I’d like to start this post with a simple statement of fact, one that raises many issues for me. The statement:

The first issue it raises for me (and I suspect for many people reading this post) is reading Ayn Rand at all. What I know of Rand’s philosophy, with its focus on a ferocious libertarian belief in capitalism and egotism, threatens to create air bubbles in my bloodstream. So on the level of broad philosophical orientation, Rand and I are not in agreement.

The second issue is one of style. When Rand moves from the description of general abstractions to specific illustrations, I find her style to be abrasive and arrogant. This is magnified by the fact that I often don’t agree with her evaluations, so her slash-and-burn literary style is particularly irritating. I suspect I wouldn’t have liked Rand in real life — or at least, I wouldn’t have liked her philosophical persona in real life.

For many people, this would be enough to prevent them from having picked up The Romantic Manfiesto in the first place, and if they did pick it up in error, it would be enough to make them peremptorily dismiss its ideas as unworthy of consideration. This is a particularly American phenomenon, the rejection or acceptance of a person’s ideas based on their personal style — in politics, it shows up in people voting for Bush over Gore in 2000 in response to the question “who would you most like to have a beer with?” In the blogosphere, it shows up in those people who refuse to consider certain ideas because the blogger’s style of writing offends them in some way. To me, this emphasis on personal style to the exclusion of substance is a mistake, one that I fight in reading Rand.

At the level of substance, however, there is much to recommend in this particular book by Rand. She lays out a purpose to the arts that is both resonant and powerful, and that provides the reader with the tools to consider works of art and their meaning. While I don’t think it worthwhile to lay her manifesto out in great detail, there are certain aspects of it that pertain to some of the questions currently being discussed throughout the ’sphere.

Rand carefully builds her arguments one block at a time. Man (and yes, she uses the male pronoun throughout to reflect all humankind — she’s writing this in the 1960s, and it seems to reflect her own personal preference for so-called “masculine” characteristics) experiences the world through his senses — and the individual things he perceives are “percepts”: sensory perceptions. In order to survive, however, man must generalize, and he does so by linking at least two percepts into a “concept” — an abstraction that creates a class of things, of percepts. So the perception of a couple tall things with dry a cylinder base and a spreading canopy of green things becomes the concept “tree.” Language itself converts percepts into concepts. Then multiple concepts are joined to create larger concepts — say, “vegetation,” which includes trees, bushes, plants, etc. And so on. The top of the heap of abstraction is philosophy, which is built on very important abstract concepts.

So our experience of life is first perceptual, then conceptual.

The problem is that as the concepts become more and more complex and multi-faceted, they become harder to experience efficiently and powerfully. This is where art comes in. “Art brings man’s concepts to the perceptual level of his consciousness,” she writes, “and allows him to grasp them directly, as if they were percepts.” In other words, art puts flesh and bones back on the abstractions, so that they can be experienced through senses again. Thus, “Art is a concretization of metaphysics” (”the science that deals with the fundamental nature of reality”). Art is “a selective re-creation of reality according to an artist’s metaphysical value-judgments.”

Art reflects an artists metaphysics and epistemology — what he is and where he is, in other words “what is his nature (including his means of cognition) and the nature of the universe in which he acts.” These abstract questions she makes more concrete through a series of questions that form the basis of metaphysics and epistomology:

“These,” she continues, are metaphysical questions, but the answers to them determine the kind of ethics men will accept and practice; the answers are the link between metaphysics and ethics.. And although metaphysics as such is not a mormative science, the answer to this category of questions assume, in man’s mind, the function of metaphysical value-judgments, since they form the foundation of all his moral values.”

An artist’s subject matter and style reflects these metaphysical value judgments. His choice of subject matter reflects those things he thinks are important, those things that are important enough to receive his focus. The artist’s style reflects how he sees these subjects. So, to reiterate: “Art is a selective re-creation of reality according to an artist’s metaphysical value-judgments.”

It seemed to me that Rand is answering the question asked in the title of a recent post by Isaac: “How Do We Put Our Values in Our Art?” The answer: we can’t NOT put our values in our art. It is reflected in the subject matter and the style we choose. When, for instance, Neil Labute writes a play, we see his answers to the metaphysical questions writ large: “Is man, by nature, to be valued as good, or to be despised as evil?” Answer: evil. This orientation, which is also shared by most Judeo-Christian religions, especially those with a Puritan streak, is reflected in the way his characters interact and are motivated. And it is an orientation that is shared by many, many Modernist writers of the 20th century.

Even a play that is seen as “escapist” reflects such value judgments, as the playwright creates world in which his characters operate. The Lion King, for instance, has a very clear metaphysics: man (or lions) has the “power to choose his goals and to achieve them,” the universe is intelligible (the circle of life), and it is populated with men who are basically good (and who can defeat those who are not). It is a heroic worldview, rather than a defeatist one. There are those who will reject that worldview as being “naive” or “a lie,” and that is because they have answered those metaphysical questions differently.

Looked at in this way, every work of art, and every artist’s approach to his career, says something about the world in which we live. If, as an artist, you see yourself as a “helpless plaything of forces beyond your control” (e.g., the market, the unions, American society), then you may be more likely to see others as controlling your fate and abrogate your power to choose goals and achieve them to an “unintelligible and unknowable” universe where the randomness of luck is the most powerful force (ala Don Hall’s blackjack game). Other metaphysical value judgments may lead you in other directions. If you believe in a deterministic universe where everything is set and cannot be changed, then a suggestion that rejecting the status quo will be nonsensical to you. If you “sell your soul” in order to “succeed,” then that also reflects certain beliefs about the universe (and, on a local level, the society that reflects that universe).

Can there be works of art that I would value aesthetically, but reject metaphysically? Absolutely. Does that mean those works shouldn’t have been created? Not in the least. But at the same time, aesthetic success doesn’t negate metaphysical questions. Simply because a work of art is “good,” is “aesthetically effective,” is “beautiful” doesn’t mean it can’t be rejected metaphysically. In fact, aesthetically powerful works that are morally repugnant are the locus point for some of our most violent controversies regarding censorship. One of the reasons Jesse Helms reacted so strongly against the Mapplethorpe photos (although he certainly wouldn’t have recognized this consciously) is that images he found morally repugnant were presented in a way that was incredibly beautiful aesthetically. That was Mapplethorpe’s most powerful rebellion: to make beautiful images of practices that were regarded as objectionable. Same with Piss Christ: it wouldn’t have been half as objectionable if it wasn’t so damned aesthetically pleasing.

For me, despite Rand’s style, and despite some of her value judgments regarding specific works of art, I find Rand’s basic understanding of the role of the arts persuasive, especially since it helps me understand some of the reasons why I am a proponent of a certain kind of art, a certain orientation regarding purpose, a certain understanding of the role and responsibilities of the artist in our society.

Original post by noreply@blogger.com (Scott Walters)