 How well can I appreciate beautiful things? Pretty well. Last time on Thunk, several weeks ago, sorry about that, we discussed camp, the subversion of normal aesthetic values in favor of a celebration of cohesion and volume of style, independent of substance. But we didn't really characterize what makes up normal aesthetic judgment, what it is that separates a van Gogh from a van painted with a unicorn. That's partially because aesthetics, the philosophy surrounding the particular sort of appreciation associated with beauty, is, as with many areas of philosophical inquiry, a fairly hairy subject. In fact, there's a debate as to whether the term aesthetic actually indicates anything specific enough to be worth discussing, so there's that. But let's assume for a moment that aesthetic is a meaningful category of stuff that we can talk about. Because I wanted to discuss an interesting intersection of ideas, the relationship between aesthetics and ethics. We generally accept that there are moral obligations we are required to uphold. Things that are right and wrong according to some standard that we are somehow compelled to follow and enforce. We don't usually think of aesthetic considerations as belonging in the same category. It's hard to imagine that a tasteful flower arrangement might carry with it some mandate, like a trolley problem. But there are some examples of scenarios that seem to warrant some sort of aesthetic obligation. Good taste. If you're like me, when you think of aesthetics, your first thought might be an appeal to the very personal nature of aesthetic preference. People like different things, and that's totally okay. You might prefer Rembrandt to Banksy, or Slayer to Chopin, and nobody has any right to tell you you're wrong for enjoying the things that you enjoy. However, there are reasons to suspect that the matter of taste might not be an anything-goes sort of thing. That there are other considerations besides simply asking, what do you like? We generally accept that there are objective matters of fact about the world that are normative, that people can be right or wrong about, and can be independently confirmed by anyone with functional senses. The earth goes around the sun, the cat is on the mat, that sort of stuff. We also accept that there are subjective matters of opinion that are wholly non-normative, that we have no reason to expect consensus on. Your favorite color, pineapple on pizza. If someone tells you you're wrong for these preferences, they're either being sarcastic or weird. But what we think of as good taste can be seen as a weird combination of the two. It's both normative and subjective. You've probably heard the phrase, there's no accounting for taste, but we don't really act as though that were true. If someone were to pass up a perfectly cooked filet mignon for a leathery overgrilled hotdog, the way we would react to that decision would be as though they had made the wrong decision, as though they had chosen incorrectly, just as much as if they had chosen to stuff fireworks down their pants or said that an elephant is bigger than the moon. We might good-naturedly accept any of those decisions without making a big fuss about them, but we'd have to appeal to some reasoning that violates our instinctive reactions to characterize them as anything but wrong. In addition, there are individuals whose opinions we seek out, experts who we trust to correctly evaluate the aesthetic quality of certain works. Everyone has opinions, but we rely on professional critics to provide something more valuable than what we get from asking Bob from accounting what he thinks. They grant a more seasoned and nuanced evaluation of something's aesthetic merits. We can even trust that expertise so far as to make us question our own judgment. I read a book, I hated it, literary critics raved about it. I might well say something like, huh, I should give it another try, maybe I missed something. Now, philosophical skepticism extends a long ways, so it's totally understandable if you still have some doubts as to the existence of a normative aesthetic valuation. But just for the moment, let's accept the premise that there's something else going on besides pure individual preference, that there are some standards for aesthetic judgment that extend beyond the idea that there's no accounting for taste. Part two, aesthetic obligation. Let's say that you're at a wedding, everyone's looking very sharp in very nice formal attire, and here comes Simon in a ratty old t-shirt, flip flops, and pajama pants. Short of some convoluted sitcom explanation, it's pretty clear that Simon is not dressing appropriately for the occasion, and failing to fulfill some duty to the ceremony and those participating in it. You can easily imagine someone pulling him aside and rightly saying, you should go home and change, with more or less the same feel as you should tell the truth. This is an example of an aesthetic obligation, a responsibility that requires some act of aesthetic value to be satisfied, seemingly in the same way that moral obligations require moral acts. If you're feeling parsimonious, you might argue that the aesthetic component of the scenario isn't actually important, that it doesn't call out any special category of obligation, it's just set dressing for a deeper issue of ethics. However, there are other situations where that impulse faces complications. If you could push the Venus de Milo in front of a trolley to save three people, on what grounds might you abstain from doing so? If you can only save one of two paintings of equal moral worth from a fire, shouldn't you save the more beautiful one? The existence of legitimate aesthetic dilemmas is another good reason to suspect that there's something more interesting afoot than simple morality. Take the restoration of the Sistine Chapel ceiling. The bright riotous frescoes that Michelangelo originally painted were muted by a layer of soot from the candles burnt in the chapel until just a few decades ago. For many, although the restoration could be seen as more historically accurate to the original intent of the art, we'd lost something beautiful in the process, a somber humility, and a basement before the majesty of God. Were we right to remove the soot and restore the frescoes to their original gaudy exuberance, even at the cost of that unintended nobility acquired through centuries of use? There really isn't any moral framework that makes sense to apply to the question, but it seems just as fraught and urgent a dilemma as a trolley problem. Another possible point in support of some sort of aesthetic duty is that of aesthetic superrogation. The possibility of going above and beyond those requirements. Jumping on a grenade to save a group of people isn't usually thought of as a moral obligation. We wouldn't criticize anyone for failing to do so, but we would praise someone who did. Similarly, we wouldn't criticize anyone whose apartment got a little cluttered or dusty sometimes, but someone who always manages to keep their place spotless? That's virtuous in the extreme, sublime even. It supersedes the normal bounds of an aesthetic obligation. There's nothing really moral about it, but it is still a sort of virtue. Part 3. Utilitarian hedonism as aesthetic virtue. Some of these supposed aesthetic obligations seem to be imperatives to appreciate beauty or excellence, a directive to pay appropriate attention to something solely for its aesthetic merit. Think of someone who lives across the street from the Louvre, but never takes the time to look through any of it, or a person who travels to Mediora with some friends and, rather than watching the sun rise over the rocks, sits in the car and surfs Facebook on their phone. Although my reaction is tempered by a little bit of to each their own, there's also an intense feeling of something like disappointment or frustration, as if these people are doing something wrong or shameful. There's an element of self-improvement in there, but also a definite sense of obligation to appreciate beauty where possible. You don't get a pass on the Mediora thing if you saw it once already. But this impulse cuts the other way too. I feel dismayed, even outraged when someone who's had amazing experiences of aesthetic excellence can't seem to enjoy the simple things anymore. Someone who turns their nose up at boxed wine or a catchy pop song because the mundane, even the pretty good, isn't refined enough for their palate. There's one idea that I think sufficiently explains a reaction to both of these violations of aesthetic obligation. The term hedonism tends to carry connotations of vulgar indulgence, but in philosophical lingo it's an ethical position which places the pursuit of desirable mental states at the heart of all morality. For the hedonists, torturing people is bad because it places them in an undesired mental state of suffering or anguish. Giving them cake can be good because it places them in desired mental states of enjoying a tasty treat. And giving them too much cake is bad because it places them in undesired mental states of feeling unhealthy. The joy brought by appreciation of beauty is, obviously, a desirable mental state. A good hedonist would probably seek to encourage as much of it as possible, would even feel a distinct duty to facilitate it wherever they could, which has some interesting implications for their reactions to our two scenarios. An uncultured Philistine might be satisfied with a Big Mac or rewatching the same soap operas over and over, but more well-rounded individuals understand that there's a deeper, more nuanced, and more pleasurable mode of appreciation that's not accessible to the naive participant, as well as a whole world of more exciting possibilities. The total amount of pleasure in their lives is curtailed by their narrow window of taste and experience. Similarly, an overly refined fop who simply refuses to enjoy anything but the best of the best is missing out on pleasure they might be having. A little comfort food, some big dumb fun, failing to appreciate what's there simply because something better exists, is an unnecessary curtailment of pleasure. In this framework of hedonistic utilitarianism, aesthetic obligation does ultimately reduce down to a moral obligation, specifically one to cultivate the greatest possible pleasure for the greatest number of people via aesthetic means. Saying that people should appreciate beauty wherever they find it doesn't really have the same mouthfeel as saying that they should take care of their children, for example. But when I think of a child who has denied the opportunity to experience aesthetic delights and relish in the pleasure of their senses, whether due to poor education or simple lack of opportunity, it does very much feel as though some wrong is being committed. What do you think? Are there distinct aesthetic obligations or are they just moral obligations of hedonistic utilitarianism? Please leave a comment below and let me know what you think. Thank you very much for watching. Don't forget to subscribe to our channel and don't stop dunking.