Practicalities and criticism

I wish I could remember where I first heard of Matthew Arnold. I recall encountering a long quotation from what is likely his most famous work, Culture and Anarchy,¹ when reading another book and being drawn to it. (I thought it was quoted in Albert Camus’ The Rebel.² However, I found from its re-read that any mention of Matthew Arnold was conspicuously absent, and I can’t for the life of me recall where I’d previously seen it.) Arnold was a modern thinker, one whose ideas have stuck with me, particularly after reading more of his work closely, thoughtfully. For those who haven’t heard of him, Matthew Arnold was a “[p]oet, education reformer, social theorist and passionate critic of Victorian England,” as explained on the back of my copy of Culture and Anarchy and Other Selected Prose.³ He delivered lectures and wrote essays throughout the middle of the nineteenth century, experiencing a particular productive period of writing in the 1860s, culminating in the aforementioned Culture and Anarchy, which was published at the end of the decade.

From this introduction, it may surprise readers to discover that I don’t plan to draw from Culture and Anarchy for this essay but, rather, from another piece from the same collection: “The Function of Criticism at the Present Time.”⁴ In it, he focuses on the importance of criticism in the then-contemporary world, and his ideas strike me as useful even now. Criticism, as Arnold sees it, is an “endeavour to learn and propagate the best that is known and thought in the world.”⁵ This is done with an intention to “establish a current of fresh and true ideas.”⁶ In this way, creative power requires effective critical power in order to flourish, for criticism “tends to establish an order of ideas, if not absolutely true, yet true by comparison with that which it displaces; to make the best ideas prevail.”⁷ Although I suspect that the simple understanding of why criticism is important in society would be beneficial to us, I want instead to focus more on one side of Arnold’s discussion to investigate how this is accomplished and what is required of criticism to make it effective in its task.

Arnold suggests that, for criticism to effectively “produce fruit for the future,” it must uphold a clear rule: disinterestedness. When the goal of criticism is to establish fresh and true ideas, the best ones, disinterestedness is required because to approach the truth requires inflexible honesty. And how does criticism maintain this honesty?

By keeping aloof from what is called “the practical view of things;” by resolutely following the law of its own nature, which is to be a free play of the mind on all subjects which it touches. By steadily refusing to lend itself to any of those ulterior, political, practical considerations about ideas, which plenty of people will be sure to attach to them, which perhaps ought often to be attached to them, … but which criticism has really nothing to do with.⁸

The problem, as Arnold sees it, however, “is that practical considerations cling to it and stifle it,” and, as such, “[i]t subserves interests not its own.” These considerations instead serve another goal, something to the interest of the specific “fraction” of society, of the group, rather than discovery of the unbridled truth. Yes, each of these groups possesses its own critical organ, and it does allow “play of the mind,” but only as much play of the mind as serves the interests of the group.ⁱ “[T]his play of mind wants to have more scope,” to better serve its greater, critical goal, but “to forget the pressure of practical considerations a little, it is checked, it is made to feel the chain.”⁹ And this practice renders criticism ineffective:

It is because criticism has so little kept in the pure intellectual sphere, has so little detached itself from practice, has been so directly polemical and controversial, that it has so ill accomplished, in this country, its best spiritual work; which is to keep man from a self-satisfaction which is retarding and vulgarizing, to lead him towards perfection, by making his mind dwell upon what is excellent in itself, and the absolute beauty and fitness of things. A polemical practical criticism makes men blind even to the ideal imperfection of their practice, makes them willingly assert its ideal perfection, in order the better to secure it against attack; and clearly this is narrowing and baneful for them.¹⁰

Arnold shows this by way of political speeches. The two brief passages he chooses are examples of overt flattery and nationalism, the first extolling the virtues of “the old Anglo-Saxon race, … the best breed in the whole world,”ⁱⁱ and the second proclaiming the greatness of England, greatness unprecedented “the world over or in past history.”ⁱⁱⁱ Looking at such statements critically, removed from practical considerations, these statements can be viewed as something akin to empty platitudes, or even the very things that are “retarding and vulgarizing.” And Arnold doesn’t suspect that the politicians who speak such words are “by nature inaccessible to considerations of this sort” but, rather, that they simply lose sight of them owing to “the practical form which all speculation takes with us.” Whether these views are best for society or not matters less than how beneficial such words are when supporting practical ends. In this way, for example, votes can be secured, and the speakers also gain important tools that help them to block political reforms through the cultivation of such sentiment in voters. And it’s easy for the critic to get pulled into this same trouble. To engage within the practical sphere with pure sight to truth over practical considerations is to be defeated by an opponent with a view to the practical, to have valid ideas drowned out by the unhearing shouts of “The best breed in the whole world!” But to steel against the practical is to focus on practical considerations to the detriment of inflexible honesty, an important reason Arnold prescribes that the critic remain out of the practical sphere, the very place where “everything ideal and refining will be lost out of sight.”¹¹

The “rush and roar of practical life” will always possess an attractive force that the “slow and obscure work” that Arnold is recommending for criticism lacks, “[b]ut it is only by remaining collected, and refusing to lend himself to the point of view of the practical man, that the critic can do the practical man any service.”¹² Criticism

must be apt to study and praise elements that for the fulness of spiritual perfection are wanted, even though they belong to a power which in the practical sphere may be maleficent. It must be apt to discern the spiritual shortcomings or illusions of powers that in the practical sphere may be beneficent.

“Even with well-meant efforts of the practical spirit [criticism] must express dissatisfaction, if in the sphere of the ideal they seem impoverishing and limiting.”¹³ And it often can’t do all this with the quickness or efficiency that practical considerations require, simply for the reason that this very easily could mean doing it poorly or incompletely: “Let us think of quietly enlarging our stock of true and fresh ideas, and not, as soon as we get an idea or half an idea, be running out with it into the street, and trying to make it rule there. Our ideas will, in the end, shape the world all the better for maturing a little.”¹⁴

*

When Arnold’s ideas as presented here come together, they all effectively return to a simple argument: Criticism must remain free of practical considerations so that it more effectively works to establish ideas that are useful. Strangely enough, this struck me as something highly practical, just practical toward a goal different from such “ulterior, political” considerations as Arnold’s describing. Though inflexible honesty doesn’t necessarily lend itself well to marginal or selfish goals in a way that is particularly effective or secure against attack, especially within our contemporary social and political climate, it provides a better path to broader ones, in many respects. If ulterior considerations yield incomplete or untrue ideas convenient to the attainment of political capital at the expense of political rivals, for example, they will only be practical to that end. Should our goal be broader in nature, to the benefit of society more generally, it will be unattached from goals of the more narrow sense and, as such, what we should consider practical is what instead helps us reach this actual goal.

This extends even farther than this, however. So much of what is viewed as practical, even with regard to narrower goals, serves these goals less effectively than is commonly believed. As an example, a reliance on manipulation to control political messages is commonly viewed as practical in the realm of political economy because it is seen as less open to attack than is the open discussion of policy considerations, but it only remains effective when the message isn’t defeated by the more successful message of a rival.^iv In such an instance, inflexible honesty can be viewed as practical inasmuch as it can bring about political gain for the party over manipulation. But for this to be the case, it requires a lot of hard work from the party. A current of fresh and true ideas needs to be established, policies need to be constructed around such ideas—instead of building rhetoric to convince of the good of policies based on incomplete or untrue ideas—and the public needs to be better encouraged to approach these ideas and policies thoughtfully. The more effectively the party establishes these separate ends, requiring a genuine attempt to be inflexibly honest to do so well, the more the party can secure political gain over rivals, and the more stable these gains become against attempts at manipulation from its opponents.

However, I do believe that things work somewhat in reverse to this as well. For the critic to arrive at something resembling the truth, practical considerations of the “ulterior, political” kind shouldn’t be completely ignored. Though Arnold seems to suggest that considerations of this sort from the critic do nothing but distract from their primary goal, there are some ways in which they probably assist in the approach to the truth. What comes readily to mind is what can result when considering “practical” attacks on the critic’s ideas. Considering them, anticipating them, and responding to them allows for reflection. In part, this helps the critic to better understand and communicate these ideas; it also may help the critic more specifically to understand real flaws in the ideas themselves, when such attacks hold substance. And, while I agree with the need for freedom of thought in order to actually approach the truth, the critic must be careful how “idealized” these ideas are, that truthful ideas are only helpful if they can be applied to the real world in some way—not that I believe this nuance is necessarily far from Arnold’s way of thinking about the subject.^v Because to be practical implies that the idea is also possible. However, we need to take care not to let considerations of this sort to hold our ideas back, as progress often requires re-evaluation of where the line between possible and impossible lies. To approach the truth often requires imagination that extends past the possible of the age, and to suggest that something thought impossible is possible will feel highly impractical to those lacking such insight. But our understanding of where this line sits is a matter of belief, belief that needs to be tested and challenged for us to better see the truth of where it actually lies.

I think this most effectively expresses my views on such matters. The things we actually need to do to best accomplish our goals will often feel impractical to people who lack imagination and insight. Arnold’s advice seems designed to keep at least some of us from losing both of these necessary qualities. What then seems required of us is to remain imaginative and insightful, and to work to become more so. This will allow us to better determine our real goals and to help us prevent others from supplanting them; this will help us better determine what needs to be done to accomplish them while keeping us from being fooled into thinking that less perfect paths to these goals are better. And this all will ultimately give us the strength and ability to do better things.

Notes

i. “An organ like Revue des Deux Mondes, having for its main function to understand and utter the best that is known and thought in the world, existing, that may be said, as just an organ for a free play of the mind, we have not. But we have the Edinburgh Review, existing as an organ of the old Whigs, and for as much play of the mind as may suit its being that; we have the Quarterly Review, existing as an organ of the Tories, and for as much play of mind as may suit its being that; we have the British Quarterly Review, existing as an organ of the political Dissenters, and for as much play of mind as may suit its being that; we have the Times, existing as an organ of the common, satisfied, well-to-do Englishman, and for as much play of mind as may suit its being that. And so on through all the various fractions, political and religious, of our society; every fraction has, as such, its organ of criticism, but the notion of combining all fractions in the common pleasure of a free disinterested play of mind meets with no favour.”⁹

ii. Says Sir Charles Adderley to the Warwickshire farmers: “Talk of the improvement of breed! Why, the race we ourselves represent, the men and women, the old Anglo-Saxon race, are the best breed in the whole world … The absence of a too enervating climate, too unclouded skies, and a too luxurious nature, has produced so vigorous a race of people, and has rendered us so superior to all the world.”¹⁰

iii. Says Mr Roebuck to the Sheffield cutlers: “I look around me and ask what is the state of England? Is not property safe? Is not every man able to say what he likes? Can you not walk from one end of England to the other in perfect security? I ask you whether, the world over or in past history, there is anything like it? Nothing. I pray that our unrivalled happiness may last.”¹⁰

iv. For an in-depth look at this process in the real world along with a discussion of such misconceptions as I’m describing, I highly recommend Politicians Don’t Pander by Lawrence Jacobs and Robert Shapiro.¹⁵

v. As he writes, discussing criticism in English literature more specifically: “[T]he great safeguard is never to let oneself become abstract, always to retain an intimate and lively consciousness of the truth of what one is saying, and, the moment this fails us, to be sure that something is wrong.”¹⁶

References

1. Arnold M. “Culture and Anarchy.” Culture and Anarchy and Other Selected Prose. Penguin Classics, 2015, pp. 179-279.
2. Camus A. The Rebel. Vintage International, 1991.
3. Arnold M. Culture and Anarchy and Other Selected Prose. Penguin Classics, 2015.
4. Arnold M. “The Function of Criticism at the Present Time.” Culture and Anarchy and Other Selected Prose. Penguin Classics, 2015, pp. 105-132.
5. Ibid., p. 131, italics his.
6. Ibid., p. 130.
7. Ibid., p. 109.
8. Ibid., p. 117.
9. Ibid., p. 118.
10. Ibid., p. 119.
11. Ibid., pp. 119-120.
12. Ibid., p. 122.
13. Ibid., p. 128.
14. Ibid., p. 129.
15. Jacobs LR and Shapiro RY. Politicians Don’t Pander: Political Manipulation and the Loss of Democratic Responsiveness. The University of Chicago Press, 2000.
16. Arnold M, op. cit. pp. 130-131.