A distinguished scientific psychologist, who is also a psychologist in
the unscientific sense, and who writes of Intellect and Will less in
the spirit (and, thank heaven, less in the style) of Mr. Spencer than
in that of Monsieur de Montaigne, has objected to music (and, I
presume, in less degree to other art) that it runs the risk of
enfeebling the character by stimulating emotions without affording
them a corresponding outlet in activity. I agree (as will be seen
farther on) that music more particularly may have an unwholesome
influence, but not for the reason assigned by Professor James, who
seems to me to mistake the nature and functions of artistic emotion.
I doubt very much whether any non-literary art, whether even music has
the power, in the modern man, of stimulating tendencies to action. It
may have had in the savage, and may still have in the civilised child;
but in the ordinary, cultivated grown-up person, the excitement
produced by any artistic sight, sound, or idea will most probably be
used up in bringing to life again some of the many millions of sights,
sounds, and ideas which lie inert, stored up in our mind. The artistic
emotion will therefore not give rise to an active impulse, but to that
vague mixture of feelings and ideas which we call a _mood_; and if any
alteration occur in subsequent action, it will be because all external
impressions must vary according to the mood of the person who receives
them, and consequently undergo a certain selection, some being allowed
to dominate and lead to action, while others pass unnoticed, are
neutralised or dismissed.
More briefly, it seems to me that artistic emotion is of practical
importance, not because it discharges itself in action, but, on the
contrary, because it produces a purely internal rearrangement of our
thoughts and feelings; because, in short, it helps to form
concatenations of preferences, habits of being.
Whether or not Mr. Herbert Spencer be correct in deducing all artistic
activities from our primæval instincts of play, it seems to me certain
that these artistic activities have for us adults much the same
importance as the play activities have for a child. They represent the
only perfectly free exercise, and therefore, free development, of our
preferences. Now, everyone will admit, I suppose, that it is extremely
undesirable that a child should amuse itself acquiring unwholesome
preferences and evil habits, indulging in moods which will make it or
its neighbours less comfortable out of play-time?
Mind, I do not for a moment pretend that art is to become the
conscious instrument of morals, any more than (Heaven forbid!) play
should become the conscious preparation of infant virtue. All I
contend is that if some kinds of infant amusement result in damage, we
suppress them as a nuisance; and that, if some kinds of art
disorganise the soul, the less we have of them the better.
Moreover, the grown-up human being is so constituted, is so full of
fine connections and analogies throughout his nature, that, while the
sense of emulation and gain lends such additional zest to his
amusements, the sense of increasing spiritual health and power,
wherever it exists, magnifies almost incredibly the pleasure derivable
from beautiful impressions.