Hume on Prejudice

Normally when we think of prejudice we simply think of certain negative preconceptions we may have about the object under consideration.  Hume, in "Of the Standard of Taste" insists that lack of prejudice is one of the characteristics of the good judge.  But what is this lack of prejudice?  It turns out to be something very positive and very specific.  We first learn that every work of art should be surveyed from the point of view that is required for the performance.  Lack of prejudice is taking this point of view.

Hume explains this rather oddly.  He speaks of how an orator must take into account the point of view of his audience, and especially needs to address any prejudices they might have against him:  he needs to acquire their good graces before he can convince them of anything.  So, are we to act like such an orator when we appreciate art without prejudice?  No.  Hume is simply bringing up the orator as preliminary to the main point.  Now, he turns to the "critic of a different age or nation" who, upon looking at the speech of the orator in question, needs to take all of this into account.  He must "place himself in the same situation as the audience in order to form a true judgment of the oration."  One might think that he should put himself in the place of the orator himself.  But, for Hume, lack of prejudice is a matter of trying to put oneself back into the time of first production or publication and trying to make oneself susceptible to the powers of the orator or author, as an audience member of the time might have been. 

It is only after this that Hume brings up the point that would normally come first to mind when thinking about prejudice, that if we are either a friend or enemy of an author (presumably a contemporary one) we should put these feelings aside and consider ourselves to be men in general.  "Don't be prejudiced" here means "don't think about your friendship with or enmity against the author" and don't let it influence you, even unconsciously.

What is odd here is that in the example regarding the past we are supposed to immerse ourselves in the particular situation of the audience, whereas in this example we are to detach ourselves from our own particular situation.

Hume tries, however, to combine the two when he says "A person influenced by prejudice, complies not with this condition; but obstinately maintains his natural position, without placing himself in that point of view, which the performance supposes."  The general idea, then, is lack of prejudice is placing oneself in the point of view supposed by the author (perhaps even with the prejudices the author's audience originally had and which the author is trying to overcome!) 

Although trying to put yourself into the position of the intended audience is a good idea I also think it valuable sometimes to switch to another position that is closer to one's own "natural position."  We can more strongly feel what is said when the work speaks to us as we are and not just as we would be if we lived in another country or time.  I think we need to toggle between the two positions (to use Peg Brand's term). 

Another oddity is that when Hume, at the end of his essay, begins to speak of innocent sources of variation he stresses our inability to enter into other times.  For example, an older man cannot enter into the sentiments of a younger man and hence, presumably, can no longer appreciate the erotic poetry of Ovid.  But isn't that what "lack of prejudice" was all about, i.e. overcoming one's natural position?  He says that we, here, cannot "divest ourselves of those propensities which are natural to us." But that is what he was requiring of us previously when he said that we should lack prejudice!  Of course we are going to be "more pleased, in the course of our reading, with pictures and characters, that resemble objects which are found in our own age or country, than with those which describe a different set of customs": but lack of prejudice is supposed to overcome this.  Also, isn't it hilarious that the example Hume uses for something extremely difficult to overcome is seeing a princess carrying water or a king cutting his own meat -- something that doesn't bother us egalitarians at all?

David Hume's Problem with The Pretty

In David Hume's "Of the Standard of Taste" there is a distinction between lesser and greater beauties that intrigues me in relation to my current interest in the concept of the pretty.  Hume argues that the true standard of taste is the good judge.  In this entry I will assume that readers have a basic grasp of Hume's well known article.  What is interesting is that in at least two of his discussions of what goes into being a good judge he brings up the problem of a lesser form of beauty.  Although Hume does not mention the word "pretty" anywhere in his essay, these passages lead to a conviction that he is particularly concerned to keep people from confusing trivial with important beauties.  This is exactly the sort of distinction that is commonly made between the pretty and the beautiful. 

When discussing the value of comparison, he writes: "The coarsest daubing contains a certain lustre of colours and exactness of imitation, which are so far beauties, and would affect the mind of a peasant or Indian with the highest admiration. [Hume's racism is unfortunately on display here.] The most vulgar ballads are not entirely destitute of harmony or nature; and none but a person, familiarized to superior beauties, would pronounce their numbers harsh, or narration uninteresting. A great inferiority of beauty gives pain to a person conversant in the highest excellence of the kind, and is for that reason pronounced [rightly so, according to Hume] a deformity.."  It appears that the coarse daubings with lusterous colors and exact imitation have a certain low-level beauty, as do "vulgar ballads," since they are "not destitute of harmony."  Hume observes that the person who knows "superior beauties" knows the distinction.  An interesting aspect of this is that this low level beauty can even involve "great inferiority of beauty" so much so that it gives pain to persons of taste.  One thinks of the paintings of Thomas Kinkade.   The next time he mentions comparison Hume says "Where no comparison has been employed, the most frivolous beauties, such as rather merit the name of defects, are the object of his admiration."  So frivolous beauties are really defects, and we can see so through comparing. 

The criterion of practice also is related to avoiding these low-level beauties.  Hume says, when discussing practice, that  "there is a species of beauty, which, as it is florid and superficial, pleases at first; but being found incompatible with a just expression either of reason or passion, soon palls upon the taste, and is then rejected with disdain, at least rated at a much lower value."  

Although delicacy of taste can be inherited, it is mainly gained through practice and comparison, and as we have seen, Hume recommends practice and comparison precisely to distinguish between superior beauties and such low-level beauties as the pretty.

Francis Hutcheson against Scientific Cognitivism

Francis Hutcheson, commonly considered one of the founders of aesthetics, raises in his An Inquiry into the Original of our Ideas of Beauty and Virtue an issue that would go against contemporary scientific cognitivists in the aesthetics of nature.  Scientific cognitivists, such as Allen Carlson and Glen Parsons, hold that in order to appreciate nature appropriately we need to have scientific knowledge.   However Hutcheson asks us to consider "how different we must suppose the perception to be with which a poet is transported upon the prospect of any of those objects of natural beauty which ravish us even in his description, from that cold lifeless conception which we image in a dull critic, or one of the virtuosos, without what we call a fine taste."  We quickly discover that the "virtuoso" is the person who has scientific knowledge.  "This latter class of men may have greater perfection in that knowledge which is derived from external sensation."  Hutcheson distinguishes between external sensation, which is the ordinary kind of sensation we experience immediately through our senses, and internal sensation, which is the kind of thing we refer to when we say that a music critic has "a good ear" or a visual artist "a good eye" or when someone appreciates something aesthetically without any organs of sense involved (for example, in appreciating a theorem).  The scientific virtuosos "can tell all the specific differences of trees, herbs...about which the poet is often very ignorant...And yet the poet shall have a vastly more delightful perception of the whole - and not only the poet, but any man of a fine taste."  So, argues Hutcheson, even if you are a person who knows the proportions of a building to the inch you are not a complete master of architecture or even a "tolerable judge" unless you have internal sense.  This does not, of course, prove the case against scientific cognitivism,  but it does seem that someone could perceive a building very accurately or a tree with a lot of scientific knowledge and still have no taste, i.e. not have a "good eye."    

Smoothness

Edmund Burke thought that smoothness was essential to beauty.  He couldn’t even recall anything that was beautiful and not smooth.  His examples included smooth leaves, smooth slopes in gardens, smooth streams, smooth coats in animals, smooth skin in women, and smooth surfaces in furniture.  He thinks smoothness to produce the “most considerable” effect of beauty and that making a surface unsmooth takes beauty away. Uvedale Price was influenced by Burke on the matter of smoothness.  He writes "One principal effect of smoothness, and to which perhaps it owes its so general power of pleasing, is, that it gives an appearance of quiet and repose to all objects; roughness, on the contrary, a spirit and animation. These seem to me likewise the most prevailing effects of the beautiful and the picturesque.”  Townsend observes that for Price smoothness is not only sufficient for beauty but also necessary, saying “where there is a want of smoothness there is a want of repose.”  (Dabney Townsend “The Picturesque,” The Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism, Vol. 55, No. 4 (Autumn, 1997), pp. 365-376 1997, 374)  (Uvedale Price, An Essay on the Picturesque as Compared With the Sublime and the Beautiful; and, On the Use of Studying Pictures, for the Purpouse of Improving Real Landscape (London: Printed for J. Robson, New Bond Street, 1794)  Price further writes “But among all the objects of nature, there is none in which roughness and smoothness more strongly mark the distinction between the two characters, than in water. A calm, clear lake, with the reflections of all that surrounds it, viewed under the influence of a setting sun, at the close of an evening clear and serene as its own surface, is perhaps, of all scenes, the most congenial to our ideas of beauty in its strictest, and in its most general acceptation.” (1794 #56)  But Price also adds quickly  “On the other hand, all water of which the surface is broken, and the motion abrupt and irregular, as universally accords with our ideas of the picturesque; and whenever the word is mentioned, rapid and stony torrents and waterfalls, and waves dashing against rocks, are among the first objects that present themselves to our imagination.”  So, smoothness is not necessary for all aesthetic qualities, only for beauty.  Also, he seems to hold a higher ideal in which both the beautiful and the picturesque are combined:  “The two characters also approach and balance each other, as roughness or smoothness, as gentle undulation or abruptness prevail.” Price also makes the distinction between the beautiful and the picturesque with regard to birds “Nothing is more truly consonant to our ideas of beauty, than their plumage when smooth and undisturbed, and when the eye glides over it without interruption: nothing, on the other hand, has so picturesque an appearance as their feathers, when ruffled by any accidental circumstance, or by any sudden passion in the animal.” (61)   And with respect to painting he says that Albano (Francesco Albani 1578-1660) s works are beautiful because smooth. 

Stewart disagreed with Burke about smoothness.  He thought that there was not one thing that all examples of beauty had in common.  Walter J. Hipple observes that, for Stewart, “there is, of course, association among the senses, so that smoothness may become beautiful.” (Walter J. Hipple Jr., "The Aesthetics of Dugald Stewart: Culmination of a Tradition” The Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism, 14:1, 1955, . 77-96). Quoting from Stewart “That the smoothness of many objects is one constituent of their beauty, cannot be disputed. In consequence of that intimate association which is formed in the mind between the perceptions of sight and those of touch, it is reasonable to expect that those qualities which give pleasure to the latter sense, should also be agreeable to the former.” But, as Hipple observes, this “effect is limited to objects destined to be handled, and the principle is inapplicable to objects which we characteristically do not think of touching because of their magnitude or situation. The beauty of smoothness is traced equally, moreover, to other kinds of associations-to the reflecting properties of smooth surfaces, to sexual associations, to associations of utility or design, and to custom.”  Stewart actually finds inspiration in Price’s concept of the picturesque in opposing the notion that beauty has the essential characteristic of smoothness (even though Price did not use this for this purpose as we saw above).

It should also be observed that smoothness is something that we can see as well as touch.  (Merleau-Ponty mentions this in “Cezanne’s Doubt.”)  Some have argued that although smoothness is valuable for beauty perfect smoothness would need some contrast to be beautiful. 

Price is mostly known for his views on the aesthetics of gardens.  As Stephanie Ross observes, Price was critical of Capability Brown for his over-reliance on the concept of smoothness.  She writes “Price criticized Brown's gardens in terms of the picturesque principles just deduced. Thus, he argued that smoothness and verdure cannot make amends for want of variety…, but instead become insipid and monotonous. And, in his chapter on water, he argued that water's most striking property is its ability to produce mirror-like reflections, yet the smooth banks of Brown's artificial lakes lacked those objects (trees, bushes, roots, tufts, tussocks, stones, lichens, mosses, etc.) which would make their reflections varied and interesting.” (274) (Stephanie Ross  “The Picturesque: An Eighteenth-Century Debate” The Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism,  46:2 (1987) 271-279.)

The Paradoxes of Art: A Phenomenological Investigation

Alan Paskow managed to give us philosophical "page-turner" shortly before his untimely recent death. The question is, "what is a painting" not in the sense of searching for a definition in terms of necessary and sufficient conditions but in terms of asking what it means to us (when it means a lot to us, that is). Included in the text are four full-color illustrations, three of which he discusses at length (all by Vermeer). Paskow gives us a phenomenological analysis of our experience of a painting (and of many other kinds of art, for example literature) in the tradition of Heidegger. However, unlike books by many Heidegger followers, this one is very clearly written. It also does a good job of responding to central analytic philosophers in the field, thus crossing boundaries between these two schools of thought that are seldom crossed. (I must also say that Paskow provides a broad analysis of analytic philosophy's dependence on Cartesian dualism which shows his motive for choosing against that school of thought.)

Paskow's bold, and exciting, thesis is that fictional objects are quasi-real, or rather the distinction between the merely fictional and the actually real is not as sharp as we normally think. Moreover, we experience things that are depicted in paintings, for example chairs, as people-like. They have personalities, and they seem to speak to us (at least some of the time).

A classic question in aesthetic is why we seem to feel real emotions in response to fictional characters. Paskow argues for what he calls "realist theory" which says that the response is not to something that is simply "in one's head" even though the character is not directly perceived. Anna Karenina, like his own daughter, is an intentional object towards which he has real feelings. Similarly, if engaged in a fictional person in a film, you feel as if you are watching a real person. This is quite contrary to the most famous view in analytic philosophy, that of Kendall Walton, who holds that a fictional entity (such as Anna) is a prop in a game of make-believe. His view implies that when I fear for Anna it is just a make-believe, or on another reading, a quasi-fear. Walton's view has always seemed implausible to me: I know how to distinguish between pretending to feel fear for a character and actually feeling such fear. A person who was incapable of emotionally responding to novels might well engage regularly in the pretending that Walton describes, but this is not what most of us do when we are wrapped up in a good novel. So I agree with Paskow that at some level we really believe in fictional beings (and at another level, we do not): we have "dual consciousness" with respect to fictional beings. Paskow also recognizes that there is at least one difference between fictional and real entities: we cannot interact with the former (we cannot, for example, try to save Anna). As far as I can tell, Paskow's solution to the problem is correct.

The last part of his book is directed to how to appreciate a painting with special focus on Vermeer examples. I found his phenomenological approach to appreciating paintings helpful, although sometimes he seems to over-interpret, for example when he dwells on the existential meaning of what appears to me to be just a rug-covered table placed in shadow in the lower left hand corner of Woman in Blue Reading a Letter. However, Paskow is wholly aware of the possibility of disagreement in such matters.

Sarah Worth, in her thoughtful on-line critique of Paskow's book (Notre Dame Philosophical Reviews) claims that he fails to recognize the big distinction between our response when we believe something and when we do not. However, Worth herself fails to recognize that Paskow has answered this objection by distinguishing between belief in conciousness1 and belief in consciousness2: we can believe on one level and not on another. Walton's idea that we quasi-feat the green slime in a film (which Worth defends) fails to capture the idea that we half believe in the green slime, so that in that part of us covered by consciousness1, there is real fear, whereas in the other, more critical part, there is not. (Worth does a good job of pointing out what I consider some minor weaknesses in a book which is otherwise quite brilliant.)

Malcolm Budd's mistake about aesthetic pleasure

In an otherwise fascinating and agreeable paper, Malcolm Budd writes "'noting something's value with pleasure' means nothing other than taking pleasure in something's possessing a valuable quality of some kind - pleasure in the reliability of one's car, the thickness of the walls of one's house, the speed of one's computer, the excellence of one's spectacles, the good fit of one's new shoes, the purity of the water, the power of the vacuum cleaner, the high level of one's IQ, the strength of the cable, the accuracy of the thermometer, and so on.  But none of these is an aesthetic pleasure, each of them being disqualified by the fact that it is a propositional pleasure - pleasure in the fact that one's shoes fit so well, for example."  (22)  This is a very rich mistake.  It is true that propositional pleasure is different from aesthetic pleasure:  we can thank Budd for this distinction.  But in most of these cases there is both propositional pleasure and aesthetic pleasure.  Yes I can be pleased that my shoes fit so well, but I can also be pleased by the way that my shoes fit so well:  the second is a sensory pleasure, not pleasure in a fact. Similarly,  I can be pleased that my car is reliable, or I can be pleased by the new feel of my car after it has been worked on, the new feel of reliability.  The second is aesthetic.  I can be pleased by the fact that my walls are thick or I can be pleased by the look and feel of the thick walls of my newly purchased (but possibly quite antique) house.  I can be pleased that the vacuum cleaner is powerful or I can find pleasure in the feel of vacuuming with my powerful vacuum cleaner. I can be pleased by the fact that my computer is fast, or I can be pleased by the feel of the speed of my computer.  I can be pleased that the water is pure or I can be pleased by the pure taste of the water.  Although I may be pleased that I have a high IQ it is not clear how there can be an aesthetic version of this.  Nor do I see room for aesthetic pleasure in experiencing the accuracy of a thermometer.  I can however both be pleased by the fact that a cable is strong and also by the way that the cable feels strong when I touch it and the way it looks strong when I look at it.  If Budd were right, there could be no such thing as everyday aesthetics, but I believe I have shown he cannot be right. The quote is taken from Budd's article "Aesthetic Essence" which appears in Aesthetic Experience edited by Richard Shusterman and Adele Tomlin (New York: Routledge, 2008)

Can children's games involve aesthetic judgments and pleasures?

Kendall Walton, in his fascinating aticle "How Marvelous! Toward a Theory of Aesthetic Value" suggests that they cannot, or at least for the most pat do not.  (in his Marvelous Images:  On Values and the Arts, Oxford University press, 2008 3-21...originally JAAC article).  He says "Participation in children's games of make-believe doesn't demand or even encourage judging the value of props, or games (types or tokens), or participants, or acts of participation....Children don't endeavor to perform well, in participating in their games;  it seems out of place to judge that one child did a superb job of playing dolls..."  (6)  This is right as it stands but perhaps a bit deceptive.  I remember back to playing games where we dressed up as pirates and turned a piece of furniture into a pirate ship.  Surely in putting together the costume or the selecting the object to serve as a "ship" we judged some to be better than others:  that looks good, that does not.  The quality of the prop might well have enhanced our playing experience:  some pieces of furniture just work better as pirate ships.  Moreover, some kids just are better at playing than others:  we know this because they select playmates.  Also, some play sessions are better and more fulfilling than others.  Following Dewey, one could say that some examples of playing games count as "an experience" and some do not.  The ones that do would count, for Dewey, as aesthetic, and the ones that do not would not.  Of course Walton doesn't say that this never happens:  he just thinks that evaluation doesn't happen, and for an experience to be aesthetic aesthetic evaluation has to be present.   This all relates to everyday aesthetics of course.  When I wrote The Extraordinary in the Ordinary I had forgotten about Walton's essay, although I must have heard him give it since I was at the Summer Intitute in the Histories of the Arts in San Francisco when it was originally given.  The work is actually quite significant for everyday aesthetics since it seeks to distinguish between aesthetic and non-aesthetic pleasure.  It doesn't exclude the possibility that everyday experiences can be aesthetic, but it does definitely draw a dividing line.

Consider what he has to say about folk art.  Walton says that many folk art traditions are like children't games of make-believe.  "People may participate in singing or dancing or acting, or watch with interest and enjoyment as others do, without it ever occuring to them to ask how good aesthetically the performance or the work performed is, or whether it is better or worse than another one." (7)  And this, on his view, would indicate that they are not having an aesthetic experience, for that would involve an aesthetic pleasure and that must have as a component "pleasure taken in one's admiration or positive evaluation of something" (13).  But surely gaining pleasure from watching someone else dance involves an implicit evaluation that the dance is worth watching.  Why does one have to consciously state to oneself that this is good or better than something else for the pleasure to be aesthetic?  I think Walton is right that there is a reflective element to aesthetic pleasure, but the reflective element might be much more widespread than he makes it out to be.