do) at -least to read my account of it, so as to have an idea of this -extraordinary work. It is a model work of counterfeit art, so gross as -to be even ridiculous. - -But we are told that it is impossible to judge of Wagner’s works without -seeing them on the stage. The Second Day of this drama, which, as I was -told, is the best part of the whole work, was given in Moscow last -winter, and I went to see the performance. - -When I arrived the enormous theatre was already filled from top to -bottom. There were Grand-Dukes, and the flower of the aristocracy, of -the merchant class, of the learned, and of the middle-class official -public. Most of them held the libretto, fathoming its meaning. -Musicians—some of them elderly, grey-haired men—followed the music, -score in hand. Evidently the performance of this work was an event of -importance. - -I was rather late, but I was told that the short prelude, with which the -act begins, was of little importance, and that it did not matter having -missed it. When I arrived, an actor sat on the stage amid decorations -intended to represent a cave, and before something which was meant to -represent a smith’s forge. He was dressed in trico-tights, with a cloak -of skins, wore a wig and an artificial beard, and with white, weak, -genteel hands (his easy movements, and especially the shape of his -stomach and his lack of muscle revealed the actor) beat an impossible -sword with an unnatural hammer in a way in which no one ever uses a -hammer; and at the same time, opening his mouth in a strange way, he -sang something incomprehensible. The music of various instruments -accompanied the strange sounds which he emitted. From the libretto one -was able to gather that the actor had to represent a powerful gnome, who -lived in the cave, and who was forging a sword for Siegfried, whom he -had reared. One could tell he was a gnome by the fact that the actor -walked all the time bending the knees of his trico-covered legs. This -gnome, still opening his mouth in the same strange way, long continued -to sing or shout. The music meanwhile runs over something strange, like -beginnings which are not continued and do not get finished. From the -libretto one could learn that the gnome is telling himself about a ring -which a giant had obtained, and which the gnome wishes to procure -through Siegfried’s aid, while Siegfried wants a good sword, on the -forging of which the gnome is occupied. After this conversation or -singing to himself has gone on rather a long time, other sounds are -heard in the orchestra, also like something beginning and not finishing, -and another actor appears, with a horn slung over his shoulder, and -accompanied by a man running on all fours dressed up as a bear, whom he -sets at the smith-gnome. The latter runs away without unbending the -knees of his trico-covered legs. This actor with the horn represented -the hero, Siegfried. The sounds which were emitted in the orchestra on -the entrance of this actor were intended to represent Siegfried’s -character and are called Siegfried’s _leit-motiv_. And these sounds are -repeated each time Siegfried appears. There is one fixed combination of -sounds, or _leit-motiv_, for each character, and this _leit-motiv_ is -repeated every time the person whom it represents appears; and when -anyone is mentioned the _motiv_ is heard which relates to that person. -Moreover, each article also has its own _leit-motiv_ or chord. There is -a _motiv_ of the ring, a _motiv_ of the helmet, a _motiv_ of the apple, -a _motiv_ of fire, spear, sword, water, etc.; and as soon as the ring, -helmet, or apple is mentioned, the _motiv_ or chord of the ring, helmet, -or apple is heard. The actor with the horn opens his mouth as -unnaturally as the gnome, and long continues in a chanting voice to -shout some words, and in a similar chant Mime (that is the gnome’s name) -answers something or other to him. The meaning of this conversation can -only be discovered from the libretto; and it is that Siegfried was -brought up by the gnome, and therefore, for some reason, hates him and -always wishes to kill him. The gnome has forged a sword for Siegfried, -but Siegfried is dissatisfied with it. From a ten-page conversation (by -the libretto), lasting half an hour and conducted with the same strange -openings of the mouth and chantings, it appears that Siegfried’s mother -gave birth to him in the wood, and that concerning his father all that -is known is that he had a sword which was broken, the pieces of which -are in Mime’s possession, and that Siegfried does not know fear and -wishes to go out of the wood. Mime, however, does not want to let him -go. During the conversation the music never omits, at the mention of -father, sword, etc., to sound the _motive_ of these people and things. -After these conversations fresh sounds are heard—those of the god -Wotan—and a wanderer appears. This wanderer is the god Wotan. Also -dressed up in a wig, and also in tights, this god Wotan, standing in a -stupid pose with a spear, thinks proper to recount what Mime must have -known before, but what it is necessary to tell the audience. He does not -tell it simply, but in the form of riddles which he orders himself to -guess, staking his head (one does not know why) that he will guess -right. Moreover, whenever the wanderer strikes his spear on the ground, -fire comes out of the ground, and in the orchestra the sounds of spear -and of fire are heard. The orchestra accompanies the conversation, and -the _motive_ of the people and things spoken of are always artfully -intermingled. Besides this the music expresses feelings in the most -naïve manner: the terrible by sounds in the bass, the frivolous by rapid -touches in the treble, etc. - -The riddles have no meaning except to tell the audience what the -_nibelungs_ are, what the giants are, what the gods are, and what has -happened before. This conversation also is chanted with strangely opened -mouths and continues for eight libretto pages, and correspondingly long -on the stage. After this the wanderer departs, and Siegfried returns and -talks with Mime for thirteen pages more. There is not a single melody -the whole of this time, but merely intertwinings of the _leit-motive_ of -the people and things mentioned. The conversation tells that Mime wishes -to teach Siegfried fear, and that Siegfried does not know what fear is. -Having finished this conversation, Siegfried seizes one of the pieces of -what is meant to represent the broken sword, saws it up, puts it on what -is meant to represent the forge, melts it, and then forges it and sings: -Heiho! heiho! heiho! Ho! ho! Aha! oho! aha! Heiaho! heiaho! heiaho! Ho! -ho! Hahei! hoho! hahei! and Act I. finishes. - -As far as the question I had come to the theatre to decide was -concerned, my mind was fully made up, as surely as on the question of -the merits of my lady acquaintance’s novel when she read me the scene -between the loose-haired maiden in the white dress and the hero with two -white dogs and a hat with a feather _à la Guillaume Tell_. - -From an author who could compose such spurious scenes, outraging all -æsthetic feeling, as those which I had witnessed, there was nothing to -be hoped; it may safely be decided that all that such an author can -write will be bad, because he evidently does not know what a true work -of art is. I wished to leave, but the friends I was with asked me to -remain, declaring that one could not form an opinion by that one act, -and that the second would be better. So I stopped for the second act. - -Act II., night. Afterwards dawn. In general the whole piece is crammed -with lights, clouds, moonlight, darkness, magic fires, thunder, etc. - -The scene represents a wood, and in the wood there is a cave. At the -entrance of the cave sits a third actor in tights, representing another -gnome. It dawns. Enter the god Wotan, again with a spear, and again in -the guise of a wanderer. Again his sounds, together with fresh sounds of -the deepest bass that can be produced. These latter indicate that the -dragon is speaking. Wotan awakens the dragon. The same bass sounds are -repeated, growing yet deeper and deeper. First the dragon says, “I want -to sleep,” but afterwards he crawls out of the cave. The dragon is -represented by two men; it is dressed in a green, scaly skin, waves a -tail at one end, while at the other it opens a kind of crocodile’s jaw -that is fastened on, and from which flames appear. The dragon (who is -meant to be dreadful, and may appear so to five-year-old children) -speaks some words in a terribly bass voice. This is all so stupid, so -like what is done in a booth at a fair, that it is surprising that -people over seven years of age can witness it seriously; yet thousands -of quasi-cultured people sit and attentively hear and see it, and are -delighted. - -Siegfried, with his horn, reappears, as does Mime also. In the orchestra -the sounds denoting them are emitted, and they talk about whether -Siegfried does or does not know what fear is. Mime goes away, and a -scene commences which is intended to be most poetical. Siegfried, in his -tights, lies down in a would-be beautiful pose, and alternately keeps -silent and talks to himself. He ponders, listens to the song of birds, -and wishes to imitate them. For this purpose he cuts a reed with his -sword and makes a pipe. The dawn grows brighter and brighter; the birds -sing. Siegfried tries to imitate the birds. In the orchestra is heard -the imitation of birds, alternating with sounds corresponding to the -words he speaks. But Siegfried does not succeed with his pipe-playing, -so he plays on his horn instead. This scene is unendurable. Of music, -_i.e._ of art serving as a means to transmit a state of mind experienced -by the author, there is not even a suggestion. There is something that -is absolutely unintelligible musically. In a musical sense a hope is -continually experienced, followed by disappointment, as if a musical -thought were commenced only to be broken off. If there are something -like musical commencements, these commencements are so short, so -encumbered with complications of harmony and orchestration and with -effects of contrast, are so obscure and unfinished, and what is -happening on the stage meanwhile is so abominably false, that it is -difficult even to perceive these musical snatches, let alone to be -infected by them. Above all, from the very beginning to the very end, -and in each note, the author’s purpose is so audible and visible, that -one sees and hears neither Siegfried nor the birds, but only a limited, -self-opinionated German of bad taste and bad style, who has a most false -conception of poetry, and who, in the rudest and most primitive manner, -wishes to transmit to me these false and mistaken conceptions of his. - -Everyone knows the feeling of distrust and resistance which is always -evoked by an author’s evident predetermination. A narrator need only say -in advance, Prepare to cry or to laugh, and you are sure neither to cry -nor to laugh. But when you see that an author prescribes emotion at what -is not touching but only laughable or disgusting, and when you see, -moreover, that the author is fully assured that he has captivated you, a -painfully tormenting feeling results, similar to what one would feel if -an old, deformed woman put on a ball-dress and smilingly coquetted -before you, confident of your approbation. This impression was -strengthened by the fact that around me I saw a crowd of three thousand -people, who not only patiently witnessed all this absurd nonsense, but -even considered it their duty to be delighted with it. - -I somehow managed to sit out the next scene also, in which the monster -appears, to the accompaniment of his bass notes intermingled with the -_motiv_ of Siegfried; but after the fight with the monster, and all the -roars, fires, and sword-wavings, I could stand no more of it, and -escaped from the theatre with a feeling of repulsion which, even now, I -cannot forget. - -Listening to this opera, I involuntarily thought of a respected, wise, -educated country labourer,—one, for instance, of those wise and truly -religious men whom I know among the peasants,—and I pictured to myself -the terrible perplexity such a man would be in were he to witness what I -was seeing that evening. - -What would he think if he knew of all the labour spent on such a -performance, and saw that audience, those great ones of the earth,—old, -bald-headed, grey-bearded men, whom he had been accustomed to -respect,—sit silent and attentive, listening to and looking at all these -stupidities for five hours on end? Not to speak of an adult labourer, -one can hardly imagine even a child of over seven occupying himself with -such a stupid, incoherent fairy tale. - -And yet an enormous audience, the cream of the cultured upper classes, -sits out five hours of this insane performance, and goes away imagining -that by paying tribute to this nonsense it has acquired a fresh right to -esteem itself advanced and enlightened. - -I speak of the Moscow public. But what is the Moscow public? It is but a -hundredth part of that public which, while considering itself most -highly enlightened, esteems it a merit to have so lost the capacity of -being infected by art, that not only can it witness this stupid sham -without being revolted, but can even take delight in it. - -In Bayreuth, where these performances were first given, people who -consider themselves finely cultured assembled from the ends of the -earth, spent, say £100 each, to see this performance, and for four days -running they went to see and hear this nonsensical rubbish, sitting it -out for six hours each day. - -But why did people go, and why do they still go to these performances, -and why do they admire them? The question naturally presents itself: How -is the success of Wagner’s works to be explained? - -That success I explain to myself in this way: thanks to his exceptional -position in having at his disposal the resources of a king, Wagner was -able to command all the methods for counterfeiting art which have been -developed by long usage, and, employing these methods with great -ability, he produced a model work of counterfeit art. The reason why I -have selected his work for my illustration is, that in no other -counterfeit of art known to me are all the methods by which art is -counterfeited—namely, borrowings, imitation, effects, and -interestingness—so ably and powerfully united. - -From the subject, borrowed from antiquity, to the clouds and the risings -of the sun and moon, Wagner, in this work, has made use of all that is -considered poetical. We have here the sleeping beauty, and nymphs, and -subterranean fires, and gnomes, and battles, and swords, and love, and -incest, and a monster, and singing-birds: the whole arsenal of the -poetical is brought into action. - -Moreover, everything is imitative: the decorations are imitated and the -costumes are imitated. All is just as, according to the data supplied by -archæology, they would have been in antiquity. The very sounds are -imitative, for Wagner, who was not destitute of musical talent, invented -just such sounds as imitate the strokes of a hammer, the hissing of -molten iron, the singing of birds, etc. - -Furthermore, in this work everything is in the highest degree striking -in its effects and in its peculiarities: its monsters, its magic fires, -and its scenes under water; the darkness in which the audience sit, the -invisibility of the orchestra, and the hitherto unemployed combinations -of harmony. - -And besides, it is all interesting. The interest lies not only in the -question who will kill whom, and who will marry whom, and who is whose -son, and what will happen next?—the interest lies also in the relation -of the music to the text. The rolling waves of the Rhine—now how is that -to be expressed in music? An evil gnome appears—how is the music to -express an evil gnome?—and how is it to express the sensuality of this -gnome? How will bravery, fire, or apples be expressed in music? How are -the _leit-motive_ of the people speaking to be interwoven with the -_leit-motive_ of the people and objects about whom they speak? Besides, -the music has a further interest. It diverges from all formerly accepted -laws, and most unexpected and totally new modulations crop up (as is not -only possible but even easy in music having no inner law of its being); -the dissonances are new, and are allowed in a new way—and this, too, is -interesting. - -And it is this poeticality, imitativeness, effectfulness, and -interestingness which, thanks to the peculiarities of Wagner’s talent -and to the advantageous position in which he was placed, are in these -productions carried to the highest pitch of perfection, that so act on -the spectator, hypnotising him as one would be hypnotised who should -listen for several consecutive hours to the ravings of a maniac -pronounced with great oratorical power. - -People say, “You cannot judge without having seen Wagner performed at -Bayreuth: in the dark, where the orchestra is out of sight concealed -under the stage, and where the performance is brought to the highest -perfection.” And this just proves that we have here no question of art, -but one of hypnotism. It is just what the spiritualists say. To convince -you of the reality of their apparitions, they usually say, “You cannot -judge; you must try it, be present at several séances,” _i.e._ come and -sit silent in the dark for hours together in the same room with -semi-sane people, and repeat this some ten times over, and you shall see -all that we see. - -Yes, naturally! Only place yourself in such conditions, and you may see -what you will. But this can be still more quickly attained by getting -drunk or smoking opium. It is the same when listening to an opera of -Wagner’s. Sit in the dark for four days in company with people who are -not quite normal, and, through the auditory nerves, subject your brain -to the strongest action of the sounds best adapted to excite it, and you -will no doubt be reduced to an abnormal condition and be enchanted by -absurdities. But to attain this end you do not even need four days; the -five hours during which one “day” is enacted, as in Moscow, are quite -enough. Nor are five hours needed; even one hour is enough for people -who have no clear conception of what art should be, and who have come to -the conclusion in advance that what they are going to see is excellent, -and that indifference or dissatisfaction with this work will serve as a -proof of their inferiority and lack of culture. - -I observed the audience present at this representation. The people who -led the whole audience and gave the tone to it were those who had -previously been hypnotised, and who again succumbed to the hypnotic -influence to which they were accustomed. These hypnotised people, being -in an abnormal condition, were perfectly enraptured. Moreover, all the -art critics, who lack the capacity to be infected by art and therefore -always especially prize works like Wagner’s opera where it is all an -affair of the intellect, also, with much profundity, expressed their -approval of a work affording such ample material for ratiocination. And -following these two groups went that large city crowd (indifferent to -art, with their capacity to be infected by it perverted and partly -atrophied), headed by the princes, millionaires, and art patrons, who, -like sorry harriers, keep close to those who most loudly and decidedly -express their opinion. - -“Oh yes, certainly! What poetry! Marvellous! Especially the birds!” -“Yes, yes! I am quite vanquished!” exclaim these people, repeating in -various tones what they have just heard from men whose opinion appears -to them authoritative. - -If some people do feel insulted by the absurdity and spuriousness of the -whole thing, they are timidly silent, as sober men are timid and silent -when surrounded by tipsy ones. - -And thus, thanks to the masterly skill with which it counterfeits art -while having nothing in common with it, a meaningless, coarse, spurious -production finds acceptance all over the world, costs millions of -roubles to produce, and assists more and more to pervert the taste of -people of the upper classes and their conception of what is art. - - - - - CHAPTER XIV - - -I know that most men—not only those considered clever, but even those -who are very clever and capable of understanding most difficult -scientific, mathematical or philosophic problems—can very seldom discern -even the simplest and most obvious truth if it be such as to oblige them -to admit the falsity of conclusions they have formed, perhaps with much -difficulty—conclusions of which they are proud, which they have taught -to others, and on which they have built their lives. And therefore I -have little hope that what I adduce as to the perversion of art and -taste in our society will be accepted or even seriously considered. -Nevertheless, I must state fully the inevitable conclusion to which my -investigation into the question of art has brought me. This -investigation has brought me to the conviction that almost all that our -society considers to be art, good art, and the whole of art, far from -being real and good art, and the whole of art, is not even art at all, -but only a counterfeit of it. This position, I know, will seem very -strange and paradoxical; but if we once acknowledge art to be a human -activity by means of which some people transmit their feelings to others -(and not a service of Beauty, nor a manifestation of the Idea, and so -forth), we shall inevitably have to admit this further conclusion also. -If it is true that art is an activity by means of which one man having -experienced a feeling intentionally transmits it to others, then we have -inevitably to admit further, that of all that among us is termed the art -of the upper classes—of all those novels, stories, dramas, comedies, -pictures, sculptures, symphonies, operas, operettas, ballets, etc., -which profess to be works of art—scarcely one in a hundred thousand -proceeds from an emotion felt by its author, all the rest being but -manufactured counterfeits of art in which borrowing, imitating, effects, -and interestingness replace the contagion of feeling. That the -proportion of real productions of art is to the counterfeits as one to -some hundreds of thousands or even more, may be seen by the following -calculation. I have read somewhere that the artist painters in Paris -alone number 30,000; there will probably be as many in England, as many -in Germany, and as many in Russia, Italy, and the smaller states -combined. So that in all there will be in Europe, say, 120,000 painters; -and there are probably as many musicians and as many literary artists. -If these 360,000 individuals produce three works a year each (and many -of them produce ten or more), then each year yields over a million -so-called works of art. How many, then, must have been produced in the -last ten years, and how many in the whole time since upper-class art -broke off from the art of the whole people? Evidently millions. Yet who -of all the connoisseurs of art has received impressions from all these -pseudo works of art? Not to mention all the labouring classes who have -no conception of these productions, even people of the upper classes -cannot know one in a thousand of them all, and cannot remember those -they have known. These works all appear under the guise of art, produce -no impression on anyone (except when they serve as pastimes for the idle -crowd of rich people), and vanish utterly. - -In reply to this it is usually said that without this enormous number of -unsuccessful attempts we should not have the real works of art. But such -reasoning is as though a baker, in reply to a reproach that his bread -was bad, were to say that if it were not for the hundreds of spoiled -loaves there would not be any well-baked ones. It is true that where -there is gold there is also much sand; but that can not serve as a -reason for talking a lot of nonsense in order to say something wise. - -We are surrounded by productions considered artistic. Thousands of -verses, thousands of poems, thousands of novels, thousands of dramas, -thousands of pictures, thousands of musical pieces, follow one after -another. All the verses describe love, or nature, or the author’s state -of mind, and in all of them rhyme and rhythm are observed. All the -dramas and comedies are splendidly mounted and are performed by -admirably trained actors. All the novels are divided into chapters; all -of them describe love, contain effective situations, and correctly -describe the details of life. All the symphonies contain _allegro_, -_andante_, _scherzo_, and _finale_; all consist of modulations and -chords, and are played by highly-trained musicians. All the pictures, in -gold frames, saliently depict faces and sundry accessories. But among -these productions in the various branches of art there is in each branch -one among hundreds of thousands, not only somewhat better than the rest, -but differing from them as a diamond differs from paste. The one is -priceless, the others not only have no value but are worse than -valueless, for they deceive and pervert taste. And yet, externally, they -are, to a man of perverted or atrophied artistic perception, precisely -alike. - -In our society the difficulty of recognising real works of art is -further increased by the fact that the external quality of the work in -false productions is not only no worse, but often better, than in real -ones; the counterfeit is often more effective than the real, and its -subject more interesting. How is one to discriminate? How is one to find -a production in no way distinguished in externals from hundreds of -thousands of others intentionally made to imitate it precisely? - -For a country peasant of unperverted taste this is as easy as it is for -an animal of unspoilt scent to follow the trace he needs among a -thousand others in wood or forest. The animal unerringly finds what he -needs. So also the man, if only his natural qualities have not been -perverted, will, without fail, select from among thousands of objects -the real work of art he requires—that infecting him with the feeling -experienced by the artist. But it is not so with those whose taste has -been perverted by their education and life. The receptive feeling for -art of these people is atrophied, and in valuing artistic productions -they must be guided by discussion and study, which discussion and study -completely confuse them. So that most people in our society are quite -unable to distinguish a work of art from the grossest counterfeit. -People sit for whole hours in concert-rooms and theatres listening to -the new composers, consider it a duty to read the novels of the famous -modern novelists and to look at pictures representing either something -incomprehensible or just the very things they see much better in real -life; and, above all, they consider it incumbent on them to be -enraptured by all this, imagining it all to be art, while at the same -time they will pass real works of art by, not only without attention, -but even with contempt, merely because, in their circle, these works are -not included in the list of works of art. - -A few days ago I was returning home from a walk feeling depressed, as -occurs sometimes. On nearing the house I heard the loud singing of a -large choir of peasant women. They were welcoming my daughter, -celebrating her return home after her marriage. In this singing, with -its cries and clanging of scythes, such a definite feeling of joy, -cheerfulness, and energy was expressed, that, without noticing how it -infected me, I continued my way towards the house in a better mood, and -reached home smiling and quite in good spirits. That same evening, a -visitor, an admirable musician, famed for his execution of classical -music, and particularly of Beethoven, played us Beethoven’s sonata, Opus -101. For the benefit of those who might otherwise attribute my judgment -of that sonata of Beethoven to non-comprehension of it, I should mention -that whatever other people understand of that sonata and of other -productions of Beethoven’s later period, I, being very susceptible to -music, equally understood. For a long time I used to atune myself so as -to delight in those shapeless improvisations which form the -subject-matter of the works of Beethoven’s later period, but I had only -to consider the question of art seriously, and to compare the impression -I received from Beethoven’s later works with those pleasant, clear, and -strong musical impressions which are transmitted, for instance, by the -melodies of Bach (his arias), Haydn, Mozart, Chopin (when his melodies -are not overloaded with complications and ornamention), and of Beethoven -himself in his earlier period, and above all, with the impressions -produced by folk-songs,—Italian, Norwegian, or Russian,—by the Hungarian -_tzardas_, and other such simple, clear, and powerful music, and the -obscure, almost unhealthy excitement from Beethoven’s later pieces that -I had artificially evoked in myself was immediately destroyed. - -On the completion of the performance (though it was noticeable that -everyone had become dull) those present, in the accepted manner, warmly -praised Beethoven’s profound production, and did not forget to add that -formerly they had not been able to understand that last period of his, -but that they now saw that he was really then at his very best. And when -I ventured to compare the impression made on me by the singing of the -peasant women—an impression which had been shared by all who heard -it—with the effect of this sonata, the admirers of Beethoven only smiled -contemptuously, not considering it necessary to reply to such strange -remarks. - -But, for all that, the song of the peasant women was real art, -transmitting a definite and strong feeling; while the 101st sonata of -Beethoven was only an unsuccessful attempt at art, containing no -definite feeling and therefore not infectious. - -For my work on art I have this winter read diligently, though with great -effort, the celebrated novels and stories, praised by all Europe, -written by Zola, Bourget, Huysmans, and Kipling. At the same time I -chanced on a story in a child’s magazine, and by a quite unknown writer, -which told of the Easter preparations in a poor widow’s family. The -story tells how the mother managed with difficulty to obtain some -wheat-flour, which she poured on the table ready to knead. She then went -out to procure some yeast, telling the children not to leave the hut, -and to take care of the flour. When the mother had gone, some other -children ran shouting near the window, calling those in the hut to come -to play. The children forgot their mother’s warning, ran into the -street, and were soon engrossed in the game. The mother, on her return -with the yeast, finds a hen on the table throwing the last of the flour -to her chickens, who were busily picking it out of the dust of the -earthen floor. The mother, in despair, scolds the children, who cry -bitterly. And the mother begins to feel pity for them—but the white -flour has all gone. So to mend matters she decides to make the Easter -cake with sifted rye-flour, brushing it over with white of egg and -surrounding it with eggs. “Rye-bread which we bake is akin to any cake,” -says the mother, using a rhyming proverb to console the children for not -having an Easter cake made with white flour. And the children, quickly -passing from despair to rapture, repeat the proverb and await the Easter -cake more merrily even than before. - -Well! the reading of the novels and stories by Zola, Bourget, Huysmans, -Kipling, and others, handling the most harrowing subjects, did not touch -me for one moment, and I was provoked with the authors all the while, as -one is provoked with a man who considers you so naïve that he does not -even conceal the trick by which he intends to take you in. From the -first lines you see the intention with which the book is written, and -the details all become superfluous, and one feels dull. Above all, one -knows that the author had no other feeling all the time than a desire to -write a story or a novel, and so one receives no artistic impression. On -the other hand, I could not tear myself away from the unknown author’s -tale of the children and the chickens, because I was at once infected by -the feeling which the author had evidently experienced, re-evoked in -himself, and transmitted. - -Vasnetsoff is one of our Russian painters. He has painted ecclesiastical -pictures in Kieff Cathedral, and everyone praises him as the founder of -some new, elevated kind of Christian art. He worked at those pictures -for ten years, was paid tens of thousands of roubles for them, and they -are all simply bad imitations of imitations of imitations, destitute of -any spark of feeling. And this same Vasnetsoff drew a picture for -Tourgenieff’s story “The Quail” (in which it is told how, in his son’s -presence, a father killed a quail and felt pity for it), showing the boy -asleep with pouting upper lip, and above him, as a dream, the quail. And -this picture is a true work of art. - -In the English Academy of 1897 two pictures were exhibited together; one -of which, by J. C. Dolman, was the temptation of St. Anthony. The Saint -is on his knees praying. Behind him stands a naked woman and animals of -some kind. It is apparent that the naked woman pleased the artist very -much, but that Anthony did not concern him at all; and that, so far from -the temptation being terrible to him (the artist) it is highly -agreeable. And therefore if there be any art in this picture, it is very -nasty and false. Next in the same book of academy pictures comes a -picture by Langley, showing a stray beggar boy, who has evidently been -called in by a woman who has taken pity on him. The boy, pitifully -drawing his bare feet under the bench, is eating; the woman is looking -on, probably considering whether he will not want some more; and a girl -of about seven, leaning on her arm, is carefully and seriously looking -on, not taking her eyes from the hungry boy, and evidently understanding -for the first time what poverty is, and what inequality among people is, -and asking herself why she has everything provided for her while this -boy goes bare-foot and hungry? She feels sorry and yet pleased. And she -loves both the boy and goodness.... And one feels that the artist loved -this girl, and that she too loves. And this picture, by an artist who, I -think, is not very widely known, is an admirable and true work of art. - -I remember seeing a performance of _Hamlet_ by Rossi. Both the tragedy -itself and the performer who took the chief part are considered by our -critics to represent the climax of supreme dramatic art. And yet, both -from the subject-matter of the drama and from the performance, I -experienced all the time that peculiar suffering which is caused by -false imitations of works of art. And I lately read of a theatrical -performance among the savage tribe the Voguls. A spectator describes the -play. A big Vogul and a little one, both dressed in reindeer skins, -represent a reindeer-doe and its young. A third Vogul, with a bow, -represents a huntsman on snow-shoes, and a fourth imitates with his -voice a bird that warns the reindeer of their danger. The play is that -the huntsman follows the track that the doe with its young one has -travelled. The deer run off the scene and again reappear. (Such -performances take place in a small tent-house.) The huntsman gains more -and more on the pursued. The little deer is tired, and presses against -its mother. The doe stops to draw breath. The hunter comes up with them -and draws his bow. But just then the bird sounds its note, warning the -deer of their danger. They escape. Again there is a chase, and again the -hunter gains on them, catches them and lets fly his arrow. The arrow -strikes the young deer. Unable to run, the little one presses against -its mother. The mother licks its wound. The hunter draws another arrow. -The audience, as the eye-witness describes them, are paralysed with -suspense; deep groans and even weeping is heard among them. And, from -the mere description, I felt that this was a true work of art. - -What I am saying will be considered irrational paradox, at which one can -only be amazed; but for all that I must say what I think, namely, that -people of our circle, of whom some compose verses, stories, novels, -operas, symphonies, and sonatas, paint all kinds of pictures and make -statues, while others hear and look at these things, and again others -appraise and criticise it all, discuss, condemn, triumph, and raise -monuments to one another generation after generation,—that all these -people, with very few exceptions, artists, and public, and critics, have -never (except in childhood and earliest youth, before hearing any -discussions on art), experienced that simple feeling familiar to the -plainest man and even to a child, that sense of infection with another’s -feeling,—compelling us to joy in another’s gladness, to sorrow at -another’s grief, and to mingle souls with another,—which is the very -essence of art. And therefore these people not only cannot distinguish -true works of art from counterfeits, but continually mistake for real -art the worst and most artificial, while they do not even perceive works -of real art, because the counterfeits are always more ornate, while true -art is modest. - - - - - CHAPTER XV - - -Art, in our society, has been so perverted that not only has bad art -come to be considered good, but even the very perception of what art -really is has been lost. In order to be able to speak about the art of -our society, it is, therefore, first of all necessary to distinguish art -from counterfeit art. - -There is one indubitable indication distinguishing real art from its -counterfeit, namely, the infectiousness of art. If a man, without -exercising effort and without altering his standpoint, on reading, -hearing, or seeing another man’s work, experiences a mental condition -which unites him with that man and with other people who also partake of -that work of art, then the object evoking that condition is a work of -art. And however poetical, realistic, effectful, or interesting a work -may be, it is not a work of art if it does not evoke that feeling (quite -distinct from all other feelings) of joy, and of spiritual union with -another (the author) and with others (those who are also infected by -it). - -It is true that this indication is an _internal_ one, and that there are -people who have forgotten what the action of real art is, who expect -something else from art (in our society the great majority are in this -state), and that therefore such people may mistake for this æsthetic -feeling the feeling of divertisement and a certain excitement which they -receive from counterfeits of art. But though it is impossible to -undeceive these people, just as it is impossible to convince a man -suffering from “Daltonism” that green is not red, yet, for all that, -this indication remains perfectly definite to those whose feeling for -art is neither perverted nor atrophied, and it clearly distinguishes the -feeling produced by art from all other feelings. - -The chief peculiarity of this feeling is that the receiver of a true -artistic impression is so united to the artist that he feels as if the -work were his own and not someone else’s,—as if what it expresses were -just what he had long been wishing to express. A real work of art -destroys, in the consciousness of the receiver, the separation between -himself and the artist, nor that alone, but also between himself and all -whose minds receive this work of art. In this freeing of our personality -from its separation and isolation, in this uniting of it with others, -lies the chief characteristic and the great attractive force of art. - -If a man is infected by the author’s condition of soul, if he feels this -emotion and this union with others, then the object which has effected -this is art; but if there be no such infection, if there be not this -union with the author and with others who are moved by the same -work—then it is not art. And not only is infection a sure sign of art, -but the degree of infectiousness is also the sole measure of excellence -in art. - -_The stronger the infection the better is the art, as art_, speaking now -apart from its subject-matter, _i.e._ not considering the quality of the -feelings it transmits. - -And the degree of the infectiousness of art depends on three -conditions:— - -(1) On the greater or lesser individuality of the feeling transmitted; -(2) on the greater or lesser clearness with which the feeling is -transmitted; (3) on the sincerity of the artist, _i.e._ on the greater -or lesser force with which the artist himself feels the emotion he -transmits. - -The more individual the feeling transmitted the more strongly does it -act on the receiver; the more individual the state of soul into which he -is transferred the more pleasure does the receiver obtain, and therefore -the more readily and strongly does he join in it. - -The clearness of expression assists infection, because the receiver, who -mingles in consciousness with the author, is the better satisfied the -more clearly the feeling is transmitted, which, as it seems to him, he -has long known and felt, and for which he has only now found expression. - -But most of all is the degree of infectiousness of art increased by -the degree of sincerity in the artist. As soon as the spectator, -hearer, or reader feels that the artist is infected by his own -production, and writes, sings, or plays for himself and not merely to -act on others, this mental condition of the artist infects the -receiver; and, contrariwise, as soon as the spectator, reader, or -hearer feels that the author is not writing, singing, or playing for -his own satisfaction,—does not himself feel what he wishes to -express,—but is doing it for him, the receiver, a resistance -immediately springs up, and the most individual and the newest -feelings and the cleverest technique not only fail to produce any -infection but actually repel. - -I have mentioned three conditions of contagiousness in art, but they may -all be summed up into one, the last, sincerity, _i.e._ that the artist -should be impelled by an inner need to express his feeling. That -condition includes the first; for if the artist is sincere he will -express the feeling as he experienced it. And as each man is different -from everyone else, his feeling will be individual for everyone else; -and the more individual it is,—the more the artist has drawn it from the -depths of his nature,—the more sympathetic and sincere will it be. And -this same sincerity will impel the artist to find a clear expression of -the feeling which he wishes to transmit. - -Therefore this third condition—sincerity—is the most important of the -three. It is always complied with in peasant art, and this explains why -such art always acts so powerfully; but it is a condition almost -entirely absent from our upper-class art, which is continually produced -by artists actuated by personal aims of covetousness or vanity. - -Such are the three conditions which divide art from its counterfeits, -and which also decide the quality of every work of art apart from its -subject-matter. - -The absence of any one of these conditions excludes a work from the -category of art and relegates it to that of art’s counterfeits. If the -work does not transmit the artist’s peculiarity of feeling, and is -therefore not individual, if it is unintelligibly expressed, or if it -has not proceeded from the author’s inner need for expression—it is not -a work of art. If all these conditions are present, even in the smallest -degree, then the work, even if a weak one, is yet a work of art. - -The presence in various degrees of these three conditions: -individuality, clearness, and sincerity, decides the merit of a work of -art, as art, apart from subject-matter. All works of art take rank of -merit according to the degree in which they fulfil the first, the -second, and the third of these conditions. In one the individuality of -the feeling transmitted may predominate; in another, clearness of -expression; in a third, sincerity; while a fourth may have sincerity and -individuality but be deficient in clearness; a fifth, individuality and -clearness, but less sincerity; and so forth, in all possible degrees and -combinations. - -Thus is art divided from not art, and thus is the quality of art, as -art, decided, independently of its subject-matter, _i.e._ apart from -whether the feelings it transmits are good or bad. - -But how are we to define good and bad art with reference to its -subject-matter? - - - - - CHAPTER XVI - - -How in art are we to decide what is good and what is bad in -subject-matter? - -Art, like speech, is a means of communication, and therefore of -progress, _i.e._ of the movement of humanity forward towards perfection. -Speech renders accessible to men of the latest generations all the -knowledge discovered by the experience and reflection, both of preceding -generations and of the best and foremost men of their own times; art -renders accessible to men of the latest generations all the feelings -experienced by their predecessors, and those also which are being felt -by their best and foremost contemporaries. And as the evolution of -knowledge proceeds by truer and more necessary knowledge dislodging and -replacing what is mistaken and unnecessary, so the evolution of feeling -proceeds through art,—feelings less kind and less needful for the -well-being of mankind are replaced by others kinder and more needful for -that end. That is the purpose of art. And, speaking now of its -subject-matter, the more art fulfils that purpose the better the art, -and the less it fulfils it the worse the art. - -And the appraisement of feelings (_i.e._ the acknowledgment of these or -those feelings as being more or less good, more or less necessary for -the well-being of mankind) is made by the religious perception of the -age. - -In every period of history, and in every human society, there exists an -understanding of the meaning of life which represents the highest level -to which men of that society have attained,—an understanding defining -the highest good at which that society aims. And this understanding is -the religious perception of the given time and society. And this -religious perception is always clearly expressed by some advanced men, -and more or less vividly perceived by all the members of the society. -Such a religious perception and its corresponding expression exists -always in every society. If it appears to us that in our society there -is no religious perception, this is not because there really is none, -but only because we do not want to see it. And we often wish not to see -it because it exposes the fact that our life is inconsistent with that -religious perception. - -Religious perception in a society is like the direction of a flowing -river. If the river flows at all, it must have a direction. If a society -lives, there must be a religious perception indicating the direction in -which, more or less consciously, all its members tend. - -And so there always has been, and there is, a religious perception in -every society. And it is by the standard of this religious perception -that the feelings transmitted by art have always been estimated. Only on -the basis of this religious perception of their age have men always -chosen from the endlessly varied spheres of art that art which -transmitted feelings making religious perception operative in actual -life. And such art has always been highly valued and encouraged; while -art transmitting feelings already outlived, flowing from the antiquated -religious perceptions of a former age, has always been condemned and -despised. All the rest of art, transmitting those most diverse feelings -by means of which people commune together, was not condemned, and was -tolerated, if only it did not transmit feelings contrary to religious -perception. Thus, for instance, among the Greeks, art transmitting the -feeling of beauty, strength, and courage (Hesiod, Homer, Phidias) was -chosen, approved, and encouraged; while art transmitting feelings of -rude sensuality, despondency, and effeminacy was condemned and despised. -Among the Jews, art transmitting feelings of devotion and submission to -the God of the Hebrews and to His will (the epic of Genesis, the -prophets, the Psalms) was chosen and encouraged, while art transmitting -feelings of idolatry (the golden calf) was condemned and despised. All -the rest of art—stories, songs, dances, ornamentation of houses, of -utensils, and of clothes—which was not contrary to religious perception, -was neither distinguished nor discussed. Thus, in regard to its -subject-matter, has art been appraised always and everywhere, and thus -it should be appraised, for this attitude towards art proceeds from the -fundamental characteristics of human nature, and those characteristics -do not change. - -I know that according to an opinion current in our times, religion is a -superstition, which humanity has outgrown, and that it is therefore -assumed that no such thing exists as a religious perception common to us -all by which art, in our time, can be estimated. I know that this is the -opinion current in the pseudo-cultured circles of to-day. People who do -not acknowledge Christianity in its true meaning because it undermines -all their social privileges, and who, therefore, invent all kinds of -philosophic and æsthetic theories to hide from themselves the -meaninglessness and wrongness of their lives, cannot think otherwise. -These people intentionally, or sometimes unintentionally, confusing the -conception of a religious cult with the conception of religious -perception, think that by denying the cult they get rid of religious -perception. But even the very attacks on religion, and the attempts to -establish a life-conception contrary to the religious perception of our -times, most clearly demonstrate the existence of a religious perception -condemning the lives that are not in harmony with it. - -If humanity progresses, _i.e._ moves forward, there must inevitably be a -guide to the direction of that movement. And religions have always -furnished that guide. All history shows that the progress of humanity is -accomplished not otherwise than under the guidance of religion. But if -the race cannot progress without the guidance of religion,—and progress -is always going on, and consequently also in our own times,—then there -must be a religion of our times. So that, whether it pleases or -displeases the so-called cultured people of to-day, they must admit the -existence of religion—not of a religious cult, Catholic, Protestant, or -another, but of religious perception—which, even in our times, is the -guide always present where there is any progress. And if a religious -perception exists amongst us, then our art should be appraised on the -basis of that religious perception; and, as has always and everywhere -been the case, art transmitting feelings flowing from the religious -perception of our time should be chosen from all the indifferent art, -should be acknowledged, highly esteemed, and encouraged; while art -running counter to that perception should be condemned and despised, and -all the remaining indifferent art should neither be distinguished nor -encouraged. - -The religious perception of our time, in its widest and most practical -application, is the consciousness that our well-being, both material and -spiritual, individual and collective, temporal and eternal, lies in the -growth of brotherhood among all men—in their loving harmony with one -another. This perception is not only expressed by Christ and all the -best men of past ages, it is not only repeated in the most varied forms -and from most diverse sides by the best men of our own times, but it -already serves as a clue to all the complex labour of humanity, -consisting as this labour does, on the one hand, in the destruction of -physical and moral obstacles to the union of men, and, on the other -hand, in establishing the principles common to all men which can and -should unite them into one universal brotherhood. And it is on the basis -of this perception that we should appraise all the phenomena of our -life, and, among the rest, our art also; choosing from all its realms -whatever transmits feelings flowing from this religious perception, -highly prizing and encouraging such art, rejecting whatever is contrary -to this perception, and not attributing to the rest of art an importance -not properly pertaining to it. - -The chief mistake made by people of the upper classes of the time of the -so-called Renaissance,—a mistake which we still perpetuate,—was not that -they ceased to value and to attach importance to religious art (people -of that period could not attach importance to it, because, like our own -upper classes, they could not believe in what the majority considered to -be religion), but their mistake was that they set up in place of -religious art which was lacking, an insignificant art which aimed only -at giving pleasure, _i.e._ they began to choose, to value, and to -encourage, in place of religious art, something which, in any case, did -not deserve such esteem and encouragement. - -One of the Fathers of the Church said that the great evil is not that -men do not know God, but that they have set up, instead of God, that -which is not God. So also with art. The great misfortune of the people -of the upper classes of our time is not so much that they are without a -religious art, as that, instead of a supreme religious art, chosen from -all the rest as being specially important and valuable, they have chosen -a most insignificant and, usually, harmful art, which aims at pleasing -certain people, and which, therefore, if only by its exclusive nature, -stands in contradiction to that Christian principle of universal union -which forms the religious perception of our time. Instead of religious -art, an empty and often vicious art is set up, and this hides from men’s -notice the need of that true religious art which should be present in -life in order to improve it. - -It is true that art which satisfies the demands of the religious -perception of our time is quite unlike former art, but, notwithstanding -this dissimilarity, to a man who does not intentionally hide the truth -from himself, it is very clear and definite what does form the religious -art of our age. In former times, when the highest religious perception -united only some people (who, even if they formed a large society, were -yet but one society surrounded by others—Jews, or Athenian or Roman -citizens), the feelings transmitted by the art of that time flowed from -a desire for the might, greatness, glory, and prosperity of that -society, and the heroes of art might be people who contributed to that -prosperity by strength, by craft, by fraud, or by cruelty (Ulysses, -Jacob, David, Samson, Hercules, and all the heroes). But the religious -perception of our times does not select any one society of men; on the -contrary, it demands the union of all—absolutely of all people without -exception—and above every other virtue it sets brotherly love to all -men. And, therefore, the feelings transmitted by the art of our time not -only cannot coincide with the feelings transmitted by former art, but -must run counter to them. - -Christian, truly Christian, art has been so long in establishing itself, -and has not yet established itself, just because the Christian religious -perception was not one of those small steps by which humanity advances -regularly; but was an enormous revolution, which, if it has not already -altered, must inevitably alter the entire life-conception of mankind, -and, consequently, the whole internal organisation of their life. It is -true that the life of humanity, like that of an individual, moves -regularly; but in that regular movement come, as it were, -turning-points, which sharply divide the preceding from the subsequent -life. Christianity was such a turning-point; such, at least, it must -appear to us who live by the Christian perception of life. Christian -perception gave another, a new direction to all human feelings, and -therefore completely altered both the contents and the significance of -art. The Greeks could make use of Persian art and the Romans could use -Greek art, or, similarly, the Jews could use Egyptian art,—the -fundamental ideals were one and the same. Now the ideal was the -greatness and prosperity of the Persians, now the greatness and -prosperity of the Greeks, now that of the Romans. The same art was -transferred into other conditions, and served new nations. But the -Christian ideal changed and reversed everything, so that, as the Gospel -puts it, “That which was exalted among men has become an abomination in -the sight of God.” The ideal is no longer the greatness of Pharaoh or of -a Roman emperor, not the beauty of a Greek nor the wealth of Phœnicia, -but humility, purity, compassion, love. The hero is no longer Dives, but -Lazarus the beggar; not Mary Magdalene in the day of her beauty, but in -the day of her repentance; not those who acquire wealth, but those who -have abandoned it; not those who dwell in palaces, but those who dwell -in catacombs and huts; not those who rule over others, but those who -acknowledge no authority but God’s. And the greatest work of art is no -longer a cathedral of victory[84] with statues of conquerors, but the -representation of a human soul so transformed by love that a man who is -tormented and murdered yet pities and loves his persecutors. - -And the change is so great that men of the Christian world find it -difficult to resist the inertia of the heathen art to which they have -been accustomed all their lives. The subject-matter of Christian -religious art is so new to them, so unlike the subject-matter of former -art, that it seems to them as though Christian art were a denial of art, -and they cling desperately to the old art. But this old art, having no -longer, in our day, any source in religious perception, has lost its -meaning, and we shall have to abandon it whether we wish to or not. - -The essence of the Christian perception consists in the recognition by -every man of his sonship to God, and of the consequent union of men with -God and with one another, as is said in the Gospel (John xvii. 21[85]). -Therefore the subject-matter of Christian art is such feeling as can -unite men with God and with one another. - -The expression _unite men with God and with one another_ may seem -obscure to people accustomed to the misuse of these words which is so -customary, but the words have a perfectly clear meaning nevertheless. -They indicate that the Christian union of man (in contradiction to the -partial, exclusive union of only some men) is that which unites all -without exception. - -Art, all art, has this characteristic, that it unites people. Every art -causes those to whom the artist’s feeling is transmitted to unite in -soul with the artist, and also with all who receive the same impression. -But non-Christian art, while uniting some people together, makes that -very union a cause of separation between these united people and others; -so that union of this kind is often a source, not only of division, but -even of enmity towards others. Such is all patriotic art, with its -anthems, poems, and monuments; such is all Church art, _i.e._ the art of -certain cults, with their images, statues, processions, and other local -ceremonies. Such art is belated and non-Christian art, uniting the -people of one cult only to separate them yet more sharply from the -members of other cults, and even to place them in relations of hostility -to each other. Christian art is only such as tends to unite all without -exception, either by evoking in them the perception that each man and -all men stand in like relation towards God and towards their neighbour, -or by evoking in them identical feelings, which may even be the very -simplest provided only that they are not repugnant to Christianity and -are natural to everyone without exception. - -Good Christian art of our time may be unintelligible to people because -of imperfections in its form, or because men are inattentive to it, but -it must be such that all men can experience the feelings it transmits. -It must be the art, not of some one group of people, nor of one class, -nor of one nationality, nor of one religious cult; that is, it must not -transmit feelings which are accessible only to a man educated in a -certain way, or only to an aristocrat, or a merchant, or only to a -Russian, or a native of Japan, or a Roman Catholic, or a Buddhist, etc., -but it must transmit feelings accessible to everyone. Only art of this -kind can be acknowledged in our time to be good art, worthy of being -chosen out from all the rest of art and encouraged. - -Christian art, _i.e._ the art of our time, should be catholic in the -original meaning of the word, _i.e._ universal, and therefore it should -unite all men. And only two kinds of feeling do unite all men: first, -feelings flowing from the perception of our sonship to God and of the -brotherhood of man; and next, the simple feelings of common life, -accessible to everyone without exception—such as the feeling of -merriment, of pity, of cheerfulness, of tranquillity, etc. Only these -two kinds of feelings can now supply material for art good in its -subject-matter. - -And the action of these two kinds of art, apparently so dissimilar, is -one and the same. The feelings flowing from perception of our sonship to -God and of the brotherhood of man—such as a feeling of sureness in -truth, devotion to the will of God, self-sacrifice, respect for and love -of man—evoked by Christian religious perception; and the simplest -feelings—such as a softened or a merry mood caused by a song or an -amusing jest intelligible to everyone, or by a touching story, or a -drawing, or a little doll: both alike produce one and the same -effect—the loving union of man with man. Sometimes people who are -together are, if not hostile to one another, at least estranged in mood -and feeling, till perchance a story, a performance, a picture, or even a -building, but oftenest of all music, unites them all as by an electric -flash, and, in place of their former isolation or even enmity, they are -all conscious of union and mutual love. Each is glad that another feels -what he feels; glad of the communion established, not only between him -and all present, but also with all now living who will yet share the -same impression; and more than that, he feels the mysterious gladness of -a communion which, reaching beyond the grave, unites us with all men of -the past who have been moved by the same feelings, and with all men of -the future who will yet be touched by them. And this effect is produced -both by the religious art which transmits feelings of love to God and -one’s neighbour, and by universal art transmitting the very simplest -feelings common to all men. - -The art of our time should be appraised differently from former art -chiefly in this, that the art of our time, _i.e._ Christian art (basing -itself on a religious perception which demands the union of man), -excludes from the domain of art good in subject-matter everything -transmitting exclusive feelings, which do not unite but divide men. It -relegates such work to the category of art bad in its subject-matter, -while, on the other hand, it includes in the category of art good in -subject-matter a section not formerly admitted to deserve to be chosen -out and respected, namely, universal art transmitting even the most -trifling and simple feelings if only they are accessible to all men -without exception, and therefore unite them. Such art cannot, in our -time, but be esteemed good, for it attains the end which the religious -perception of our time, _i.e._ Christianity, sets before humanity. - -Christian art either evokes in men those feelings which, through love of -God and of one’s neighbour, draw them to greater and ever greater union, -and make them ready for and capable of such union; or evokes in them -those feelings which show them that they are already united in the joys -and sorrows of life. And therefore the Christian art of our time can be -and is of two kinds: (1) art transmitting feelings flowing from a -religious perception of man’s position in the world in relation to God -and to his neighbour—religious art in the limited meaning of the term; -and (2) art transmitting the simplest feelings of common life, but such, -always, as are accessible to all men in the whole world—the art of -common life—the art of a people—universal art. Only these two kinds of -art can be considered good art in our time. - -The first, religious art,—transmitting both positive feelings of love to -God and one’s neighbour, and negative feelings of indignation and horror -at the violation of love,—manifests itself chiefly in the form of words, -and to some extent also in painting and sculpture: the second kind -(universal art) transmitting feelings accessible to all, manifests -itself in words, in painting, in sculpture, in dances, in architecture, -and, most of all, in music. - -If I were asked to give modern examples of each of these kinds of art, -then, as examples of the highest art, flowing from love of God and man -(both of the higher, positive, and of the lower, negative kind), in -literature I should name _The Robbers_ by Schiller: Victor Hugo’s _Les -Pauvres Gens_ and _Les Misérables_: the novels and stories of -Dickens—_The Tale of Two Cities_, _The Christmas Carol_, _The Chimes_, -and others: _Uncle Tom’s Cabin_: Dostoievsky’s works—especially his -_Memoirs from the House of Death_: and _Adam Bede_ by George Eliot. - -In modern painting, strange to say, works of this kind, directly -transmitting the Christian feeling of love of God and of one’s -neighbour, are hardly to be found, especially among the works of the -celebrated painters. There are plenty of pictures treating of the Gospel -stories; they, however, depict historical events with great wealth of -detail, but do not, and cannot, transmit religious feeling not possessed -by their painters. There are many pictures treating of the personal -feelings of various people, but of pictures representing great deeds of -self-sacrifice and of Christian love there are very few, and what there -are are principally by artists who are not celebrated, and are, for the -most part, not pictures but merely sketches. Such, for instance, is the -drawing by Kramskoy (worth many of his finished pictures), showing a -drawing-room with a balcony, past which troops are marching in triumph -on their return from the war. On the balcony stands a wet-nurse holding -a baby and a boy. They are admiring the procession of the troops, but -the mother, covering her face with a handkerchief, has fallen back on -the sofa, sobbing. Such also is the picture by Walter Langley, to which -I have already referred, and such again is a picture by the French -artist Morion, depicting a lifeboat hastening, in a heavy storm, to the -relief of a steamer that is being wrecked. Approaching these in kind are -pictures which represent the hard-working peasant with respect and love. -Such are the pictures by Millet, and, particularly, his drawing, “The -Man with the Hoe,” also pictures in this style by Jules Breton, -L’Hermitte, Defregger, and others. As examples of pictures evoking -indignation and horror at the violation of love to God and man, Gay’s -picture, “Judgment,” may serve, and also Leizen-Mayer’s, “Signing the -Death Warrant.” But there are also very few of this kind. Anxiety about -the technique and the beauty of the picture for the most part obscures -the feeling. For instance, Gérôme’s “Pollice Verso” expresses, not so -much horror at what is being perpetrated as attraction by the beauty of -the spectacle.[86] - -To give examples, from the modern art of our upper classes, of art of -the second kind, good universal art or even of the art of a whole -people, is yet more difficult, especially in literary art and music. If -there are some works which by their inner contents might be assigned to -this class (such as _Don Quixote_, Molière’s comedies, _David -Copperfield_ and _The Pickwick Papers_ by Dickens, Gogol’s and Pushkin’s -tales, and some things of Maupassant’s), these works are for the most -part—from the exceptional nature of the feelings they transmit, and the -superfluity of special details of time and locality, and, above all, on -account of the poverty of their subject-matter in comparison with -examples of universal ancient art (such, for instance, as the story of -Joseph)—comprehensible only to people of their own circle. That Joseph’s -brethren, being jealous of his father’s affection, sell him to the -merchants; that Potiphar’s wife wishes to tempt the youth; that having -attained the highest station, he takes pity on his brothers, including -Benjamin the favourite,—these and all the rest are feelings accessible -alike to a Russian peasant, a Chinese, an African, a child, or an old -man, educated or uneducated; and it is all written with such restraint, -is so free from any superfluous detail, that the story may be told to -any circle and will be equally comprehensible and touching to everyone. -But not such are the feelings of Don Quixote or of Molière’s heroes -(though Molière is perhaps the most universal, and therefore the most -excellent, artist of modern times), nor of Pickwick and his friends. -These feelings are not common to all men but very exceptional, and -therefore, to make them infectious, the authors have surrounded them -with abundant details of time and place. And this abundance of detail -makes the stories difficult of comprehension to all people not living -within reach of the conditions described by the author. - -The author of the novel of Joseph did not need to describe in detail, as -would be done nowadays, the bloodstained coat of Joseph, the dwelling -and dress of Jacob, the pose and attire of Potiphar’s wife, and how, -adjusting the bracelet on her left arm, she said, “Come to me,” and so -on, because the subject-matter of feelings in this novel is so strong -that all details, except the most essential,—such as that Joseph went -out into another room to weep,—are superfluous, and would only hinder -the transmission of feelings. And therefore this novel is accessible to -all men, touches people of all nations and classes, young and old, and -has lasted to our times, and will yet last for thousands of years to -come. But strip the best novels of our times of their details, and what -will remain? - -It is therefore impossible in modern literature to indicate works fully -satisfying the demands of universality. Such works as exist are, to a -great extent, spoilt by what is usually called “realism,” but would be -better termed “provincialism,” in art. - -In music the same occurs as in verbal art, and for similar reasons. In -consequence of the poorness of the feeling they contain, the melodies of -the modern composers are amazingly empty and insignificant. And to -strengthen the impression produced by these empty melodies, the new -musicians pile complex modulations on to each trivial melody, not only -in their own national manner, but also in the way characteristic of -their own exclusive circle and particular musical school. Melody—every -melody—is free, and may be understood of all men; but as soon as it is -bound up with a particular harmony, it ceases to be accessible except to -people trained to such harmony, and it becomes strange, not only to -common men of another nationality, but to all who do not belong to the -circle whose members have accustomed themselves to certain forms of -harmonisation. So that music, like poetry, travels in a vicious circle. -Trivial and exclusive melodies, in order to make them attractive, are -laden with harmonic, rhythmic, and orchestral complications, and thus -become yet more exclusive, and far from being universal are not even -national, _i.e._ they are not comprehensible to the whole people but -only to some people. - -In music, besides marches and dances by various composers, which satisfy -the demands of universal art, one can indicate very few works of this -class: Bach’s famous violin _aria_, Chopin’s nocturne in E flat major, -and perhaps a dozen bits (not whole pieces, but parts) selected from the -works of Haydn, Mozart, Schubert, Beethoven, and Chopin.[87] - -Although in painting the same thing is repeated as in poetry and in -music,—namely, that in order to make them more interesting, works weak -in conception are surrounded by minutely studied accessories of time and -place, which give them a temporary and local interest but make them less -universal,—still, in painting, more than in the other spheres of art, -may be found works satisfying the demands of universal Christian art; -that is to say, there are more works expressing feelings in which all -men may participate. - -In the arts of painting and sculpture, all pictures and statues in -so-called genre style, depictions of animals, landscapes and caricatures -with subjects comprehensible to everyone, and also all kinds of -ornaments, are universal in subject-matter. Such productions in painting -and sculpture are very numerous (_e.g._ china dolls), but for the most -part such objects (for instance, ornaments of all kinds) are either not -considered to be art or are considered to be art of a low quality. In -reality all such objects, if only they transmit a true feeling -experienced by the artist and comprehensible to everyone (however -insignificant it may seem to us to be) are works of real, good, -Christian art. - -I fear it will here be urged against me that having denied that the -conception of beauty can supply a standard for works of art, I -contradict myself by acknowledging ornaments to be works of good art. -The reproach is unjust, for the subject-matter of all kinds of -ornamentation consists not in the beauty, but in the feeling (of -admiration of, and delight in, the combination of lines and colours) -which the artist has experienced and with which he infects the -spectator. Art remains what it was and what it must be: nothing but the -infection by one man of another, or of others, with the feelings -experienced by the infector. Among those feelings is the feeling of -delight at what pleases the sight. Objects pleasing the sight may be -such as please a small or a large number of people, or such as please -all men. And ornaments for the most part are of the latter kind. A -landscape representing a very unusual view, or a genre picture of a -special subject, may not please everyone, but ornaments, from Yakutsk -ornaments to Greek ones, are intelligible to everyone and evoke a -similar feeling of admiration in all, and therefore this despised kind -of art should, in Christian society, be esteemed far above exceptional, -pretentious pictures and sculptures. - -So that there are only two kinds of good Christian art: all the rest of -art not comprised in these two divisions should be acknowledged to be -bad art, deserving not to be encouraged but to be driven out, denied and -despised, as being art not uniting but dividing people. Such, in -literary art, are all novels and poems which transmit Church or -patriotic feelings, and also exclusive feelings pertaining only to the -class of the idle rich; such as aristocratic honour, satiety, spleen, -pessimism, and refined and vicious feelings flowing from sex-love—quite -incomprehensible to the great majority of mankind. - -In painting we must similarly place in the class of bad art all the -Church, patriotic, and exclusive pictures; all the pictures representing -the amusements and allurements of a rich and idle life; all the -so-called symbolic pictures, in which the very meaning of the symbol is -comprehensible only to the people of a certain circle; and, above all, -pictures with voluptuous subjects—all that odious female nudity which -fills all the exhibitions and galleries. And to this class belongs -almost all the chamber and opera music of our times,—beginning -especially from Beethoven (Schumann, Berlioz, Liszt, Wagner),—by its -subject-matter devoted to the expression of feelings accessible only to -people who have developed in themselves an unhealthy, nervous irritation -evoked by this exclusive, artificial, and complex music. - -“What! the _Ninth Symphony_ not a good work of art!” I hear exclaimed by -indignant voices. - -And I reply: Most certainly it is not. All that I have written I have -written with the sole purpose of finding a clear and reasonable -criterion by which to judge the merits of works of art. And this -criterion, coinciding with the indications of plain and sane sense, -indubitably shows me that that symphony by Beethoven is not a good work -of art. Of course, to people educated in the adoration of certain -productions and of their authors, to people whose taste has been -perverted just by being educated in such adoration, the acknowledgment -that such a celebrated work is bad is amazing and strange. But how are -we to escape the indications of reason and of common sense? - -Beethoven’s _Ninth Symphony_ is considered a great work of art. To -verify its claim to be such, I must first ask myself whether this work -transmits the highest religious feeling? I reply in the negative, for -music in itself cannot transmit those feelings; and therefore I ask -myself next, Since this work does not belong to the highest kind of -religious art, has it the other characteristic of the good art of our -time,—the quality of uniting all men in one common feeling: does it rank -as Christian universal art? And again I have no option but to reply in -the negative; for not only do I not see how the feelings transmitted by -this work could unite people not specially trained to submit themselves -to its complex hypnotism, but I am unable to imagine to myself a crowd -of normal people who could understand anything of this long, confused, -and artificial production, except short snatches which are lost in a sea -of what is incomprehensible. And therefore, whether I like it or not, I -am compelled to conclude that this work belongs to the rank of bad art. -It is curious to note in this connection, that attached to the end of -this very symphony is a poem of Schiller’s which (though somewhat -obscurely) expresses this very thought, namely, that feeling (Schiller -speaks only of the feeling of gladness) unites people and evokes love in -them. But though this poem is sung at the end of the symphony, the music -does not accord with the thought expressed in the verses; for the music -is exclusive and does not unite all men, but unites only a few, dividing -them off from the rest of mankind. - -And, just in this same way, in all branches of art, many and many works -considered great by the upper classes of our society will have to be -judged. By this one sure criterion we shall have to judge the celebrated -_Divine Comedy_ and _Jerusalem Delivered_, and a great part of -Shakespeare’s and Goethe’s works, and in painting every representation -of miracles, including Raphael’s “Transfiguration,” etc. - -Whatever the work may be and however it may have been extolled, we have -first to ask whether this work is one of real art or a counterfeit. -Having acknowledged, on the basis of the indication of its -infectiousness even to a small class of people, that a certain -production belongs to the realm of art, it is necessary, on the basis of -the indication of its accessibility, to decide the next question, Does -this work belong to the category of bad, exclusive art, opposed to -religious perception, or to Christian art, uniting people? And having -acknowledged an article to belong to real Christian art, we must then, -according to whether it transmits the feelings flowing from love to God -and man, or merely the simple feelings uniting all men, assign it a -place in the ranks of religious art or in those of universal art. - -Only on the basis of such verification shall we find it possible to -select from the whole mass of what, in our society, claims to be art, -those works which form real, important, necessary spiritual food, and to -separate them from all the harmful and useless art, and from the -counterfeits of art which surround us. Only on the basis of such -verification shall we be able to rid ourselves of the pernicious results -of harmful art, and to avail ourselves of that beneficent action which -is the purpose of true and good art, and which is indispensable for the -spiritual life of man and of humanity. - -Footnote 84: - - There is in Moscow a magnificent “Cathedral of our Saviour,” erected - to commemorate the defeat of the French in the war of 1812.—Trans. - -Footnote 85: - - “That they may be one; even as thou, Father, art in me, and I in thee, - that they also may be in us.” - -Footnote 86: - - In this picture the spectators in the Roman Amphitheatre are turning - down their thumbs to show that they wish the vanquished gladiator to - be killed.—Trans. - -Footnote 87: - - While offering as examples of art those that seem to me the best, I - attach no special importance to my selection; for, besides being - insufficiently informed in all branches of art, I belong to the class - of people whose taste has, by false training, been perverted. And - therefore my old, inured habits may cause me to err, and I may mistake - for absolute merit the impression a work produced on me in my youth. - My only purpose in mentioning examples of works of this or that class - is to make my meaning clearer, and to show how, with my present views, - I understand excellence in art in relation to its subject-matter. I - must, moreover, mention that I consign my own artistic productions to - the category of bad art, excepting the story _God sees the Truth_, - which seeks a place in the first class, and _The Prisoner of the - Caucasus_, which belongs to the second. - - - - - CHAPTER XVII - - -Art is one of two organs of human progress. By words man interchanges -thoughts, by the forms of art he interchanges feelings, and this with -all men, not only of the present time, but also of the past and the -future. It is natural to human beings to employ both these organs of -intercommunication, and therefore the perversion of either of them must -cause evil results to the society in which it occurs. And these results -will be of two kinds: first, the absence, in that society, of the work -which should be performed by the organ; and secondly, the harmful -activity of the perverted organ. And just these results have shown -themselves in our society. The organ of art has been perverted, and -therefore the upper classes of society have, to a great extent, been -deprived of the work that it should have performed. The diffusion in our -society of enormous quantities of, on the one hand, those counterfeits -of art which only serve to amuse and corrupt people, and, on the other -hand, of works of insignificant, exclusive art, mistaken for the highest -art, have perverted most men’s capacity to be infected by true works of -art, and have thus deprived them of the possibility of experiencing the -highest feelings to which mankind has attained, and which can only be -transmitted from man to man by art. - -All the best that has been done in art by man remains strange to people -who lack the capacity to be infected by art, and is replaced either by -spurious counterfeits of art or by insignificant art, which they mistake -for real art. People of our time and of our society are delighted with -Baudelaires, Verlaines, Moréases, Ibsens, and Maeterlincks in poetry; -with Monets, Manets, Puvis de Chavannes, Burne-Joneses, Stucks, and -Böcklins in painting; with Wagners, Listzs, Richard Strausses, in music; -and they are no longer capable of comprehending either the highest or -the simplest art. - -In the upper classes, in consequence of this loss of capacity to be -infected by works of art, people grow up, are educated, and live, -lacking the fertilising, improving influence of art, and therefore not -only do not advance towards perfection, do not become kinder, but, on -the contrary, possessing highly-developed external means of -civilisation, they yet tend to become continually more savage, more -coarse, and more cruel. - -Such is the result of the absence from our society of the activity of -that essential organ—art. But the consequences of the perverted activity -of that organ are yet more harmful. And they are numerous. - -The first consequence, plain for all to see, is the enormous expenditure -of the labour of working people on things which are not only useless, -but which, for the most part, are harmful; and more than that, the waste -of priceless human lives on this unnecessary and harmful business. It is -terrible to consider with what intensity, and amid what privations, -millions of people—who lack time and opportunity to attend to what they -and their families urgently require—labour for 10, 12, or 14 hours on -end, and even at night, setting the type for pseudo-artistic books which -spread vice among mankind, or working for theatres, concerts, -exhibitions, and picture galleries, which, for the most part, also serve -vice; but it is yet more terrible to reflect that lively, kindly -children, capable of all that is good, are devoted from their early -years to such tasks as these: that for 6, 8, or 10 hours a day, and for -10 or 15 years, some of them should play scales and exercises; others -should twist their limbs, walk on their toes, and lift their legs above -their heads; a third set should sing solfeggios; a fourth set, showing -themselves off in all manner of ways, should pronounce verses; a fifth -set should draw from busts or from nude models and paint studies; a -sixth set should write compositions according to the rules of certain -periods; and that in these occupations, unworthy of a human being, which -are often continued long after full maturity, they should waste their -physical and mental strength and lose all perception of the meaning of -life. It is often said that it is horrible and pitiful to see little -acrobats putting their legs over their necks, but it is not less pitiful -to see children of 10 giving concerts, and it is still worse to see -schoolboys of 10 who, as a preparation for literary work, have learnt by -heart the exceptions to the Latin grammar. These people not only grow -physically and mentally deformed, but also morally deformed, and become -incapable of doing anything really needed by man. Occupying in society -the rôle of amusers of the rich, they lose their sense of human dignity, -and develop in themselves such a passion for public applause that they -are always a prey to an inflated and unsatisfied vanity which grows in -them to diseased dimensions, and they expend their mental strength in -efforts to obtain satisfaction for this passion. And what is most tragic -of all is that these people, who for the sake of art are spoilt for -life, not only do not render service to this art, but, on the contrary, -inflict the greatest harm on it. They are taught in academies, schools, -and conservatoires how to counterfeit art, and by learning this they so -pervert themselves that they quite lose the capacity to produce works of -real art, and become purveyors of that counterfeit, or trivial, or -depraved art which floods our society. This is the first obvious -consequence of the perversion of the organ of art. - -The second consequence is that the productions of amusement-art, which -are prepared in such terrific quantities by the armies of professional -artists, enable the rich people of our times to live the lives they do, -lives not only unnatural but in contradiction to the humane principles -these people themselves profess. To live as do the rich, idle people, -especially the women, far from nature and from animals, in artificial -conditions, with muscles atrophied or misdeveloped by gymnastics, and -with enfeebled vital energy would be impossible were it not for what is -called art—for this occupation and amusement which hides from them the -meaninglessness of their lives, and saves them from the dulness that -oppresses them. Take from all these people the theatres, concerts, -exhibitions, piano-playing, songs, and novels, with which they now fill -their time in full confidence that occupation with these things is a -very refined, æsthetical, and therefore good occupation; take from the -patrons of art who buy pictures, assist musicians, and are acquainted -with writers, their rôle of protectors of that important matter art, and -they will not be able to continue such a life, but will all be eaten up -by ennui and spleen, and will become conscious of the meaninglessness -and wrongness of their present mode of life. Only occupation with what, -among them, is considered art, renders it possible for them to continue -to live on, infringing all natural conditions, without perceiving the -emptiness and cruelty of their lives. And this support afforded to the -false manner of life pursued by the rich is the second consequence, and -a serious one, of the perversion of art. - -The third consequence of the perversion of art is the perplexity -produced in the minds of children and of plain folk. Among people not -perverted by the false theories of our society, among workers and -children, there exists a very definite conception of what people may be -respected and praised for. In the minds of peasants and children the -ground for praise or eulogy can only be either physical strength: -Hercules, the heroes and conquerors; or moral, spiritual, strength: -Sakya Muni giving up a beautiful wife and a kingdom to save mankind, -Christ going to the cross for the truth he professed, and all the -martyrs and the saints. Both are understood by peasants and children. -They understand that physical strength must be respected, for it compels -respect; and the moral strength of goodness an unperverted man cannot -fail to respect, because all his spiritual being draws him towards it. -But these people, children and peasants, suddenly perceive that besides -those praised, respected, and rewarded for physical or moral strength, -there are others who are praised, extolled, and rewarded much more than -the heroes of strength and virtue, merely because they sing well, -compose verses, or dance. They see that singers, composers, painters, -ballet-dancers, earn millions of roubles and receive more honour than -the saints do: and peasants and children are perplexed. - -When 50 years had elapsed after Pushkin’s death, and, simultaneously, -the cheap edition of his works began to circulate among the people and a -monument was erected to him in Moscow, I received more than a dozen -letters from different peasants asking why Pushkin was raised to such -dignity? And only the other day a literate[88] man from Saratoff called -on me who had evidently gone out of his mind over this very question. He -was on his way to Moscow to expose the clergy for having taken part in -raising a “monament” to Mr. Pushkin. - -Indeed one need only imagine to oneself what the state of mind of such a -man of the people must be when he learns, from such rumours and -newspapers as reach him, that the clergy, the Government officials, and -all the best people in Russia are triumphantly unveiling a statue to a -great man, the benefactor, the pride of Russia—Pushkin, of whom till -then he had never heard. From all sides he reads or hears about this, -and he naturally supposes that if such honours are rendered to anyone, -then without doubt he must have done something extraordinary—either some -feat of strength or of goodness. He tries to learn who Pushkin was, and -having discovered that Pushkin was neither a hero nor a general, but was -a private person and a writer, he comes to the conclusion that Pushkin -must have been a holy man and a teacher of goodness, and he hastens to -read or to hear his life and works. But what must be his perplexity when -he learns that Pushkin was a man of more than easy morals, who was -killed in a duel, _i.e._ when attempting to murder another man, and that -all his service consisted in writing verses about love, which were often -very indecent. - -That a hero, or Alexander the Great, or Genghis Khan, or Napoleon were -great, he understands, because any one of them could have crushed him -and a thousand like him; that Buddha, Socrates, and Christ were great he -also understands, for he knows and feels that he and all men should be -such as they were; but why a man should be great because he wrote verses -about the love of women he cannot make out. - -A similar perplexity must trouble the brain of a Breton or Norman -peasant who hears that a monument, “_une statue_” (as to the Madonna), -is being erected to Baudelaire, and reads, or is told, what the contents -of his _Fleurs du Mal_ are; or, more amazing still, to Verlaine, when he -learns the story of that man’s wretched, vicious life, and reads his -verses. And what confusion it must cause in the brains of peasants when -they learn that some Patti or Taglioni is paid £10,000 for a season, or -that a painter gets as much for a picture, or that authors of novels -describing love-scenes have received even more than that. - -And it is the same with children. I remember how I passed through this -stage of amazement and stupefaction, and only reconciled myself to this -exaltation of artists to the level of heroes and saints by lowering in -my own estimation the importance of moral excellence, and by attributing -a false, unnatural meaning to works of art. And a similar confusion must -occur in the soul of each child and each man of the people when he -learns of the strange honours and rewards that are lavished on artists. -This is the third consequence of the false relation in which our society -stands towards art. - -The fourth consequence is that people of the upper classes, more and -more frequently encountering the contradictions between beauty and -goodness, put the ideal of beauty first, thus freeing themselves from -the demands of morality. These people, reversing the rôles, instead of -admitting, as is really the case, that the art they serve is an -antiquated affair, allege that morality is an antiquated affair, which -can have no importance for people situated on that high plane of -development on which they opine that they are situated. - -This result of the false relation to art showed itself in our society -long ago; but recently, with its prophet Nietzsche and his adherents, -and with the decadents and certain English æsthetes who coincide with -him, it is being expressed with especial impudence. The decadents, and -æsthetes of the type at one time represented by Oscar Wilde, select as a -theme for their productions the denial of morality and the laudation of -vice. - -This art has partly generated, and partly coincides with, a similar -philosophic theory. I recently received from America a book entitled -“_The Survival of the Fittest: Philosophy of Power_, 1896, by Ragnar -Redbeard, Chicago.” The substance of this book, as it is expressed in -the editor’s preface, is that to measure “right” by the false philosophy -of the Hebrew prophets and “weepful” Messiahs is madness. Right is not -the offspring of doctrine but of power. All laws, commandments, or -doctrines as to not doing to another what you do not wish done to you, -have no inherent authority whatever, but receive it only from the club, -the gallows, and the sword. A man truly free is under no obligation to -obey any injunction, human or divine. Obedience is the sign of the -degenerate. Disobedience is the stamp of the hero. Men should not be -bound by moral rules invented by their foes. The whole world is a -slippery battlefield. Ideal justice demands that the vanquished should -be exploited, emasculated, and scorned. The free and brave may seize the -world. And, therefore, there should be eternal war for life, for land, -for love, for women, for power, and for gold. (Something similar was -said a few years ago by the celebrated and refined academician, Vogüé.) -The earth and its treasures is “booty for the bold.” - -The author has evidently by himself, independently of Nietzsche, come to -the same conclusions which are professed by the new artists. - -Expressed in the form of a doctrine these positions startle us. In -reality they are implied in the ideal of art serving beauty. The art of -our upper classes has educated people in this ideal of the -over-man,[89]—which is, in reality, the old ideal of Nero, Stenka -Razin,[90] Genghis Khan, Robert Macaire,[91] or Napoleon, and all their -accomplices, assistants, and adulators—and it supports this ideal with -all its might. - -It is this supplanting of the ideal of what is right by the ideal of -what is beautiful, _i.e._ of what is pleasant, that is the fourth -consequence, and a terrible one, of the perversion of art in our -society. It is fearful to think of what would befall humanity were such -art to spread among the masses of the people. And it already begins to -spread. - -Finally, the fifth and chief result is, that the art which flourishes in -the upper classes of European society has a directly vitiating -influence, infecting people with the worst feelings and with those most -harmful to humanity—superstition, patriotism, and, above all, -sensuality. - -Look carefully into the causes of the ignorance of the masses, and you -may see that the chief cause does not at all lie in the lack of schools -and libraries, as we are accustomed to suppose, but in those -superstitions, both ecclesiastical and patriotic, with which the people -are saturated, and which are unceasingly generated by all the methods of -art. Church superstitions are supported and produced by the poetry of -prayers, hymns, painting, by the sculpture of images and of statues, by -singing, by organs, by music, by architecture, and even by dramatic art -in religious ceremonies. Patriotic superstitions are supported and -produced by verses and stories, which are supplied even in schools, by -music, by songs, by triumphal processions, by royal meetings, by martial -pictures, and by monuments. - -Were it not for this continual activity in all departments of art, -perpetuating the ecclesiastical and patriotic intoxication and -embitterment of the people, the masses would long ere this have attained -to true enlightenment. - -But it is not only in Church matters and patriotic matters that art -depraves; it is art in our time that serves as the chief cause of the -perversion of people in the most important question of social life—in -their sexual relations. We nearly all know by our own experience, and -those who are fathers and mothers know in the case of their grown-up -children also, what fearful mental and physical suffering, what useless -waste of strength, people suffer merely as a consequence of -dissoluteness in sexual desire. - -Since the world began, since the Trojan war, which sprang from that same -sexual dissoluteness, down to and including the suicides and murders of -lovers described in almost every newspaper, a great proportion of the -sufferings of the human race have come from this source. - -And what is art doing? All art, real and counterfeit, with very few -exceptions, is devoted to describing, depicting, and inflaming sexual -love in every shape and form. When one remembers all those novels and -their lust-kindling descriptions of love, from the most refined to the -grossest, with which the literature of our society overflows; if one -only remembers all those pictures and statues representing women’s naked -bodies, and all sorts of abominations which are reproduced in -illustrations and advertisements; if one only remembers all the filthy -operas and operettas, songs and _romances_ with which our world teems, -involuntarily it seems as if existing art had but one definite aim—to -disseminate vice as widely as possible. - -Such, though not all, are the most direct consequences of that -perversion of art which has occurred in our society. So that, what in -our society is called art not only does not conduce to the progress of -mankind, but, more than almost anything else, hinders the attainment of -goodness in our lives. - -And therefore the question which involuntarily presents itself to every -man free from artistic activity and therefore not bound to existing art -by self-interest, the question asked by me at the beginning of this -work: Is it just that to what we call art, to a something belonging to -but a small section of society, should be offered up such sacrifices of -human labour, of human lives, and of goodness as are now being offered -up? receives the natural reply: No; it is unjust, and these things -should not be! So also replies sound sense and unperverted moral -feeling. Not only should these things not be, not only should no -sacrifices be offered up to what among us is called art, but, on the -contrary, the efforts of those who wish to live rightly should be -directed towards the destruction of this art, for it is one of the most -cruel of the evils that harass our section of humanity. So that, were -the question put: Would it be preferable for our Christian world to be -deprived of _all_ that is now esteemed to be art, and, together with the -false, to lose _all_ that is good in it? I think that every reasonable -and moral man would again decide the question as Plato decided it for -his _Republic_, and as all the Church Christian and Mahommedan teachers -of mankind decided it, _i.e._ would say, “Rather let there be no art at -all than continue the depraving art, or simulation of art, which now -exists.” Happily, no one has to face this question, and no one need -adopt either solution. All that man can do, and that we—the so-called -educated people, who are so placed that we have the possibility of -understanding the meaning of the phenomena of our life—can and should -do, is to understand the error we are involved in, and not harden our -hearts in it but seek for a way of escape. - -Footnote 88: - - In Russian it is customary to make a distinction between literate and - illiterate people, _i.e._ between those who can and those who cannot - read. _Literate_ in this sense does not imply that the man would speak - or write correctly.—Trans. - -Footnote 89: - - The over-man (Uebermensch), in the Nietzschean philosophy, is that - superior type of man whom the struggle for existence is to evolve, and - who will seek only his own power and pleasure, will know nothing of - pity, and will have the right, because he will possess the power, to - make ordinary people serve him.—Trans. - -Footnote 90: - - Stenka Razin was by origin a common Cossack. His brother was hung for - a breach of military discipline, and to this event Stenka Razin’s - hatred of the governing classes has been attributed. He formed a - robber band, and subsequently headed a formidable rebellion, declaring - himself in favour of freedom for the serfs, religious toleration, and - the abolition of taxes. Like the Government he opposed, he relied on - force, and, though he used it largely in defence of the poor against - the rich, he still held to - - “The good old rule, the simple plan, - That they should take who have the power, - And they should keep who can.” - - Like Robin Hood he is favourably treated in popular legends.—Trans. - -Footnote 91: - - Robert Macaire is a modern type of adroit and audacious rascality. He - was the hero of a popular play produced in Paris in 1834.—Trans. - - - - - CHAPTER XVIII - - -The cause of the lie into which the art of our society has fallen was -that people of the upper classes, having ceased to believe in the Church -teaching (called Christian), did not resolve to accept true Christian -teaching in its real and fundamental principles of sonship to God and -brotherhood to man, but continued to live on without any belief, -endeavouring to make up for the absence of belief—some by hypocrisy, -pretending still to believe in the nonsense of the Church creeds; others -by boldly asserting their disbelief; others by refined agnosticism; and -others, again, by returning to the Greek worship of beauty, proclaiming -egotism to be right, and elevating it to the rank of a religious -doctrine. - -The cause of the malady was the non-acceptance of Christ’s teaching in -its real, _i.e._ its full, meaning. And the only cure for the illness -lies in acknowledging that teaching in its full meaning. And such -acknowledgment in our time is not only possible but inevitable. Already -to-day a man, standing on the height of the knowledge of our age, -whether he be nominally a Catholic or a Protestant, cannot say that he -really believes in the dogmas of the Church: in God being a Trinity, in -Christ being God, in the scheme of redemption, and so forth; nor can he -satisfy himself by proclaiming his unbelief or scepticism, nor by -relapsing into the worship of beauty and egotism. Above all, he can no -longer say that we do not know the real meaning of Christ’s teaching. -That meaning has not only become accessible to all men of our times, but -the whole life of man to-day is permeated by the spirit of that -teaching, and, consciously or unconsciously, is guided by it. - -However differently in form people belonging to our Christian world may -define the destiny of man; whether they see it in human progress in -whatever sense of the words, in the union of all men in a socialistic -realm, or in the establishment of a commune; whether they look forward -to the union of mankind under the guidance of one universal Church, or -to the federation of the world,—however various in form their -definitions of the destination of human life may be, all men in our -times already admit that the highest well-being attainable by men is to -be reached by their union with one another. - -However people of our upper classes (feeling that their ascendency can -only be maintained as long as they separate themselves—the rich and -learned—from the labourers, the poor, and the unlearned) may seek to -devise new conceptions of life by which their privileges may be -perpetuated,—now the ideal of returning to antiquity, now mysticism, now -Hellenism, now the cult of the superior person (overman-ism),—they have, -willingly or unwillingly, to admit the truth which is elucidating itself -from all sides, voluntarily and involuntarily, namely, that our welfare -lies only in the unification and the brotherhood of man. - -Unconsciously this truth is confirmed by the construction of means of -communication,—telegraphs, telephones, the press, and the -ever-increasing attainability of material well-being for everyone,—and -consciously it is affirmed by the destruction of superstitions which -divide men, by the diffusion of the truths of knowledge, and by the -expression of the ideal of the brotherhood of man in the best works of -art of our time. - -Art is a spiritual organ of human life which cannot be destroyed, and -therefore, notwithstanding all the efforts made by people of the upper -classes to conceal the religious ideal by which humanity lives, that -ideal is more and more clearly recognised by man, and even in our -perverted society is more and more often partially expressed by science -and by art. During the present century works of the higher kind of -religious art have appeared more and more frequently, both in literature -and in painting, permeated by a truly Christian spirit, as also works of -the universal art of common life, accessible to all. So that even art -knows the true ideal of our times, and tends towards it. On the one -hand, the best works of art of our times transmit religious feelings -urging towards the union and the brotherhood of man (such are the works -of Dickens, Hugo, Dostoievsky; and in painting, of Millet, Bastien -Lepage, Jules Breton, L’Hermitte, and others); on the other hand, they -strive towards the transmission, not of feelings which are natural to -people of the upper classes only, but of such feelings as may unite -everyone without exception. There are as yet few such works, but the -need of them is already acknowledged. In recent times we also meet more -and more frequently with attempts at publications, pictures, concerts, -and theatres for the people. All this is still very far from -accomplishing what should be done, but already the direction in which -good art instinctively presses forward to regain the path natural to it -can be discerned. - -The religious perception of our time—which consists in acknowledging -that the aim of life (both collective and individual) is the union of -mankind—is already so sufficiently distinct that people have now only to -reject the false theory of beauty, according to which enjoyment is -considered to be the purpose of art, and religious perception will -naturally takes its place as the guide of the art of our time. - -And as soon as the religious perception, which already unconsciously -directs the life of man, is consciously acknowledged, then immediately -and naturally the division of art, into art for the lower and art for -the upper classes, will disappear. There will be one common, brotherly, -universal art; and first, that art will naturally be rejected which -transmits feelings incompatible with the religious perception of our -time,—feelings which do not unite, but divide men,—and then that -insignificant, exclusive art will be rejected to which an importance is -now attached to which it has no right. - -And as soon as this occurs, art will immediately cease to be, what it -has been in recent times: a means of making people coarser and more -vicious, and it will become, what it always used to be and should be, a -means by which humanity progresses towards unity and blessedness; - -Strange as the comparison may sound, what has happened to the art of our -circle and time is what happens to a woman who sells her womanly -attractiveness, intended for maternity, for the pleasure of those who -desire such pleasures. - -The art of our time and of our circle has become a prostitute. And this -comparison holds good even in minute details. Like her it is not limited -to certain times, like her it is always adorned, like her it is always -saleable, and like her it is enticing and ruinous. - -A real work of art can only arise in the soul of an artist occasionally, -as the fruit of the life he has lived, just as a child is conceived by -its mother. But counterfeit art is produced by artisans and -handicraftsmen continually, if only consumers can be found. - -Real art, like the wife of an affectionate husband, needs no ornaments. -But counterfeit art, like a prostitute, must always be decked out. - -The cause of the production of real art is the artist’s inner need to -express a feeling that has accumulated, just as for a mother the cause -of sexual conception is love. The cause of counterfeit art, as of -prostitution, is gain. - -The consequence of true art is the introduction of a new feeling into -the intercourse of life, as the consequence of a wife’s love is the -birth of a new man into life. - -The consequences of counterfeit art are the perversion of man, pleasure -which never satisfies, and the weakening of man’s spiritual strength. - -And this is what people of our day and of our circle should understand, -in order to avoid the filthy torrent of depraved and prostituted art -with which we are deluged. - - - - - CHAPTER XIX - - -People talk of the art of the future, meaning by “art of the future” -some especially refined, new art, which, as they imagine, will be -developed out of that exclusive art of one class which is now considered -the highest art. But no such new art of the future can or will be found. -Our exclusive art, that of the upper classes of Christendom, has found -its way into a blind alley. The direction in which it has been going -leads nowhere. Having once let go of that which is most essential for -art (namely, the guidance given by religious perception), that art has -become ever more and more exclusive, and therefore ever more and more -perverted, until, finally, it has come to nothing. The art of the -future, that which is really coming, will not be a development of -present-day art, but will arise on completely other and new foundations, -having nothing in common with those by which our present art of the -upper classes is guided. - -Art of the future, that is to say, such part of art as will be chosen -from among all the art diffused among mankind, will consist, not in -transmitting feelings accessible only to members of the rich classes, as -is the case to-day, but in transmitting such feelings as embody the -highest religious perception of our times. Only those productions will -be considered art which transmit feelings drawing men together in -brotherly union, or such universal feelings as can unite all men. Only -such art will be chosen, tolerated, approved, and diffused. But art -transmitting feelings flowing from antiquated, worn-out religious -teaching,—Church art, patriotic art, voluptuous art, transmitting -feelings of superstitious fear, of pride, of vanity, of ecstatic -admiration of national heroes,—art exciting exclusive love of one’s own -people, or sensuality, will be considered bad, harmful art, and will be -censured and despised by public opinion. All the rest of art, -transmitting feelings accessible only to a section of people, will be -considered unimportant, and will be neither blamed nor praised. And the -appraisement of art in general will devolve, not, as is now the case, on -a separate class of rich people, but on the whole people; so that for a -work to be esteemed good, and to be approved of and diffused, it will -have to satisfy the demands, not of a few people living in identical and -often unnatural conditions, but it will have to satisfy the demands of -all those great masses of people who are situated in the natural -conditions of laborious life. - -And the artists producing art will also not be, as now, merely a few -people selected from a small section of the nation, members of the upper -classes or their hangers-on, but will consist of all those gifted -members of the whole people who prove capable of, and are inclined -towards, artistic activity. - -Artistic activity will then be accessible to all men. It will become -accessible to the whole people, because, in the first place, in the art -of the future, not only will that complex technique, which deforms the -productions of the art of to-day and requires so great an effort and -expenditure of time, not be demanded, but, on the contrary, the demand -will be for clearness, simplicity, and brevity—conditions mastered not -by mechanical exercises but by the education of taste. And secondly, -artistic activity will become accessible to all men of the people -because, instead of the present professional schools which only some can -enter, all will learn music and depictive art (singing and drawing) -equally with letters in the elementary schools, and in such a way that -every man, having received the first principles of drawing and music, -and feeling a capacity for, and a call to, one or other of the arts, -will be able to perfect himself in it. - -People think that if there are no special art-schools the technique of -art will deteriorate. Undoubtedly, if by technique we understand those -complications of art which are now considered an excellence, it will -deteriorate; but if by technique is understood clearness, beauty, -simplicity, and compression in works of art, then, even if the elements -of drawing and music were not to be taught in the national schools, the -technique will not only not deteriorate, but, as is shown by all peasant -art, will be a hundred times better. It will be improved, because all -the artists of genius now hidden among the masses will become producers -of art and will give models of excellence, which (as has always been the -case) will be the best schools of technique for their successors. For -every true artist, even now, learns his technique, chiefly, not in the -schools but in life, from the examples of the great masters; then—when -the producers of art will be the best artists of the whole nation, and -there will be more such examples, and they will be more accessible—such -part of the school training as the future artist will lose will be a -hundredfold compensated for by the training he will receive from the -numerous examples of good art diffused in society. - -Such will be one difference between present and future art. Another -difference will be that art will not be produced by professional artists -receiving payment for their work and engaged on nothing else besides -their art. The art of the future will be produced by all the members of -the community who feel the need of such activity, but they will occupy -themselves with art only when they feel such need. - -In our society people think that an artist will work better, and produce -more, if he has a secured maintenance. And this opinion would serve once -more to show clearly, were such demonstration still needed, that what -among us is considered art is not art, but only its counterfeit. It is -quite true that for the production of boots or loaves division of labour -is very advantageous, and that the bootmaker or baker who need not -prepare his own dinner or fetch his own fuel will make more boots or -loaves than if he had to busy himself about these matters. But art is -not a handicraft; it is the transmission of feeling the artist has -experienced. And sound feeling can only be engendered in a man when he -is living on all its sides the life natural and proper to mankind. And -therefore security of maintenance is a condition most harmful to an -artist’s true productiveness, since it removes him from the condition -natural to all men,—that of struggle with nature for the maintenance of -both his own life and that of others,—and thus deprives him of -opportunity and possibility to experience the most important and natural -feelings of man. There is no position more injurious to an artist’s -productiveness than that position of complete security and luxury in -which artists usually live in our society. - -The artist of the future will live the common life of man, earning his -subsistence by some kind of labour. The fruits of that highest spiritual -strength which passes through him he will try to share with the greatest -possible number of people, for in such transmission to others of the -feelings that have arisen in him he will find his happiness and his -reward. The artist of the future will be unable to understand how an -artist, whose chief delight is in the wide diffusion of his works, could -give them only in exchange for a certain payment. - -Until the dealers are driven out, the temple of art will not be a -temple. But the art of the future will drive them out. - -And therefore the subject-matter of the art of the future, as I imagine -it to myself, will be totally unlike that of to-day. It will consist, -not in the expression of exclusive feelings: pride, spleen, satiety, and -all possible forms of voluptuousness, available and interesting only to -people who, by force, have freed themselves from the labour natural to -human beings; but it will consist in the expression of feelings -experienced by a man living the life natural to all men and flowing from -the religious perception of our times, or of such feelings as are open -to all men without exception. - -To people of our circle who do not know, and cannot or will not -understand the feelings which will form the subject-matter of the art of -the future, such subject-matter appears very poor in comparison with -those subtleties of exclusive art with which they are now occupied. -“What is there fresh to be said in the sphere of the Christian feeling -of love of one’s fellow-man? The feelings common to everyone are so -insignificant and monotonous,” think they. And yet, in our time, the -really fresh feelings can only be religious, Christian feelings, and -such as are open, accessible, to all. The feelings flowing from the -religious perception of our times, Christian feelings, are infinitely -new and varied, only not in the sense some people imagine,—not that they -can be evoked by the depiction of Christ and of Gospel episodes, or by -repeating in new forms the Christian truths of unity, brotherhood, -equality, and love,—but in that all the oldest, commonest, and most -hackneyed phenomena of life evoke the newest, most unexpected and -touching emotions as soon as a man regards them from the Christian point -of view. - -What can be older than the relations between married couples, of parents -to children, of children to parents; the relations of men to their -fellow-countrymen and to foreigners, to an invasion, to defence, to -property, to the land, or to animals? But as soon as a man regards these -matters from the Christian point of view, endlessly varied, fresh, -complex, and strong emotions immediately arise. - -And, in the same way, that realm of subject-matter for the art of the -future which relates to the simplest feelings of common life open to all -will not be narrowed but widened. In our former art only the expression -of feelings natural to people of a certain exceptional position was -considered worthy of being transmitted by art, and even then only on -condition that these feelings were transmitted in a most refined manner, -incomprehensible to the majority of men; all the immense realm of -folk-art, and children’s art—jests, proverbs, riddles, songs, dances, -children’s games, and mimicry—was not esteemed a domain worthy of art. - -The artist of the future will understand that to compose a fairy-tale, a -little song which will touch, a lullaby or a riddle which will -entertain, a jest which will amuse, or to draw a sketch which will -delight dozens of generations or millions of children and adults, is -incomparably more important and more fruitful than to compose a novel or -a symphony, or paint a picture which will divert some members of the -wealthy classes for a short time, and then be for ever forgotten. The -region of this art of the simple feelings accessible to all is enormous, -and it is as yet almost untouched. - -The art of the future, therefore, will not be poorer, but infinitely -richer in subject-matter. And the form of the art of the future will -also not be inferior to the present forms of art, but infinitely -superior to them. Superior, not in the sense of having a refined and -complex technique, but in the sense of the capacity briefly, simply, and -clearly to transmit, without any superfluities, the feeling which the -artist has experienced and wishes to transmit. - -I remember once speaking to a famous astronomer who had given public -lectures on the spectrum analysis of the stars of the Milky Way, and -saying it would be a good thing if, with his knowledge and masterly -delivery, he would give a lecture merely on the formation and movements -of the earth, for certainly there were many people at his lecture on the -spectrum analysis of the stars of the Milky Way, especially among the -women, who did not well know why night follows day and summer follows -winter. The wise astronomer smiled as he answered, “Yes, it would be a -good thing, but it would be very difficult. To lecture on the spectrum -analysis of the Milky Way is far easier.” - -And so it is in art. To write a rhymed poem dealing with the times of -Cleopatra, or paint a picture of Nero burning Rome, or compose a -symphony in the manner of Brahms or Richard Strauss, or an opera like -Wagner’s, is far easier than to tell a simple story without any -unnecessary details, yet so that it should transmit the feelings of the -narrator, or to draw a pencil-sketch which should touch or amuse the -beholder, or to compose four bars of clear and simple melody, without -any accompaniment, which should convey an impression and be remembered -by those who hear it. - -“It is impossible for us, with our culture, to return to a primitive -state,” say the artists of our time. “It is impossible for us now to -write such stories as that of Joseph or the Odyssey, to produce such -statues as the Venus of Milo, or to compose such music as the -folk-songs.” - -And indeed, for the artists of our society and day, it is impossible, -but not for the future artist, who will be free from all the perversion -of technical improvements hiding the absence of subject-matter, and who, -not being a professional artist and receiving no payment for his -activity, will only produce art when he feels impelled to do so by an -irresistible inner impulse. - -The art of the future will thus be completely distinct, both in -subject-matter and in form, from what is now called art. The only -subject-matter of the art of the future will be either feelings drawing -men towards union, or such as already unite them; and the forms of art -will be such as will be open to everyone. And therefore, the ideal of -excellence in the future will not be the exclusiveness of feeling, -accessible only to some, but, on the contrary, its universality. And not -bulkiness, obscurity, and complexity of form, as is now esteemed, but, -on the contrary, brevity, clearness, and simplicity of expression. Only -when art has attained to that, will art neither divert nor deprave men -as it does now, calling on them to expend their best strength on it, but -be what it should be—a vehicle wherewith to transmit religious, -Christian perception from the realm of reason and intellect into that of -feeling, and really drawing people in actual life nearer to that -perfection and unity indicated to them by their religious perception. - - - - - CHAPTER XX - THE CONCLUSION - - -I have accomplished, to the best of my ability, this work which has -occupied me for 15 years, on a subject near to me—that of art. By saying -that this subject has occupied me for 15 years, I do not mean that I -have been writing this book 15 years, but only that I began to write on -art 15 years ago, thinking that when once I undertook the task I should -be able to accomplish it without a break. It proved, however, that my -views on the matter then were so far from clear that I could not arrange -them in a way that satisfied me. From that time I have never ceased to -think on the subject, and I have recommenced to write on it 6 or 7 -times; but each time, after writing a considerable part of it, I have -found myself unable to bring the work to a satisfactory conclusion, and -have had to put it aside. Now I have finished it; and however badly I -may have performed the task, my hope is that my fundamental thought as -to the false direction the art of our society has taken and is -following, as to the reasons of this, and as to the real destination of -art, is correct, and that therefore my work will not be without avail. -But that this should come to pass, and that art should really abandon -its false path and take the new direction, it is necessary that another -equally important human spiritual activity,—science,—in intimate -dependence on which art always rests, should abandon the false path -which it too, like art, is following. - -Science and art are as closely bound together as the lungs and the -heart, so that if one organ is vitiated the other cannot act rightly. - -True science investigates and brings to human perception such truths and -such knowledge as the people of a given time and society consider most -important. Art transmits these truths from the region of perception to -the region of emotion. Therefore, if the path chosen by science be false -so also will be the path taken by art. Science and art are like a -certain kind of barge with kedge-anchors which used to ply on our -rivers. Science, like the boats which took the anchors up-stream and -made them secure, gives direction to the forward movement; while art, -like the windlass worked on the barge to draw it towards the anchor, -causes the actual progression. And thus a false activity of science -inevitably causes a correspondingly false activity of art. - -As art in general is the transmission of every kind of feeling, but in -the limited sense of the word we only call that art which transmits -feelings acknowledged by us to be important, so also science in general -is the transmission of all possible knowledge; but in the limited sense -of the word we call science that which transmits knowledge acknowledged -by us to be important. - -And the degree of importance, both of the feelings transmitted by art -and of the information transmitted by science, is decided by the -religious perception of the given time and society, _i.e._ by the common -understanding of the purpose of their lives possessed by the people of -that time or society. - -That which most of all contributes to the fulfilment of that purpose -will be studied most; that which contributes less will be studied less; -that which does not contribute at all to the fulfilment of the purpose -of human life will be entirely neglected, or, if studied, such study -will not be accounted science. So it always has been, and so it should -be now; for such is the nature of human knowledge and of human life. But -the science of the upper classes of our time, which not only does not -acknowledge any religion, but considers every religion to be mere -superstition, could not and cannot make such distinctions. - -Scientists of our day affirm that they study _everything_ impartially; -but as everything is too much (is in fact an infinite number of -objects), and as it is impossible to study all alike, this is only said -in the theory, while in practice not everything is studied, and study is -applied far from impartially, only that being studied which, on the one -hand, is most wanted by, and on the other hand, is pleasantest to those -people who occupy themselves with science. And what the people, -belonging to the upper classes, who are occupying themselves with -science most want is the maintenance of the system under which those -classes retain their privileges; and what is pleasantest are such things -as satisfy idle curiosity, do not demand great mental efforts, and can -be practically applied. - -And therefore one side of science, including theology and philosophy -adapted to the existing order, as also history and political economy of -the same sort, are chiefly occupied in proving that the existing order -is the very one which ought to exist; that it has come into existence -and continues to exist by the operation of immutable laws not amenable -to human will, and that all efforts to change it are therefore harmful -and wrong. The other part, experimental science,—including mathematics, -astronomy, chemistry, physics, botany, and all the natural sciences,—is -exclusively occupied with things that have no direct relation to human -life: with what is curious, and with things of which practical -application advantageous to people of the upper classes can be made. And -to justify that selection of objects of study which (in conformity to -their own position) the men of science of our times have made, they have -devised a theory of science for science’s sake, quite similar to the -theory of art for art’s sake. - -As by the theory of art for art’s sake it appears that occupation with -all those things that please us—is art, so, by the theory of science for -science’s sake, the study of that which interests us—is science. - -So that one side of science, instead of studying how people should live -in order to fulfil their mission in life, demonstrates the righteousness -and immutability of the bad and false arrangements of life which exist -around us; while the other part, experimental science, occupies itself -with questions of simple curiosity or with technical improvements. - -The first of these divisions of science is harmful, not only because it -confuses people’s perceptions and gives false decisions, but also -because it exists, and occupies the ground which should belong to true -science. It does this harm, that each man, in order to approach the -study of the most important questions of life, must first refute these -erections of lies which have during ages been piled around each of the -most essential questions of human life, and which are propped up by all -the strength of human ingenuity. - -The second division—the one of which modern science is so particularly -proud, and which is considered by many people to be the only real -science—is harmful in that it diverts attention from the really -important subjects to insignificant subjects, and is also directly -harmful in that, under the evil system of society which the first -division of science justifies and supports, a great part of the -technical gains of science are turned not to the advantage but to the -injury of mankind. - -Indeed it is only to those who are devoting their lives to such study -that it seems as if all the inventions which are made in the sphere of -natural science were very important and useful things. And to these -people it seems so only when they do not look around them and do not see -what is really important. They only need tear themselves away from the -psychological microscope under which they examine the objects of their -study, and look about them, in order to see how insignificant is all -that has afforded them such naïve pride, all that knowledge not only of -geometry of n-dimensions, spectrum analysis of the Milky Way, the form -of atoms, dimensions of human skulls of the Stone Age, and similar -trifles, but even our knowledge of micro-organisms, X-rays, etc., in -comparison with such knowledge as we have thrown aside and handed over -to the perversions of the professors of theology, jurisprudence, -political economy, financial science, etc. We need only look around us -to perceive that the activity proper to real science is not the study of -whatever happens to interest us, but the study of how man’s life should -be established,—the study of those questions of religion, morality, and -social life, without the solution of which all our knowledge of nature -will be harmful or insignificant. - -We are highly delighted and very proud that our science renders it -possible to utilise the energy of a waterfall and make it work in -factories, or that we have pierced tunnels through mountains, and so -forth. But the pity of it is that we make the force of the waterfall -labour, not for the benefit of the workmen, but to enrich capitalists -who produce articles of luxury or weapons of man-destroying war. The -same dynamite with which we blast the mountains to pierce tunnels, we -use for wars, from which latter we not only do not intend to abstain, -but which we consider inevitable, and for which we unceasingly prepare. - -If we are now able to inoculate preventatively with diphtheritic -microbes, to find a needle in a body by means of X-rays, to straighten a -hunched-back, cure syphilis, and perform wonderful operations, we should -not be proud of these acquisitions either (even were they all -established beyond dispute) if we fully understood the true purpose of -real science. If but one-tenth of the efforts now spent on objects of -pure curiosity or of merely practical application were expended on real -science organising the life of man, more than half the people now sick -would not have the illnesses from which a small minority of them now get -cured in hospitals. There would be no poor-blooded and deformed children -growing up in factories, no death-rates, as now, of 50 per cent. among -children, no deterioration of whole generations, no prostitution, no -syphilis, and no murdering of hundreds of thousands in wars, nor those -horrors of folly and of misery which our present science considers a -necessary condition of human life. - -We have so perverted the conception of science that it seems strange to -men of our day to allude to sciences which should prevent the mortality -of children, prostitution, syphilis, the deterioration of whole -generations, and the wholesale murder of men. It seems to us that -science is only then real science when a man in a laboratory pours -liquids from one jar into another, or analyses the spectrum, or cuts up -frogs and porpoises, or weaves in a specialised, scientific jargon an -obscure network of conventional phrases—theological, philosophical, -historical, juridical, or politico-economical—semi-intelligible to the -man himself, and intended to demonstrate that what now is, is what -should be. - -But science, true science,—such science as would really deserve the -respect which is now claimed by the followers of one (the least -important) part of science,—is not at all such as this: real science -lies in knowing what we should and what we should not believe, in -knowing how the associated life of man should and should not be -constituted; how to treat sexual relations, how to educate children, how -to use the land, how to cultivate it oneself without oppressing other -people, how to treat foreigners, how to treat animals, and much more -that is important for the life of man. - -Such has true science ever been and such it should be. And such science -is springing up in our times; but, on the one hand, such true science is -denied and refuted by all those scientific people who defend the -existing order of society, and, on the other hand, it is considered -empty, unnecessary, unscientific science by those who are engrossed in -experimental science. - -For instance, books and sermons appear, demonstrating the antiquatedness -and absurdity of Church dogmas, as well as the necessity of establishing -a reasonable religious perception suitable to our times, and all the -theology that is considered to be real science is only engaged in -refuting these works and in exercising human intelligence again and -again to find support and justification for superstitions long since -out-lived, and which have now become quite meaningless. Or a sermon -appears showing that land should not be an object of private possession, -and that the institution of private property in land is a chief cause of -the poverty of the masses. Apparently science, real science, should -welcome such a sermon and draw further deductions from this position. -But the science of our times does nothing of the kind: on the contrary, -political economy demonstrates the opposite position, namely, that -landed property, like every other form of property, must be more and -more concentrated in the hands of a small number of owners. Again, in -the same way, one would suppose it to be the business of real science to -demonstrate the irrationality, unprofitableness, and immorality of war -and of executions; or the inhumanity and harmfulness of prostitution; or -the absurdity, harmfulness, and immorality of using narcotics or of -eating animals; or the irrationality, harmfulness, and antiquatedness of -patriotism. And such works exist, but are all considered unscientific; -while works to prove that all these things ought to continue, and works -intended to satisfy an idle thirst for knowledge lacking any relation to -human life, are considered to be scientific. - -The deviation of the science of our time from its true purpose is -strikingly illustrated by those ideals which are put forward by some -scientists, and are not denied, but admitted, by the majority of -scientific men. - -These ideals are expressed not only in stupid, fashionable books, -describing the world as it will be in 1000 or 3000 years’ time, but also -by sociologists who consider themselves serious men of science. These -ideals are that food instead of being obtained from the land by -agriculture, will be prepared in laboratories by chemical means, and -that human labour will be almost entirely superseded by the utilisation -of natural forces. - -Man will not, as now, eat an egg laid by a hen he has kept, or bread -grown on his field, or an apple from a tree he has reared and which has -blossomed and matured in his sight; but he will eat tasty, nutritious, -food which will be prepared in laboratories by the conjoint labour of -many people in which he will take a small part. Man will hardly need to -labour, so that all men will be able to yield to idleness as the upper, -ruling classes now yield to it. - -Nothing shows more plainly than these ideals to what a degree the -science of our times has deviated from the true path. - -The great majority of men in our times lack good and sufficient food (as -well as dwellings and clothes and all the first necessaries of life). -And this great majority of men is compelled, to the injury of its -well-being, to labour continually beyond its strength. Both these evils -can easily be removed by abolishing mutual strife, luxury, and the -unrighteous distribution of wealth, in a word by the abolition of a -false and harmful order and the establishment of a reasonable, human -manner of life. But science considers the existing order of things to be -as immutable as the movements of the planets, and therefore assumes that -the purpose of science is—not to elucidate the falseness of this order -and to arrange a new, reasonable way of life—but, under the existing -order of things, to feed everybody and enable all to be as idle as the -ruling classes, who live a depraved life, now are. - -And, meanwhile, it is forgotten that nourishment with corn, vegetables, -and fruit raised from the soil by one’s own labour is the pleasantest, -healthiest, easiest, and most natural nourishment, and that the work of -using one’s muscles is as necessary a condition of life as is the -oxidation of the blood by breathing. - -To invent means whereby people might, while continuing our false -division of property and labour, be well nourished by means of -chemically-prepared food, and might make the forces of nature work for -them, is like inventing means to pump oxygen into the lungs of a man -kept in a closed chamber the air of which is bad, when all that is -needed is to cease to confine the man in the closed chamber. - -In the vegetable and animal kingdoms a laboratory for the production of -food has been arranged, such as can be surpassed by no professors, and -to enjoy the fruits of this laboratory, and to participate in it, man -has only to yield to that ever joyful impulse to labour, without which -man’s life is a torment. And lo and behold, the scientists of our times, -instead of employing all their strength to abolish whatever hinders man -from utilising the good things prepared for him, acknowledge the -conditions under which man is deprived of these blessings to be -unalterable, and instead of arranging the life of man so that he might -work joyfully and be fed from the soil, they devise methods which will -cause him to become an artificial abortion. It is like not helping a man -out of confinement into the fresh air, but devising means, instead, to -pump into him the necessary quantity of oxygen and arranging so that he -may live in a stifling cellar instead of living at home. - -Such false ideals could not exist if science were not on a false path. - -And yet the feelings transmitted by art grow up on the bases supplied by -science. - -But what feelings can such misdirected science evoke? One side of this -science evokes antiquated feelings, which humanity has used up, and -which, in our times, are bad and exclusive. The other side, occupied -with the study of subjects unrelated to the conduct of human life, by -its very nature cannot serve as a basis for art. - -So that art in our times, to be art, must either open up its own road -independently of science, or must take direction from the unrecognised -science which is denounced by the orthodox section of science. And this -is what art, when it even partially fulfils its mission, is doing. - -It is to be hoped that the work I have tried to perform concerning art -will be performed also for science—that the falseness of the theory of -science for science’s sake will be demonstrated; that the necessity of -acknowledging Christian teaching in its true meaning will be clearly -shown, that on the basis of that teaching a reappraisement will be made -of the knowledge we possess, and of which we are so proud; that the -secondariness and insignificance of experimental science, and the -primacy and importance of religious, moral, and social knowledge will be -established; and that such knowledge will not, as now, be left to the -guidance of the upper classes only, but will form a chief interest of -all free, truth-loving men, such as those who, not in agreement with the -upper classes but in their despite, have always forwarded the real -science of life. - -Astronomical, physical, chemical, and biological science, as also -technical and medical science, will be studied only in so far as they -can help to free mankind from religious, juridical, or social -deceptions, or can serve to promote the well-being of all men, and not -of any single class. - -Only then will science cease to be what it is now—on the one hand a -system of sophistries, needed for the maintenance of the existing -worn-out order of society, and, on the other hand, a shapeless mass of -miscellaneous knowledge, for the most part good for little or -nothing—and become a shapely and organic whole, having a definite and -reasonable purpose comprehensible to all men, namely, the purpose of -bringing to the consciousness of men the truths that flow from the -religious perception of our times. - -And only then will art, which is always dependent on science, be what it -might and should be, an organ coequally important with science for the -life and progress of mankind. - -Art is not a pleasure, a solace, or an amusement; art is a great matter. -Art is an organ of human life, transmitting man’s reasonable perception -into feeling. In our age the common religious perception of men is the -consciousness of the brotherhood of man—we know that the well-being of -man lies in union with his fellow-men. True science should indicate the -various methods of applying this consciousness to life. Art should -transform this perception into feeling. - -The task of art is enormous. Through the influence of real art, aided by -science guided by religion, that peaceful co-operation of man which is -now obtained by external means—by our law-courts, police, charitable -institutions, factory inspection, etc.—should be obtained by man’s free -and joyous activity. Art should cause violence to be set aside. - -And it is only art that can accomplish this. - -All that now, independently of the fear of violence and punishment, -makes the social life of man possible (and already now this is an -enormous part of the order of our lives)—all this has been brought about -by art. If by art it has been inculcated how people should treat -religious objects, their parents, their children, their wives, their -relations, strangers, foreigners; how to conduct themselves to their -elders, their superiors, to those who suffer, to their enemies, and to -animals; and if this has been obeyed through generations by millions of -people, not only unenforced by any violence, but so that the force of -such customs can be shaken in no way but by means of art: then, by the -same art, other customs, more in accord with the religious perception of -our time, may be evoked. If art has been able to convey the sentiment of -reverence for images, for the eucharist, and for the king’s person; of -shame at betraying a comrade, devotion to a flag, the necessity of -revenge for an insult, the need to sacrifice one’s labour for the -erection and adornment of churches, the duty of defending one’s honour -or the glory of one’s native land—then that same art can also evoke -reverence for the dignity of every man and for the life of every animal; -can make men ashamed of luxury, of violence, of revenge, or of using for -their pleasure that of which others are in need; can compel people -freely, gladly, and without noticing it, to sacrifice themselves in the -service of man. - -The task for art to accomplish is to make that feeling of brotherhood -and love of one’s neighbour, now attained only by the best members of -the society, the customary feeling and the instinct of all men. By -evoking, under imaginary conditions, the feeling of brotherhood and -love, religious art will train men to experience those same feelings -under similar circumstances in actual life; it will lay in the souls of -men the rails along which the actions of those whom art thus educates -will naturally pass. And universal art, by uniting the most different -people in one common feeling, by destroying separation, will educate -people to union, will show them, not by reason but by life itself, the -joy of universal union reaching beyond the bounds set by life. - -The destiny of art in our time is to transmit from the realm of reason -to the realm of feeling the truth that well-being for men consists in -being united together, and to set up, in place of the existing reign of -force, that kingdom of God, _i.e._ of love, which we all recognise to be -the highest aim of human life. - -Possibly, in the future, science may reveal to art yet newer and higher -ideals, which art may realise; but, in our time, the destiny of art is -clear and definite. The task for Christian art is to establish brotherly -union among men. - - - - - APPENDICES - - - - - APPENDIX I. - - -This is the first page of Mallarmé’s book _Divagations_:— - - - LE PHÉNOMÈNE FUTUR. - - -Un ciel pâle, sur le monde qui finit de décrépitude, va peut-être partir -avec les nuages: les lambeaux de la pourpre usée des couchants -déteignent dans une rivière dormant à l’horizon submergé de rayons et -d’eau. Les arbres s’ennuient, et, sous leur feuillage blanchi (de la -poussière du temps plutôt que celle des chemins) monte la maison en -toile de Montreur de choses Passées: maint réverbère attend le -crépuscule et ravive les visages d’une malheureuse foule, vaincue par la -maladie immortelle et le péché des siècles, d’hommes près de leurs -chétives complices enceintes des fruits misérables avec lesquels périra -la terre. Dans le silence inquiet de tous les yeux suppliant là-bas le -soleil qui, sous l’eau, s’enfonce avec le désespoir d’un cri, voici le -simple boniment: “Nulle enseigne ne vous régale du spectacle intérieur, -car il n’est pas maintenant un peintre capable d’en donner une ombre -triste. J’apporte, vivante (et préservée à travers les ans par la -science souveraine) une Femme d’autrefois. Quelque folie, originelle et -naïve, une extase d’or, je ne sais quoi! par elle nommé sa chevelure, se -ploie avec la grâce des étoffes autour d’un visage qu’ éclaire la nudité -sanglante de ses lèvres. A la place du vêtement vain, elle a un corps; -et les yeux, semblables aux pierres rares! ne valent pas ce regard qui -sort de sa chair heureuse: des seins levés comme s’ils étaient pleins -d’un lait éternel, la pointe vers le ciel, les jambes lisses qui gardent -le sel de la mer première.” Se rappelant leurs pauvres épouses, chauves, -morbides et pleines d’horreur, les maris se pressent: elles aussi par -curiosité, mélancoliques, veulent voir. - -Quand tous auront contemplé la noble créature, vestige de quelque époque -déjà maudite, les uns indifférents, car ils n’auront pas eu la force de -comprendre, mais d’autres navrés et la paupière humide de larmes -résignées, se regarderont; tandis que les poètes de ces temps, sentant -se rallumer leur yeux éteints, s’achemineront vers leur lampe, le -cerveau ivre un instant d’une gloire confuse, hantés du Rythme et dans -l’oubli d’exister à une époque qui survit à la beauté. - - - THE FUTURE PHENOMENON—by Mallarmé - - - A pale sky, above the world that is ending through decrepitude, - going perhaps to pass away with the clouds: shreds of worn-out - purple of the sunsets wash off their colour in a river sleeping on - the horizon, submerged with rays and water. The trees are weary and, - beneath their foliage, whitened (by the dust of time rather than - that of the roads), rises the canvas house of “Showman of things - Past.” Many a lamp awaits the gloaming and brightens the faces of a - miserable crowd vanquished by the immortal illness and the sin of - ages, of men by the sides of their puny accomplices pregnant with - the miserable fruit with which the world will perish. In the anxious - silence of all the eyes supplicating the sun there, which sinks - under the water with the desperation of a cry, this is the plain - announcement: “No sign-board now regales you with the spectacle that - is inside, for there is no painter now capable of giving even a sad - shadow of it. I bring living (and preserved by sovereign science - through the years) a Woman of other days. Some kind of folly, naïve - and original, an ecstasy of gold, I know not what, by her called her - hair, clings with the grace of some material round a face brightened - by the blood-red nudity of her lips. In place of vain clothing, she - has a body; and her eyes, resembling precious stones! are not worth - that look, which comes from her happy flesh: breasts raised as if - full of eternal milk, the points towards the sky; the smooth legs, - that keep the salt of the first sea.” Remembering their poor - spouses, bald, morbid, and full of horrors, the husbands press - forward: the women too, from curiosity, gloomily wish to see. - - When all shall have contemplated the noble creature, vestige of some - epoch already damned, some indifferently, for they will not have had - strength to understand, but others broken-hearted and with eyelids - wet with tears of resignation, will look at each other; while the - poets of those times, feeling their dim eyes rekindled, will make - their way towards their lamp, their brain for an instant drunk with - confused glory, haunted by Rhythm and forgetful that they exist at - an epoch which has survived beauty. - - - - - APPENDIX II.[92] - - - No. 1. - - -The following verses are by Vielé-Griffin, from page 28 of a volume of -his Poems:— - - - OISEAU BLEU COULEUR DU TEMPS. - - - 1. - - Sait-tu l’oubli - D’un vain doux rêve, - Oiseau moqueur - De la forêt? - Le jour pâlit, - La nuit se lève, - Et dans mon cœur - L’ombre a pleuré; - - - 2. - - O chante-moi - Ta folle gamme, - Car j’ai dormi - Ce jour durant; - Le lâche emoi - Où fut mon âme - Sanglote ennui - Le jour mourant... - - - 3. - - Sais-tu le chant - De sa parole - Et de sa voix, - Toi qui redis - Dans le couchant - Ton air frivole - Comme autrefois - Sous les midis? - - - 4. - - O chante alors - La mélodie - De son amour, - Mon fol espoir, - Parmi les ors - Et l’incendie - Du vain doux jour - Qui meurt ce soir. - - FRANCIS VIELÉ-GRIFFIN. - - - BLUE BIRD. - - - 1. - - Canst thou forget, - In dreams so vain, - Oh, mocking bird - Of forest deep? - The day doth set, - Night comes again, - My heart has heard - The shadows weep; - - - 2. - - Thy tones let flow - In maddening scale, - For I have slept - The livelong day; - Emotions low - In me now wail, - My soul they’ve kept: - Light dies away ... - - - 3. - - That music sweet, - Ah, do you know - Her voice and speech? - Your airs so light - You who repeat - In sunset’s glow, - As you sang, each, - At noonday’s height. - - - 4. - - Of my desire, - My hope so bold, - Her love—up, sing, - Sing ’neath this light, - This flaming fire, - And all the gold - The eve doth bring - Ere comes the night. - - - No. 2. - - -And here are some verses by the esteemed young poet Verhaeren, which I -also take from page 28 of his Works:— - - - ATTIRANCES. - - - Lointainement, et si étrangement pareils, - De grands masques d’argent que la brume recule, - Vaguent, au jour tombant, autour des vieux soleils. - - Les doux lointaines!—et comme, au fond du crépuscule, - Ils nous fixent le cœur, immensément le cœur, - Avec les yeux _défunts de leur_ visage d’âme. - - C’est toujours du silence, à moins, dans la pâleur - Du soir, un jet de feu soudain, un cri de flamme, - Un départ de lumière inattendu vers Dieu. - - On se laisse charmer et troubler de mystère, - Et l’on dirait des morts qui taisent un adieu - Trop mystique, pour être écouté par la terre! - - Sont-ils le souvenir matériel et clair - Des éphèbes chrétiens couchés aux catacombes - Parmi les lys? Sont-ils leur regard et leur chair? - - Ou seul, ce qui survit de merveilleux aux tombes - De ceux qui sont partis, vers leurs rêves, un soir, - Conquérir la folie à l’assaut des nuées? - - Lointainement, combien nous les sentons vouloir - Un peu d’amour pour leurs œuvres destituées, - Pour leur errance et leur tristesse aux horizons. - - Toujours! aux horizons du cœur et des pensées, - Alors que les vieux soirs éclatent en blasons - Soudains, pour les gloires noires et angoissées. - - ÉMILE VERHAEREN, - _Poèmes_. - - - ATTRACTIONS. - - - Large masks of silver, by mists drawn away, - So strangely alike, yet so far apart, - Float round the old suns when faileth the day. - - They transfix our heart, so immensely our heart, - Those distances mild, in the twilight deep, - Looking out of dead faces with their spirit eyes. - - All around is now silence, except when there leap - In the pallor of evening, with fiery cries, - Some fountains of flame that God-ward do fly. - - Mysterious trouble and charms us enfold. - You might think that the dead spoke a silent good-bye, - Oh! too mystical far on earth to be told! - - Are they the memories, material and bright, - Of the Christian youths that in catacombs sleep - ’Mid the lilies? Are they their flesh or their sight? - - Or the marvel alone that survives, in the deep, - Of those that, one night, returned to their dream - Of conquering folly by assaulting the skies? - - For their destitute works—we feel it seems, - For a little love their longing cries - From horizons far—for their errings and pain. - - In horizons ever of heart and thought, - While the evenings old in bright blaze wane - Suddenly, for black glories anguish fraught. - - - No. 3. - - -And the following is a poem by Moréas, evidently an admirer of Greek -beauty. It is from page 28 of a volume of his Poems:— - - - ENONE AU CLAIR VISAGE. - - - Enone, j’avais cru qu’en aimant ta beauté - Où l’âme avec le corps trouvent leur unité, - J’allais, m’affermissant et le cœur et l’esprit, - Monter jusqu’à cela qui jamais ne périt, - N’ayant été crée, qui n’est froideur ou feu, - Qui n’est beau quelque part et laid en autre lieu; - Et me flattais encor’ d’une belle harmonie - Que j’eusse composé du meilleur et du pire, - Ainsi que le chanteur qui chérit Polimnie, - En accordant le grave avec l’aigu, retire - Un son bien élevé sur les nerfs de sa lyre. - Mais mon courage, hélas! se pâmant comme mort, - M’enseigna que le trait qui m’avait fait amant - Ne fut pas de cet arc que courbe sans effort - La Vénus qui naquit du mâle seulement, - Mais que j’avais souffert cette Vénus dernière, - Qui a le cœur couard, né d’une faible mère. - Et pourtant, ce mauvais garçon, chasseur habile, - Qui charge son carquois de sagette subtile, - Qui secoue en riant sa torche, pour un jour, - Qui ne pose jamais que sur de tendres fleurs, - C’est sur un teint charmant qu’il essuie les pleurs, - Et c’est encore un Dieu, Enone, cet Amour. - Mais, laisse, les oiseaux du printemps sont partis, - Et je vois les rayons du soleil amortis. - Enone, ma douleur, harmonieux visage, - Superbe humilité, doux honnête langage, - Hier me remirant dans cet étang glacé - Qui au bout du jardin se couvre de feuillage, - Sur ma face je vis que les jours ont passé. - - JEAN MORÉAS. - - - ENONE. - - - Enone, in loving thy beauty, I thought, - Where the soul and the body to union are brought, - That mounting by steadying my heart and my mind, - In that which can’t perish, myself I should find. - For it ne’er was created, is not ugly and fair; - Is not coldness in one part, while on fire it is there. - Yes, I flattered myself that a harmony fine - I’d succeed to compose of the worst and the best, - Like the bard who adores Polyhymnia divine, - And mingling sounds different from the nerves of his lyre, - From the grave and the smart draws melodies higher. - But, alas! my courage, so faint and nigh spent, - The dart that has struck me proves without fail - Not to be from that bow which is easily bent - By the Venus that’s born alone of the male. - No, ’twas that other Venus that caused me to smart, - Born of frail mother with cowardly heart. - And yet that naughty lad, that little hunter bold, - Who laughs and shakes his flowery torch just for a day, - Who never rests but upon tender flowers and gay, - On sweetest skin who dries the tears his eyes that fill, - Yet oh, Enone mine, a God’s that Cupid still. - Let it pass; for the birds of the Spring are away, - And dying I see the sun’s lingering ray. - Enone, my sorrow, oh, harmonious face, - Humility grand, words of virtue and grace, - I looked yestere’en in the pond frozen fast, - Strewn with leaves at the end of the garden’s fair space, - And I read in my face that those days are now past. - - - No. 4. - - -And this is also from page 28 of a thick book, full of similar Poems, by -M. Montesquiou. - - - BERCEUSE D’OMBRE. - - - Des formes, des formes, des formes - Blanche, bleue, et rose, et d’or - Descendront du haut des ormes - Sur l’enfant qui se rendort. - Des formes! - - Des plumes, des plumes, des plumes - Pour composer un doux nid. - Midi sonne: les enclumes - Cessent; la rumeur finit ... - Des plumes! - - Des roses, des roses, des roses - Pour embaumer son sommeil, - Vos pétales sont moroses - Près du sourire vermeil. - O roses! - - Des ailes, des ailes, des ailes - Pour bourdonner à son front. - Abeilles et demoiselles, - Des rythmes qui berceront. - Des ailes! - - Des branches, des branches, des branches - Pour tresser un pavillon, - Par où des clartés moins franches - Descendront sur l’oisillon. - Des branches! - - Des songes, des songes, des songes - Dans ses pensers entr’ ouverts - Glissez un peu de mensonges - A voir le vie au travers - Des songes! - - Des fées, des fées, des fées, - Pour filer leurs écheveaux - Des mirages, de bouffées - Dans tous ces petits cerveaux. - Des fées. - - Des anges, des anges, des anges - Pour emporter dans l’éther - Les petits enfants étranges - Qui ne veulent pas rester ... - Nos anges! - - COMTE ROBERT DE MONTESQUIOU-FEZENSAC, - _Les Hortensias Bleus_. - - - THE SHADOW LULLABY. - - - Oh forms, oh forms, oh forms - White, blue, and gold, and red - Descending from the elm trees, - On sleeping baby’s head. - Oh forms! - - Oh feathers, feathers, feathers - To make a cosy nest. - Twelve striking: stops the clamour; - The anvils are at rest ... - Oh feathers! - - Oh roses, roses, roses - To scent his sleep awhile, - Pale are your fragrant petals - Beside his ruby smile. - Oh roses! - - Oh wings, oh wings, oh wings - Of bees and dragon-flies, - To hum around his forehead, - And lull him with your sighs. - Oh wings! - - Branches, branches, branches - A shady bower to twine, - Through which, oh daylight, family - Descend on birdie mine. - Branches! - - Oh dreams, oh dreams, oh dreams - Into his opening mind, - Let in a little falsehood - With sights of life behind. - Dreams! - - Oh fairies, fairies, fairies, - To twine and twist their threads - With puffs of phantom visions - Into these little heads. - Fairies! - - Angels, angels, angels - To the ether far away, - Those children strange to carry - That here don’t wish to stay ... - Our angels! - -Footnote 92: - - The translations in Appendices I., II., and IV., are by Louise Maude. - The aim of these renderings has been to keep as close to the originals - as the obscurity of meaning allowed. The sense (or absence of sense) - has therefore been more considered than the form of the verses. - - - - - APPENDIX III. - - -These are the contents of _The Nibelung’s Ring_:— - -The first part tells that the nymphs, the daughters of the Rhine, for -some reason guard gold in the Rhine, and sing: Weia, Waga, Woge du -Welle, Walle zur Wiege, Wagalaweia, Wallala, Weiala, Weia, and so forth. - -These singing nymphs are pursued by a gnome (a nibelung) who desires to -seize them. The gnome cannot catch any of them. Then the nymphs guarding -the gold tell the gnome just what they ought to keep secret, namely, -that whoever renounces love will be able to steal the gold they are -guarding. And the gnome renounces love, and steals the gold. This ends -the first scene. - -In the second scene a god and a goddess lie in a field in sight of a -castle which giants have built for them. Presently they wake up and are -pleased with the castle, and they relate that in payment for this work -they must give the goddess Freia to the giants. The giants come for -their pay. But the god Wotan objects to parting with Freia. The giants -get angry. The gods hear that the gnome has stolen the gold, promise to -confiscate it and to pay the giants with it. But the giants won’t trust -them, and seize the goddess Freia in pledge. - -The third scene takes place under ground. The gnome Alberich, who stole -the gold, for some reason beats a gnome, Mime, and takes from him a -helmet which has the power both of making people invisible and of -turning them into other animals. The gods, Wotan and others, appear and -quarrel with one another and with the gnomes, and wish to take the gold, -but Alberich won’t give it up, and (like everybody all through the -piece) behaves in a way to ensure his own ruin. He puts on the helmet, -and becomes first a dragon and then a toad. The gods catch the toad, -take the helmet off it, and carry Alberich away with them. - -Scene IV. The gods bring Alberich to their home, and order him to -command his gnomes to bring them all the gold. The gnomes bring it. -Alberich gives up the gold, but keeps a magic ring. The gods take the -ring. So Alberich curses the ring, and says it is to bring misfortune on -anyone who has it. The giants appear; they bring the goddess Freia, and -demand her ransom. They stick up staves of Freia’s height, and gold is -poured in between these staves: this is to be the ransom. There is not -enough gold, so the helmet is thrown in, and they also demand the ring. -Wotan refuses to give it up, but the goddess Erda appears and commands -him to do so, because it brings misfortune. Wotan gives it up. Freia is -released. The giants, having received the ring, fight, and one of them -kills the other. This ends the Prelude, and we come to the First Day. - -The scene shows a house in a tree. Siegmund runs in tired, and lies -down. Sieglinda, the mistress of the house (and wife of Hunding), gives -him a drugged draught, and they fall in love with each other. -Sieglinda’s husband comes home, learns that Siegmund belongs to a -hostile race, and wishes to fight him next day; but Sieglinda drugs her -husband, and comes to Siegmund. Siegmund discovers that Sieglinda is his -sister, and that his father drove a sword into the tree so that no one -can get it out. Siegmund pulls the sword out, and commits incest with -his sister. - -Act II. Siegmund is to fight with Hunding. The gods discuss the question -to whom they shall award the victory. Wotan, approving of Siegmund’s -incest with his sister, wishes to spare him, but, under pressure from -his wife, Fricka, he orders the Valkyrie Brünnhilda to kill Siegmund. -Siegmund goes to fight; Sieglinda faints. Brünnhilda appears and wishes -to slay Siegmund. Siegmund wishes to kill Sieglinda also, but Brünnhilda -does not allow it; so he fights with Hunding. Brünnhilda defends -Siegmund, but Wotan defends Hunding. Siegmund’s sword breaks, and he is -killed. Sieglinda runs away. - -Act III. The Valkyries (divine Amazons) are on the stage. The Valkyrie -Brünnhilda arrives on horseback, bringing Siegmund’s body. She is flying -from Wotan, who is chasing her for her disobedience. Wotan catches her, -and as a punishment dismisses her from her post as a Valkyrie. He casts -a spell on her, so that she has to go to sleep and to continue asleep -until a man wakes her. When someone wakes her she will fall in love with -him. Wotan kisses her; she falls asleep. He lets off fire, which -surrounds her. - -We now come to the Second Day. The gnome Mime forges a sword in a wood. -Siegfried appears. He is a son born from the incest of brother with -sister (Siegmund with Sieglinda), and has been brought up in this wood -by the gnome. In general the motives of the actions of everybody in this -production are quite unintelligible. Siegfried learns his own origin, -and that the broken sword was his father’s. He orders Mime to reforge -it, and then goes off. Wotan comes in the guise of a wanderer, and -relates what will happen: that he who has not learnt to fear will forge -the sword, and will defeat everybody. The gnome conjectures that this is -Siegfried, and wants to poison him. Siegfried returns, forges his -father’s sword, and runs off, shouting, Heiho! heiho! heiho! Ho! ho! -Aha! oho! aha! Heiaho! heiaho! heiaho! Ho! ho! Hahei! hoho! hahei! - -And we get to Act II. Alberich sits guarding a giant, who, in form of a -dragon, guards the gold he has received. Wotan appears, and for some -unknown reason foretells that Siegfried will come and kill the dragon. -Alberich wakes the dragon, and asks him for the ring, promising to -defend him from Siegfried. The dragon won’t give up the ring. Exit -Alberich. Mime and Siegfried appear. Mime hopes the dragon will teach -Siegfried to fear. But Siegfried does not fear. He drives Mime away and -kills the dragon, after which he puts his finger, smeared with the -dragon’s blood, to his lips. This enables him to know men’s secret -thoughts, as well as the language of birds. The birds tell him where the -treasure and the ring are, and also that Mime wishes to poison him. Mime -returns, and says out loud that he wishes to poison Siegfried. This is -meant to signify that Siegfried, having tasted dragon’s blood, -understands people’s secret thoughts. Siegfried, having learnt Mime’s -intentions, kills him. The birds tell Siegfried where Brünnhilda is, and -he goes to find her. - -Act III. Wotan calls up Erda. Erda prophesies to Wotan, and gives him -advice. Siegfried appears, quarrels with Wotan, and they fight. Suddenly -Siegfried’s sword breaks Wotan’s spear, which had been more powerful -than anything else. Siegfried goes into the fire to Brünnhilda; kisses -her; she wakes up, abandons her divinity, and throws herself into -Siegfried’s arms. - -Third Day. Prelude. Three Norns plait a golden rope, and talk about the -future. They go away. Siegfried and Brünnhilda appear. Siegfried takes -leave of her, gives her the ring, and goes away. - -Act I. By the Rhine. A king wants to get married, and also to give his -sister in marriage. Hagen, the king’s wicked brother, advises him to -marry Brünnhilda, and to give his sister to Siegfried. Siegfried -appears; they give him a drugged draught, which makes him forget all the -past and fall in love with the king’s sister, Gutrune. So he rides off -with Gunther, the king, to get Brünnhilda to be the king’s bride. The -scene changes. Brünnhilda sits with the ring. A Valkyrie comes to her -and tells her that Wotan’s spear is broken, and advises her to give the -ring to the Rhine nymphs. Siegfried comes, and by means of the magic -helmet turns himself into Gunther, demands the ring from Brünnhilda, -seizes it, and drags her off to sleep with him. - -Act II. By the Rhine. Alberich and Hagen discuss how to get the ring. -Siegfried comes, tells how he has obtained a bride for Gunther and spent -the night with her, but put a sword between himself and her. Brünnhilda -rides up, recognises the ring on Siegfried’s hand, and declares that it -was he, and not Gunther, who was with her. Hagen stirs everybody up -against Siegfried, and decides to kill him next day when hunting. - -Act III. Again the nymphs in the Rhine relate what has happened. -Siegfried, who has lost his way, appears. The nymphs ask him for the -ring, but he won’t give it up. Hunters appear. Siegfried tells the story -of his life. Hagen then gives him a draught, which causes his memory to -return to him. Siegfried relates how he aroused and obtained Brünnhilda, -and everyone is astonished. Hagen stabs him in the back, and the scene -is changed. Gutrune meets the corpse of Siegfried. Gunther and Hagen -quarrel about the ring, and Hagen kills Gunther. Brünnhilda cries. Hagen -wishes to take the ring from Siegfried’s hand, but the hand of the -corpse raises itself threateningly. Brünnhilda takes the ring from -Siegfried’s hand, and when Siegfried’s corpse is carried to the pyre she -gets on to a horse and leaps into the fire. The Rhine rises, and the -waves reach the pyre. In the river are three nymphs. Hagen throws -himself into the fire to get the ring, but the nymphs seize him and -carry him off. One of them holds the ring; and that is the end of the -matter. - -The impression obtainable from my recapitulation is, of course, -incomplete. But however incomplete it may be, it is certainly infinitely -more favourable than the impression which results from reading the four -booklets in which the work is printed. - - - - - APPENDIX IV. - Translations of French poems and prose quoted in Chapter X. - - - BAUDELAIRE’S “FLOWERS OF EVIL.” - No. XXIV. - - - I adore thee as much as the vaults of night, - O vase full of grief, taciturnity great, - And I love thee the more because of thy flight. - It seemeth, my night’s beautifier, that you - Still heap up those leagues—yes! ironically heap!— - That divide from my arms the immensity blue. - - I advance to attack, I climb to assault, - Like a choir of young worms at a corpse in the vault; - Thy coldness, oh cruel, implacable beast! - Yet heightens thy beauty, on which my eyes feast! - - - BAUDELAIRE’S “FLOWERS OF EVIL.” - No. XXXVI. - - - DUELLUM. - - - Two warriors come running, to fight they begin, - With gleaming and blood they bespatter the air; - These games, and this clatter of arms, is the din - Of youth that’s a prey to the surgings of love. - - The rapiers are broken! and so is our youth, - But the dagger’s avenged, dear! and so is the sword, - By the nail that is steeled and the hardened tooth. - Oh, the fury of hearts aged and ulcered by love! - - In the ditch, where the ounce and the pard have their lair, - Our heroes have rolled in an angry embrace; - Their skin blooms on brambles that erewhile were bare. - That ravine is a friend-inhabited hell! - Then let us roll in, oh woman inhuman, - To immortalise hatred that nothing can quell! - - - FROM BAUDELAIRE’S PROSE WORK ENTITLED “LITTLE POEMS.” - - - THE STRANGER. - - -Whom dost thou love best? say, enigmatical man—thy father, thy mother, -thy brother, or thy sister? - -“I have neither father, nor mother, nor sister, nor brother.” - -Thy friends? - -“You there use an expression the meaning of which till now remains -unknown to me.” - -Thy country? - -“I ignore in what latitude it is situated.” - -Beauty? - -“I would gladly love her, goddess and immortal.” - -Gold? - -“I hate it as you hate God.” - -Then what do you love, extraordinary stranger? - -“I love the clouds ... the clouds that pass ... there ... the marvellous -clouds!” - - - BAUDELAIRE’S PROSE POEM, - THE SOUP AND THE CLOUDS. - - -My beloved little silly was giving me my dinner, and I was -contemplating, through the open window of the dining-room, those moving -architectures which God makes out of vapours, the marvellous -constructions of the impalpable. And I said to myself, amid my -contemplations, “All these phantasmagoria are almost as beautiful as the -eyes of my beautiful beloved, the monstrous little silly with the green -eyes.” - -Suddenly I felt the violent blow of a fist on my back, and I heard a -harsh, charming voice, an hysterical voice, as it were hoarse with -brandy, the voice of my dear little well-beloved, saying, “Are you going -to eat your soup soon, you d—— b—— of a dealer in clouds?” - - - BAUDELAIRE’S PROSE POEM, - THE GALLANT MARKSMAN. - - -As the carriage was passing through the forest, he ordered it to be -stopped near a shooting-gallery, saying that he wished to shoot off a -few bullets to _kill_ Time. To kill this monster, is it not the most -ordinary and the most legitimate occupation of everyone? And he -gallantly offered his arm to his dear, delicious, and execrable -wife—that mysterious woman to whom he owed so much pleasure, so much -pain, and perhaps also a large part of his genius. - -Several bullets struck far from the intended mark—one even penetrated -the ceiling; and as the charming creature laughed madly, mocking her -husband’s awkwardness, he turned abruptly towards her and said, “Look at -that doll there on the right with the haughty mien and her nose in the -air; well, dear angel, _I imagine to myself that it is you_!” And he -closed his eyes and pulled the trigger. The doll was neatly decapitated. - -Then, bowing towards his dear one, his delightful, execrable wife, his -inevitable, pitiless muse, and kissing her hand respectfully, he added, -“Ah! my dear angel, how I thank you for my skill!” - - - VERLAINE’S “FORGOTTEN AIRS.” - No. I. - - - “The wind in the plain - Suspends its breath.”—FAVART. - - ’Tis ecstasy languishing, - Amorous fatigue, - Of woods all the shudderings - Embraced by the breeze, - ’Tis the choir of small voices - Towards the grey trees. - - Oh the frail and fresh murmuring! - The twitter and buzz, - The soft cry resembling - That’s expired by the grass ... - Oh, the roll of the pebbles - ’Neath waters that pass! - - Oh, this soul that is groaning - In sleepy complaint! - In us is it moaning? - In me and in you? - Low anthem exhaling - While soft falls the dew. - - - VERLAINE’S “FORGOTTEN AIRS.” - No. VIII. - - - In the unending - Dulness of this land, - Uncertain the snow - Is gleaming like sand. - - No kind of brightness - In copper-hued sky, - The moon you might see - Now live and now die. - - Grey float the oak trees— - Cloudlike they seem— - Of neighbouring forests, - The mists in between. - - Wolves hungry and lean, - And famishing crow, - What happens to you - When acid winds blow? - - In the unending - Dulness of this land, - Uncertain the snow - Is gleaming like sand. - - - SONG BY MAETERLINCK. - - - When he went away, - (Then I heard the door) - When he went away, - On her lips a smile there lay ... - - Back he came to her, - (Then I heard the lamp) - Back he came to her, - Someone else was there ... - - It was death I met, - (And I heard her soul) - It was death I met, - For her he’s waiting yet ... - - Someone came to say, - (Child, I am afraid) - Someone came to say - That he would go away ... - - With my lamp alight, - (Child, I am afraid) - With my lamp alight, - Approached I in affright ... - - To one door I came, - (Child, I am afraid) - To one door I came, - A shudder shook the flame ... - - At the second door, - (Child, I am afraid) - At the second door - Forth words the flame did pour ... - - To the third I came, - (Child, I am afraid) - To the third I came, - Then died the little flame ... - - Should he one day return - Then what shall we say? - Waiting, tell him, one - And dying for him lay ... - - If he asks for you, - Say what answer then? - Give him my gold ring - And answer not a thing ... - - Should he question me - Concerning the last hour? - Say I smiled for fear - That he should shed a tear ... - - Should he question more - Without knowing me? - Like a sister speak; - Suffering he may be ... - - Should he question why - Empty is the hall? - Show the gaping door, - The lamp alight no more ... - - -PRINTED BY MORRISON AND GIBB LIMITED, EDINBURGH - - - - - ● Transcriber’s Notes: - ○ Text that was in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_). - Text that was in bold face is enclosed by equals signs (=bold=). - ○ Footnotes have been moved to follow the chapters in which they are - referenced. - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WHAT IS ART? *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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