At least a name is some sort of a standard nowadays. In the absence of other standards it is something to cling to; and the modern visitor to an Art exhibition has precious little to cling to, poor soul! Still, even names become perplexing in the end; for it soon occurs to the lay student in question that, not only Millais, but also Leighton, Whistler, Rodin, Frith, Watts, Gauguin, John, and Vuillard have names in the Art world. Now, it is generally at this stage that such a student of Art either retires disconcerted from his first attempts at grappling with the problem, and takes refuge in indifference; or else, from the depth of his despair, draws a certain courage which makes him say that, after all, _he knows what he likes_. Even if he does utter a heresy at times against fashion or against culture, he knows what pleases him. And thus is formed that large concourse of people who set up what they like and dislike as the standard of taste. It is in vain that painters and sculptors deplore the existence of this part of their audience. It is they themselves who are responsible for its existence. It is the anarchy in their own ranks that has infected the bravest of their followers. The taste of the masses, endowed with self-confidence in this way, is now a potent force in European Art, and among those so-called artists who do not suffer under the existing state of affairs, there are many who actually conform and submit to this mob-rule. In my next lecture I shall show how even the art-canons of the lay masses have been adopted by some painters and sculptors in perfect good faith. "Too long have we acknowledged them to be right, these petty people," says Zarathustra. "Thus we have at last given them power as well;--and now they teach that 'good' is only what petty people call 'good.'" It is on this account that many sincere and refined natures turn reluctantly away from Art altogether nowadays, and begin to doubt whether it serves any good purpose in the world at all. They grow weary of the humbug of the studios, the affectation of gushing amateurs, and the snobbery of the lionizing disciple of one particular school, and doubt the honesty even of his leader. They grow timid and renounce all judgment in Art, wondering whether any of it really matters. In a gingerly fashion they still hold on to generally accepted views,-- views that time seems to have endorsed,--and thus they very often give all their attention to the Old Masters.[48] And yet, it is in thus turning away with contempt from modern Art, that sincere people tacitly acknowledge how profoundly serious the question is on which they have turned their backs. For, it is the horror of its disorder that makes them disconsolate: they could continue facing this disorder only if the matter were less important.