E M Forster in his novel
Howards End ascribes to one of its main
characters, Margaret Schlegel, a willingness to invest
psychologically in the materials that empire makes available: she
animates these objects with her own visions of homeland created by
a combination of masculine grandeur and epic process of , just as
later, after Henry's proposal, she will exclaim romantically over
shares in a currant farm. But her swelling concern for the past,
both personal and national, and its accumulation in the comforting
things of everyday life, is also precisely what separates her and
her sister Helen from the Wilcoxes, who care only for the
accumulation of profits and the commerce of the future. "You see,"
says Helen to her cousin, the Wilcoxes collect houses as your
Victor collects tadpoles. They have, one, Ducie Street; two,
Howards End, where my great rumpus was; three, a country seat in
Shropshire; four, Charles has a house in Hilton; and five, another
near Epsom; and six, Eye will have a house when she marries, and
probably a pied-a-terre in the country--which makes seven. Oh yes,
and Paul a hut in Africa makes eight.
School children can often be heard complaining
about the vast quantities of seemingly useless information that
they are forced to memorise as part of their education. Had
they been the children of Stone Age hunters, they would have
learned their lessons first hand, where the practical value in
everyday life would have been obvious. Prehistoric people had to
become masters of observation, with an acute knowledge of every
plant and animal shape, colour, pattern, movement, sound and smell
in so far as knowledge of these aspects of their environment
enabled them to survive in a hostile world. This urge to find
memorable pattern and harmony in the environment is called
taxophilia. The human taxophilic imperative was so important
that it evolved to become as basic and distinct as the need to
feed, mate or sleep. Originally our ancestors may have
classified berries or antelopes as part of their food-finding
activities. In the abstract world of the modern classroom,
botany can seem remote, geology boring, and entomology
meaningless. Yet despite these complaints, the taxophilic
instinct remains as an urge to commit to memory huge assemblages of
facts on topics that will hardly ever encounter a need in the
future. Information is not just simply accumulated; it
is classified, particularly where there is a current social
context, such as the latest football statistics, scores and titles
of pop music, and the makes and dates of manufacture of
motorcars.
The human brain functions as a magnificent
classifying machine, and every time we walk through a landscape it
is busy feeding in new experiences and comparing them with the
old. The brain classifies everything we see, and the survival
value of this procedure is obvious. It is also the case with other
mammals. A monkey, for instance, has to know many different
kinds of trees and bushes in its forest home, and needs to be able
to tell which one has ripening fruit at any particular season,
which is poisonous, and which is thorny. If it is to survive,
a monkey has to become a good botanist. In the same way a
lion has to become a first-rate zoologist, able to tell at a
glance, which prey species it is, how fast it can run, and which
escape pattern it is likely to use.
Taxophilia is the basic behaviour of scientists.
In biology it is dignified by the subject of taxonomy. There
are many case-histories of scientific achievements of individuals,
such as Charles Darwin, who collected beetles and barnacles, where
a sharp taxophilic skill correlates surprisingly with outstanding
abilities for panoramic lateral thinking.Taxonomists have
outstanding skills in observation and depiction to describe and
communicate anatomical features that are of significance in placing
individuals and body parts in unambiguous categories. Their
illustrations often have pleasing aesthetic qualities, and their
early engravings are now collected as works of art.
In this connection, it is the taxophilic urge
that is at the root of our aesthetic behaviour. There is no
other biological way to account for the response of people who can
be found standing silently in front of paintings in an art gallery,
or sitting quietly listening to music, or watching dancing, or
viewing sculpture, or gazing at garden flowers, or wandering
through landscapes, or tasting wines.
Regarding those who collect art, a personal
taxophilic theme has a door open onto human subcultures, where for
a variety of reasons, it is possible to find a responsive set of
like-minded patrons. Collectors are concerned with differentiated
objects, which often have exchange value, which may also be objects
of preservation, trade, social ritual, exhibition, and perhaps
generators of profit. Such objects, whether works of art or
matchboxes, are accompanied by projects. Though they remain
interrelated in a personal collection, their interplay through
selection and research involves the social world outside the
collection and embraces human relationships. Eventually, a
collector may come to have high group status through a personal
body of knowledge about the makers of his objects, which is greater
than that of the maker.
It is true to say that virtually every human
culture expresses itself artistically in some way or other; so the
need to experience the satisfaction of discovering harmony in
particular arrangements of forms, the beauty-reaction, cements
strong social bonds between people. However, in the world of art
there are no absolutes involved. Nothing is considered to be
beautiful by all peoples everywhere. Every revered object is
considered ugly by someone somewhere. From this perspective, beauty
is put into the eye of the beholder by education, and comes from
nowhere else. The sense of beauty derives primarily from our
subtle comparisons and classifications by which we harmonise set
themes, as it did with natural objects of survival value.
However, the difference is that we select our art themes by
personal choice. Forms are chosen from past experiences, or
taken second-hand from other artists, that have a potential for a
complex set of variations. Once this process of experimenting
with forms wrested from nature is underway, the artist can then
rapidly shift his themes further and further away from the natural
starting point, until the themes employed become abstract and their
purpose is to express a highly personal mental state. It does
seem that the more a set of forms departs from the common
perception of reality, the more we respond, and commit it to memory
through innate feelings for certain types and combinations of
lines, planes and colour. In other words, the
‘picture’ is perceived as a unique piece of
decoration. However, there is little research on this
point.
Either way, whether staying close to imitated
natural objects, or creating entirely novel abstracted
compositions, the artist’s work is judged finally, not on any
absolute values but on the basis of how ingeniously he manages to
ring the changes on the themes he has already employed
successfully, or that have been employed in acceptable ways by his
predecessors. The quality of the beauty will depend on how he
manages to avoid the most obvious and clumsy of possible
variations, and how he contrives to get his viewers to perceive
daring, subtle, amusing or surprising variants of the theme without
actually destroying it. This is the true inventive nature of
beauty, and it is a social game that human animals play with
consummate skill both as artists and viewers. The rewards of
learning the taxonomic rules of a particular variation of the game
are accessible to everyone. The rules are based on arbitrary
cannons, such as, which shapes and colours of dogs are accepted by
the kennel club, which arrangements of flowers are prized by the
flower- arranging society, which proportions of breasts, to waist,
to hips win prizes in beauty contests, and which kinds of water
colours the hanging committee of the local art club finds
acceptable. The rewards of playing the beauty game are social
acceptance and personal status in a group of like-minded
people.