have called a quack handbook than a living play. It would be ridiculous,
of course, to urge an aspirant positively to avoid the theatre; but the
common advice to steep himself in it is beset with dangers.

It may be asked why, if I have any guidance and help to give, I do not
take it myself, and write plays instead of instructing others in the
art. This is a variant of an ancient and fallacious jibe against
criticism in general. It is quite true that almost all critics who are
worth their salt are "stickit" artists. Assuredly, if I had the power, I
should write plays instead of writing about them; but one may have a
great love for an art, and some insight into its principles and methods,
without the innate faculty required for actual production. On the other
hand, there is nothing to show that, if I were a creative artist, I
should be a good mentor for beginners. An accomplished painter may be
the best teacher of painters; but an accomplished dramatist is scarcely
the best guide for dramatists. He cannot analyse his own practice, and
discriminate between that in it which is of universal validity, and that
which may be good for him, but would be bad for any one else. If he
happened to be a great man, he would inevitably, even if unconsciously,
seek to impose upon his disciples his individual attitude towards life;
if he were a lesser man, he would teach them only his tricks. But
dramatists do not, as a matter of fact, take pupils or write
handbooks.[2] When they expound their principles of art, it is generally
in answer to, or in anticipation of, criticism--with a view, in short,
not to helping others, but to defending themselves. If beginners, then,
are to find any systematic guidance, they must turn to the critics, not
to the dramatists; and no person of common sense holds it a reproach to
a critic to tell him that he is a "stickit" playwright.

If questions are worth discussing at all, they are worth discussing