Philosophy Looks at the Arts
ed. Joseph Margolis
(Third Edition, 1987)
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The Myth of the Aesthetic Attitude
GEORGE DICKIE
Some recent articles' have suggested the unsatisfactoriness of the notion of the aesthetic attitude and it is now time for a fresh look at that encrusted article of faith. This conception has been valuable to aesthetics and criticism in helping wean them from a sole concern with beauty and related notions.? However, I shall argue that the aesthetic attitude is a myth and while, as G. Ryle has said, "Myths often do a lot of theoretical good while they are still new,»3 this particular one is no longer useful and in fact misleads aesthetic theory.
There is a range of theories which differ according to how strongly the aesthetic attitude is characterized. This variation is reflected in the language the theories employ. The strongest variety is Edward Bullough's theory of psychical distance, recently defended by Sheila Dawson." The central technical term of this theory is "distance" used as a verb to denote an action which either constitutes or is necessary for the aesthetic attitude. These theorists use such sentences as "He distanced (or failed to distance) the play." The second variety is widely held but has been defended most vigorously in recent years by Jerome Stolnitz and Eliseo Vivas. The central technical term of this variety is "disinterested" used either as an adverb or as an adjective. This weaker theory speaks not of a special kind of action (distancing) but of an ordinary kind of action (attending) done in a certain way (disinterestedly). These first two versions are perhaps not so different as my classification suggests. Hover, the language of the two is different enough to justify separate discussions. My discussion of this second variety will for the most part make use of Jerome Stolnitz's book° which is a thorough, consistent, and large-scale version of the attitude theory. The weakest version of the attitude theory can be found in Vincent
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Tomas's statement "If looking at a picture and attending closely to how it looks is not really to be in the aesthetic attitude, then what on earth is?? In the following I shall be concerned with the notion of aesthetic attitude and this notion may have little or no connection with the ordinary notion of an attitude.
I
Psychical distance, according to Bullough, is a psychological process by virtue of which a person puts some object (be it a painting, a play, or a dangerous fog at sea) "out of gear" with the practical interests of the self. Miss Dawson maintains that it is "the beauty of the phenomenon, which captures our attention, puts us out of gear with practical life, and forces us, if we are receptive, to view it on the level of aesthetic consciousness."&
Later she maintains that some persons (critics, actors, members of an orchestra, and the like) "distance deliberately.» Miss Dawson, following Bullough, discusses cases in which people are unable to bring off an act of distancing or are incapable of being induced into a state of being distanced. She uses Bullough's example of the jealous ("under-distanced") husband at a performance of Othello who is unable to keep his attention on the play because he keeps thinking of his own wife's suspicious behavior. On the other hand, if "we are mainly concerned with the technical details of its [the play's] presentation, then we are said to be over-distanced.»® There is, then, a species of action- distancing-_-which may be deliberately done and which initiates a state of consciousness--being distanced.
The question is: Are there actions denoted by "to distance" or states of consciousness denoted by "being distanced'? When the curtain goes up, when we walk up to a painting, or when we look at a sunset are we ever induced into a state of being distanced either by being struck by the beauty of the object or by pulling off an act of distancing? I do not recall committing any such special actions or of being induced into any special state, and I have no reason to suspect that I am atypical in this respect. The distance-theorist may perhaps ask, "But are you not usually oblivious to noises and sights other than those of the play or to the marks on the wall around the painting?" The answer is of course- "Yes." But if "to distance" and "being distanced" simply mean that one's attention is tocused, what is the point of introducing new technical terms and speaking as if these terms refer to special kinds of acts and states of consciousness? The distance-theorist might argue further, "But surely you put the play (painting, sunset) 'out of gear' with your practical interests?" This question seems to me to be a very odd way of asking (by employing the technical metaphor "out of gear") if I attended to the play rather than thought about my wife or wondered how they managed to move the scenery about. Why K as litern Iranian" ip" bitt ha A point Weird stell Coul) lat Lasch strumenta st practica
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not ask me straight out if I paid attention? Thus, when Miss Dawson says that the jealous husband under-distanced Othello and that the person with a consuming interest in techniques of stagecraft over-distanced the play, these are just technical and misleading ways of describing two different cases of inattention. In both cases something is being attended to, but in neither case is it the action of the play. To introduce the technical terms "distance,» "under-distance," and "over-distance" does nothing but send us chasing after phantom acts and states of consciousness.
Miss Dawson's commitment to the theory of distance (as a kind of mental insulation material necessary for a work of art if it is to be enjoyed aesthetically) leads her to draw a conclusion so curious as to throw suspicion on the theory.
One remembers the horrible loss of distance in Peter Pan--the moment when Peter says "Do you believe in fairies?. If you believe, clap your hands!" the moment when most children would like to slink out of the theatre and not a few cry-_not because Tinkerbell may die, but because the magic is gone. What, after all, should we feel like if Lear were to leave Cordelia, come to the front of the stage and say, "All the grown-ups who think that she loves me, shout 'Yes'."It is hard to believe that the responses of any children could be as theory-bound as those Miss Dawson describes. In fact, Peter Pan's request for applause is a dramatic high point to which children respond enthusias- tically. The playwright gives the children a momentary chance to become actors in the play. The children do not at that moment lose or snap out of a state of being distanced because they never had or were in any such thing to begin with. The comparison of Peter Pan's appeal to the hypothetical one by Lear is pointless. Peter Pan is a magical play in which almost anything can happen, but King Lear is a play of a different kind. There are, by the way, many plays in which an actor directly addresses the audience (Our Town, The Marriage Broker. A Taste of Honey, for example) without causing the play to be less valuable. Such plays are unusual, but what is unusual is not necessarily bad; there is no point in trying to lay down rules to which every play must conform independently of the kind of play it is.
It is perhaps worth noting that Susanne Langer reports the reaction she had as a child to this scene in Peter Pan.'? As she remembers it, Peter Pan's appeal shattered the illusion and caused her acute misery. However, she reports that all the other children clapped and laughed and enjoyed themselves.
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II
The second way of conceiving of the aesthetic attitude--as the ordinary Hracion" action of attending done in a certain way (disinterestedly) is illustrated by the work of Jerome Stolnitz and Eliseo Vivas. Stolnitz defines "aesthetic attitude" as ' "disinterested and sympathetic attention to and contemplation of any object of awareness whatever, for its own sake alone.»13 Stolnitz defines the main terms of his definition: "disinterested" means "no concern for any ulterior purpose.", '* "sympathetic" means "accept the object on its own terms to appreciate it".IS and "contemplation" means "perception directed toward the object in its own right and the spectator is not concerned to analyze it or ask questions about it. »16
The notion of disinterestedness, which Stolnitz has elsewhere shown to be seminal for modern aesthetic theory, is the key term here. Thus, it is necessary to be clear about the nature of disinterested attention to the various arts. It can make sense to speak, for example, of listening disinterestedly to music only if it makes sense to speak of listening interestedly
My note says:
This is weird.
"Interestedly" could
mean what Lasch
calls Instrumental
as against practical.
to music. It would make no sense to speak of walking fast unless walking could be done slowly. Using Stolnitz's definition of "disinterestedness," the two situations would have to be described as "listening with no ulterior purpose" (disinterestedly) and "listening with an ulterior purpose" (interestedly). Note that what initially appears to be a perceptual distinction—listening in a certain way (interestedly or disinterestedly)—turns out to be a motivational or an intentional distinction—listening for or with a certain purpose. Suppose Jones listens to a piece of music for the purpose of being able to analyze and describe it on an examination the next day and Smith listens to the same music with no such ulterior purpose. There is certainly a difference between the motives and intentions of the two men: Jones has an ulterior purpose and Smith does not, but this does not mean Jones's listening differs from Smith's. It is possible that both men enjoy the music or that both be bored. The attention of either or both may flag and so on. It is important to note that a person's motive or intention is different from his action (Jones's listening to the music, for example). There is only one way to listen to (to attend to) music, although the listening may be more or less attentive and there may be a variety of motives, intentions, and reasons for doing so and a variety of ways of being distracted from the music.In order to avoid a common mistake of aestheticians- drawing a conclu- sion about one kind of art and assuming it holds for all the arts-the question of disinterested attention must be considered for arts other than music. How would one look at a painting disinterestedly or interestedly? An example of alleged interested viewing might be the case in which a
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Aesthetic Interests and Aesthetic Qualities painting reminds Jones of his grandfather and Jones proceeds to muse about or to regale a companion with tales of his grandfather's pioneer exploits. Such incidents would be characterized by attitude-theorists as examples of using a work of art as a vehicle for associations and so on, i.e., cases of interested attention. But Jones is not looking at (attending to) the painting at all, although he may be facing it with his eyes open Jones is now musing or attending to the story he is telling, although he had to look at the painting at first to notice that it resembled his grandfather. Jones is not now looking at the painting interestedly, since he is not now looking at (attending to) the painting. Jones's thinking or telling a story about his grandfather is no more a part of the painting than his speculating about the artist's intentions is and, hence, his musing, telling, speculating, and so on cannot properly be described as attending to the painting interestedly. What attitude-aestheticians are calling atten- tion to is the occurrence of irrelevant associations which distract the viewer from the painting or whatever. But distraction is not a special kind of attention, it is a kind of inattention.
Consider now disinterestedness and plays. I shall make use of some interesting examples offered by J. O. Urmson,'® but I am not claiming that Urmson is an attitude-theorist. Urmson never speaks in his article of aesthetic attitude but rather of aesthetic satisfaction. In addition to aes- thetic satisfaction, Urmson mentions economic, moral, personal, and intel- lectual satisfactions. I think the attitude-theorist would consider these last four kinds of satisfaction as "ulterior purposes" and, hence, cases of interested attention. Urmson considers the case of a man in the audience of a play who is delighted.' It is discovered that his delight is solely the result of the fact that there is a full house--the man is the impresario of the production. Urmson is right in calling this impresario's satisfaction economic rather than aesthetic, although there is a certain oddness about the example as it finds the impresario sitting in the audience. However, my concern is not with Urmson's examples as such but with the attitude theory. This impresario is certainly an interested party in the fullest sense of the word, but is his behavior an instance of interested attention as distinct from the supposed disinterested attention of the average citizen who sits beside him? In the situation as described by Urmson it would not make any sense to say that the impresario is attending to the play at all, since his sole concern at the moment is the till. If he can be said to be attending to anything (rather than just thinking about it) it is the size of the house. I do not mean to suggest that an impresario could not attend to his play if he found himself taking up a seat in a full house; I am challenging the sense of disinterested attention. As an example of personal satisfaction Urmson mentions the spectator whose daughter is in the play. per an ne C. 9 5 8, ). of
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Intellectual satisfaction involves the solution of technical problems of plays and moral satisfaction the consideration of the effects of the play on the viewer's conduct. All three of these candidates which the attitude-theorist would propose as cases of interested attention turn out to be just different ways of being distracted from the play and, hence, not cases of interested attention to the play. Of course, there is no reason to think that in any of these cases the distraction or inattention must be total, although it could be. In fact, such inattentions often occur but are so fleeting that nothing of the play, music, or whatever is missed or lost.
The example of a playwright watching a rehearsal or an out-of-town performance with a view to rewriting the script has been suggested to me is a case in which a spectator is certainly attending to the play (unlike our impresario) and attending in an interested manner. This case is unlike those just discussed but is similar to the earlier case of Jones (not Smith) listening to a particular piece of music. Our playwright--like Jones, who was to be examined on the music- has ulterior motives. Furthermore, the playwright, unlike an ordinary spectator, can change the script after the performance or during a rehearsal. But how is our playwright's attention (as distinguished from his motives and intentions) different from that of an ordinary viewer? The playwright might enjoy or be bored by the performance as any spectator might be. The playwright's attention might even flag. In short, the kinds of things which may happen to the playwright's attention are no different from those that may happen to an ordinary spectator, although the two may have quite different motives and intentions.
For the discussion of disinterested-interested reading of literature it is appropriate to turn to the arguments of Eliseo Vivas whose work is largely concerned with literature. Vivas remarks that "By approaching a poem in a nonaesthetic mode it may function as history, as social criticism, as diagnostic evidence of the author's neuroses, and in an indefinite number of other ways."20 Vivas further notes that according to Plato "the Greeks used Homer as an authority on war and almost anything under the sun, and that a certain poem "can be read as erotic poetry or as an account of a mystical experience."21 The difference between reading a poem as history or whatever (reading it nonaesthetically) and reading it aestheti- cally depends on how we approach or read it. A poem "does not come self-labelled,»22 but presumably is a poem only when it is read in a certain way-when it is an object of aesthetic experience. For Vivas, being an aesthetic object means being the object of the aesthetic attitude. He defines the aesthetic experience as "an experience of rapt attention which involves the intransitive apprehension of an object's immanent meanings and values in their full presentational immediacy."23 Vivas maintains that his defini- *ald LraC
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ton "helps me understand better what I can and what I cannot do when I read The Brothers (Karamazov)" and his definition "forces us to ack- nowledge that The Brothers Karamazov can hardly be read as art."24 This acknowledgment means that we probably cannot intransitively apprehend The Brothers because of its size and complexity.
"Intransitive" is the key term here and Vivas's meaning must be made clear. A number of passages reveal his meaning but perhaps the following is the best. "Heaving once seen a hockey game in slow motion, I am prepared to testify that it was an object of pure intransitive experience [attention] for I was not interested in which team won the game and no external factors mingled with my interest in the beautiful rhythmic Now of the slow-moving men.»»S It appears that Vivas's "intransitive attention» has the same meaning as Stolnitz's "disinterested attention, namely, "attending with no ulterior purpose."2 Thus, the question to ask is "How does one attend to (read) a poem or any literary work transitively?" One can certainly attend to (read) a poem for a variety of different purposes and because of a variety of different reasons, but can one attend to a poem transitively? I do not think so, but let us consider the examples Vivas offers. He mentions "a type of reader" who uses a poem or parts of a poem as a springboard for "loose, uncontrolled, relaxed day-dreaming, wool-gathering rambles, free from the contextual control" of the poem. But surely it would be wrong to say such musing is a case of transitively attending to a poem, since it is clearly a case of not attending to a poem. Another supposed way of attending to a poem transitively is by approach- ing it "as diagnostic evidence of the author's neuroses." Vivas is right if he means that there is no critical point in doing this since it does not throw light on the poem. But this is a case of using information gleaned from a poem to make inferences about its author rather than attending to a poem. If anything can be said to be attended to here it is the author's neuroses (at least they are being thought about). This kind of case is perhaps best thought of as a rather special way of getting distracted from a poem. Of course, such "biographical" distractions might be insignificant and momentary enough so as scarcely to distract attention from the poem (a flash of insight or understanding about the poet). On the other hand, such distractions may turn into dissertations and whole careers. Such an interest may lead a reader to concentrate his attention (when he does read a poem) on certain "informational" aspects of a poem and to ignore the remaining aspects. As deplorable as such a sustained practice may be, it is at best a case of attending to certain features of a poem and ignoring others.
Another way that poetry may allegedly be read transitively is by reading it as history. This case is different from the two preceding ones since poetry
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often contains history (makes historical statements or at least references) nut does not (usually) contain statements about the author's neuroses and so on nor does it contain statements about what a reader's free associations "distraction" ire about (otherwise we would not call them "free associations"). Reading a poem as history suggests that we are attending to (thinking about) 1 historical events by way of attending to a poem--the poem is a time-tele- scope.
My note says:
"reading it as history"
=
"distraction"
!
Consider the following two sets of lines:
In fourteen hundred and ninety-two
Columbus sailed the ocean blue.Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes
He star'd at the Pacific—and all his men
Look'd at each other with a wild surmise—
Silent, upon a peak in Darien.Someone might read both of these raptly and not know that they make historical references (inaccurately in one case)-might this be a case of intransitive attention? How would the above reading differ-_so far as attention is concerned--from the case of a reader who recognized the historical content of the poetic lines? The two readings do not differ as far as attention is concerned. History is a part of these sets of poetic lines and the two readings differ in that the first fails to take account of an aspect of the poetic lines (its historical content) and the second does not fail to do so. Perhaps by "reading as history" Vivas means "reading simply as history." But even this meaning does not mark out a special kind of attention but rather means that only a single aspect of a poem is being noticed and that its rhyme, meter, and so on are ignored. Reading a poem as social criticism can be analyzed in a fashion similar to reading as history. Some poems simply are or contain social criticism, and a complete reading must not fail to notice this fact.
The above cases of alleged interested attending can be sorted out in the following way. Jones listening to the music and our playwright watching the rehearsal are both attending with ulterior motives to a work of art, but there is no reason to suppose that the attention of either is different in kind from that of an ordinary spectator. The reader who reads a poem as history is simply attending to an aspect of a poem. On the other hand, the remaining cases--Jones beside the painting telling of his grandfather, the gloating impresario, daydreaming while "reading" a poem, and so on- are simply cases of not attending to the work of art.
In general, I conclude that "disinterestedness" or "intransitiveness" can- not properly be used to refer to a special kind of attention.' "Disinterested-
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ness" is a term which is used to make clear that an action has certain kinds of motives. Hence, we speak of disinterested findings (of boards of inquiry, disinterested verdicts (of judges and juries), and so on. Attending to an object, of course, has its motives but the attending itself is not interested or disinterested according to whether its motives are of the kind which motivate interested or disinterested action (as findings and verdicts might), although the attending may be more or less close.
I have argued that the second way of conceiving the aesthetic attitude is also a myth, or at least that its main content- disinterested attention-is; but I must now try to establish that the view misleads aesthetic theory.] shall argue that the attitude-theorist is incorrect about (1) the way in which he wishes to set the limits of aesthetic relevance; (2) the relation of the critic to a work of art; and (3) the relation of morality to aesthetic value.
Since I shall make use of the treatment of aesthetic relevance in Jerome Stolnitz's book, let me make clear that I am not necessarily denying the relevance of the specific items he cites but disagreeing with his criterion of relevance. His criterion of relevance is derived from his definition of "aesthetic attitude" and is set forth at the very beginning of his book. This procedure leads Monroe Beardsley in his review of the book to remark that Stolnitz's discussion is premature,28 Beardsley suggests "that relevance cannot be satisfactorily discussed until after a careful treatment of the several arts, their dimensions and capacities."29
First, what is meant by '"aesthetic relevance"? Stolnitz defines the problem by asking the question: "Is it ever 'relevant' to the aesthetic experience to have thoughts or images or bits of knowledge which are not present within the object itself?"30 Stolnitz begins by summarizing Bul- lough's experiment and discussion of single colors and associations." Some associations absorb the spectator's attention and distract him from the color and some associations "fuse" with the color. Associations of the latter kind are aesthetic and the former are not. Stolnitz draws the following conclusion about associations:
If the aesthetic experience is as we have described it, then whether an association is aesthetic depends on whether it is compatible with the attitude of "disinterested attention." If the association re-enforces the focusing of attention upon the object, by "fusing" with the object and thereby giving it added "life and significance, ," it is genuinely aesthetic. If, however, it arrogates attention to itself and away from the object, it undermines the aesthetic attitude.It is not clear how something could fuse with a single color, but "fusion" is one of those words in aesthetics which is rarely defined. Stolnitz then
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makes use of a more fruitful example, one from 1. A. Richards's Practical Criticism." He cites the responses of students to the poem which begins:
Between the erect and solemn trees
I will go down upon my knees;
I shall not find this day
So meet a place to pray.The image of a rugby forward running arose in the mind of one student- reader on reading the third verse of this poem. A cathedral was suggested to a second reader of the poem. The cathedral image "is congruous with both the verbal meaning of the poem and the emotions and mood which it expresses. It does not divert attention away from the poem.»»4 The rugby image is presumably incongruous and diverts attention from the poem.
It is a confusion to take compatibility with disinterested attention as a criterion of relevance. If, as I have tried to show, disinterested attention is a confused notion, then it will not do as a satisfactory criterion. Also, when Stolnitz comes to show why the cathedral image is, and the rugby image is not relevant, the criterion he actually uses is congruousness with the meaning of the poem, which is quite independent of the notion of disinterestedness. The problem is perhaps best described as the problem of relevance to a poem, or more generally, to a work of art, rather than aesthetic relevance.
A second way in which the attitude theory misleads aesthetics is its contention that a critic's relationship to a work of art is different in kind from the relationship of other persons to the work. H. S. Langfeld in an early statement of this view wrote that we may "slip from the attitude of aesthetic enjoyment to the attitude of the critic." He characterizes the critical attitude as "intellectually occupied in coldly estimating... merits" and the aesthetic attitude as responding "emotionally to" a work of art.35 At the beginning of his book in the discussion of the aesthetic attitude, Stolnitz declares that if a percipient of a work of art "has the purpose of passing judgment upon it, his attitude is not aesthetic."36 He develops this line at a later stage of his book, arguing that appreciation (perceiving with the aesthetic attitude) and criticism (seeking for reasons to support an evaluation of a work) are (1) distinct and (2) "psychologically opposed to each other.»37 The critical attitude is questioning, analytical, probing for strengths and weakness, and so on. The aesthetic attitude is just the opposite: "It commits our allegiance to the object freely and unquestion- ingly"; "the spectator 'surrenders' himself to the work of art.»38 "Just reduces aesthetic interest.»39 Stolnitz does not, of course, argue that * batt
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criticism is unimportant for appreciation. He maintains criticism plays an important and necessary role in preparing a person to appreciate the nuances, detail, form, and so on of works of art. We are quite right, he says, thus to rend and listen perceptively and acutely, but he questions, "Does this mean that we must analyze, measure in terms of value-criteria, etc., during the supposedly aesthetic experience?® His answer is "No" and he maintains that criticism must occur "prior to the aesthetic encounter,s or it will interfere with appreciation.
How does Stolmitz know that criticism will always interfere with ap- preciation? His conclusion sounds like one based upon the observations of actual cases, but I do not think it is. I believe it is a logical consequence of his definition of aesthetic attitude in terms of disinterested attention (no ulterior purpose). According to his view, to appreciate an object aestheti cally one has to perceive it with no ulterior purpose. But the critic has an ulterior purpose to analyze and evaluate the object he perceives--hence, insofar as à person functions as a critic he cannot function as an ap- preciator. But here, as previously, Stolnitz confuses a perceptual distinc- ton with a motivational one. If it were possible to attend disinterestedly or interestedly, then perhaps the critic (as percipient) would differ from other percipients. But if my earlier argument about attending is correct, the critic differs from other percipients only in his motives and intentions and not in the way in which he attends to a work of art.
Of course, it might just be a fact that the search for reasons is incompatible with the appreciation of art, but I do not think it is. Several years ago I participated in a series of panel discussions of films. During the showing of each film we were to discuss, I had to take note of various aspects of the film (actor's performance, dramatic development, organiza- tion of the screen-plane and screen-space at given moments, and so on) in order later to discuss the films. I believe that this practice not only helped educate me to appreciate subsequent films but that it enhanced the appreciation of the films I was analyzing. I noticed and was able to appreciate things about the films I was watching which ordinarily out of laziness I would not have noticed. I see no reason why the same should not be the case with the professional critic or any critical percipient. If many professional critics seem to appreciate so few works, it is not because they are critics, but perhaps because the percentage of good works of art is fairly small and they suffer from a kind of combat fatigue.
I am unable to see any significant difference between "perceptively and acutely" attending to a work of art (which Stolnitz holds enhances ap- preciation) and searching for reasons, so far as the experience of a work of art is concerned. If I attend perceptively and acutely, I will have certain standards and/or paradigms in mind (not necessarily consciously) and will
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be keenly aware of the elements and relations in the work and will evaluate hem to some degree. Stolnitz writes as if criticism takes place and then Hover and done with, but the search for and finding of reasons (noticing his fits in with that, and so on) is continuous in practiced appreciators. I practiced viewer does not even have to be looking for a reason, he may just notice a line or an arca in a painting, for example; and the line of area becomes a reason why he thinks the painting better or worse. A person may be a critic (not necessarily a good one) without meaning to be or without even realizing it.
There is one final line worth pursuing. Stolnitz's remarks suggest that one reason he thinks criticism and appreciation incompatible is that they compete with one another for time (this would be especially bad in the cases of performed works). But seeking and finding reasons (criticism) does not compete for time with appreciation. First, to seek for a reason means to be ready and able to notice something and to be thus ready and able as one attends does not compete for time with the attending. In fact, I should suppose that seeking for reasons would tend to focus attention more securely on the work of art. Second, finding a reason is an achieve- ment, like winning a race. (It takes time to run a race but not to win it.) Consider the finding of the following reasons. How much time does it take to "see" that a note is off key (or on key)? How long does it take to notice that an actor mispronounces a word (or does it right)? How much time does it take to realize that a character's action does not fit his already established personality? (One is struck by it.) How long does it take to apprehend that a happy ending is out of place? It does not take time to find any of these reasons or reasons in general. Finding a reason is like coming to understand--it is done in a flash. I do not mean to suggest that one cannot be mistaken in finding a reason. What may appear to be a fault or a merit (a found reason) in the middle of a performance (or during one look at a painting and so forth) may turn out to be just the opposite when seen from the perspective of the whole performance (or other looks at the painting).
A third way in which the attitude theory misleads aesthetic theory is its contention that aesthetic value is always independent of morality. This view is perhaps not peculiar to the attitude theory, but it is a logical consequence of the attitude approach. Two quotations from attitude- theorists will establish the drift of their view of morality and aesthetic value.
We are either concerned with the beauty of the object or with some other value of the same. Just as soon, for example, as ethical con- siderations occur to our mind, our attitude shifts.[112]
Any of us might reject a novel because it seems to conflict with our moral beliefs.... When we do so... we have not read the book aesthetically, for we have interposed moral. responses of our own which are alien to it. This disrupts the aesthetic attitude. We cannot then say that the novel is aesthetically bad, for we have not permitted ourselves to consider it aesthetically. To maintain the aesthetic at. titude, we must follow the lead of the object and respond in concert with it.This conception of the aesthetic attitude functions to hold the moral aspects and the aesthetic aspects of the work of art firmly apart. Presumably, although it is difficult to see one's way clearly here, the moral aspects of a work of art cannot be an object of aesthetic attention because aesthetic attention is by definition disinterested and the moral aspects are somehow practical (interested). I suspect that there are a number of confusions involved in the assumption of the incompatibility of aesthetic attention and the moral aspects of art, but I shall not attempt to make these clear, since the root of the assumption-_disinterested attention--is a confused notion. Some way other than in terms of the aesthetic attitude, then, is needed to discuss the relation of morality and aesthetic value.
David Pole in a recent article# has argued that the moral vision which a work of art may embody is aesthetically significant. It should perhaps be remarked at this point that not all works of art embody a moral vision and perhaps some kinds of art (music, for example) cannot embody a moral vision, but certainly some novels, some poems, and some films and plays do. I assume it is unnecessary to show how novels and so on have this moral aspect. Pole notes the curious fact that while so many critics approach works of art in "overtly moralistic terms, it is a "philosophical commonplace ... that the ethical and the aesthetic modes. form different categories.»S I suspect that many philosophers would simply say that these critics are confused about their roles. But Pole assumes that philosophical theory "should take notice of practice» and surely he is right. In agreeing with Pole's assumption I should like to reserve the right to argue in specific cases that a critic may be misguided. This right is especially necessary in a field such as aesthetics because the language and practice of critics is so often burdened with ancient theory. Perhaps all moralistic criticism is wrong, but philosophers should not rule it out of order at the very beginning by use of a definition.
Pole thinks that the moral vision presented by a particular work of art will be either true or false (perhaps a mixture of true and false might occur). If a work has a false moral vision, then something "is lacking within the work itself. But to say that is to say that the [work] is internally
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incoherent; some particular aspect must jar with what- on the strength of the rest--we claim a right to demand. And here the moral fault that we have found will count as an aesthetic fault too,'? Pole is trying to show that the assessment of the moral vision of a work of art is just a special case of coherence or incoherence, and since everyone would agree that coherence is an aesthetic category, the assessment of the moral vision is an aesthetic assessment.
I think Pole's conclusion is correct but take exception to some of his arguments. First, I am uncertain whether it is proper to speak of a moral vision being true or false, and would want to make a more modest claim--that a moral vision can be judged to be acceptable or unacceptable. (I am not claiming Pole is wrong and my claim is not inconsistent with his.) Second, I do not see that a false (or unacceptable) moral vision makes a work incoherent. I should suppose that to say a work is coherent or incoherent is to speak about how its parts fit together and this involves no reference to something outside the work as the work's truth or falsity does.
In any event, it seems to me that a faulty moral vision can be shown to be an aesthetic fault independently of Pole's consideration of truth and coherence. As Pole's argument implies, a work's moral vision is a part of the work. Thus, any statement--descriptive or evaluative-_-about the work's moral vision is a statement about the work; and any statement about a work is a critical statement and, hence, falls within the aesthetic domain. To judge a moral vision to be morally unacceptable is to judge it defective and this amounts to saying that the work of art has a defective part. (Of course, a judgment of the acceptability of a moral vision may be wrong, as a judgment of an action sometimes is, but this fallibility does not make any difference.) Thus, a work's moral vision may be an aesthetic merit or defect just as a work's degree of unity is a merit or defect. But what justifies saying that a moral vision is a part of a work of art? Perhaps "part" is not quite the right word but it serves to make the point clear enough. A novel's moral vision is an essential part of the novel and if it were removed (I am not sure how such surgery could be carried out) the novel would be greatly changed. Anyway, a novel's moral vision is not like its covers or binding. However, someone might still argue that even though a work's moral vision is defective and the moral vision is part of the work, that this defect is not an aesthetic defect. How is "aesthetic" being used here? It is being used to segregate certain aspects or parts of works of art such as formal and stylistic aspects from such aspects as a work's moral vision. But it seems to me that the separation is only nominal. "Aesthetic" has been selected as a name for a certain subset of characteristics of works of art. I certainly cannot object to such a stipula-
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tion, since an underlying aim of this essay is to suggest the vacuousness or the term "aesthetie." My concern at this point is simply to insist that a work's moral vision is a part of the work and that, therefore, a critic can lepitimately describe and evaluate it. I would call any defect or merit Which a critic can legitimately point out an aesthetic defect or merit, but what we call it does not matter.
It would, of course, be a mistake to judge a work solely on the basis of its moral vision (it is only one part). The fact that some critics have judged works of art in this way is perhaps as much responsible as the theory of aesthetic attitude for the attempts to separate morality from the aesthetic. In fact, such criticism is no doubt at least partly responsible for the rise of the notion of the aesthetic attitude.
If the foregoing arguments are correct, the second way of conceiving the aesthetic attitude misleads aesthetic theory in at least three ways.
III
In answer to a hypothetical question about what is seen in viewing a portrait with the aesthetic attitude, Tomas in part responds "If looking at a picture and attending closely to how it looks is not really to be in the aesthetic attitude, then what on earth is?"48 I shall take this sentence as formulating the weakest version of the aesthetic attitude. (I am ignoring Tomas's distinction between appearance and reality. See footnote 7. My remarks, thus, are not a critique of Tomas's argument; I am simply using one of his sentences.) First, this sentence speaks only of "looking at a picture, » but "listening to a piece of music," "watching and listening to a play, " and so on could be added easily enough. After thus expanding the sentence, it can be contracted into the general form: "Being in the aesthetic attitude is attending closely to a work of art (or a natural object)."
But the aesthetic attitude ("the hallmark of modern aesthetics") in this formulation is a great letdown-it no longer seems to say anything sig- nificant. Nevertheless, this does seem to be all that is left after the aesthetic attitude has been purged of distancing and disinterestedness. The only thing which prevents the aesthetic attitude from collapsing into simple attention is the qualification closely. One may, I suppose, attend to a work of art more or less closely, but this fact does not seem to signify anything very important. When "being in the aesthetic attitude" is equated with "attending (closely)," the equation neither involves any mythical element nor could it possibly mislead aesthetic theory. But if the definition has no vices, it seems to have no virtues either. When the aesthetic attitude finally not be called turns out to be simply attending (closely), the final version should perhaps "the weakest" but rather aesthetic attitude. "the vacuous version" of the
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Stolnitz is no doubt historically correct that the notion of the aesthetic attitude has played an important role in the freeing of aesthetic theory from an overweening concern with beauty. It is easy to see how the slogan, Anything can become an object of the aesthetic attitude," could help accomplish this liberation. It is worth noting, however, that ine same goal could have been (and perhaps to some extent was) realized by simply noting that works of art are often ugly or contain ugliness, or have features which are difficult to include within beauty. No doubt, in more recent times people have been encouraged to take an aesthetic antitude toward a painting as a way of lowering their prejudices, say, against abstract and honobjective art. So if the notion of aesthetic attitude has turned out to have no theoretical value for aesthetics, it has had practical value for the appreciation of art in a way similar to that of Clive Bell's suspect notion of significant form.
Notes
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