Sub-cosmic Reasons
Very well. Fine. The convincing bugger has convinced us, not because he’s so convincing, but because our case is so hard – not to say impossible – to argue. I know that (she whined). I realize that, I understand that. But I also still say it doesn’t matter, at least not much. It’s still worth going on trying to make a case for the superiority of poetry over pushpin. Yes, that superiority is provisional and local – it’s a human superiority, not a superiority inscribed in the cosmos. It wouldn’t even convince other earthly mammals, let alone nameless entities in other galaxies. A giraffe would just think poetry is too short, and too close to the ground, and not spotted enough. A whale would think it’s too dry, and not fishy enough. What someone from the ninth planet out from Alpha Centauri would think, who knows. But since we are humans, and have human thoughts and tastes and opinions, we don’t care about that any more than giraffes care what we think of acacia leaves for dinner.
And there are all sorts of practical reasons for continuing to have the discussions, obviously. It’s how we decide what to include in literature classes, for instance. It’s how we decide what to read, what to check out of the library, what movies to go see, what to watch on tv, what to urge other people to read and watch and go see and listen to. It’s how we do anything at all, really. It’s how we choose. We don’t do it at random, not unless we have some mental quirk or other; we choose things and courses of action for a reason; we think one thing or act is better than another, and that’s why we want it or do it, or else why we think we ought to want it or do it even if we don’t quite manage. As Ovid’s Medea has it, in one of the few Latin tags I know – ‘Video meliora proboque, deteriora sequor.’ I see the better and approve it, but I follow the worse.
Better and worse are simply human words, opinion words, in a way that there and not there, something and nothing, E=MC2 are not, quite. That giraffe, dinosaur, limestone, star, are not, quite. The words are what we call those things, but the things themselves are what they are even if we don’t exist and never have existed. Unless they’re not, of course; unless the evil demon has my brain in a vat and I’ve imagined all of it. But my bet is that if the evil demon were going to do that it would come up with a better brain in a vat than mine – that’s my refutation of the evil demon.
That’s enough of that frivolity. At any rate. Value judgments don’t have to be cosmic or absolute or permanent or trans-specific to be worth something, do they. The cosmos doesn’t mind if you pick your nose at the dining table, but I sure as hell do if I’m at the same table. The cosmos doesn’t care what entries we include in the Fashionable Dictionary and which ones we leave out – but the Dictionary’s authors do, as do its publishers and readers, so it is worth discussing and thinking about and weighing reasons for. A century now no one will care an atom whether I spent my life watching the Home Shopping Channel on tv or not – but I do. So there we are, stuck with our provisional value judgments. Whatever.
“Yes, that superiority is provisional and local”
I’m afraid it isn’t even that. It would simply be that you’ve persuaded people that poetry is superior to pushpin.
You’re not afraid at all, you’re chortling gleefully. And I know, that’s what I meant. I meant ‘that superiority even if you succeed in making a case for it is provisional and local all the way down.’ I meant ‘even if all humans did agree on it which they wouldn’t, it would still be provisional and local.’ I meant ‘even granting some form of human superiority for poetry, which is granting too much, granted, but even granting that, it’s still provisional and local.’
There!
No chortling here! :-)
I’m not even sure you can “make a case for it”. At least, it depends what you mean by that. There’s a gap between any description you might make of the characteristics of a piece of art that you admire and an ascription of aesthetic value. Therefore, I’m not quite sure what it means to say that “one makes a case” for something. You can try to persuade, but… well I’m just not sure what that amounts to (and I mean the “I’m not sure” bit!).
“The art really does have tangible, describable qualities that affect some kinds of people some of the time.”
Sure, but then you’re in the realm of the psychology of aesthetic appreciation, which is something different, I think.
Also, if you seek to draw certain kinds of conclusions from the kind of analysis which you’re suggesting (and I realise that you’re not seeking to do so), you run the risk of running into an “ad populem” fallacy.
“You can try to persuade, but… well I’m just not sure what that amounts to (and I mean the “I’m not sure” bit!).”
I know. I was doing a bit of tidying and organizing and thinning out old email earlier today and found a long exchange we had on this subject last fall – one I’d completely forgotten about. You disputed my “missing out” argument, talking about running, and eating habits, and computer programming. I suppose I know what you mean – dammit.
I keep retreating, step by step.
But…I still think (I think I still think) it’s worth persuading people and (if one is a teacher) teaching people to appreciate things they don’t appreciate on first acquaintance – because appreciation so often is cumulative. Because, in other words, the persuasion/teaching often does accomplish something, and leave people better off. Which commits me to agreeing that I’m missing out on things like running and computer programming – but I can accept that. I did say that at the beginning – that there is plenty I miss out on and I realize that.
So, yeah, I suppose it does boil down to a matter of taste, to chocolate or vanilla. But there is always the potential to discover pistachio and amaretto and peach. And strained metaphors.
There are innumerable things all of us miss out on, of course. I’ll probably never travel in outer space, and I’m sure that would be an enriching experience – if I lived. I’m fairly sure I’ll never train for and win an Olympic event, what with being a regrettably average physical specimen and all that. The list can go on and on. All of these things have great potential benefits, no doubt.
But then, there are plenty of experiences I’ll probably miss out on that I’ll be GLAD to miss out on. Getting gored by a mountain goat, for instance, or getting my ass kicked by 5 guys outside a bar. OK, that last one might be pretty likely.
The point is, we can still find some of these experiences we’re missing out on preferrable to others, based on reasonable criteria. And if we can’t definitively rank the merits of being a great athlete versus being a scholar of Romantic literature, we can at least describe attractive features of each, so that people can figure out which rewards seem most attractive to them.
Phil
“… it’s a human superiority, not a superiority inscribed in the cosmos.”
I think the superiority is even more limited than that; I’d say it depends on who you’re with and what you’re doing. Say I’m sitting around, drinking beer with friends–pushpin or poetry? Most people, most times, pushpin; rarely, and only with a certain few, poetry.
Art seems to me a species of play and we can have all sorts of reason for choosing to play one game rather than another. One reason for playing an art game with someone–going to movies, listeneing to music, looking at paintings, swapping books–is that it’s fun to find someone who shares your tasts and sometimes it’s even better when you find someone who doesn’t. I don’t think anyone ever persuaded me to like a work of art that I didn’t like, but several times I have been persuaded that my opinion of a book or a movie was too high.
Not being an artist, I have no idea why they do what they do, but I’m glad that they keep doing it–even the ones whose work I don’t like. I’m suspicious of the idea of objective values in art, and I’m even more suspicious of divining the artist’s intentions, but I am happy to have the opportunity to compare what others say about a work with my reactions. As I said, sometimes I change my mind about the art; but sometimes I change my mind about the people.
Isn’t it nice that one can apply one’s reductionism,- (no doubt in accordance with professional dictates)-, and still keep one’s “handwaving”? Does that imply that one fails to notice that handwaving is a gesture of greeting and farewell?
Well I’m not at all sure that they can keep their handwaving…
“I don’t think anyone ever persuaded me to like a work of art that I didn’t like”
See, that’s not true of me, and that’s why I persist in thinking the conversation is worth having. That the handwaving is not pointless or illegitimate. I’ve been persuaded many times to like a work of art I didn’t like at first – more often by reading something than in conversation, I’m pretty sure, but the effect is the same. I’ve also persuaded myself simply by trying again later, when I knew a little more.
Poetry or pushpin isn’t an either/or I agree – cultural factors (including the strong possibility of a smack in the mouth) may well determine which we choose when.
“trying again later, when I knew a little more”. Aboslutely, Ophelia. IMHO, one of the crucial considerations in aesthetic assessment is richness. How often can you come to that well and still draw water? How hard do you have to work to get the most out of a work?
These considerations can help make me (maybe you?) understand why I’d rather listen to Bach than Bruce Springsteen for aesthetic pleasure, all though in some moods I’m very happy to listen to Bruce for very different reasons.
Cheers
“See, that’s not true of me, and that’s why I persist in thinking the conversation is worth having. That the handwaving is not pointless or illegitimate. I’ve been persuaded many times to like a work of art I didn’t like at first – more often by reading something than in conversation, I’m pretty sure, but the effect is the same. I’ve also persuaded myself simply by trying again later, when I knew a little more. “
Exactly. I’ve been persuaded many times to go back and reassess a work of art I initially disliked by reading good arts criticism. Correspondingly, I’ve also acquired more negative perspectives on works of art I initially liked by reading well-reasoned critical hatchet jobs.
But I have never been persuaded to think that Brussels sprouts taste good by reading a glowing review of Brussels sprouts, or stop liking light chocolate better than dark chocolate because of a polemic against the former. So, there seems to be a difference – although I’ll refrain from drawing detailed conclusions just now.
Phil
Richness, yep. At least, I think so, but of course JS would just say that he could assert that art which is immediately entirely accessible is superior, without necessarily believing it.
But I do think so, all the same. It’s the difference between Ben Jonson and Shakespeare, for instance. Jonson is really terrific in his way – his language is stunningly rich and he’s damn funny. But he’s all there. What you see is what you get. That’s okay, that’s not a disabling criticism; very good all at one time is very good. But. Reading (and/or seeing) Hamlet or Lear or Twelfth Night is different. There’s just always, always more, no matter how many times you’ve read or seen it – or even acted in and/or directed it. Shakespearean actors and directors and actor-directors all say that. Jacobi, Branagh, Peter Hall, John Barton, Trevor Nunn, McKellen, Kingsley, Suchet – they all say that.
True about the sprouts! (Actually sprouts are really good if you don’t cook them much. They have a nice sharp horseradishy taste.) Maybe we can cobble up some sort of case about the difference between physical taste, taste-bud taste, and the cognitive variety.
OB & Phil:
I do agree that the conversation is worth having and that it’s worthwhile to give a piece a chance to work for me. Paintings, poems, etc, often require repeated encounters, and suggestions from critics or friends, before I accumulate enough fragmentary reactions to construct a solid opinion. (“construct a solid opinion” Does that make sense?) On the other hand, the farthest I’ve ever moved, as far as I can recall, is from disinterest to liking, never from actual brussels-sproutean dislike to liking.
One example of the former is “Prufrock”: I’d been forced to read it in school and it was just another poem; one day, years later, I came across the first stanza(?) in an essay and, as I read it, I heard a human voice speaking the words. Since then, the poem has come to life for me. I don’t Know any more about it than I did in school, but reading it now is an Experience.
An example of the latter is Renoir. No matter how much I hear or read about his work, whenever I see the Boating Party or the Girl with Watering Can, they just look, I don’t know … false or thin.
Exactly. That’s how it was for me with King Lear, for instance. I read it at university and it just didn’t do much for me. I didn’t dislike it, but I didn’t ‘get’ it. I felt a bit frustrated and baffled about it, too – was pretty sure I was missing something, but couldn’t do anything about it. Now I ‘get’ it. In that particular instance I don’t think it is a matter of more knowledge – I think it’s just being older, having more time on the planet.
Funny about Renoir – I don’t like him either, never have. I just don’t like those soft blurry boneless faces.
I also agree. I went through a period in my twenties when I thought that classical music was somehow better, etc., than rock music. I listened to an awful lot of it. Beethoven’s late quartets were my love children (or something like that).
But then I had a conversation with myself (nobody else will talk to me), mainly about Abba’s Dancing Queen, and I realised that I had been mistaken. Rock music was the bee’s knees after all. Phew!
Very droll, Prime Minister.
But that’s what I’m saying, sarky! I was just mulling over a post saying much the same thing. Or sort of.
You can’t ground ‘bee’s knees’ you know. Grasshopper’s elbows, possibly, but bee’s knees, no.
R.K.Elliott writes about ‘experiencing from without’ and ‘experiencing from within’ – describes the ‘Prufrock’ and ‘Lear’ thing quite well.
I can’t quite see what ‘Dancing Queen’ has got to do with rock music though. A bit like being converted from red wine to white by drinking Dr. Pepper.
I think the ‘Dancing Queen’ thing is partly a tease. JS has these party pieces he likes to trot out to annoy people.
Maybe I should do a new staging of ‘King Lear’ with ‘Dancing Queen’ for background music.