On Love: Art and Life (Revised)

What is the relationship between art and life? Or more precisely, what is the relationship between art and love? Is art the imitation of life? Whatever it is, the conception of art nevertheless offends the renowned Greek philosopher Plato. According to Plato, there is a world of Forms that bears all the ideal Forms, from the most physical to the most abstract, of everything in the physical world. From a Platonic perspective, the reality as we live in is therefore an imitation of the world of Forms. If art offends Plato, it is perhaps because art is the imitation of imperfection, namely, the illusionary reality, which is deemed destructible. But is art as an imitation of life as commonly supposed?

Out of all artistic movements, what strikes me as one of the most interesting is perhaps Dadaism. Dadaists rebels against all traditional conceptions of art, rather than articulate their hands to exercise their craftsmanship at full force, they draw materials that are usually found in our homes such as a broomstick or toilet, giving them their due place in art museums, hence rendering our aesthetic sensibility vulgar. One of the most celebrated works is Marcel DuChamp's toilet which he fancily calls it "The Fountain".

Confronted by such avant-garde conception of art, it is not surprising to be full of wonder at the display of such an exceptionally normal sanitary system can be compared to the works of masters such as Mondrian's and Matisse's or Rothko's and Klee's. What is so artistic about a toilet?

Contemplating what it meant to be beautiful, we may perhaps be drawn back to Plato's theory of Forms. In the world of Forms, according to Plato, there exists an ideal From of beauty, made up of ideal symmetry between parts. Up to this point, one will be compelled to inquire, "Is "The Fountain" built upon the Greek obsession of the law of the Golden Ratio? Does it offer a necessarily mathematical basis of beauty which ought not to be determined by our subjectively aesthetic mindset?

Perhaps there is something peculiar about DuChamp's conception of beauty. For most of us, the work creates in its aesthetic horror the feel of a tastelessly furnished sanitary system located in a bathroom. If we allow ourselves to follow DuChamp's aesthetic logic, could we equally falsely raise a facet, a bathtub, or even a toothbrush to a status of artistic superiority?

Surprisingly, the Dadaists have as much to offer about art as about the nature of love.

If artists are able to aesthetically distinguish themselves among the lay people, it is because their role lies in opening our eyes, in sensitising our aesthetic sensibility, and inculcate in us an appreciation of objects of initially neglected aesthetic qualities. Dadaists urge us to pay attention to objects of their minutest details, suggesting object even as ordinary as a toilet or a broomstick may detain us for a moment of artistic joy. But it is always hard to notice the details around us, because we are creatures of habit and therefore liable to grow contemptuous of what is familiar.

If we study the history of art in depth, we are likely to be driven to the conclusion that other artists, aside from the Dadaists, follow a similar trajectory. In Monet's painting "Haystacks at Giverny, Summer", rather than attend to us the beauty of a Palace or the usual luxurious goods, he suggests even something as simple and ordinary as a haystack can strike us as beautiful. Mark Ryden's "The Tree Show" urges us to revise our commonly supposed conceptions about trees, to discover the beauty of trees we often neglect, hence attach them to a more "accurate" and "just" value.


So what do the Dadaists wish to tell us? They wish to tell us, through objects that were initially not offered a place in an art museum, that our perception of beauty is not immobile, susceptible to change depending on the lessons artists wish to offer. They sensitise and refine our perception of beauty. They open our eyes to what was initially impossible to appreciate therefore suggest our life is more beautiful than we suppose it to be.

In like manner, when we are in love, we may desire all the small things in us can be appreciated by the ones we love. That all the minutest details within us, however trivial, may be manifested and therefore raised to a status of immense significance. The way our girlfriends brush their hair or the way they arrange their clothes in their wardrobes, the fact that I perceive these trivial details may at one level be silly, but at another level it suggests something justifiable, that I wish to notice and understand everything about them rather than just look, just like appreciating a book by its content rather than by its cover. Do we not wish to be artists when we are in love? Do we not often harbour a wish that our partners can be like Andy Warhol who finds beauty in a can of Campbell soup and therefore raises an ordinary grocery product to a status that demands attention of the world? A close inspection of our beloveds' exceptionally ordinary behaviours makes their insignificant existence take on a certain value, as antidote to cynicism, to which strangers are oblivious.

The analogy we draw from Dadaism for love is that it teaches us to notice rather than look. If our sense of beauty is not immobile, why, then, can't we say the same for love? Dadaists show us what the nature of love should be. They do not just wish to sensitise our sense of love by the virtue of noticing, they also teach us how to separate love and infatuation or love and passion. We may at times marvel at the thoughts whether we are in actually love. How can we be sure our desire for a prostitute is love or obsession? How do we make the distinction between the line of physical desire and amorous desire? Direct physical contact with an object of love does not necessarily grant us amorous possession. If we fail to notice the details in whom we desire, it suggests we are more infatuated with our partner rather than love her, just like opening a bottle of wine and smell the splendour of its aroma without the attempt to drink it.

Oscar Wilde's wisdom seems nearer to the truth as opposed to Plato:

"Life imitates art far more than art imitates life."

All too often we want our romantic relationships can be those depicted in literature, novels, and films. We find in works of art the process of simplification and perfection we often anticipate in our minds. But our reality is always disappointing because artists are responsible for cutting away the periods of difficulties and struggles and trying to persuade us that all problems are deemed solvable by our intelligent minds. Unfortunately, the kisses which most lovers receive are often the vulgar imitations of Rodin's "The Kiss". Little wonder why Oscar Wilde concludes,

"It is through art, and through art only, that we can realise our perfection; through art and art only that we can shield ourselves from the sordid perils of actual existence. "

Art allows us to perceive the world from a wholly different perspective. It enforces us to appreciate something that may be previously offending and refine our original perception of beauty. DuChamp urges us to look at a toilet not from our own eyes but through his eyes.

Perhaps art imitates life as much as life imitates art. But beyond a point, when we too often fall in love, that it has become a habit, the realisation of love ceases. Familiarity breeds contempt. Rather than being aware of the lessons of experience, we further go on to commit the same mistakes, neglecting the nature of love, just like we naively think a camera can automatically assure us the possession of beauty. The merits of artists lie in reminding us of the fact that even falling in love is as common as seeing a tree or riding a bus, it does not mean we can rightfully neglect its beauty and nature. Artists inculcate in us an realisation of neglected qualities of love, an understanding of what love is, so we can become what hope to be.

Until we start appreciating our own bathroom, we will not be able to learn how to love.

W

On Excessive Thinking

Aside from escapism, few activities promise us as much consolation as the process of thinking. Among all the intellectual spheres, philosophers are perhaps the ones who take most pleasure in thought. Rather than brood on intractable problems, philosophers invite us to investigate the root of our problems from an entirely different perspective, hence mitigate our worries and anxieties, if not solve them. However the contemplative habit of mind may put our minds at ease, there is a generally held belief that thinking is perhaps the cause of our problems. It suggests that thinking violates the fundamental law of human nature, something invented to complicate things, therefore is falsely raised to a status of superiority as the greatest intellectual pursuit out of all human activities.

If the process of thinking is problem-inducing, it is because reason seeks to destroy our passion. From the latter part of the eighteenth century down to present day, our world has been influenced by a feeling of what may be called "the romantic movement". This movement has a distaste for the Classical civilisation, rather than champion the ideas laid down by the Greek thinkers through the process of thinking, it directs against science and philosophy, rendering our intellect unnecessary.

One of the pioneers of this movement is Rousseau. In his "Discourse On The Origin of Inequality", he goes on to sketch the history of human civilisation as regressive as opposed to the commonly supposed progressivism. Rousseau thinks that we are all good in the state of nature, always acting on our first impulses hence realising what we naturally need. In the state of nature, people are not drawn to the material possessions that we commonly cherish in the modern world such as a brand-new Mercedes, expensive high-end fashion garments, and a pretentious piece of painting, instead they are more drawn to the essential features of a happy life: love of family, friendship, romantic love, love of nature, a taste for music and dance. Why do we need wine when what our body needs is water? Why do we use art to imitate nature when the nature is itself a great work of art? Why do we make clothes a product of artificial beauty when their original purpose is to protect our body from severe weather? It is this commercial civilisation that pulls us away from happiness, leaving us to sigh and suffer in the world of misfortunes.

Along this line of naturalist thought, two thousand years before Rousseau invokes his absurdly romantic fantasy, Lao Tzu, the founder of Taoism, argues in defence of this naturalist position. Just when Socrates reminds us that the only evil is ignorance and the only good is knowledge, Lao Tzu advises us to banish knowledge and wisdom altogether. Just when we think industrialisation is worthy of honour because it promotes profits, Lao Tzu advises us to discard them. For God's sake, what is wrong with learning how to live and making money in order to make our life happy?

Lao Tzu, like Rousseau, attends to us with the idea of non-doing. He shows us how reason has brought more harm than good. Through industrialisation, we may acquire new skills to increase our wealth, but behind every act of making money, we may neglect the dark side of human nature and liberate a dangerous evil impulse, namely, jealousy, hence the emergence of thieves. The acquisition of knowledge and wisdom may teach us how to live, but the fact that it promotes endless discussions and debates may direct us away from the true aim of the pursuit of knowledge, namely, the attainment of truth. Rather, we may only argue for the sake of arguing in order to please our narcissistic soul and avoid the fear of losing a debate. The evils of mankind are therefore unnatural. They are merely the products of civilisation and money.

From a naturalist perspective, our problems lie in thinking too much, an accusation of excessive cerebral activity. The interference of thinking removes from us the fluidity that passions assure our mind can command. It condemns our intuitive reliability therefore prevents us from realising our own ends to put our thoughts into practice. However convincing this argument may seem on the surface, philosophers blame it on our lack of self-control and our inability to strike a balance between reason and passions.

Bertrand Russell assures us the otherwise. In his short essay "In Praise of Artificiality", he suggests that all civilisation can only be made possible by reason:

"All civilisation, especially on its aesthetic side, is artificial. Manners, good speech, good writing, good music, good dancing- everything that gives grace to life depends, not on the denial of natural impulses, but upon training them to express themselves in ways that are delightful rather than in ways that are crude."

According to Russell, reason does not prevent us from enjoying our state of nature, rather than imprison our passion, it refines and sensitised them which breeds style and beauty. He reminds us that fashion designers are civilised beings and wish to civilise consumers like us by making clothes artificial and stylistic, not a mere protection from severe weather. While Rousseau tells us what our body needs is water, a vast variety of drinks does not just serve to quench our gross thirst, but during the production of drinks, it also presents to us beauty hence enhances our pleasure while drinking.

As to reason may complicate things, naturalists restrain us from pursuing things beyond their necessities. But to be convinced that the world is indeed simple is to refuse to confront problems which may lead to pains and sufferings. In the quest of self-understanding, naturalists accuse us of being narcissistic, drawing all the unnecessary attentions on ourselves. But this assumption is premised on the fact that we must admire our own image in the mirror. Philosophers never invite us to the thought that we must think well of ourselves. On the contrary, they direct us to the virtue of self-criticism, they urge us to look into the mirror of our incomplete selves, remind us that we all make mistakes and that we need to revise our own faults, learn from experience, and correct them. The naturalists' condemnation of reason is perhaps a terrible excuse, an attempt to avoid the verdict of the analytical truth of the mirror, to cover up their lack of intellectual courage and explain away the psychological evidence of cowardice that lies deep in their hearts.

Moreover, if thoughts are left unfettered and passions left freely expressed, they may lead to bad consequences. One should not find it hard to remember how the French absurdly confused violence as a species of romance hence have the heads of aristocrats and members of Royal Family cut off to assure another establishment of dictatorship. How quickly advantages of civilisation may be wiped out by intuition.

Nevertheless, our actions are guided by passions. But that is not to say reason is stripped of its place in conducting human affairs. Reason allows us to decide which ends we want to pursue while passion helps put our thoughts into action. It does not prevent us from enjoy the spectacle of joy that passions offer, but rather it softens and humanises them in order to let them express in their most delicate form.

W

On Lying

Can we survive without lying? For people who have access to high morality, the word "lying" becomes a dispiriting concept. It leads me to think of the melancholy moments in childhood, while we were taught to value honesty above all, we had to write thank you letters for unwanted gifts and make eulogies in front of hypocrites.

There are various reasons of why we lie. The retired Oxford professor Richard Dawkins, in his "The Selfish Gene", assures us that lying ensures a higher chance of survival. As our society becomes more populated, however, our genes will evolve to make room for cooperation. Driven by this reciprocal altruism, we outwardly display our good-will while inwardly enjoy a perverted form of egoism. However heartfelt our generosity may seem, our self-interested motives are glued to the underside of every benevolent act. Our goodness has never been more dishonest.

Perhaps that was when religious moral codes, our most cautionary, prosaic rules, came into play. Forceful injunctions to be benevolent and cooperative reflects our innate tendency to be selfish, to take advantage of what is available. Religious moral codes were created to held our vindictiveness in check.

If we become so irresistible to the act of lying, it is perhaps because most minutes of our days are devoted to scurrilous gossips about celebrities and politicians over packs of biscuits and cups of coffee. What seems so trivial and insignificant in our daily life suddenly becomes socially desirable. The way paparazzi delicately articulate their pencils across pages of magazines enforces a sense of moral relativism. That they have the ability to blur the distinction between honesty and lying which which allows us to cover up our lies with our unusual displays of virtue. In return, in order to avoid the verdict of the herd instinct, furious celebrities choose to lie over the matters that are of insignificance to the public.

It is not hard to see why our moral conviction collapses under the teaching of our parents. Upon receiving unwanted gifts, rather than enforcing the virtue of honesty on us, our parents urge us to follow the convention of etiquette at its best. They want us to be gentlemen rather than barbarians. To the moralist, such tradition of etiquette should be worthy of suspicion, something invented to cover up our lies through ambiguous language. But to the ordinary, this may instead offer a piece of conclusive evidence of the giver having good taste.

Should we then teach our children to speak the truth and tell our celebrities to expose their privacy? The reality, however, compels us to admit the otherwise.

Suppose a group of people who derive sadistic pleasure from beating a cat asks us where the cat is gone, are we supposed to restrain our display of sympathy and point them to the right direction? A man who is not completely deprived of the slightest degree of sympathy, I fear, would rather choose to lie over than being honest.

If politicians are more susceptible to such moral criticism, it is perhaps their act, to use George Orwell's words, is "the defence of the indefensible". The fact that they deliver political speeches with contorted tangles of language that is rendered impassable to the public is because George Orwell's words bear the unbearable truth:

"Political language is designed to make lies sound truthful and murder respectable, and to give an appearance of solidity to pure wind."

There lies at the heart of every politician the unspeakable virtue of lying because politics has always been a grim and nasty business. The habit of lying works in perfect harmony with politics. No one should be foolish enough to believe that political parties will act solely in the interests of the general public. Politicians are no moralists. Only power, fame, and money are worthy of their consideration.

In a world where stupidity becomes the hallmark of social eminence, we lack guidance, self-control, and direction on how and when to lie. We should not teach our children to be honest at all times, rather we should teach them how to use lying intelligently. Not knowing how and when to lie and not striking a balance between lying and honesty we will only bring to our own ruin.

W