This series is a continuation of my conversations with an atheist friend of mine. We began with religion and have now moved onto many other things. These are my edited responses from that conversation. The eleventh entry is a continuation of part ten about art:
My friend continued:
Most great masterpieces were painted on commission. An artist didn’t sit in his studio and paint because he wanted to or had something he needed to express. He painted because a wealthy person wanted him to paint something for him, either as decoration, or to simply display their wealth and power for all to see. But now, those paintings are in museums so the masses can view them just to say they have seen them. So originally, the subject matter of the painting did matter; it was full of political or religious or social symbolism. However, they existed not for the sake of art as we consider it today, but for something else.
My reply was:
I suppose the greatness of those commissioned artists of before has to do with the ability of those who commissioned the works to purvey them to the general populace. In effect, the church and government becomes the art critic. This portrait of me as king or this depiction of the last supper is important because I say so. Marvel at its awesomeness you peasants. Okay, not that dramatically, but I think my point remains. My question being: does greatness only come from commission, only from an imposed purpose so others will find and "know" the purpose as well instead of some abstract, relative thought?
Perhaps considering how artists of our time have become renowned would help us in contemplating how art becomes great. How did Andy Warhol or Norman Rockwell become famous? I think it might be that they had a sense of the every day man. That's cliché. Rockwell painted scenes that a random American would recognize and say, "Hey, that could be me." Or, "I might actually live that." Warhol started with some work of icons of Americana, the Campbell soup labels or Coke bottles. (He stayed famous for eliciting controversy, but became famous for his art.) Their main draw was appealing to the everyman. You have to appeal to the masses to be remembered.
To sum up what I think:
I would be of the line of thought that art will always be created; whether or not an artist can support themselves doesn't matter. People will always be inspired to create, regardless of any financial implications. I would say the individual needs art that expresses outside the political, economic, and social power of the owner, but that art doesn't need to be financed by an outside power. Again, people will create what comes to them naturally along with what they are paid to create.
I guess to finish: Art is a work that expresses a thought, feeling or idea through various media. An artist is anyone who creates that work. That's a broad definition, but I’m not a philosopher.
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Friday, November 27, 2009
Serious conversations (part 10):
This series is a continuation of my conversations with an atheist friend of mine. We began with religion and have now moved onto many other things. These are my edited responses from that conversation. The tenth entry in this series is about art:
I think there is a caveat to the typical definition of art. (My friend began the discussion with the sort of definition a critic or textbook would give: art is a timeless expression of some feeling or sentiment.) Art may be a timeless expression of some feeling, but that feeling can be different for different times. Great art will be able to continuously fit into the mold of attractiveness for a time period. The question is who defines truly great art? Who gives art meaning? The short answer is an individual. Just because a critic or the populace decides something is a great piece of art doesn't make it great to you.
My friend has a hard time getting a particular feeling or expression when viewing art. She is far more interested in the historical context within which it originally fit than with what the painting might express. She believes that many probably do not find something meaningful in art. She supposes that it means far more to them to be able to say that they have seen the painting, rather than to actually look at the painting. So, the true value of the old masterpieces now is that we can say we saw them. A critic might disagree, but in terms of the popular masses, they probably only look at art because other people tell them to. The question is why are some pieces are art “great”, but others not? And is greatness something intrinsic to the piece of art or a result of critics influencing the public or something else?
I replied: Just because you don't feel that a particular piece of art isn't expressing something to you doesn't make it meaningless and consequently not art. Art doesn't necessarily have to impose meaning to everyone for it to be great. Art can be considered simply for its own beauty, its appeal to the senses. That can be technical beauty, as in the level of skill the artist had to demonstrate to create the work. It could be the intrinsic beauty, as in the colors, composition or form of the subject is pleasing to the eye. Or I suppose it could be the contextual beauty, as in the meaning we give to a subject makes it beautiful, the sunset is beautiful, two people in love is beautiful.
I can't say why a great painting doesn't impart meaning to some people. It could depend on the kind of person one is, an analytical person interested in facts as opposed to an emotional person concerned with beauty. When I find myself in a museum, I never to try force any emotion out at the sight of piece of art. Meaning can be very subtle, and a lot of the time I don't get it either, but sometimes meaning will jump off the canvas and hit you. You just have to be open to it.
It is probably correct to say that most people see art because others say they should go see it. Most people follow instead of lead. People are attracted to what they are told is attractive, find beauty in what they are told is beautiful, see meaning where they are told to see meaning, so I would agree that critics of art steer us to what they conclude just because they are held in authority. Although, it might be because you are seeing something that's one of a kind, unique. A painting can also connect you to the time period it represents. A picture is a thousand words.
However, some pieces and artists are great because they were the avant-garde for a new way of thinking, a new way of artistry or simply because they were one of the first masters of a particular genre or medium. That might have inspired the interest of the masses at first. I would imagine though that the continued influence of the great works has to do with a bit of everything - originality, critics, fashion, political and social relevancy.
I think there is a caveat to the typical definition of art. (My friend began the discussion with the sort of definition a critic or textbook would give: art is a timeless expression of some feeling or sentiment.) Art may be a timeless expression of some feeling, but that feeling can be different for different times. Great art will be able to continuously fit into the mold of attractiveness for a time period. The question is who defines truly great art? Who gives art meaning? The short answer is an individual. Just because a critic or the populace decides something is a great piece of art doesn't make it great to you.
My friend has a hard time getting a particular feeling or expression when viewing art. She is far more interested in the historical context within which it originally fit than with what the painting might express. She believes that many probably do not find something meaningful in art. She supposes that it means far more to them to be able to say that they have seen the painting, rather than to actually look at the painting. So, the true value of the old masterpieces now is that we can say we saw them. A critic might disagree, but in terms of the popular masses, they probably only look at art because other people tell them to. The question is why are some pieces are art “great”, but others not? And is greatness something intrinsic to the piece of art or a result of critics influencing the public or something else?
I replied: Just because you don't feel that a particular piece of art isn't expressing something to you doesn't make it meaningless and consequently not art. Art doesn't necessarily have to impose meaning to everyone for it to be great. Art can be considered simply for its own beauty, its appeal to the senses. That can be technical beauty, as in the level of skill the artist had to demonstrate to create the work. It could be the intrinsic beauty, as in the colors, composition or form of the subject is pleasing to the eye. Or I suppose it could be the contextual beauty, as in the meaning we give to a subject makes it beautiful, the sunset is beautiful, two people in love is beautiful.
I can't say why a great painting doesn't impart meaning to some people. It could depend on the kind of person one is, an analytical person interested in facts as opposed to an emotional person concerned with beauty. When I find myself in a museum, I never to try force any emotion out at the sight of piece of art. Meaning can be very subtle, and a lot of the time I don't get it either, but sometimes meaning will jump off the canvas and hit you. You just have to be open to it.
It is probably correct to say that most people see art because others say they should go see it. Most people follow instead of lead. People are attracted to what they are told is attractive, find beauty in what they are told is beautiful, see meaning where they are told to see meaning, so I would agree that critics of art steer us to what they conclude just because they are held in authority. Although, it might be because you are seeing something that's one of a kind, unique. A painting can also connect you to the time period it represents. A picture is a thousand words.
However, some pieces and artists are great because they were the avant-garde for a new way of thinking, a new way of artistry or simply because they were one of the first masters of a particular genre or medium. That might have inspired the interest of the masses at first. I would imagine though that the continued influence of the great works has to do with a bit of everything - originality, critics, fashion, political and social relevancy.
Friday, November 13, 2009
Serious Conversations (part 9)
This series is a continuation of my conversations with an atheist friend of mine. We began with religion and have now moved onto many other things. These are my edited responses from that conversation. The ninth entry concerns family:
With this entry I must start with my friend’s side. She has a rather large extended family that she doesn’t have much in common with, and she often questions her obligations to her family and what she gets from her family.
She begins by saying that family is the group of people who are supposed to be there regardless of the circumstances and who should delight in your happiness and be pained in your sadness. The love of a family is more than enjoyment of one another’s company. In a biological sense, we are attached to those with whom we share genes. Socially and culturally, there is pressure to protect and care for our family members.
Friendship, on the other hand, is optional. Our friendships change as our interests change; we are looking for something specific - pleasure, company, common interests - in our friends. Family, though, is forever; we are tied to our family by our genes and by mutual family members. And it seems we are supposed to get something different from our familial relationships besides enjoyment of company or common interests.
But what is it, where is it, and at what point do you decide, with a particular relative, that you just don't have it? Or is the question, “would I feel that something significant was missing if I didn't see them anymore? Would they?” What makes me care deeply for some family members and not others.
I, unfortunately for my friend, have very little context to help here. I have a very limited family, not more than half a dozen that I ever see, and probably less than 20 total. So I have very little to draw from. In these couple of paragraphs is the best response I could muster:
So, firstly, family love is different, yes, but why? I think it's mostly cultural. Something along the lines of a long time ago, when humanity was much more lawless, and trust was in short supply, you could trust your family, and that's all you could trust. And trust is the first step to building a friendship which can then lead to love. I also think it might have something to do with a desire to return what love and companionship is given us. This would explain why you would care for those who care for you. The family members one cares for have established a lasting connection to you. It's selfish, but that's what humanity is.
I really don't feel pressure to like or be around extended family. If I like a family member, I don't look at those relationships any differently than ordinary friendship. If I stop liking them, I stop interacting with them. I don't really dislike any of my family though. I suppose my problem with all this is I haven't spent enough time around my family to know whether or not I like them. I feel my obligations to family are simply being courteous and civil. And that’s about it.
To say the least, my friend was unsatisfied.
With this entry I must start with my friend’s side. She has a rather large extended family that she doesn’t have much in common with, and she often questions her obligations to her family and what she gets from her family.
She begins by saying that family is the group of people who are supposed to be there regardless of the circumstances and who should delight in your happiness and be pained in your sadness. The love of a family is more than enjoyment of one another’s company. In a biological sense, we are attached to those with whom we share genes. Socially and culturally, there is pressure to protect and care for our family members.
Friendship, on the other hand, is optional. Our friendships change as our interests change; we are looking for something specific - pleasure, company, common interests - in our friends. Family, though, is forever; we are tied to our family by our genes and by mutual family members. And it seems we are supposed to get something different from our familial relationships besides enjoyment of company or common interests.
But what is it, where is it, and at what point do you decide, with a particular relative, that you just don't have it? Or is the question, “would I feel that something significant was missing if I didn't see them anymore? Would they?” What makes me care deeply for some family members and not others.
I, unfortunately for my friend, have very little context to help here. I have a very limited family, not more than half a dozen that I ever see, and probably less than 20 total. So I have very little to draw from. In these couple of paragraphs is the best response I could muster:
So, firstly, family love is different, yes, but why? I think it's mostly cultural. Something along the lines of a long time ago, when humanity was much more lawless, and trust was in short supply, you could trust your family, and that's all you could trust. And trust is the first step to building a friendship which can then lead to love. I also think it might have something to do with a desire to return what love and companionship is given us. This would explain why you would care for those who care for you. The family members one cares for have established a lasting connection to you. It's selfish, but that's what humanity is.
I really don't feel pressure to like or be around extended family. If I like a family member, I don't look at those relationships any differently than ordinary friendship. If I stop liking them, I stop interacting with them. I don't really dislike any of my family though. I suppose my problem with all this is I haven't spent enough time around my family to know whether or not I like them. I feel my obligations to family are simply being courteous and civil. And that’s about it.
To say the least, my friend was unsatisfied.
Sunday, November 01, 2009
Serious conversations (part 8):
This series is a continuation of my conversations with an atheist friend of mine. We began with religion and have now moved onto many other things. These are my edited responses from that conversation. The eighth entry concerns the purpose of science in my life and how religion fills in the gaps.
Here is how I view the end of science. Just because I can't understand the soul and heaven and God (if they exist) doesn't mean I can't understand everything else. If we understood the universe except for religion, then I would have to think about the end of science again, fortunately we’ll probably never fully understand the universe. Until then why stop pursuing science just because we one day might understand everything except religion? Just because we can't describe the soul or God now doesn't mean we won't some day get there. I think religion and science can describe the same thing, just in different ways. What I can call creation, you can call evolution and the big bang. One being right doesn't mean the other is wrong. If science, then not religion or if religion, then not science is fallacious, a dichotomy in the most horrid sense. Both can exist simultaneously and not only exist but help on another.
Here is how I view the end of science. Just because I can't understand the soul and heaven and God (if they exist) doesn't mean I can't understand everything else. If we understood the universe except for religion, then I would have to think about the end of science again, fortunately we’ll probably never fully understand the universe. Until then why stop pursuing science just because we one day might understand everything except religion? Just because we can't describe the soul or God now doesn't mean we won't some day get there. I think religion and science can describe the same thing, just in different ways. What I can call creation, you can call evolution and the big bang. One being right doesn't mean the other is wrong. If science, then not religion or if religion, then not science is fallacious, a dichotomy in the most horrid sense. Both can exist simultaneously and not only exist but help on another.
Friday, October 23, 2009
This I Believe (20)
This is part twenty of my “This I Believe” series. I have had trouble over the last several years defining exactly what it is I prescribe to as a worldview. I hope to figure some of what I believe here.
I have one last thing to talk about for now (I’ll start this series back up once I come to more conclusions.): a thought that occurred to me a while ago. All the other times I’ve suffered a lack of faith it has been because I was mad at God for whatever reason, being depressed, loosing a friend, being lonely, etc. Right now though, I’m doing very well. I’m happy, productive, and usually around people I enjoy. So why am I having a hard time now? I think it’s because I’m finally not thinking like a child anymore. I am being very critical of everything that I am exposed to. I can step back and take a logical look at my culture, religion, politics, etc. and not have the influence of adults shade my judgments. And those judgments are very skeptical of religion. To again sum up my worldview:
I have one last thing to talk about for now (I’ll start this series back up once I come to more conclusions.): a thought that occurred to me a while ago. All the other times I’ve suffered a lack of faith it has been because I was mad at God for whatever reason, being depressed, loosing a friend, being lonely, etc. Right now though, I’m doing very well. I’m happy, productive, and usually around people I enjoy. So why am I having a hard time now? I think it’s because I’m finally not thinking like a child anymore. I am being very critical of everything that I am exposed to. I can step back and take a logical look at my culture, religion, politics, etc. and not have the influence of adults shade my judgments. And those judgments are very skeptical of religion. To again sum up my worldview:
1.)God is unreasonable, but because of his nature, God doesn’t have to be reasonable to human beings. No matter how unreasonable God seems, if reason cannot prove without any doubt God does not exist, religion can always claim that God does not have to be reasonable. Also if God does exist, He should not condemn a person to whom He gave logic and reason for logically thinking, as long as they truthfully consider the universe. Good acts can save.
- 2.)We cannot know all evidence in regards to the God question. God can neither be 100% proven nor 100% disproven. Questions will always remain. Reason is not helpful when it comes to religion.
- 3.)There is a small chance God does exist. Regardless of how small this chance is, faith can bridge the gap. Faith is believing when there is no proof. Notice I say no proof. If there is absolute proof God does not exist, faith no longer has a place. Also, faith without some doubt is not really faith. If one believes without any doubt, that is credulousness not faith. God requires faith, not blind following.
Sunday, October 04, 2009
This I Believe (19)
This is part nineteen of my “This I Believe” series. I have had trouble over the last several years defining exactly what it is I prescribe to as a worldview. I hope to figure some of what I believe here.
I pose the following question: Why did God stop performing obvious large scale miracles after Jesus? God could have a much larger following if he would just perform a parting of the Red Sea or some other active miracle.
Option one is that God doesn’t exist and the Bible is a myth.
Option two is that God needed the big miracles to start his following, but now that he has that large following, large miracles that interfere in the development of man aren’t necessary. And that He is trying to inspire faith of those who believe (e.g. what point is faith if the object of belief is obvious?)
The point I again want to make is that every time I think up or am presented with an argument against God, religion always finds some sort of loophole around what doesn’t appear to make sense. And that’s all it has to do, simply remind that the possibility exists for divinity, not rebuff an argument against it.
I pose the following question: Why did God stop performing obvious large scale miracles after Jesus? God could have a much larger following if he would just perform a parting of the Red Sea or some other active miracle.
Option one is that God doesn’t exist and the Bible is a myth.
Option two is that God needed the big miracles to start his following, but now that he has that large following, large miracles that interfere in the development of man aren’t necessary. And that He is trying to inspire faith of those who believe (e.g. what point is faith if the object of belief is obvious?)
The point I again want to make is that every time I think up or am presented with an argument against God, religion always finds some sort of loophole around what doesn’t appear to make sense. And that’s all it has to do, simply remind that the possibility exists for divinity, not rebuff an argument against it.
Sunday, September 20, 2009
This I Believe (18)
This is part eighteen of my “This I Believe” series. I have had trouble over the last several years defining exactly what it is I prescribe to as a worldview. I hope to figure some of what I believe here.
Here I want to comment on two concepts: faith and hope.
Faith, in the simplest sense I can think of, is believing in something, a thought, a person, a worldview, when you have no proof for the correctness of your belief. Faith also requires knowing that your belief is true regardless of a lack of evidence supporting that belief. I think that faith without doubt is not faith. Faith without some doubt is acceptance.
I am a follower of Kierkegaard in this sense. There will never be sufficient evidence to demand belief, but faith alone will be enough to demand belief. Doubt is the rational part of the brain telling you that what faith demands is nonsense. But by its own nature faith flies in the face of that and is meaningless without the doubt without which it is simply credulousness.
Hope, on the other hand, is wanting something when you have no proof for the correctness of your belief yet also not knowing or being sure how correct that belief is. Hope is wanting but doubting.
Hope is wishing something will happen, but faith is believing something will happen.
To make sense of this I picture an isosceles triangle where the two legs of the triangle are hope and credulousness, and the pinnacle of the triangle is faith. Faith requires some of both hope and credulousness to exist, but faith is not either of those two.
Here I want to comment on two concepts: faith and hope.
Faith, in the simplest sense I can think of, is believing in something, a thought, a person, a worldview, when you have no proof for the correctness of your belief. Faith also requires knowing that your belief is true regardless of a lack of evidence supporting that belief. I think that faith without doubt is not faith. Faith without some doubt is acceptance.
I am a follower of Kierkegaard in this sense. There will never be sufficient evidence to demand belief, but faith alone will be enough to demand belief. Doubt is the rational part of the brain telling you that what faith demands is nonsense. But by its own nature faith flies in the face of that and is meaningless without the doubt without which it is simply credulousness.
Hope, on the other hand, is wanting something when you have no proof for the correctness of your belief yet also not knowing or being sure how correct that belief is. Hope is wanting but doubting.
Hope is wishing something will happen, but faith is believing something will happen.
To make sense of this I picture an isosceles triangle where the two legs of the triangle are hope and credulousness, and the pinnacle of the triangle is faith. Faith requires some of both hope and credulousness to exist, but faith is not either of those two.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
