The origins of art: a psychological and sociological inquiry
The origins of art: a psychological and sociological inquiryPREFACECHAPTER I THE PROBLEM STATEDCHAPTER II THE ART-IMPULSECHAPTER III THE FEELING-TONE OF SENSATIONCHAPTER IV THE EMOTIONSCHAPTER V THE ENJOYMENT OF PAINCHAPTER VI SOCIAL EXPRESSIONCHAPTER VII DEDUCTION OF ART-FORMSCHAPTER VIII ART THE RELIEVERCHAPTER IX THE WORK OF ARTCHAPTER X OBJECTIONS AND ANSWERSCHAPTER XI THE CONCRETE ORIGINS OF ARTCHAPTER XII ART AND INFORMATIONCHAPTER XIII HISTORICAL ARTCHAPTER XIV ANIMAL DISPLAYCHAPTER XV ART AND SEXUAL SELECTIONCHAPTER XVI THE ORIGINS OF SELF-DECORATIONCHAPTER XVII EROTIC ARTCHAPTER XVIII ART AND WORKCHAPTER XIX ART AND WARCHAPTER XX ART AND MAGICCHAPTER XXI CONCLUSIONSFOOTNOTES:Copyright
The origins of art: a psychological and sociological inquiry
Y. Hirn
PREFACE
The aim and scope of this book is sufficiently indicated by
its title. I have endeavoured throughout to restrict my attention
to questions connected with the origins of art. Points of history
and criticism have been touched upon only in so far as they
appeared to contribute towards the elucidation of this purely
psychological and sociological problem. In order to save space as
well as to spare the reader’s attention, the descriptive parts have
been concentrated as much as possible. As a rule, only one
ethnological example, which has been selected as typical, is
described in the text, while the corroborating examples are
represented by references in the footnotes. And even of these
references only such are adduced as have been considered especially
significant. Only in one matter have I aimed at completeness, viz.
that of reference to authors from whom I have borrowed facts or
observations. And whenever in earlier literature I have found
theories which have appeared similar to the views advanced in this
book, these similarities have been pointed out in the
footnotes.There is one point, however, to which the reader’s attention
should be called in this Preface. When treating of the art-impulse
I have—especially in the tenth chapter—mentioned in the footnotes
some modern writers on æsthetic, who, although starting from
different assumptions, have arrived at a conception of art which in
many points may be compared to the one advanced in this book. This
comparison, however, has not been carried out in the text.
Considerations of space account for this omission; but it has a
further ground in the circumstances under which the present work
has originated. A part of it, containing the examination of feeling
and its expression, and the chapter on “Animal Display,” was
published in Swedish as early as 1896[1]
— that is, before the above-mentioned authors had made their
theories known. This is not mentioned in order to raise any futile
questions of priority, but only as a justification of the way in
which my conclusions have been presented.It has appeared to me that the continuity of the argument
could not but have been broken if, instead of proceeding from my
original starting-point, I had based my conclusions upon a critical
examination of modern æsthetic doctrines. And I trust that the
differences between the thesis of this book and other
emotionalistic explanations will appear with
sufficientclearness to the attentive reader even if they have not been
expressly pointed out in the text.There are, no doubt, many points, a fuller treatment of which
might have been to the advantage of the book. The force of
circumstances has compelled me to aim at brevity before anything.
But even if it had been possible to give this study a far greater
comprehensiveness, the difficulties of expressing myself in a
foreign tongue would have withheld me from any avoidable
amplification. I have constantly been conscious of my audacity in
appearing before the English public without sufficiently mastering
the English language, and I have been anxious not to make my
offence greater by any number of pages than it already
is.That it has been possible at all to publish this research in
English is only a result of the kind assistance which I have
received from my English friends. I am indebted to Mr. G. G. Berry
in Oxford, and Mr. Leonard Pomeroy in London, who have revised
parts of the manuscript. And I am further indebted to my publishers
for procuring me the assistance of Mr. Stephen Gwynn in preparing
the book for the press. He has helped me to avoid needlessly
technical expressions, and in other ways has given the work a more
readable style. But he has not restricted himself to these
emendations. He has assisted me with valuable suggestions as well
as with information. The improvement which the work has derived
from his collaboration can be sufficiently appreciated only by its
author.In purely scientific matters I have benefited much from
discussions with students of psychology and sociology in my own
country as well as in England. My thanks are due to all of them,
but especially to my old friends, Dr. Edward Westermarck and Dr.
Richard Wallaschek.The “List of Authorities quoted” and the Indexes have been
compiled by my wife. This is, however, only the least important
part of the assistance which throughout the book has been rendered
to me by the constant collaborator in all my
researches.Y. H.
CHAPTER I THE PROBLEM STATED
When, one hundred and fifty years ago, Baumgarten wrote the
treatise to which he gave the nameAesthetica, and which he described as
a “theory of liberal arts and beautiful thinking,” it seemed to him
needful to apologise for attracting attention to a field of inquiry
so low and sensuous as that province of philosophy to which he then
affixed a name. Many, he thought, might regard art and beauty,
which appeal primarily to the senses, as subjects beneath the
dignity of philosophers.[2]Yet the theories and the ideas which were first brought
together as an organised body of thought in Baumgarten’s short
manual had so deeply influenced the speculations of his age that, a
generation later, the most important questions of life came to be
treated as æsthetic problems. The philosophy of art, far from
needing to justify its existence, dominated all philosophy—ethics,
metaphysics, and even cosmogony. Imagination was treated as the
ruling faculty in all creation, and beauty was referred to as the
criterion, not only in art, but in morality. Yet the importance
thus given to æsthetic speculation was transitory, and the period
during which philosophers were concerned, not only to find ageneral criterion of beauty for the arts, but also to apply
that criterion far beyond the sphere of art, has been succeeded by
an age which neglects speculation on art and beauty for other tasks
which are regarded as far more important. Such rapid changes within
a few generations appear almost incomprehensible. But they can
easily be explained if we take into account the intimate connection
which always exists between æsthetic speculation and prevailing
currents of thought.In Mr. Bosanquet’sHistory of
Æstheticit has been pointed out with great
clearness to what extent the earlier prosperity of æsthetic studies
was caused by the general philosophical situation. The theory of
æsthetic, as set forth in Baumgarten’s chapter oncognitio sensitiva, and further
developed in Kant’sKritik der
Urtheilskraft, dealt, as is well known, with a
form of judgment which is neither purely rational nor purely
sensual.[3]In metaphysics, for philosophers who had to struggle with
what seemed to them an irreconcilable opposition between reason and
the senses, this conception of a mediative faculty must have
satisfied a most urgent need. Similarly we may suppose that the
ethical observer felt himself emancipated from the narrow
antagonism between body and spirit by looking at our actions in the
æsthetic way. In proportion, however, as general science has been
able to do away with the old dualism of higher and lower faculties,
the judgment of taste has necessarily lost importance. In the
development of monistic philosophy and monistic morals we may thus
see one important factor, by the influence of which æsthetic has
been ousted from its central position.The evolution of modern art has been still more injurious to
æsthetic speculation than the progress ofscience. In the palmy days of art-philosophy conditions were
eminently favourable to universal generalisations. The great
periods of art, classical antiquity and the Renaissance, were so
remote that only their simplest and most salient features were
discerned. Nor did the art of the period exhibit the bewildering
multiplicity of a fertile age,—least of all in Germany, the home
and centre of æsthetic inquiry. The formative arts were less
important than ever before; music, which was so soon to eclipse all
other arts, had not yet awakened the interest of philosophers. The
crafts were at a low ebb; landscape-gardening is indeed the only
kind of applied art that we hear about at this time. Beauty, art,
the ideal—these and all other general notions must have been
suggested with unsurpassable simplicity by this uniform and
monotonous artistic output. It is easy to understand the eagerness
and the delight with which the earlier writers on æsthetic, once
the impulse given, drew conclusions, made comparisons, and laid
down laws. But it is equally evident that speculative zeal was
bound to fall off as soon as the province of art was enlarged and
its products differentiated.Even the more intimate knowledge of classical culture which
was subsequently gained, necessitated important corrections in
æsthetic dogmas. The artistic activities of savage tribes, which
have been practically unknown to æsthetic writers until recent
years, display many features that cannot be harmonised with the
general laws. And in a yet higher degree contemporary art defies
the generalisations of a uniform theory. With greater mastery over
materials and technique, the different arts have been able to
produce more and more specialised forms of beauty. The painter’s
ideal can no longer be confused with that of the poet or the
story-teller,nor the sculptor’s with that of the actor. Pure music, pure
poetry, pure painting, thus develop into isolated, independent
arts, of which each one establishes its own laws and conditions for
itself. The critic who, in spite of this evolution, tries to apply
a narrow æsthetic standard of beauty to all the various arts may
indeed—according to his influence—delay the public appreciation of
modern works, and thus indirectly impede artistic development. But
no amount of theorising will enable him to arrest the growth of
artistic forms whose very existence contradicts the generalisations
of the old systems. And he is equally powerless to stop such
violations of the supposed frontiers of the different arts as
continually occur, for instance, in descriptive music, or in poetry
like that of Gautier, which aims at producing a pictorial
impression by means of words.It is only natural that, in times so inopportune, general
speculations on art and beauty have been more and more abandoned in
favour of detailed studies in the technicalities of art, historical
researches in which works of art are considered chiefly as
documents bearing on culture, and experiments on the physiology and
psychology of æsthetic perception. For art itself and its
development it would perhaps be unimportant if a science which has
never exercised any great positive and direct influence on artistic
production should completely disappear. But from the theoretical
point of view it would be matter for regret if artistic activities
ceased to be considered as a whole. And so also would it be if
æsthetic feelings, judgments of taste, and ideals of beauty came to
be treated only in appendices to works on psychology. It is true
that all these notions have irremediably lost their former
metaphysical and philosophical importance. But in compensation, art
andbeauty have for modern thinking acquired a social and
psychological significance. To determine the part which the
production and the enjoyment of works of art play in their relation
to the other factors of individual and social life—that is indeed a
task which is momentous enough to be treated in a science of its
own. Modern æsthetic, therefore, has still its own ends, which, if
not so ambitious as those of the former speculative science of
beauty, are nevertheless of no small importance. These ends,
however, can no longer be attained by the procedure of the old
æsthetic systems. As the problems have changed with changing
conditions, so too the methods must be brought into line with the
general scientific development. Historical and psychological
investigation must replace the dialectic treatment of the subject.
Art can no longer be deduced from general, philosophical, and
metaphysical principles; it must be studied—by the methods of
inductive psychology—as a human activity. Beauty cannot be
considered as a semi-transcendental reality; it must be interpreted
as an object of human longing and a source of human enjoyment. In
æsthetic proper, as well as in the philosophy of art, every
research must start, not from theoretical assumptions, but from the
psychological and sociological data of the æsthetic
life.Such a procedure, however, is encumbered with difficulties,
of which the writers on speculative æsthetic were scarcely aware.
When theories of art and beauty were based on generala prioriprinciples, there could not
possibly be any doubt as to the point of departure in the several
researches. But when we have no assumptions to start from, the very
demarcation of the subject may become a matter of uncertainty. In
the philosophy of art, to which department of æsthetic
Iwish to restrict my researches in the present work, this
difficulty of formulating the data andquæsita—the facts which we have to go
upon, and the facts which we wish to find out—constitutes the
first, and by no means the least important, problem.If we are to embark upon a scientific treatment of art
without any preconceived definitions, the aim and conditions of
such treatment can only be determined by examining the prevailing
notions on the subject, as they are expressed in language and in
literature. As an interpretation for general use and of general
applicability, a theory of art can claim attention only if it
conforms to the recognised usage of the principal æsthetic terms.
In the various definitions of art which are contained in the
different æsthetic systems, we must therefore try to find some
point of unity from which to approach our subject. The difficulties
of such a task are evident to any one who has gone through the
discouraging experience of reading a history of æsthetic. The
investigator who seeks an accurate demarcation of the whole area of
art, as distinguished from other departments of life, meets with
partial definitions which can be applied only to certain fixed
forms of art. We need mention but a few of the most typical
instances. Even an ardent admirer of Taine is compelled to admit
that his generalisations are too exclusively derived from the study
of poetry and the formative arts. In the same way it is only by
laborious adjustments that the theory of Vischer can be applied to
music and lyric poetry; the aphorisms of Ruskin do not even pretend
to apply to any but the formative arts; and Mr. Marshall’sÆsthetic Principles—to adduce one of
the most recent attempts in general art-theory—are too obviously
those of an expert in architecture. In none of the
modernsystems has sufficient room been made for certain forms of
art which, from the evolutionist’s standpoint, are of the highest
importance: such as acting, dancing, and decoration. All the
one-sided definitions are, moreover, so inconsistent with each
other that it seems impossible to make up for their individual
deficiencies by an eclectic combination. It is not to be wondered
at, therefore, if some writers on art, confused by the bewildering
contradictions of æsthetic theories, have called in question the
very existence of any universal art-criterion.[4]Those who adopt this attitude—which seems the more justified
now that the arts have become widely differentiated—deny the
possibility, not only of all general art-philosophy, but also of
any sociological and psychological treatment of artistic activities
as a whole. But even if all other hypotheses are banished, æsthetic
research cannot possibly dispense with the fundamental assumption
of the unity of art. And in point of fact there can be found in
most systems, if we do not insist on too minute and positive
demarcations, at least one common quality which is ascribed to all
its different forms. Notwithstanding the mutual contradictions of
art-theories, the believers in a general æsthetic can always appeal
to the consent with which the majority of authors have upheld the
negative criterion of art. Metaphysicians as well as psychologists,
Hegelians as well as Darwinians, all agree in declaring that a
work, or performance, which can be proved to serve any utilitarian,
non-æsthetic object must not be considered as a genuine work of
art. True art has its one end in itself, and rejects every
extraneous purpose: that is the doctrine which, with more or less
explicitness,has been stated by Kant,[5]Schiller,[6]Spencer,[7]Hennequin,[8]Grosse,[9]Grant Allen,[10]and others. And popular opinion agrees in this respect with
the conclusions of science. This distinctive quality of
independence seems therefore to afford us a convenient
starting-point for the treatment of art in general.Owing to its negative character, this criterion does not give
us much information as to the real qualities of art. But even the
poorest definition is enough to begin with, if it only holds good
with regard to all particular cases. Unfortunately, however, we
need only apply the test of independence in the concrete instance
to find that even the applicability of this single accepted
criterion may be seriously disputed. There is scarcely any author,
however he may formulate his general definitions of art, who would
assess the relative value of art-works according to their degrees
of disinterestedness. No candid man would, for instance, nowadays
contend that an arabesque composition isper
semore æsthetically pure than a statue or a
poem.[11]But we may even go farther. We must question whether every
work of art ought to be degraded from its æsthetic rank, if it can
be convicted of having served any external utilitarian purpose.
This strict conception of the æsthetic boundaries has been
eloquently attacked by Guyau in his celebrated treatise,Le principe de l’art et de la poésie.[12]Though the ultimate conclusions of thiswork are perhaps not so clear as might be desired, yet we do
not see how his attitude in estimating concrete manifestations of
art can be assailed. It would, to take an example, be absurd to
contend that the singing of Taillefer lost in æsthetic value by
contributing to the victory of Hastings. And however strictly we
may insist upon the requirement that every genuine work of art
should have been created purely for its own sake, we cannot
possibly conceal the fact that some of the world’s finest love
lyrics were originally composed, not in æsthetic freedom, which is
independent of all by-purposes, but with the express end of gaining
the ear and the favour of a beloved woman. The influence which such
foreign, non-æsthetic motives have exercised on art will also
become more and more apparent with increased knowledge of the
conditions of æsthetic production. The further the psychological
biographer pushes his indiscreet researches into the private life
of individual artists, the more often will he find that some form
of interest—personal, political, ethical, religious—enters into the
so-called disinterested æsthetic activity. Such instances must
induce undogmatic authors to relax to some extent the strict
application of this criterion. And even those philosophers who, in
spite of the historical evidence, insist upon applying it will be
compelled to admit that they have taken for works of genuine art
productions which, from their philosophic standpoint, have no claim
to the title.The danger of such mistakes is all the greater when one has
to deal with the lower stages of artistic development. In point of
fact recent ethnological researches have conclusively proved that
it is not only difficult, but quite impossible, to apply the
criterion of æsthetic independence to the productions of savage and
barbaroustribes. It is true that the large province of primitive art
has not as yet in its entirety been made the subject of systematic
study. But, on the other hand, the results which have been arrived
at with regard to decoration, its most typical form, amply bear out
our view. In almost every case where the ornaments of a tribe have
been closely examined, it has appeared that what to us seems a mere
embellishment is for the natives in question full of practical,
non-æsthetic significance. Carvings on weapons and implements,
tattooings, woven and plaited patterns, all of which the uncritical
observer is apt to take for purely artistic compositions, are now
explained as religious symbols, owners’ marks, or ideograms. There
is still room for discussion as to whether in certain individual
interpretations the tendency to look for concealed meanings has not
been carried too far. But there can be no doubt that the general
principles which to many students seemed so fantastic when first
formulated by Stolpe, Read,[13]and others, have derived additional support from every fresh
inquiry into primitive systems of decoration.The isolated researches which have been carried on within the
department of primitive literature and drama all point in the same
direction. Wherever ethnologists have the opportunity of gaining
some insight into the inner life of a savage tribe, they are
surprised at the religious or magical significance which lies
concealed behind the most apparently trivial of amusements. And it
is to be remarked that they have learned to appreciatethis esoteric meaning, not by a closer study of the
manifestations themselves, but through information acquired by
intercourse with the natives. There is often not a single feature
in a savage dance which would give the uninitiated any reason to
suspect the non-æsthetic purpose. When North American Indians,
Kaffirs, or Negroes perform a dance in which all the movements of
the animals they hunt are imitated, we unavoidably see in their
antics an instance of primitive but still purely artistic drama. It
is only from the descriptions of Catlin, Lichtenstein, and
Reade[14]that we learn that these pantomimes have in reality quite as
practical a purpose as those imitations and representations of
animals by which hunters all over the world try to entice their
game within shooting distance. According to the doctrine of
sympathetic magic, it is simply an axiomatic truth that the copy of
a thing may at any distance influence the thing itself, and that
thus a buffalo dance, even when it is performed in the camp, may
compel the buffaloes to come within range of the hunters. But the
deceptive appearance of disinterestedness, which in these cases
might have led one to mistake a mere piece of hunting magic for a
specimen of pure dramatic art, is apt to make us cautious about
accepting as independently æsthetic any performance of primitive
man.In the songs and dances by which savages exhort themselves to
work and regulate their exertions we findan aspect of utilitarian advantage which is real and not
imaginary. Evidently also this advantage, and not any independent
æsthetic pleasure, is—intentionally or unintentionally—aimed at in
the war-pantomimes, the boating songs, dances, etc. And it is no
doubt for this reason that music and dance have attained so
surprising a development in the lower stages of culture. In trying,
therefore, to explain the historical development of art, we are
compelled to take into account that foreign purpose which is
repudiated in art-theory.If every work of art were really an end in itself—aSelbstzweck—standing quite isolated
from all the practical utilities of life, it would be nothing less
than a miracle that art should be met with in tribes which have not
yet learnt to satisfy, nor even to feel, the most elementary
necessities of life. In such a case it is not music only which
would, as Wallace thinks, have to be explained by supernatural
causes:[15]primitive art in all its departments would baffle our
attempts at rational interpretation. By studying, however, the
artistic activities of savage and barbarous man in their connection
with his non-æsthetic life, writers on evolutionary æsthetic have
succeeded in solving this great crux of art-history. The dances,
poems, and even the formative arts of the lower tribes possess
indeed, as every ethnologist will admit, unquestionable æsthetic
value. But this art is seldom free and disinterested; it has
generally a usefulness—real or supposed—and is often even a
necessity of life.[16]A historical conception of art is thus, it
appears,incompatible with a strict maintenance of the æsthetic
criterion. But it may still be asked whether we are therefore
compelled to join Guyau in abolishing all distinctions between art
and other manifestations of human energy.[17]By doing away with the only definition which is common to the
majority of æsthetic systems, we should dissociate ourselves from
all previous views on art. And it seems hard to believe that all
dogmatic writers on æsthetic, one-sided as they may often seem,
have founded their theories on a pure fiction. The independent
æsthetic activity, which simply aims at its own satisfaction,
cannot have been invented for the sake of the systems. The mere
fact that so many theories have been proposed for its explanation
furnishes, it seems to us, a sufficient proof that the conception
of this activity corresponds to some psychological reality.
Certainly the “end in itself” has not played so important a part in
the practice of artists as writers on æsthetic would have us
believe; and it is impossible to distinguish its effects in
concrete individual instances. But from all we know of the life and
work of artists, there appears to be a tendency—more or less
consciously followed, it is true, in different cases—to make the
work its own end. And in the public we can in the same way notice
an inclination—which grows with increasing culture—to regard art as
something which exists for its own sake, and to contemplate its
manifestations with independent æsthetic attention. Whatever we may
think about the genesis of particular pictures and poems, we know
that at least they need no utilitarian, non-æsthetic justification
in order to be appreciated by us. And with as much assurance as we
can ever feel in comparative psychology we may take it for granted that the same
way of looking at art has prevailed in other stages of culture as
well. However cautious one may be in drawing conclusions from
analogies between higher and lower forms, a closer study of
primitive art must needs compel every one to admit that these
dances, poems, and ornaments, even if they originally served
practical, religious, or political aims, may at least have come by
degrees to be enjoyed in the same way as we enjoy our art. By
denying such subjective independence in the creation and enjoyment
of art, we should be no less guilty of one-sidedness than those
authors who deny that genuine art has ever been influenced by
“foreign purposes.” If it is presumptuous to adduce any particular
works or manifestations in proof of free and independent
production, it may be no less audacious to contend that even the
most primitive form of art has flourished in tribes destitute of
all æsthetic cravings. There is room for discussion on the degree
of influence which “autotelic”[18]artistic activity has exercised in particular works and
manifestations. It may also be made an object of research to
determine at which precise stage of development æsthetic attention
becomes so emancipated as to entitle us to speak of a pure and free
art-life. But it does not seem that such inquiries can ever lead to
any positive result. The more one studies art, especially primitive
art, from a comparative and historical point of view, the more one
is compelled to admit the impossibility of deciding where the
non-æsthetic motives end and the æsthetic motives begin. The only
result we can reach is the somewhat indefinite one that it is as
impossible to explain away the artisticpurpose as it is to detect its presence in a pure state in
any concrete work of art.For art-philosophy as a distinct science even this
non-committal conclusion is of vital importance. It gives us a
right to regard all the forms and developments of art as witnesses
to an activity which tends to become more and more independent of
the immediate utilities of life. This tendency, on the other hand,
not only affords us a point of unity from which to start upon a
research into the general philosophy of art; it also presents to us
one of the greatest problems of the same science. How it is that
mankind has come to devote energy and zeal to an activity which may
be almost entirely devoid of a utilitarian purpose is indeed the
riddle, sociological as well as psychological, which would seem in
the first place to claim the attention of the philosopher. To the
writer of this book, at any rate, it appeared that a discussion,
and an attempt at solution, of this seeming paradox was a task
sufficiently important and interesting to form of itself the
subject of a special investigation.But although the aspects of autotelic artistic activity give
us at once a datum and a problem on which we may confidently base
our research, we must not overlook the peculiar difficulties that
will necessarily arise from the exclusively psychological,
non-historical character of this basis. A historic study of art
shows us that the artistic activity proper can never be explained
by examining concrete works as we meet them in reality. Whenever we
have to deal with art as autotelic, the need of theoretical
abstraction forces itself upon us with irresistible cogency. It is
of no avail to argue from the data of art-history, because we can
never fully know the mental origin of the works. Theproblem presented to us by the tendency to engage in artistic
production and artistic enjoyment for their own sake can only be
solved by studying the psychology both of artists and of their
public. The “art-impulse” and the “art-sense,” as referring to
subjective tendencies in creators and spectators, are the chief
notions with which we have to operate in such an investigation. And
when we are obliged to introduce the notion of the “work of art” we
have to remember that this term, strictly speaking, refers to an
abstract and ideal datum. Only by thus restricting our attention to
the psychical facts can we attain any clear conception of that
autotelic aspect of art on which so much stress has been laid in
all æsthetic philosophy.It is needless to say, however, that even a purely
philosophic interpretation of art would be impossible without a
knowledge of its works and manifestations as they appear in real
life, with all their extraneous, non-æsthetic elements. The
psychological examination must therefore necessarily be
supplemented by an historical one. The methods of the latter
research cannot be the same as those used in a strictly æsthetic
inquiry. And the words will naturally be employed in a different
sense. We do not at that stage demand of a poem, a painting, or a
drama, that it should fulfil more than the technical requirements
of the several arts. The ornamentation of a vase,e.g.is in this sense a work of art
even if it serves a magical,i.e.a supposed practical purpose. Indeed it is most advantageous,
if we wish to bring out the influence of sociological factors with
the greatest possible clearness, to concentrate our attention upon
the very qualities which we have to disregard in the treatment of
purely artistic activity. The productions of primitive tribes, in
which art is so closely connected with life,supply the most profitable material for such a study. After
having examined, in these simple forms, all the sociological
aspects of art, it will be possible to place the two art-factors in
the most illustrative antithesis and to study their mutual
influence. From this it should be possible to suggest—although in
this work no detailed attempt will be made to follow out the
reasoning—why it is that the concrete work of art, although its
historical origin may be entirely non-æsthetic, has always proved
so eminently adapted to serve the needs of the purely aesthetic
craving. And by starting from the conception of æsthetic activities
which has been arrived at on psychological grounds, it should also
be possible to determine the particular qualities in individual
works of art which make them more or less able to satisfy this
craving. Thus a theory of the psychological and sociological
origins of art may furnish suggestions for those which have been
considered as distinctive of æsthetic proper, such as the critical
estimation of works of art, or the derivation of laws which govern
artistic production.
CHAPTER II 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 artisticpowersare 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 psychicalimpulse. 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 thegreatestand mostfundamentalinstincts 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 im
portant 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.
CHAPTER III THE FEELING-TONE OF SENSATION
Before attempting to prove that the impelling force in
art-creation is to be explained by the psychology of feeling, we
must first pay some attention to the general theory of emotional
states. It would be impossible to assert anything about the
æsthetic importance of such activities as have their origin in
emotional conditions without first having made out the relation
between feeling and movement.
In this purely psychological investigation it is advantageous
to postpone all æsthetic considerations. The important thing is to
get hold of the mental factors in their simplest possible form.
Even the lowest feelings, therefore, the feeling-tones of mere
physical sensation or the vaguest emotional states, such as comfort
or discomfort, which are overlooked in all works on æsthetic
proper, may be of great value in this preliminary
discussion.
It is preferable to begin with the feeling-tones of
definitely physical origin, because these hedonic elements have
been subjected to an experimental investigation which could never
be undertaken with regard to the complex emotions and sentiments.
As early as 1887 Féré published some important researches on the
re
lation between sensation and movement. By submitting persons
to various external stimuli, he showed that every such stimulus
calls forth a modification of the activities of the body, which
modification, according to the intensity and the duration of the
stimulus, takes the character either of enhancement or of arrest.
In all cases when the apparatus used in the experiments indicated a
shortened reaction-time and an increased development of energy, the
subject of the experiment had experienced a feeling of pleasure.
Every painful stimulus, on the other hand, was connected with a
diminution of energy.
[41]
These results have been corroborated in the main by the later
researches of Lehmann. He has not, however, restricted his
attention to the development of energy, but has also measured the
changes in pulsation and respiration which occur under the
influence of various stimuli. His conclusions are these:—
“ Simple pleasurable sensations are accompanied by dilatation
of the blood-vessels, and perhaps also by an increase in the
amplitude of heart-contraction, together with an increase in the
innervation of the voluntary muscles, at least of those connected
with respiration. In sensations of pain one has to distinguish the
first shock of irritation from the subsequent state. At the moment
of irritation there ensues a deeper inhalation, and, if the
irritation is strong, also an increase in the innervation of
voluntary muscles. Then there generally follows a
relaxation.”
[42]
The physiological theory of pleasure and pain which can be
deduced from these experiments is, however,
neither new nor original. Féré has himself pointed out that
his researches only serve to prove the views which have been
advanced with more or less explicitness by Kant, Bain, Darwin, and
Dumont.
[43]
All authors who have closely studied the movements of
expression have also remarked that pleasurable feelings are
accompanied by a tendency towards increased activity (Gratiolet,
Darwin, Bain, Bouillier, Mantegazza).
[44]
And the popular views on pleasure and pain, as we find them
expressed in literature, all agree on this point: “La joie est
l’air vital de notre âme. La tristesse est un asthme compliqué
d’atonie.”
[45]