Context
From Castle Keep
William Eastlake
In the midst of the madness and
destruction of World War II, Eastlake’s Captain Beckman takes a moment
to lecture his men on the aesthetics of European architecture. Claiming
that “the function of art is to disturb and to awake,” the Captain’s
speech recalls the aesthetic theories of Viktor Shklovsky. Just
before the end of the world Captain Beckman gave us soldiers a lecture
on the history of art. I mean, not too long before the Germans broke
through in the Ardennes, here was a captain in the American Army
telling us about the power, the force, of the Romanesque arch. “What’s that mean?” “He’s coming to it.” “On my time?” “When
there is no war,” I whispered to de Vaca, “the higher-ups make sure the
troops don’t get an hour off. We might think, and if that happens we
might win the war, spoil their game.” “Private Benjamin,”
Captain Beckman called from his lectern on top of a weapons carrier.
“Private Benjamin, if you believe you are more qualified to give this
lecture, if you want to do the talking, why don’t you—” “Thank you, sir. No, I’m sorry. Go ahead.” “Thank
you, Private Benjamin,” Captain Beckman said coldly. “Now, gentlemen,
at this point I want to make clear that the Romanesque column should
never be confused with the neoclassic patterns of the Renaissance, and
there is another common esthetic pitfall that I want you to be aware
of—art as early as the fifteenth century has raised the same
question—always patterned upon the whimsical fantasy of the biological
analogies. Gentlemen, there was no evolution from El Greco to Delacroix
any more than there was any degeneration from Giorgione to Tiepolo.
Empiric fallacies can be laid in part to the esthetic determinism that
culminated in the industrial revolution.” “That thought could come in handy,” Elk said. Captain
Beckman raised his arm. “Aren’t we, gentlemen, faced with the same
problem here as were the Pre-Raphaelites trying to struggle into the
light without the guiding and figurative pulse of William Morris?” “We know him well,” Clearboy said. “I
am intrigued,” Beckman said, “that we Americans can occupy this castle
and imagine that we are living in an example of the neoclassic
Renaissance. This is not true.” “Ain’t so,” de Vaca said. “We
can see it’s not a valid premise if one notes the elliptical
configurations capping the north tower. Do we see any esthetic or
indeed any architectural anomalies in the north door?” “Plenty.” “I
want to suggest that there are no artistic anomalies, gentlemen, only
preconceived progression in our own minds. What Rubens learned in Italy
was not only reflected in his later painting but was, surprisingly
enough, a revolutionary overlay that re-created rather than mimicked
the Renaissance.” “It’s difficult to believe, sir, isn’t it?” “Now,
gentlemen, we are gathered here to fight a war, not to debate esthetic
truths, but I suspect ten years from now, or twenty, at some American
Legion convention, one of the nightmares you will have will be of that
day in the Ardennes when you were not blown up by a bomb, a shell, but
bored to death by Captain Beckman. But my purpose in this talk is to
shock you, to make you realize by dull extension that there is a world
completely unknown to you, without any reference to your imagined self,
but I assure you it has tremendous implications to your true self. The
function of art is to disturb and to awake. It’s something that takes
you apart and puts you back together again, a new person. All of you in
the castle have the unique privilege of occupying a monumental tribute
to man’s concept of beauty.” “The hell you say, Captain.”
