Matthew Arnold, in his “The Function of Criticism at the Present Time,” examines the role of the critic in society and the idea that the “critical power” is of lower rank than the “creative power” (260). He suggests that the critic, before s/he puts pen to paper, must inquire of his or her motivations: what real service am I doing for my “own mind and spirit, and to the minds and spirits of others” (260)? The critic’s role is one of a personal and social nature, but s/he must maintain what Arnold calls “disinterestedness” to produce a proper critique.
Literature, Arnold begins, is a product of current ideas. Literature does not create these ideas; they are the works of philosophy and science. However, through synthesis and exposition of this intellectual atmosphere, the writer combines the elements of his or her zeitgeist into a beautiful work (260-1). Therefore, for the work of literature to be produced, two concomitant powers must exist synergistically: the writer and the moment (261).
The critic’s role, Arnold suggests, sets the stage for the creation of literature by ordering and interpreting the zeitgeist and making the best ideas of the time prevail. The critic’s job “in all branches of knowledge, theology, philosophy, history, art, science, [is] to see the object as in itself it really is” (261). That “object,” I interpret, represents the ideas (in their various forms–treatises, poems, etc.) to be critiqued. The critic’s work, then, influences the creative power of writers and precipitates the “creative epochs of literature” (261).
The act of criticism, Arnold continues, concerns two terms: curiosity and disinterestedness. The former seeks out what is “best known and thought in the world,” but which is not linked to any one practice. Therefore, this curiosity must practice a disinterestedness that allows for the “free play of the mind” on all subjects that it addresses; i.e., criticism should not have an agenda (270). Therefore, the critic must free him- or herself from practical considerations and concentrate on creating a “current of true and fresh ideas” (270). Practical considerations, suggests Arnold, represent the bane of critical inquiry, stifling and undermining the free play of mind (270).
By keeping its distinction from practical considerations, criticism may function in its “best spiritual work”: keeping human society free from complacency. The work of the critic challenges and questions, refusing to let the mind stagnate; it engages humans in a dialectic meant to “lead [them] towards perfection, by making [their] mind dwell upon what is excellent in itself, and the absolute beauty and fitness of things” (271). This action, itself a creative endeavor, enables a blinding of sorts to the agendas of their affiliations (271).
Yet, though this practice, the critic risks misunderstanding and unpopularity. Arnold asks, how does one affect the practical person with ostensibly impractical theory (275)? The practical person views the British Constitution as an august work of virtue and farsightedness, but when the critic sees a document that is little more than “a colossal machine for the manufacture of Philistines,” how can the critic be true to this observation and influence the practical mind (275)? Yes, agrees Arnold, the critic will be misunderstood, but, nevertheless, to refuse any cause that would require “a chairman, a secretary, and advertisements”–how-ever virtuous the cause–must be the critic’s duty (276).
This disinterestedness may seem contrary to the critic’s goal of helping humanity achieve a perfection, but this trait must be one of the mind and not one of action. Yet, if the critic interacts within his society, then how can s/he truly practice an objective disinterestedness? For example, how can there exist a literary critic? By modifying “critic” with “literary,” does that not give the critic an interest? Yes, conceivably the critic could look objectively at a work of literature, but the critic intends his or her work to influence the course of literary studies in order that it might achieve a perfection. Or, does disinterested mean an approach to a text that is uncolored by a particular ideological framework, like Marxism, Feminism, or Structuralism? Arnold suggests that criticism “seeks to have the best that is known and thought on [a] problem”; literary critics, then, attempt to discover the best approach to the construction and representation of that which is literary. So while criticism in general seeks to “find us”–i.e., to lead to the perfection of the human being–literary criticism is a microcosm which seeks (perhaps) to find the best in literature.
Arnold’s disinterested critic, while obviously idealistic, seems somehow responsible for the academic’s withdrawal from the practical, “real” world. His privileged view of the critic has perhaps propagated the ivory-tower intellectualism that has recently come under attack by many critics of academia. Can we academics–who are, after all, critics–idealistically shut ourselves off in that tower and expect to make a positive influence on the course of human events? What happens to the critic in his or her rarefied milieu? I seem to recall that one who voluntarily or out of compulsion separates her- or himself from social and cultural (practical?) influences becomes less-than-human. So, how can a sub-human realistically hope to affect the progress of society in a positive manner? Perhaps this situation takes Arnold’s disinterestedness too far? Probably not. While having consequences for the academic, the ivory tower can only succeed in estranging the critic from what it is s/he is supposed to be criticizing, be it society, religion, or literature.
More than likely the raison d’être of literary criticism is to aim beyond itself. As long as literary criticism’s interests lie within the scope of literature, then it has an interest. However, if the criticism of literary texts aims at the further development of humanity, then its practice must fulfill a disinterestedness within the scope of literature. Criticism must, states Arnold, “be perpetually dissatisfied with [all] works, while they perpetually fall short of a high and perfect ideal” (280). Criticism might praise certain elements of literature (and any other works), but must maintain a dissatisfaction with the whole as long as it falls short of the fullness of spiritual perfection (280-1).
The critic, finally, is the propagator of art, culture, and society. Through the critic’s work, fresh and true ideas are examined and passed into the world in order to shape and influence the creative mind. Without criticism, Arnold believes, the flow of creativity and progress would be arrested.
Matthew Arnold, in his “The Function of Criticism at the Present Time,” examines the role of the critic in society and the idea that the “critical power” is of lower rank than the “creative power” (260). He suggests that the critic, before s/he puts pen to paper, must inquire of his or her motivations: what real service am I doing for my “own mind and spirit, and to the minds and spirits of others” (260)? The critic’s role is one of a personal and social nature, but s/he must maintain what Arnold calls “disinterestedness” to produce a proper critique.
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