to grow old in darkness and pain!”
October, 1885.
CULTURE.
Everyone nowadays has something to say about Culture. Even the politicians have heard of it, and some morning we may read in our newspapers that one of them is of opinion that there is some meaning in the term. Naturally enough we have all of us for some time been groping after the thing itself. The Time-Spirit is like a skilful driver of sheep. He may have considerable trouble with his flock, but, thanks to his unruffled intelligence and the ceaseless exertions of his dog Genius, he brings them all in in time for the market. It is now almost a century since the Idea of Culture took definite shape in the mind of a single man, and ever since then the number of its followers has kept on increasing, until at last everyone, as I remarked, has now something to say about it. If, however, one enquires of people, not what they think of Culture, (For everyone from the Vatican Œcumenical Council[11] to the author of “In Memoriam”[12] is agreed as to the advantage of it), but what culture is, one may go far for a satisfactory answer. Women are growing dissatisfied with the sphere of their work. What is it that they need? “More breadth of culture,” answers the Prince of Tennyson’s Princess readily enough, “more breadth of culture!” And it will be said that it is easy to see that what the Prince means is, that women should have thrown open to them the education that has so far been the monopoly of men. But is this Culture? is this the whole truth about it?—simply the giving to the many—to women, to the Middle-class and to the People—what is the education of the few? would that man in whose mind the Idea of Culture first took definite shape have been satisfied with the sight of ubiquitous Harrows and Etons and Grammar Schools of Melbourne and Geelong? There can be no doubt but that such a sight would have pleased, but it certainly would not have satisfied him. “Schools,” he would have said, “are of high importance, but what is taught in them is of importance still higher.”
And so we come back again to our question as to what Culture is with a sense that the ready answers to it are only half answers. Now everyone has heard of Goethe, and everyone has read some of his writings—“Faust,” at any rate—and, as it is to Goethe that we owe the Idea of Culture (as indeed most things that are really good in the sphere of modern thought), it would be best to at once quote his own words on the matter, and see if we cannot find a definition, or at any rate a description, of Culture that shall satisfy us. Poetry, however, does not exactly lend itself to definitions of such things as this, or even to descriptions. In Faust himself the idea may be more or less, as they say, incarnated, but we plain practical people, who like things put as much in black and white as may be, have some difficulty in these matters, and would far rather hear of them in simple English prose which means what it says and says what it means, than in poetry (and particularly German poetry) which seems to us to do exactly the reverse. Well, then, let us turn away from this parabolic Goethe for a little, and see if we cannot find someone who shall be his expounder to us. And who else should this be, at any rate in this case, than he whom the newspapers like to call the Apostle of Culture, Mr. Matthew Arnold? Let us go to Mr. Matthew Arnold, and say: “Sir, you are constantly talking about Culture, and you have said many uncomplimentary things to us all about our want of it. Now would you be so kind as to tell us precisely what you mean by it? And we warn you that we are plain practical people who like things put as much in black and white as may be, and that we have a decidedly poor opinion of your efforts to make us believe that ‘the Eternal not ourselves that makes for righteousness’ is the same thing as our ‘loving and intelligent Governor of the Universe,’ and that it makes no difference to us when we eat our Christmas goose and plum-pudding whether we believe that we do so because those shepherds and those Three Kings did come that day to Christ in the Bethlehem manger, to the accompaniment of an angelic concert, or did not. We want, Sir, a definition of this Culture of yours, or, if you cannot give us that (But, really now, you are so clever at definitions that we shall be quite disappointed if you cannot!), then you must give us a good description of it, so that we may be able to arrive at a proper decision about it.” Then an expression of bland patience would cross Mr. Arnold’s countenance, as he sat in his study chair, listening with that “native modesty” of which he has told us all, to the words of our curious foreman; and, after a short pause, he would perhaps answer: “Gentlemen, I am much honoured by this deputation and inquiry. Long ago in some remarks of mine on translating Homer.... But I will refer you to a more recent period. A new and revised edition of a little book of mine called ‘Literature and Dogma’ has just been issued in a cheap form by Messrs. Smith, Elder and Co. You will find that in the Preface to it the following words occur, which I venture to think may, on investigation, be found to answer the question with which I am now honoured. But, as you possibly may not remember it, (for I cannot expect you, any more than myself, to be always studying my works), I will quote it to you. ‘Culture,’ I said (Culture in italics)—‘Culture, knowing the best that has been thought and known in the world.’ I can give no better definition than this. ‘True Culture,’ I say again, ‘true Culture implies not only knowledge, but right tact and justness of judgment, forming themselves by and with judgment.’ Or, yet again: ‘Culture is reading’ (Reading in italics), ‘but reading with a purpose to guide it, and with system.’”—And with this, and a renewal of compliments on both sides, our jury bows itself out, and presently the sound of the closing hall-door mounts up to the silent chamber.
“But an awful pleasure bland
spreading o’er the Poet’s face,