May 23, 1889.

when Goethe was writing Werther he wrote to his friend Kestner, “I am working out my own situation in art, for the consolation of gods and men.”  That is a fine thing to have said, proceeding from so sublime an egoism, so transcendent a pride, that it has hardly a disfiguring touch of vanity about it.  He did not add that he was also working in the situation of his friend Kestner, and Kestner’s wife, Charlotte; though when they objected to having been thus used as material, Goethe apologised profusely, and in the same breath told them, somewhat royally, that they ought to be proud to have been thus honoured.  But that is the reason why one admires Goethe so much and worships him so little.  One admires him for the way in which he strode ahead, turning corner after corner in the untravelled road of art, with such insight, such certainty, interpreting and giving form to the thought of the world; but one does not worship him, because he had no tenderness or care for humanity.  He knew whither he was bound, but he did not trouble himself about his companions.  The great leaders of the world are those who have said to others, “Come with me—­let us find light and peace together!”—­but Goethe said, “Follow me if you can!” Some one, writing of that age, said that it was a time when men had immense and far-reaching desires, but feeble wills.  They lost themselves in the melancholy of Hamlet, and luxuriated in their own sorrows.  That was not the case with Goethe himself; there never was an artist who was less irresolute.

One of the reasons, I think, why we are weak in art, at the present time, is because we refer everything to conventional ethical standards.  We are always arraigning people at the bar of morality, and what we judge them mainly by is their strength or weakness of will.  Blake thought differently.  He always maintained that men would be judged for their intellectual and artistic perception, by their good or bad taste.

But surely it is all a deep-seated mistake; one might as well judge people for being tall or short, ugly or beautiful.  The only thing for which I think most people would consent to be judged, which is after all what matters, is whether they have yielded consciously to mean, prudent, timid, conventional motives in life.  It is not a question of success or failure; it is rather whether one has acted largely, freely, generously, or whether one has acted politely, timidly, prudently.

In the Gospel, the two things for which it seems to be indicated that men will be judged are, whether they have been kind, and whether they have improved upon what has been given them.  And therefore the judgment seems to depend rather upon what men desire than upon what they effect, upon attitude rather than upon performance.  But it is all a great mystery, because no amount of desiring seems to give us what we desire.  The two plain duties are to commit ourselves to the Power that made us, and to desire to become what He would have us become; and one must also abstain from any attempt to judge other people—­that is the unpardonable sin.