Theosophy - Theosophy and Art - by Reginald Machell, FTS - as published in Volume 5 of Theosophical Siftings
THEOSOPHY AND ART
by Reginald Machell [FTS]
reprinted from “Theosophical
Siftings” Volume - 5 -
[Page 3] THE
first question that naturally presents itself, in considering
this subject is: — What is Art? This
appears to me to be as difficult to answer as the old question,
What is Truth ? For when we try to analyze Art in itself,
we find that we are face to face with an abstract idea; or
rather, I should say that we can never come just face to
face with the thing in itself, by reason of its abstraction.
We must not confuse Art itself with any of its forms or
manifestations; although if we examine deeply any of these
forms, or manifestations, we are bound to arrive at that
abstract something which lies at the root of all. But as
it is useless to discuss abstractions without having our
minds trained and etherealized to a degree that is scarcely
compatible with life as we know it at present, it will be
better, I think, to try and define what is the particular
meaning which for the time being we shall agree to attach
to the term Art.
This term is used
so freely and loosely, that it really serves as a beautiful
example of the use of language to conceal the absence of
thought. Just at present there is a rage for what is called
Art; Art linendrapers, Art paperhangers, Art manufacturers
of all kinds abound — indeed, everything
in a modern house is either artistic or sanitary (which being
interpreted means cheap and useless). But though we may laugh
at these grotesque desecrations of a sacred word, it is not
so easy to give a logical reason for limiting the use of
the term to the higher forms of Art. It seems to me that
Art is essentially the expression of an ideal. This ideal
will vary in its degree of approximation to Truth, in proportion
as it approaches the abstract essence of things; but however
low a man's ideal may be, it will still be to him the highest
conceivable degree of beauty and Truth.
Beauty appears to be a quality of Nature, of which man only
perceives so much as his mind can assimilate. For beauty
does not exist apart from the perceiver. Yet it rather seems
to me that beauty is really a state of mind. The senses only
register vibrations, which are translated by the mind into
colour, form, sound, etc.; and then the mind discovers, by
the aid of these qualities, a harmony which it calls [Page
4] beauty, and attributes as a quality to the object of perception,
but which really seems to be the result of harmonious relations
between mind and object. It would be more true perhaps to
say that beauty is in both observer and observed, but not
in one apart from the other.
This characteristic (of expression of an ideal) is so inseparable
from the idea of Art, that it may well be taken as the first
and most important; always remembering, however, that the
thing in itself is not its characteristics. This being in
itself unknowable, can only be symbolized to the mind by
means of its characteristics. Hence we have all the schools,
each maintaining that theirs is true Art, and quarrelling
with others, who uphold some other form of Art. They are
all right, and all necessary in their time and place; but
each form (or school of Art) must die; and the endeavour
of the artist worthy of the name should be to make the constant
change one of advance, or of expansion towards the great
Truth which lies back of all ideals, and which is the unknown,
and to us unknowable.
This faculty of
man's — that of being able to conceive
the idea of the possibility of the unthinkable — is
one on which the study of the constitution of man, particularly
the dual nature of Manas (mind) as explained, or rather hinted
at, in Madame Blavatsky's Secret Doctrine, will throw much
light.
It is the lower Manas (mind) which is so largely developed
in humanity at present, and more often it is only the lower
subdivisions even of that. Now the mind of the materialist-scientist
seems to me to be the full development of the lower Manas,
which strives to assure its footsteps, and set itself on
a sound footing, but with eyes bent downwards, not seeing
or not noticing the gleams of light from the higher Manas,
which are taken for illusive fancies, fictions of the brain,
and what not.
The artistic mind
seems to be the higher aspect of the lower Manas, eagerly
looking for these rare gleams of light, catching them,
and striving to reflect them again in some form intelligible
to other minds; and, unlike the scientific, caring nothing
for proving, testing, or classifying the characteristics
of these rays of light — or rather their effects. The
artist seeks to live in the light, and to reflect it, to
reveal the ideal, the beautiful, the true; and leaves the
world to do what it can with what he gives it. What the world
does generally is to take the revelation and make it a marketable
commodity.
Fortunately, however,
the work of Art may be hidden or destroyed, its secret
cannot be touched by the traders who buy and sell the casket
which contains the hidden gem, whose light they cannot
see. [Page 5] "Eyes have
they, but they see not". The
higher senses are atrophied, and trade has deadened the effect
of Art, whose light cannot pierce the gloom of a mind filled
with money-making. When such a man speaks of beauty, it can
only mean that something has been found to vibrate sympathetically
in his nature; and you will not be far wrong in tracing this
sympathy to sexual passion, which to the ordinary animal-man
takes the place of artistic feeling for harmony.
As I have said, Art appears to me as the expression of an
ideal. Now if we take the most thoroughgoing realist in Art,
say in pictorial Art, what is it he does ? He attempts to
express the idea that he has conceived of some aspect of
Nature, having no faculty by which he can cognize or express
the real nature of things in themselves, apart from his own
conception of their appearance as conveyed to his mind by
his senses. So that, after all, he is attempting to express
an ideal, only he is deceiving himself by taking his own ideal for the reality. And here let me say that the so-called
realist is just the most difficult of all to understand,
for he does not attempt (consciously) to give any clue to
the ideas underlying all manifested Nature, but just plants
a fact before you and leaves you to worry it out for yourself,
or to follow the mob, who fall down and worship the accuracy
of the imitation, leaving the ideas to take care of themselves.
In allegorical
pictures, the spectator is told plainly — This
is an allegory, try and find out what it means; yet you will
hear people complain that Burne Jones' pictures are so untrue
to Nature, and so forth. It is just that very question, what
is Truth in Nature, which is so intensely interesting. Is
it the sense-perception of Nature? or is it a far more subtle
perception of the underlying Nature of which the outer material
world is the sense-form? May there not perhaps be more ways
of knowing Nature than those usually employed; and when an
artist, poet, or musician puts forth a strange and unintelligible
work, shall we say it is untrue to Nature? Is it not better
to try and see if perchance he has not found a new way of
seeing one more face of the great unknown mystery.
The great master in any branch of Art appears as an interpreter
of the hidden ideal concealed in the common facts of ordinary
life; he is a light bringer, who points out a way to the
real nature of things; the revealer of the soul of Nature.
He does not throw a glamour over simple facts, to deceive
men, but rather he lifts the veil of matter ever so little,
and shows a faint glimpse of the real nature of the idea,
which he strives to express materially by a certain arrangement
of objects or persons. Art then being, if my definition be
accepted, the expression [Page 6] of the ideal, which must
be the highest conceivable form of Truth, the study of Art
must be the pursuit of Truth, and that is aspiration.
In Science the
pursuit of Truth means knowledge and progress, while in
Religion the same search for Truth becomes almost a passive
state, and assumes the form of worship, while Truth is
symbolized as God. The Artistic, the Scientific, and the
Religious — these are the three main classes into which
human aspirants may be divided. There is another class which
includes all these; for the Occultist, I imagine, must have
the capacity of development along all these lines, though
he, also, will be swayed in one or other direction, according
to the star under which he is born; but this star which controls
his existence throughout the life-cycle of the manvantara
is not the astrological star which presides at each physical
rebirth. This, however, is fully explained in the Secret
Doctrine, where we are told that mankind is divided into
seven great classes which are under the guidance of a Planetary
spirit, a Dhyani Buddha, a Master Mind; or rather the collective
mind of that whole class of men, the real self of each one.
We are further told that an individual cannot change the
class in which he starts at the beginning of the manvantara,
till the whole cycle has run its course; and for this reason
it is important to try and find out to which class we really
do belong. But in whatever class we may be, the same forces,
in various combinations and modifications, work in all of
us; and the road of progress must be similar in all; that
is, it must be, in some form, aspiration. This should be
the basis upon which our lives should be built. And so I
would say that Art, Science, or Religion, should be the very
foundation of life for all who wish to be men and not animals;
and, while a man will be inevitably drawn more towards one
than the other, I imagine that if he would really rise he
must keep the other lines open, while still developing himself
more particularly on the one towards which he is most attracted.
So, while it would be absurd to ask every man to at once
begin the practice of some branch of Art, yet I do hold that
every man should try to develop in himself that perception
of Art which is a key to the harmony of Nature, and to his
own position in that harmony.
Have you seen
in the springtime the glorious masses of blossom gleaming
in pure loveliness in the midday sun (as some of us saw
it one day last May — a day that few of us will
forget) ? And again, have you not on an autumn evening watched
the effect of the setting sun, showing splashes of golden
light, glowing among the purple shades, and pearly mists
of some country scene. And have you not felt the beauty,
and understood that the beauty and harmony were the reality
[Page 7] although you might also know that the setting sun
was reflected in golden glory from the glowing surface of
some pool of black slime oozing from a pigstye, and the purple
shades were made by a manure heap, and the pearly mists were
poisonous exhalations from some marsh, or drain, perhaps.
Now what would that scene suggest to a man without a perception
of Art or beauty? Why, rheumatism, ague, typhoid, etc., all
that comes within the range of his bodily perception, poor
man! And in the masses of blossom he would see a prospect
of a good crop of saleable fruit, bless him! A perception
of beauty is not necessarily a protection from rheumatism;
but we may see how the lowest objects in Nature become the
means of expressing the grandest beauty. They take their
place in the harmony of Nature, and each reflect the rays
of the great sun, which shines on all alike.
Art is the golden
key by which beauty is perceived, and beauty is the key
to harmony, and harmony prepares the way for unity, which
is the point from which mankind shall one day start upon
a new plane of higher evolution. That eternal evolution
which Theosophy shows to be the law of the universe, and
which makes intelligible to us the existence of apparent
discord, of crime, and of misery in the world, all of which
seems to be directly due to ignorance of the real principles
which govern our life. Of Art in particular how little is
known or understood! It is sad to see how utterly degraded
is the present general conception of Art, and of what should
be the position of mankind with regard to it. Nothing is
more common than to hear it spoken of apologetically, as
being useful to brighten the lives of people immersed in
worldly cares; a pleasant addition to a home; like Crosse
and Blackwell's marmalade "an elegant adjunct to the
breakfast table"; a kind of sauce to add flavour to
the enjoyment of life — as though Art were something
external to man, and to be had on tap, of all respectable
artists!
Art cannot be
bought and sold. A man may buy a picture, but if he has
not the key to Art in himself, he simply buys the privilege
of preventing other people from enjoying that which he
cannot perceive. He is the privileged custodian of a work
of Art, but he has no more to do with Art than one of the
policemen at South Kensington Museum. He makes an investment
which often turns out most profitable, and is then considered
a patron of Art by a public without any sense of humour — a
public sunk in the degrading influence of our beautiful,
respectable civilization. No; as Whistler has said: No
man can do anything for Art, can add aught to it, or take
anything from it; Art is. It is constant, and that
which varies is the number of light-bringers,[Page
8] or great masters, who mark the great periods
of civilization, and who are reborn into the world at regular
(though apparently irregular) periods. They produce the great
revivals and renaissances, and their glory remains as an
after-glow when they are withdrawn.
What happens seems
to be this: the light-bringer, or master, lifts the veil
of matter, and shows a glimpse of Truth. The light flashes
out and blinds the mob who happen to be looking in that
direction, and they howl, and curse the discomfort produced
by this unpleasant thing; paying, as Whistler rightly says,
the only homage possible from the mob to the master — that
of execration. Those who are looking the other way see the
light reflected in the eyes of some one or two eager searchers
after Truth, and promptly fall down and worship them, as
if they were the real source of light; and so by their flattery
too often cause an earnest seeker to become a mock master,
a king crowned, like Shilili Bagarag, with a crown of apes'
skulls and asses' ears. The applause of the multitude! Truly, "Beware
when all men speak well of you".
But perhaps my
definition of Art may be too wide, for it would almost
cover mathematics and geometry, for instance, and other
forms of expression which yet can hardly be called forms
of Art. The ordinary observer will see a clear distinction
between a mathematical problem or a geometrical figure and
a work of Art; but when we look deeper into the nature of
things it is not so easy to draw a hard and fast line between
the two. The explanation may perhaps be found in the study
of Theosophic writings of all times on the subject of the
difference between the soul and mind. Art is of the soul,
and as there are many phases of Art there are also many types
of soul. Psyche, the ΨυΧη of the Greeks,
was symbolized by a butterfly, which springs from the grub,
and opens its wings to the great sun. And so, when Whistler
took the butterfly as his monogram, or device, he did well.
It hovers in the middle region, a link between earth and
heaven, like the Peri at the gate of Paradise in Moore's
poem.
These three divisions
again suggest that Art also may be divided into three kinds,
or three stages. There is the Art of ancient Egypt, of
India, Assyria, and probably of later Atlantis, all which
is essentially symbolic and spiritual; yet still displaying
the highest degree ol decorative beauty. Then comes the
astral or lower ideal Art of the Greeks, in which sensuous
beauty is so developed as to obscure the spiritual nature
of the ideas concealed under the graceful forms which are
the glory of the Greek school. The third form is modern
impressionism, which I should call the materialised form
of Art. Not that I [Page 9] mean
for a moment to call the great artists of our time materialists
but simply that in comparison with Greece or Egypt the Art
of today bears more the stamp of materialism than of the
ideal or the spiritual. I think that anyone who spends much
time in studying the remains of ancient Egyptian and Assyrian
Art in the British Museum will feel a sense of coming down
to earth on entering the Greek sculpture gallery, and if
he spends time enough there to become imbued with the feeling
of the beauty, grace, and dignity of Greek Art, he will also
experience another drop on entering the National Gallery.
The casual observer would naturally reverse the order; but
when we consider the enormous proportion of our artists who
devote all their talent and time to portraiture, I think
the term materialistic will not be found misapplied.
Into the dull
mist of sham classic and gross material vulgarity, which
until lately reigned supreme in Europe, a light was flashed
in the shape of that which is now known as impressionism,
but which had other names at first. It is but twenty years
or more since Manet and his followers startled the world
by their glimpses of real Nature, of open air, of light and
life. What a howl there was at the time in Paris, and has
been since; and yet within ten years the influence of the
new light was reflected in every picture exhibition, and
in the works of the men who even then still continued to
laugh at those whose genius had shown them the light. Zola
has told all this in his great work, L'Oeuvre, in that
marvellous and masterly style of his; which, again, is
a light that has multiplied itself in the literary world;
while the public, who are incapable of just appreciation,
pick out certain books and certain passages, read them
with prurient joy, and then hold up their pure hands in
virtuous horror.
Truth has stepped out of her well, hearing her name called
so loudly and long; and lo! she is behind the times, and
her pure nudity shocks the mock modesty of the canting world,
and they drive her back with stones and sticks. Zola's books
are often horrible, but not so horrible as the life that
goes on all around us, if we will look into it. Shall we
shrink from the Truth, or face it? learning to look on it
unmoved, except by pity for our race, which suffers from
such hideous sores; remembering that we, who tolerate such
a state of things, are more to be reviled than the man who
lifts the veil and lets the light in upon its hideousness.
The Secret
Doctrine teaches the complex nature of man, and
shows that while all the principles, developed and undeveloped,
exist potentially in every man, the higher faculties are
for the most part [Page 10] latent at the present time. Evolution
then must take the direction of the developing of these latent
powers. The effort in this direction is, again, aspiration
towards the ideal. Now this ideal will necessarily vary in
each class of mankind; consequently with each type of mind
we shall have a different form of Art, Science or Religion.
Each of these forms is the best for those minds which belong
to that class (or evolutionary stage) in which it appears;
and thus we have men of the greatest ability positively asserting
that their particular form of expression is the only true
one. This is well, for each class of mind is, as it were,
a different member of the great human body, a separate note
in a chord which forms a part of the harmony of Nature; and
a man who is fully convinced that his own perception of Truth
is the one only right perception, is more than likely to
produce good work, to sound his one note clearly and well;
but he must not be allowed to overwhelm the other notes in
the chord, as too often happens for want of the knowledge
of the fact that he and his school are only one note in a
great harmony.
I do not think that the great men, the great artists of
all times, could ever have ignored this simple fact; but
as they are, as it were, the leading tones, and in their
own chord are so important, their followers imagine them
to be the whole chord in themselves, and promptly strive
to destroy all the sonorousness of the other tones in the
chord. If they succeed, they naturally produce discord. Then
another great man rises, and sounds his note, giving the
leading tone for another chord, and the lesser minds rush
off and swamp the sonorousness of his tone with their discordant
imitations; and so the world is tossed backward and forward.
For men do not
realize that each one of them has his own place, grouped
naturally round some one or other of these great master
minds, and that for all to try and play the same part in
the great orchestra is to produce inevitable discord. Each
instrument, or set of instruments, is tuned to a different
key, and has a different capacity and different uses, and
consequently must have its own special score adapted to
its capacity, and arranged by the master mind in such manner
as to bring out to the best advantage, and in its proper
place, the full value of the particular instrument. The
conductor is the mind of the whole orchestra, and can only
produce harmony so long as each instrumentalist looks conscientiously
to him for the beat, and each concerns himself with his
own instrument, and not at all with his neighbours'. The
conductor without his orchestra is voiceless, and the orchestra
without the conductor is helpless, and can only produce
confusion. [Page 11] But many
people declare that the harmony of the universe is a myth,
a poetic fancy, a delusion; that all is discord, with at
best a snatch of melody here and there. Here again the
analogy holds good. Suppose we take a complicated orchestral
piece and confine our attention to one of the instrumental
parts, we shall find little to please our ear, and little
to satisfy us in any way. We most of us know by painful
experience the effect of hearing a bandsman practising
his part alone. There appears to be no melody, no meaning
whatever in his sudden bursts of sound, with long pauses
and then a single note that seems harsh and discordant
without the other instruments, each of which is also playing
a part as meaningless — when heard alone.
And though some one or two may play a distinct melody, yet
it will seem weak and thin without the whole body of sound
of the combined orchestra. And this is just the position
of separate individuals, or classes, or races of men.
We may carry this
analogy of the orchestra even a step further, and see how
it is almost impossible for any one player, while still
playing his part in the great orchestra, to judge of the
effect of the whole performance. He can do so if he leaves
his place and listens to the others; but though in this way
he may enjoy the harmony of the whole, he has selfishly deprived
that whole of one of its constituent parts, and neglected
to perform his duty. This is what is done when a man leaves
the world in order to selfishly enjoy the contemplation of
Nature, and is very different to the seclusion of the student,
who only retires in order to prepare himself to fitly take
his place, and worthily perform his part. Of these two paths
I need hardly say that the one pointed out by Theosophy is
not that of selfish enjoyment, even of the most elevated
kind; for it teaches the essential unity of the universe,
and warns the student against the "great heresy" of
separateness.
The Theosophical Society makes its first object the establishment
of a nucleus of Universal Brotherhood. To attain this great
object the first step is to establish a platform, so to speak,
on which all the opposing and conflicting elements may meet.
They must have a common basis to work upon; and the search
for this platform, or basis, will lead men to a deeper study
of their own natures; for until we go pretty deep there is
no sign of any common nature in all men. To make a brotherhood
of man you must be able to show wherein really lies the bond,
the real union; and it must be a part of the compound nature
which is existent in all and each, else it will be only a
class, not an universal union. It is useless to say we are
all brothers unless we can show something more than a sentimental
relationship, for a very large [Page 12] number will never
be able to admit the idea on those grounds. I think that
the study of Theosophy will offer a key to the unravelling
of the mystery by the theory of the relation between the
compound nature of man and that of the universe. If we can
prove to ourselves the truth of the statement, so often repeated
in Theosophical writings of all times, that man is a miniature
universe, governed by similar laws, and that the same laws
apply to every particle of matter; then we may see that the
Brotherhood of Man is not only desirable, but that it is
inevitable. It merely rests with us to say whether we will
recognize it or not; and if we do, then in whatever way we
may take it, how shall we understand it?
Once again I would suggest that the study of another form
of Art may offer a suggestion. Let us take the analogy of
the stage. The actors are called together, and the parts
are distributed, just as the Egos are fitted with bodies
and personalities at each rebirth. They are, to a certain
extent, bound by the conditions of the part they play, but
how they will play their respective parts will depend upon
the result of the experience gained in previous parts played
upon the stage; just as a man's character is said to be the
outcome of the way he has lived his previous earth-lives.
Now a good actor will never imagine that he can act independently
of his brother actors, or that he is at all free to disregard
the unity of the whole piece; he will not even try to force
his part into undue prominence, as he knows that the success
of the play depends upon the harmonious action of all. He
knows the importance of keeping his part well within the
picture, aiming at the whole effect, and not at a momentary
self-glorification. If he has to play the part of a villain,
he does it as carefully as he would if he were playing a
more congenial character, and accepts the hisses of the gallery
as proof of his success. He does not look upon his unpleasant
character as a punishment for having played badly other parts,
but as an opportunity of gaining still more experience, and
displaying the knowledge already gained; working as much
for the good of the whole company as the actor who plays
the good genius of the piece. All the parts are important,
and all the players are dependent upon the work of a host
of others who do not appear, but whose momentary neglect
of their duty may throw the whole performance into confusion.
Or suppose that the actor who for the time is playing the
villain of the piece decides that he will make his character
more amiable, and quietly cuts out the murder that is set
down for him to commit, what becomes of the virtuous hero
who has been robbed of his great death. [Page
13] scene,
and of his dying speech, which he is wont to fire off at
the full pitch of his voice, regardless of the dagger sticking
in his heart of lungs as the case may be! Vice and virtue
are no longer to be distinguished, and the piece is drowned
by the jeers of the audience. This sounds like advocating
the theory of fatalism or predestination, but it is not quite
that if we look into it. The actor voluntarily accepts his
part, and only becomes a villain so long as his appointed
task actually continues, returning to his own character with
a little experience gained. So the Ego perhaps deliberately
sacrifices itself to suffer the crucifixion of being nailed
to the cross of a criminal personality, to save that personality
perhaps from utter loss, or for some other purpose more difficult
to imagine or understand.
And here I would suggest that our present estimate of right
and wrong, of virtue and vice, may be very materially altered
in a more developed state, particularly the relative importance
which we give to certain vices or virtues. It is evident
that at the present day the only crime that renders a man
who has plenty of money unfit for the best society, is suicide.
Now it is quite conceivable (though perhaps a somewhat wild
speculation) that the greatest crime might, in a better state
of society, be dishonesty; but this is to look too far ahead,
I fear. If we could but just face in that direction it would
be something gained.
Some students of Theosophy seem rather inclined to regard
Art as a matter of purely sensuous enjoyment, and consequently
something to be avoided as a snare. There is a sensuous side
to Art, because there is a sensuous side to man. There is
also a psychic side, and an inner spiritual and occult side.
Certainly the senses play their part in any appreciation
of a work of Art, and if the senses are systematically blunted
and deadened, it will be hard for a man to get into touch
with any artistic work; and so the inner nature of it remains
unknown to him, and he closes a valuable window from which
he might look out on to a wider world than that enclosed
in the mental walls which he has narrowed into a prison-house
for his soul. The lower nature is the horse we ride upon
in the great journey, and for a man to kill his horse at
the start because he is restive, is surely shortsighted policy;
better master him with skill and judgment, and make him carry
his rider through the dark valley, till he reach the mountain
up which the pilgrim must climb on foot, and alone.
The study of Art
is just this — the training of the
senses, putting them in harmony with Nature, and so stilling
their constant turmoil, and leaving the soul free. A lady
once told me how, when sitting in a [Page
14] College Chapel
at Oxford, looking at the windows designed by Burne Jones,
she rather wondered at the admiration that she had heard
expressed for them, when just at that moment the full rich
tones of the organ pealed out, filling the place with harmony.
Then all at once a new light seemed to shine from the windows,
the harmony of colour melted into the harmony of sound, and
somehow the colour and sound seemed one; a wonderful calm
fell on all her senses; but her mind seemed to open out upon
the other side of some hitherto impassable barrier, and all
grew clear; she seemed to read the meaning of life, and of
her own being. When she told me about it she was puzzled,
and could find no words to express what she had felt. I pointed
out to her that a great artist had worked long to produce
those windows, another great artist had worked long to produce
that music, and a great architect had worked long before
that building became the shrine of Art; and yet it took all
their joint work to produce the harmony necessary to express
those ideas, for, if it could be done with words, then their
work was useless. Words are so small and poor, for when a
poet takes words, and makes with them a great poem that becomes
a window for the soul to look through, is it the meaning
of the words analyzed grammatically that will explain the
effect of his poem ? Is it not the rhythm, the tone, the
accent, the secret spell of number (that great lord of Nature)
that all combine to put the lower man in harmony and at peace,
so that the soul can hear the voice of the poet's soul, without
words?
This sensuous part of Art is no doubt full of danger, for
if when the point of harmonious balance is reached the mind
turns its gaze downwards, then it will be caught in the web
of pleasure and drowned in the sweet intoxication of sense.
But when we look round at the state of our modern society,
we see that the great aim of life is not even enjoyment of
life, but enjoyment of the good opinion of other men, whether
genuine or not. What sense pleasures are really enjoyed are
so low as to be out of the question altogether when we are
discussing Art, and one almost begins to think the intoxicating
delight of a Salvation Army band is an advance, and Moody
and Sankey's hymns a high flight of aesthetic progress.
All is relative,
and just as we now look with pitying contempt on the proceedings
of a Salvation Army procession, it is quite conceivable
that in a more advanced state of progress our highest achievements
in Art may appear poor and trivial to our descendants.
All we can do is to aspire ever towards the light of Truth,
and use for the expression of our ideals such methods as
may seem best suited to our purpose for [Page
15] the time
being, not copying slavishly the methods of others, however
great they may be; for the great artist employs the best
methods for expressing his ideal; and for a lesser man
to copy his method, without having anything worthy of such
expression, is to produce a solemn burlesque — such
as we see in such profusion in all our exhibitions where
the imitator and the adapter shine in all the glory of their
numbers.
These are the
men who take the reflection of the light revealed by genius,
and make it up into a marketable commodity, nicely arranged,
to suit the public intellect, shall I say? But when I speak
of artists having nothing to express, I do not allude to
what is ordinarily called the subject of a work, or the
story told; but to the real subject — that subtle
something which defies language and can only be expressed
in its own particular form of Art, thereby causing that Art,
and justifying the existence of the artist.
The essential
unity of the universe, this is the constant theme of Theosophic
writers. Unity is the aim of every great aspiration; unity
to be reached by harmony. On whatever plane the aspirant
may be, the process I imagine will be the same, or similar.
So in Art; I would say, look for harmony, whether of sound,
form, or colour, and remember that in a harmony all the
factors need not be expressed; sometimes one may have a
harmony with one tone fully expressed, and all the rest
more or less concealed, some being merely suggested.
Where then will
you look for the completion of the harmony, but in yourself.
The artist can only suggest, the spectator must seek in
himself the elements of harmony; and only so will he find
what is the use of a work of art. The music is silent without
the soul to hear it. The poet, the painter, the sculptor,
work in vain, or for themselves alone, if Art is dead in
the people; and the work of Art must breathe back its gentle
life to the realm of harmony, from which the artist has
called it. And the world must sink lower and lower into
materiality, unless it make the great effort, and succeed
in awakening its own soul, finding beauty, and love, and
harmony surrounding it on every side — till then unknown,
unrecognized, and unbelieved.
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