THE CONDITIONS OF SOUND CRITICISM.
ACONTEMPORARY which evidently attributes a good deal of the depression in the artistic world to the depreciatory criticisms passed upon Art exhibitions, suggests, by way of illustrating the value of such criticisms, that a special exhibition should be opened of the works of art produced by the critics themselves, evidently assuming that men who could not delight the world by productions of their own, are not worth listening to when they criticise the works of others. Lord Beaconsfield probably held the same view with regard to literature when he described literary critics as men who, having failed as authors, devoted themselves to running- down the works of others. And we are far from asserting thatthe state of mind of those who have failed in creative efforts of their own, is a good qualification for criticising wisely and generously the creative efforts of others. But, in the first place, we doubt very much indeed whether it is in the least true that the critics either of Art or of Literature are, as a rule, men who have failed in crea- tive efforts of their own ; and, next, we should dispute absolutely the assumption that the critic, before he can criticise intelligently the work of another, must have been himself master of the pro- cesses by which the best creative work is produced. If we look at the most striking and most sympathetic criticisms either of Literature or of Art, we shall very seldom find that they have been produced by men of great creative genius. Except in the case of Coleridge, and perhaps Matthew Arnold, we hardly remember a great critic of English literature who has also been a great creator of English literature, for though Macaulay was certainly a great essay-writer, we should regard him as a very indifferent critic. Again, except in the case of Sir Joshua Reynolds, we hardly remember a great critic of English painting who has also been a great English painter. And we cannot recall a single great actor who has also been a subtle critic of the actor's art ; for no one, we suppose, will maintain that Mr. Irving, by his few and not very remarkable efforts in criticism, has earned the right to call himself a good critic. We quite admit that when a creative mind happens also to have great critical power, its insight into creative processes is an immense addition to that power. Lessing and Goethe, when they chose, could be exquisite critics. Coleridge seems to us the prince of English critics, though Lamb and Hazlitt, and Bagehot, and W. C. Roscoe, sometimes tread very close on his heels. But we question much whether Sir Joshua Reynolds had the critical faculty half as highly developed as the creative. And of this we believe that all the best judges are confident, —that, great painter though he was, his criticisms do not approach in value to the criticisms of Ruskin, who hardly ranks as an original painter at all. Then, who would for a moment compare the criticisms passed on the actors of their time by Charles Lamb or Hazlitt, with the criticisms of any one of the actors themselves ? As you read Lamb and Hazlitt, the drama of their day seems to rise again in all its vividness before you, which is not at all the effect of the reminiscences of Fanny Kemble or Miss Faucit, or of the lectures of Mr. Irving. Indeed, it would be almost as reasonable to maintain that a critic who could not produce what he criticises is unfit for the work of criticism, as it would be to maintain that a man is quite unfit to criticise the points of a horse, or a flower, or a bottle of wine, on the ground that it would be quite out of his power to make any one of them. We all of us criticise every day, and criticise very practically and effectively, that which it would be entirely out of our power to produce. I can tell whether a book is well or badly printed, though I have never been a printer ; another man will prove a fine critic of dress who has never made a dress in his life ; and some of the best critics of Parliamentary oratory who ever lived could hardly hammer out the lamest of speeches. We cannot imagine a more unmeaning scoff at the critic than the challenge to produce for himself anything as good as that in which he ventures to point out flaws. Sir Walter Scott was one of the greatest creators whom our literature can boast of ; but no one will maintain that his criticism was at all on a par with his creative power. Hazlitt (when he did not take a perverse fit on him) was a great critic; but we never heard of his producing any- thing except critical essays, of the first, or even of the second order of merit.
The only truth which seems to us to be represented by the foolish scoff that a critic should not find fault unless he can do better than the author or artist whom he is criticising, is this,— that as it is so much easier to find out shortcomings or deficiencies than to produce that which satisfies the demands of a reasonable criticism, every critic who cannot discern and explain what is good in the subjects of his criticism, as well as what is faulty, stands condemned as having failed in the most important part of his work. And here it is, we think, that the knowledge requisite for at least a little creative work, tells on the value of the criticism. A critic who knows well how hard it is to create what is at all admirable, will be far more likely to distinguish first the strong points in the work he is criticising, and even to dwell on the weak points with a somewhat less disagreeable emphasis. Sympathy is the first and greatest necessity of the critic, and it is because the technical knowledge needful to follow the processes of creation so greatly quickens the vision of sym- pathy, and shows so distinctly what were the difficulties to be overcome and how far they actually have been overcome, that we recognise the wisdom of the principle that a critic of Literature and Art should study the processes of Literature and Art sufficiently to appreciate the skill and labour of the author and artist. But when all is said that can be said in favour of the critic's command of the secrets of creative processes, it will yet be true that the most creative of minds may be as utterly without the critic's power, as the most delicate and subtle of critical minds may be without creative power. To a very considerable extent, creative power really interferes with critical capacity, for the critic should have a mind in every sense patient and receptive, and it is seldom the most creative minds which are the most patient and receptive. Coleridge was an exception, but in great measure, we think, because his creative power was not very rich and eager, so that his imagination was kindled even more easily under the guiding influence of a sturdier genius, than it was in the effort at original work. Byron was a poor critic, and even Shelley was not a great one. In the case of both poets, their own genius was a force of too active a kind to leave their minds in the tranquil yet sympathetic mood which is needful for the largest and widest criticism. Victor Hugo, with his affluence of imaginative power and the uncontrollable vehemence of his imaginative sympathies, could never have made himself a Sainte-Beuve. We entirely disbelieve in the theory that criticism requires, in the first instance, the same order of mind as original genius, and that only those who display original power succeed in criticism. The critic must be large of sym- pathy, and he must have a clearness and lucidity of grasp, a power of comparing what a book or a picture aims at with what it achieves, which need not, in anything like the same degree, belong to creative genius, of which it is usually the very essence that it can, as it were, surprise itself by touches which it had not intended, and of which it did not foresee the scope. We will venture to say that Sir Walter Scott could not have criticised one of his own greatest romances with anything like the power of Hazlitt, and in all probability that Shakespeare him- self could not have said anything about Hamlet half as luminous as Coleridge or Goethe. Could Turner have told the world half as much about the secret of his marvellous brush as Ruskin has told us ? or Coleridge have given us any insight into the causes of his comparative failure as a poet at all equal to that afforded us by Carlyle ? But while we hold this most strongly, we hold with equal conviction that the critic who does not teach himself to discern and to distinguish any good quality that is to be discovered even in the least brilliant work of art, with greater celerity and with more emphasis than he discerns and distin- guishes failure, is not on the right path, and is sure ultimately to prove at least as poor in criticism as the most unhappy of the victims of his censure are poor in creative power.
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