CHAPTER IX
THE WORK OF ART
According to an old theory the classical drama originated in the Dionysiac cultus.[148] The artistic development of savage and barbarous tribes supplies many analogies which strongly support this view. The simplest drama and the most primitive poetry have in most nations been connected with orgiastic rites which, from the psychological point of view, closely resemble the Bacchic ceremonies. But we may go still further. It has been contended on good grounds that even the formative arts made their earliest appearance on the occasion of great public festivals.[149] It might seem that if this view could only be corroborated by a sufficient body of ethnological evidence, there would be no need of any further argument in favour of the emotionalistic interpretation of art. Granted that the simplest manifestations of all the different arts served primarily as means of heightening a festive mood, then the psychological origin of the artistic activity ought to be ascertained by an analysis of high-pitch feeling. The same mental causes and conditions which called forth the most primitive manifestations of art, and determined their character, may naturally be assumed to have influenced in greater or less degree the higher forms as well. And thus in further support of our view we might simply refer to the study of a typical exaltation with which the preceding chapter was concluded.
We have here an apparently easy solution of the problem before us. But by resorting to it we should expose ourselves to the risk of mistakes which is inherent in every historical method. Not only is it impossible, as has already been remarked, to make any positive assertion as to the purely æsthetic and autotelic character of a given manifestation: it is almost equally difficult to quote a rite or practice the interpretation of which, from the emotional standpoint, is clear and undisputed. Even the wild antics of the Maenads, in spite of the numerous analogies to them presented by the diseased mental states of modern man, have been explained by some archæologists as a stereotyped ritual. The self-wounding and the tearing up of living animals have been interpreted as different forms of a sacrificial cult; the frantic gestures and songs as dramatic representations of ancient myths.[150] It would require too cumbrous an apparatus merely to state and criticise existing theories on this point. And even if we could prove that the Bacchantic manifestations may be explained without reference to religious or commemorative intentions in the dancers, as purely emotional activities, grave objections would still remain to be answered. From the medical point of view it might be maintained that the Dionysiac state, as well as all analogous conditions among savage and civilised nations, is a purely pathological phenomenon.[151] By connecting artistic production with these states we should therefore expose ourselves to the accusation of treating art as an abnormality. And it would be of no use to appeal to Nietzsche’s brilliant but unconvincing defence of the position that the ancient Dionysiac orgies ought really to be considered as splendid disorders of health and overflowing vigour.[152]
It is therefore necessary to state explicitly that what we have said about the Dionysiac state must by no means be taken as referring to actual historic facts known about the bacchanals. The descriptions of Euripides and other classical authors are valuable as expressions of the predominant notions of art quite independently of the reality which may or may not have corresponded to them. The corybantic mania afforded to the Greek mind a typical simile by which to illustrate that state of formless excitement which precedes the artistic creation. In the mythical descriptions of the melancholia of the Thyiads, and in the sculptural representations of their dances and extravagances, it was easy to recognise—more by instinct, perhaps, than by reflection—the same dissatisfaction and the same longing for fuller and deeper expression which compels the artist to seek in æsthetic production compensation for the deficiencies of life. And the feeling of liberation, which in the artist, upon the attainment of artistic form, supersedes overmastering and inharmonious excitement, seemed explicable by the analogy of the relief which the mythical Dionysus bestowed upon his devotees. At a time, therefore, when dancing occupied a prominent place among the arts, it must have been quite natural to consider the god of dance and music as an embodiment of the feelings and impulses of artistic creation. For modern times, however, this poetic parable has scarcely even an illustrative value. It would be too far-fetched to treat the simple, lyrical dance and song as a general type of art, seeing that in real life dancing has long ago been almost entirely superseded by more complicated forms of artistic activity.
It is, however, only in such direct manifestations as the simplest song, dance, and poetry that the artistic activity itself is accessible to our analysis. With regard to those higher forms of art in which the dramatic and epic elements play an important part, it may indeed be contended that even they originate in an emotional craving for expression. And it can be proved, as we have tried to show in the preceding chapters, that such a theory gives us the best explanation of the life-preserving influence of artistic creation. But it is not to be concealed that, as far as painting, sculpture, and the higher forms of poetry are concerned, this view is exclusively based upon hypothesis. It cannot be considered as established so long as we have no authentic information on the feelings and impulses which direct a sculptor or a painter in his work. The only competent witnesses who can give us this information—namely, the artists themselves—have generally paid too little attention to theoretic problems to make any observations on their own mental states during the task of creation; and even when they do so they are deterred by a natural sense of propriety from making any public revelations on a matter which affects their most intimate emotional life. All the more impertinent would it be for an outsider to make a priori assertions on the psychical motives for their work. While entitled to speak with some confidence on the simple, universal arts, the theoretical observer cannot, with regard to the specialised crafts, rely upon either experience or sympathetic understanding. The only safe point of departure is here the objective work. Our interpretation can be considered as conclusively established only if we are able to show that the distinctive qualities of the work of art, as met with in the highest manifestations of art, are such as to provide some emotional state with the most adequate and most convincing expression.
The work of art has been the subject of theoretical investigation to a far greater extent than the artistic impulse. When examining its distinctive qualities we can therefore constantly avail ourselves of the researches of earlier writers on æsthetic. There is no need to search for the problems to be solved nor to justify the scheme of inquiry. We have to show that our interpretation of the artistic activity is consistent with the general principles according to which the value of art-works is estimated. These principles, on the other hand, can evidently be discovered only by studying the judgments on art which have been embodied in æsthetical literature. Owing to the mutual contradictions between the several æsthetic systems, such a study is indeed not an easy one. But if minor differences are disregarded it is not impossible to find a common standard on which almost all writers agree. For while the theories on art, as different from other departments of life, have been based upon varying philosophical assumptions, the ideal of excellence in art has, at least in the case of all real æstheticians, been developed under the influence of a close familiarity with the best manifestations of living art. Notwithstanding the ever-varying currents of taste and the individual predilections which affect even the most impartial judgment, it is thus possible to point to a common fund of simple and catholic principles of criticism.
As far as the lyrical forms of art are concerned we need not dwell at any length on the æsthetic requirements which they are generally expected to fulfil. It is easy to understand that, however one may explain the purpose of artistic activity and the impulse which leads to it, the accomplished work of art must always possess some element of sensual beauty which may attract and hold the attention. If we were attempting a complete treatment of all æsthetic problems we might attempt to prove that such qualities appear to a very great extent as unintentional by-products of artistic expression. The perfect gracefulness, for example, which forms the distinguishing merit of all genuine art, is seldom a result of conscious endeavour. As, according to its nature, pleasure is necessarily accompanied by facilitated conditions of life, an artistic manifestation will generally be graceful in the same degree as it expresses pure and unmingled joy. And even if the feeling which originally called forth a dance, a song, or a drama is one of pain, its expression will unavoidably acquire under the influence of artistic form an element of ease. The freedom, and, still more, the unconsciousness, that characterise the “inspired” creation may thus clothe with a peculiar grace even the representation of such mental states as in real life manifest themselves in the most inharmonious forms.[153] In the same way dignity, the quality complementary to grace, may be deduced directly from the emotional conditions of artistic activity.
This explanation does not apply, however, to such special qualities as, for instance, symmetry and proportion. Neither can it be denied that these qualities may be of incalculable importance in art as means of heightening the effectiveness of the work. But we hold that a problem like that of symmetry belongs to the science of beauty rather than to the theory of art. By a symmetrical arrangement of its parts, or by a right proportion between them, an object may indeed become a thing of beauty; but it acquires an artistic character only in so far as this symmetry and proportion perform or assist the function of expression. Even among the most authors who lay most stress on the paramount importance of form there are few who contend that these abstract qualities can by themselves bestow the title of art upon a work or a manifestation.
Quite different is the case of those æsthetic laws which have been deduced from the arts of description. As the majority of writers on æsthetic have restricted their attention to works of art in which nature has been imitated or represented, it is only natural that artistic merit should be thought to depend on the relation of the copy to the original. The most simple explanation is undoubtedly that which is adopted by a large section of the public, viz., that an artistic manifestation is perfect in proportion as it gives a faithful rendering of objective nature. For all that has been contended by the opponents of the realistic movements which predominated in the eighties, we do not think that many producing authors have been guided in their work by such narrow notions. In æsthetic literature at least so radical a realism has been upheld only by a few isolated authors.[154] Ever since Aristotle’s time it has been laid down that a work of art must be something other and better than a mere copy. And æsthetic science from its first beginning has in the main agreed upon the general principles by which artistic imitation attains perfection. These principles, formulated with varying clearness in the earlier systems, have found their most philosophical elaboration in the works of Vischer and Taine. In his Hegelian terminology the German author puts it that the work of art must show us, in an æsthetic semblance, the full and whole presence of an idea which is underlying the things represented. In the philosophy of Taine, which, by making science its point of departure, differs so greatly from Hegelianism and yet resembles it so strikingly in general character, the same thought has been expressed in the doctrine of dominant qualities.[155] If these criteria are divested of the technical garb which makes them so inconvenient to handle, they appear to rest ultimately on a simple observation which may be repeated in all æsthetic experience. We find in all descriptive art-works a subordination of qualities supposed to be of inferior importance to what philosophers of Taine’s school term “la faculté maîtresse.” In most works too there may be found a relation of the represented thing to the rest of nature, which in a Hegelian mind may awaken the notion of a general idea behind the individual phenomenon. But, as we have already observed, it is a mark of excessive intellectualism to assume that the desire to discover predominant qualities or hidden ideas is the impelling force in art-creation. And we shall now endeavour to show that it is equally one-sided to consider the enjoyment of art as conditioned by increased intellectual knowledge of individual or universal phenomena and ideas.
The defects of intellectualistic art-theories are perhaps most manifest in the system of Taine. Taine himself seems to believe that the “faculté mère” really exists, and that it can be not only represented by an artistical treatment of nature, but also discovered by scientific study; he is consequently unable to make any proper distinction between the departments of science and art.[156] And, on the other hand, his own critical studies show us how incompatible is the principle of dominant faculties with a purely scientific conception of reality. Too often, in the attempt to deduce every manifestation and every personality from a determinate, all-explaining and all-conditioning quality, he loses sight of the rich variety of life, and gains instead merely a brilliant formula. Thus, however suggestive his criticisms may be, they are seldom scientifically exact. There is none, however, of all his admirers who would wish to have anything changed in his writings on art; for we know that by this very one-sidedness, which is the source of his scientific shortcomings, he has at the same time attained his greatest, though perhaps unintentional, triumphs as an artist.