Art and Morality: A Merrithy Symphony
Jessica Logue by Wu Wanwei, translated
This article explores the complex relationship between art and morality.
For the past few years, I've been interested in the following question: "Can an artist's life's work constitute his life?" ”
At first, I had in mind the idea that there is a boundary between man's public life and his private life that separates the two lives, and that you can maintain a balance between the two lives to some extent, as if the author's professional success may make up for some kind of flaw in his personal life, especially in his moral life, such as the brilliant artistic achievements of a talented painter or writer who can make up for his regrets in life as a bad husband or wife, right?
In my opinion, this is an important question that is difficult to answer. Yes, everyone does make bad choices, and if bad choices are made public because of public figures, it seems useful to think about how to respond appropriately from a public standpoint of envy for celebrities.
While some may take the position that it is easy to distinguish ethical choices from other aspects of personal life, even if we find some people bad, they continue to support their projects or appreciate their success, I can't agree. In order to narrow down the sports field, I will give only a few examples related to art and entertainment, although such examples are also many in other fields.
The philosopher Bernard Williams raised such questions in his book Moral Luck (1981) about the painter Paul Gauguin (1848-1903). Gauguin left his wife and son alone to paint in Tahiti in the South Pacific. Williams places the issue within the framework of the name of "moral luck--- the idea that sometimes moral consequences are attributed to factors beyond our control.
To some extent, Williams's view of Gauguin's moral luck is correct, and if he had not succeeded in painting the world-famous work of art, even if we remember him as a person, we might have viewed his choices in a much harsher way.
But, especially given the #metoo movement, a protest movement against sexual harassment, I find this central issue quite urgent, and I don't think it's essentially a matter of moral luck.
Even from the art world alone, we've found many examples of bad behavior, such as my first interest in the subject, when I was disappointed to learn that the children's writer Dr Seuss' affair could have led to the suicide of his first wife.
I was also very disappointed in the famous writer Charles Dickens after learning what a terrible husband and father he was. Byron's incest (how Byron, after returning from a european tour, he and his half-sister Augsta became so close that he had a daughter --- quoted from Liang Shiqiu's prose "Byron"), Picasso's lifelong bad attitude toward women, and so on, this scary list can be said forever.
The surprisingly large number of villains who have created world-famous masterpieces seems to be a phenomenon that cannot be erased. For many years, I've been thinking about how to respond to this disclosure.
Self-portrait of the painter Paul Gauguin in a hat (Paul Gauguin, 1893)
Initially, I took the utilitarian position: if the lives of individual artists as a whole seemed likely to increase the overall level of human happiness (or happiness), we might be able to turn a blind eye to some of their personal choices. This view does seem to work in some cases. Perhaps playing a role in the case of Dr. Soth (whose real name is Theodor Seuss Geisel), Dr. Soth's contribution to literature may have outweighed his personal choices.
But, after a while, this utilitarian approach could not satisfy me. First, how can we measure personal choices, whether private or professional, that really promote the best interests of man? There does not seem to be an objective way to assess these choices and their implications.
Even if there were, it would seem foolish and callous if we ignored the harm Thatth's choice caused to his wife. So even if there is some way to prove that his actions really serve the best interests of the people of the world as a whole, does such a calculation seem to lead us to be willing to forgive him for his immoral behavior towards individuals? Some mysterious.
Rethinking this question, I realized that there might be a better way to deal with it, that ethics of virtue might produce better results, or at least better results in my opinion, and that was probably the answer I had found.
Virtue ethics is based on the cultivation of virtue, in the hope that this will produce virtuous thoughts and actions, such as practicing how to become patient, and hopefully this will lead him to develop a patient character. Virtue ethics often involves "moral models", which is a more ornate term for role models. Moral models are important because they show us what moral behavior looks like.
It also allows us to morally break down the relationship between the personal choices of great artists and their artistic achievements. For example, it causes us to put moral questions aside for a moment, and since most artists are not intended to be moral role models, we should not judge them on that basis. This position may allow me to continue reading Norman Mailer's novels, even if he almost kills his wife.
However, this answer is not enough. The questions I raised at the beginning may still exist. After all, in the end, what we admire is not the morality of artists but their artistic talents. But, while admiring his talents, I am still not sure about his misdeeds. My own actions as an art buyer can also have consequences, and I may be an accomplice to the artist's bad behavior.
In that case, we should be wary of supporting artists who misbehave, both financially and in terms of promoting their fame. We should not let artists who commit domestic violence or those who make racial hate speech or who commit horrific crimes make a fortune.
There are more and more people in the media, the entertainment industry, and politics who I have chosen to be adamantly resisting because they are accused of sexual misconduct. I drew a moral line for myself and decided to abandon these guys and never have a money relationship with them. But this line is also vague and subjective. For example, I dumped Bill Cosby, a comedian who committed a crime of sexual assault, and no one else did.
Character model suicide
With these complexities in mind, I wanted to turn to another different case: suicide, such as the suicide of Kurt Cobain, the lyricist of my idol musician and the lead singer and guitarist of Nirvana, in 1994.
Cobain's suicide came when I was in middle school. Not only was this the first time I remembered the suicide of a public figure, but it was also the suicide of an idol I particularly liked. In my opinion, the "Nirvana Band" sings the voice of our generation.
They are revolutionary heroes who saved music from the era of hairspray dreams in the 80s. The songs that Cobain sang were very important to me. His musical sense of art is very strong, the content is profound and complex, and the voice is loud. I love his countercultural attitude, his gender-distorting choice of fancy costumes, and his songs obscured by vague bands. He was against the suffocating positive values of the suburban middle class, which was the hypocrisy and materialism of the community I grew up with, and the alternatives he offered made me love. After 20 years, I like his music more than I used to.
However, Cobain committed suicide, leaving his poor daughter to grow up without a father. I can't even imagine the difficulties she had to face growing up after this incident (I lost my parents after my first birthday). How Frances Bean Cobain, seeing the headlines of news reports and the public commemoration, understand his grief and feelings of abandonment has always been something I could not have imagined.
However, she declared in an interview with the Rolling Stones that she prefers the music of Oasis to the music of Nirvana, and I can understand why. Being told that your father who committed suicide is the ideological spokesman for a generation, and growing up in this situation is certainly not an easy task.
My husband and I used to talk about Cobain. After all, we have lost the greatest musicians and idols of our generation, a man whose musical talent has not yet been fully demonstrated. In our thinking, we realize that many of the rock stars we liked in the 90s are now dead, either committing suicide or overdosing.
We wonder, morally, how should we react to the suicide of Kirgen or of other artists we like. Should the pain they leave for family and friends be condemned?
This is a much more ethically complex area because of the mental health issues involved. Of course, there is a global mental health crisis, and we are still in its infancy, and more understanding is needed to help those struggling in their plight--- especially those of public concern. We don't yet understand how to deliver a lifeline to someone in the spotlight. In the face of tragic events, we do not seem to respond appropriately.
On the contrary, we aspire to the popularity of certain stars and see the fall of certain people, but we do not examine the relationship between each other--- do not see the relationship between death and fame. We can't use our grief to pretend to understand. Nor should we use grief in this way to further glorify its reputation while ignoring the problems of those who are desperately trying to earn it.
This brings me back to the advice made to keep our wallets away from those artists who are not morally supportive. But in the case of suicides, the issue has once again become extremely complex. The reverence for the dead is a very sensitive issue here, and we must be very careful in how to present their life and death. Morally speaking, what position should we take as fans?
And, are these questions any different from the ones that fans pose about the immoral behavior of artists who are still alive and still working? One might wonder: Why would I want to listen to Nirvana's songs but not watch Woody Allen's films? Or why am I disgusted by Picasso's paintings, but appreciate Cobain's willingness to question whether his concerts are full?
Of course, if Cobain had been a rapist or a pedophile, I wouldn't have been a fan of him; and if so, I wouldn't even have the appetite to listen to his music. This led me to conclude that I was morally more repulsive to rape, murder and pedophilia than to suicide.
I think it's fair to see Cobain's suicidal behavior as being tortured by pain or loneliness. Suicide is often the product of mental illness, so even if the psychological and emotional effects on a loved one are as devastating as the effects of other immoral actions, we should not think of suicide as morally condemned as other evils.
This reflection in turn brought me back to the "Me Too" anti-sexual harassment movement, reconsidering how I gave up watching Woody Allen's films. Perhaps part of the obvious inconsistencies that appear in me are attributed to the boundaries of life and death. Allen is alive and can face public condemnation for his actions.
But Cobain was dead. If deviance is seen as occurring in an environment of enduring suffering, it is often easier to get our forgiveness. It is much more difficult to forgive those who do not seem to apologize and regret their choices. Many of the people exposed in the "Me Too" campaign don't seem to feel remorse for their actions.
Tentative conclusions
I now find that trying to strike a balance between an artist's professional and personal choices can be morally misguided.
This shows the added advantages of virtue ethics. A student who was caught plagiarizing came to my office and cried, "Everyone thinks I've been a liar all my life," and I assured him that one act doesn't make a lifetime. At that time, I was thinking about the ethics of virtue.
We are not always able to live according to our own moral ideals, which is the reality of human life; therefore, measuring and weighing between choices is naïve calculation and a potential source of misinterpretation of the good in life.
I'm not saying that our choices are atomized and can be easily discounted, nor that there is no way to look at the overall assessment. What I'm saying is that there is no general ledger of income and expenditure, no moral version of Santa's list of who is the most mischievous and who is the most obedient, and many attempts to make such a list may be hopelessly misguided, such as this list may ignore the moral growth of people.
Perhaps more commonly, certain behaviors and choices have more or less influence. In some cases, this list may be a false attempt to write off all past events and not blame them.
This ideal itself is naïve. While a single cheat shouldn't define the student's life, it shouldn't be erased from the archives either. Of course, isolating a bad choice is something he can overcome; but pretending that we can erase the stain from its history ignores the positive changes he may have made.
So does a lifetime of writing make a lifetime? The answer is not simply yes or no. Infidelity, incest, racism, sexism, sexual harassment, abandonment, etc. are all serious incidents, they are immoral acts, and great works cannot make up for the mistakes made by the author.
Some people suffer because of these actions. Liking the artwork of a person who commits such a crime does not erase his misdeeds, nor does it reduce the suffering it causes to the victim.
Does it matter what the artist does or doesn't do? What about their moral failures? Of course it matters! These things are morally important. I think that while it is possible to appreciate the art of moral scoundrels/hate ghosts, it is only because art and morality are not the same thing.
Because they are not the same thing, they cannot be judged in the same way. But, I think, if we elevate artists who behave very despicable to heroic exaltation, it will cause great harm to humanity. In a moral context, misdeeds are indeed serious, especially when money is involved, and the art of supporting morally tainted people is untenable. We should be wary of what we are advocating, and we should not be afraid to ask ourselves: Is fame really worthy of our admiration?
About the Author
Jessica Logue is a lecturer in philosophy at the University of Portland, Oregon.
Source: Translator Contribution
Author: Translated by Jessica Rogge Wu Wanwei
译自：Art & Morality: A Bittersweet Symphony by Jessica Logue
Original title: Art and Morality: A Symphony of Bittersweet
The "New Translation of Philosophical Texts" series of articles is a translation submitted by Professor Wu Wanwei, which is mainly the latest and popular philosophical humanities essay selected from the websites of Phosophy Now, Aeon, First Things and other websites.
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