The Struggle of the Artist

By James Baldwin

I really don’t like words like “artist” or “integrity” or
“courage” or “nobility.” I have a kind of distrust of all those
words because I don’t really know what they mean, any more than I
really know what such words as “democracy” or “peace” or “peace-
loving” or “warlike” or “integration” mean. And yet one is
compelled to recognize that all these imprecise words are
attempts made by us all to get to something which is real and
which lives behind the words. Whether I like it or not, for
example, and no matter what I call myself, I suppose the only
word for me, when the chips are down, is that I am an artist.
There is such a thing. There is such a thing as integrity. Some
people are noble. There is such a thing as courage. The terrible
thing is that the reality behind these words depends ultimately
on what the human being (meaning every single one of us) believes
to be real. The terrible thing is that the reality behind all
these words depends on choices one has got to make, for ever and
ever and ever, every day.

By James Baldwin

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