Whoso belongs only to his own age, and reverences only its gilt Popinjays or soot-smeared Mumbo-jumbos, must needs die with it.
– Thomas Carlyle, 1864
Thomas Carlyle (4 December 1795 – 5 February 1881) was a Scottish essayist, historian, and philosopher from the Scottish Lowlands. A leading writer of the Victorian era, he exerted a profound influence on 19th-century art, literature, and philosophy.
I’ll be frank: the Scottish have forever captured a unique brand of dourness. Carlyle has suggested a controversial review of what appears to be the highest level of mediocrity with nowhere else to go thereafter but down. Seemingly in his opinion extravagance or jargon is intolerable. And while I shall not pretend to excuse the deceit and miscalculation, it closely nestles upon satire as a redeeming narrative. Say what you will, not everything is afforded an unblemished canvass or the clarity of a philosopher. Logic is a very dry subject indeed. By contrast the landscape of life is covered with missteps and marshlands; bogs and trenches; deceptive sunsets and ambiguous language. What a flavourless world it would be without such indigenous contamination.
As a lawyer by profession I am not surprisingly committed to the strength of the written word; however, the expression of that vernacular (which by the way I include among any number of other artistic expressions such as song, dance, painting or fashion) is capable of unparalleled exemplification. Nor by this do I imply a tolerance for inadequacy; rather, an openness to novelty and singularity. Popular music is an ideal example of the apparent conflict which exists between musical aficionados – though escalating one genre above another as that of the connoisseur or even the cognoscenti is not infrequent.
I confess having more than a little incapacity to understand Carlyle’s specific objection. Surely he hasn’t the belief that any one of us is devoted solely to the lavish or cosmetic renditions of life? Such presumption borders equally upon the preposterous. It is for example one thing to enjoy reading Country Life magazine; it is quite another to adopt it as a statutory model of behaviour. In fact I might go so far as to opine that Carlyle was up to his own kind of mischief when he weighed in upon this particular subject. I mean, don’t say “Nose in the air!” to that. The ritual of the Victorian era was well known. And I don’t for a moment deceive myself to imagine that any one of them was above pretension. And when it comes to dandies or fops, I suspect they pretty well had the market cornered. If I were to credit my native intelligence with anything it is this: Carlyle was as devoted as the next bloke to pacifying his audience. In the context of aristocratic England that meant untrammelled obsequiousness towards the ruling classes who, apart from public appearances, descended unutterably to the lowest grades of lasciviousness and indulgences imaginable.