A NEW PHILOSOPHY.
"Futurism" is the thing for those who are looking for a new, strenuous philosophy. We have heard a great deal about the strenuous life. Now we have its religion and its dogma (says the Paris correspondent of the "Daily Telegraph"). M. Marinetti, a Franco-Italian poet, has founded "futurism," which is to be the doctrine of strong men. It will be that of plain men, too, for there is none of your subtle non sense about it, such as Nietzsche persisted in complicating his philosophy with, thereby putting off the strenuous young man in a hurry. For the latter "futurism" is the very thing. Its manifesto says:—
"The essential elements of our poetry are courage, audacity, and rebellion. Literature having hitherto exalted pensive inaction, ecstasy and slumber, we will glorify aggressive motion, feverish insomnia, running, jumping, boxes on the ears, and fisticuffs." Is, by the way, feverish insomnia a good training for pugilists? The manifesto goes on to motoring:
"A racing car, with the pipes of its radiator-like serpents with explosive breathing, is more beautiful than the Victory of Samothrace."
Tastes differ, but one may point out that the portion of a motor which explodes is not usually the radiator. Futurism is expounded in a dozen more articles of faith.
"Fighting only is beautiful. All masterpieces are aggressive. Let us look behind us no longer. Time and space are no more; they died yesterday. War is the sole hygiene of the world. We preach destruction, ideas that kill, and contempt for women. We will pull down all museums and libraries; we will fight moralism, feminism and utilitarian cowardice. We will sing of arsenals, factories, railway stations, iron bridges, steamers, locomotives and aeroplanes.
"We launch this manifesto in Italy because we want to rid Italy of her gangrene of professors, archæologists, ciceroni, and antiquarians. We will rid her of her innumerable museums, which are so many cemeteries. Museums are fit for invalids, not for us, the young, strong futurists, so let fire burn all the books and water flood the museums, and the glorious pictures be swamped. The oldest among us are just 30. We have ten years before us for fulfilling our task. When we are 40 let younger and more daring men than we be good enough to throw us into the waste-paper basket like old manuscripts."
The manifesto is greatly abridged, because the futurists, whatever else they may be, are not pithy. Young and strenuous, Mr. Marinetti writhes like Walt Whitman gone mad. But Whitman sang, instead of telling us what he was going to sing.
Why do not the futurists write their poems about railway trains and aeroplanes, their sermons in steam-engines, and books in racing motor-cars, instead of telling us they mean to write them? The burning of museums, recommended in the manifesto, reminds one of go ahead young Romans to-day, whom nothing irritates so much as to be asked about the Arch of Constantine or the Borghese Palace, and who in reply point out the beauties of their tramway service.
11 May 1909.
"The essential elements of our poetry are courage, audacity, and rebellion. Literature having hitherto exalted pensive inaction, ecstasy and slumber, we will glorify aggressive motion, feverish insomnia, running, jumping, boxes on the ears, and fisticuffs." Is, by the way, feverish insomnia a good training for pugilists? The manifesto goes on to motoring:
"A racing car, with the pipes of its radiator-like serpents with explosive breathing, is more beautiful than the Victory of Samothrace."
Tastes differ, but one may point out that the portion of a motor which explodes is not usually the radiator. Futurism is expounded in a dozen more articles of faith.
"Fighting only is beautiful. All masterpieces are aggressive. Let us look behind us no longer. Time and space are no more; they died yesterday. War is the sole hygiene of the world. We preach destruction, ideas that kill, and contempt for women. We will pull down all museums and libraries; we will fight moralism, feminism and utilitarian cowardice. We will sing of arsenals, factories, railway stations, iron bridges, steamers, locomotives and aeroplanes.
"We launch this manifesto in Italy because we want to rid Italy of her gangrene of professors, archæologists, ciceroni, and antiquarians. We will rid her of her innumerable museums, which are so many cemeteries. Museums are fit for invalids, not for us, the young, strong futurists, so let fire burn all the books and water flood the museums, and the glorious pictures be swamped. The oldest among us are just 30. We have ten years before us for fulfilling our task. When we are 40 let younger and more daring men than we be good enough to throw us into the waste-paper basket like old manuscripts."
The manifesto is greatly abridged, because the futurists, whatever else they may be, are not pithy. Young and strenuous, Mr. Marinetti writhes like Walt Whitman gone mad. But Whitman sang, instead of telling us what he was going to sing.
Why do not the futurists write their poems about railway trains and aeroplanes, their sermons in steam-engines, and books in racing motor-cars, instead of telling us they mean to write them? The burning of museums, recommended in the manifesto, reminds one of go ahead young Romans to-day, whom nothing irritates so much as to be asked about the Arch of Constantine or the Borghese Palace, and who in reply point out the beauties of their tramway service.
11 May 1909.
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