Sri Aurobindo
Letters of Sri Aurobindo
Volume 3
Re. Your yesterday’s letter on ugliness, etc. I find it most illuminating and refreshing. Re. Khagendra Mitra’s letter however a question naturally occurs to me anent his remarks on “for whom do you sing or write poems” etc. When one writes poetry it is not so difficult to supply an answer but when one publishes? Is it not meant for a public too? It can’t be meant solely for the Divine. Re. histrionic art or dance I feel the question more crucial. When one sets up a stage, etc. how can one say one dances or acts for the Divine only. The audience too then 
counts does he not? I mean in poetical or painting production the social aspect is all but non-existent: not so in social arts like dance, histrionics etc., is it? But then Khagen Mitra’s insistence on his tartan not appealing to a wide public due to his personal lack of genius there may be something in that. I mean can one not say that great genuises sometimes appeal to a very wide public? The question then occurs to me that it is perhaps the vitality of the art which appeals to the wide public not its best part – quintessentially artistic part. But then is not the vital part of art an eternal concomitant of a great artist. Perhaps Khagen Mitra and Tagore mean that when they say that the great art must in some way appeal not to a few only but to a great number. I would be very grateful if you would throw some light on this problem. For instance I have while hearing some great musicians felt their music is deep but lacks vitality without which the depth of their appeal is perhaps not fully satisfying – though I have enjoyed it. Didn’t you mean something akin when you wrote re. A. E. ‘s poetry that it did not become great because it lacked vitality. And vitality, forcément, appeals as it is of the nature of the vital to distribute itself, to extravagate itself. In great artists’ masterpieces there is, I feel, some extravagance of life-force which catches fire and appeals widely, though it may be at the cost of its deeper appeal. I wonder if I am clear. But I am sure you will catch my drift nevertheless.
It is quite true that all art and poetry is largely dependent on the vital for its activity and if there is no force of vitality in the poetry then it cannot be strong or great. But it does not follow that the vital element in poetry will appeal to everybody or a great number of people; it depends on the kind of vital movement that is there. The kind of vital energy that you find in Kipling’s ballads appeals to large mass of people; the vital element in Milton which is very powerful appeals to only a few in comparison – the rest take him on trust because he is 
a great classic but have not the same intense enjoyment of him as of Kipling. Yet Milton’s greatness will endure – that cannot be said certainly of Kipling’s ballads. The problem therefore remains where it was. Spiritual poetry also needs the vital force for expression; mere spiritual philosophy without the uplifting poetic force in its expression (which needs the vital energy for its action) cannot appeal to anybody. But all the same in spiritual poetry the vital element takes a form which may not appeal to many, unless it takes a popular religious form which has a general appeal. There I do not follow quite Khagen Mitra’s position – does he contend that one ought to suit one’s poetry to the mentality of others so that it may have a general appeal, not keeping to its natural purpose of expressing what is felt and seen by the poet according to the truth of the inspiration within him? Surely that cannot be recommended; but if it is not done, the possibility of appealing (at first, of course) only to a few remains uneliminated. It is not that a poet deliberately sets out to be appreciated by a few only – he sets out to be himself in his poetry and the rest follows. But consider a poet like Mallarmé. In writing his strange enigmatic profound style which turned the whole structure of French upside down he cannot have expected or cared to be read and appreciated by the general reading public interested and appreciative of poetry. Yet there is no one who has had more influence on modern French poets – he helped to create Verlaine, Valéry and a number of others who rank among the great ones in French literature and he himself ranks very high though he must still be read only by the comparatively few; yet he has practically turned the current of French poetry. So there is something to be said for writing for oneself even if that implies writing only for the few and not for the many.
As for the actor, that is quite a different art, meant for the Public, depending on its breath of applause, ineffective if its public is not moved or captured. A poet publishes, but he can take his chance; if he does not succeed in commanding widespread attention, he can still continue to write; there is 
something in him which maintains its energy and will to create. If he seeks acknowledgment, greatness and success – J although that is a secondary matter to the force that makes him write – he can still sustain himself on the hope of a future greatness with posterity; there are plenty of illustrious examples to console him. But an actor unappreciated is [?] for already dead – there is nothing before him. I must break off here – I may add some more when my slow digestion of K M’s letter is over.