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Page 58
The past art of what has grown to be civilised Europe from the time
of the decline of the ancient classical peoples, was the outcome of
instinct working on an unbroken chain of tradition: it was fed not
by knowledge but by hope, and though many a strange and wild
illusion mingled with that hope, yet was it human and fruitful ever:
many a man it solaced, many a slave in body it freed in soul;
boundless pleasure it gave to those who wrought it and those who
used it: long and long it lived, passing that torch of hope from
hand to hand, while it kept but little record of its best and
noblest; for least of all things could it abide to make for itself
kings and tyrants: every man's hand and soul it used, the lowest as
the highest, and in its bosom at least were all men free: it did
its work, not creating an art more perfect than itself, but rather
other things than art, freedom of thought and speech, and the
longing for light and knowledge and the coming days that should slay
it: and so at last it died in the hour of its highest hope, almost
before the greatest men that came of it had passed away from the
world. It is dead now; no longing will bring it back to us; no echo
of it is left among the peoples whom it once made happy.
Of the art that is to come who may prophesy? But this at least
seems to follow from comparing that past with the confusion in which
we are now struggling and the light which glimmers through it; that
that art will no longer be an art of instinct, of ignorance which is
hopeful to learn and strives to see; since ignorance is now no
longer hopeful. In this and in many other ways it may differ from
the past art, but in one thing it must needs be like it; it will not
be an esoteric mystery shared by a little band of superior beings;
it will be no more hierarchical than the art of past time was, but
like it will be a gift of the people to the people, a thing which
everybody can understand, and every one surround with love; it will
be a part of every life, and a hindrance to none.
For this is the essence of art, and the thing that is eternal to it,
whatever else may be passing and accidental.
Here it is, you see, wherein the art of to-day is so far astray,
would that I could say wherein it HAS BEEN astray; it has been sick
because of this packing and peeling with tyranny, and now with what
of life it has it must struggle back towards equality.
There is the hard business for us! to get all simple people to care
about art, to get them to insist on making it part of their lives,
whatever becomes of systems of commerce and labour held perfect by
some of us.
This is henceforward for a long time to come the real business of
art: and--yes I will say it since I think it--of civilisation too
for that matter: but how shall we set to work about it? How shall
we give people without traditions of art eyes with which to see the
works we do to move them? How shall we give them leisure from toil,
and truce with anxiety, so that they may have time to brood over the
longing for beauty which men are born with, as 'tis said, even in
London streets? And chiefly, for this will breed the others swiftly
and certainly, how shall we give them hope and pleasure in their
daily work?
How shall we give them this soul of art without which men are worse
than savages? If they would but drive us to it! But what and where
are the forces that shall drive them to drive us? Where is the
lever and the standpoint?
Hard questions indeed! but unless we are prepared to seek an answer
for them, our art is a mere toy, which may amuse us for a little,
but which will not sustain us at our need: the cultivated classes,
as they are called, will feel it slipping away from under them:
till some of them will but mock it as a worthless thing; and some
will stand by and look at it as a curious exercise of the intellect,
useless when done, though amusing to watch a-doing. How long will
art live on those terms? Yet such were even now the state of art
were it not for that hope which I am here to set forth to you, the
hope of an art that shall express the soul of the people.
Therefore, I say, that in these days we men of civilisation have to
choose if we will cast art aside or not; if we choose to do so I
have no more to say, save that we MAY find something to take its
place for the solace and joy of mankind, but I scarce think we
shall: but if we refuse to cast art aside, then must we seek an
answer for those hard questions aforesaid, of which this is the
first.
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