The Soul of the Artist

by Chōkōdō Shujin

Chōkōdō Shujin asserts that a true work of art must reflect the artist’s state of mind, for it is this inner world that gives life and authenticity to the creation.

A work of art always reflects the state of mind of its creator. In other words, the artist’s state of mind is invariably reflected in his work. A work that does not contain the artist’s state of mind, then, cannot be called a true work of art. And a writer who does not have a state of mind that should be reflected in his work is not a true artistic writer.

The more beautifully the work reflects the artist’s state of mind, the more it essentially becomes a pure work of art. It naturally follows that the more a writer reflects his own state of mind in his work, the more he essentially becomes an artist. Whether a piece of writing is a work of art or not, and whether or not a particular writer can be properly called an artist, depends on the state of mind as described above. Of course, the state of mind to which I am referring is only that, a state of mind. It is the state of the soul and its world. It is not simply a kind of thought, emotion, intention, will, or assertion.

There are innumerable degrees and differences in the breadth, depth, and direction of the state of mind that an individual can have. However, a person’s state of mind, as long as he truly lives, will gradually increase in breadth and depth, following a certain direction depending on the temperament of the individual. Such cultivation of one’s state of mind is the most important thing for an artist. When there is no progress in that state of mind, there is no progress in art. No matter how many works an artist produces, so long as he remains in the same state of mind, he is essentially stagnant. Established masters, too, can easily fall into such stagnation.

As an artist sees many things, handles many materials, and writes many works, a kind of pattern is formed by this overlapping momentum. This is not only in terms of technique, but also in terms of the overall individual as an artist and as a human being. Just as there are many types of professions in the world, such as businessmen, office workers, government officials, and tradesmen, there are also various types of artists. However, while it is fine for all other types to be fixed, the artist’s style alone must not remain fixed.

An artist who is stuck in a fixed pattern loses his vitality in the way he perceives things, in the way he sees, feels, and thinks, in his attitude to life, and, especially, in his art. The criticism of so-called professional art is only true when it refers to this loss of purity, as it were. A true artist, no matter how excellent he may be in the art of expression, always has on the one hand a sort of purity. It is from this purity that the vividness and vitality of art is born. For an artist who has lost this purity and is stuck in a certain mold, no matter how much progress he may make in the art of expression, it is only an external, mechanical progress, not an internal, living progress. To say that the content and expression of art are one and the same is a statement about the finished work, not about the artist.

Without internal progress, that is, without progress in one’s state of mind, there can be progress only in the art of expression. Without progress in the art of expression, there can be internal progress — progress in one’s state of mind. For the artist, the latter is more desirable than the former, although it is best to have both. When there is only progress in the art of expression and no progress in the state of mind, the artist, no matter how excellent his works, is already at a standstill in his life as an artist. He is still in the same place, repeating the same steps.

Whether he is talented or not is of course a question. But whether he is making progress or not should be more of an issue. Whether a work is good or bad is a question of the work itself. Whether a work is beautiful or ugly, deep or shallow, is ultimately a question of authorship. This question of authorship is ultimately a question of the artist’s state of mind. When a person reaches a certain state of mind, he naturally wants to remain there. As long as he remains there, he can feel safe and secure. To leave such a state is uneasy.

When an artist reaches a certain state of mind, he, too, wants to rest there. But to live and, moreover, to create, necessarily and inherently means to move forward. To stop at one place is not to live. In order to live as an artist, one’s artistic state of mind must develop. However, established artists tend to be comfortable in the “one place” mentality and become very reluctant to push forward with their artistic development. It is not only established masters who are at fault. Unestablished artists also have their own problems. In many cases, the unestablished artists do not even have a single state of mind. In many cases, there is only interest and excitement. This is where the so-called lack of poise comes from.

First and foremost, an artist must have the spirit of an artist. He must have an unwavering heart in his way of seeing, feeling, and thinking about things, in his attitude towards life, and in his attitude towards art. In other words, he must have a single state of mind. To be without a single state of mind is even worse than to be without progress in one’s state of mind. A work written by an artist without a single state of mind can hardly be called a work of art.

The feeling of a work of art, the feeling that separates a work of art from an editorial, a record, or a story, or what is called “artistry,” all come from the author’s state of mind in which the work resides. Since the state of mind is the state of the heart — the soul — there are various types and manifestations. Some sing, some shout, some weep, some pierce, and some observe in silence. But there must always be living blood flowing through it. For the artist, stage blood is not enough, as it were. Although thought is a function of the mind and emotion is a function of the heart, the state of mind is the living world that includes all of these things.

A work of art is not the result of the workings of any one part of a person. It is created from the living world in which the artist’s soul resides. A work of art that is not written from a certain state of mind is the product of mere skill of expression, and perhaps an interest in and excitement about the material. Techniques of expression alone do not give life to a work. The same is true of the interest and excitement present in the materials.

A work made entirely of such things, no matter how skillful and powerful it may appear on the outside, is in reality tasteless, sloppy, and devoid of any sense of life. It is the spirit of Realism that produces works of Realism, and it is the spirit of Romanticism that produces works of Romanticism. It is the state of mind of Baudelaire that produces the works of Baudelaire, and it is the state of mind of Dostoevsky that produces the works of Dostoevsky. In this case, the form of expression and the direction of composition are secondary. An artist who does not take into account his state of mind will fall into secondary and tertiary considerations, and will thus deviate from the path of true art. The fault of many inexperienced artists is that they only want to move forward without first thinking about and then developing their state of mind. When an artist follows such a path, the further he goes, the further he will fall away from art.

The good Impressionistic works came into being because the Impressionistic state of mind became more and more harmonious. Similarly, the good works of the Expressionists were born because the Expressionist state of mind became more and more complete. In order for good Surrealist works to be produced, the Surrealist state of mind must become all-encompassing. A technique apart from the state of mind is a mere compositional technique. An assertion that is independent of one’s state of mind is a mere logical argument. Views and ways of thinking that are separate from one’s state of mind are simply critical views and ways of thinking. Artistic techniques, claims, views, and ideas are not such things. The heart — the soul — has to fall into it. It is necessary to be in that particular state of mind.

It is easy to turn one’s brain in a certain direction. It is difficult to set the soul in a certain direction. But for an artist, the first question is whether or not he has a soul. Thus, there was the lament that the literary world had come to a standstill as a result of the established masters being fixated on one state of mind and not moving forward, and the unestablished artists only trying to move on and not paying attention to developing their own state of mind.

Since the twentieth century, there have been quite a few who have preached that a new light will shine on the literary world, or at least some change will take place, and even if they do not proclaim it, there have been many who have held such thoughts in their hearts. However, according to what I think, this does not seem to be the case. Even if there may be some external secondary and tertiary changes, or even if some new material may appear, some new arguments may be made, there will be no essential change. At the very least, the image of the author reflected in the depths of these works does not reveal any new state of mind.

In order to create a certain movement in the literary world, a certain impetus must be given inside the literary world. An external impetus will quickly pass away. However disastrous the consequences of the twentieth century were, for the literary circles as a whole, they were only temporary and external. The literary world is quickly returning to its previous state. It is not surprising that the political world has followed the same path as it did before the war and has atrophied. This is because there was not enough incentive within the political community to inspire any lasting change. It was because there was no voice in the wilderness.

In order to move the deadlocked literary world, whether after the twentieth century or at any other time, there has to be that kind of impetus within the literary world, as well. There must be a voice within the literary circles that cries out in the wilderness, lest it wither away. There is no spirit like the voice of the prophet who cries out in the wilderness of Judea, “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand.”

The voice of the prophet calling out in the wilderness is the one that penetrates into the hearts of men. It is this voice that inspires the established masters to not only remain in a fixed state of mind, but also to aspire to further artistic progress. It is this voice that makes the novice think deeply, breaks through his superficial excitement, and awakens him to a new state of mind.

From where does this voice emerge?

Sometimes it comes directly from the mouth of a single person, whether an established master or novice. Or it may arise spontaneously from the atmosphere of a group. Or, it may scream out from the words of criticism. Perhaps it may silently lurk between the lines of a work. However, it is always born from a certain soul, a naked soul without any pretense. At this point, the artist’s state of mind is no longer of consequence. The human soul, itself, is the problem.

Such a soul is the one that emits light. It is the soul that gives life to itself and gives life to others. It is still not very difficult to establish this soul in a certain state, but for some, to let this light shine into the soul is the greatest of all difficulties. It can only be done by those who can make use of external stimuli as internal stimuli, those who can always live pious and sincere lives, and those who can leave their selfishness behind and see things nakedly and without self-interest. Blessed are the literary circles that can accept such souls, possess them, and even cultivate and nurture them. Such a literary world will not be poisoned by troublesome disturbances, but will always be able to move forward with vigor and vitality, unencumbered by trivialities. It does not lose the light that inspires writers. Let us forget the lamentation that the artist must eternally remain voiceless in the wilderness.