Last semester in Victorian Literature class, we studied Oscar Wilde's The Decay of Lying, and Wilde's belief that life imitates art left a deep impression on me. It seemed like such a counter-intuitive yet strangely intriguing notion, and I think of it now every time that I see a sunset, a sight traditionally revered as beautiful and awe-inspiring. Wilde contends that natural sunsets are "quite old-fashioned," falling far short of the remarkable renderings of colorful skies painted by artist J.M.W. Turner. He asserts that a modern sunset is "simply a very second-rate Turner, a Turner of a bad period, with all of the painter's worst faults exaggerated and over-emphasized." In Wilde's opinion, which reflects the belief of other authors who wrote during "The Decadence," or the end of the Victorian age, Nature is vastly inferior to Art, and Art expresses itself alone, not some shallow mimicry of imperfect and uninspiring Nature.
I could not help but remember this interpretation and note how drastically it differed from Emerson's understanding of the relationship between the poet and nature in his essay "The Poet." While Emerson represents a voice of the transcendentalist movement, a current of thought which holds that every single thing that we experience is a symbol or opportunity to see through to an ideal world, and while Wilde speaks as a representative of the Decadence, which glorifies experiencing art and exulting in the sensual effect that it has upon you, these authors promote completely contrasting opinions on the worth of nature in the life and work of an artist.
Emerson seems to see nature as an invaluable and unifying source of beauty and inspiration which humankind does not sufficiently appreciate. The poet is the one who can interpret nature for us, who can use nature as a muse that continually renews, amazes, and points us to deeper truth. Nature contains endless symbols which lead us to divine understanding, and Emerson would suggest that we all can sense this mystical potential within nature. He writes:
"...every man is so far a poet as to be susceptible of these enchantments of nature; for all men have the thoughts whereof the universe is the celebration. I find that the fascination resides in the symbol. Who loves nature? Who does not? Is it only poets, and men of leisure and cultivation, who live with her? No, but also hunters, farmers, grooms, and butchers, though they express heir affection in their choice of life and not in their choice of words. The writer wonders what the coachmen or the hunter values in riding, in horses and dogs. It is not superficial qualities. When you talk with him he holds these at as slight a rate as you. His worship is sympathetic; he has no definitions, but he is commanded in nature by the living power which he feels to be there present. No imitation or playing of these things would content him; he loves the earnest of the north wind, of rain, of stone and wood and iron. A beauty not explicable is dearer than a beauty which we can see to the end of. It is nature the symbol, nature certifying the supernatural, body overflowed by life which he worships with coarse but sincere rites."
Thus, for Emerson, nature provokes an innate reverence even within the more simple-minded men that do not hold the esteemed position of seer, interpreter, and poet. Yet the poet, in all of his perceptive genius, falls short of perfectly expressing or transcribing the truth that he is privy to, for "poems are a corrupt version of some text in nature." I believe that Wilde would stand in direct opposition to this conception of humankind's inability to fully understand or express the truth and beauty inherent in nature. He would instead say that nature is the one which, crude and corrupted, does not measure up to the complex and limitless beauty of making and experiencing art. Wilde's character of Vivian scoffs in "The Decay of Lying,"
"Enjoy Nature! I am glad to say that I have entirely lost that faculty. People tell us that Art makes us love Nature more than we loved her before; that it reveals her secrets to us; and that after a careful study of Corot and Constable we see things in her that had escaped our observation. My own experience is that the more we study Art, the less we care for Nature. What Art reveals to us is Nature's lack of design, her curious crudities, her extraordinary monotony, her absolutely unfinished condition."
Another interesting difference between Emerson and Wilde lies in their understanding of what it means that imagination might stem from natural inspiration. Wilde goes on to say in this passage which I just quoted, "As for the infinite variety of Nature, that is pure myth. It is not to be found in Nature herself. It resides in the imagination, or fancy, or cultivated blindness of the man who looks at her." It seems that Emerson would embrace this imagination which envisions the infinite variety of nature. While Wilde conceives of this as a "cultivated blindness," Emerson believes imagination aroused by nature, or imagination that would allow for interpretation of nature's infinite varieties, to be liberating, emancipating, exhilarating, and ultimately the key to ascension, or "the passage of the soul into higher forms." Thus, Emerson might look upon the same sunset as Wilde and imagine the symbols therein to point to a surpassing ideal or truth while Wilde would see merely a bad imitation of Turner's art.
1 comment:
This is really interesting Heather. I agree with you that Emerson and Wilde would stand miles apart on this issue. Like you, I find Wilde's beliefs in "The Decay of Lying" rather counter-intuitive, yet (as you said) undeniably intriguing, and perhaps even more compelling than Emerson's. The problem with Emerson's airy and transcendentalist views, is that they have a hard time explaining themselves. He elevates nature to a supreme level of beauty and claims that the author seeks to imitate or perhaps just capture this essence. After setting us up with the goal and purpose of the Poet, he cannot bring it to a conclusion and instead leaves us with a measly excuse that the Poet will always fail, ultimately just leaving us with a corrupt version of the original. What Wilde succeeds in doing, is making this beauty with a divine aura accessible to everybody. Sure, on most days Turner's sunsets are far more majestic than the blob of sky I see lowering everyday out of my window, but Turner's sunsets are only as grand as they are, because at some moment in time, he witnessed one of those sunsets, we all know the kind,the ones that stop your breath and lift your soul. The ones with new colors and patterns and previously untapped wonder. He can only create his artificial copy because he had witnessed the original. The major difference then lies in the fact that Turner's are permanent. They live forever just a beautiful and awe-inspiring as they were the day they were created. For the rest of us, even on the most spectacular evenings with the most breathtaking skies, our sunsets fall into darkness and we are left with only a fading memory of what they were.
There is something intriguing then that occurs with a marriage of the two philosophies of Wilde and Emerson. Using Wilde's belief in the supremacy of the art, and Emerson's in the supremacy of the natural, one must wonder if the job of artist, whether he knows it or not, is to make permanent that fleeting beauty that Emerson cannot contain. Think of it like a snapshot. You take the picture, and the moment you have attempted to capture continues to go, it leaves you, passes away with the very next breath, but you have captured it, you cannot keep it or contain it as Emerson might wish, but you can have it for just a moment, and if you snap the photo at just the right moment, then you're lucky enough to be able to look back and re-experience it, not in its purest form, that has already gone, but perhaps in the closest best thing.
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