Thus we reach the common truth recognized equally by Greek art and
by Japanese art, namely, the non-moral significance of individual
expression. And our admiration of the art reflecting personality is, of
course, non-moral, since the delineation of individual imperfection is
not, in the ethical sense, a subject for admiration.
Although the facial aspects which really attract us may be considered
the outward correlatives of inward perfections, or of approaches to
perfections, we generally confess an interest in physiognomy which
by no means speaks to us of inward _moral_ perfections, but rather
suggests perfections of the reverse order. This fact is manifested even
in daily life. When we exclaim, "What force!" on seeing a head with
prominent bushy brows, incisive nose, deep-set eyes, and a massive
jaw, we are indeed expressing our recognition of force, but only of
the sort of force underlying instincts of aggression and brutality.
When we commend the character of certain strong aquiline faces,
certain so-called Roman profiles, we are really com-mending the traits
that mark a race of prey. It is true that we do not admire faces in
which only brutal, or cruel, or cunning traits exist; but it is true
also that we admire the indications of obstinacy, aggressiveness,
and harshness when united with certain indications of intelligence.
It may even be said that we associate the idea of manhood with the
idea of aggressive power more than with the idea of any other power.
Whether this power be physical or intellectual, we estimate it in our
popular preferences, at least, above the really superior powers of the
mind, and call intelligent cunning by the euphemism of "shrewdness."
Probably the manifestation in some modern human being of the Greek
ideal of masculine beauty would interest the average observer less
than a face presenting an abnormal development of traits the reverse
of noble,--since the intellectual significance of perfect beauty could
be realized only by persons capable of appreciating the miracle of a
perfect balance of the highest possible human faculties. In modern art
we look for the feminine beauty which appeals to the feeling of sex,
or for that child-beauty which appeals to the instincts of parenthood;
and we should characterize real beauty in the portrayal of manhood not
only as unnatural, but as effeminate. War and love are still the two
dominant tones in that reflection of modern life which our serious
art gives. But it will be noticed that when the artist would exhibit
the ideal of beauty or of virtue, he is still obliged to borrow from
antique knowledge. As a borrower, he is never quite successful, since
he belongs to a humanity in many respects much below the ancient Greek
level. A German philosopher has well said, "The resuscitated Greeks
would, with perfect truth, declare our works of art in all departments
to be thoroughly barbarous." How could they be otherwise in an age
which openly admires intelligence less because of its power to create
and preserve than because of its power to crush and destroy?
Why this admiration of capacities which we should certainly not like
to have exercised against ourselves? Largely, no doubt, because we
admire what we wish to possess, and we understand the immense value of
aggressive power, intellectual especially, in the great competitive
struggle of modern civilization.
As reflecting both the trivial actualities and the personal
emotionalism of Western life, our art would be found ethically not
only below Greek art, but even below Japanese. Greek art expressed the
aspiration of a race toward the divinely beautiful and the divinely
wise. Japanese art reflects the simple joy of existence, the perception
of natural law in form and color, the perception of natural law in
change, and the sense of life made harmonious by social order and by
self-suppression, Modern Western art reflects the thirst of pleasure,
the idea of life as a battle for the right to enjoy, and the unamiable
qualities which are indispensable to success in the competitive
struggle.
*
It has been said that the history of Western civilization is written in
Western physiognomy. It is at least interesting to study Western facial
expression through Oriental eyes. I have frequently amused myself by
showing European or American illustrations to Japanese children, and
hearing their artless comments upon the faces therein depicted. A
complete record of these comments might prove to have value as well as
interest; but for present purposes I shall offer only the results of
two experiments.
The first was with a little boy, nine years old, before whom, one
evening, I placed several numbers of an illustrated magazine. After
turning over a few of the pages, he exclaimed, "Why do foreign artists
like to draw horrible things?"
"What horrible things?" I inquired.
"These," he said, pointing to a group of figures representing voters at
the polls.
"Why, those are not horrible," I answered. "We think those drawings
very good."
"But the faces! There cannot really be such faces in the world."
"We think those are ordinary men. Really horrible faces we very seldom
draw."
He stared in surprise, evidently suspecting that I was not in earnest.
*
To a little girl of eleven I showed some engravings representing famous
European beauties.
"They do not look bad," was her comment. "But they seem so much like
men, and their eyes are so big!... Their mouths are pretty."
The mouth signifies a great deal in Japanese physiognomy, and the
child was in this regard appreciative. I then showed her some drawings
from life, in a New York periodical. She asked, "Is it true that there
are people like those pictures?"
"Plenty," I said. "Those are good, common faces,--mostly country folk,
farmers."
"Farmers! They are like _Oni_ [demons] from the _jigoku_ [Buddhist
hell]."
"No," I answered, "there is nothing very bad in those faces. We have
faces in the West very much worse."
"Only to see them," she exclaimed, "I should die! I do not like this
book."
I set before her a Japanese picture-book,--a book of views of the
Tokaido. She clapped her hands joyfully, and pushed my half-inspected
foreign magazine out of the way.