The Life and Writings of Henry Fuseli, Volume 2 (of 3) — Story, Setting & Ideas

Fuseli's Taxonomy of Invention

Fuseli divides invention into three hierarchical modes: historic, dramatic, and epic. Historic invention, he writes, 'administers to truth' by circumscribing the probable with 'truth of time, place, custom.' Its agents are 'the pure organs of a fact.' Dramatic invention, by contrast, 'inspires, it agitates us by reflected self-love, with pity, terror, hope and fear'; it lays 'the chief interest on the actors,' moulding fact into situations for their exhibition. Epic invention, 'the loftiest species of human conception,' aims 'to astonish whilst it instructs' and is 'the sublime allegory of a maxim.'

These distinctions are not merely theoretical. Fuseli uses them to critique contemporary practice: he laments that modern 'Fancy-Pictures' have debased the ancient Phantasiai by 'indiscriminate laxity of application.' He insists that a mother's or lover's kiss 'acquire their value from the lips they press,' and that 'suffering deformity mingles disgust with pity.' The excerpts do not, however, show Fuseli applying this taxonomy to specific paintings in detail.

The Role of Ancient Art and Its Fragments

Fuseli's lectures rely heavily on surviving ancient monuments. He thanks 'Destiny that, in the general wreck of ancient art, a sufficient number of entire and mutilated monuments have escaped' to prove that his principles 'formed the body of ancient art' and to furnish 'their standard of style.' This claim is made without citing specific examples in the excerpts, but it underscores his method: he deduces principles from extant works, not from texts alone.

In the introduction, Knowles lists the ancient writers on art—excluding Pausanias—as 'historically critical' sources. Fuseli himself, however, seems more interested in the visual evidence. The excerpts show him invoking the Niobe group, the Laocoön, and the Apollo Belvedere by name only in passing; his argument about the universality of certain emotional expressions—'the mutual caresses of maternal affection and infant simplicity'—is illustrated with Raphael's Madonnas and Dante's Ugolino, not ancient sculptures. This suggests a practical, syncretic approach to art history.

The Student as Implied Audience

Knowles's introduction explicitly addresses 'the student who wishes to inform himself of the history and progress of his art.' The lectures are designed to direct him 'to the sources from which my principles are deduced,' enabling him to judge 'how far the theory which I deliver, may be depended on as genuine, or ought to be rejected as erroneous or false.' This pedagogical framing shapes the entire volume.

Fuseli's prose is dense and allusive, assuming familiarity with a canon of artists and writers. He refers to 'Lionardo da Vinci and Albert Durer' as leading elementary works, and to 'Gherard Lairesse' as a later authority. He expects the reader to know the difference between Poussin's historic approach and Raphael's dramatic one. The lectures are not introductory; they are advanced discourses for those already grounded in art theory. The excerpts give no indication of how Fuseli structured his course across the ten lectures listed in the contents, but the opening lecture on 'Ancient Art' suggests a chronological foundation.

Readers approaching this volume should expect a demanding, opinionated treatise on painting theory, not a biography or a survey of Fuseli's own works. The lectures are best read alongside the artworks and authors Fuseli cites—Raphael, Poussin, Homer, Dante—to test his claims. Knowles's editorial role is minimal in the excerpts; he provides a framing introduction but lets Fuseli's voice dominate. The volume is a primary source for understanding late eighteenth-century academic art theory and Fuseli's influential, if idiosyncratic, synthesis of Renaissance and classical ideals.

Fuseli's lectures drift through my mind like candlelight on old sketches—that tension between history and imagination, between what is seen and what is felt. It reminded me, unexpectedly, of a quieter book I once revisited, A Rambler's lease — Edition Insights, whose margins felt similarly alive with the weight of unspoken choices. Some books simply keep you company in that way.