"We must heap
up a great pile of doing for a small diameter of being," he
says in another place; and then exclaims, "How admirably the
artist is made to accomplish his self-culture by devotion to
his art!" We may escape uncongenial toil, only to devote
ourselves to that which is congenial. It is only to transact
some higher business that even Apollo dare play the truant
from Admetus. We must all work for the sake of work; we must
all work, as Thoreau says again, in any "absorbing pursuit -
it does not much matter what, so it be honest;" but the most
profitable work is that which combines into one continued
effort the largest proportion of the powers and desires of a
man's nature; that into which he will plunge with ardour, and
from which he will desist with reluctance; in which he will
know the weariness of fatigue, but not that of satiety; and
which will be ever fresh, pleasing, and stimulating to his
taste. Such work holds a man together, braced at all points;
it does not suffer him to doze or wander; it keeps him
actively conscious of himself, yet raised among superior
interests; it gives him the profit of industry with the
pleasures of a pastime. This is what his art should be to
the true artist, and that to a degree unknown in other and
less intimate pursuits. For other professions stand apart
from the human business of life; but an art has its seat at
the centre of the artist's doings and sufferings, deals
directly with his experiences, teaches him the lessons of his
own fortunes and mishaps, and becomes a part of his
biography.
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