He may turn to the art-critics—the class of men which society sustains for his special benefit in art matters,—or he may turn to the philosophers. He may spend years and years of labour in studying the Art and thought of Antiquity, of the Middle Ages, and of the Renaissance; but, unless he have sufficient independence of spirit to distrust not only the Art, but every single manifestation of modern life, and to try to find what the general corrosive is which seems to be active everywhere, it is extremely doubtful whether he will ever succeed in reaching a bourne or a destination of any sort whatsoever.
He will still be asking: "What is a good poem?" "What is good music?"—and, above all, "What is a good picture or a good statue?"
We know the difficulties of the layman, and even of the artist in this matter; for most of us who have thought about Art at all have experienced these same difficulties.
The general need, then, I repeat, is a definite canon,[49] a definite statement as to the aim and purpose of Art, and the establishment of an order of rank among tastes. Once more, I declare that I have attempted to arrive at these things by the principles of Nietzsche's Æsthetic; but, in order to forestall the amusement which an announcement of this sort is bound to provoke nowadays, let me remind you of two things: First, that any artistic canon must necessarily be relative to a certain type of man; and secondly, that the most that an establishment of an order of rank among tastes can do for you, is to allow you the opportunity of exercising some choice—a choice of type in manhood, therefore a choice as to a mode of life, and therefore a choice of values, and the customs and conditions that spring from them.
At present you have no such choice. You certainly have the option of following either Rodin and Renoir, or Whistler and Manet, or Sargent and Boldini, or John and Gauguin, or Herkomer and Lavery; but not one of you can say, "If I follow the first couple I shall be going in such and such a direction," or, "If I follow the second couple I shall be travelling towards this or that goal,"—this you would scarcely be able to say; neither could your leaders help you.
[46] For some amusing, and, at the same time, shrewd, remarks concerning the International Society, I would refer the reader to Mr. Wake Cook's Anarchism in Art (Cassell & Co.). I agree on the whole with what Mr. Wake Cook says, but cannot appreciate his remarks on Whistler.
[47] Z., IV, LXVII.
[48] In a Times leader of the 20th December, 1909, the writer puts the case very well. After referring to the heated controversy which was then raging round the Berlin wax bust that Dr. Bode declared to be a Leonardo, the writer goes on to say: "... it is amusing to see how the merit of the work is forgotten in the dispute about its origin. It seems to be assumed that if it is by Leonardo it must be a great work of art, and if by Lucas nothing of the kind.... This fact proves what needs no proving, that there are many wealthy connoisseurs who buy works of art not for their intrinsic merit, but for what is supposed to be their authenticity.... This state of things reveals an extraordinary timidity in buyers of works of art. If they all trusted their own taste" [that is to say, if they had a taste of their own based upon some reliable canon] "names would have no value. The intrinsic merit of a work of art is not affected by the name it bears.... Yet in the market the name of a great painter is worth more than the inspiration of a lesser one.... Hence many people believe that it is far more difficult to understand pictures than literature.... But there is no more mystery about pictures than about literature. It is only the market that makes a mystery of them, and the market does this because it is timid." In other words: because it does not know.
[49] On this point see Questionings on Criticism and Beauty, by the Rt. Hon. A. J. Balfour. (Oxford University Press.) Mr. Balfour entirely agrees that to-day we are driven to a kind of anarchy of individual preferences, and he acknowledges that he is not satisfied to remain in this position. He does not seem to recognize, however, how curiously and almost perfectly this anarchy in Art coincides with a certain anarchy in other departments of life, and thus, although it displeases him, he sees in it no imminent danger, or no hint that Art and life react in any way upon each other.