Training in Taste

THE desire to have good taste must be almost universal, for its possession implies so much that is honorable. It is an interesting question, whether good taste may be acquired or communicated, and, if so, to what degree. Assuredly few persons set out consciously upon a quest for it. It is generally felt that it is a gift rather than an accomplishment, being chiefly a matter of temperament and instinct. Education may have much to do with its development ; culture, which Matthew Arnold defines as “ the acquainting ourselves with the best that has been known and said in the world,” still more ; but experience, life itself, is the only school in which the man of taste

can take his final degree. Learning and taste do not always run together, for we all know that there are educated persons who have very little taste, and, on the other hand, we know that there are illiterate persons who possess a “ general susceptibility to truth and nobleness,” which is Carlyle’s definition of taste. Indeed, the difference between knowledge and culture is as wide as that between knowledge and wisdom. Almost every one may acquire a certain degree of education, but as for really “ acquainting ourselves ” with the best things in the world, that is something which, with the best will imaginable, will never come at the beck of mere intellect. We are so made that we cannot know the things that we do not love, even as we cannot love the things we do not know.

Thus a prosaic and unimaginative nature can never get into real contact with the classics ; for the sensitiveness to fine impressions, which is a necessary condition of creative work of a high type, is equally requisite for the complete appreciation of that work. Although it is not necessary for a man to be a Dante in order to understand and relish the Divine Comedy, he must have some mental affinity to the author, — a similar vein of potential poetry in his nature. There must be that in him which vibrates in response to the call of genius. Intellect and culture are not enough ; there must be the heart to feel as well as the mind to grasp the meaning.

Scientific criticism may be useful in its way, but there is a higher kind of criticism, which employs sympathy more than naked facts of history in order to interpret the spirit of work. It deals with results more than with methods. No analysis, no laboratory test, for Titian’s color, for Milton’s diction ! That way pedantry lies. Yet “ the acquainting ourselves with the best that has been known and said in the world ” is not a passive achievement. Sublime revelations of truth and beauty await our coming to them; but we must meet them halfway. All your life you have heard of Rembrandt,— clarum et venerabile nomen! — and have taken him, as it were, upon faith ; but some bright morning, while you loiter in a gallery of engravings, you have perhaps come upon a little etching of a New Testament scene, drawn with a curiously awkward yet impassioned touch, and giving forth such poignant expression, such a full tide of emotional life, that all the unspeakable, tragic grandeur of the history of the Man of Sorrows seems compacted in that diminutive bit of scratched copper.

In respect to works of art of all classes, from music and poetry to architecture and sculpture, it is not so much perfection that we are to expect and desire, as a certain combination of traits, which, by the laws of our individual temperaments, are peculiarly adapted to arouse in us sympathetic enthusiasm. This is why we choose our friends, sweethearts, wives, politics, religions, to suit ourselves, not to conform to some general or ideal standard, still less to suit the neighbors. Let us be loyal to our preferences, and have the courage of our prejudices. If a man can see nothing that is good in Botticelli, BurneJones, or Claude Monet, let him say so candidly; there is a reason for it; and even if that reason be somewhat unreasonable, it is imperative to he honest. The keystone of the arch of art is expressed in Polonius’s counsel to Laertes, “ To thine own self be true.”

Nor does a negative attitude of mind with reference to the works of certain authors convey any imputation of their inferiority. We may be simply indifferent at present; it does not follow that we shall be so always ; we are open to conviction, and therefore shall not miss much that is good ; every free man has the right to change his mind when he receives new light. To suppose that there is any sort of moral obligation to understand, approve, and enjoy all the good books, pictures, music, and monuments in existence, would be to suppose an æsthetic impossibility. No one can eat all the dishes named in the bill of fare. We must economize our appetites, partaking of that food only which we can relish and assimilate. The maxim de gustibus non est disputandum is neither wholly true nor wholly false. It is certain that the free exercise of individual taste is perfectly allowable, more than that, is perfectly desirable, and this will inevitably lead to some differences of opinion ; yet it is as certain that there are fundamental principles of choice, common to all the arts, and as a corollary there is a standard of excellence which in due time is recognized by all good authorities.

If the charm, nobility, and beauty of simple honesty in the realm of taste were only realized, mere differences of opinion would count for little. It is of no avail to learn things by rote, after the manner of the multiplication tables. In the æsthetic world we must be adventurous, hardy, and independent, use our own eyes and minds, discover new continents for ourselves, experience the sensations of explorers, finding our own way. It is of little use to believe that two and two make four because some one has said so. We must project the fact in our imaginations, realize it, and be convinced of it by our own reason.

Nevertheless, when there is a virtually unanimous consensus of expert opinion as to the merits of any work, would it not be an absurd display of egotism to set up a dissenting judgment ? A waiting attitude is the wiser part, neither scornful nor obsequious. Questions of taste are not settled by universal suffrage, nor by personal whims, but by the edicts of the intellectual élite in all ages and generations of men. So, while we are at liberty to reserve our opinions in those instances where the accumulated testimony of authoritative criticism points one way, it is at least probable that it is sound. With all the allowances that must be made for individuality, there is, after all, a standard of taste on which all competent judges may unite. Though they may differ about minor matters, they agree finally as to the essentials.

A thoughtful person is in no danger of remaining neutral for long with regard to any important issue. Frank discussion is useful, but controversy and contention seldom lead to any valuable conclusions. As in ethics, so in æsthetics ; unless the mind is busied with good thoughts, it will gravitate toward bad ones, for it cannot remain empty. Contact with good literature, since this is an age of reading, is doubtless the most effectual formative condition for the cultivation of taste ; and when this may be supplemented by contact with good architecture, sculpture, and pictures, the whole trend of mental development should be upward. The growth of taste, however, will vary in rapidity and thoroughness in strict accordance with each individual temperament; in no case is it possible for it to outrun the innate “ susceptibility to truth and nobleness.”

The influence of personal example is worth any amount of didacticism. I had a friend, who, without much education, and without any of the advantages of travel, possessed the finest native instinct for all things in nature and art that are fine and true. Association with him amounted to a liberal, though unacademic, education in art appreciation. His intellect, undisciplined by bookish studies, was singularly alert, keen, and vigorous. His conversation was more picturesque and pithy than lettered, but his intuitive wisdom was seldom at fault, as is sometimes the way with those who have studied men and things more than textbooks. He could not have told you what school Mantegna belonged to, perhaps ; but his nature was stirred to its depths by any and every manifestation of a passion for beauty, whether in life or art. I think he could be called, in the fullest sense of the word, a connoisseur; for he knew. But his knowledge came from within. He obeyed the inner light. His example taught me to observe things; my eyes were opened to the humble and casual revelations of every-day beauty, grandeur, and significance, all about, which we have but to look for in order to find. When I think of this great-hearted friend, who could derive more exquisite emotion from the contemplation of a wild flower in the woods than most people are capable of feeling in front of a Raphael or on the first sight of Mont Blanc, I have little patience with the prattle of so-called artists about their dependence upon an “ art atmosphere.” “ Coelum non animam mutant, qui trans mare currunt.”

So far as a philosophy of taste exists, its teachings ought to he affirmative rather than negative. It is more important to know what to attain than to know what to avoid. The mind of the civilized man is open to impressions, and the first condition of æsthetic culture is mental hospitality. The terms most frequently used in the philosophy of ethics occur with equal pertinence in the field of æsthetics, — integrity, purity, elevation, dignity, elegance, finish, reposefulness, balance, poise, and the like. A sense of humor is of great usefulness in counteracting the opposite tendencies toward pedantry, conventionality, and priggishness. But one should know when to be serious. The habit of perpetual banter is pernicious. A normal and wholesome degree of sensuousness is also an important factor in the development of taste. Without it no vital art is possible. The safeguard against its abuse is not asceticism, but moral enthusiasm, — the passion for righteousness, — which is the supreme thing in English literature, for instance.

In the presence of a new work of art, many persons stand on guard, defiant, suspicious, timid, as if afraid of being tricked into undue admiration or enjoyment. Those who are on the watch for flaws can always find some. All criticism is a confession, in which the critic lays bare his own limitations. What we need in criticism, an old painter once said to me, is a nourishing, and not a destructive system. The reflex effect of the censorious habit is very belittling. Sarcasm is a two-edged weapon, and must be handled with vast discretion. Yet we do not care to learn the opinions of historians who are so excessively good-natured, catholic, and charitable that they love everything.

I do not like to hear people speak of their preferences in an apologetic tone. Affectation is the only unpardonable sin in the realm of taste, so none of us need be ashamed of liking certain things that are not strictly first-rate. It is so tiresome to hear opinions put forth with a preface excusing their inadequacy, that one sometimes welcomes heartily the blunt declaration of the man who proclaims Ouida or the Duchess the greatest of novelists, and believes that John G. Brown’s pictures are truer to life than those of John La Farge.

A little taste is a dangerous thing. A large class of would-be æsthetes partake of the characteristics of poor Mr. Winkle, who was constantly getting into dreadful scrapes because he hated to acknowledge that he did not know. It is this ambitious but vulnerable class which is forever engaged in a still hunt for the latest and costliest fashion in apparel, furniture, fiction, philosophy, food, sport,— I had almost said religion. Each new style, or fad, is passed along in some occult, wireless way, with marvelous promptitude, and makes its presence felt with the agility of the most recent microbe. There are those whose conversation is ingeniously made to convey the information that the speaker is in touch with the only correct line of contemporary thought on all the things I have named.

The reason for the inextricable relation which exists between ethics and æsthetics is that the only durable kind of beauty is spiritual or moral beauty, of which material beauty is but the exterior symbol. I can exemplify this in no simpler way than by taking the art of Velasquez as a concrete illustration. This painter stands, in an exceptionally perfect manner, for all that is noble, dignified, lucid, and refined. The chief attributes of civilization — character, intellect, culture, gentleness of demeanor and conduct — are his constant theme and inspiration. By his supreme integrity, and the lofty and pure style which results from it, he lends to civilization a new lustre. It may be said that to know Velasquez is a liberal education in taste. His severity and reserve are among his high merits, for they belong to an art in which self - respect is a conspicuous element. His work is measured, poised, sober, never florid, nor rhetorical. In contemplating his pictures we are entering a natural atmosphere of real aristocracy, the aristocracy of merit, where all forms of meanness and vulgarity are out of the question. Never were style and the man more completely identical. The moral superiority of Velasquez is so natural, so easy, so much a matter of course, that the perfection of his style, growing out of it, becomes a sort of moral excellence in itself. Such painting is an act of high morality, — a luminous embodiment of virtue.

William Howe Downes.