"For the creation of a masterwork of literature two powers must concur, the power of the man and the power of the moment, and the man is not enough without the moment"
About this Quote
Arnold is arguing against the comforting myth of solitary genius: talent doesn’t “win” on its own; it needs history to cooperate. The line turns on that repeated “power,” a deliberately equalizing word that demotes the author from demigod to one force among others. Then comes the kicker - “the man is not enough” - a blunt deflation that reads like Victorian modesty but functions as cultural criticism. Arnold is telling his audience to stop confusing craft with consequence.
The subtext is anxiety about timing: why do some writers become monuments while others, equally skilled, fade into footnotes? Arnold’s answer isn’t mystical; it’s structural. A “moment” can mean a public hungry for a certain moral language, an institution ready to circulate it, a crisis that turns private perception into shared need. Masterworks, in this view, aren’t just written; they’re met. They land.
Context matters. Arnold wrote in an England transformed by industrialization, expanding literacy, and the long hangover of Romantic genius-worship. As a poet and cultural critic, he’s also defending standards in a noisy marketplace: if the era is chaotic, the critic’s job is to notice which works crystallize its pressures rather than merely display personal brilliance. It’s a sly repositioning of authority. The poet still matters, but the age gets a vote.
The sentence works because it’s unsentimental about art while still romantic about impact: greatness is not only a quality of the work, but a collision between a mind and an opening in time.
The subtext is anxiety about timing: why do some writers become monuments while others, equally skilled, fade into footnotes? Arnold’s answer isn’t mystical; it’s structural. A “moment” can mean a public hungry for a certain moral language, an institution ready to circulate it, a crisis that turns private perception into shared need. Masterworks, in this view, aren’t just written; they’re met. They land.
Context matters. Arnold wrote in an England transformed by industrialization, expanding literacy, and the long hangover of Romantic genius-worship. As a poet and cultural critic, he’s also defending standards in a noisy marketplace: if the era is chaotic, the critic’s job is to notice which works crystallize its pressures rather than merely display personal brilliance. It’s a sly repositioning of authority. The poet still matters, but the age gets a vote.
The sentence works because it’s unsentimental about art while still romantic about impact: greatness is not only a quality of the work, but a collision between a mind and an opening in time.
Quote Details
| Topic | Writing |
|---|---|
| Source | Matthew Arnold, Essays in Criticism (1865), essay "The Function of Criticism at the Present Time" (common source cited for this passage). |
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