Moralism

According to this view, the primary or exclusive function of art is as a handmaiden to morality—which means, usually, whatever system of morality is adhered to by the theorist in question. Art that does not promote moral influence of the desired kind is viewed by the moralist with suspicion and sometimes with grudging tolerance of its existence, for art implants in people unorthodox ideas; it disturbs and disquiets, since it tends to emphasize individuality rather than conformity; and works of art are often created out of rebellion or disenchantment with the established order. Thus, art may undermine beliefs and attitudes on which, it is thought, the welfare of society rests and so may be viewed with suspicion by the guardians of custom. When art does not affect people morally one way or the other (for example, much nonrepresentational painting), it is considered a harmless pleasure that can be tolerated if it does not take up too much of the viewer’s time. But when it promotes questioning and defies established attitudes, it is viewed by the moralist as insidious and subversive. It is viewed with approval only if it promotes or reinforces the moral beliefs and attitudes adhered to by the moralist.

Plato is the first champion in the Western world of the moralistic view of art—at least in the Republic and the Laws. Plato admired the poets and was himself something of a poet, but, when he was founding (on paper) his ideal state, he was convinced that much art, even some passages in Homer, tended to have an evil influence upon the young and impressionable, and accordingly he decided that they must be banned. Passages that spoke ill or questioningly of the gods, passages containing excessive sexual passion (and all works that would today be described as pornographic), and even passages of music that were disturbing to the soul or the senses were all condemned to the same fate. Plato’s concern here was with the purity of soul of the persons who would become members of the council of rulers of the state; he was not concerned with censorship for the masses, but, since one could not predict which young people would pass the series of examinations required for membership in the council of rulers and since it was (and is) practically impossible to restrict access to works of art to a certain group, the censorship, he decided, would have to be universal. The objection might be raised, to be sure, that rulers to be should not be hothouse plants separated from the influences of the outside world and that they would be better off facing all of reality, including its evils. But Plato’s view was that these influences should be kept from them during their formative years—that during this critical time, when the whole tenor of their lives was being shaped, art could be an influence for evil and had to be sacrificed in the interests of morality. In other dialogues of Plato, such as the Ion and the Phaedrus, when he was not concerned with building a state, he extolled the virtues of art and even held the artist to be divine (although madly divine), but, when it came to a conflict between art and morality, it was art that would have to go.

The most famous champion of the moralistic view of art in modern times is Tolstoy. Long after he had finished writing his novels, he fell under the influence of pre-church Christianity, the principal tenet of which was the fellowship of all humans. This one idea became such an obsession with him that everything else, including the pursuit of art to which he had devoted his life, became subordinate to it. Almost all the literature of his own time, including all his own novels, he condemned as inimical to human fellowship by emphasizing class distinction and pitting one group of humankind against another. Even art that appealed primarily (in his opinion) to “upper class” tastes, such as the symphonies of Beethoven and the operas of Richard Wagner, were condemned as “false art.” The art that remained after these colossal excisions included such items as folk songs that peasants might sing in the fields as they worked and pictures and stories either illustrating the tenets of early Christianity or fostering the spirit of Christianity by promoting fellowship.

The moralistic view of art is still, on the whole, the unarticulated view of art held by the masses, particularly when they are under the sway of a dominant religious or political doctrine. Historically, Christianity has been suspicious of all art except those works that depict some aspects of biblical history or that could be used to further the spread of Christian belief and practice (although this is no longer strictly true). And it would probably be fair to say that the view of art held by the government of the Soviet Union (1917–91) was a moralistic one: works of fiction and poems had to praise communism or further its doctrines, and works of music had to be melodic and singable (composers such as Dmitry Shostakovich were condemned by the Soviet hierarchy in 1948 for their allegedly antidemocratic “formalism”). Whenever a culture or nation is under the sway of a dominant view, whether moral or religious or political, the tendency of the rulers of that nation is to promote it at all costs, and one of the casualties in the process is art—at any rate that great body of art that is either indifferent or hostile to the reigning dogma.

Aestheticism

Diametrically opposed to the moralistic view is aestheticism, the view that, instead of art (and everything else) being the handmaiden of morality, morality (and everything else) should be the handmaiden of art. The proponents of this view hold that the experience of art is the most intense and pervasive experience available in human life and that nothing should be allowed to interfere with it. If it conflicts with morality, so much the worse for morality, and, if the masses fail to appreciate it or receive the experience it has to offer, so much the worse for the masses. The vital intensity of the aesthetic experience is the paramount goal in human life. If there are morally undesirable effects of art, they do not really matter in comparison with this all-important experience which art can give.

Few persons would wish to go so far. Even the most ardent lovers of art would stop short of saying that the value of art holds a monopoly over all other values. It may well be that the experience of works of art is the greatest experience available to human beings (though this, too, could be questioned), but at any rate it is not the only one available, and, this being the case, the others should be considered as well. There is a plurality of values; aesthetic values, although far greater, admittedly, than most persons realize, are still just a few among many. It is therefore necessary to consider the relation of the values derived from art to the values derived from other things, such as the conduct of life apart from art: no one can devote every waking hour to the pursuit of art, even if for no other reason than the need for survival, and thus the values of such mundane things as food and shelter have also to be considered.