| “VANITY
of vanities, saith the preacher, vanity of vanities;
all is vanity.” And what you may find to remark
in this well-worn note of tribulation is the fact that
it is the saying of a preacher. Then further we may
query: In what other profession than that of the preacher
will a man come so abruptly upon a sense of the tædium
vitæ? So powerful is the reflex and hypnotic
influence of actions, the professional faultfinder soon
becomes both victim and example to his own tirades.
What is less lovely than a scold, or more pitiable than
a buffoon confirmed in his buffoonery?
Emerson has a pregnant though
in one of his brief poems: [Page 48]
“
‘A new commandment,’ said the smiling Muse,
‘I give my darling son, thou shalt not preach’
—
Luther, Fox, Behem, Swedenborg, grew pale,
And, on the instant, rosier clouds upbore
Hafis
and Shakespeare, with their shining choirs.”
It
is the same thought that has led us by common consensus
of critical opinion to condemn the didactic in art,
and prefer those artists who stick to beauty pure and
simple. As good comfortable Fra Lippo Lippi has it:
“If
you get simple beauty and naught else,
You
get about the best thing God invents.”
Here
is at once a sanction for the best and the lowliest
effort of art, the truth which rewards and satisfies
the eminent master, and also encourages and consoles
the humble craftsman. It dignifies not only all art
but all work. Our fine arts and handicrafts are perfected
and ennobled, when once we treat them with this cheery
and loving though in mind. Whether the work is an epic
or [Page 49] a bookbinding or the setting
of a precious stone, it is all one in importance if
only we are careful to dignify the task with love and
devotion. Beauty calls for our best, and only by giving
our best in the service of beauty can we learn to fully
appreciate the delight that beauty offers us in return.
If
it is true that every one should take some manly share
in doing the necessary work of the world, it is probably
just as true that every one should have some active
interest in one of the fine arts. To speak more truly,
perhaps, there should be no divorce between work and
art; and I dare say that not until all work can be done
with the workman’s whole heart can we have the
best results. At present, in a time which we are pleased
to call complex, this does not seem quite possible.
Most men’s occupations call for a stress and hurry
that preclude the slow care which art demands. Certainly,
however, the artistic method is to be attempted wherever
it is possible. Certainly, too, we shall be wise if
we [Page 50] make time (however busy
we may fancy ourselves) to take up some form of art
or handicraft on which we may expend enthusiasm. For
then we shall be getting “simple beauty and naught
else.” We shall need neither to preach nor be
preached to any more. Even the higher journalism will
become superfluence. We shall be so busy enjoying ourselves
in our way, we shall have no time to spend on the questionable
task of trying to improve our neighbours.
I
am much mistaken if the first preacher was not the first
idler, a brazen skulker from the field where his sedulous
companions were toiling in the sun. He probably went
home to discourse to his appreciative family on the
proper methods of agriculture and the sin of laziness.
Vanitas
vanitatum, et omni vanitas. And served him right
that he found it so! Had he preached less, perhaps,
he would have not have discovered vanity so quickly.
But why is it dangerous to preach? Because it is dangerous
[Page 51] to do anything that is not
done with the whole being, and preaching is too mental
a performance. The calling of the preacher, in the pulpit
or in the press, has too little connection with activity,
and enlists only the forces of mind and spirit, with
too little regard for deeds. The artist must not only
reason out his work, he must love it and execute it
himself. That piece of work is ill done, whether it
be painting or paving, to which there did not go a modicum
of love and thought and energy together. No two will
serve alone. If you will seek out a successful mechanic,
or sailorman, or musician, or mule-driver, — one
who puts brains and heart into the work of his hands,
— I think you will find he hasn’t much time
left for lamentations. He doesn’t know what tædium
vitæ means, and he wouldn’t know any
better if you translated it for him. But it never ought
to be translated. And whenever you hear a man going
up and down the world reviling the times continually
— he is a preacher. If he [Page 52] isn’t
a preacher by profession, he is a preacher by nature,
which is worse. The habit of preaching has taken hold
upon him, and is eating into his vitals. “Happy
is he who has been apprenticed to trade and taught to
preach beauty with his hands,” says the Book of
St. Kavin. [Page
53]
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