[Editor's note]

In recent years, there have been widespread disclosures about inappropriate remarks and behaviors by popular artists, and even certain criminal behaviors. Coupled with the popularity of social media and the Internet, the public has become vigilant and critical about the hidden lives of once-loved artists. Does an artist's moral life affect the aesthetic value of his work? How should we view these immoral artists? And, can we still appreciate their works? In "Draw the Line?: In the book "How to Treat the Works of Unmoral Artists", the author uses philosophical tools to provide answers to this ethical question that puzzles us. This article is excerpted from the book, and the Paper News was published by Yilin Publishing House.

So, what constitutes solidarity and solidarity with the victims, rather than grandstanding propaganda of one's moral purity? In other words, becoming an ethical art consumer, what does it ultimately mean? One way to get answers is to consider the cost of grandstanding in specific art cases. What I want to make clear is that grandstanding towards immoral artists not only makes victims a tool, but also makes art itself a tool by believing that art is only about morality. If there is anything different about the art world, it is that in art, aesthetic issues cannot take a back seat. What is certain is that, as we discussed in chapter 1, ethics and aesthetics can be closely related to each other. But while this is true in some cases where ethical issues involving works and artists can have an impact on aesthetics, this does not mean applying some moral touchstone to all the art we consume, or reducing the value of art to the point where only moral content is left.

Some people may feel that art is just instrumental and that its significance to human life is only because it can make us morally better people or convey unspeakable moral truths. But think about the various ways in which art (and broader aesthetic events) shape life. You listen to music, watch movies, hang pictures on the wall, decide to dress or design your hair: these are all artistic and aesthetically related decisions, many of which seem to have little to do with promoting one's morality or taking a moral or political stance. Again, this is not to say that they cannot be related: among these artistic and aesthetic choices, many can have important moral and political significance. The strange thing is that some people believe that art must be like this, and that art is worthless unless it serves some morally important purpose. In this way, our artistic and aesthetic life is subservient to the feet of moral life, which is inconsistent with the typical aesthetic behavior of the public. Therefore, we should be particularly concerned about the consequences of imposing this requirement or otherwise committing unethical behavior ourselves.

This particularly misleading example can be found in some popular art criticism that strongly demands attention to morality and ignores aesthetics. Whenever a movie is released or a book is published with controversial moral content, commentators (especially on social media, but also on more authoritative media) are rushing to condemn morally questionable content without even stopping to study the aesthetic characteristics of the work. Consider, for example, the controversy over the movie Joker, which some condemn as glorifying so-called nihilistic violence-and most of the controversy was raised by people who had not even seen the movie. Similar moral outrage has appeared in films such as Harriet, Richard Jewell and Soul. The message is usually simple: Don't watch this movie! But if a self-proclaimed critic's purpose is to warn about the immoral content of a work of art, he is nothing more than a censor, at best a rating agent. The purpose of real comments is to understand. Of course, critics may conclude that a work is not worth the audience's time, but this conclusion should be drawn in view of its aesthetic value. What is certain is that moral characteristics can affect aesthetic characteristics, but taking this relationship seriously does not mean that moral factors completely outweigh aesthetic factors. Simply using artistic criticism to tell people which works are morally bad is like using only food reviews to tell people which foods are unhealthy. I know pie is unhealthy! What I want to know is whether the pie there is worth a try.

To be clear, this is a different issue from whether the victim's suffering is offset by the value of the artist's contribution. For example, it would be scary to think that Bill Cosby's continuous invasion of history is worth it just because we can see his performances and stand-up comedy (imagine telling his victims that!). The question here is what is the moral cost of appreciating the work when the harm has already occurred. We can borrow the story of Oscar Wilde to vividly illustrate this difference. In Wilde's novel "The Picture of Dorian Gray", the protagonist's evil is preserved as a flaw in his portrait, while the man himself remains youthful and beautiful. Now, let's assume that this story is true. Imagine that Gray's portrait was originally lackluster, but the chilling version, a direct result of his immoral behavior, became a gorgeous work of art. We can say that it would have been better if Gray had not made these actions that changed the creation of portraits, even if it meant that the aesthetic value of portraits would disappear. But this is a separate issue, different from what we should do with portraits after they appear. Even knowing that its aesthetic success comes directly from various bad behaviors (extortion, murder, etc.), is it morally wrong to be amazed by this portrait? Some people may protest that when we admire portraits, we must recognize these evils, but why do we think so? People are complex. We can continue to condemn Gray's immoral behavior and marvel at the work of art Gray has created, even if the work itself still deeply disturbs us.

This is partly because art is an area that allows for uncertainty. In art, ambiguity can be an advantage, including moral ambiguity. Everyone is familiar with this. Even paper tips for the APL English Literature exam advise candidates to write for morally ambiguous literary figures-the College Council does not attract controversy because of its controversial views. But this is precisely why things get tricky when we discuss moral misconduct by artists: we can discuss moral ambiguity in the world of fiction, but we don't have that security in reality. When it comes to the actual behavior of artists, there are truly lives at stake and real victims. I don't want to exaggerate the distinction between the art world and the real world: art can certainly have an impact on what happens in the world, for better or worse. But the appropriateness of attitudes towards works of art depends in part on the function of art; the real world does not provide a protected area for interpretation as the art world does.

Although I believe that the moral flaws of a work of art can indeed be associated with aesthetics, I don't really want to worry about these flaws. Is there anything strange about appreciating Hannibal Lecter, a fallen genius? If there is, then I don't want to be normal. Novels and movies are fictional, which provides us with a relatively safe space to explore the dark side of mankind. Although the film's ethics are very complex, I have no guilt about declaring that I love "The Silence of the Lambs"; rather, one of its attractions to me is its complex ethics. I have discussed ethical criticism of art through this film many times in class, and students have made wonderful observations over and over again about the film's treatment of cruelty, ugliness, feminism, and transgender-phobia, and often disagree with each other. In a great paper, Lyra D. Monteiro Monteiro) captured this phenomenon. She described reading a book for the first time early in college that became her tool for critical interpretation of "Lawrence of Arabia," her favorite childhood movie. She wrote: "This in-depth criticism did not in any way shake my love of the movie; on the contrary, it made me love the movie even more. I did. I can fully imagine that this 1960s film, written by white British people, was problematic in terms of race, gender and sexuality. And I have no problem loving this movie, I love it because of its flaws, not despite its flaws."

Monteero's comments can be contrasted with the didactic "critic" I described earlier. It feels like those who want us to stop watching and reading movies and books with complex moral content don't care much about art from the beginning; and moral complexity is part of what makes art so irresistible. It is challenging and uncomfortable. It invites us to read it over and over again to give us different perspectives. The point is not that we must love any and all morally challenging art. It doesn't matter that there are people I know, admire and respect who like decadent movies that are far more than I can handle. I couldn't bring myself to watch Funny Games or other movies that are sometimes classified as "sexually abusive": frankly, I was afraid of these movies. But I don't think people who appreciate these movies are mentally ill. I mean, of course, it's possible. It is always possible to consume art uncritically, and these consumers simply focus on their own perverse attitudes through art. This is what TV critic Emily Nussbaum calls "bad fans." But in these cases, the problem clearly lies with the person, not the work of art. To be sure, a lot of art is bad, and bad art with moral horror will be even worse. The point is that moral issues in the work may be part of what makes it fascinating and worth appreciating, but this is only possible rather than necessary.

We learned that what matters is the role of morally offensive content in the work, and this can also provide guidance when appreciating the work of unethical artists. As discussed in the previous chapter, sometimes the artist's actions affect the interpretation of his work, and sometimes the two are irrelevant. Think about J., author of the Harry Potter series. The example of K. Rowling. Rowling has recently attracted the ire of fans for misleading and paranoid tweets on sex and gender that discriminate against transgender and non-gender regulars. We are immersed in the virtual world Rowling has created, but how will her attitude affect our appreciation? This is a particularly pressing issue for those who grew up with Harry Potter and love the wizarding world. I will return to the issue of aesthetic love in the final chapter of this book; here, I just want to use this example to reflect on a slightly different issue. Because, despite the fact that I have read every Harry Potter book and watched every Harry Potter movie, I really don't love Harry Potter. I don't even particularly like it (if we're talking about magic schools, I'm a total Earthsea person). However, I am also a parent. Recently, I read the first Harry Potter book with my children and watched a movie of it. The work is really popular! I also received a cute T-shirt as a birthday gift with Hedwig holding a Hogwarts acceptance letter in her mouth. After Rowling's tweet, I felt uncomfortable with all of this. Most of the decisions we make to consume art are for ourselves, but for people with children at home, we also make consumption decisions on their behalf, shaping what they come into contact with and what they may fall in love with. Should I restrict my children's consumption of Harry Potter because of some of the author's tweets?

Daniel Radcliffe, the actor who played Harry Potter in the original film adaptation, issued a statement in response to Rowling's tweet. The following are the core parts of the statement:

I really hope you don't let you completely discard the parts of these stories that are valuable to you. If these books tell you that love is the most powerful force in the universe and can defeat everything; if they tell you that power lies in diversity and that dogmas that instigate purity bring oppression of the vulnerable; if you think that a particular character is transgender, non-binary, or gender mobile, or that they are gay or bisexual; If you find something in these stories that resonates with you and has helped you at some point in your life-it's between you and the book you read, and it's sacred. In my opinion, no one can touch it. What it means to you is what it means to you, and I hope these [Rowling's] comments won't tarnish it too much.

Radcliffe's statement reminds us of some of the ideas introduced in the previous chapter when discussing the author's intention fallacy and death. The art criticism community has long debated how much we should follow the author's life or intentions when interpreting works. Radcliffe's comment raised a slightly different question. What matters is not necessarily the meaning of the work itself, but what the work means to you. Whether we believe that a work of art has a specific meaning, or that one way of interpretation or another is more accurate, these can be distinguished from the work's personal significance. The personal significance of a work depends on the role it plays in our lives, and at this point, we are the authors. Now, the personal significance of the work may conflict with new perceptions arising from the revelation of the original author, which may be a disturbing emotional experience, and we will return to this in Chapter 4. At present, my opinion is only that we can reasonably ask about the meaning of the work and the expressive meaning of appreciating the work, but these questions will not always affect the meaning of the work to us. It can be an area that is protected, or an area where we provide active protection to young people. Maybe at some point, I want to talk to my children about J. K. Rowling and her views on transgender and non-binary people, but certainly not while we were dressed as Hermione Granger.

The above view not only discusses works that have been loved by people, but also applies to works that have not yet been read. To put it another way, I don't think the fact that Roald Dahl is an overtly anti-Semitic means that people should not read his books to their children (or not read his adult short stories themselves). To be sure, some of his books also contain various problematic expressions (I am talking about Charlie and the Chocolate Factory), but learning to read critically requires complex literature. I imagined myself deciding not to read Fantastic Mr. Fox to my children, and then being asked why I made the decision. What should I say? That I don't want to provide financial support to Dahl? He is no longer here, and I have this book. That I don't want to be an accomplice to his anti-Semitism? If you think reading "The Great Father Fox" to your children will make you an accomplice to anti-Semitism, that's a mockery of the concept of accomplice. Roald Dahl's fan base is not an anti-Semitic or harmful group. If we want the concept of complicity to play an important moral role, then it cannot just discuss these trivial concepts.

Sometimes, when we cannot provide convincing reasons for a decision, it means that we have touched the cornerstone of morality. In these cases, we can evaluate the choice by treating the decision as given, then generalizing it from reality, and considering its broader significance. To borrow the title of a viral article last year,"I don't know how to explain to you that you should care about others." Of course, I can try to deduce this truth from more basic moral commitments through philosophical methods, but I think this is the most basic thing. A world where people care about each other looks like a beautiful world: this moral commitment is consistent with other similar basic moral principles.

By contrast, if there were a world where we would automatically stop exposure to an artist's works of art whenever he had bad moral beliefs? I don't want to live in that world! A world where we reject "The Great Father Fox" because Dahl said some hateful things in interviews later in his life? No, thank you. I prefer a world where we make it clear that Dahl's views are abhorrent, but we don't hide the truth by putting him on a pedestal, and we also acknowledge the fact that a person with bad moral views can still be a great writer. Unlike another basic principle (that we should care about others), we have too much to lose if we live in a world where resisting immoral artists is the cornerstone of our morality. We will lose countless pieces of art, not because all artists are monsters, but because humans are morally complex. As Taylor Malone said: "Every artist has moral, social and political flaws. Part of the reason is that we are all ugly, messy people, but it's also because moral, social and political flaws can change, depending on who makes the judgment, where, when and culture." The second part of Malone's discussion hints at a certain degree of moral relativism (which I disagree with): for example, I believe that the transatlantic slave trade was morally horrific at the time, even though it was widely recognized by society-and that is not to say that it was morally wrong just by today's standards. However, for different reasons, his views still hold true here. Even if we assume that morality is objective, it is inevitable that different people in different times, places, and cultures will make mistakes in their moral judgments, which will lead to decisions about which artists will be despised because of their beliefs or actions. It is their view of morality (not necessarily the truth of the matter). Therefore, not only will we lose a lot of art, but we will also lose a lot of art for unfounded reasons.

"Draw the line?: "How to Treat the Works of Unvirtuous Artists",[America] by Eric Hautaolo Mathers, translated by Guo Shuobo, Yilin Publishing House, August 2024.