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"This poet came from a country where the universal ugliness and vulgarity bothered him even more than the criminal tyranny," writes Czeslaw Milosz about a fellow exile from utopia, Joseph Brodsky.l Anyone who experienced the long, lwarsaw, or East gray,Brezhnevite winter of the 1960s and 1970s in Moscow, Berlin will immediately see how exactly right this observation is. But how is this possible? How could ugliness bother one to such an extent that it would influ.nce one's moral and political decisions? How could it push one onto the road which ends vzith exile? Have we not learned that the aesthetic and the ethical are
two separate realms? And if there is no exit? Primo Levi describes how in Auschwitz a recollection of a few lines from Dante, the words of Ulysses to his crew ("Consider your origin: you were not made to live as brutes, but to pursue virtue and knowledge") afforded him a rare moment of exaltation: "As if I also was hearing it for the first time: Iike the blast of a trumpet, like the voice of God. For a moment I forget who I am and where I am. "2 Levi was too sober a participant not to observe that much of the time a cultivated man was at a disadvantage in the Hobbesian world of forced labor and barrack life. And yet, the recollected verses "made it possible for me to re-establish a link with the past, saving it from oblivion and reinforcing my
save lives, then? The questions of the kind that Milosz's and Levi's observations raise lie at the origins of this book. ril/hat, if anything, has art to do with the rest of our lives, and in particular with those ethical and political issues that mattdf'to us most? And will at least some of the art created today, under the more clement skies, meet this most exacting criterion of value and offer any help when recollected
by those drowning in some future deluge? Philosophical theorizing about the arts is almost as old as philosophy itself.
ll:., trrrsl (lislltliut:,lt(.(l, "..rr,,1,1,.,,. t(.:,lr(r ltvr.l\. .rrr, ri nt ur,l ,,,,,,1,,r, ,rr, .\1.. I.tlr"s/'rir'lrr'rlrrtl II,';ir'l'srl,'rl/,,,//(r s{)rr(',,1 tlr,. l,,.,r ;,1r1,,.,,1,1,,r.. lr.rr,.,,,lr tributccl to tllc clisciplittc ol ltcsllrctit's sirrt'r'it u,:rs t.sr.rl,lr,lr,.,l rr, rlr,.rrrr,ltllt.'l
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current Parisian debate concerning the crisis of contempo rary art,-adebate con_ ducted almost exclusively with reference to the visual arts.j
readily to mind) and the discipline continues to flourish r.rl:ry (wirlr such yrr.rrc.titioners on both sides of the Atlantic as Danto, Gadamer, Goodman, Idcocur, Scruton, and tVollheim, among others). \X4rile my book belongs to the broad family of philosoph ical art theories, a combination of three fu.to-., distinguishes it from the other books in the field known to me. First, ever since Plato philosophers have been much exercised by the question of what art is, have felt impelled to take on the problem of getting art,s ontological sratus right, of finding away to distinguish u.t from oth"er entities. one way or anorhe! this is still the guiding task of most philosophical work on art done today. (Arthur c. Danto, for instance, writes: "In my view, the question of what art really and essentially is . . . was the wrong form for the philosophical question to take. . . . [T]he real form of the question should be . . . : what makes the difference between a work of art and something not a work of art when there is no interesting perceptual difference befi/een them?,,a) I do not think that the task is unimportant (and, in fact, devote chapter 1 to it), I just think that one should not stop with it, that there are more interesting tasks ahead of us. $7e might want to say, in effect, Let's not worry too much ubo.rt the ontological status of this object, let's even concede in advance that it is art. \what ..ully mutt.r. is what happens next (the question I pick up in chapter 2): even if we grant to this object the status of art, we still do ,ro, k.ro* *h.th.r and why we should bother ourselves with it. And to know this should be much more usef,._,I to us than to know how to distinguish art from other entities. In short, I am trying to shift the focus ofaesthetics to the question, \fhat should the function ofart be, if art is to have a value for us? second, unlike most philosophers today, who define art primarily in terms of either poetry or painting, I tend to privilege music (without, I hope, doing grave injustice to either literature or visual arts). My musical focus is pa.ti.,rludy .1.u. in chapter J, where the questioning acquires a more explicitly historical character than elsewhere in the book. The reason for this focus is my conviction that music represents the central features and dilemmas of the social and historical situation of art today in a particula r7y radical, acute, and clear fashion. Thus the diagnosis of chapter 3 might be profitably read against the background of the
the eighteenth cer-rtury (Kant, Schopcnhauct Nictzsclrt., l )t.u,t.y, l lt.it lt.1ilit.r. r.rrrt.
tl.rll(nrl)1,1,,r,lr,,rvrvlr:tlllr, \r'orlql1,','t':;r'ttl,,ltn;lnrrtlu,,,rlislrorlltltottsislttl rl rt r:. t,, lrllrll rt: lrrrr, tr,,rrs. lrr , lr,r1rt,'r'.1 I ith ntily tlr.'.'lr.'nrt'trls llrirl cottslitutc an :rrlrvollrl. llr,'rrrrrr'lr:r;rlcr''r lslr,ru, lrolvllrt'st'clctnctrtsrttaybcklnlallyarranged. I'irrrrlly, tlrc t'lrirlrtt'r'tlt'vott'rl to ltt'ttncrncutics (chaptcr 6) asks, Given the aims ,ur,l rrrt'irrrs ol irlt itlcntif iccl abovc, how should art be interpreted?
lrr slrolt, rrry lxxrk rlil'fcrs from other books in the field in that it shifts the focus
ol :rttcntiorr l:rorr thc question of what art is to the question of what art is for, it
ru'ltucs that urrrsic ofl'ers the best insight into the contemporary situation of the rrlts, ancl it combines aesthetics with poetics and hermeneutics. The book adcllcsscs a heterogeneous audience, not only philosophers, but also literary scholilrs, art historians, and musicologists, and not only academics, but also professional artists as well 2s 211 l6vs1s-in sum, anyone with a serious interest in the arts. This varied potential audience accounts for several stylistic, generic, and
disciplinary features of my text. Stylistically, I have attempted to keep the text free of technicalities and write in relatively plain English, without dumbing it
down
in
any way. Generically, the text falls somewhere between a scholarly trea-
I do not ignore other writers in the field and quote from them all too copiously, my main concern is to develop my own position rather than to demolish the arguments of my predecessors. And the disciplinary identity of the book is deliberately vague: it inhabits the no-man's-land between the philosophy of art,literary theory, art theory, and musicology.
tise and an essay: while
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philosophers and what literary scholars now grandly call Theory, are here brought together. The question asked in the chapters devoted,o po.ri.. (chapters 4 and 5) is, Given the functions of art identified above, how does art fulfiil them? In
Third, the range of the questions I ask is not limited to those traditionally asked by writers on aesthetics, but also includes issues in poetics and hermeneutics. The two areas of inquiry that all too often ignore one another, the aesthetics
of
I have been fortunate to be able initially to test various ideas developed in this book in conversations and seminars conducted with a number of friends and colleagues over the last decade or so and I mention some of these occasions here with gratitude. Andrzej Rapaczynski and \Tojciech Karpifiski will find in these pages echoes of the discussion conducted intermittently in the museums and galleries of Italy, Paris, and New York. I have learned more about the nature of poetry from Stanislaw Baraiczak and Adam Zagajewski than from many a learned tome. The late Carl Dahlhaus was most generous with his time during my year in Berlin and was as dazzling and inspiring as a conversation partner as he was as a writer. Like so many others, I have derived great benefit from the Faculty Seminar on Interpretation which John Bender and David \Tellbery so ably directed at Stanford. Similarly useful were several faculty seminars for literary scholars, art historians, and musicologists organized at the Stanford Humanities Center by Hans Ulrich Gumbrecht. I have benefited also from the discussions that accompanied the conference on music reception which I co-directed with Michal Bristiger at the Institut fiir die \Wissenschaften vom Menschen in Vienna and the colloquium on music and narrative which I co-directed with Anthony Newcomb at the Doreen B. Townsend Center for the Humanities of the University of California at Berkeley and the Humanities Center of Stanford University. The generous sponsorship of these events by the institutions just mentioned
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1992),pp.4jl-JO.Iamgratefulto
the editors and publishers for allowing me to use this material here. Two year-long research fellowships, one from the Alexander von Humboldt Foundation and another from the American Council of Learned Societies, have allowed me to devote long periods to the uninterrupted reading, thinking, and writing that a project of this sort requires. I acknowledge their generous sponsorship with gratitude. I am similarly grateful to Stanford university for providing me with research support and, above all, for its incomparable intellectual environment. I could not possibly express the full extent of my gratitude and appreciation to a number of my friends and colleagues who took the trouble to read some or all of my manuscript and to share their reactions with me. James McKinnon and Reinhard Strohm commented on chapter i, Kendall s7alton subjected chapters I and4 to a detailed critique, Thomas Grey, Stephen Hinton, \X/ojciech Karpiriski, and Anthony Newcomb gave me their views of the complete manuscript, and I received long letters evaluating the whole project fromJohn Daverio and from Lydia Goehr. I am grateful to all of them for making me see where and how the text should be improved. I am similady grateful ro my wife, Anna Maria Busse Berger, for her passionate involvement in this project through all the stages of its development. To Laurence Drefus and Richard raruskin I owe most particular thanks for having annotated virtually every page oftheir respective copies of the entire manuscript with invaluable comments. I consider myself privileged and blessed in the generous intellectual companionship of so many fine minds.
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13
ART
15
15
19
52
f.
Representations and
Arguments 5l
CHaprnn 2 AESTHETICS
a. b. c. d. e.
The Ethical Life 65 Art and History 15 Art and Philosophy 80 Art, Religion, and the State 90
Pleasure 99
Cu,tprBn 3
AESTHETICS
III. THg GENEALOGY oF MODERN EUROPEAN ANT MUSIC 1OB a. Social Practices and Their Histories 111 b. Functional and Autonomous Music II5
xll
CONTENTS
c. The Rise of Mimetic Music L20 d. The Rise of Abstract Music 13) e. The Cold \War of Mimesis and Abstraction I39 f. The Significance of Abstraction I52
Pnnr II
PoBTIcs AND HERMENEUTICS: Tug CoNTENTS AND IxTnnpRSTATION OF ARTvTORKS
CHAPTER 4 POETICS I. DIEGESIS aNo MT,u,OSlSj THE POETIC MODES AND THE MATTER OF ARTISTIC PRESENTATION 165
nay
I don't
Alice on "Jabberwocky," in
Lewis Carroll, Tbrough tbe Looking-Glass
a. The Voices 166 b. The Modes in Painting and Music t70 c. The Author, Implied and Real, Dead and Alive 184 CH,qptrn 5
POETICS II. NARRATIVE AND LyRTc: THE POETIC FORMS AND THE onJECr OF ARTTSTTC PRsSrNrArrON 189 a. Narrative and Lyric 190 b. The Forms in Painting and Music 196 c. Action and Passion 202
CHaprnn 6
HERMENEUTICS. INTERPRETATION AND ITs
213
Notes
245 271
SelectedBibliography 269
Index
l)
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consider a discipline such as aestherics. The fact that there are works of art is given for aesthetics. It seeks to find out under what conditions this fact exists, but it does not raise the question whether or not the realm of art is perhaps a realm of diabolical grandeur, a realm of this world, and therefore, in its core, hostile to God and, in its innermost and aristocratic spirit, hostile to the brotherhood of man. Hence, aesthetics does not ask whether therc shouldbe works of art. Max \Weber, "Science as a Vocation"
St. Augustine's answef to another in-
quiry: "\il{hat is time then? If nobody asks me, I know: but if I were desirous to explain it to one that shouid ask me, plainly I know not."l Having said this, Augustine v/ent on to look for an answer anyrvay, and so should we. But first I should clarify the question, make it more precise, show that it is worth asking, and think what a satisfactory answer would have to look like. Inapragmatic spirit, I take the question' \flhat is x? to be equivalent to, \fhat \il/hat is x for? \7e know what something is when we is the function of x? or, -W{hen someone asks, \il/hat know what can be, should be, or is being done with it' is a hammer?, there is nothing better you can do than to take a hammer and drive a nail into a board with it. Our pretheoretical understanding recognizes in art a famtly of social practices, sustained by appropriate institutions, and evolving within the historical context of continuous traditions. Art is what those who write poetry do, as well as those who write novels, and those who compose string quartets (or perform them), and those who paint landscapes, and many others. Central to any understanding of a practice must be to grasp its point. \7e do not know what someone is doing unless we know what his purpose or intention is.
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stand what art is, we have to grasp the points of the many practiccs wc commonly subsume under this term and see what these points have in common, or at least in what way they constitute a "fam77y" in \Wittgenstein's sense of the term.2 \w4rat is, then, the function of art? lwhat are all these sculptures and paintings, operas and symphonies, poems and novels, dramas and films actually for? \x/hy would healthy, enterprising, and intelligent men and women want to devote their
lr,l,.litv i1 ,r rr,,'ll ,,r,lt.rt..l rrr;rllirt11t,. lrr ,rll srrclr cirscs thc artwork had a clearly ,l, lr1t., llrrtr.ti,rtr: it st'tvctl llrt'gtxtlsol thcpr-incil.ral socialinstitutions,goalsexr{ rn:rl l() tlrt'lrtrtt'litt'ol rrrt itst'll. lirrr it is ,r ,1.^lirrirrg lt'itlttrc oI ntodcrn art that it is autonomous, that the goals
life efforts to making objects of this sort, when they could easily follow so many other obviously valuable and satisfying professional paths in politics, business, or the army; law, medicine, or education; engineering, science, or scholarship? \x/hy should those of us who did choose these other paths want to spend any-of our leisure time in the company of artworks? \Xr'hy should private patrons, civic organizations, and governments divert any part of their financial resources toward the support of artists and artistic institutions and away from economic growth, infrastructure, health care, education, scientific and technological research, or security? Clearly, the question that will drive our inquiry is not a matter of idle curiosity. The possibility of a rutional debate on the proper allocation of resources, whether public or private, to the arts rests on our having an answer to the question of the function of art. The need to answer the question of artt function becomes more acute as the autonomy of the artist grows. Autonomy is widely seen today, especially among theorists and historians of a sociological bent, as the single most import ant feature distinguishing modern from premodern art. The commonly heard claim is
that until quite recendy, as recently perhaps as the mid-eighteenth century, art in the strong, specifically modern, sense of this term-that is, art as an autonomous practice pursuing goods of its own-did not exist, or existed only on the margins of alarge family of heteronomous artistic practices. Much of what today would be classified as art was produced to accompany, embellish, and enhance the public and private rituals and ceremonies of religious, political, and social life. Premodern art was embedded udthin a wider sphere of social practices and derived its significance from them. It was predominantly heteronomous, since the goods it pursued v/ere nor internal to the artistic practices themselves. Instead, art served the goals of the principal social institutions: the church and the state, the guilds and corporations of the civil society, the family. Thus, the question of art's function, or rather functions, was not at issue. A statue ofJudith slaying Holofernes placed on the central square of a medieval city-state would serve to remind the citizens of the proud republic of the fate awaiting usurping tyrants. An opera extolling the clemency of a Roman emperor performed during the coronation festivities of an absolute monarch would serve as a lesson of royal virtue for both the ruler and his subjects. A chorale prelude for the organ would remind a Lutheran congregation of both the melody and the significance of the
historical sociologist develops the contrast between rlr,, lrlcn'rodern and modern art is provided by Norbert Elias's reflections on Mozrrrt.l Elias understands the contfast between the premodern and modern art (()t.t.ilther, as he calls them, "craftsmen'S aft" and "artists'art") in the manner ,,1 rhc \Weberian ideal types. The most distinctive feature of the premodern, or , r,rltsmen's, art was its hetefonomy, the fact that the goods one pursued in workrr1,, at it were primarily not internal to the practice of art itself, but rather interrr:rl to other, nonartistic social activities of art consumefs. Art was produced for ;r l)crsonally known patron of a far higher social status than that of the art pro,lrrccr. Art was not as yet a specialized domain, mofeover, but a function of other s,rc'ial activities of the consumefs. In particular, it was an aspect of the competirivc spending on status. Since art was created for specific social functions, not rh" least of which was the society's self-display, the patons were not individualizcd, but father represented social groups. In other wofds, premodern aft was ,r.ldressed to groups of people assembled fof purposes other than aesthetic ones. 'l'hese facts had important consequences. The individual artist's imagination was srrbordinated to the canon of taste of the social group to which the patrons be(style) longed. This resulted in a weak individual and the strong social character
A ggod example of how
a
with
(demo ctatization).It ad' a social parity existing between the artist and the buyer .lresses not groups, but a public of isolated individuals, and its function is specifically aesthetic. This changes the balance of power between the artist and patron
in favor of the former. The result is the artist's greater independence from the society's taste (the aftist now molds the taste of the public, instead of serving it) and the greater individualization of the artwork's character. The problem for a historical sociologist is to find the reasons for the change from the premodern to modem form of art-that is, the feasons for the change in the sociaisituation of artists. Not sufprisingly, Elias looks for explanations in the
s()(i:rl:rs(('tr,,l,ru',',rlrlryrrt,l,ll,,l.r,,...rrrtlr,,lr.,;,lr,,r,,,rrt,,ltlrr.r.arr.rr.,r,(
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ment of comparable market institutions-*ch u, music pubrishing, copyright, or public s6nqs115-f6r music.
Later, in chapter 3, I shall explain why it is plausible that various arts achieved a significant degree of autonomy long before the eighteenth century. Instead
s()t'l ttl tttotlct'tts.l.fcan-lirangois Lyotard lrt onto sotrrt'llrittli wlrt'tr lrt' t'lrtitrrs lltat wc havc lclst laith in any of the yr.rn(l ()v('r':ut lrirrll "trrt'l:t tt:tl'l-:tlivcs" thltt Savc eadier moderns their sense of r,l,.rrritv rrrrtltlirt'r'tion, r)rulirlivc:s that l)urportedtomakesenseof thetotalityof lurn:ur lristory.' 'l'lrt'slow intcllcctrral drying-out and the subsequent rapid polr lr, .rl ,lt.rrris.. ol Mirt'xisnt, thc most influential of all modern meta-narratives, in
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the growing autonomization of art, one should rath'er stress th. g.o;.rg autonomization of the artist as a feature of the modern izationpro."rrlo.r.e an artist stopsworkingfor a specific patron (a church, a court) and offers his products for sale to pa*ons whose identities cannot be fully specified i' ud,r,,'.., that is, once he begins to function within the market, he may be better ubl" to produce works that embody his, rather than his patrons', ,rur.r.r, thereby increasing his autonomy (even if in practice this autonomy is frequently undermined by thl in_ creased economic insecurity). In fact, in Europe and its cultural extensions it has been positively expected of the artist for mo.. than two centuries now, that he will be autonomous and original in this sense. It is undeniable that the modernization of art involves the autonomization of the artist, although the full complexity and the uneven character of this development as it pe.tuin, to individual arts should not be underestimated: unrike painiers, who, with their artisanal traditions, found successful ways to exploit market mechanisms early on (think of Titian's, or Rembrandt's, studios), composers began to devise strategies for func_ tioning within the market only in the late eighteenth century, und ih.i. success even today is not unqualified. (Mozart's is a paradigmatic .u.ly .ur., and the extremely small number of aft music composers, as .o-pur"i to painters or novelists' who between his time and ours actually to a living as
comp.osers is striking.)
of
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sophical subfield of aesthetics. when it comes to the social situation o{ art, and,probabry to much erse as well' w; are still living in the era that took shape decisively in the d..uJ", around 1800, the era of inexorably increasing sociafequ arity and d,emocratization, the early outlines of which were grasped with pu.ti.rrlur.iarity by Tocqrr.rrru. Today more than ever, the principal sources of support for those puirrt..r, composers, and writers who actually manage to make ulrri.rg from their art rake the form not of the personal patronage of the rich and powerfur, but of the impersonal market or the state (acting either directry o. thro,rgh the mediation of the tax code). No less today than in 1800, artists expect to be autonomous and are
of the question concerning art's functior.. Not surprisingly, tri. p.o.!r. of urrtonomization was accompanied by the birth of u g.ne.ui u.t th.o.y, the philo-
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rir'r rl:u', rrr,rl<cs rrs wary of any kind of secular prophecy and ready to embrace vr:,i{)rrol rr lrlrrralityof cocxistinglifeforms andpartial,localstoriesthatmake ',{ n:,( ()l tlrcsc lifc forms. But two cautionary remarks are in order. First, our l,l lt'rrairrs as modern as it was for the last few centuries. Vhat is postmod'r,,,r ( rr is not the world, but the pluralist acceptance that there is more than one rrr(' st()r'y to be told about it. Second, and more important, the distinction Ly;r r'( I ( lraws between modernism and postmodernism is far too stark. ' 'r It is not rue that the only choice we have is between a belief in universal lrr:;r.r'y grasped by an all-explaining meta-narrative and a belief in a plurality of ,,luirlly valid life forms and local stories that make sense of them' A large and lrrritlirl territory lies between these two extfemes, a vision of a plurality of life lolrrs afld stories, indeed, but not ones that coexist by politely ignoring one an,,r lrt'r', but rather ones thal are engaged in a never-ending competition. Lyotard lr;rs got it right in so far as the demise of meta-narratives is concerned. But the vrsiorr of a plurality of equally valid coexisting life forms may be compelling only rrr tlrose whose outlook is underpinned by one more meta-narrative, that of a , global growth of prosperity. The rest of us postmoderns 'rrIinuous and rapid u,ill have to recognize that various life forms will continue to compete for re',{)ulces with one another in any foreseeable future. The postmodern vision rellrirrs plausible only so long as we imagine that the only dilemmas we shall ever l;r( (' are of the order of choosing between a cappuccino or a caffd latte, or der itling to buy a Volvo or a BM\f. Once we recognize that we may also face other s, rlts of questions, such as, Shall we tax the rich, or shall we treat them as a sepirirte culture pursuing its own legitimate life form? or, Shall we intervene in a tlistant country, or shall we allow one tribe to practice its life form by engaging rn cthnic cleansing?, postmodernism loses some of its plausibility. lf the competition for resources among various life forms is not to take a vi()lcnt turn, if choices between conflicting claims are to be based upon the force ol'arguments rather than arms, v/e have no alternative but to engage the compcing life forms in a rational dialogue. A genuine dialogue requires not only that thc two sides listen to one another, but that each puts its views in jeopardy by . omparing them with the views of the dialogue partner, and that each is prepared ro change its views as a result. \Tithout accepting any all-embracing universal nreta-narratives, one must be prepared to exchange one's own story, as well as rhe story told by one's interlocutor, for a slightly less local and parochial, but still
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rl,,,rrl tlrr lunr ltott,,l .rtt,l,rrl llrr't ,1,, rr,,l lrrllt',tnr'\\'( l ()ttl (t)ll(,'tlrs. W, tt,',.1 .iir(l\\'.il11 lrr Ltrorv nt0t(. \\,( \\,;ilrl l() littori'ttol 0trly rvllrtl llrt lrtlttliott ol lttl is, l,rrt ,rl:r, rvlr, llr,'t llrt:- lrrrrt tiotr irrstilit's ottt t'llot ls, wlrt'llrcl' irrt is wort[-r the l,.rlrt r. 'li, :rrrsu,t'r tlris lrrr.tlrt'r'rlrrcstiotr ll t))()r'c lrlrilosopltical line of inquirywill
I', n(.((.ss;lly.Alristolit':rl irrtlrrilyworrlrl lcavctrswithlotsofinterestingfacts,but l11'rr:;t ll it wt,rrl.l trol rrllow rrs to cvalrtatc thcm. Various actuallyproposed and I'r.rr rir'r'tl rrrr,lt'r'slrrrrtlings ol'itt't wor-rld compete with one another blindly, but
rlr(ir r'('sl)('('tivt'clairnscoulcl notbccomparedandrationalchoicesamongthem ,,,ultl rrot lrc rnaclc. Asl<ing not what the function of art is, but rather what it ,,1',,r rl,l ol rrright bc, has the advantage of allowing us to evaluate vrhat actually is .ur,I r)()t orrly what rr-right or should be. It makes public deliberation possible. It .l,( ns r'()()ur fbr debate, for the confrontation of competing views and proposals rlr.rt rrright result in choices and preferences supported by rational arguments. I I rs, t hc question I want to pursue is, \7hat should the function of art be, if art
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to lrrrvc a value for us? lirt this does not mean that a philosopher can or should ignore history altoy,t'tlrt'r'. Speculation does not happen in a vacuum. \X/hile a historical or sociol,,1iical inquiry can perhaps ignore philosophical questions and simply investigate tWhoever wants to speculate rvlrrrt was, or is, the case, the reverse is not possible. { )r) what should be cannot ignore what is. The reason is that the pretheofetical rrol ion of art which must provide the point of departure for any speculation is lristorically given. It makes sense to speculate about possible functions of art only rl thc art in question is recognizably similar to one that actually exists. V/hat we rvrrlrt is not a completely new practice, but rather an understanding, and at best ;rrr improvement, of what is already current. I know of no better description of the appropriate relationship between a social practice and its theory than the one Charles Taylor provides in his essay, " social Theory as Practice. " Taylor captures the kind of relationship between :rlt and its theory I would like to maintain in my inquiry:
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There is always a pre-theoretical understanding of what is going on among the members of a society. . . . Social theory arises when we try to formulate explicitly what we are doing, describe the activity which is central to a practice, and articulate the norms which are essential to it. . . . The stronger motive for making and adopting theories is the sense that our implicit understanding is in some way crucially inadequate or even v/rong. . . . fMoreoveq] if theory can transform practice, then it can be tested in the quality of the practice it informs' . . . A theory which badly misidentifies the goods we can seek in a certain domain will ground a practice which will faII to reaTize these goods. . . . Good theory enables practice to become less stumbling and more clairvoyant.lo The knowledge of the kind St. Augustine talks about, the knowledge I have when nobody asks me questions but which disappears when an explanation is in order, is of the practical rather than theoretical kind. I may not be able to explain very clearly what art is yet sdll know, roughly, what to do with the word and recog-
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lrtgirrs lo lltil trrt'itt sotttt'\\/rrys, ()r, nr()r( ( rrr, r.rll1, rr lr,.rr rlr, ;rr;rr lit.t.itst.ll r.rrrrs into dilJicrrltics, that ir nccrl lirr.rr rrrtlR.(.xl)lt( tt tlr|ot1, ;p; rrt rrl;rtirr1l tll(. l)()it)l iil)(l the norms of the practicc ariscs. ()ncc l;oln, ir llr('()ry rrrrry rrt't1rrir.c an iptcr.lal
dynamic of its own and develop more or less indcpcrrrlcrtly of any pronrprings a stalled practice. But it may also begin to influence the practice, to help it run more smoothly by making its norms more transparent and by correctly identifying its point. This sort of two-way traffic between practice and theory is to be expected in any areaofsocial action that has achieved a certain degree ofmaturity. The aesthetic domain is no exception. Alasdair Maclntyre points out that a practice evolves within the historical context of the relevant tradition.
r'l,lrortulristrt lrolilit
from
ls s() rVi,l,'sltl(.',t,1, tlol jttsl illl)()llg i:rrrs, lrrrl :rlso rri)t()nll lltt'vt't-y irrtcllccl trirl class which has a 1rr.lt'ssiorr:rl st:rl<t'irr :ul's sulvivlll ,rrrtl wlrich has traditionally provided argurrr.rr ls lol its t lt'lt'trsc. 'l'lrc tlotrbts ol: this class fcrrce us to do precisely what I inr, n( l t ( ) r lo i rr t lris lrook: to consider whether art still has a worthwhile role to play rrr,,rrt lrlivrttc rrrrrl pu[rlic livcs. 'l'lrt'tlorrbts I have in mind are perhaps nowhere more apparent than in the
r\'(:,.tll(illron
ilil('lll battles over the curriculum and appointments at American universitr.s. 'l'hc battles have a background which is partly ideological and partly ecor,)nri('. \(/e want, with good reason, to introduce into the curriculum of literr
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as
as
lw]hen tradition is in good order it is always parrially constitured by an argument about the goods the pursuit of which gives to that tradition its particular point and purpose. . . . A living tradition then is an historically extended, socially embodied argument, and an argument precisely in part about the goods which constiture this tradition.ll
a
1,,,ssiblc, voices of women, minorities, cultures deemed peripheral, and so on. I lrrivcrsity resources being finite, we cannot introduce them all; we are forced to
nr,rl<c choices whereby a stronger department of x studies implies a weaker or ,rl'scnt department of I studies. But this is precisely a distinction rve do not like r, rnake, because of a confused egalitarianism which assumes that all discrimirr;rtion is inherently unjust. What is unjust, howeveE is only discrimination based on force or inherited 1'rivilege, rather than on reasoned argument. Whether we like it or not, we are ,'conomically compelled to make choices, and it is better that we make them as :r rcsult of public deliberation based on rational argument than as a result of r,rndom lottery or application of force and political pressure. tWe should make :rs many voices as possible heard. But once they are heard, we should not assume tlrat they are all equally valuable and we should not be afraid to discriminate ilrnong them. A reasonable and just discrimination among the voices, however, will be possible only when we know what the purpose of speaking is. It is only then that we shall be able to compare the voices with one another and decide which ones are doing their appointed job best. It would be premature at this stage in the discussion to offer any answers, however preliminary, to the questions concerning the function and value of art. But certain features of a solution to the problem can be imagined in advance. If we are to be satisfied that art is a worthwhile pursuit, we would have to find for it a function that fulfills the following conditions. First, the function would have to be culturally indispensable, or at least important, in the sense that u/e could not conceive of a civllization worth having without this function being taken care of. Art would have to be able to make an indispensable, or at least important, contribution to the proper working of a human society worth striving for. Second, the function would have to be of such character that it could be fulfilled only by art and nothing else. Art would have to be shown to be irreplaceable. Third, it would also have to be demonsrated that the function in question may be fulfilled by much of the existing art. (The "existing art" would cleady have to encompass not only the art produced today, but everything that most people concerned vdth art at all would consider afttoday, whether produced recently or in a distant past. This is a domain with admittedly blurry edges, but so vast
This book is a contribution ro the ongoing argument about the point of art, I pay close attention to what eadier participants in this particular debate had to say and try to keep in mind the relevant features of the social practice of art itself, features ofthe practice as it is pursued today and as
a contribution in which
t2
ATHEORYOFART
that it provides us vdth more than enough unambiguous material.) As already stated, our task is not to invent a new social practice, but rather to improve or simply clarify the ongoing one. If most of the art as we know it cannot do the job we think art should be doing, our theory would turn out to be not a theory of art at all, but a theory of something else, something for which we had illegitimately appropriated the name of art. In short, we want to find out what the function of art should be if art is to be considered a worthwhile occupation, and we know that this function would have to be culturally important, or better yet, indispensable, one that can be fulfilled
only by art, and, moreover, by much of the art that already exists.
,----,IHE
Panr
AESTHETICS:
E,XNS OF ARTWORKS