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p B. Lukyanov

p At the present time, when art has entered everyone’s life and become a genuine spiritual need, the problem of determining its quality has acquired particular significance. It is, of course, possible to rely on “the judgement of history”, which, it is said, will put everything in its place. But this hope, while a pleasant one, is not sufficient: the consumer of art, after all, cannot content himself with the classics alone—he wants to hear the words of his contemporaries, too. And he has a right to expect help from scholarship in establishing the real value of works of art.

p Aesthetics and critics have at all times aimed at objectivity in making evaluations. However it is evident that, even given such an aspiration, the results obtained will vary in relation to the interpretation placed on art itself.

p Nor do the difficulties involved in making an objective evaluation cease even when a more or less precise definition of art has been formulated. One such difficulty, in particular, is that an evaluation made by a subject should be objective: that is, the subjectivity and personal involvement of the critic should eventually develop into objective analysis. Is this possible? Is scholarship capable of formulating criteria whose application does justice to the artist while not forcing him into a predetermined framework yet leaving room for imagination and creativity?

p The task is clearly not an easy one and is no less complex for the fact that the concept of evaluation, as employed in so specific a field as art, demands a whole series of qualifications. Evaluation is usually understood to mean establishment of the cost of something—the fixing of a price—or the eliciting of the value, significance, character or essence of something. Since it is evident that perception of a work of art in no way implies the fixing of a 76 price for it, only two meanings remain to be applied to the concept of aesthetic evaluation: those of the definition of essence and character and, in consequence, of value and significance, the more so as one is, as a rule, revealed through the other. But what does “definition of the essence and character" of a work of art mean? It means to apply the whole apparatus of aesthetics and art scholarship to the work, to analyse it from all sides and only then to proceed further to the evaluation itself, with its implacable, often denied purpose of placing one work above another.

p The next series of questions arises when we come to consider that it is the problem of aesthetic evaluation, rather than some other kind of appraisal, which confronts us. The term “aesthetic evaluation” can be understood in two ways. It can mean, firstly, that aesthetic objects—art, the beauty of nature or of artefacts, etc.—are being evaluated; or, secondly, it can indicate that any kind of object is being evaluated, but that this is being done from the point of view of its having aesthetic qualities. This immediately raises a fresh problem, namely that of the correlation between aesthetic and other forms of evaluation, e.g., from the utilitarian point of view. In the first interpretation of “aesthetic evaluation”, aesthetic worth is presupposed and it remains, therefore, only to establish its degree; in the second, aesthetic quality as such is uncertain and the object of analysis is to reveal it.

p It is not difficult to see that these two conceptions of “the aesthetic" represent successive evaluative acts which, as a rule, are so closely interwoven as to be frequently indistinguishable: namely, the establishment of whether we are in fact confronted by an aesthetic object (that is, one to which aesthetic criteria may be applied), followed by analysis of the degree to which it possesses aesthetic qualities (however we understand the latter).

p But perhaps the criteria of both these stages coincide and the very tools of analysis which assist the critic in establishing whether or not he is dealing with art would also be suitable for determining the quality of this art? An answer to this question—in the negative-ris provided by the very existence of such concepts as “good” and “bad” art, since they presuppose that there are works which satisfy the criteria of art but are unable to “pass” the test of their “quality”. This answer is inadequate because it fails to provide a comprehensive interpretation either of the one or of the other criterion. We must, therefore, return to a question which is as old as the world: how can we recognise art as such?

p Let us imagine a situation. A murder is committed in public. What would be the reaction? The desire, naturally, to prevent the act, to help the victim, to punish the murderer, etc. But imagine 77 another situation, also involving a murder which, too, is injust; this time the onlookers do not stir, although there are many of them sitting in rows in a hall, filling the boxes and the balcony; occasionally, however, they break into applause. What keeps them in their seats? The answer is some kind of sign, signal or communication that the murder is not real and that what they are seeing is a representation: play-acting in a theatre. What sort of sign? The history of art has preserved many such signs, from the special adornment or body painting characteristic of ritual dances to carnival and theatrical masks, from the manner of pronunciation (rhythm, rhyme) to the frame around a painting (not excluding a “frame” such as the footlights).

p In other words, the signal telling us we are dealing with a work of art is always some kind of convention, warning the viewer or reader against completely identifying what he sees with life. It was this idea that Lenin emphasised when summarising Feuerbach and giving the German philosopher’s thoughts an aphoristic turn: “Art does not require the recognition of its works as reality."  [77•1  The same phenomenon may or may not be art, depending not on its content but on its inclusion within the system of conventions of one or other art form. The power of art to transform and subordinate any phenomena to itself is put to graphic use in the French film “La vie conjugale”, in which the apparently sincere anger or complaints of the heroine are immediately followed by the response of the director: “Splendidly done! Will you repeat that!" or “Inimitable! Once again!" Thus, by the end of the film the viewer does not know whether the actress has been sincerely crying and complaining or playing a prepared part. We may note that contemporary pop art draws parasitically upon this ability of art.

p But it is at this point that the inadequacy of conventional criteria, which are determined in advance and define art by “framing” it or delimiting it from non-art, becomes apparent. A frame can be placed around almost any work, from The Boyarinya Morozova or the splashes of colour of an abstract painter to an old boot. Everything can have pretensions to being art, but not everything is art. The function of separating valid claims from invalid ones is performed by the criteria of .artistic value.

p At the present time other difficulties, too, with which thinkers of the past have grappled, remain clearly apparent. One such insidious problem, for example, is that of “tautology” of criteria. The essence of this lies in the fact that criteria of evaluation are worked 78 out on the basis of the study of masterpieces which, naturally, serve as examples of the unsurpassed. Subsequent artists have had, consequently, either to create in terms of established canons or to take new paths and accept accusations of deviating from the rules of “good taste”, destroying aesthetics, etc. Masterpieces involuntarily become a brake on progress and the “judgement of history" is transformed into a summary tribunal. This is not to mention the fact that the canonisation of masterpieces effectively removes these works themselves from the scope of criticism, making it impossible to distinguish what is of lasting value in them from their shortcomings. This not only distorts taste but also ultimately precludes the establishment of an evaluative method capable of taking account of all new theories. Lev Tolstoy wrote, for example, that “nothing so bedevils the concept of art as the recognition of authorities. Instead of determining whether, according to a clear and precise concept of art, the works of Sophocles, Homer, Dante, Shakespeare and Goethe ... measure up to conceptions of good art and which ones in particular do so, art itself and its laws are defined in terms of existing works by artists recognised as great. Yet there are many works by noted artists which are beneath criticism and many false reputations, which have achieved fame by chance."  [78•1 

p The history of aesthetics shows, too, that attempts to find a single, all-embracing criterion invariably produce results that are less than satisfactory. This was true of Aristotle’s “coordination and proportionality”, Diderot’s “relationships” and Hegel’s “correspondence of form and content”, not because they failed to conform to reality but because, having marked out a facet or aspect of art, they placed an absolute significance upon it to the detriment of other aspects of art. The more abstract and “general” a criterion, the more readily it has countenanced inferior art as well; moreover, criteria of this kind have been of little assistance to the critic in making practical evaluations, since, for example, a criterion such as the unity of form and content, which is, in general, valid, requires a further criterion verifying the presence of unity. If we adduce a number of criteria rather than one criterion, the problem inevitably arises of the system to which they belong and the order in which they must be applied. It would, for example, be incorrect simply to list several criteria, even if they were, individually, of importance. We shall have a system of criteria at our disposal only when, having begun with the principal criterion (i.e., one rooted in the essence of art), we examine it until we feel its inadequacy: that is, until we reach the point at which the criterion 79 itself, through the logic of its application, leads us beyond its own boundaries towards a new criterion, adding to the first, and so on, until every aspect of art essential to producing an evaluation has been covered. Only criteria through which runs a chain of logical succession form a system; otherwise they represent a chaotic heap of weapons which, although menacing in themselves, have not been made battle-ready.

p The key to the criteria of evaluation lies, consequently, in the conception of art. The essence of art is given detailed examination in Marxism; Marxist aestheticians, proceeding from the ideas of Marx, Engels and Lenin and guided by Lenin’s theory of reflection, have created a consistently scientific theory of art. According to this theory, art is a form of human activity which reflects surrounding reality in a specific form (artistic images) from the viewpoint of a social and aesthetic ideal. Naturally, the evaluative criteria of Marxist-Leninist aesthetics, too, flow from this conception. In reflecting life, art performs a whole series of interconnected tasks, from the expression of an ideal, the cognition of reality and the expression of popular aspirations and hopes to recreation and amusement, the supplementing of meagre life experiences and much else. The multiple function of art in itself makes it doubtful that a single, universal criterion will suffice for its evaluation. Rather, we may assume a complex, internally subordinated, system of criteria. However, although many artistic criteria were subjected, in isolation, to highly detailed examination in aesthetic writings, the task of uniting them by an inner logic was rarely undertaken.

As we have already noted, only the Marxist-Leninist conception of art and, above all, the theory of reflection, can provide a scientific basis for attaining this goal. In this connection, Lenin’s essays on Tolstoy acquire especial significance. We find in them the first, principal and objective criterion for the evaluation of art: “And if we have before us a really great artist, he must have reflected in his work at least some of the essential aspects of the revolution."  [79•1  This principal criterion evidently forms a demand concerning content: specifically, the degree to which it reflects important aspects of reality. Lenin was to make numerous refinements, clarifications and additions to this criterion, but the main point—the first premise—is clearly fixed: if art is a reflection of life, it is to be evaluated in terms of how profoundly this is done. The significance of the concept of “the essential" will be discussed in detail below; firstly, let us examine the meaning of “correct reflection”. Only one concept can fully accommodate this demand:

80 “truth”. Correct reflection is truthful reflection. When we turn back to the sources of art and of meditation on art, we always find this among the fundamental criteria, although it takes different forms, ranging from a demand for an exact reproduction of reality (we recall the contest between Zeuxis and Apelles) to complete rejection of faithfulness to the visible world and a search for the “unseen” world, for “inner” truth.

p Thus, since the concept of “truth” has changed in content, over the centuries, we are faced again and again with the task of defining it as faithfully as possible. Above all, we must jettison the naive claim to see in art an exact copy of reality. This standpoint is erroneous both because art is incapable of creating another world like the existing one and because it does not set itself the goal of creating a “spare” reality. On the contrary, art directly declares its conventional character; so far from concealing this, it is sometimes even proud of its conventionality. The fact that art, while not claiming to reproduce life exactly, insists at the same time on a truthful representation of it obliges us to examine more closely the specific features of reflection and truth in art, distinguishing the latter from scientific truth henceforth by use of the term “artistic truth”, a distinction known to both Aristotle and Diderot.

p Artistic truth is above all distinguished from scientific truth by its tolerance of the altered, the conventional, by comparison with life. This fact is of fundamental significance in evaluating a work, for, without rejecting the general demand that art resemble life within the framework of the theory of reflection, the category of artistic truth enables the artist more freely to dispose of his material and, consequently, offers him a broader scope for creativity. The opportunities for using the clearly imaginary in art become even clearer if we recall that art, above all, examines man: that is, artistic truth may be understood as truth about man and his relationship in the world and towards the world. In order to represent this truth the artist will admit “local” exaggerations, combinations and inventions, thus conveying what is most valuable: the human spirit, thoughts and feelings.

p But this, no matter how important, is insufficient to reveal the essence of the category of artistic truth. The problem of “conventionality” in art is at bottom the problem of “how” to write; what to write or, more broadly, what to reflect remains an open question. The limitation imposed by the simple circumstance that the artist is unable to convey the world in its totality in a novel or on canvas obliges him to reflect only certain parts of it: that is, to make a selection of material.

p Thus we come to the first limitation: the point at which the 81 criterion of truth must be supplemented by a new criterion, where truth in itself is inadequate and where, consequently, a transition occurs to a new criterion, flowing of necessity from the initial one, functioning as a first premise.

p The world around us is far from uniform in value. Which facts are worthy of the artist’s attention? Marxist-Leninist aesthetics employs a special category, which is indispensable to the theory of evaluation: the category of typicality. Here, too, we must refer to the idea, expressed by Lenin in connection with Tolstoy, that the artist must reflect not what he sees in general, but the important sides of reality. This point involves the category of the “typical”, which is dialectically linked to the category of the “individual” by interpenetration. The “typical” is still often understood to mean “the most frequently encountered”, “the most probable”, etc. Such an arithmetical interpretation is unable to explain why Turgenev’s Bazarov or Chernyshevsky’s Rakhmetov were, in their time, types, although they did not belong to the majority. The typical is the expression of the essence of a particular phenomenon in its individual and concrete being. It represents a kind of summit towards which the majority of human natures-or phenomena are drawn. But the category of typicality also has its boundaries. Since determining whether a given person is “typical” is not possible without philosophical and social analysis, questions of world outlook and socio-political and class viewpoints are drawn into the process of evaluation. And since the question of a phenomenon’s typicality cannot be answered without touching upon the ideology of the person passing judgement on the one hand and the ideology of the artist on the other, the critic is obliged to turn to a new criterion: that of the idea content of art.

p Ideology implies the evaluation of reality from a particular point of view or in terms of a certain system of values: in short, from the standpoint of an ideal. The ideal is that norm or model in which people’s ideas of society and man are summarised. This ideal is not constant; it is worked out in the course of centuries and acquires a genuinely scientific, objectively true content only in Marxism. Of course, it must not be thought that illuminating life from the standpoint of an ideal necessarily implies either laying on gloss or glossing over faults, etc. “We do not demand ... ideal people at all,” wrote Saltykov-Shchedrin, “but we do demand an ideal."  [81•1  This means showing life in such a way that the reader is clearly conscious of the goal and trend of efforts to reshape the world.

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p But perhaps in talking of evaluation by the artist of events described we are deviating from the function of art? Perhaps the true artist is one who does not involve himself in struggle but only observes it from the sidelines and represents it objectively? It is just these problems that the criterion of ideological commitment resolves. Many aestheticians continue in their attempts to assert that any talk of the ideological commitment of art (and still more of its partisanship) represents a failure to understand the essence of art, putting it at the service of political struggle, infringing upon its specific character, etc. That this is not true and that the criterion of ideological commitment is not imposed upon art but is immanent in it and gives expression to its innermost core was the subject of writings by Marx, Engels, Lenin, Plekhanov and the Russian revolutionary democrats. Modern Marxist aestheticians understand by communist idea content the expression in art of progressive social ideals and the class and social tendencies of a work of art, as well as the criticism of ideas or conditions of life that contradict these ideals. It is important to stress that we are talking here not of an idea content that is, as it were, attached to the work from outside, but one which emanates from the very artistic images and which is an artistic conclusion and not a rational moralisation.

p The history of the development of art shows that the degree to which art is impregnated with ideas varies over the centuries. The general rule here is, however, firstly, of the growing awareness by artists of their social standpoint and, secondly, of the ever increasing mastery of scientific theories which explain the surrounding world. Many artists in the past instinctively felt the injustice of a social system based on the exploitation of man by man and opposed it. However, criticism of this kind was frequently weakened by lack of understanding of the nature of the system. For example, Dobrolyubov regarded as a serious shortcoming in Gogol’s genius the fact that although he “came very close to the point of view of the people, he did so unconsciously, simply by his artist’s sense of touch"  [82•1  Dostoyevsky’s attitude towards idea content is indicative, for in this respect he was often at odds with Tolstoy. “In poetry,” Dostoyevsky wrote, “passion is needed, your own idea is needed and a pointing finger is absolutely indispensable...."  [82•2  These admissions carry the more weight inasmuch as few attacked exploitation of the idea of “direction”, (that is, the exploitation of popular ideas), as fiercely as Dostoyevsky.

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p In summing up everything stated above concerning idea content, we cannot but note that everywhere it was a question of the necessity for taking a definite stand in the social struggle. This feature of art is frequently evaluated in terms of “party allegiance" and “kinship with the people”, which in our time have coalesced with the concept of progressive idea content.

p Thus, the experience accumulated by artists in gaining an understanding of their work, numerous works by theoreticians and the history of the arts provide irrefutable evidence that the idea content of an author’s work and his political standpoint form one of the principal springs of any work and that without evaluating this aspect it is impossible to form an opinion of the value of art.

p Nevertheless, evident truths sometimes seem too simple. For example, the “uncertainty” of form that is seen when a film or book leaves its principal character on the threshold of a decision is frequently confused with an “uncertainty” of idea content: that is, the author’s indefinite attitude to what is taking place. Confusing uncertainty of form (which no one has renounced since, say, Chekhov) with uncertainty of ideological stand unquestionably leads to incorrect evaluative judgements.

p Finally, let us turn to another important problem in defining the idea content of a work of art. Hitherto we have dealt with relatively simple cases, in which the ideological meaning of a work is chiefly given through a “positive” main character. The situation becomes more complex when the artist undertakes the representation of pivotal periods of history, in which the main character combines both positive and negative features. The clear-cut polarity of two opposed centres is replaced by a picture in which the author aims at presenting his main character with the maximum objectivity, uncovering every side of his nature. Of course, this does not mean that henceforth the author adheres to ideological neutrality. The representation of complex, contradictory characters precludes their evaluation by the author in simple, or even simplistic terms, but by no means excludes the evaluation as such. It is frequently within this context that the greatest difficulty arises in the definition of idea content when the ideas of the author diverge from the objective meaning of what he portrays. Classic examples of this occur with Turgenev’s Bazarov and the principal characters of Balzac. But there are much earlier cases. One of the first occurs in the clear discrepancy between authorial evaluations and the objective significance of a character’s actions that is seen in Homer’s Thersites. The divergence between the significance of Thersites’ actions and speeches on the one hand and Homer’s attitude towards him and the reactions of other characters on the other 84 is quite evident. Which idea content has objectively greater importance for us in such cases? That of the author or that of the leading character? What does the former express?—and the latter?

p In one of his essays on Tolstoy Lenin left a valuable methodological indication: “...Contradictions in Tolstoy’s views,” he wrote in 1908, “must be appraised not from the standpoint of the present-day working-class movement and present-day socialism (such an appraisal is, of course, needed, but it is not enough), but from the standpoint of protest against advancing capitalism ... which had to arise from the patriarchal Russian countryside."  [84•1  Here we see two methods of evaluation clearly traced out, as it were, from “inside” and “outside” a particular social phenomenon. Which evaluation is the more significant? In another essay on Tolstoy Lenin gave the answer: “That is why a correct appraisal of Tolstoy can be made only from the viewpoint of the class which has proved, by its political role and its struggle ... that it is destined to be the leader in the struggle for the people’s liberty and for the emancipation of the masses from exploitation."  [84•2 

p If we understand the historical validity of Homer’s views as a representative of the Greek polls, opposing any attempts to undermine its power (“There is no good in power exercised by many!” Odysseus admonishes the trouble-makers), then in our own time the truth of Thersites, adhering to a point of view different from that of the powers that be, becomes clearly evident.

p The criterion of idea content naturally implies not only the evaluation of philosophical and political ideas, but also of ethical, aesthetic and other ideas. Each of these “subsystems” of ideas can, in certain cases, be the decisive determinant of the value of art. This is particularly true in relation to ethical aspects, in connection with which we are fully justified in. speaking of the “moral” criterion of evaluation, representing a continuation of the criterion of idea content. The moral criterion of art makes it possible for us not only to separate, say, art from pornography, but also to uncover flaws in the artist’s moral evaluation of the events represented.

p The correctness of applying this criterion to art is confirmed by the evidence of many artists, in particular Tolstoy’s well-known comment on Maupassant. The Russian author sharply criticised the Frenchman for often lacking “the first, if not the main condition for the worth of a work of art and a correct, moral attitude towards what he represented, that is, a knowledge of the difference 85 between good and evil”; “the author’s inner evaluation of what is good and what is evil becomes confused,” Tolstoy observed.  [85•1  Frequently the moral antenna is a highly important source of evaluative judgement, particularly in works which do not impinge on great political and social problems—for example, lyrics. Of course, in order to judge others a critic must have an unimpeachable moral standpoint, corresponding to the most progressive world outlook of his time.

p During the process of analysing idea content and particularly the author’s moral credo, the critic is frequently confronted by the interesting circumstance that in order to define precisely what an artist said or wanted to say, he must examine how the artist said it. After exhausting the first stratum of content and moving on to the various shades of thought, the critic finds himself faced to an increasing degree by the necessity of analysing artistic form, for without such analysis it is impossible to understand certain aspects of content.

p Therefore, a series of criteria relating to content, one superseding the other, bring the analyst to a fresh series of criteria, this time relating to form, with the aid of which individual aspects of content can be clarified. Hegel noted that “der Inhalt nichts ist, als das Unschlagen der Form in Inhalt, und die Form nichts, als Unschlagen des Inhalts in Form" (“content is nothing more than the transition from form to content and form is nothing more than the transition from content to form”).  [85•2  Thus, even the analysis of form inevitably brings the critic back once more to content.

p We shall refer in this connection to the statement of art critics who, in the course of practical analysis, have constantly been faced by the limitation of “purely” formal criteria. “We do not know,” writes N. N. Volkov, the well-known Soviet art critic, “why one colour combination seems beautiful to us and another, not."  [85•3  He goes on: “The expressiveness of colour and colour combinations is as difficult to explain as the beauty of colour. One thing alone is evident: that expressiveness is linked to the emotional experience of people."  [85•4  In other words, the answer to the question of whether a particular colour is beautiful is posterior to and emerges from the answer to another question: whether the form of the picture as a whole is “expressive”, which also means whether it is “truthful”.

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p Of course, we have exhausted no more than the basic criteria and have not considered possible modifications of them. For example, there are many cases when evaluation of the truthfulness and idea content of a work demands above all analysis of the principal character—at which point the criterion of character emerges; while sometimes the validity of an action acquires a particular importance, which brings into play the criterion of motivation. All these form modifications, the number of which is infinite. There is no reason to reprehend the multiplication of criteria provided this is not used to obscure the existence of main and overriding standards. Criteria which are quite appropriate in a general system become incidental and unreliable if they are deprived of initial scientific premises: namely, a correct understanding of the essence of art.

p Finally, there is a whole series of criteria flowing from the concept of art which describe features specific to each truly aesthetic perception but which are, nevertheless, extremely difficult to use in argumentative evaluation. These are the criteria of “novelty”, “pleasure” (enjoyment), “interest”, etc. The difficulty involved in using them stems from the fact that all these criteria themselves require other criteria, i.e., they are not independent. Thus every work must be new, but not every new work has value. Every genuine work of art evokes pleasure and even enjoyment, but not every experience of pleasure testifies to the existence of a value, since, as we know, substitutes for art are also not infrequently liked by many people. Consequently, all these criteria are necessary but not sufficient for an objective evaluation, which is our subject, and we are brought back to the logical series of criteria which began this examination.

p Such criteria as those of “artistry”, “beauty”, and so on represent quite another issue. The criterion of “artistry”, for example, has so far failed to find a place here and this, of course, is not incidental. “Artistry” is a generalising concept and is, in consequence, the outcome of the application of a number of other criteria. As Chernyshevsky wrote, artistry is only a “collective concept" to “denote the whole complex of qualities proper to works by talented writers".  [86•1  When we say that something is artistic, we thereby do no more than summarise our evaluation of it; the grounds for concrete judgements of value are provided by other, more specific criteria. “Beauty”, of which Lev Tolstoy even said that it confused the whole issue, is another such collective and general concept.

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p Attempts at defining artistry directly and immediately, bypassing preparatory evaluation “aspect by aspect”, degenerate into sterile scholasticism. Was it not for this reason that Chekhov wrote that he feared the word “artistry” as a child feared bogeymen?

p When the subject of the criteria of objective evaluation arises, we are usually placed on our guard: does this not herald the establishing of another normative aesthetics, a fresh model, against which the works of every new author must henceforth be “measured”? Such apprehensions are, however, groundless. Objective criteria tell the critic that he must make quests, but that actually doing this—and each time on the basis of new materials—is a matter for the critic himself. To know the direction to follow and what to evaluate is a great deal in itself, but far from everything—and this does not relieve the critic from the necessity of possessing both taste and talent. We learn from the Goncourt brothers that Turgenev, while apologising for the comparison, likened Hippolyte Taine to a hunting dog he had once owned which could do almost everything correctly: “He tracked, he stopped, he did everything a hunting dog does wonderfully well; there was only one deficiency—he had no sense of smell and I was obliged to sell him".  [87•1  This sad story is an excellent cautionary tale for all proponents of a normative aesthetics, who hope that a standard model will be sufficient in itself for the evaluation of art. Theory provides the critic with a method, but cannot and should not give him prescriptions for every case. As Chekhov said, for the analyst, whether he be scholar or critic, method constitutes “half of the talent”, but although this represents a great deal, the inference, clearly, is that this is only half of the matter.

Thus, a system of criteria founded on the theory of reflection embraces in a definite sequence virtually all criteria now known. Of course, this logical chain is often curtailed in practical criticism, in cases, for example, where a flaw is sufficiently obvious to render discussion of other aspects of the work pointless. In just the same way, the critic does not always apply all the principles enumerated above in judging valid works. But in this case, the reason is quite the opposite: the artist, it is implied, has himself proceeded in his work from the very same premises and it is to be assumed that he had “observed” them. Consequently, it is possible to concentrate on other, generally less important, aspects which, should they be neglected, can substantially weaken the artistic effect of a work.