The clever title, _Plays Pleasant and Unpleasant_, which Mr. Bernard Shaw
selected for the earliest issue of his dramatic writings, suggests a theme
of criticism that Mr. Shaw, in his lengthy prefaces, might profitably have
considered if he had not preferred to devote his entire space to a
discussion of his own abilities. In explanation of his title, the author
stated only that he labeled his first three plays Unpleasant for the reason
that "their dramatic power is used to force the spectator to face
unpleasant facts." This sentence, of course, is not a definition, since it
merely repeats the word to be explained; and therefore, if we wish to find
out whether or not an unpleasant play is of any real service in the
theatre, we shall have to do some thinking of our own.
It is an axiom that all things in the universe are interesting. The word
_interesting_ means _capable of awakening some activity of human mind_; and
there is no imaginable topic, whether pleasant or unpleasant, which is not,
in one way, or another, capable of this effect. But the activities of the
human mind are various, and there are therefore several different sorts of
interest. The activity of mind awakened by music over waters is very
different from that awakened by the binomial theorem. Some things interest
the intellect, others the emotions; and it is only things of prime
importance that interest them both in equal measure. Now if we compare the
interest of pleasant and unpleasant topics, we shall see at once that the
activity of mind awakened by the former is more complete than that awakened
by the latter. A pleasant topic not only interests the intellect but also
elicits a positive response from the emotions; but most unpleasant topics
are positively interesting to the intellect alone. In so far as the
emotions respond at all to an unpleasant topic, they respond usually with a
negative activity. Regarding a thing which is unpleasant, the healthy mind
will feel aversion--which is a negative emotion--or else will merely think
about it with no feeling whatsoever. But regarding a thing which is
pleasant, the mind may be stirred through the entire gamut of positive
emotions, rising ultimately to that supreme activity which is Love. This
is, of course, the philosophic reason why the thinkers of pleasant thoughts
and dreamers of beautiful dreams stand higher in history than those who
have thought unpleasantness and have imagined woe.
Returning now to that clever title of Mr. Shaw's, we may define an
unpleasant play as one which interests the intellect without at the same
time awakening a positive response from the emotions; and we may define a
pleasant play as one which not only stimulates thought but also elicits
sympathy. To any one who has thoroughly considered the conditions governing
theatric art, it should be evident _a priori_ that pleasant plays are
better suited for service in the theatre than unpleasant plays. This truth
is clearly illustrated by the facts of Mr. Shaw's career. As a matter of
history, it will be remembered that his vogue in our theatres has been
confined almost entirely to his pleasant plays. All four of them have
enjoyed a profitable run; and it is to _Candida_, the best of his pleasant
plays, that, in America at least, he owes his fame. Of the three unpleasant
plays, _The Philanderer_ has never been produced at all; _Widower's Houses_
has been given only in a series of special matinées; and _Mrs. Warren's
Profession_, though it was enormously advertised by the fatuous
interference of the police, failed to interest the public when ultimately
it was offered for a run.
_Mrs. Warren's Profession_ is just as interesting to the thoughtful reader
as _Candida_. It is built with the same technical efficiency, and written
with the same agility and wit; it is just as sound and true, and therefore
just as moral; and as a criticism, not so much of life as of society, it is
indubitably more important. Why, then, is _Candida_ a better work? The
reason is that the unpleasant play is interesting merely to the intellect
and leaves the audience cold, whereas the pleasant play is interesting also
to the emotions and stirs the audience to sympathy. It is possible for the
public to feel sorry for Morell; it is even possible for them to feel sorry
for Marchbanks: but it is absolutely impossible for them to feel sorry for
Mrs. Warren. The multitude instinctively demands an opportunity to
sympathise with the characters presented in the theatre. Since the drama is
a democratic art, and the dramatist is not the monarch but the servant of
the public, the voice of the people should, in this matter of pleasant and
unpleasant plays, be considered the voice of the gods. This thesis seems to
me axiomatic and unsusceptible of argument. Yet since it is continually
denied by the professed "uplifters" of the stage, who persist in looking
down upon the public and decrying the wisdom of the many, it may be
necessary to explain the eternal principle upon which it is based. The
truth must be self-evident that theatre-goers are endowed with a certain
inalienable right--namely, the pursuit of happiness. The pursuit of
happiness is the most important thing in the world; because it is nothing
less than an endeavor to understand and to appreciate the true, the
beautiful, and the good. Happiness comes of loving things which are
worthy; a man is happy in proportion to the number of things which he has
learned to love; and he, of all men, is most happy who loveth best all
things both great and small. For happiness is the feeling of harmony
between a man and his surroundings, the sense of being at home in the
universe and brotherly toward all worthy things that are. The pursuit of
happiness is simply a continual endeavor to discover new things that are
worthy, to the end that they may waken love within us and thereby lure us
loftier toward an ultimate absolute awareness of truth and beauty. It is in
this simple, sane pursuit that people go to the theatre. The important
thing about the public is that it has a large and longing heart. That heart
demands that sympathy be awakened in it, and will not be satisfied with
merely intellectual discussion of unsympathetic things. It is therefore the
duty, as well as the privilege, of the dramatist to set before the public
incidents which may awaken sympathy and characters which may be loved. He
is the most important artist in the theatre who gives the public most to
care about. This is the reason why Joseph Jefferson's _Rip Van Winkle_ must
be rated as the greatest creation of the American stage. The play was
shabby as a work of art, and there was nothing even in the character to
think about; but every performance of the part left thousands happier,
because their lives had been enriched with a new memory that made their
hearts grow warm with sympathy and large with love.