the critic as artist-第13章

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estations；　she　speaks　to　both　sense　and　soul　alike。　　To　the　aesthetic　temperament　the　vague　is　always　repellent。　　The　Greeks　were　a　nation　of　artists；　because　they　were　spared　the　sense　of　the　infinite。　　Like　Aristotle；　like　Goethe　after　he　had　read　Kant；　we　desire　the　concrete；　and　nothing　but　the　concrete　can　satisfy　us。

ERNEST。　　What　then　do　you　propose？

GILBERT。　　It　seems　to　me　that　with　the　development　of　the　critical　spirit　we　shall　be　able　to　realise；　not　merely　our　own　lives；　but　the　collective　life　of　the　race；　and　so　to　make　ourselves　absolutely　modern；　in　the　true　meaning　of　the　word　modernity。　　For　he　to　whom　the　present　is　the　only　thing　that　is　present；　knows　nothing　of　the　age　in　which　he　lives。　　To　realise　the　nineteenth　century；　one　must　realise　every　century　that　has　preceded　it　and　that　has　contributed　to　its　making。　　To　know　anything　about　oneself　one　must　know　all　about　others。　　There　must　be　no　mood　with　which　one　cannot　sympathise；　no　dead　mode　of　life　that　one　cannot　make　alive。　　Is　this　impossible？　　I　think　not。　　By　revealing　to　us　the　absolute　mechanism　of　all　action；　and　so　freeing　us　from　the　self…　imposed　and　trammelling　burden　of　moral　responsibility；　the　scientific　principle　of　Heredity　has　become；　as　it　were；　the　warrant　for　the　contemplative　life。　　It　has　shown　us　that　we　are　never　less　free　than　when　we　try　to　act。　　It　has　hemmed　us　round　with　the　nets　of　the　hunter；　and　written　upon　the　wall　the　prophecy　of　our　doom。　　We　may　not　watch　it；　for　it　is　within　us。　　We　may　not　see　it；　save　in　a　mirror　that　mirrors　the　soul。　　It　is　Nemesis　without　her　mask。　　It　is　the　last　of　the　Fates；　and　the　most　terrible。　　It　is　the　only　one　of　the　Gods　whose　real　name　we　know。

And　yet；　while　in　the　sphere　of　practical　and　external　life　it　has　robbed　energy　of　its　freedom　and　activity　of　its　choice；　in　the　subjective　sphere；　where　the　soul　is　at　work；　it　comes　to　us；　this　terrible　shadow；　with　many　gifts　in　its　hands；　gifts　of　strange　temperaments　and　subtle　susceptibilities；　gifts　of　wild　ardours　and　chill　moods　of　indifference；　complex　multiform　gifts　of　thoughts　that　are　at　variance　with　each　other；　and　passions　that　war　against　themselves。　　And　so；　it　is　not　our　own　life　that　we　live；　but　the　lives　of　the　dead；　and　the　soul　that　dwells　within　us　is　no　single　spiritual　entity；　making　us　personal　and　individual；　created　for　our　service；　and　entering　into　us　for　our　joy。　　It　is　something　that　has　dwelt　in　fearful　places；　and　in　ancient　sepulchres　has　made　its　abode。　　It　is　sick　with　many　maladies；　and　has　memories　of　curious　sins。　　It　is　wiser　than　we　are；　and　its　wisdom　is　bitter。　It　fills　us　with　impossible　desires；　and　makes　us　follow　what　we　know　we　cannot　gain。　　One　thing；　however；　Ernest；　it　can　do　for　us。　It　can　lead　us　away　from　surroundings　whose　beauty　is　dimmed　to　us　by　the　mist　of　familiarity；　or　whose　ignoble　ugliness　and　sordid　claims　are　marring　the　perfection　of　our　development。　　It　can　help　us　to　leave　the　age　in　which　we　were　born；　and　to　pass　into　other　ages；　and　find　ourselves　not　exiled　from　their　air。　　It　can　teach　us　how　to　escape　from　our　experience；　and　to　realise　the　experiences　of　those　who　are　greater　than　we　are。　　The　pain　of　Leopardi　crying　out　against　life　becomes　our　pain。　　Theocritus　blows　on　his　pipe；　and　we　laugh　with　the　lips　of　nymph　and　shepherd。　　In　the　wolfskin　of　Pierre　Vidal　we　flee　before　the　hounds；　and　in　the　armour　of　Lancelot　we　ride　from　the　bower　of　the　Queen。　　We　have　whispered　the　secret　of　our　love　beneath　the　cowl　of　Abelard；　and　in　the　stained　raiment　of　Villon　have　put　our　shame　into　song。　　We　can　see　the　dawn　through　Shelley's　eyes；　and　when　we　wander　with　Endymion　the　Moon　grows　amorous　of　our　youth。　　Ours　is　the　anguish　of　Atys；　and　ours　the　weak　rage　and　noble　sorrows　of　the　Dane。　　Do　you　think　that　it　is　the　imagination　that　enables　us　to　live　these　countless　lives？　　Yes：　　it　is　the　imagination；　and　the　imagination　is　the　result　of　heredity。　　It　is　simply　concentrated　race…experience。

ERNEST。　　But　where　in　this　is　the　function　of　the　critical　spirit？

GILBERT。　　The　culture　that　this　transmission　of　racial　experiences　makes　possible　can　be　made　perfect　by　the　critical　spirit　alone；　and　indeed　may　be　said　to　be　one　with　it。　　For　who　is　the　true　critic　but　he　who　bears　within　himself　the　dreams；　and　ideas；　and　feelings　of　myriad　generations；　and　to　whom　no　form　of　thought　is　alien；　no　emotional　impulse　obscure？　　And　who　the　true　man　of　culture；　if　not　he　who　by　fine　scholarship　and　fastidious　rejection　has　made　instinct　self…conscious　and　intelligent；　and　can　separate　the　work　that　has　distinction　from　the　work　that　has　it　not；　and　so　by　contact　and　comparison　makes　himself　master　of　the　secrets　of　style　and　school；　and　understands　their　meanings；　and　listens　to　their　voices；　and　develops　that　spirit　of　disinterested　curiosity　which　is　the　real　root；　as　it　is　the　real　flower；　of　the　intellectual　life；　and　thus　attains　to　intellectual　clarity；　and；　having　learned　'the　best　that　is　known　and　thought　in　the　world；'　lives　…　it　is　not　fanciful　to　say　so　…　with　those　who　are　the　Immortals。

Yes；　Ernest：　　the　contemplative　life；　the　life　that　has　for　its　aim　not　DOING　but　BEING；　and　not　BEING　merely；　but　BECOMING　…　that　is　what　the　critical　spirit　can　give　us。　　The　gods　live　thus：　　either　brooding　over　their　own　perfection；　as　Aristotle　tells　us；　or；　as　Epicurus　fancied；　watching　with　the　calm　eyes　of　the　spectator　the　tragicomedy　of　the　world　that　they　have　made。　　We；　too；　might　live　like　them；　and　set　ourselves　to　witness　with　appropriate　emotions　the　varied　scenes　that　man　and　nature　afford。　　We　might　make　ourselves　spiritual　by　detaching　ourselves　from　action；　and　become　perfect　by　the　rejection　of　energy。　　It　has　often　seemed　to　me　that　Browning　felt　something　of　this。　　Shakespeare　hurls　Hamlet　into　active　life；　and　makes　him　realise　his　mission　by　effort。　　Browning　might　have　given　us　a　Hamlet　who　would　have　realised　his　mission　by　thought。　　Incident　and　event　were　to　him　unreal　or　unmeaning。　　He　made　the　soul　the　protagonist　of　life's　tragedy；　and　looked　on　action　as　the　one　undramatic　element　of　a　play。　　To　us；　at　any　rate；　the　＇Greek　text　which　cannot　be　reproduced＇　is　the　true　ideal。　　From　the　high　tower　of　Thought　we　can　look　out　at　the　world。　　Calm；　and　self…centred；　and　complete；　the　aesthetic　critic　contemplates　life；　and　no　arrow　drawn　at　a　venture　can　pierce　between　the　joints　of　his　harness。　　He　at　least　is　safe。　　He　has　discovered　how　to　live。

Is　such　a　mode　of　life　immoral？　　Yes：　　all　the　arts　are　immoral；　except　those　baser　forms　of　sensual　or　didactic　art　that　seek　to　excite　to　action　of　evil　or　of　good。　　For　action　of　every　kind　belongs　to　the　sphere　of　ethics。　　The　aim　of　art　is　simply　to　create　a　mood。　　Is　such　a　mode　of　life　unpractical？　　Ah！　it　is　not　so　easy　to　be　unpractical　as　the　ignorant　Philistine　imagines。　　It　were　well　for　England　if　it　were　so。　　There　is　no　country　in　the　world　so　much　in　need　of　unpractical　people　as　this　country　of　ours。　　With　us；　Thought　is　degraded　by　its　constant　association　with　practice。　　Who　that　moves　in　the　stress　and　turmoil　of　actual　existence；　noisy　politician；　or　brawling　social　reformer；　or　poor　narrow…minded　priest　blinded　by　the　sufferings　of　that　unimportant　section　of　the　community　among　whom　he　has　cast　his　lot；　can　seriously　claim　to　be　able　to　form　a　disinterested　intellectual　judgment　about　any　one　thing？　　Each　of　the　professions　means　a　prejudice。　　The　necessity　for　a　career　forces　every　one　to　take　sides。　　We　live　in　the　age　of　the　overworked；　and　the　under…　educated；　the　age　in　which　people　are　so　industrious　that　they　become　absolutely　stupid。　　And；　harsh　though　it　may　sound；　I　cannot　help　saying　that　such　people　deserve　their　doom。　　The　sure　way　of　knowing　nothing　about　life　is　to　try　to　make　oneself　useful。

ERNEST。　　A　charming　doctrine；　Gilbert。

GILBERT。　　I　am　not　sure　about　that；　but　it　has　at　least　the　minor　merit　of　being　true。　　That　the　desire　to　do　good　to　others　produces　a　plentiful　crop　of　prigs　is　the　least　of　the　evils　of　which　it　is　the　cause。　　The　prig　is　a　very　interesting　psychological　study；　and　though　of　all　poses　a　moral　pose　is　the　most　offensive；　s