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is not only in letters and the arts that we must look
for manifestations of the creative spirit, but in the
more usual activities of life as well. Otherwise we
are in danger of misconceiving the character of literature,
and making the arts seem hardly an essential feature
of our civilization. If we would have the arts to flourish,
we must insist on recognizing their inherent vitality
in the common life of the nation. If we would make literature
that shall be worthy of the name, we must ourselves
be convinced that it is something more than an artificial
amusement with no real hold on the heart of a people.
The creative spirit appears
not less in life [Page 138] than in
letters. Indeed it appears a hundred times more actively
and easily there; for our national life at the beginning
of this twentieth century, be what it may, is nothing
but the result of that spirit working in the channel
most natural to it. In our time and generation the channel
through which the creative spirit most readily finds
vent is the practical one, the industrial and commercial
one. It is true the creative spirit has always found
these different avenues for itself, through which it
would attempt to reach perfection and completely realize
its ideal. The Time Spirit is the creative spirit, and
as it moves through the ages it accomplishes itself
in various ways, producing not the beauties of the arts
alone, but the multitudinous revelations of common life
as well.
It
is through the creative spirit that we know ourselves
a part of that which is abiding in the universe, which
underlies the eternal fluidity of change, and for ever
repeats itself in the guise of myriad forms. In the
[Page 139] early spring flowers, in
the luxuriance of harvest, in the reddening fruits of
autumn, in the leaves of the pine, in the flux of the
laborious tide, in the floating mist over the mountain
crest, the creative spirit lives and moves and has its
being — as in the doubting, hoping, eager, unaging
heart of man. No small portion of our sympathy with
nature is no doubt an instinctive recognition of this
power in ourselves, this capacity for creation. As the
beliefs of an older pantheism peopled groves and trees
and rivers, each with its own divinity, so our latest
convictions endow the universe with a single personality
revealed in innumerable modes and aspects. Whether the
divine activity finds vent for itself through the right
hand of a painter, or in the unfolding of a fern, is
a difference of circumstance — not a difference
of power. In each instance the creative spirit is seeking
fulfilment.
Both
in art and in nature the conditions under which the
creative spirit works are the same; the laws through
which alone it can [Page 140] operate
are in their foundations the same. Man, the workman
in the world, is a pygmy creator. It matters not at
all whether her draws or digs or makes music or builds
ships, in the work of his hands is the delight of his
heart, and in that joy of his heart lurks his kinship
with his own Creator, from whom, through the obedient
will and plastic hand of the artists, all art and beauty
are derived.
The
condition under which creation take place is invariably
threefold; for the simple reason that the creature represents
the creator, and the creator himself is characterized
by a threefold nature.
The
universe presents itself to us as potentially beautiful,
or moral, or true, according to our point of appreciation.
Considered merely in the light of reason, things are
either true or false; judged by the heart, we think
them goodly or evil; while to our senses they appear
either fair or ugly. If we are thus aware of the world
about us, much more keenly are we aware of a similar
threefold [Page 141] consciousness
within ourselves. So the deed partakes of the doer,
the work of the worker, the thought of the thinker.
It is no empty metaphor to say of a work of art that
it lacks soul; since the thing may indeed be wanting
in that direction, just as it may be insufficiently
supplied with charm or with reasonableness; and all
three qualities are essentially requisite. Only when
they coexist in nearly equal proportion is perfection,
or anything approaching perfection, possible in a work
of art.
The
good artist comes to his work equipped with an unusual
delicacy of the senses, so that he is alive to every
shade of beauty in the outward world. He comes to his
work with an unusual depth of feeling, too — with
an intense, emotional nature, capable of great sympathy,
great loving-kindness, and great force of character.
And lastly, he comes to his work with a keen understanding
of life and nature, and a breadth of intellectual culture
beyond that of most men. With a personality [Page
142] naturally well balanced in these three
ways, and thoroughly cultivated by careful attention
to each aspect of his character, he is ready to receive
the inspiration of the Spirit which brooded upon the
face of the waters, and to hear the Word which was in
the beginning.
Not
otherwise, for all our striving, can the greatest work
be accomplished; and even the humblest result of the
unknown craftsman, wherever a trace of excellence exists,
shows some evidence of this poise of powers, this divine
triplicate balance of forces.
The
artist is enamoured of life, absorbed in its colour,
its variety, its drenching beauty; and always a love
of life, a love of nature, a love of his fellows, gives
him elation, happiness, and courage; while at the same
time he is capable of sitting unmoved in meditation
before the passing spectacle of existence, and observing
it in the white cold light of science. Unflinching logic,
unbounded love, unmitigated delight, any one of which
in excess [Page 143] alone would quickly
work the ruin of a personality, will, when duly balanced
in one fortunate person, operate together for the happiest
issue of that life. Only from such an individuality
may we expect significant and enduring achievement of
art.
From
such considerations a scheme of education for the artist
is easily deducible. And since he is only the normal
man seeking an outlet for activity in one direction
rather than in another, we gain at the same time a useful
criterion for education in general. It is not enough
that the artists should be trained in technique; that
is the least of his requirements. We must ensure him
the sound mind in the sound body, and, one may add,
the loving heart as well. He must be made strong, agile,
deft, alert, sensible to impressions; he must be given
the open mind which loves lucidity; he must be imbued
with the sweetness of temper, gracious as the morning
yet perdurable as the hills.
To
such a man the work of his own hands [Page 144]
is a constant pleasure; his passage through
the world an entrancing revelation; and his comradeship
with men and women an untarnished happiness. [Page
145]
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