In one sense, a ‘definition’ of the concept of value has now begun to emerge, on the whole by suggesting what value is not. I’ve also begun to suggest the kind of grounds we need to establish value. I want to limit this though, in regard to the specific case (I’ll come back to the abstract concept later) of Art.
As I suggested in the previous entry, to approach the idea of value, we need to engage in comparison. Art enables us to do this, whether it is comparison with our contemporary present, or with previous historical ‘formulations’ (?) of society. When we examine a painting, watch a film, see a play, listen to music, read a novel, each of these conjures a picture of the society that produced them for us – both in terms of “What was it like?” and “What could it have been like?”. This is partly because Art is ‘motivated’ by discontent, by conflict, with what exists, and partly because Art is progressive – this is to say, it is not suggesting ways in which society can be perfect (although in some cases this might be the case), but suggests ways in which society can ‘improve’; by ‘improve’ here, I mean move towards a fairer, more just, state. Art does this in a variety of ways but, on the whole, by examining the human person, their relation to their community, and their relation to themselves. In these relations, the spectator/reader is invited to compare themselves, to ask questions of themselves, to empathise and, ultimately, to judge. The emotional reactions that these fictional constructs invoke in us are, despite the fictional scenario, real emotions. We are moved by these scenarios – made sad, angry, melancholy, happy – in identical ways to those we would experience in our lives. This is hardly surprising: what we find in Art are representations of experienced emotion and/or meditations on how one might experience certain emotions in particular situations. There is also, of course, an instructional element too: in situation X, then the ‘proper’ emotion is Y; this is how you should control emotion Z. What runs in the background of all of these instructional elements is “within your community”. From this idea comes cultural difference or, as some would argue (but not me), emotions characteristic of a particular ‘nation’. What we also find in regard to these two notions is the idea of change – that emotions are not ‘fixed’, they may, over time, alter. Art lets us see these changes, lets us compare past and contemporary reactions, even anticipate those of the future. In this latter ‘ability’, we can also see another ‘benefit’ of Art: hope.
Art provides hope in a specific way: the hope that Art generates is ‘structured’ in such a way that it indicates how change may take place. It is not, as hope so often is, of the “one day, this might change” variety but, in its conscious (or unconscious) analysis of society, highlights the injustices of X and the pathways to changing X – moreover, even if you don’t agree with the pathway to change, the onus is on the spectator/reader to devise an alternative.
This illustrates another (tempting say the other) quality of Art: it generates thought, it causes thinking. One cannot stand before/watch/read a work of Art without its causing thought, engaging with the issues and/or human relations raised. Some works deliberately set out to do this, others – which tend to be classified as “low culture” (TV programmes; comics; games; marvel films) -generate thought by their assumptions and by the arrangement of their worlds, in terms of social and political organisations and structures (class stratification; aristocracy; totalitarianism; cults of personality). In what might be scribed as a “covert manner”, many popular forms of ‘entertainment’, surreptitiously employ the Brechtian formula, inviting the spectator to compare the fictional world with their own – thus, to take a step back and compare the two worlds. In this way, the screen, page, music transcends its own frame, venturing out into the ‘real’ world, causing us to critique that world – sometimes in ways we’re unaware of.
In this we might say, the world of business and profit contains the seeds of its own destruction. Take, for example, the franchise cinema industry – Marvel, DC etc.. These films are made for profit yet, at one and the same time, cause their “target audiences” to compare and contrast these fictional world with their own. In many cases, the organisations and tyrants that rule these fictional universes invite direct comparison with the lives that their viewers live outwith the filmic world. Admittedly, all the usual Aristotelian formulaic elements are there: identification with a central character to guide the spectator through the film, thus, obscuring the partiality of the perspective; the high character brought low; repeated moments of catharsis. Yet, ‘behind’ these elements we can see that the plot lines are grappling with contemporary issues and desires: notions of patriotism; the meaning of nationalism; honour; responsibility and obligation; protection of the vulnerable; exploitation; concepts of good and evil. What we can also see in these films is the desire for an invincible hero, one who can defeat all comers.
This is merely a simple example to illustrate the levels on which popular culture operates; even instantly forgettable pop music (bearing in mind that what I’m calling “instantly forgettable” isn’t aimed at me) serves a purpose, in that, we can see in it a desire to escape from the realities of everyday life. We must also acknowledge that a great deal of the attraction of popular culture involves vicarious living: living through these characters and the situations represented is, to an extent “wish fulfilment” – I’d include the adoration of ‘celebrities’ in this, as well as the fascination with social media (although here the situation can be reversed – as in “I’m glad that isn’t happening to me”, “A cheap holiday in other people’s misery” as Johnny Rotten put it), the worship of sports people and so forth.
Yet all of these connections that people have with popular culture involve thought; they involve the spectator being active, making decisions, drawing on past knowledge (of events and themselves) and speculating on future events. This elitist notion of ‘high’ culture and ‘low’ culture is simply that (elitist), usually cited by those who have little knowledge of the artefact(s) which they are dismissing. These two broad categories are designed to exclude (mainly on the basis of class) the majority of the population, hence the term “mass culture”, with its implication of simple consumption and, to put it bluntly, the suggestion that most people are stupid. As Nietzsche says, “The Lordly class take possession of a thing by naming it”…We even see, in the 1930s, left wing critics, such as Benjamin and Adorno, trying to control the kinds Art that should be made available to “the masses”; they can’t be trusted, therefore, must be nudged in the ‘right’ direction. So here we have a kind of double elitism.
Our insistence on the reader (in future, I’ll use this term to refer to anyone who stands in a particular relation to an artefact of nay kind – play, poem, painting, film, novel etc.) possessing a certain degree of articulacy also acts to exclude people. I’m guilty of this: I demand that someone who claims to ‘like’ something can then explain why they like it, why they prefer this to that and to do this in the received language (the discourse) of criticism – with its inbuilt values and its aspiration to the middle class.By learning this discourse though, we can disrupt it – introduce Art that, at first sight, does not ‘belong’. The more often we do this, the less rigid the discourse is, the more fractured it becomes, because unlike discourses that apparently have clearly defined parameters, the discourse of Art must, due to its own ‘guiding’ concepts, be fluid, be able to change and flow in different directions simultaneously.
What the discourse of Art does is to hold up for examination the values of all other discourses; Art causes us to identify and examine what these values are, how they work and, ultimately, how they relate to the good for human persons. A definition of “the good”? A quality in which everyone is cared for, is treated as an equal subject whose needs, desires and wants are recognised (and striven towards). This, it seems to me, is how we measure our being-in-the-world. It is, one can argue, unachievable but nonetheless should be the single, motivating factor of human existence. This is what we encounter in Art and, to be considered Art, this is what the object/artefact/thing should do – cause reflection on the self and the facets that go to make up that self which, in turn, spread into the world of material reality.
Does this mean that to be a good artefact the artefact must be good? In Kant and Hume, we see the claim being made that to be good Art, the Art must be morally good. However, does this follow? If a work revolts us, then we know why it revolts us – it causes a revulsion in us. What it also causes us to do is to examine the ‘revulsion’ itself, to ask if this reaction is justified. It establishes a conflict between what we have been told to feel (by our upbringing, our peer group, the media) and how we, ourselves, feel. Sometimes, we maintain our revulsion because of fear or the desire to belong, yet we have still come to the realisation that this is the case – so we have learnt something meaningful about ourselves and our society.
These kinds of ‘revelations’ (call them that for the moment) niggle away at us, cast doubt upon our own authenticity, our own ability to live as we’d like, true to our selves. Our acts here are conscious, deliberate: your reaction to a work is yours and yours alone. We may choose not to share it, to lie about it, but it is still there.
Murmurs from the Forest 