The contents of this, as of the other volumes in the series, have been
drawn from Schopenhauer's _Parerga_, and amongst the various subjects
dealt with in that famous collection of essays, Literature holds an
important place. Nor can Schopenhauer's opinions fail to be of special
value when he treats of literary form and method. For, quite apart
from his philosophical pretensions, he claims recognition as a great
writer; he is, indeed, one of the best of the few really excellent
prose-writers of whom Germany can boast. While he is thus particularly
qualified to speak of Literature as an Art, he has also something to
say upon those influences which, outside of his own merits, contribute
so much to an author's success, and are so often undervalued when he
obtains immediate popularity. Schopenhauer's own sore experiences in
the matter of reputation lend an interest to his remarks upon that
subject, although it is too much to ask of human nature that he should
approach it in any dispassionate spirit.
In the following pages we have observations upon style by one who
was a stylist in the best sense of the word, not affected, nor yet a
phrasemonger; on thinking for oneself by a philosopher who never did
anything else; on criticism by a writer who suffered much from the
inability of others to understand him; on reputation by a candidate
who, during the greater part of his life, deserved without obtaining
it; and on genius by one who was incontestably of the privileged
order himself. And whatever may be thought of some of his opinions
on matters of detail--on anonymity, for instance, or on the question
whether good work is never done for money--there can be no doubt that
his general view of literature, and the conditions under which it
flourishes, is perfectly sound.
It might be thought, perhaps, that remarks which were meant to apply
to the German language would have but little bearing upon one so
different from it as English. This would be a just objection if
Schopenhauer treated literature in a petty spirit, and confined
himself to pedantic inquiries into matters of grammar and etymology,
or mere niceties of phrase. But this is not so. He deals with his
subject broadly, and takes large and general views; nor can anyone
who knows anything of the philosopher suppose this to mean that he is
vague and feeble. It is true that now and again in the course of these
essays he makes remarks which are obviously meant to apply to the
failings of certain writers of his own age and country; but in such a
case I have generally given his sentences a turn, which, while keeping
them faithful to the spirit of the original, secures for them a less
restricted range, and makes Schopenhauer a critic of similar faults in
whatever age or country they may appear. This has been done in spite
of a sharp word on page seventeen of this volume, addressed to
translators who dare to revise their author; but the change is one
with which not even Schopenhauer could quarrel.
It is thus a significant fact--a testimony to the depth of his
insight and, in the main, the justice of his opinions--that views of
literature which appealed to his own immediate contemporaries, should
be found to hold good elsewhere and at a distance of fifty years.
It means that what he had to say was worth saying; and since it is
adapted thus equally to diverse times and audiences, it is probably of
permanent interest.
The intelligent reader will observe that much of the charm of
Schopenhauer's writing comes from its strongly personal character, and
that here he has to do, not with a mere maker of books, but with a
man who thinks for himself and has no false scruples in putting his
meaning plainly upon the page, or in unmasking sham wherever he finds
it. This is nowhere so true as when he deals with literature; and just
as in his treatment of life, he is no flatterer to men in general, so
here he is free and outspoken on the peculiar failings of authors. At
the same time he gives them good advice. He is particularly happy in
recommending restraint in regard to reading the works of others, and
the cultivation of independent thought; and herein he recalls a saying
attributed to Hobbes, who was not less distinguished as a writer than
as a philosopher, to the effect that "_if he had read as much as other
men, he should have been as ignorant as they_."
Schopenhauer also utters a warning, which we shall do well to take to
heart in these days, against mingling the pursuit of literature with
vulgar aims. If we follow him here, we shall carefully distinguish
between literature as an object of life and literature as a means of
living, between the real love of truth and beauty, and that detestable
false love which looks to the price it will fetch in the market. I am
not referring to those who, while they follow a useful and honorable
calling in bringing literature before the public, are content to be
known as men of business. If, by the help of some second witch
of Endor, we could raise the ghost of Schopenhauer, it would be
interesting to hear his opinion of a certain kind of literary
enterprise which has come into vogue since his day, and now receives
an amount of attention very much beyond its due. We may hazard a guess
at the direction his opinion would take. He would doubtless show us
how this enterprise, which is carried on by self-styled _literary
men_, ends by making literature into a form of merchandise, and
treating it as though it were so much goods to be bought and sold at a
profit, and most likely to produce quick returns if the maker's name
is well known. Nor would it be the ghost of the real Schopenhauer
unless we heard a vigorous denunciation of men who claim a connection
with literature by a servile flattery of successful living
authors--the dead cannot be made to pay--in the hope of appearing to
advantage in their reflected light and turning that advantage into
money.
In order to present the contents of this book in a convenient form, I
have not scrupled to make an arrangement with the chapters somewhat
different from that which exists in the original; so that two or more
subjects which are there dealt with successively in one and the same
chapter, here stand by themselves. In consequence of this, some of
the titles of the sections are not to be found in the original. I may
state, however, that the essays on _Authorship_ and _Style_ and the
latter part of that on _Criticism_ are taken direct from the chapter
headed _Ueber Schriftstellerei und Stil_; and that the remainder of
the essay on _Criticism_, with that of _Reputation_, is supplied by
the remarks _Ueber Urtheil, Kritik, Beifall und Ruhm_. The essays on
_The Study of Latin_, on _Men of Learning_, and on _Some Forms
of Literature_, are taken chiefly from the four sections _Ueber
Gelehrsamkeit und Gelehrte, Ueber Sprache und Worte, Ueber Lesen
und Bücher: Anhang_, and _Zur Metaphysik des Schönen_. The essay on
_Thinking for Oneself_ is a rendering of certain remarks under the
heading _Selbstdenken. Genius_ was a favorite subject of speculation
with Schopenhauer, and he often touches upon it in the course of his
works; always, however, to put forth the same theory in regard to it
as may be found in the concluding section of this volume. Though the
essay has little or nothing to do with literary method, the subject of
which it treats is the most needful element of success in literature;
and I have introduced it on that ground. It forms part of a chapter in
the _Parerga_ entitled _Den Intellekt überhaupt und in jeder Beziehung
betreffende Gedanken: Anhang verwandter Stellen._
It has also been part of my duty to invent a title for this volume;
and I am well aware that objection may be made to the one I have
chosen, on the ground that in common language it is unusual to speak
of literature as an art, and that to do so is unduly to narrow its
meaning and to leave out of sight its main function as the record of
thought. But there is no reason why the word _Literature_ should
not be employed in that double sense which is allowed to attach to
_Painting, Music, Sculpture_, as signifying either the objective
outcome of a certain mental activity, seeking to express itself in
outward form; or else the particular kind of mental activity in
question, and the methods it follows. And we do, in fact, use it in
this latter sense, when we say of a writer that he pursues literature
as a calling. If, then, literature can be taken to mean a process as
well as a result of mental activity, there can be no error in speaking
of it as Art. I use that term in its broad sense, as meaning skill in
the display of thought; or, more fully, a right use of the rules
of applying to the practical exhibition of thought, with whatever
material it may deal. In connection with literature, this is a
sense and an application of the term which have been sufficiently
established by the example of the great writers of antiquity.
It may be asked, of course, whether the true thinker, who will always
form the soul of the true author, will not be so much occupied with
what he has to say, that it will appear to him a trivial thing to
spend great effort on embellishing the form in which he delivers it.
Literature, to be worthy of the name, must, it is true, deal with
noble matter--the riddle of our existence, the great facts of life,
the changing passions of the human heart, the discernment of some deep
moral truth. It is easy to lay too much stress upon the mere garment
of thought; to be too precise; to give to the arrangement of words an
attention that should rather be paid to the promotion of fresh ideas.
A writer who makes this mistake is like a fop who spends his little
mind in adorning his person. In short, it may be charged against the
view of literature which is taken in calling it an Art, that, instead
of making truth and insight the author's aim, it favors sciolism and a
fantastic and affected style. There is, no doubt, some justice in the
objection; nor have we in our own day, and especially amongst younger
men, any lack of writers who endeavor to win confidence, not by adding
to the stock of ideas in the world, but by despising the use of plain
language. Their faults are not new in the history of literature; and
it is a pleasing sign of Schopenhauer's insight that a merciless
exposure of them, as they existed half a century ago, is still quite
applicable to their modern form.
And since these writers, who may, in the slang of the hour, be called
"impressionists" in literature, follow their own bad taste in the
manufacture of dainty phrases, devoid of all nerve, and generally
with some quite commonplace meaning, it is all the more necessary to
discriminate carefully between artifice and art.
But although they may learn something from Schopenhauer's advice, it
is not chiefly to them that it is offered. It is to that great mass of
writers, whose business is to fill the columns of the newspapers and
the pages of the review, and to produce the ton of novels that appear
every year. Now that almost everyone who can hold a pen aspires to be
called an author, it is well to emphasize the fact that literature is
an art in some respects more important than any other. The problem of
this art is the discovery of those qualities of style and treatment
which entitled any work to be called good literature.
It will be safe to warn the reader at the very outset that, if he
wishes to avoid being led astray, he should in his search for these
qualities turn to books that have stood the test of time.
For such an amount of hasty writing is done in these days that it is
really difficult for anyone who reads much of it to avoid contracting
its faults, and thus gradually coming to terms of dangerous
familiarity with bad methods. This advice will be especially needful
if things that have little or no claim to be called literature at
all--the newspapers, the monthly magazine, and the last new tale of
intrigue or adventure--fill a large measure, if not the whole, of the
time given to reading. Nor are those who are sincerely anxious to have
the best thought in the best language quite free from danger if they
give too much attention to the contemporary authors, even though these
seem to think and write excellently. For one generation alone is
incompetent to decide upon the merits of any author whatever; and as
literature, like all art, is a thing of human invention, so it can be
pronounced good only if it obtains lasting admiration, by establishing
a permanent appeal to mankind's deepest feeling for truth and beauty.
It is in this sense that Schopenhauer is perfectly right in holding
that neglect of the ancient classics, which are the best of all models
in the art of writing, will infallibly lead to a degeneration of
literature.
And the method of discovering the best qualities of style, and of
forming a theory of writing, is not to follow some trick or mannerism
that happens to please for the moment, but to study the way in which
great authors have done their best work.
It will be said that Schopenhauer tells us nothing we did not know
before. Perhaps so; as he himself says, the best things are seldom
new. But he puts the old truths in a fresh and forcible way; and no
one who knows anything of good literature will deny that these truths
are just now of very fit application.
It was probably to meet a real want that, a year or two ago, an
ingenious person succeeded in drawing a great number of English and
American writers into a confession of their literary creed and the art
they adopted in authorship; and the interesting volume in which he
gave these confessions to the world contained some very good advice,
although most of it had been said before in different forms. More
recently a new departure, of very doubtful use, has taken place; and
two books have been issued, which aim, the one at being an author's
manual, the other at giving hints on essays and how to write them.
A glance at these books will probably show that their authors have
still something to learn.
Both of these ventures seem, unhappily, to be popular; and, although
they may claim a position next-door to that of the present volume I
beg to say that it has no connection with them whatever. Schopenhauer
does not attempt to teach the art of making bricks without straw.
I wish to take this opportunity of tendering my thanks to a large
number of reviewers for the very gratifying reception given to
the earlier volumes of this series. And I have great pleasure in
expressing my obligations to my friend Mr. W.G. Collingwood, who has
looked over most of my proofs and often given me excellent advice in
my effort to turn Schopenhauer into readable English.