Modern Values
THE dictionary gives the following as one of the definitions of the word " value " : " the desirability of a thing, especially as compared with other things."
If one regards modern life with the contemplative eye of an artist, the worth and desirability of much that one sees, especially as compared with other things that one has little hope or chance of seeing, does make one pause and think.
An artist is one whose mind dwells principally in a world which is not wholly visible to the unaided physical sight of the ordinary person, but which is none the less as real as the world of the astronomer (who uses special instruments of vision in order to be in a position to describe it to the ordinary man) and as real as the ele- mental world of the chemist, who frequently does not see the actual elements of his world at all, but deduces their presence and uses by the reactions of other sub- stances to them.
It is true that even scientists do not always live to- gether in harmony, and have been known to denounce each other with as much acrimony as that with which the ordinary person denounces the artist. But so far as the general public is concerned, scientists are supposed to stand on solid ground, whilst it is notorious that artists live in the clouds, which is perhaps the reason why they are so often expected to live on air. (It is well known that the higher the scientist's fee, no matter in what branch of science he exercises, the more the scientist is respected ; whilst, on the other hand, directly an artist gets a living wage for his—or her--work, it is at once assumed that he—or she—has no ideals, and from then on will do bad work. An artist is supposed to be at his best when he starves ; in fact, it is regarded as one of his duties to starve—perhaps because that is a means of getting him out of the way more quickly.) The artist observes many things which are often invisible to, and unsuspected by, the ordinary person. But these things are none the less realities, and the artist has as much right as the scientist to make his deductions and advance his theories about the things which he observes. And the mode of expression of a skilful artist is not any more obscure than the mode of expression of a skilful scientist. Both use images and symbols which are proper to their own needs, but which are not always immediately intelligible to the untrained mind. Thus the artist creates real values, real " desirabilities," working in a spiritual world, and bringing his values from spiritual sources. How many of these values can be found in the world of to-day ?
Modern values could be summed up in two words— Speed and Money ; and both these things have ceased to have any relation to reality, though their attendant evils form a large part of our everyday life. Speed is only useful to me (so far as I can remember at the moment) on two kinds of occasion. The first of these is on the occasion of what is known as speeding the parting guest ; and the other occasion is when I myself am going home again, after one of those delightful evenings we all spend in other people's houses sometimes. But even so, I want to get home alive—not dead, nor yet in bits.
Sc far as I can judge—and I confess that I am a child in these matters—speed as calculated in modern terms means the elimination of most of the senses. The person at the wheel of the speed-record car cannot possibly see very far beyond the tip of his nose, and we all know how such persons were made to appear to us in our childhood. He cannot hear anything excepting the roar of his engine ; he cannot smell or taste anything but dust and oil, and his touch becomes a matter of grip. He does not even go anywhere which it takes a complete and ordinary hour of sixty minutes to reach ; he just goes somewhere in four—five—or six minutes at the rate of some hundred miles an hour. I call this purely fic- titious travelling.
Perhaps the day will come when we shall try " record- living " for fifteen minutes, at the rate of several hundred years an hour. We have surely started the idea in our social pleasures and amusements already. Speed, on the whole then, and as a thing in itself, does not attract me. And now, what about money ? I confess that when I do get a little money there are some things about it which I like. But I do not wish it to get beyond my mental grasp ; I do not wish to have to think of money in millions. Partly because my wants are simple, and I do not wish to be forced to make them complicated in response to a swollen income, and partly because I think exaggerated money records are quite as mad as exaggerated speed records. Just as I am not impressed by the making of speed records, so I am not impressed by the making, or the holding, of money records. The qualities which go to the making of them, though admir- • able in themselves, do not appeal to me in this connexion. Endurance, perseverance, concentration and industry, all these things are acknowledged to be virtues, but I do not think they remain virtues no matter to what object they are applied.
I cannot see that any real benefit accrues to the world at large, simply because someone has sufficient nervous endurance and concentration to go from one place of no- importance to another place of no importance in sixty seconds less time than it took someone else to do the same thing a few weeks before. I do not find anything specially meritorious in the mere fact of going from where you are to somewhere else, even if you do go at lightning speed—any merit to be obtained depends upon what you do when you get there, and so far as I can gather, no one does anything when they get there. They simply come back again, if they are still alive. Nor does it rouse any enthusiasm in me to know that some day in the dim future it may be possible for me to travel during some hours—or days—of deafening roars and explosions from here to Mars. I get into quite enough trouble trying to write about what I see on this earth of ours ; goodness only knows what would happen to me if I started writing about any other planet.
In the same way I cannot see that the world in general is benefited by the presence of multi-millionaires. I do not wish multi-millionaires any ill—but, as I say,- I cannot take any real interest in them. They come into the category of " face-value only," and as such have no true meaning for me. They are, to me, much like paper- money, which has no intrinsic value, but is dependent for the esteem in which it is held upon the numbers printed on its surface. It is a long time since I last saw gold sovereigns, but I remember how they looked, and what they felt like, and I remember that there was an impression of concrete reality about them, which it pleases me to look back upon.
Paper-money seems to me now as fictitious as the short journeys taken " at the rate of " so many miles an hour. Money has no relation to life at present ; it has no relation to anything real ; it has no true relation to the things which it buys. It has got outside human control altogether ; it is a Frankenstein monster dominating the unhappy world which created it. Where Charity once spread a cloak which was permitted to cover venial faults, this Frankenstein monster now offers the one garment which is allowed not only to cover, but to glorify, any kind of mortal sin. Nothing matters if you can spend more money than your neighbour ; and if you can spend it in such a way that no one who really needs it benefits by it, then so much the better.
We no longer realize our needs ; and our wants, inflated and unbalanced by a perpetual inrush of fevered air, have ceased to bear any relation to any known reality, either material or spiritual.
EDITH SITWELL,
Previous page
