Читать книгу The origins of art; a psychological & sociological inquiry - Y. Hirn - Страница 5

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There are two things which have to be investigated—the reason why works of art are created, and the reason why works of art are enjoyed. By choosing at the outset to approach art in its active aspect—to examine into the impulse of the artist—we do not desert the central field of æsthetic inquiry. On the contrary, it seems that a study of art-production affords the most convenient starting-point for any comprehensive treatment of art; all the more because every æsthetic pleasure, even when apparently most passive, always involves an element of unconscious artistic creation.[19] When absorbed in the beauty of nature we do in fact appear to ourselves to be entirely receptive; but in truth our enjoyment, if the enjoyment has any æsthetic value at all, is always more or less derived from the activity of our own mind. It does not matter much, from the psychological point of view, whether we make an abortive but original effort to select and arrange the impressions which we receive, as is the case when a new aspect of nature delights us, or whether we merely reproduce at second hand the impression originally arranged by an artist, as happens when we admire a statue, or recognise in a landscape some effect that Turner has recorded.[20] In either case the passive attitude can never be explained without reference to the active one.

In the historic interpretation of art it is of no less importance to study its productive side. It is only by considering art as an activity that we can explain the great influence which it has exercised on social as well as on individual life. These are, however, views which can only be properly established in the later chapters. Here we have merely to dwell on the aspects which present themselves to the psychological observer; and there is no doubt that from his point of view the impulse to produce works of pure art constitutes the chief æsthetic problem. If once the creation has been satisfactorily accounted for, it is relatively easy to explain the subsequent enjoyment of art. Accordingly, by concentrating our attention on the art-impulse we approach the art-problem at its very core.

It has, however, been contended by some authors that the independence of external motives is nothing peculiar to art-production. There is, undoubtedly, a certain kind of scientific study—for instance, some departments of higher mathematics—which may be carried on entirely for its own sake without any regard to practical application, or even to increased knowledge of nature. And it is even more impossible to find any immediate utilitarian purpose for all the intense activity, mental and physical, which is devoted to sports and games. Every one knows that the “end in itself” which any of these affords may in many cases exercise as great an attraction as any of the utilitarian aims in life. Chess is said to have a demoniac power over its devotees, and the attachment of a golfer to his game can only be described in the language of the most intense passion. The same sacrifice of energy and interests to a one-sided and apparently useless purpose, which in art seems so mysterious, may thus, as Professor Groos remarks, be found in activities of far less repute.[21] It is evident that if artistic creation were in no wise different from these other examples of autotelic manifestations, there would be no ground for considering the art-impulse as a separate or distinctive problem.

We can scarcely believe, however, that even Professor Groos himself would seriously maintain the parallel between art-production and the last-mentioned activities. There are indeed cases in which a man of science devotes his whole energy to a task which is so abstract that it seems to give no satisfaction to the craving for positive truth. But it is always an open question whether the attractiveness of such researches is not, strictly speaking, more æsthetic than scientific. Higher mathematics is perhaps, for those that live in the world of abstract quantities, only an abstract form of art, a soundless music or a wordless poetry. In other cases the eagerness with which pure science is pursued as an autotelic end may be explained as a result of acquired habits. Like the miser, the passionate researcher may often gradually lose sight of the ultimate aim of his activity and concentrate all his attention on the means. There can be no question of denying the emotional value and the great attractive force which thus comes to be attached to these secondary purposes. But in comparing such autotelic activities to those of art we have to remember that the passion, however intense it may be, is probably not primary but derived; and it is in any case self-evident that it can be developed only in exceptional cases and in peculiarly predisposed individuals.

By the same criterion we can also separate the art-desire from the love of games and sports. However passionate the sporting mania may be in individuals or nations, it can never be compared as a universal and primary impulse with the craving for æsthetic creation. Philosophers who bestow their whole attention only on the mature works which can be studied in the history of art, may indeed contend that even the art-impulse is given to some favoured few. But this view, which would reduce all art-life to the status of a great and marvellous exception, cannot possibly be upheld in a psychological æsthetic.

It is, no doubt, the fact that the percentage of executive artists in modern nations is an almost negligible quantity. It is also probable that—contrary to a common notion—the poets, the painters, and the dramatists form a distinct class even among the lower tribes.[22] But in treating the art-impulse as a psychological phenomenon the inquiry cannot be restricted to the few individuals who publicly practise a certain art. As far as the artistic powers are concerned, these undoubtedly stand apart from the rest of mankind. But we are not entitled to maintain that they are also distinguished by some peculiar psychical impulse. From the point of view of artistic perfection, there is all the world between the youthful verses of Goethe and the doggerel of a common schoolboy. But, psychologically, the schoolboy’s doggerel may be the result of as strong a craving for poetic expression as any of the world’s greatest poems.[23] Bad or good, known or unknown, every manifestation of artistic activity is equally illustrative for our purpose. We have to count with the immense number of dilettanti who produce in privacy and in secret, as well as with recognised artists. And even those unfortunate persons who have never been able to find for themselves any satisfactory mode of æsthetic expression may still be adduced in proof of the universality of the artistic desire. If the notion of art is conceived in its most general sense, every normal man, at some time of his life at least, is an artist—in aspiration, if not in capacity.

If, moreover, we take into consideration the eagerness and devotion which is lavished upon artistic activity—not least, perhaps, by those who have never appeared as artists—we shall be compelled to admit that the art-impulse is not only commoner, but also stronger and deeper, than any of the above-mentioned non-utilitarian impulses. If it can be explained at all, it is only by deriving it from some great and fundamental tendency of the human mind. This fact has, naturally enough, not been realised by those writers on æsthetic who only study the ideal work of art as it appears among civilised nations. In short, the great systems of æsthetic philosophy have never expressly stated the problem of finding an origin for the art-impulse; and any interpretation of that impulse which may be derived constructively from their speculations upon the work of acknowledged artists is irreconcilable with the wider notion of art as a universal human activity. If the aim of every artist really were, as Vischer must have thought, to reinstate by the creation of a semblance the Idea in the position from which it is in Reality always thrust by material accidents; if he desired, for instance, to show a human character as it would be but for the accidents of life;[24] or if, to use the language of Taine, the artist’s main object were to produce a representation of nature in which the essential characters enjoy an absolute sovereignty; if he strove to depict a lion in such a way to emphasise specially these leonine traits which distinguish the lion from any other great cat,[25]—then it would be hard to understand the attraction which art has exercised on people who are almost devoid of intellectual cravings. We could not possibly find any connection between modern and primitive art. Nor could we explain why, for instance, poetry and music are so often cultivated by persons who do not otherwise show the slightest eagerness to understand the hidden nature of things, who do not meddle with ideas or “dominating faculties.” Even in the case of philosophically-minded artists such motives are probably somewhat feeble. The intellectualistic definitions may perhaps explain the æsthetic qualities of the work of art itself. But they can never account for the constraining force by which every genuine work of art is called into existence.

There are some authors, however, who have felt the need of a dynamic explanation of the art-impulse, which should trace the motive force to its origin. It was so with Aristotle when he interpreted artistic production as a manifestation of the desire to imitate. By this theory art is indeed brought into connection with a general animal impulse, the æsthetic importance of which can scarcely be overestimated. It is only by reference to the psychology of imitative movements that we shall be able to explain the enjoyment of art. But it seems, nevertheless, somewhat strained to make imitation the basis and purpose of artistic activity, seeing that there are various forms of art, as, for instance, architecture and purely lyrical music or poetry, in which we can scarcely detect any imitative element at all. The theories of Aristotle, of Seneca, and all their modern followers, can only be upheld if the word “imitation” is used in a much wider sense than that which it generally bears. But even those who, with Engel, would consider the bodily movements as “imitating the thoughts,”[26] or those who in æsthetic would speak of “circulary reaction”[27] as a phenomenon of imitation, would find it hard to discover in any of these relatively automatic manifestations such a mental compulsion as that which impels to artistic activity. Moreover, as we need scarcely point out, art in all its forms always strives after something more than a mere likeness.

It seems equally superfluous to emphasise the fact that no genuine artist has made it his sole object to please. The fatal confusion between art-theory and the science of beauty has indeed led some writers on æsthetic to derive artistic activities from an impulse to “produce objects or objective conditions which should attract by pleasing.”[28] Such views will especially recommend themselves to those who believe in an animal art called forth by sexual selection. Nor can it be denied that the means of attraction employed in the competition for the favour of the opposite sex supply a part of the material which is used in the various arts.[29] With the artistic impulse itself, which, according to its very definition, is independent of external motives, the various means of attraction have no connection whatever.[30]

From the theoretical point of view it is undoubtedly easier to defend Professor Baldwin’s way of stating the case, in which the “self-exhibiting impulse” takes the place of the “instinct to attract by pleasing.”[31] Figuratively speaking, an element of self-exhibition is involved in every artistic creation which addresses itself to a public. And without a public—in the largest sense of the word—no art would ever have appeared. But it seems somewhat difficult to make this self-exhibiting—in a sense which implies an actual audience—the aim and purpose of, for instance, the most intimate and personal examples of lyrical poetry.

It may of course be contended, by those who advocate the importance of the last-mentioned interpretations, that the variety of art-forms compels us to assume, not one, but several art-impulses. At this stage of our research we cannot enter upon a discussion of such views; but it will at least be admitted that explanations which can be applied in the whole field of art must be preferable to partial definitions.

This merit of universality, at least, cannot be denied to the theories which derive art from the playing impulse. The notion of a sportive activity involves precisely that freedom from external, consciously utilitarian motives which, according to the consensus of almost all writers on æsthetic, is required in every genuine manifestation of art. It is not surprising, therefore, that it was by reference to the play-impulse that Schiller tried to distinguish artistic production from all “unfree” forms of activity.[32] It is true that the notion of “play” as used by Schiller and Spencer—who has given the theory a physiological foundation—is chiefly important as a negative demarcation. But even Schiller brings in a positive factor when he speaks of the force by which “overflowing life itself urges the animal to action” (“wenn das überflüssige Leben sich selbst zur Thätigkeit stachelt”).[33] In Spencer’s theory, on the other hand, the “excessive readiness” to nervous discharge which accompanies every surplus of vigour, and which, in his view, accounts for play, represents a motor element, the impelling force of which must be considered as very strong.[34] As is well known, Spencer, Wallace, and Hudson have applied this principle of surplus energy to explain so-called animal art, rejecting the theory which ascribes æsthetic judgment to the female.[35]

As formulated by the last-mentioned authors, the play-theory is, however, open to objection from a physiological point of view. It has been remarked by Dr. Wallaschek that, in speaking of animals, the phrase “surplus of vigour” ought to be superseded by “inapplicability of energy” or “unemployed energy.”[36] And still more explicitly Professor Groos has shown that a stored-up supply of energy is by no means a necessary condition for play.[37] But these criticisms have by no means deprived the play-instinct of its importance as a dynamic factor. Since Groos by his epoch-making researches has been able to prove that the majority of games—especially the games of youth—are based upon instincts, we can adduce as an impelling force “the demon instinct that urges and even compels to activity not only if and so long as the vessel overflows (to use a figure of speech), but even when there is but a last drop left in it.”[38] By considering artistic activity as a kind of play, one is therefore able to account for its great attractiveness, even when no “surplus of vigour” can be shown to exist.

In the beginning of this chapter we did indeed contend that the “compulsion” which prompts to artistic activity is too strong to be even compared with the passion for sports and games. But this superiority may of course be explained as a result of some peculiarity of this special kind of play. As a matter of fact art is, in a far higher degree than any of the sports and games, able to satisfy the greatest and most fundamental instincts of man. Groos has tried to prove that the artistic motives which in all times have been most popular, offer to the spectator as well as to the producer an opportunity for warlike and erotic stimulation;[39] and Guyau had already remarked how important a part the moods of war, or rather of struggle, play in all enjoyment of art.[40] It is easy to understand the eager prosecution of an activity which thus affords free, if imaginary, exercise for instincts and tendencies which would otherwise be thwarted by the narrow restrictions of social life. We are all animals in captivity, and we eagerly seize every kind of vicarious function which can give at least a memory of the life from which we are excluded.

At lower stages of social evolution, where instincts are more in harmony with life, the play-element in art must evidently be of still greater importance. Artistic production and artistic enjoyment provide exercise for those very functions which are most important in real life. Art fulfils a great social mission, and is developed in subservience to the struggle for life. The play-theory, as formulated by Professor Groos, affords, therefore, in many cases an explanation of the high artistic level reached by the lower tribes. In our historical treatment of primitive dances and dramas we shall be continually obliged to have recourse to this theory. And it will thus appear that it is no deficient appreciation of its importance which compels us to look elsewhere for an explanation for the artistic impulse.

Play and art have indeed many important characteristics in common. Neither of them has any immediate practical utility, and both of them do nevertheless serve some of the fundamental needs of life. All art, therefore, can in a certain sense be called play. But art is something more than this. The aim of play is attained when the surplus of vigour is discharged or the instinct has had its momentary exercise. But the function of art is not confined to the act of production; in every manifestation of art, properly so called, something is made and something survives. It is true that in certain manifestations—for instance in the dance or in acting—the effect is destroyed as soon as created; it survives only in the rhythm devised by the dancer, or in the spectator’s memory of the part played. But this is accidental, not essential to the nature of the arts as arts. On the other hand, there is nothing in the nature of the play-impulse to call for a stereotyping of the state of mind and feelings to which it gives rise. Still less can the artistic qualities, such as beauty and rhythm, which, however difficult to define scientifically, always characterise works of art, be interpreted as a result of the play-impulse. The theories of Schiller, Spencer, and Groos may indeed explain the negative criterion of art, but they cannot, any more than the imitation theories or the Darwinian interpretation, give us any positive information as to the nature of art.

In order to understand the art-impulse as a tendency to æsthetic production, we must bring it into connection with some function, from the nature of which the specifically artistic qualities may be derived. Such a function is to be found, we believe, in the activities of emotional expression.

It is therefore to the psychology of feeling and expression that we shall turn for the solution of the problem of the art-impulse.