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THE great artist appears rarely: criticism is always with us, yet has achieved no consistent method by which the true artist can be distinguished from the false with any reliability, though the function is universal. By its name criticism presupposes a standard of taste: kriterion — a mark or standard by which a correct estimate can be formed; but literary art is so various, so subtle in its complexion, that no standard of taste has yet proved sufficiently comprehensive to assay correctly the merit of a new poet and relegate him, as the critics still futilely attempt to do, to a fitting rank and station amongst his peers. On the contrary, we have been so accustomed to see their judgments reversed by the process of time in cases where criticism has mattered, that it is not without some amount of misgiving and even scepticism we read their pronouncements on fresh work of any seeming importance.
 
Yet criticism cannot be dispensed with, however much it fails. It is an integral part of reading. Our standard of taste is the final outcome of what we like and what we dislike; and so long as we remain vigorous creatures, with strong desires and aversions, so long we shall exercise judgment freely, and come to frequent faulty conclusions, and to-day repudiate violently what tomorrow we shall see reason to pronounce great. Indeed, to a certain extent, such inconsistency may even be desirable to ourselves, as indicating by their changefulness the vitality of our feelings and opinions, and assuring us of the durability of our youth by the freshness with which we can return to a fair poem once read and condemned. But unless it does more than this, criticism is scarcely justified in the extensive demand it makes upon the ordinary reader’s attention, the sway it holds over him. For art may have no apparent purpose; a poem as a living vital thing may be sufficient to itself beautiful and complete; but criticism is instinct with purpose; an uttered criticism has an ulterior motive: it not only judges, but from the judgment-seat it presumes to instruct the reader, and often the artist too.

Indeed, instruction is an inherent quality in all pronounced judgment, subtle in its influence, often working unconsciously, unseen. Now criticism, exercised according to a standard of taste, but failing to reach the dignity of an exact science because the standard of taste is an individual one, approaches each new poem from a separate point of view; and the critics, whether consciously or not, whether recognized or not, proffer or suggest advice each according to his particular attitude, to the bewilderment instead of instruction of the earnest poet and reader. This is unsatisfactory to all seriously concerned for the welfare of poetry and criticism; but it is plain that until an exact science of criticism be established within a well-defined province marked by clear boundaries, it will continue irresponsibly to err and give unnecessary pain. Within the confines of grammar, for instance, it can be said that such and such a work is correct or incorrect, good or bad; but extend your boundaries to the limits of individual taste, where they at present lie, and nothing can be certain.
 
The question of an exact science of criticism cannot be approached effectually until its practice has crystallized into a consistent and satisfactory method. In the meantime it would be well to examine its functions carefully, and single out that direction which appears to be noblest and most full of promise for future development. And it seems to us that great advantage might be gained if its function as judge were to be kept to some extent in abeyance, and a more pronounced attempt made by the critic to bring his individual taste into consonance with the poet’s tendencies. Criticism would become more keenly investigating in character, more capable of entering fully into the new poet’s spirit. This, indeed, is the tendency of criticism at an advanced stage, as will be realized at once by a consideration of the history of Shakespeare criticism. It is not too much to hope that the same application maybe made also to the new poet. The advantage would be proportionate to the pains bestowed by the critic on his task; and the general interest of such criticism would be broadened enormously. The process of investigating would open the door of opportunity for this subsidiary element of instruction; and in deftly manipulating the intricacies of the real poet’s spirit, the critic’s work would become a criticism upon life as well.
 
The poet has many qualities, but above all he is the artist. And the spirit of art is a splendid subject for this broader investigating criticism. The true artist is a traveller in unknown worlds — regions beyond the boundaries of the ordinary man’s life — the very existence of which is often forgotten amid the turmoil and clash of everyday things. But indefinable, of an unearthly magnificence, serene, those regions lie, approachable only through the magic spells the artist weaves, the irresistible enchantment of his art. Often have we followed the poet through the realm of fancy and listened to his pleasing tales, and he has stirred our hearts and awakened within us fresh endeavour, new dreams, new hope; but seldom, perhaps never, have we really entered the more intimate world of his spirit — this realm of unknown, unknowable things. For the way thither has not been described; no chart to those regions, those “worlds not realized,” has been laid down; no signpost stands with directing finger: the critic has put aside his pen when the poet has spoken most profoundly.
 
Here then is the direction to be taken. Let criticism, being emphatic in judgment only on what is certain, on matters that have definite laws, spend its more abundant energy in pursuing this inductive process, this sounding the depths, and instructing in the loftier purpose, the intenser meaning and more elusive enchantment of art. The fresh attitude, whilst re-vivifying criticism itself and extending its scope, will give to the poet an added impetus and a sorely needed encouragement. To accord him his due, the poet has no easy journey through the world. To do even the sound modest work that may not raise a ripple of any notable importance upon the surface of the constant flood of literature requires single-minded devotion and toil, the like of which applied in other directions would take a man far; and the great beautiful work that (all too rarely) from time to time appears, the work of genius, demands the expenditure of all the fiery energy of the mind and body, the elemental passions of the soul. If compensation is needed, the poet no doubt finds it in his own labour and devotion, and can probably dispense with the questionable service ordinary criticism renders him by its feeble praise and frequent antagonism. But criticism cannot dispense with the poet; and its aim should be a pursuit of truth by that method which may induce the greater understanding of poetry and its nobler accomplishment.