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359 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1969
I wonder if a single thought that has helped forward the human spirit has ever been conceived or written down in an enormous room
A quarter of a century ago, when I last acquainted myself with Kenneth Clark, the book itself seemed like a true achievement of civilization. Splendid illustrations and glossy paper. The drab socialist editions in our library could only sigh with envy.
And so, this year's book fair enticed me to replace my old copy.
I had absolutely no memory of the text. And perhaps it was for the better. Oh, Sir Kenneth, you were a true Victorian! The text might as well have been written in the 1870s rather than the 1970s. The only thing missing back then was the medium of television broadcasts, though serialization in periodicals certainly existed. I couldn't shake the feeling that Wodehouse was aiming right at that blissfully self-satisfied, highly educated, snobbish bubble emanating from Clark, which evidently remained intact long after Jeeves.
Kenneth Clark's civilization is the size of a pea. More specifically, it takes the precise shape of the British Isles. Yes, dear reader, they were civilized even during the era of barbarism! A solitary beacon of civilization, with direct roots in the Greco-Roman world. Since Sir Kenneth isn't entirely stingy, though—out of the goodness of his heart—he slightly expands the boundaries to include Europe. But don't go assuming that means all of Europe! Far from it. Byzantium, for instance, is merely an insignificant historical curiosity, less than a footnote in the history of civilization, for the simple reason that… it is spiritually further from Western Europe than Islam is! As for Asia and the other continents, you can simply forget about them—no civilization ever existed there. I believe only a knight of the old British Empire, over which the sun never set, could say something like that with a straight face.
I'm sorry, Sir Kenneth. Re-reading the text, I cannot rate the book merely by its cover and illustrations. This time, I will judge the concept and the content.
P.S. In truth, if the title hadn't been so megalomaniacal and bombastic, and if the word "civilization" weren't persistently repeated in the singular throughout the text—had it instead clarified that it dealt strictly with what is today referred to as "Western Europe" from the Early Middle Ages onward—it would have been a rather delightful and enlightening read, with just a hint of a turned-up British nose. The enlightenment regarding many Western art objects is genuinely there. Parallels weren't even necessary—yet Sir Kenneth insists that this, and this alone, represents the sole achievement of all mankind, confined strictly to the (magnificent) works specified in the book. He dismisses Africa, China, India, and Persia, while casually admitting regarding the latter that he has no clue about it whatsoever. How, then, am I supposed to trust his grand notions of what "civilization" actually is?
The early pictures of heavy industry are optimistic. Even the workers didn't object to it because it was hellish but because they were afraid that machinery would put them out of work.
The only people who saw through industrialism in those early days were the poets... It took a longish time -- over twenty years -- before ordinary men began to see what a monster had been created.
...
Early iron foundries had been small affairs -- almost family businesses -- and in its early stages the industrial movement had positively helped small men to escape from the more hopeless poverty of rural life. What was destructive was size. After about 1790 to 1800 there appeared the large foundries and mills which dehumanized life. Arkwright's spinning frame, invented about 1700, is always quoted as the beginning of mass production ... he and his like gave England a flying start in the economy of the nineteenth century, but they also produced that dehumanization which obsessed almost every great imaginative writer of the time...
This new religion of gain had behind it a body of doctrine without which it could never have maintained its authority over the serious-minded Victorians. The first of its sacred books -- printed in 1789 -- was the Essay on the Principle of Population by a clergyman named Malthus, which demonstrated that population will always increase faster than means of subsistence. In consequence, misery and want were bound to be the lot of the majority of mankind. This depressing theory, which cannot be altogether brushed aside, even today, had been put forward in a scientific spirit. Unfortunately Malthus' text contained such phrases as 'man has no claim of right to the smallest portion of food'. And these were used to justify the inhuman exploitation of labour. The other sacred books were the economic theories of Ricardo, almost a most earnest man writing in a scientific spirit -- but inexorable. Free enterprise and the survival of the fittest: one can see how they looked like laws of nature -- and in fact were both to become involved with Darwin's theories of natural selection.
When I call them sacred books I am not joking. Malthus and Ricardo were taken as gospels by the most serious and even pious men, who used them to justify actions they would never thought of defending on human grounds.
...
The early reformers' struggle with industrialised society illustrates what I believe to be the greatest civilising achievement of the nineteenth century: humanitarianism. We are so much accustomed to the humanitarian outlook that we forget how little it counted in earlier ages of civilisation. Ask any decent person in England or America what he thinks matters most in human conduct: five to one his answer will be 'kindness'. It's not a word that would have crossed the lips of any of the earlier heroes of this series... Our ancestors didn't use the word, and they did not greatly value the quality -- except perhaps in so far as they valued compassion. Nowadays, I think we under-estimate the humanitarian achievements of the nineteenth century. We forget the horrors that were taken for granted in early Victorian England: the hundreds of lashes inflicted daily on perfectly harmless men in the army and navy; the women chained together in threes, rumbling through the streets in open carts on their way to transportation. These and other even more unspeakable cruelties were carried out by agents of the Establishment, usually in defence of property.
I said at the beginning that it is lack of confidence, more than anything else, that kills a civilisation. We can destroy ourselves by cynicism and disillusion, just as effectively as by bombs. [Ed.: Witness the complete abdication of responsibility by both the Democratic Party and Congress in the face of Donald Trump's first six months of action.]
... Good people still have convictions, rather too many of them. The trouble is that there is still no centre. The moral and intellectual failure of Marxism has left us with no alternative to heroic materialism, and that isn't enough. One may be optimistic, but one can't exactly be joyful at the prospect before us.