It is one of the curiosities of modern cultural life that a great many people who have neither an interest in art nor any real knowledge of it—people for whom art has never, in the normal course of things, become a significant factor in either their experience or their thought—nonetheless find themselves, for a variety of non-aesthetic reasons, compelled to have a great many opinions about it. In a perfect world (we may suppose) they would live their lives and pursue their specialized tasks, whatever these might be, without feeling obliged to give a moment’s thought to the vexing issues that are likely to suggest themselves to anyone who has formed the habit of reflecting upon the complexities of aesthetic experience. But as the modern world tends—in this respect no less than in others—to be a highly imperfect place, more and more of these aesthetic illiterates (as I believe they may accurately be described) are tempted to speak out on a subject that is wholly alien to their customary outlook on life and its established frames of reference.

Why do they do it? For we are not speaking of fools or knaves, but of intelligent, well-intentioned people who are likely to have some sense of the intellectual risks involved when they venture into realms they know nothing about. Often they are professionals in other fields who have devoted much time and labor to the mastery of their own disciplines, and when it comes to the ongoing work in