THE ART-IMPULSE
There are two things which have to be investigated—the reason why
works of art are created, and the reason why works of art are enjoyed.
By choosing at the outset to approach art in its active aspect—to
examine into the impulse of the artist—we do not desert the central
field of æsthetic inquiry. On the contrary, it seems that a study of
art-production affords the most convenient starting-point for any
comprehensive treatment of art; all the more because every æsthetic
pleasure, even when apparently most passive, always involves an element
of unconscious artistic creation.[19] When absorbed in the beauty of
nature we do in fact appear to ourselves to be entirely receptive;
but in truth our enjoyment, if the enjoyment has any æsthetic value
at all, is always more or less derived from the activity of our own
mind. It does not matter much, from the psychological point of view,
whether we make an abortive but original effort to select and arrange
the impressions which we receive, as is the case when a new aspect
of nature delights us, or whether we merely reproduce at second hand
the impression originally arranged by an artist, as happens when we
admire a statue, or recognise in a landscape some effect that Turner
has recorded.[20] In either case the passive attitude can never be
explained without reference to the active one.
In the historic interpretation of art it is of no less importance
to study its productive side. It is only by considering art as an
activity that we can explain the great influence which it has exercised
on social as well as on individual life. These are, however, views
which can only be properly established in the later chapters. Here
we have merely to dwell on the aspects which present themselves to
the psychological observer; and there is no doubt that from his point
of view the impulse to produce works of pure art constitutes the
chief æsthetic problem. If once the creation has been satisfactorily
accounted for, it is relatively easy to explain the subsequent
enjoyment of art. Accordingly, by concentrating our attention on the
art-impulse we approach the art-problem at its very core.
It has, however, been contended by some authors that the independence
of external motives is nothing peculiar to art-production. There is,
undoubtedly, a certain kind of scientific study—for instance, some
departments of higher mathematics—which may be carried on entirely
for its own sake without any regard to practical application, or even
to increased knowledge of nature. And it is even more impossible to
find any immediate utilitarian purpose for all the intense activity,
mental and physical, which is devoted to sports and games. Every one
knows that the “end in itself” which any of these affords may in many
cases exercise as great an attraction as any of the utilitarian aims
in life. Chess is said to have a demoniac power over its devotees,
and the attachment of a golfer to his game can only be described in
the language of the most intense passion. The same sacrifice of energy
and interests to a one-sided and apparently useless purpose, which
in art seems so mysterious, may thus, as Professor Groos remarks, be
found in activities of far less repute.[21] It is evident that if
artistic creation were in no wise different from these other examples
of autotelic manifestations, there would be no ground for considering
the art-impulse as a separate or distinctive problem.
We can scarcely believe, however, that even Professor Groos himself
would seriously maintain the parallel between art-production and the
last-mentioned activities. There are indeed cases in which a man of
science devotes his whole energy to a task which is so abstract that
it seems to give no satisfaction to the craving for positive truth.
But it is always an open question whether the attractiveness of such
researches is not, strictly speaking, more æsthetic than scientific.
Higher mathematics is perhaps, for those that live in the world of
abstract quantities, only an abstract form of art, a soundless music or
a wordless poetry. In other cases the eagerness with which pure science
is pursued as an autotelic end may be explained as a result of acquired
habits. Like the miser, the passionate researcher may often gradually
lose sight of the ultimate aim of his activity and concentrate all
his attention on the means. There can be no question of denying the
emotional value and the great attractive force which thus comes to be
attached to these secondary purposes. But in comparing such autotelic
activities to those of art we have to remember that the passion,
however intense it may be, is probably not primary but derived;
and it is in any case self-evident that it can be developed only in
exceptional cases and in peculiarly predisposed individuals.
By the same criterion we can also separate the art-desire from the love
of games and sports. However passionate the sporting mania may be in
individuals or nations, it can never be compared as a universal and
primary impulse with the craving for æsthetic creation. Philosophers
who bestow their whole attention only on the mature works which can
be studied in the history of art, may indeed contend that even the
art-impulse is given to some favoured few. But this view, which would
reduce all art-life to the status of a great and marvellous exception,
cannot possibly be upheld in a psychological æsthetic.
It is, no doubt, the fact that the percentage of executive artists in
modern nations is an almost negligible quantity. It is also probable
that—contrary to a common notion—the poets, the painters, and the
dramatists form a distinct class even among the lower tribes.[22]
But in treating the art-impulse as a psychological phenomenon the
inquiry cannot be restricted to the few individuals who publicly
practise a certain art. As far as the artistic _powers_ are concerned,
these undoubtedly stand apart from the rest of mankind. But we are
not entitled to maintain that they are also distinguished by some
peculiar psychical _impulse_. From the point of view of artistic
perfection, there is all the world between the youthful verses of
Goethe and the doggerel of a common schoolboy. But, psychologically,
the schoolboy’s doggerel may be the result of as strong a craving for
poetic expression as any of the world’s greatest poems.[23] Bad or
good, known or unknown, every manifestation of artistic activity is
equally illustrative for our purpose. We have to count with the immense
number of dilettanti who produce in privacy and in secret, as well
as with recognised artists. And even those unfortunate persons who
have never been able to find for themselves any satisfactory mode of
æsthetic expression may still be adduced in proof of the universality
of the artistic desire. If the notion of art is conceived in its most
general sense, every normal man, at some time of his life at least, is
an artist—in aspiration, if not in capacity.
If, moreover, we take into consideration the eagerness and devotion
which is lavished upon artistic activity—not least, perhaps, by those
who have never appeared as artists—we shall be compelled to admit that
the art-impulse is not only commoner, but also stronger and deeper,
than any of the above-mentioned non-utilitarian impulses. If it can
be explained at all, it is only by deriving it from some great and
fundamental tendency of the human mind. This fact has, naturally
enough, not been realised by those writers on æsthetic who only study
the ideal work of art as it appears among civilised nations. In
short, the great systems of æsthetic philosophy have never expressly
stated the problem of finding an origin for the art-impulse; and any
interpretation of that impulse which may be derived constructively
from their speculations upon the work of acknowledged artists is
irreconcilable with the wider notion of art as a universal human
activity. If the aim of every artist really were, as Vischer must
have thought, to reinstate by the creation of a semblance the Idea in
the position from which it is in Reality always thrust by material
accidents; if he desired, for instance, to show a human character as it
would be but for the accidents of life;[24] or if, to use the language
of Taine, the artist’s main object were to produce a representation of
nature in which the essential characters enjoy an absolute sovereignty;
if he strove to depict a lion in such a way to emphasise specially
these leonine traits which distinguish the lion from any other great
cat,[25]—then it would be hard to understand the attraction which
art has exercised on people who are almost devoid of intellectual
cravings. We could not possibly find any connection between modern
and primitive art. Nor could we explain why, for instance, poetry and
music are so often cultivated by persons who do not otherwise show
the slightest eagerness to understand the hidden nature of things,
who do not meddle with ideas or “dominating faculties.” Even in the
case of philosophically-minded artists such motives are probably
somewhat feeble. The intellectualistic definitions may perhaps explain
the æsthetic qualities of the work of art itself. But they can never
account for the constraining force by which every genuine work of art
is called into existence.
There are some authors, however, who have felt the need of a dynamic
explanation of the art-impulse, which should trace the motive force
to its origin. It was so with Aristotle when he interpreted artistic
production as a manifestation of the desire to imitate. By this theory
art is indeed brought into connection with a general animal impulse,
the æsthetic importance of which can scarcely be overestimated. It
is only by reference to the psychology of imitative movements that
we shall be able to explain the enjoyment of art. But it seems,
nevertheless, somewhat strained to make imitation the basis and purpose
of artistic activity, seeing that there are various forms of art, as,
for instance, architecture and purely lyrical music or poetry, in which
we can scarcely detect any imitative element at all. The theories of
Aristotle, of Seneca, and all their modern followers, can only be
upheld if the word “imitation” is used in a much wider sense than
that which it generally bears. But even those who, with Engel, would
consider the bodily movements as “imitating the thoughts,”[26] or those
who in æsthetic would speak of “circulary reaction”[27] as a phenomenon
of imitation, would find it hard to discover in any of these relatively
automatic manifestations such a mental compulsion as that which impels
to artistic activity. Moreover, as we need scarcely point out, art in
all its forms always strives after something more than a mere likeness.
It seems equally superfluous to emphasise the fact that no genuine
artist has made it his sole object to please. The fatal confusion
between art-theory and the science of beauty has indeed led some
writers on æsthetic to derive artistic activities from an impulse
to “produce objects or objective conditions which should attract by
pleasing.”[28] Such views will especially recommend themselves to
those who believe in an animal art called forth by sexual selection.
Nor can it be denied that the means of attraction employed in the
competition for the favour of the opposite sex supply a part of the
material which is used in the various arts.[29] With the artistic
impulse itself, which, according to its very definition, is independent
of external motives, the various means of attraction have no connection
whatever.[30]
From the theoretical point of view it is undoubtedly easier to
defend Professor Baldwin’s way of stating the case, in which the
“self-exhibiting impulse” takes the place of the “instinct to attract
by pleasing.”[31] Figuratively speaking, an element of self-exhibition
is involved in every artistic creation which addresses itself to a
public. And without a public—in the largest sense of the word—no art
would ever have appeared. But it seems somewhat difficult to make this
self-exhibiting—in a sense which implies an actual audience—the aim and
purpose of, for instance, the most intimate and personal examples of
lyrical poetry.
It may of course be contended, by those who advocate the importance
of the last-mentioned interpretations, that the variety of art-forms
compels us to assume, not one, but several art-impulses. At this stage
of our research we cannot enter upon a discussion of such views; but it
will at least be admitted that explanations which can be applied in the
whole field of art must be preferable to partial definitions.
This merit of universality, at least, cannot be denied to the theories
which derive art from the playing impulse. The notion of a sportive
activity involves precisely that freedom from external, consciously
utilitarian motives which, according to the consensus of almost all
writers on æsthetic, is required in every genuine manifestation of
art. It is not surprising, therefore, that it was by reference to the
play-impulse that Schiller tried to distinguish artistic production
from all “unfree” forms of activity.[32] It is true that the notion
of “play” as used by Schiller and Spencer—who has given the theory
a physiological foundation—is chiefly important as a negative
demarcation. But even Schiller brings in a positive factor when he
speaks of the force by which “overflowing life itself urges the animal
to action” (“wenn das überflüssige Leben sich selbst zur Thätigkeit
stachelt”).[33] In Spencer’s theory, on the other hand, the “excessive
readiness” to nervous discharge which accompanies every surplus of
vigour, and which, in his view, accounts for play, represents a motor
element, the impelling force of which must be considered as very
strong.[34] As is well known, Spencer, Wallace, and Hudson have applied
this principle of surplus energy to explain so-called animal art,
rejecting the theory which ascribes æsthetic judgment to the female.[35]
As formulated by the last-mentioned authors, the play-theory is,
however, open to objection from a physiological point of view. It has
been remarked by Dr. Wallaschek that, in speaking of animals, the
phrase “surplus of vigour” ought to be superseded by “inapplicability
of energy” or “unemployed energy.”[36] And still more explicitly
Professor Groos has shown that a stored-up supply of energy is by no
means a necessary condition for play.[37] But these criticisms have
by no means deprived the play-instinct of its importance as a dynamic
factor. Since Groos by his epoch-making researches has been able to
prove that the majority of games—especially the games of youth—are
based upon instincts, we can adduce as an impelling force “the demon
instinct that urges and even compels to activity not only if and so
long as the vessel overflows (to use a figure of speech), but even
when there is but a last drop left in it.”[38] By considering artistic
activity as a kind of play, one is therefore able to account for its
great attractiveness, even when no “surplus of vigour” can be shown to
exist.
In the beginning of this chapter we did indeed contend that the
“compulsion” which prompts to artistic activity is too strong to
be even compared with the passion for sports and games. But this
superiority may of course be explained as a result of some peculiarity
of this special kind of play. As a matter of fact art is, in a far
higher degree than any of the sports and games, able to satisfy the
_greatest_ and most _fundamental_ instincts of man. Groos has tried
to prove that the artistic motives which in all times have been
most popular, offer to the spectator as well as to the producer an
opportunity for warlike and erotic stimulation;[39] and Guyau had
already remarked how important a part the moods of war, or rather of
struggle, play in all enjoyment of art.[40] It is easy to understand
the eager prosecution of an activity which thus affords free, if
imaginary, exercise for instincts and tendencies which would otherwise
be thwarted by the narrow restrictions of social life. We are all
animals in captivity, and we eagerly seize every kind of vicarious
function which can give at least a memory of the life from which we are
excluded.
At lower stages of social evolution, where instincts are more in
harmony with life, the play-element in art must evidently be of
still greater importance. Artistic production and artistic enjoyment
provide exercise for those very functions which are most important in
real life. Art fulfils a great social mission, and is developed in
subservience to the struggle for life. The play-theory, as formulated
by Professor Groos, affords, therefore, in many cases an explanation of
the high artistic level reached by the lower tribes. In our historical
treatment of primitive dances and dramas we shall be continually
obliged to have recourse to this theory. And it will thus appear that
it is no deficient appreciation of its importance which compels us to
look elsewhere for an explanation for the artistic impulse.
Play and art have indeed many important characteristics in common.
Neither of them has any immediate practical utility, and both of them
do nevertheless serve some of the fundamental needs of life. All
art, therefore, can in a certain sense be called play. But art is
something more than this. The aim of play is attained when the surplus
of vigour is discharged or the instinct has had its momentary exercise.
But the function of art is not confined to the act of production; in
every manifestation of art, properly so called, something is made and
something survives. It is true that in certain manifestations—for
instance in the dance or in acting—the effect is destroyed as soon as
created; it survives only in the rhythm devised by the dancer, or in
the spectator’s memory of the part played. But this is accidental, not
essential to the nature of the arts as arts. On the other hand, there
is nothing in the nature of the play-impulse to call for a stereotyping
of the state of mind and feelings to which it gives rise. Still less
can the artistic qualities, such as beauty and rhythm, which, however
difficult to define scientifically, always characterise works of
art, be interpreted as a result of the play-impulse. The theories of
Schiller, Spencer, and Groos may indeed explain the negative criterion
of art, but they cannot, any more than the imitation theories or the
Darwinian interpretation, give us any positive information as to the
nature of art.
In order to understand the art-impulse as a tendency to æsthetic
production, we must bring it into connection with some function, from
the nature of which the specifically artistic qualities may be derived.
Such a function is to be found, we believe, in the activities of
emotional expression.
It is therefore to the psychology of feeling and expression that we
shall turn for the solution of the problem of the art-impulse.