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THE NECESSITY
OF POETRY
An

Address^ given to the

Tredegar Sf District Co-operative Society

Nov.

2 2,

1917

ROBERT BRIDGES
Poet Laureate

Price

Two Shillings net

Oxford

At the Clarendon
191

Press

Cornell University
Library

The

original of

tfiis

book

is in

the Cornell University Library.

There are no known copyright

restrictions

the United States on the use of the

in

text.

http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924026947303

THE NEGESSIXr
OF POETRY
An
Tredegar

Address given to the

& District Co-operative Society

Nov. 22,

917

by

ROBERT BRIDGES
Poet Laureate

Oxford

At

the Clarendon Press

1918
f

Cornell University Llbrai7

PN 1031.B847
Necessity of poeti

3 1924 026 947 303

OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS

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THE NECESSITY OF POETRY

PART

AM here to talk about Poetry, and you little

how siurprised you ought to be. I have
refused many invitations to lecture on Poetry
I

think

but most of us now-a-days are doing what we

most dislike, and it has come about that I have
myself chosen the subject.
Let me explain why an artist is unwilling to
discourse on his own art.
The fact is that in
it is only the formal side which can be
formulated and that is not what people congregate to hear about, when they call for Art-lec-

every art

tures.

The grammar of any

intelligible to the

layman

the magic of

delight.

its

art is dry

and un-

seems unrelated to
In Poetry it is even

it

deemed beneath the dignity of a poet to betray

any consciousness of such detail. But, if you
bid the artist leave this dull and solid ground to
expatiate on Beauty, you invite him on to a field
where speculations appear to him fanciM and
unsound and the venture cannot rashly be in:

dulged

in.

However here I am and I hope to give such a

;

a2

THE NECESSITY

theoretic view of the fundamental basis of Poetry

as

may interest

us both, and justify the claim of

Poetry to that high place which is and always has

been granted to it by almost universal consent
in all countries

In a
of last

and languages.

house which I rented for a month

summer a volume of Macaulay's Essays
little

stood on the shelves

corded

how

it

a whist-drive

an

inscription in

it re-

had been won by its owner in

and I took it up, and read the

greater part of

it.

I fear that I risk

losing

either your esteem or your complete confidence,

when I say that this classical work was almost

new to me. But, if I had never read much in
it before, I now made up for past indolence or
prejudice and I was taken aback when I found
;

Macaulay praising Shelley

in these

terms

We

doubt (he says) whether any modern poet

has possessed in an equal de^ee some of the
highest qualities of the greatest ancient masters.

The words Bard and

Inspiration,

which seem so

cold and affected when applied to other modern

writers, have a perfect propriety when applied to
him. He was not an author but a bard. His
poetry seems not to have been an art but an
inspiration.
It is this magic of language, which won the
wide-ranging but somewhat uncongenial mind

OF POETRY

of Macaulay, that I intend to explore ; and I

shall avoid philosophical terms and questionable
assumptions.

Words
Poetry
Arts,

is

and,

sense, all

the

an Art,

medium of Poetry

that is, it is one of the Fine

using the word in this recognised

Art

is

the expression of Ideas in some

sensuous material or medium.

And

in taking material forms of beauty,

the Ideas,

make a direct

appeal to the emotions through the senses.

Thus the

material or medium, as

it is called,

of Sculpture is stone or marble, and so on ; the

medium of Painting is colours ; the medium of

Music

is

sound ; and the medium of Poetry

is

words.

Now while it would be manifestly preposterous

by an examinaadmit that in Painting

to begin the study of Sculpture

tion of stones,

you

will

a knowledge of Colours is less remote, and is

even a necessary equipment of the artist and
you will further grant that in Music the study
:

of the Sounds

i.

e.

the notes of the scale and

mutual relations is an indispensable preSo that in these three Arts, if they

liminary.
their

are taken in this order, Sculpture, Painting,

Music, we see the

Art

rising step

medium

by step

in its relation to the

in significance

and

THE NECESSITY

6
think

it is

evident that in Poetry the importance

of the material is even greater than

and the reason

is

it is

in

Music

very plain.

All Art, we said, was the expression of Ideas

a sensuous medium. Now Words, the medium
of Poetry, actually are Ideas ; whereas neither
in

Stone nor Colour nor mere Sound can be called

Ideas, though they seem in this order to make

a gradual approach towards them.

I hope this may reconcile you to the method
of inquiring into Poetry by the examination of
Words. I propose to consider Words, first as
Ideas, secondly as Vocal Sounds.

Words

as Ideas

Whether or no the

first

step of

human

lan-

guage was to recognise certain vocal sounds as

signs or symbols of objects perceived by the
senses, we must now in our perfected speech admit
the nouns or names of objects to be the simplest
elements.

But the name of an object must have a difmeaning to different persons, according
as they know more or less about it and it must

ferent

convey a different emotion as they are differently

And

knowledge conan infinite

for complete knowledge of any one

affected towards

it.

cerning any one thing

character,

is

since

really of

OFPOETRY
thing would include

which

else,

is

its

relations to everything

more knowledge than any man may

these words, which appear so simple as

mere names of objects, are, each one of them, of
wide capacity of signification and pass from
being names of definite objects to being names
of various and indefinite ideas or conceptions of

possess

things.
It

the

is

impossible to prevent a

name of an

idea

name from being

and (unless we make the

doubtful exception of certain abstract ideas)

is

it

impossible to keep the idea always similar and

definite.

wonder how rational

medium of language can
complete and easy as it is, when the ideas

It is really a matter for

intercourse through the

be so
conveyed by the words are so different in each
person.

And yet

in

common

talk

and the ordi-

nary business of life we find little inconvenience

from the discrepancy of our ideas, and usually
man who wants to go from
disregard it.

is informed that his

Euston at 10 a.m., and arrive at
Manchester about 3 p.m., has no occasion to

London

to Manchester, and

train will leave

trouble himself because his informant's idea of

Manchester is totally dissimilar to his own. We

need not labour this point. All our practical
life is carried on in this way, and whether a man

THE NECESSITY

speak or write, we say that he speaks or writes

meaning is plain, his ideas

and his language unambiguous. And this
current speech, which is a most elaborate instrument, for it has symbols not only for all the
objects of the senses, butfor actions and emotions,
and the subtlest notions of our intellect, and no
is accomless for their relations to each other
modated by delicate self-adjustment to the practical needs of life, and has been further elaborated
by Reason to become the sufficient apparatus for
all our business, politics, science, history, and
law, and whatever else is concerned with human
affairs
and through printing it has become the
well, according as his

clear,

human knowledge.

indestructible storehouse of

So that one may well inquire what more could

be desired or expected of it and it is common
;

to find that practical folk call Poetry 'tosh',

maintain that
best to say

it

if

you have anything

to say,

and
it is

as simply as possible.

Newton, of blessed memory, wrote

a book on the Chronology of Ancient Kingdoms
and the first words of his introduction are
Sir Isaac

these

The Greek

Antiquities are full of Poetical

because the Greeks wrote nothing in
prose before the conquest of Asia by Cyrus the
Persian. Then Pherecydes Scyrius and Cadmus
Milesius introduced the writing in prose.
fictions,

OF POETRY

Now whatever appreciation or respect Newton

may have had

for the Iliad, he is complaining

was of no use to him as a scientific historian, and I imagine him asking why those old
poets could not tell us plainly what they really
knew, instead of inventing ' irrelevant false fan-

that

cies

it

'

about the Gods, and things that never

were?

The opposition which he implies between

Poetry and Prose cannot be absolutely insisted
on but we may take him to witness that Poetry
has a field of its own, which is repudiated by
:

Science as well as
tinction

is

by Common-sense.

The

very real.

The

dis-

claim of prose

is

obviously high, and I could say more to exalt

it

what

have to say

Insufficiency

will

come

later.

of Philosophy and Science

And here I would remind you of something^

which amid the routine and practical concerns of
life we are apt to lose sight of,
and that is the
incomplete and insufficient character of our best
knowledge. I do not mean those individual
differences that I have spoken of, nor that limitation which each one of us must feel if we compare

ourselves with the wisest

man on
184

but,

take the

wisest

earth, or all the wisest that have ever

A 3

THE NECESSITY

10
lived, the

the

is

that

intellect is incapable of solving

the

one thing that they agree about

human

profounder problems of life, with which we are

faced when we begin to think.'^
I am saying nothing derogatory of science and
philosophy, nor need one be in any sense a sceptic
in affirming that our highest efforts of intellect

do not inform us even on that primary interest

all, namely for what purpose mankind exists
on the earth, nor whether there be any such purpose.
The so-called Laws of Nature, which we
imagine to rule us, are but the latest improvements of our own most satisfactory guesses concerning the physical order of the universe and
when we ask how it is that our material bodies
are able to be conscious of themselves, and to
think, not only have we no answer, but we cannot
imagine any kind of possible explanation.
Man does not know, and maybe never will
know what he is. Let me quote the utterance of
the good-hearted atheist in Anatole France's
recent novel.
He speaks frankly and typically
as a convinced scientist, thus
of

Nature, my only mistress and my sole teacher,

has never given me any sign that she would have
me think the life of a man to be of any value
on the contrary she informs me by all manner
:

'

See note on

p. 48.

OFPOETRY

11

of indications that it is of no account whatever.

The one final cause of aU living creatures seems
to be that they should be the food of other living creatures, who are themselves destined to
the same end. Murder has her sanction.
And yet I must confess that there is something
rebellious in my instinct ; for I do not like to
see blood flow
and that is a weakness from
which all my philosophy has never been able to
wean me.
.

He cannot reconcile his better human feelings

with his Epicurean science.

How does the brag of scientific learning, the

vaunt of its scrupulous well-informed prose look
now ? Does it not seem that in trying to make
our ideas definite we are confining ourselves to
a method which refuses to deal with the mysteries
and is driven to that refusal not because
can deny the mysteries, but only because
Are we not
it can make nothing of them ?
building up our language into something of a
of

life ?

it

prison house ?

And

have never done

is it

not just because they

this, thati

untaught men are

more contented and at home in the world,

more like the ideal ' wise man than the best

often
far

instructed

'

men

of science

.''

Charles Darwin in his early book on the voyage of the Beagle quotes from Shelley's metaphysical poem Mont Blanc and in his autobio:

graphy he writes

A 4

THE NECESSITY

12

Up to the age of thirty or beyond it, Poetry

of many kinds, such as the works of Milton,
Gray, Byron, Wordsworth and Shelley gave
me great pleasure, and even as a schoolboy I
But
took intense delight in Shakespeare.
now for many years I cannot endure to read a
line of Poetry. I have tried lately to read Shakespeare, and found it so intolerably dull that it
nauseated me.
mind seems to have become a kind of machine for grinding general
laws out of a large collection of facts.
.

He regretted

Why

My

this,

live his life again,

poetic side of his

and said that if he haxJ to

he would try to keep the:

mind ahve.

did Darwin lose his interest in poetry

And why was he right in judging that his

mental
life had become poorer by the loss ?
His almost
bitterly scornful description of his state shows
that he meant (even if not quite consciously)
something more than that he had lost what his
memory told him was a soiu-ce of keen pleasure.
It is difficult to^quiet a suspicion that the
natural indefinite quality of our ideas may be a
healthy condition and that the key to the mysteries of life, which is withheld from philosophical exactitudes, may lie in that very condition of
our thought which Reason rejects as unseizable
;

and

delusive.

OFPOETRY

13

Account of Concepts

Suppose we look into our minds, and try to see

these ideas at home, and picture to ourselves the

manner of

their behaviour.

difficult task.

This may seem a

from a liv-

I will read a passage

ing writer which I think illuminating. It must of

course be a visual picture, and therefore a clumsy
translation into solids, but that

is

unavoidable.

some introduction. Consider then

by what gradual stages an idea is formed in the
mind. There is a familiar example in the word
father, which is very commonly misapplied by
children to all grown-up men.^ This mistake is
It needs

The

first arisings

of the identification of the parent

with a special sound or name are very hazy, and

I should
mistrust any general statement. The mere bubblings and
babblings of the infant mouth, ma-ma and pa-pa, are taken
up and with varying success appropriated by the parents,
who may often be deceived. The v/ot& father comes later,

when the child may be supposed to have labels

for objects.

Butthe identification of the father is no doubtvery different

in different children, not only from the great difference in
their actual contact and experience, but also because (as I
know from observation) children come at mental proficiency in quite different ways some are born thinking,
some have difficulty in learning to think.
:

The name

for the father

must

in all cases

come to the
had no

If he

child only in connexion with his father.

father living he would not hear the name if his father

were a white, and all other men that he saw were blacks,
then he would probably not extend its application.
:

THE NECESSITY

14

corrected,

and the conception of father gradu-

ally clears itself,

the child

is

but cannot be completed until

himself grown up to manhood, and

has himself become a father.

For though as a
bachelor he may have a very true conception of
fatherhoodjit mustyetbe imperfect, because emo-

imagined are not the same as emotions

and these, when they come, will add
a new experience. And you must note that all,
or almost all our natural ideas are coloured or
warmed with emotion. It was absence of this
indefinite blur in Peter BelPs understanding that
Wordsworth so deplored when he wrote the
famous lines,
tions only

actually

felt,

A
A

primrose by a river's brim

yellow primrose was to him,
And it was nothing more.

I will strengthen our illustration with another

example, a child on first hearing a church organ.
Contrast the vague wonder in his mind with

and feelings when he has become an

accomplished organist or organ-builder.
These ideas in the mind, of which words are
the symbols, are called Concepts.
may use
his ideas

We

that name.

Now my
mind

author compares a Concept in the

to a precious stone, say a diamond,

and

OFPOETRY
the

first state

the child's

15

of the Cosceys father or organ in

mind

will be like the rough diamond,

comes from the pit.
He compares its
gi'owth to the change which comes over the diamond under the hand of the expert gem-cutter;

as

it

who transforms
many structural
all

it

the light that

I

can

now

into a brilliant jewel with

facets,
falls

which

reflect

and refract

on them.

give you his picture.

Let us suppose (he writes) that our minds

contain large numbers of such myriad-sided
and many-coloured jewels, grouped together in
various ways and forms ; and then that light
flashes through this grouped mass, darting into
and through and between the several jewels. And
further let us imagine that simultaneously with
this flashing movement of the light through and
between these myriad-sided jewels, there is also
a stir and reshaping of the jewels themselves
a change of form by which they acquire new
facets and a movement which brings them ever
into new relations with one another, but again
fitting closely together, joining themselves into
new combinations of form and colour, linking
themselves into new and ever-changing clusters.
The movement of the light into and through
and between the jewels, and the simultaneous change and remodelling and regrouping
of the jewels themselves, the two latter movements often caused by the former, may serve

THE NECESSITY

16

us for an image of what we call Thought, the

miracle or alchemy of Thought. And the j ewels,
which tumble apart and reform themselves into
new and ever-changing harmonious combinations and clusters, are Concepts, and the light

which

through and between them, and

flashes

is

often the cause of their movement and change

of grouping, is the stream of new percepts (or
perceptions), which the mind is unceasingly

acquiring from the sense-data furnished by the

nerves and sense organs.^

image of great value, and we may

I think this

use

its

definite

terms as a

phraseology in this

can talk of

common

basis of

difficult subject, so that

we

with the confidence of mutual

it

undei-standing.

There are several remarks to make.

First,

You

regrouping,

which
and causes their growth and

see that the flashing light,

disturbs the jewels

is

the fresh experience of our senses.

Our senses, while we

are awake, are continuously

and it is
way that we learn, correcting our
concepts by new experience.
supplying us with fresh material

chiefly in this

shortened and simplified from the

The author,
Mr. Campion, had sent me the proofs of an essay not yet
pubUshed.
'

This quotation

original to adapt

it

is

to oral communication.

OFPOETRY

17

Secondly, That these concepts, lying stored in

all of them in that part of the
mind which we can get at when we choose. The

our minds, are not

place where they are supposed to dwell

deep, and the depths of

out of our reach.

it

is

very

are almost altogether

The strange tricks that Memory

many things in our

plays us show that there are

minds which we cannot

certain that there are

up

call

at will

and it

many which we

bring into consciousness at

is

never

all.

That the fresh experience of the

which we suppose to be the main agent in

Thirdly,
senses,

stimulating the concepts, need not be a conscious

experience.

A sight or sound may pass from the

eye or ear into the brain, and do

its

work

in the

mind, without our observing (i.e. being conscious) that any virtue has passed into us.
Fourthly, That these concepts have a spontaneous life and growth of their own ; and iu this

more like a crowd of men in a marketand threes, shifting about at will, and grouping themselves differrespect are

place, talking together in twos

ently for different purposes

gathering informa-

and calling to each other, as one

man sees a creditor to whom he has promised
payment, another an acquaintance to whom he
would sell something a scene of confusion where
every one is active and intent on his own affairs,
A 6
nu
tion, hailing

THE NECESSITY

18

yet busily working out the

common

industry of

the market.

Markets

diflFer

much

in different parts of the

country: and people differ in nothing more than

in respect

both of the quality and activity of

the concepts in the subconscious region of their

minds.

A genius

is

man whose mind

has most of a

right spontaneous activity of the concepts

among

themselves.

This spontaneous activity within the mind is a

and it seems to me to be the
best evidence that we have of the Reality of
Truth.
definite fact of life

Poetic

itse

of Concepts

Now Poetry, when it is performing its essential

and thereby provoking censure from
Newton, and nausea in Darwin, uses our concepfunction,

tions in their natural condition.

them nor

rationalises them.

It neither trims

Its art is to repre-

sent these spontaneous conjunctions of concepts,

as they affect the imagination.

doubt

this

JVIacaulay.

On

that aroused

And

it

was no

admiration
Perhaps he had been reading.

a poet's

Dreaming

the

lips I slept

a love-adept
In the sound his breathing kept
Nor seeks nor finds he mortal blisses.
like

of

OFPOETRY
But feeds on the aereal

19

kisses

Of shapes that hmmt thougMs wildernesses.

He will watch from dawn till gloom
The lake-reflected sun illume
The yellow bees in the ivy-bloom,
Nor heed nor see what things they
But from these create he can

he

Forms more

real than living man,

Nurselings of immortality.

The value

of this spontaneous imagination varies

In William Blake

much.
insanity

and true insanity

often seems like

it
is

now attributed by

experts to subconscious aberration, to a sort of

mutiny of the concepts, on a theory that would

imply that the men in the market-place combine
together in secret associations for evil purposes.

On

the other hand this inspiration

is

some-

times wholly expended in making vivid emo-

and
magic then lies in the imagery which satisfies
even without interpretation. It goes home, as
we say ; and is accepted as easily and naturally
as it was created.
Thus, when Keats is speaking of the riddle of
our life, his lines are
tional pictures of scientific or rational ideas,
its

Stop and consider

Life

is

but a day

A fragile dewdrop on its perilous

From a

summit

way

a poor Indian's sleep

While his boat hastens to the monstrous steep
tree's

a6

THE NECESSITY

20

Why

so sad a moan ?
the rose's hope while yet unblown
reading of an ever-changing tale
light uplifting of a maiden's veil

Of Montmorenci.
Life

The
The

is

A pigeon tumbling in clear summer air

A laughing schoolboy, without grief or care,
Riding the springy branches of an elm.

Here are

six different views

of

which

life,

translated into prose would be first an atomic

movement in a general flux ; then a dream on
:

the brink of destruction

then a budding hope

then an intellectual distraction

glimpse of beauty

and

then an ecstatic

lastly

an instinctive

animal pleasure.
Different

At

ways of using

the Concepts

imagine an objector saying to

have proved too much. If you have
truly described the behaviour of Ideas in the
mind, then there can be no escape from it. All
our thought must be more or less subject to this
'shifty and uncertain quality of our ideas, and
to their spontaneous uncontrollable behaviour.'
And this is no doubt true. No absolute line
can be drawn. You will remember that I said
a genius was a man whose mind was unusually
rich and active in spontaneous thought
and
me,

'

this point I

You

'

'

'

'

that

law

is

in

as true in

science as in art.

mathematics or physics

is

just as

new
much

OFPOETRY
a bit of subconscious insight as
in

is

ai

a composition

music by Mozart.
Lines of distinction

thus

may however be drawn

^These concepts as we have pictured them

can be regarded either in their definite or in

that is, we may take

their indefinite aspects

them with

all their

multiple facets or confused

irridescent fringes, varying in different

minds

we may shear them, and pay attention only

to that part of them that we think we best
understand and mostly agree about. And there
or

seem to be mainly three ways or using them.

To take a simple example, the Concept Man.

We agreed that no one definitely and sufliciently

knows what man is but that does not in any
way hamper our conversation, although we may
be aware that we are talking with a person who
has a very different conception of Man from
our own
as in the French story that I quoted,
;

where the old atheist converses with the priest.

They both fully recognise and even compare
and in daily intercourse such
their differences
differences are assumed and allowed for.
And
this is our way in the common conversation of
:

social

life.

But in Science Man has a definite meaning;

and although he is recognised to be a thinking
animal,

who is liable to

very unscientific opinions

THE NECESSITY

9S.

concerning himself, and is subject to their effects

on his conduct, which may even justify a
branch of philosophy being devoted to their
manifestations yet in no other way is science

concerned with these ideas at all.

But Poetry, on the other hand, though it embraces all possible aspects, and the scientific

among

temple preferably with

these, builds its

theuntrimmed stone, or to take Shelley's metaphor it is in ' thought's wildernesses that the

'

poet finds the

home of

thus he can write of

his imagination.

Man

And

Man

one harmonious soul of many a soul,

Whose natwre is its own (Uvine control.
Where all things flow to all, as rivers to the sea
Familiar acts are beautiful through love
Labour, and pain, and grief, in life's green grove
Sport like tame beasts, none knew how gentle they
could be!

His

will,

And

with

all

mean

passions,

bad

delights.

trembling satellites,
to guide, but mighty to obey.

selfish cares, its

A spirit

ill

a tempest-wingM ship, whose helm

Love rules, thro' waves which dare not overwhelm.
Forcing life's wildest shores to own its sovereign sway.
Is as

All things confess his strength. Thro' the cold mass

Of marble and of colour his dreams pass ;

Bright threads whence mothers weave the robes their
children wear
Language is a perpetual Orphic song.
Which rules with Dsedal hamumy a throng
Ofthoughts andforms, which else senseless and shapeless were

OFPOETRY

23

This wild passage incidentally enforces a good

of my previous remarks. But now hear

many

a scientist

'

of existence

seeking to disclose the bleak anatomy

'

The powers, or faculties of all kinds of living

matter diverse as they may be in degree, are
all substantially similar in kind. . Either they
are immediately directed towards the maintenance and development of the body, or they
effect transitory changes in the relative position of parts of the body, or they tend towards
the continuance of the species.
But the
difference between the powers of the lowest
animal, and those of the highest, is one of
degree, not of kind, and depends (as MilneEdwards long ago so well pointed out) upon
the extent to which the principle of the division of labour is carried out in the living
economy.
.

These

illustrations

extremely different

must

effects

suffice to exhibit

the

of the extreme me-

but Huxley would no doubt reassure us

was * a difference of degree and not of
kind as Milne-Edwards long ago so well pointed
out ', and we must not be surprised to find the
poetic quality of imagination constantly enthods

that

it

livening our

conversation,

beauties of the best prose.

and

making the

THE NECESSITY

So much then for the poetic treatment of

words as ideas and now if we come to consider
words as vocal sounds, we shall be engaged in
even more formal questions, of the dullness of
which I have warned you. But I will take only
such fundamental principles as I may expect to
interest you, and satisfy at the same time my
object in showing that the form of poetry is no
:

more arbitrary than the

Words

sense.

as Vocal Sounds

It is somewhat of an artificial break that I am

making here by thus separating the treatment

of words as ideas from their treatment as sounds,

for there

is

a very close and real connexion.

The same impulse which prompts

us to express

our delight in the beauty of certain emotions,

and of the images in which we clothe them,

prompts us to make the expression beautiful

Even when there is no conscious art,
the very sense of the beauty of the thought will
tend to produce a sympathetic corresponding
beauty in the language. And immediately that
any consciousness of this arises, we find ourselves
also

in sound.

and this
by Nature an artist.
I'he earliest relics of his draftsmanship date back
consciously inventing beautiful forms
is

conscious Art.

Man

is

OFPOETRY

25

when he probably had but the first

rudiments of speech ; and, as his speech developed, he was bound to take an aesthetic view
of it, that is, to be more pleased with some sounds
than with others.

to a time

Among
Rhythm

all

the means of beautifying speech,

stands out apart

and the

first

ques-

tion that an inquirer will ask about poetic

will
Is

be this

Why

metre natural to

and dispensable

is
it,

form

poetry written in metres

or

is it

a mere convention

Rhythm of words

Rhythm

is

content to let
for

rhythm

is

difiicult subject,

it

pass.

The

and we must be

basis of

our feeling

probably the comfortable

satisfac-

and
you wish for an idea of rhythm you should
train your feelings to follow the movements of
a fine skater or a good dancer.
Speech-rhythm is infinite. Well-written prose
is as rhythmical as verse, and in both prose and
verse the rhythms should be congenial to the
sense.
The difiference between the rhythms of
prose and verse is this, that poetry selects certain rhythms and makes systems of them, and
and this is metre.
these repeat themselves
Whereas the rule for rhythm in well-constructed

tion of easy and graceful muscular motion

if

THE NECESSITY

26
prose

to avoid appearance of artifice

is

so that

the rhythms must not appear to repeat themselves ; or if they are repeated for any emotional
or logical effect, they should not appear to make
This condition may be most simply
verses.
stated by saying that metrical verse is forbidden
in prose. With this one exception the rhythms
of prose are quite free
and this freedom from
:

constraint causes the best prose to be, in

its

rhythmic quality, superior to a poorly constructed poem, where the repetition of the metre
has often enough no relation to the meaning,

and only serves to hamper the diction as you

can see by comparing the metrical version of a
Psalm even though Milton wrote it with the
;

prose in the Prayer-book.

There is a fine hymn by Isaac Watts, ' O God,

our help in ages past,' frequently sung in omchurches, which in ears familiar with Coverdale's
prose version of the original Psalm xc sounds
futile

and

decadent

When
as to

fit

feeble,

and almost

insincere in its

artificiality.

words are merely strung together so

into a poetic metre,

much more

possible beauty of rhythmic speech

is

of the

sacrificed

than can be gained by the rhyme and prescribed

cadences that please a common ear.

But the poets of the world,

in their purpose

OFPOETRY

27

of making speech beautiful, chose to set it out

why then did they so ? why should
poetry have ccmfined itself to metres ?

in metres

This very natural inquiry may be honestly

by an appeal to the stupendous results

satisfied

attained

by the great

poetic metres.

The

ex-

amination of these being out of the question, I

will read three examples of English blank verse.
First Shakespeare; this

footy

little artist in

is

how

the somewhat

the Merchant of Venice can

talk:

How

sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this

bank!
Here will we sit, and let the sounds of music
Creep in our ears soft stillness and the night
Become the touches of sweet harmony.
Sit, Jessica
look, how the floor of heaven
:

Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold.

There 's not the smallest orb which thou beholdest

But
Still

motion like an angel sings.

quiring to the young-eyed cherubins.

in his

Such harmony is in immortal souls

But whilst this muddy vesture of decay
Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear

Now

Milton

the Attendant Spirit in

it.

Comus

introduces himself.

Before the starry threshold of Jove's Court

My mansion is, where those immortal shapes

THE NECESSITY

28

Of bright

aereal spirits live insphear'd

In Regions mild of calm and serene Air,

Above the smoke and stirr of this dim spot,
Which men call Earth, and with lowthoughted care
Gonfin'd, and pester'd in this pin-fold here.
Strive to keep up a frail, and feverish being
Unmindful of the crown that Vertue gives

After this mortal change, to her true Servants

Amongst the enthron'd Gods on Sainted
seats.

Yet some there be that by due

steps aspire
lay their just hands on that Golden Key
That opes the Palace of Eternity
To such my errand is, and but for such,
I would not soil these pure Ambrosial weeds.
With the rank vapours of this Sin-worn

To

mould.

Now

Shelley, where the Spirit of the

Earth

talks with Prometheus.

Ere Babylon was

dust.

The Magus Zoroaster, my dead child,

Met his own image walking in the garden.
That apparition, sole of men, he saw.
For know there are two worlds of life and
death :
One, that which thou beholdest ; but the other
Is underneath the grave, where do inhabit
The shadows of all forms that think and live
Till death unite them, and they part no more:

Dreams and

the light

imaginings of men,

OFPOETRY

29

And all that faith creates or love desires.

Terrible, strange, sublime and beauteous shapes.
There thou art, and dost hang, a writhing shade,
'Mid whirlwind-peopled mountains : all the gods
Are there, and all the powers of nameless worlds.
Vast, sceptred phantoms : heroes, men and beasts
And Demogorgon,

a tremendous gloom.

These passages are in the most prosaic of all

our English metres, and though it has no rhyme
to

mark

its

periods, yet the metrical unit

is

so

and convincing that one cannot imagine

be wrong in principle.

effective
it

to

The common
charm
is

is,

explanation of the metrical

I believe, the love of patterns, and

true that metrical

poems can

word-patterns;

sidered as

all

there

stanza-forms in which the pattern

trusive

it

be well conare
is

certain

very ob-

yet I prefer to take a somewhat wider

principle for basis.

First, all artistic beauty exhibits a mastery,
a triumph of grace and this implies a difficulty
overcome, for no mastery of grace can appear
in the doing of whatever you suppose any man
could do with equal ease if he chose. And since
in a perfect work (music perhaps provides the
best examples) all difficulty is so mastered that
it entirely disappears, and would not be thence
:

inferred,

it is

necessary that for general appre-

30

TH E NECESSITY

ciation there should

be some recognition or conwhich

sciousness of the formal conditions, in

the difficulty

is

implicit.

And

thus one of the

works of art is that they

remind
us
of the material obstacles.
reveal and
Now the limitation of metre is of a kind which
uses of second-rate

particularly

satisfies

the conditions

just

de-

a form which the

hearers recognise and desire, and by its recurscribed:

because

rence keeps

it

it

offers

steadily in view.

Its practical

working may be seen in the unpopularity of

poems that are written in unrecognised metres,
and the favour shown to well-established forms
by the average reader. His pleasure is in some
proportion to his appreciation of the problem.
Secondly, a great deal

of our pleasure in

beauty, whether natural or artistic, depends on

slight variations of a definite form.

Fancy

if

were as similar in shape as all equilateral triangles

The fundamental motive of
this pleasure may be described as a balance between the expected and the unexpected the
expected being a sedative soothing lulling prinall roses

and the unexpected a stimulating awakenToo much of the type would

be tedious, too much of the unexpected would
ciple,

ing principle.
worry.

The unexpected

sciousness,

stimulates

the con-

but you must also be conscious of

OFPOETRY

31

Or this balance may be regarded as

a str^e between two things, the fixed type and
the freedom of the variations and metre gives
the type.

the best possible opportunity for

tliis

kind of

which is really comparable to Nature's,

for no two lines of a poem are exactly alike
they differ much as do the leaves of a tree and
a pleasure arises from our knowledge of the
normal rhythm (the type) beneath the varieties
which the poet delights to extend and elabohis skill in this sort of embroidery being
rate
to push its disguises as far as he dare without
breaking away from the type.
The ancient Greeks were as pre-eminent in
scientific thought as they were in art, and since
play,

their early poetry

still

maintains

its

pre-emi-

nence we are scarcely in a position to question the

propriety of the metrical principles which we have
inherited from them.

If any

man

should ever

invent a form superior to metre, the world would

be much indebted to him ; but we can hardly

imagine it, and may therefore take metre as a necessity of the conditions

and

justified

by results.

Diction
I

hope by such considerations

to

have demon-

strated the propriety and almost the necessity of

THE NECESSITY

32

the metrical form of poetry.

The

other beauties

of speech can be grouped under Diction.

However spontaneously the perfect poem may

up in the poet's mind, like a melody in
the mind of Mozart, the conditions to be fulspring

filled

over

metre

and above the elaboration of the

are

First, the right

in the right order

words
:

secondly, those words

thirdly, the agreeable

sound

of them in sequence.

And

these three rightnesses are the factors of

style, that

supreme

which immortalises the

gift

utterance of such different minds as Blaise Pas-

and Robert Burns for the laws are very

and in poetry. I shall pass
them over, because such a brief account of them
as we should have time for would be duU.^

cal

similar in prose

' If any one should be curious to see how dull, he may

read to the end of this note, which I append for the sake
of completeness.
First as to the choice of words What words are the
:

right words in poetic diction ?

Plainly their sound

must

be one ruling consideration as may be proved by the ill

effect of extreme dissonance
yet their chief power lies
:

either in their absolute correctness, or in

and

which

what

is called

the greater poetic

beauty, lurks commonly in the fringes of the concepts, as
was explained when we spoke of words as ideas. When
correctness and suggestiveness coincide their power can
be so great that quality of sound is sometimes outclassed
their suggestiveness,

this,

is

OF
On
But

I think I

order.

words?

What

POETRY

3S

order of words

may

venture a short account of

meant by a right Order of

The principle is important and very
is

and harshness

is unheeded. This we willingly concede to

the imperfection of language, which is not so constituted

as to combine all excellencies,

whence the lesser must give

way. Our English words especially have been shamefully

and shabbily degraded, and are daily worsening, so as to
be often very ill-adapted for poetic use. And the swarming homophones need special treatment.
As to the sound of words in sequence. Pure Euphony,
i. e. the agreeable sound of a sequence of syllables, is as

a subject as rhythm and it is like rhythm in

that the ultimate judge is the expert ear, which depends on a natural gift and again, as in rhythm, there
are certain conditions which almost all men would agree
to call pleasant, and others which they would deem unpleasant : but there is no universal principle that can be
adduced to check the vagaries of taste or false fancy, since
what theories have been proposed are themselves exdifficult

this,

amples of false &incy: Either, for instance.that the vowels

correspond respectively to the primary colours, and should
be grouped as those colours should be : or that euphony
is actually a musical melody made by the inherent pitch
of the vowels, the sequences of which must be determined
exactly as if we were composing a musical air of those inherent notes.

The great indefinable complication

is

that

euphony, especially in poetry, is fiised with the meaning and this fusion of sound and sense is the magic of the
greatest poetry. But even where the poet's success is
most conspicuous and convincing, we are often quite
this

34

THE NECESSITY

simple, but in application so subtle that

it

is

seldom recognised. You may easily come at it

by imagining the talk of savages in a language
In such a language a
that has no grammar.
speaker could not make himself understood
unable to determine on what it actually depends it is
known only by its eflFects.
In English we find, strangely enough, that the eye comes
meddling in with the business of the ear, and causes delu:

Our words are so commonly spelt so differently

from their pronunciation that few writers know what
sounds they are dictating ; the word is a. visible thing,
'
pleasant to the eye and desirable to make one wise ', it is
perhaps of ancient and high descent, with a heroic history,
it comes ' trailing clouds of glory
but that it has been
phonetically degraded into an unworthy or ugly sound is
sion.

'

overlooked.

might give as an example the word Bsdal in the quotafrom Shelley on p. 22. The original Greek word had
a pleasant sound and a rich familiar signification
in
English it has no meaning for most men.and is pronounced
deedle (like needle), and if it were so spelt I doubt if any
poet would use it. Shakespeare might have made ftin of
it in Peter Quince's play, and have set diddle alongside of
Phibbus and Ninvy for the use of that immortal actor,
bully Bottom.
Euphony must also include the purely musical effects of
a metre, when this is in delicate agreement with the mood
of the poem
it so enhances the emotional effect of a
harmonious sequence of words as to overrule common
proprieties of order, and the melody will require that the
sonorous words shall respect its intention and fall into the
I

tion

positions that

it

prescribes.

OJFPOETRY

35

except by putting his words in a certain order.

If, for instance, he wished to tell you that he

went from one place to another, from A to B,

and had no prepositions like our to and from, he
would have to put A first and B second ; that
is, he would have to set his nouns in the order in
which he wished the idea of his movement to

And

enter your mind.

this principle

remains

the primary law of order in good speech, whether

prose or poetry: the words should be in the

and poetry differs from prose

and subtler conception
of the proper sequence, and in the greater artifices that it is able to employ, and the greater

order of the ideas

only in

its

difficulties

more

that

There are
rule

aesthetic

has to overcome.

it

all

manner of exceptions to

this

but the most apparent inconsistencies are

manifestly dependent on the primary value of

the rule

for instance, an idea in an unexpected

position in the sentence

but the surprise

is

is

due to

often most effective

its

being either gram-

matically or conceptually out of order.

The commonest
in

bad

cause of ineffective expression

writers of verse

grammar

is

that they choose their

so as to set the words that they wish

most convenient to the metre.

is the man whose
ideas flow spontaneously in a simple grammar
to use in the order

The bom

writer or speaker

THE NECESSITY

36

fixed
which preserves the right order of ideas.
must of course increase the difficulty of right order, and thus heighten the

poetic metre

beauty and triumph and rarity of

PART

full success.

II

man

Art for the working

You must very well know, and I should not

wish to disguise from you, my intention in speaking to you of Poetry.
One main purpose of your society is to obtain
and assure for the working men in England more
leisure, in

order that they

may

enjoy the fuller

which imply a higher education and I am, as you know, in sympathy with
you, and we are all agreed that apart from your
just and honourable aspirations to individual
development a democracy that is to flourish
must be an educated democracy.
I do not wish to talk politics, nor to theorise
on the enormous practical difficulties of democracy I speak only of your desire to be better
acquainted with the fine arts, and I deal with
that art which I am best fitted to describe.
spiritual privileges
;

OFPOETRY

37

As for your personal development.

The reason why the working man's work
not

him, and

satisfy

does

therefore provocative of

is

social disorganisation, is that it is generally concerned with the allocation or adaptation of some
special object for some remote purpose, which

purpose
the

life

is itself

of the

only imperceptibly related to

spirit, if

as to be related to

For

instance, it

that railroads
tion

it

may

is

at

indeed

it is

so fortunate

all.

possible to be convinced

subserve to

human

perfec-

certainly they can be used for that pur-

but it is evident that they are very commonly the purveyors of man's wasteful and needless luxury, and that they have added greatly to
pose

the vain feverish turmoil, which

to spiritual

is

the worst foe

life.

Now this being so, it is difficult for a man,

whose occupation is the straightening of rails, to
feel any enthusiasm for his work beyond what
he may get from the straightness of the rail and
There is no actual
his skill in straightening it.
beauty, no field for the play of his mind, and no
spiritual contact.

This

is

a fair example of

how

the laborious

conditions of modern civilisation are unworthy

of man's &culties. The best that can be made

of such work is to regard it as a useful applica-

THE NECESSITY

38

and healthy exercise of the

and to accept what satisfaction can be
got from doing the job well, and remembering
that it is of service to others and required for
tion of the necessary

muscles,

This utilitarian aswholesome and good; but it does not

satisfy man's nature, and it is your experience
that has rightly led you to look for escape.
Now, if yoi; are to have intelligent communion
with the fine arts, it is necessary that your contact with them should not be mere casual diversion and amusement ; the fanciful pleasure which
that might afford could be no permanent satisfaction. This sort of external contact is inevitable and pleasant, but your desire for these
things is within you, and (unless it be only a
their physical convenience.

pect

is

superficial curiosity or vanity or

mistaken envy)

an emotion which must grow by natural

development through personal education and
it is

purification.

Some sort of guidance as to what you should

be looking for, if not absolutely essential, may
be of good service especially because the objects
:

which

will present themselves to

you as works of
most miscellaneous in kind, and
often ingenious fakes and shams, commercial
wares.
In art, as in everything, there is more
bad than good, more false than true.
The
fine art are

OFPOETRY
number of

greatest

serious

art-products

39
are

mostly imitations of art, and if I say that

nothing is less like a work of art than its imitation (even

though
is

should deceive), you will

meant by such a paradox,

you allow poetry

to be (as I contend) spon-

understand what
if

taneous

it

for it is plain that a conscious imitation

of such a spontaneous process must be almost

its

opposite.^

As a matter of fact

the two activities are com-

monly mixed together

When

in varying proportions.

was a small child, music excited in

me the deepest wonder; and a military band,
that used to play in the open air where I could
get at it, was the best thing I knew. I would
I

' By spontaneous I do not of course

mean instantaneous : only that the natural impulse must arise of itself
and be strong enough to suggest and develop its own form.
It may come to perfection only after long conscious toil
and difficulty and the sort of toil is different in the different arts. In all of them the Reason is a most active helpmate, but always the servant of the emotion. It is a note
of the consummate artist that the more he works on his
production, the more he ' touches it up ', the more ' spontaneous it will appear. That is the object of his toil in
the mastery of his material and his conscious Reason
works humbly for him in the field of aesthetics, having
become, so to speak, the conscious activity of his instinct.
But a lesser artist when he seeks to better his original
sketch will ruin it by the irrelevant additions or substitutions of another mood.

'

THE NECESSITY

40

escape from the nursery-maid and steal between

the legs of the performers into the magic circle,

where

could stand close under the instruments

and drink

my

in their peculiar sonorities to

The

heart's content.

spectacle of

delight must have amused the

my

innocent

bandsmen and

lightened the monotony of their routine: but

I fancy that the bassoon-player may have been
annoyingly rallied by his comrades for the special

attention that his particular performance

from me

me

since,

lost

won

low notes of his register amazed

as much as anything of the kind ever has
;

and

my

for the

do not know that

have now quite

original feeling towards them.

Well, one day when I was exploring the cellars

my father's house, I suddenly beheld all

my favourite instruments lying in aheap in front
beneath
of

me

basshoms, trombones, saxhorns, and

all

the rest of them, dusty indeed and tarnished by

years of neglect, but there they were, of full size
the real things.

The account
father

of their presence was that

had once provided

my

apparatus for the use of himself and his friends but

that was in Oxfor]d, and in his country house
there had been no use for them, and they were
thrown aside.
this orchestral

thought that the time of

my life had come

OFPOETRY

41

and one by one

I took them up and blew into

them, expecting to evoke the marvellous tones

Of course I blew in vain but,

supposing that the instruments had got out of

that I so loved.

working order, I persisted in the hope that at

one of them might have its virtue still left
in it.
My disappointment was intense.
Why this old memory should have been
least

awaked

in

me just

at this juncture I cannot say.

example of the spontaneous movement of the concepts, and though it does not seem
to me wholly applicable I accept it as it came.
One association, I suppose, may be that I should
have been very glad if somebody had told me
about those horns, and how their sound was proIt is a genuine

duced.

And

since it

is

probable that

many of

you will soon be writing poetry indeed I should

do you wrong to suppose that you have not
already begun it may be just as well that you
should know how the horn is blown.

Relation of Poetry to Morals

and Religion

The view of Poetry which I have presented to

you suggests two enormous questions, namely,
the relation of Poetry to Morals and to Religion
for it is evident that the basis of all three must
be the same, that is, they all spring from those
universal primary emotions of Man's Spirit, which

THE NECESSITY

42

lead us naturally towards Beauty

and Truth.

Indeed the difficulty here is not in relating Poetry

with Morals and Religion, but in discriminating
between them for we might almost contend that
-Moralr is that part of Poetry which deals with
:

conduct,

and Religion that part of it which

deals

with the idea of God.

Morals

As

for Morals.

sophers

much you

If

you read the moral philoa very dry corpus of

which bear no compari-

will find

irreconcilable doctrines,

son with what the poets can give you.

The

Sermon on the Mount you will recognise to be

an inspired moral poem, which is rejected by the
philosophers.

On

this vast subject I shall offer only

practical remark, which

You

will often

hear

one

this

is

it

asserted, as

an en-

lightened doctrine, that Art has nothing to do

with Morality: Art, you will be assured, is

non-moral.

Now

this is true only in so far as

we take

Morals to mean the conventional cod eof conduct

recog nised by the so ciety to which we happeiTEo"
Jjelong,- Art,

it is

true,

has

little

to do~wilh

But pure Ethics is man's moral beauty,

and can no more be dissociated from Art than

that.

OFPOETRY

43

any other kind of beauty, and, being man's highest

beauty,

it

has the very

first

claim to recognition.

Morals can be excluded from Art only by the

school which maintains that Art is nothing but
competent Eocpression, and that, since what I call
ugly can be as competently expressed as what
I call beautifiil. Art can make no distinction.
It must be admitted that no strict line of distinction can be drawn, and that the average man's
conception of beauty is absurdly limited and conventional ; also that as much admirable skill may
be used in the expression of crime as of virtue
and so on the portrait of a man suffering from
confluent small-pox might thus be a masterpiece
:

but

if theorists assert

that all these things are

equally beautifiil because equally capable of

competent expression, and that such expression

(which expression after all produces different
impressions on different minds) makes all things
equally beautiful,

to,

this I reply that

in a free country where every one

we

live

may think and

say what he pleases.

The championship of ugliness seems to be but

a part of the general denial of the ordinary distinctions between good and bad of all kinds.
The argument is this. It is pointed out that
the distinction which is commonly drawn between
beautiful and ugly or good and bad is merely

THE NECESSITY

mankind seeing all things from a human

But this is the only possible
point of view for mankind to take: his predue

to

point of view.

tended universal standpoint

particular attitude of his

is

one

really only

mind:

for it

is

in-

conceivable that the 'universaUty' which he

imagines can be a complete universality, or anyit

and if it was so, then the object of

thing like

introducing

inhuman

At
but

it

into art could only be to

which

is

make

how the case appears to me

way
of disposing of it neglects
summary

least that is

this

art

absurd.
;

many side issues, on which agreement

be expected nor wholly to be desired.

is

not to

Religion

As to

True
and habit of a personal
communion between the soul and God, is of too
unique and jealous a temper to allow of any
artistic predominance
and yet we find the best
the relation of Poetry to religion.

Religion, the convicti<jn

expression of

it

in Poetry:

expression of the spiritual

that

its

beauty

may

indeed the poetic

life is

of such force

hold the mind in slavery to

false ideals.

I believe it to be greatly due to this that the

English people are still mentally enslaved to a

conception of

God

altogether unworthy

and

OFPOETRY

45

incompatible with our better notions and, if it is

the old Hebrew poetry which is greatly respon:

sible for this delusion,

to look to our

On

own

then

it

seems reasonable

poets for our release.

this general question of religion I shall

po^. We have spiritually

outgrown the theology of the Reformation, and
take only that one

our churches, in endeavouring to make their

obsolete ideals work, find their most effective

agent in the beauty of our English translation

of the Old Testament which, while secular art

was in decay, captured the

artistic susceptibility

of the people.

Art was discouraged by the Reformers,

it

was

uncongenial to their furious and somewhat gross

minds

and

it

was at the cost of the destruction

of a priceless heritage of mediaeval art that they

got rid of their mental servitude to Papistry,

which

That

its

beauty embellished and

sanctified.

alliance of art with the monstrous eccle-

siastical

system which

Rome had

Gospels drove art into disrepute

cannot live in the absence of

built on the
but since man

all ideals

the people satisfied their craving for

of beauty,
it

by the

beauty of the religious literature, when the Bible

was put into every man's hands. Art was thus
diverted, and its place appropriated by the
religious ideals of the Reformation

but these

THE NECESSITY

46

being archaic and harsh, and in some respects a

real defection from Christian law to the Mosaic,
and from one point of view a political compromise, the substitute daily grew less convincing

and satisfying, and now, when its ideal, if ever

it had one, is practically dead, our people have
Religion and
neither one thing nor the other.
art have equally suffered.

The

Christian churches will not leave the

The Pope

hankers after temwould cro^n TiglathPileser in St. Peter's, while our Protestant church
still begins its morning devotions by singing of
'God swearing in his wrath that his people

old ruts.

still

poral power, and to get

it

should not enter into his rest \

Now

whether
whether we know it or not, is
deeply ingrained in our heart's reverence and
the life of our souls, and is ever rebuking and
overruling our conduct in this world-conquer-

we

in the religion of Christ, which,

will it or not,

ing* Christianity

the essentials are love and unity

and brotherhood.

But look

at the Protestant

about crude absurdities and

ridiculous unessentials. And ask yourselves how
the Church shall be purified and edified when
those who should compose it remain outside
sects, all quarrelling

of

it.

OFPOETRY
Collaboration

And

in

Art

47

of Democracy in Art and Religion

your collaborabut the conditions are

more difficult. In both Art and Religion it is
true that one would wish every man to be effection

is

also I believe that

all-important:

tive, in so far as

Religion,

emotion

that

we look

is

for

possible.

In Art, as in

salvation in individual

but Art is nothing if not creative, and

on that side of the subject William Morris spoke
freely and well,
I guess that much of your
enthusiasm may be inspired by his exhortations.
The aesthetic gospel of WiUiam Morris is easy
to preach, and it would riot be so difficult to act
on if you had been brought up in a good tradition.
In the absence of that you must serve a
long apprenticeship in studying the works of the
:

great masters.

Not

that

we

tire

to those old models; but until

them we

to be enslaved

we understand

shall not understand either the limit of

our faculties or the conditions of success.

NOTES

48

friend warns me that this sentence

p. 10, line 4.
needs qualification, indeed my utterance provoked the
protest of a gnostic at the time ; and it is an axiom with
some philosophers that there is no problem concerning
man \rtiich his intellect or Reason is incapable of solving.
But I suppose tiiat such gnostics would associate Instinct
with Reason, nor did I dogmatise against the ' may be ',
but asserted the ' has not been '.
Throughout my address the antagonism of Reason and
Instinct must appear exaggerated, because it is their
differentiation and opposition that is being attended to.
Where they mingle it is impossible to dissociate them,
and difficult to consider them apart ; and yet the sense
of my general contention is plain enough, and may be
well illustrated and sustained by the common acceptation of the gnome that it is easier for a man to act
rightly than to give a true and reasonable account of his
motives and so I think that most sensible people, when
they are faced with a perplexing problem of conduct,
trust much less to deliberation and Reason than to a
'
growing conviction ' which they allow to mature without
conscious interference. So, too, the advantage which
religious people find in prayer, when they seek inward
light to guide them, implies a definite r^ection of logical
deliberation in favour of instinct and deling ; for they
accept that as the channel if not the source of their
guidance. So, again, the respect for 'revelation' and
inspiration ', when these are freed from the husks which
theologians are so intent to shape and carve, is merely
the recognition of genius (as I have defined it) in things
spiritual.
Certainly, also, any artist who has got into
trouble with his work will put it aside, and wait for
a subconscious solution.
The analysis of Keats's lines is from my Essay
p. 30.
on Keats, published 1895.
:

'

p. 23.

The

quotation from

Huxley

is

from La]/ Ser-

mons, Macmillan, pp. 122-5.

On pp. 9 and 23 the phrases in inverted commas are
from my friend George Santayana's book. Reason in Art,
Constable, 1905.

Printed in England at the Oxford University Press

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