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.