Part 1 of a multipart post.
For newbies: this is part one of a summary of a paper I gave at the Popular Culture Association annual meeting in April 2010, with some additional commentary.
I. In what ways can an artwork be ethically evaluated? There are several ways:
- i. in its mode of production (for example, the business of publishing, or ethics of writing)
ii. the ethical views or attitudes it endorses or rejects
iii. in the quality of its exploration of ethical issues
iv. in its consequences (for example, causing readers to accept morally salutary or problematic attitudes)
I am interested in iii and ii
I spent a lot of time in this presentation defending the general idea of ethical criticism, because I was talking to a roomful of romance scholars and readers. Romance readers are used to iv above. The majority of public discourse about the romance novel does not treat it as literature or even as subliterature but as a commercial pop cultural product. More specifically, it has focused on the romance novel as a potentially harmful, singular product (and even my locution there — “the romance novel” — evidences that). As a romance reader, I am aware that this is a sensitive issue, for good reason, so I wanted to take time to explain exactly what I propose to do when I propose to engage in the ethical criticism of romance novels.
For me, as a moral philosopher, ethical criticism of the romance novel is the tiny part I can contribute to taking romance novels seriously as novels. It is also the tiny part I can contribute to broadening the very narrow focus among ethical critics on certain set of literary works.
II. Assuming we also evaluate literature aesthetically, what is the relationship between ethical and aesthetic evaluation?
I am only interested in this question to the extent of ruling out any answer that forecloses the possibility of ethical criticism per se.
a. Autonomism –Ex. Richard Posner, Oscar Wilde: art and morality are entirely separate, irrelevant to one another. No art is subject to moral assessment. Moral value or disvalue has no impact on value of art work. Art is valuable because it is “absorbing” or “singular” or more generally “beautiful”, or some other aesthetic quality.
b. Platonism – all art is morally suspect (this has to do with Plato’s onotlogy. Just its distance from the really real, i.e. the Forms, makes art ontologically suspect.)
c. Utopianism – Ex. Herbert Marcuse — all art is morally uplifting (for example, because it shows the world as it might be, supports praxis); Ex. Sartre, who write that there could be no good novel endorsing slavery (like Plato, Sartre has complicated ontological reasons of this view)
III. Problems with these:
As Noel Carroll has pointed out, all of these theories hold a “common denominator thesis”, namely that all art has same relationship to morality (whatever that relationship is). It seems more likely that different instances and kinds of art have different relationships to ethics. For example, while Marcuse may be right that some art has a utopian moment, few would agree that Triumph of the Will, despite its excellent aesthetic qualities, shares that. To say, as Posner and Wilde do, that there is no relationship also seems false, when so much art has been produced explicitly for religious, political and ethical reasons. Art is of the world and the world is political, religious, ethical.
Posner is right that art doesn’t have to have a moral dimension to succeed as art. Nor is art an instrument of morality. Moral edification is just not the function of most good art.
Also, looking at art ethically doesn’t foreclose or distort appreciating its aesthetic qualities, unless we let it. For one thing, aesthetic and ethical qualities are often hard to separate, in part because one of the things that can make a work of art absorbing, asethetically, is the way it engages the moral life of the audience. Can you really say you understand Beloved or Huckleberry Finnif you don’t have a handle on ii and iii above? No one, or at least no one I take seriously, is endorsing reading a book only for its moral message (extracting nuggets of moral wisdom), construed in very blunt nonaesthetic terms. Doing so would not be to read it as art, but as some kind of pedagogical tool, distorting its aesthetic qualities in the process.
When many people hear “ethical criticism of fiction”, they think immediately of looking at fiction’s effects on readers. Although there are certainly folks who do that (on both sides of the fence, i.e., some who say books are great for you morally and some who say they are bad for you morally, as we saw in Plato and Marcuse, respectively), that activity does not describe what many people are doing when they engage in ethical criticism of art. Or at least not what I am doing, and here’s why:
For one thing, what tools would you need to investigate the “effects of art”? Many of us can recall a book that seemed to affect us profoundly, changing our world view. I think it is fair to generalize this personal observation from our armchairs, as a sort of common sense grounding for ethical criticism or indeed any art criticism, but it is a long way from that to having any data on the effects of books on readers in general, let alone the effect of a specific book on a specific reader.
How would you gather that data, if you wanted to? Not from sitting in your office thinking about it. One way would be using the tools of social sciences like psychology and sociology, including surveys and ethnography. More newfangled ways would include using noninvasive brain imaging technologies (I can talk more about such studies if anyone wants), to see what parts of readers’ brains do what when they read. I don’t see any “ethical critics” gathering the kind of data they would need to support claims about the effects of books on readers. That is not a suggestion that they do so, but evidence for my contention that iv above is not what ethical critics are doing (or at least not what we should be doing).
Let’s suppose for a minute that our friends in neuropsychology or sociology gathered this data. And let’s suppose it showed that Something Bad Happens when certain people read certain books. Then what? Do we immediately have a case for censorship? No. The fact that “something is bad for some people” rarely, if ever, prompts regulation. I need only point to the example of tobacco products. At any rate, we need a new set of tools to consider this very different question, tools that literary critics and philosophers do not, generally, possess. We need our legal scholars, our political scientists, our public policy experts. So, even if someone filled the huge empirical hole where the data should be about the effects of literature on readers, we would find ourselves in another hole, that it would take lot of work to fill in.
My point is that (a) most ethical critics, at least today, are doing ii and iii, not iv above, and (b) even if we wanted to do iv above we would have a long long way to go, and a damnable time getting there.
A couple more points on this topic. I realize that, in one sense, talk about the effects of books has always been part of literary discourse, staring with talking about the effects on the reader herself. But it is one thing to talk about how a book made you feel while reading it, and another to talk about permanent or even long term effects. It is still another thing to talk about permanent or long term effects on other readers, i.e. readers who are not you.
IV. Romance
Romance readers talk a lot about the good effects of romance reading on their beliefs, attitudes and desires. They might say reading romance has helped them to be better communicators, to understand men, to demand their due from their partners, to get in touch with their sexuality, etc. That’s cool. But if we are going to do that, we also need to consider whether romances have had any negative effects. In other words, if you are going to play the “effects on readers game” you cannot rule out a priori (for example, by saying things like “Women are not just passive readers, i.e. dopes. We know the difference between fantasy and reality. Don’t infantalize and patronize us.”) any and all claims about negative effects on readers of romance novels.
Consider: how could it be that you only learned good or positive things from romance novels?
There are two options, as far as I can see. (1) Romance novels, the entire genre, only endorse good positive healthy attitudes towards gender, romance, love, sex, and everything else they take as their subjects (however those good attitudes are defined). That seems manifestly unbelievable to me, given my own experience as a romance reader, and given how large and diverse the genre is. That comes close to saying there is only one romance novel – one very morally good romance novel — and it has been written over and over.
Or (2) you know quite well that there is a lot of stuff you wouldn’t endorse in a romance novel, some of it apparently endorsed by the (implied — more on that later) author, but either (a) you don’t read those books, or (b) if you do, you don’t “learn anything” from them, because you filter the bad stuff out. Ok, but then, you aren’t “learning” anything fromromance novels. Rather, you are applying a moral framework you already possess to your selection of texts, or to your reading of texts, only letting what you have already decided are “good” messages in. In that case, it would be more accurate to say that your reading of romance novels reinforces or deepens or lends specification to moral beliefs you already hold. I think that is much closer to what is really happening, personally. But if it is, then we have to accept that if a reader holds pernicious moral beliefs, she can find some warrant, some deepening, reinforcing or specifying, of those bad moral beliefs in romance novels, too.
Ok, so this post has been all about saying what I am NOT doing when I do ethical criticism. The next post will say more about what I AM doing.
In that case, it would be more accurate to say that your reading of romance novels reinforces or deepens or lends specification to moral beliefs you already hold.
Ooh.
I must go away and be thinky now.
I’m a critic that analyzes genre fiction from a feminist psychological perspective; I use social cognitive theory, backed up by empirical evidence, to examine the cycle of influence between the world, the author, the reader, and on. The cool thing is that it isn’t necessary to gather data, because the concepts and the language to define the phenomenons occurring already exists. Granted, in the eyes of the science realm, concepts can only be generalized so far beyond the context that they were tested under, but I believe that genre fiction is not so great a stretch.
Ok, but then, you aren’t “learning” anything fromromance novels. Rather, you are applying a moral framework you already possess to your selection of texts, or to your reading of texts, only letting what you have already decided are “good” messages in.
In one of my recent posts I explored the appearance of forced seduction scenarios in romance novels and whether or not their existence perpetuated rape culture. It was in response to a larger debate that I’m sure you’ve run across. What I found, after talking with various romance authors and readers, was that most people believed that they could sort out the bad messages, and that these messages had no impact on them. I disagreed on multiple levels, citing the implicit nature of the messages that the scenario sent, and listed various possible outcomes and the psychological ramifications of them.
To explain in very brief, simplified terms: We may be able to consciously differentiate between good/bad, but we still absorb the messages all the same, and if those messages are consistent enough, and especially if they coincide with real world social norms, then we develop unconscious attitudes that we implicitly allow to influence our beliefs and behaviors. This happens regardless of whether or not we consciously endorse these attitudes, beliefs, and behaviors.
I suppose this is a long-winded explanation of why I think there is more going on than the application of a moral framework by the reader. A lot of processes occur without us even realizing it, and to me that is why it’s so important to “ethically criticize”–as you put it–books as well as the industry.
Looking forward to your next post.
I’m not quite sure how to respond to this post, because on the one hand it raises some interesting questions about how fiction may affect readers, but on the other hand, you’ve made it clear that that isn’t something you want to focus on in your own analysis.
Feel free to ignore the following, therefore, because it is going to be about how I think fiction affects me (I can’t speak for anyone else).
I can’t filter out everything I think is a “bad” message. If I did that, I’d probably have next to nothing left to read. So, I constantly have to read novels which I think contain at least some “bad” messages.
There are some “bad” messages which are in such conflict with my personal politics that I really don’t think they unconsciously change my political opinions.
There may be some “bad” messages which work on a more subconscious level, as Kayla suggests, but obviously if they do, then by definition I won’t be aware of it.
There are definitely some “bad” messages which I think are “bad” both from an intellectual point of view and because they make me feel bad about myself. I take them personally because they’re related to things like what it means to be a “good” woman/parent/productive member of society. They feel more like attacks on me, rather than solely on my belief system, and it therefore seems that I have fewer emotional defences against them. In some ways I respond to them in a way which is similar to how I responded to verbal bullying at school. I knew that the bullies were wrong about me, and that what they said should not affect my self esteem, but it was impossible for it not to, because words can hurt. And it doesn’t help to say that the novels are just fiction, because the “bad” messages are quite clearly echoing “bad” messages that are present in the media, online, in daily “real-life” interactions etc.
I write in a genre whose leading players have forced people to exempt it from ethical criticism, and who publish tracts repeatedly to support this idea. Why? Because the entire ethical premise is extremely suspect, so many of the authors know perfectly well if anyone starts to poke, the entire construction will fall down. Therefore to question the ethics of a single book, let alone the genre, is seen as a huge threat, to be eliminated immediately.
I wonder if that’s why some mainstream Romance readers and critics shy away from ethical questions – they’re afraid of what they’ll find.
For my part, I believe that art should be examined from all perspectives, and nothing gets a pass. A movie or a book can be enjoyable, and still be a paean to sexism, racism, colonialism, and mindless violence. Enjoyment is not the only metric. A poor ethical basis doesn’t mean the art is valueless, but that basis should not be overlooked.
I richly enjoyed this post as well as the comments above though I will need to reflect on it before I comment (if I comment) but I am greatly looking forward to part 2!
I need to think some more and am looking forward to the next part.
Reading the article lead me to think about the arts and crafts movement and the late 19th century notion that art did matter that the artist was a higher order being creating and transmitting something that ordinary folk may appreciate but could not originate. The notion was killed in the blood and guts of WWI, I think but revived again by Picasso’s Guernica which was supposed to stigmatise and admonish the nazi/nationalist excesses in the Spanish Civil war. Goya’s (1803?) revolution picture of the firing squad and the man against the wall still resonates as does George Gittoes (he was embedded with Australian troops in a refugee camp and witnessed the massacre) picture of a Rwandan preacher with a bible surrounded by a group of refugees who are about to be massacred. In that moment the preacher’s words offered a still place in the midst of the screaming and horror and a dignity to their respopnse to their inevitable murder. Art with a moral purpose, commenting on the horror? Australian readers might remember the 1990 picture of Nicky Winmar lifting his jumper and pointing at his black skin in answer to racist sledging from the crowd. That photo was a pivotal moment in Australian race relations. So is visual art different in category from the literary for the purposes of this discussion? The pictures I’ve mentioned arouse feelings but do they change anything, and is the purpose of moral-work to create change so they are only moral if they create change in the viewer/reader or lead to a consequent action?
I need to think some more about Kayla’s comments because I think I actively respond and act on the messages in genre books. Eg. I read a Shiloh Walker novel (Missing?) with a medium who in efect was raped by her then boyfriend and eventually settles down with him. In the book neither he nor she saw the event as rape; I did and that made the book one I actively disliked and dis-recommended. Yet I do read some forced seduction scenes and don’t have this reaction and now I wonder if I use those scenes to help me process my own experiences of powerlessness and conflicted choice. I don’t think I just experience them and wonder if it is my reading style to be so active or if that is the common approach? To me readers and authors make the story together, so I struggle with the concept that the book can be analysed without the readers presence.
This is such a fabulous discussion! It is interesting how the bit in #4: exploring the effects of romance literature, is so alive in the community, especially around issues of forced seduction. I think that the books that contain forced seduction, taken with the the discussion of them, create a higher understanding of gender and culture than never having read the books at all. I can’t speak for people who don’t engage in such discussions. Though I’m a person who thinks a good deal of art speaks to people deep in the psyche, sort of an adult version of the way Bettelheim thought of dark fairy tales. A kind of call and response (e.g. evil deed>commupance>redemption, or hardship>hard-yet-comfortingly-settled understanding of something, or a pattern or breaking a pattern & many other permutations) that transcend surface stuff. Not to negate the effects of surface stuff, but I think those effects form the tip of the iceberg of what’s really going on. At least that’s my thinking this month.
Some of my most exciting experiences of art have been when I’m engaged morally alongside the characters, though, as well as some of my most conflicted or disappointing experiences, so I’m excited to hear more of your thoughts on the “quality of exploration of ethical issues” in various books. I read this essay last night, and I had this sense that you have left off on a kind of cliffhanger!