What happened after Ruskin?

Ruskin (centre), with W B Scott (left) and Dante Gabriel Rossetti (right)

“One of the most remarkable men … of all times.” So said Tolstoy, and who are we to disagree? But what exactly became of all that writing, speaking, and thinking, collected in 39 volumes of the Collected Works of Ruskin? What tangible evidence of Ruskin survived his death?

Anyone who has participated in a meeting of the Guild of St George, the charity founded by Ruskin, and still going strong, will be fascinated by the book After Ruskin, by Stuart Eagles (2011). The Guild, after all, was founded by Ruskin himself to execute his ideas. So what did happen to Ruskin’s initiatives such as the Guild? Why did the Guild own cottages in Barmouth, Wales, and still owns a farm in Bewdley, Worcestershire? Eagles is surely correct to state that “the significance of Ruskin’s legacy lies in his inspiration call for social action.” [p1], but the initiatives described here are pretty minor.

Eagles’ book is a pleasant enough tour of some Ruskinian initiatives between 1870 and 1920. It is informative and readable, if not getting to the bottom of why all the people were passionate about Ruskin. What is covered is interesting, although Eagles, rightly or wrongly, leaves out the best-known examples of Ruskin’s influence, such as William Morris (because, curiously, “Morris’s significance in the story of Ruskin’s influence is now well established”) and ends at a rather abitrary date. However, this enables Eagles concentrate on some smaller initiatives, such as the Ruskin Linen Industry in the Lake District, the Woodhouse Mills of Huddersfield, and, the Guild of St George itself.  

The book could be a lot more exciting, perhaps because Eagles’ text is full of dutiful statements that do little to advance the argument. I can read paragraphs of Mr Eagles without being able to deny anything he says, but without learning anything new either. For example: “Ruskin cannot be uprooted from his historical context but not, equally, can the responses of his readers be disentangled either from theirs, or from their perception of his.” [p18]. Nor does it help to read the Tolstoy quote above, since no justification is given for this grand statement. The contrast between Ruskin’s attempt to bring together vast opposites, to marry morals with economics, social values with art history, and even drawing with politics; and the small-scale, often insignificant initiatives carried out in his name is shown very starkly – but not perhaps as the author of this book intended. Look at the photograph of Ruskin above; it would be difficult to visualise anyone more full of energy and passion. Those words of his could move continents, yet compare that to the Ruskin Linen Industry, which at its peak employed around twelve women - and that was one of the more successful initiatives done in the name of Ruskin. 

But to give Eagles credit, he also identifies one reason why people found it difficult to follow Ruskin. He quotes Jose Harris: “R’s social writings were less a blueprint for action than simple a form of personal inspiration … [that] did not necessarily give detailed instruction on how things should be done” [p10]. And despite Ruskin’s mighty prose, it doesn’t boil down to a very precise call to action. He might have said “There is no wealth but life”, but it’s not straightforward to turn that statement into practical action.  

Ruskin himself was fully aware of this difficulty and did his best to make it worse. “I do not and cannot set myself up for a political leader … I entirely decline any manner of political action which shall hinder me from drawing leaves and flowers.” [Fors Clavigera, 1877]. Elsewhere, he was a little more direct: “If you were a companion of St George I would say to you, Have you enough to live on in your present degree of comfort in life? If so – do not add to it. Spend whatever is naturally and easily added to it in charity.” [p76]

Today, much of Ruskin’s thinking is rather uncomfortable. Providing social justice and inspiration through philanthropy towards the working class does not go down well. The very idea of a Working Men’s College (even though it still exists today) is not how we would choose to describe such an initiative today. Ruskin’s idea of museums as outposts of high art to teach the best taste, with rich people devoting some of their wealth (whether monetary or artistic) to initiatives for the poor were not, and are not, very practical.

The Sheffield Winter Garden (2003)

His idea for a museum that would be designed for the workers, full of unbelievably detailed copies of the most beautiful works of art, and deliberately situated miles outside the industrial city of Sheffield, is entirely at odds with present-day museum thinking. Here was a narrowly pedagogical approach, providing what was good for you. Certainly the Ruskin Gallery has always struggled with the idea of a hands-on, “working man’s Bodleian”, something that was perhaps understandably lost in subsequent locations and arrangements of the Gallery. Even the latest incarnation of the Ruskin Exhibition in Sheffield, a single room of miscellaneous objects all selected because they are "beautiful" (in Ruskin's view), including, a vast, microscopically detailed depiction of the front of St Mark’s in Venice, a few coins, pictures of birds and flowers, and specimens of various rocks, seems something of an anachronism. Perhaps the Sheffield Winter Garden, right next to the Ruskin Gallery, and far more popular, has taken Ruskin’s message further than he was ever able to. It is beautiful, it is fun, it is free to walk around, and you can touch the plants. Who wants a stuffy museum with glass cabinets compared with this?