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Prefaces and Prologues to Famous Books written by Charles W. Eliot

C >> Charles W. Eliot >> Prefaces and Prologues to Famous Books




Much as the authors wish and hope to be in harmony with one another
and with a large part of the public, they must not shut their eyes to
the fact that from various quarters many a discord will ring out.
They must expect this all the more since they differ from prevailing
opinions in more than one point. Though far from wishing to dominate
or change the way of thinking of a third person, still they will
firmly express their own opinion, and, as circumstances dictate, will
avoid or take tip a quarrel. On the whole, however, they will adhere
to one creed, and especially will they repeat again and again those
conditions which seem to them indispensable in the training of an
artist. Whoever takes an interest in this matter, must be ready to
take sides; otherwise he does not deserve to be effective anywhere.

If, therefore, we promise to present reflections and observations
concerning Nature, we must at the same time indicate that these
remarks will chiefly have reference, first, to plastic art; then, to
art in general; finally, to the general training of the artist.

The highest demand that is made on an artist is this: that he be
true to Nature, study her, imitate her, and produce something that
resembles her phenomena. How great, how enormous, this demand is,
is not always kept in mind; and the true artist himself learns it by
experience only, in the course of his progressive development. Nature
is separated from Art by an enormous chasm, which genius itself is
unable to bridge without external assistance.

All that we perceive around us is merely raw material; if it happens
rarely enough that an artist, through instinct and taste, through
practice and experiment, reaches the point of attaining the beautiful
exterior of things, of selecting the best from the good before him,
and of producing at least an agreeable appearance, it is still more
rare, particularly in modern times, for an artist to penetrate into
the depths of things as well as into the depths of his own soul,
in order to produce in his works not only something light and
superficially effective, but, as a rival of Nature, to produce
something spiritually organic, and to give his work of art a content
and a form through which it appears both natural and beyond Nature.

Man is the highest, the characteristic subject of plastic art;
to understand him, to extricate oneself from the labyrinth of his
anatomy, a general knowledge of organic nature is imperative. The
artist should also acquaint himself theoretically with inorganic
bodies and with the general operations of Nature, particularly if, as
in the case of sound and color, they are adaptable to the purposes
of art; but what a circuitous path he would be obliged to take if
he wanted to seek laboriously in the schools of the anatomist, the
naturalist, and the physicist, for that which serves his purposes! It
is, indeed, a question whether he would find there what must be most
important for him. Those men have the entirely different needs of
their own pupils to satisfy, so that they cannot be expected to think
of the limited and special needs of the artist. For that reason it is
our intention to take a hand, and, even though we cannot see prospects
of completing the necessary work ourselves, both to give a view of the
whole and to begin the elaboration of details.

The human figure cannot be understood merely through observation
of its surface; the interior must be laid bare, its parts must be
separated, the connections perceived, the differences noted, action
and reaction observed, the concealed, constant, and fundamental
elements of the phenomena impressed on the mind, if one really wishes
to contemplate and imitate what moves before our eyes in living waves
as a beautiful, undivided whole. A glance at the surface of a living
being confuses the observer; we may cite here, as in other cases,
the true proverb, "One sees only what one knows" For just as a
short-sighted man sees more clearly an object from which he draws
back than one to which he draws near, because his intellectual vision
comes to his aid, so the perfection of observation really depends on
knowledge. How well an expert naturalist, who can also draw, imitates
objects by recognizing and emphasizing the important and significant
parts from which is derived the character of the whole!

Just as the artist is greatly helped by an exact knowledge of the
separate parts of the human figure, which he must in the end regard
again as a whole, so a general view, a side glance at related objects,
is highly advantageous, provided the artist is capable of rising to
Ideas and of grasping the close relationship of things apparently
remote. Comparative anatomy has prepared a general conception of
organic creatures; it leads us from form to form, and by observing
organisms closely or distantly related, we rise above them all to see
their characteristics in an ideal picture. If we keep this picture in
mind, we find that in observing objects our attention takes a definite
direction, that scattered facts can be learned and retained more
easily by comparison, that in the practice of art we can finally
vie with Nature only when we have learned from her, at least to some
extent, her method of procedure in the creation of her works.

Furthermore, we would encourage the artist to gain knowledge also of
the inorganic world; this can be done all the more easily since now we
can conveniently and quickly acquire knowledge of the mineral kingdom.
The painter needs some knowledge of stones in order to imitate their
characteristics; the sculptor and architect, in order to utilize them;
the cutter of precious stones cannot be without a knowledge of
their nature; the connoisseur and amateur, too, will strive for such
information.

Now that we have advised the artist to gain a conception of the
general operations of Nature, in order to become acquainted with those
which particularly interest him, partly to develop himself in more
directions, partly to understand better that which concerns him; we
shall add a few further remarks on this significant point.

Up to the present the painter has been able merely to wonder at the
physicist's theory of colors, without gaining any advantage from it.
The natural feeling of the artist, however, constant training, and a
practical necessity led him into a way of his own. He felt the vivid
contrasts out of the union of which harmony of color arises, he
designated certain characteristics through approximate sensations, he
had warm and cold colors, colors which express proximity, others which
express distance, and what not; and thus in his own way he brought
these phenomena closer to the most general laws of Nature. Perhaps the
supposition is confirmed that the operations of Nature in colors, as
well as magnetic, electric, and other operations, depend upon a mutual
relation, a polarity, or whatever else we might call the twofold or
manifold aspects of a distinct unity.

We shall make it our duty to present this matter in detail and in a
form comprehensible to the artist; and we can be the more hopeful of
doing something welcome to him, since we shall be concerned only with
explaining and tracing to fundamental principles things which he has
hitherto done by instinct.

So much for what we hope to impart in regard to Nature; now for what
is most necessary in regard to Art.

Since the arrangement of this work proposes the presentation of single
treatises, some of these only in part, and since it is not our desire
to dissect a whole, but rather to build up a whole from many parts,
it will be necessary to present, as soon as possible and in a general
summary, those thing's which the reader will gradually find unfolded
in our detailed elaborations. We shall, therefore, be occupied first
with an essay on plastic art, in which the familiar rubrics will be
presented according to our interpretation and method. Here it will be
our main concern to emphasize the importance of every branch of Art,
and to show that the artist must not neglect a single one, as has
unfortunately often happened, and still happens.

Hitherto we have regarded Nature as the treasure chamber of material
in general; now, however, we reach the important point where it is
shown how Art prepares its materials for itself.

When the artist takes any object of Nature, the object no longer
belongs to Nature; indeed, we can say that the artist creates the
object in that moment, by extracting from it all that is significant,
characteristic, interesting, or rather by putting into it a
higher value. In this way finer proportions, nobler forms, higher
characteristics are, as it were, forced upon the human figure; the
circle of regularity, perfection, signification, and completeness is
drawn, in which Nature gladly places her best possessions even though
elsewhere in her vast extent she easily degenerates into ugliness and
loses herself in indifference.

The same is true of composite works of art, of their subject and
content, whether the theme be fable or history. Happy the artist who
makes no mistake in undertaking the work, who knows how to choose, or
rather to determine what is suitable for art! He who wanders uneasily
among scattered myths and far-stretching history in search of a
theme, he who wishes to be significantly scholarly or allegorically
interesting, will often be checked in the midst of his work by
unexpected obstacles, or will miss his finest aim after the completion
of the work. He who does not speak clearly to the senses, will not
address himself clearly to the mind; and we regard this point as so
important that we insert at the very outset a more extended discussion
of it.

A theme having been happily found or invented, it is subjected to
treatment which we would divide into the spiritual the sensuous, and
the mechanical. The spiritual develops the subject according to its
inner relations, it discovers subordinate motives; and, if we can at
all judge the depth of ar artistic genius by the choice of subject,
we can recognize in his selection of themes his breadth, wealth,
fullness, and power of attraction. The sensuous treatment we
should define as that through which the work becomes thoroughly
comprehensible to the senses, agreeable, delightful, and irresistible
through its gentle charm. The mechanical treatment, finally, is that
which works upon given material through any bodily organ, and thus
brings the work into existence and gives it reality.

While we hope to be useful to the artist in this way, and earnestly
wish that he may avail himself of advice and of suggestions in
his work, the disquieting observation is forced upon us that every
undertaking, like every man, is likely to suffer just as much from its
period as it is to derive occasional advantage from it, and in our
own case we cannot altogether put aside the question concerning the
reception we are likely to meet with.

Everything is subject to constant change, and since certain things
cannot exist side by side, they displace one another This is true of
kinds of knowledge, of certain methods of instruction, of methods of
representation, and of maxims. The aims of men remain nearly always
the same: they still desire to become good artists or poets as they
did centuries ago; but the means through which the goal is reached are
not clear to everybody, and why should it be denied that nothing
would be more agreeable than to be able to carry out joyfully a great
design?

Naturally the public has a great influence upon Art, since in
return for its approval and its money it demands work that may give
satisfaction and immediate enjoyment; and the artist will for the
most part be glad to adapt himself to it, for he also is a part of the
public, he has received his training during the same years, he feels
the same needs, strives in the same direction, and thus moves along
happily with the multitude which supports him and which is invigorated
by him. In this matter we see whole nations and epochs delighted by
their artists, just as the artist sees himself reflected in his nation
and his epoch, without either having even the slightest suspicion
that their path might not be right, that their taste might be at least
one-sided, their art on the decline, and their progress in the wrong
direction.

Instead of proceeding to further generalities on this point, we shall
make a remark which refers particularly to plastic art.

For the German artist, in fact for modern and northern artists in
general, it is difficult--indeed almost impossible--to make the
transition from formless matter to form, and to maintain himself at
that point, even should he succeed in reaching it. Let every artist
who has lived for a time in Italy ask himself whether the presence of
the best works of ancient and modern art have not aroused in him
the incessant endeavour to study and imitate the human figure in its
proportions, forms, and characteristics, to apply all diligence and
care in the execution in order to approach those artistic works, so
entirely complete in themselves, in order to produce a work which, in
gratifying the sense, exalts the spirit to the greatest heights. Let
him also admit, however, that after his return he must gradually relax
his efforts, because he finds few persons who will really see, enjoy,
and comprehend what is depicted, but, for the most part, finds only
those who look at a work superficially, receive from it mere random
impressions, and in some way of their own try to get out of it any
kind of sensation and pleasure.

The worst picture can appeal to our senses and imagination by arousing
their activity, setting them free, and leaving them to themselves, the
best work of art also appeals to our senses, but in a higher language
which, of course, we must understand; it enchains the feelings and
imagination, it deprives us of caprice, we cannot deal with a perfect
work at our will; we are forced to give ourselves up to it, in order
to receive ourselves from it again, exalted and refined.

That these are no dreams we shall try to show gradually, in detail,
and as clearly as possible, we shall call attention particularly to a
contradiction in which the moderns are often involved. They call
the ancients their teachers, they acknowledge in their works an
unattainable excellence, yet they depart both in theory and practice
far from the maxims which the ancients continually observed. In
starting from this important point and in returning to it often, we
shall find others about which something falls to be said.

One of the principal signs of the decay of art is the mixture of its
various kinds. The arts themselves, as well as their branches, are
related to one another, and have a certain tendency to unite, even to
lose themselves in one another; but it is in this that the duty, the
merit, the dignity of the real artist consists, namely, in being able
to separate the field of art in which he works from others, in placing
every art and every branch of art on its own footing, and in isolating
it as far as possible.

It has been noticed that all plastic art strives toward painting, all
literary art toward the drama, and this observation may in the future
give us occasion for important reflections.

The genuine law-giving artist strives for the truth of art, the
lawless artist who follows a blind impulse strives for the reality of
Nature; through the former, art reaches its highest summit, through
the latter its lowest stage.

What holds good of art in general holds good also of the kinds of art.
The sculptor must think and feel differently from the painter, indeed
he must proceed when he wishes to produce a work in relief, in a
different fashion from that which he will employ for a work in the
round. By the raising of low reliefs higher and higher, by the making
of various parts and figures stand out completely, and finally by the
adding of buildings and landscapes, so that work was produced which
was half painting and half puppet-show, true art steadily declined.
Excellent artists of modern times have unfortunately pursued this
course.

When in the future we express such maxims as we think sound, we should
like, since they are deduced from works of art, to have them put
to the test of practice by the artist. How rarely one can come to a
theoretical agreement with anyone else on a fundamental principle.
That which is applicable and useful, on the other hand, is decided
upon much more quickly. How often we see artists in embarrassment over
the choice of subjects, over the general type of composition adapted
to their art, and the detailed arrangement; how often the painter over
the choice of colors! Then is the time to test a principle, then will
it he easier to decide whether it is bringing us closer to the great
models and to everything that we value and love in them, or whether it
leaves us entangled in the empirical confusion of an experience that
has not been sufficiently thought out.

If such maxims hold good in training: the artist, in guiding him
in many an embarrassment, they will serve also in the development,
valuation, and judgment of old and new works of art, and will in turn
arise from an observation of these works. Indeed, it is all the more
necessary to adhere to this, because, notwithstanding the universally
praised excellences of antiquity, individuals and whole nations
among the moderns often fail to recognize wherein lies the highest
excellence of those works.

An exact test will protect us best from this evil. For that reason let
us cite only one example to show what usually happens to the amateur
in plastic art, so that we may make clear how necessary it is that
criticism of ancient as well as modern works should be exact if it is
to be of any use.

Upon him who has an eye for beauty, though untrained, even a blurred,
imperfect plaster cast of an excellent antique will always have a
great effect; for in such a reproduction there always remain the idea,
the simplicity and greatness of form, in short, the general outlines;
as much, at all events, as one could perceive with poor eyes at a
distance.

It may be noticed that a strong inclination toward art is often
enkindled by such quite imperfect reproductions. But the effect is
like the object; it is rather that an obscure indefinite feeling is
aroused, than that the object in all its worth and dignity really
appears to such beginners in art. These are they who usually express
the theory that too minute a critical investigation destroys the
enjoyment, who are accustomed to oppose and resist regard for details.

If gradually, however, after further experience and training, they
are confronted with a sharp cast instead of a blurred one, an original
instead of a cast, their pleasure grows with their insight, and
increases when the originals themselves, the perfect originals,
finally become known to them.

The labyrinth of exact observations is willingly entered when the
details as well as the whole are perfect; indeed one learns to realize
that the excellences can be appreciated only in proportion as the
defects are perceived. To discriminate the restoration from the
genuine parts, and the copy from the original, to see in the smallest
fragments the ruined glory of the whole--this is the joy of the
finished expert; and there is a great difference between observing and
comprehending an imperfect whole with obscured vision, and a perfect
whole with clear vision.

He who concerns himself with any branch of knowledge, should strive
for the highest! Insight is different from practice, for in practical
work everyone must soon resign himself to the fact that only a certain
measure of strength is alloted to him; far more people, however,
are capable of knowledge and insight. Indeed, one may well say that
everyone is thus capable who can deny himself and subordinate himself
to external objects, everyone who does not strive with rigid and
narrow-minded obstinacy to impose upon the highest works of Nature and
Art his own personality and his petty onesideness.

To speak of works of art fitly and with true benefit to oneself and
others, the discussion should take place only in the presence of the
works themselves. Everything depends on the objects being in view; on
whether something absolutely definite is suggested by the word with
which one hopes to illuminate the work of art; for, otherwise, nothing
is thought of at all. This is why it so often happens that the writer
on art dwells merely on generalities, through which, indeed, ideas and
sensations are aroused in all readers, but no satisfaction is given to
the man who, book in hand, steps in front of the work of art itself.
Precisely on this account, however, we may in several essays be in a
position to arouse rather than to satisfy the desire of the readers;
for nothing is more natural than that they should wish to have before
their eyes immediately an excellent work of art which is minutely
dissected, in order to enjoy the whole which we are discussing, and,
so far as the parts are concerned, to subject to their own judgment
the opinion which they read.

While the authors, however, write on the assumption that their readers
either have seen the works, or will see them in the future, yet they
hope to do everything in their power for those who are in neither
case. We shall mention reproductions, shall indicate where casts of
antique works of art and antique works themselves are accessible,
particularly to Germans; and thus try, as far as we can, to minister
to the genuine love and knowledge of art.

A history of art can be based only upon the highest and most detailed
comprehension of art; only when one knows the finest things that man
can produce can one trace the psychological and chronological course
taken in art, as in other fields. This course began with a limited
activity, busied about a dry and even gloomy imitation of the
insignificant as well as the significant, whence developed a more
amiable, more kindly feeling toward Nature, till finally, under
favorable circumstances, accompanied by knowledge, regularity,
seriousness, and severity, art rose to its height. There at last it
became possible for the fortunate genius, surrounded by all these
auxiliaries, to produce the charming and the complete.

Unfortunately, however, works of art with such ease of expression,
which instil into man cheerfulness, freedom, and a pleasant feeling of
his own personality, arouse in the striving artist the idea that the
process of production is also agreeable. Since the pinnacle of what
art and genius produce is an appearance of ease, the artists who come
after are tempted to make things easy for themselves, and to work for
the sake of appearances. Thus art gradually declines from its high
position, as to the whole as well as details. But if we wish to gain
a fair conception, we must come down to details of details, an
occupation not always agreeable or charming, but by and by richly
rewarded with a more certain view of the whole.

If the experience of observing ancient and mediaeval works of art has
shown us that certain maxims hold good we need these most of all
in judging the most recent modern productions; for, since personal
relations, love and hatred of individuals, favor or disfavor of the
multitude so easily enter into the valuation of living or recently
deceased artists, we are in all the more need of principles in order
to pass judgment on our contemporaries. The inquiry can be conducted
in two ways: by diminishing the influence of caprice; by bringing the
question before a higher tribunal. The principle can be tested as
well as its application; and even if we should not agree, the point in
dispute can still be definitely and clearly pointed out.

Especially should we wish that the vivifying artist, in whose works
we might perhaps have found something to remember, might test our
judgments carefully in this way; for everyone who deserves this
name is forced in our times to form, as a result of his work and his
reflections, a theory, or at least a certain conception of theoretical
means, by the use of which he gets along tolerably well in a variety
of cases. It will often be noticed, however, that in this way he
sets up as laws such maxims as are in accordance with his talent,
his inclination, and his convenience. He is subject to a fate that is
common to all mankind. How many act in this very way in other fields!
But we are not cultivating ourselves when we merely set in motion with
ease and convenience that which lies in us. Every artist, like every
man, is only an individual, and will always lean to one side. For that
reason, man should pursue so far as possible, both theoretically and
practically, that which is contrary to his nature. Let the easy-going
seek what is serious and severe; let the stern keep before his
eyes the light and agreeable; the strong, loveliness; the amiable,
strength; and everyone will develop his own nature the more, the
farther he seems to remove himself from it. Every art requires the
whole man; the highest possible degree of art requires all mankind.