Reflections on Our Dislike of Things as they are
Yes! Why is this the chief characteristic of our art? What secret instincts are responsible for this inveterate1 distaste? But, first, is it true that we have it?
To stand still and look at a thing for the joy of looking, without reference to any material advantage, and personal benefit, either to ourselves or our neighbours, just simply to indulge our curiosity! Is that a British habit? I think not.
If, on some November afternoon, we walk into Kensington Gardens, where they join the Park on the Bayswater side, and, crossing in front of the ornamental2 fountain, glance at the semicircular seat let into a dismal3 little Temple of the Sun, we shall see a half-moon of apathetic4 figures. There, enjoying a moment of lugubrious5 idleness, may be sitting an old countrywoman with steady eyes in a lean, dusty-black dress and an old poke-bonnet; by her side, some gin-faced creature of the town, all blousy and draggled; a hollow-eyed foreigner, far gone in consumption; a bronzed young navvy, asleep, with his muddy boots jutting6 straight out; a bearded, dreary7 being, chin on chest; and more consumptives, and more vagabonds, and more people dead-tired, speechless, and staring before them from that crescent-shaped haven8 where there is no draught9 at their backs, and the sun occasionally shines. And as we look at them, according to the state of our temper, we think: Poor creatures, I wish I could do something for them! or: Revolting! They oughtn’t to allow it! But do we feel any pleasure in just watching them; any of that intimate sensation a cat entertains when its back is being rubbed; are we curiously10 enjoying the sight of these people, simply as manifestations11 of life, as objects fashioned by the ebb12 and flow of its tides? Again, I think, not. And why? Either, because we have instantly felt that we ought to do something; that here is a danger in our midst, which one day might affect our own security; and at all events, a sight revolting to us who came out to look at this remarkably13 fine fountain. Or, because we are too humane14! Though very possibly that frequent murmuring of ours: Ah! It’s too sad! is but another way of putting the words: Stand aside, please, you’re too depressing! Or, again, is it that we avoid the sight of things as they are, avoid the unedifying, because of what may be called “the uncreative instinct,” that safeguard and concomitant of a civilisation15 which demands of us complete efficiency, practical and thorough employment of every second of our time and every inch of our space? We know, of course, that out of nothing nothing can be made, that to “create” anything a man must first receive impressions, and that to receive impressions requires an apparatus16 of nerves and feelers, exposed and quivering to every vibration17 round it, an apparatus so entirely18 opposed to our national spirit and traditions that the bare thought of it causes us to blush. A robust19 recognition of this, a steadfast20 resolve not to be forced out of the current of strenuous21 civilisation into the sleepy backwater of pure impression ism, makes us distrustful of attempts to foster in ourselves that receptivity and subsequent creativeness, the microbes of which exist in every man: To watch a thing simply because it is a thing, entirely without considering how it can affect us, and without even seeing at the moment how we are to get anything out of it, jars our consciences, jars that inner feeling which keeps secure and makes harmonious22 the whole concert of our lives, for we feel it to be a waste of time, dangerous to the community, contributing neither to our meat and drink, our clothes and comfort, nor to the stability and order of our lives.
Of these three possible reasons for our dislike of things as they are, the first two are perhaps contained within the third. But, to whatever our dislike is due, we have it — Oh! we have it! With the possible exception of Hogarth in his non-preaching pictures, and Constable23 in his sketches24 of the sky,— I speak of dead men only,— have we produced any painter of reality like Manet or Millet25, any writer like Flaubert or Maupassant, like Turgenev, or Tchekov. We are, I think, too deeply civilised, so deeply civilised that we have come to look on Nature as indecent. The acts and emotions of life undraped with ethics26 seem to us anathema27. It has long been, and still is, the fashion among the intellectuals of the Continent to regard us as barbarians28 in most aesthetic29 matters. Ah! If they only knew how infinitely30 barbarous they seem to us in their naive31 contempt of our barbarism, and in what we regard as their infantine concern with things as they are. How far have we not gone past all that — we of the oldest settled Western country, who have so veneered our lives that we no longer know of what wood they are made! Whom generations have so soaked with the preserve “good form” that we are impervious32 to the claims and clamour of that ill-bred creature — life! Who think it either dreadful, or ‘vieux jeu’, that such things as the crude emotions and the raw struggles of Fate should be even mentioned, much less presented in terms of art! For whom an artist is ‘suspect’ if he is not, in his work, a sportsman and a gentleman? Who shake a solemn head over writers who will treat of sex; and, with the remark: “Worst of it is, there’s so much truth in those fellows!” close the book.
Ah! well! I suppose we have been too long familiar with the unprofitableness of speculation33, have surrendered too definitely to action — to the material side of things, retaining for what relaxation34 our spirits may require, a habit of sentimental35 aspiration36, carefully divorced from things as they are. We seem to have decided37 that things are not, or, if they are, ought not to be — and what is the good of thinking of things like that? In fact, our national ideal has become the Will to Health, to Material Efficiency, and to it we have sacrificed the Will to Sensibility. It is a point of view. And yet — to the philosophy that craves38 Perfection, to the spirit that desires the golden mean, and hankers for the serene39 and balanced seat in the centre of the see-saw, it seems a little pitiful, and constricted40; a confession41 of defeat, a hedging and limitation of the soul. Need we put up with this, must we for ever turn our eyes away from things as they are, stifle42 our imaginations and our sensibilities, for fear that they should become our masters, and destroy our sanity43? This is the eternal question that confronts the artist and the thinker. Because of the inevitable44 decline after full flowering-point is reached, the inevitable fading of the fire that follows the full flame and glow, are we to recoil45 from striving to reach the perfect and harmonious climacteric? Better to have loved and lost, I think, than never to have loved at all; better to reach out and grasp the fullest expression of the individual and the national soul, than to keep for ever under the shelter of the wall. I would even think it possible to be sensitive without neurasthenia, to be sympathetic without insanity46, to be alive to all the winds that blow without getting influenza47. God forbid that our Letters and our Arts should decade into Beardsleyism; but between that and their present “health” there lies full flowering-point, not yet, by a long way, reached.
To flower like that, I suspect, we must see things just a little more — as they are!
1905-1912.
1 inveterate | |
adj.积习已深的,根深蒂固的 | |
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2 ornamental | |
adj.装饰的;作装饰用的;n.装饰品;观赏植物 | |
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3 dismal | |
adj.阴沉的,凄凉的,令人忧郁的,差劲的 | |
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4 apathetic | |
adj.冷漠的,无动于衷的 | |
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5 lugubrious | |
adj.悲哀的,忧郁的 | |
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6 jutting | |
v.(使)突出( jut的现在分词 );伸出;(从…)突出;高出 | |
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7 dreary | |
adj.令人沮丧的,沉闷的,单调乏味的 | |
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8 haven | |
n.安全的地方,避难所,庇护所 | |
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9 draught | |
n.拉,牵引,拖;一网(饮,吸,阵);顿服药量,通风;v.起草,设计 | |
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10 curiously | |
adv.有求知欲地;好问地;奇特地 | |
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11 manifestations | |
n.表示,显示(manifestation的复数形式) | |
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12 ebb | |
vi.衰退,减退;n.处于低潮,处于衰退状态 | |
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13 remarkably | |
ad.不同寻常地,相当地 | |
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14 humane | |
adj.人道的,富有同情心的 | |
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15 civilisation | |
n.文明,文化,开化,教化 | |
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16 apparatus | |
n.装置,器械;器具,设备 | |
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17 vibration | |
n.颤动,振动;摆动 | |
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18 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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19 robust | |
adj.强壮的,强健的,粗野的,需要体力的,浓的 | |
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20 steadfast | |
adj.固定的,不变的,不动摇的;忠实的;坚贞不移的 | |
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21 strenuous | |
adj.奋发的,使劲的;紧张的;热烈的,狂热的 | |
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22 harmonious | |
adj.和睦的,调和的,和谐的,协调的 | |
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23 constable | |
n.(英国)警察,警官 | |
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24 sketches | |
n.草图( sketch的名词复数 );素描;速写;梗概 | |
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25 millet | |
n.小米,谷子 | |
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26 ethics | |
n.伦理学;伦理观,道德标准 | |
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27 anathema | |
n.诅咒;被诅咒的人(物),十分讨厌的人(物) | |
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28 barbarians | |
n.野蛮人( barbarian的名词复数 );外国人;粗野的人;无教养的人 | |
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29 aesthetic | |
adj.美学的,审美的,有美感 | |
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30 infinitely | |
adv.无限地,无穷地 | |
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31 naive | |
adj.幼稚的,轻信的;天真的 | |
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32 impervious | |
adj.不能渗透的,不能穿过的,不易伤害的 | |
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33 speculation | |
n.思索,沉思;猜测;投机 | |
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34 relaxation | |
n.松弛,放松;休息;消遣;娱乐 | |
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35 sentimental | |
adj.多愁善感的,感伤的 | |
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36 aspiration | |
n.志向,志趣抱负;渴望;(语)送气音;吸出 | |
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37 decided | |
adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的 | |
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38 craves | |
渴望,热望( crave的第三人称单数 ); 恳求,请求 | |
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39 serene | |
adj. 安详的,宁静的,平静的 | |
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40 constricted | |
adj.抑制的,约束的 | |
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41 confession | |
n.自白,供认,承认 | |
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42 stifle | |
vt.使窒息;闷死;扼杀;抑止,阻止 | |
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43 sanity | |
n.心智健全,神智正常,判断正确 | |
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44 inevitable | |
adj.不可避免的,必然发生的 | |
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45 recoil | |
vi.退却,退缩,畏缩 | |
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46 insanity | |
n.疯狂,精神错乱;极端的愚蠢,荒唐 | |
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47 influenza | |
n.流行性感冒,流感 | |
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