Connoisseurs in pleasure—­of whom I count myself one—­know that nothing is more intensely delightful than the aesthetic thrill.  Now, though many are capable of tasting this pleasure, few can get it for themselves:  for only those who have been born with a peculiar sensibility, and have known how to cherish it, enjoy art naturally, simply, and at first hand as most of us enjoy eating, drinking, and kissing.  But, fortunately, it is possible for the peculiarly sensitive, or for some of them, by infecting others with their enthusiasm, to throw these into a state of mind in which they, too, can experience the thrill of aesthetic comprehension.  And the essence of good criticism is this:  that, instead of merely imparting to others the opinions of the critic, it puts them in a state to appreciate the work of art itself.  A man blest with peculiar sensibility, who happens also to possess this infecting power, need feel no more shame in becoming a critic than Socrates would have felt in becoming a don.  The vocations are much alike.  The good critic puts his pupil in the way of enjoying art, the good don or schoolmaster teaches his how to make the most of life; while bad critics and pedagogues stuff their victims with those most useless of all useless things, facts and opinions.

Primarily, a critic is a sign-post.  He points to a work of art and says—­“Stop!  Look!” To do that he must have the sensibility that distinguishes works of art from rubbish, and, amongst works of art, the excellent from the mediocre.  Further, the critic has got to convince, he has got to persuade the spectator that there is something before him that is really worth looking at.  His own reaction, therefore, must be genuine and intense.  Also, he must be able to stimulate an appreciative state of mind; he must, that is to say, have the art of criticism.  He should be able, at a pinch, to disentangle and appraise the qualities which go to make up a masterpiece, so that he may lead a reluctant convert by partial pleasures to a sense of the whole.  And, because nothing stands more obstructively between the public and the grand aesthetic ecstasies than the habit of feeling a false emotion for a pseudo-work-of-art, he must be as remorseless in exposing shams as a good schoolmaster would be in exposing charlatans and short-cuts to knowledge.

Since, in all times and places, the essence of art—­the externalizing in form of something that lies at the very depths of personality—­has been the same, it may seem strange, at first sight, that critical methods should have varied.  One moment’s reflection will suffice to remind us that there are often ten thousand paths to the same goal; and a second’s may suggest that the variety in critical methods is, at any rate, not more surprising than the variety in the methods of artists.  Always have artists been striving to convert the thrill of inspiration into significant form; never have they stuck long to any one converting-machine.  Throughout the ages