of all possible reasons. If a man comes into
Hyde Park to preach it is permissible to hoot him; but it is
discourteous to applaud him as a performing bear. And an artist is only
a performing bear compared with the meanest man who fancies he has
anything to say.

There is, indeed, one class of modern writers and thinkers who cannot
altogether be overlooked in this question, though there is no space
here for a lengthy account of them, which, indeed, to confess the
truth, would consist chiefly of abuse. I mean those who get over all
these abysses and reconcile all these wars by talking about "aspects of
truth," by saying that the art of Kipling represents one aspect of the
truth, and the art of William Watson another; the art of Mr. Bernard
Shaw one aspect of the truth, and the art of Mr. Cunningham Grahame
another; the art of Mr. H. G. Wells one aspect, and the art of Mr.
Coventry Patmore (say) another. I will only say here that this seems to
me an evasion which has not even had the sense to disguise itself
ingeniously in words. If we talk of a certain thing being an aspect of
truth, it is evident that we claim to know what is truth; just as, if
we talk of the hind leg of a dog, we claim to know what is a dog.
Unfortunately, the philosopher who talks about aspects of truth
generally also asks, "What is truth?" Frequently even he denies the
existence of truth, or says it is inconceivable by the human
intelligence. How, then, can he recognize its aspects? I should not
like to be an artist who brought an architectural sketch to a builder,
saying, "This is the south aspect of Sea-View Cottage. Sea-View
Cottage, of course, does not exist." I should not even like very much
to have to explain, under such circumstances, that Sea-View Cottage
might exist, but was unthinkable by the human mind. Nor should I like
any better to be the bungling and absurd metaphysician who professed to
be able to see everywhere the aspects of a truth that is not there. Of
course, it is perfectly obvious that there are truths in Kipling, that
there are truths in Shaw or Wells. But the degree to which we can
perceive them depends strictly upon how far we have a definite
conception inside us of what is truth. It is ludicrous to suppose that
the more sceptical we are the more we see good in everything. It is
clear that the more we are certain what good is, the more we shall see
good in everything.

I plead, then, that we should agree or disagree w