The philosophy of beauty

I will write about beauty without ever really anything about the subject of beauty and its meaning. I suppose this is called the philosophy of beauty, or the philosophy of aesthetics. That to me would mean that the study of aesthetics entails its meaning and its effect on our species and maybe everything else as well; animals, the world at large. Is this sociology? Anyway, I can’t say that I’ll be able to define its meaning or that I will become certain of its usefulness. One question comes to mind. Is it a survival mechanism? Or is it a byproduct of our evolution? In reading Richard Dawkin’s book, “The God Delusion” he points out in one chapter that he believes religion to be a by-product of our evolution. He akins this to the fact that children are born with an almost incorruptible response to listen to whatever their parents will say. This is then carried over to adulthood in which, still desiring to have that authority over us, will revert to god for that solution. However true that is, if our perception of beauty is a byproduct of something else, then what is that ‘else’? I think of this hypothesis floating around that tries to explain how our ancestral species finally left the trees to start walking. It states that there was a certain type of leaf that was eaten by our ancestors (I may not have the information right but I hope that’s not important to my point, though I may be wrong). However, this leaf was only truly nutritious if it was red. So our ancestors must have had to develop sight in which to differentiate between the green and the red version. IF this is true than I don’t see why finding a red leaf could not have triggered an emotional response.

That is, elated at finally being able to find a tasty source of food that was also as nutritious, they probably akined color to pleasure which in turn, through many years of growth and development of the eyes and hands, they were finally able to recreate these colors and utilize it as a pleasure inducer which reminded them of their contentment of being full which finally translated to being “beautiful”. Think of the first art, why is it always about animals? So maybe beauty, instead of really being a byproduct, what it turns out to be is an emotion that is primal by its very nature. That is to say, that what we call ‘beautiful’ is heavily tied to our survival instinct. Another example comes from thinking of a lake in the middle of a desert. How refreshing it would sound, and how beautiful it would look if the first thing you would see is the very thing you needed for one’s survival. Again, think of what we put into our art: rivers, the sun, animals, plants, basically anything that builds upon our survival. Our music has always had a sexual connotation. But what about contemporary art then? Today’s art consists more than just flowers, rivers, and plants. It also consists of Dadaists and their unconventional sculptures.

This also brings me to the thought that rarity is also a prerequisite to beauty. Just like a lake in the desert, so to we must have new and more daring art. I remember seeing this one documentary that stated that western culture has become more and more grotesque and that beauty has been abandoned by more daring and ‘ugly’ types of art. I would have to disagree, maybe what happened was not ugly art but maybe we were just over saturated by water that what we wanted now was some way to dry off and enjoy the sun. For instance, though we have tons of art that are representations of the ocean, plants, and animals, we also have other types of art that may use feces as it’s central subject. Sometimes even a vagina or a penis takes the place of a flower. But why? Again, maybe its not that it’s ‘ugly’ art taking the place of ‘beautiful’ art , but that ‘beauty’ is being redefined by the fact that we now understand a subject’s purpose or connection to our survival. Feces may smell and look ugly to us, but when an artist uses it, we have to look in awe at how useful this foul subject to the survival of our species. Ergo, once we understand a subject matter’s connection to our survival, however vague, the more beautiful it may seem.

But what about the expressionist’s paintings that may purely be used as an example of our emotions themselves? To answer this, we have to ask why of all the colors in the rainbow would we akin violence and frustration with red and orange? It seems only logical that our ancestral struggle with the flame which although keeps us warm also has the power to destroy may hold the key. Again, why pick blue or purple or green to express our joyfulness? This just answers itself. And perhaps it could also mean that we now understand how much our emotions affect our health and survivability too. For instance, we now know that worry and depression can kill a person faster than learning how to cope with stress can.

All in all, what I'm saying is that there seems to be a connection between Darwinian survival and the way we choose to express ourselves. So is there such thing as bad art then? I suppose that if there is something that is called bad art, it is something created that is no longer or ever was relevant. Example given is a protest song. A protest song can say so much about the sentiments of the protesters and it may be referred as beautiful by those that can relate to it. Yet if we're not the protesters we cannot fathom the beauty that the protesters say is a part of that song. Another example is how a children's artful scribbles are considered art by only it's parents. To the onlooker, it only looks like scribbles, but to the parent it's art.

An Immigrant's son

Or: The Fight of the Immigrant.
Immigration is basically an important topic for me mostly because my parents are themselves immigrants. But this topic embodies more than just a history lesson or a funny anecdote from my parents. Granted, I thought that that was all there was to it at first but later I learned that without any choice of my own, it influenced almost every part of my being. See, for me, there have always been two cultures in my childhood. Not that I thought that it was abnormal in any way, I always thought that was the case with every childhood. I guess it was always apparent to me that there was a new way of thinking and there was an old way of thinking. My parents embodied that old way of thinking and I was looking wide eyed into that new way of thinking, one which was given to me through the color of television and the richer and lighter skinned kids of my school. In those early years I thought I was much in the same boat as them. New thinking vs. old thinking and I saw it everywhere. Yet, in growing I also noticed how different it was for me than for those lighter skinned kids.

First off, I wasn’t light skinned. That provides its own set of rules in many ways. Second, I wasn’t middle class. All my friends were, and their opportunities weren’t mine. You grow up seeing through different eyes than most. You become afraid and tend to want the respect of the lighter skinned. You keep yourself apart from the darker skinned because at your apartments they do coke and act scary and wild. And then you start to hate your own brown and red skin because they also do coke and beat their wives. These are the things you start seeing through your own eyes and it’s hard to change that. And then you hear the scariest words one could ever muster in your home, “la migra”. And you start to wonder why of all the things your parents and your aunts and uncles could fear more than the cops, the cops who stop you because your car is just a little too old, or the drug addicts or the burglars or even your drunk uncle, why would they fear a group of people who won’t do more than take you back to your home country? Obviously, to those who haven’t immigrated, this fear will never be understood. I count myself in this seeing that if the police ever asked me to move back to los angeles, I would probably only complain very little and not even think about crossing that border again.

Yet, I understand the mindset very well. Believe me. I understand how one could feel invaded by people who “don’t” belong where they live (which is such a contradiction when you think about it). I understand that being told that people are stealing jobs can feel like war. But there is something fortunate that happens to first generational immigrants like me. We automatically are introduced to both sides of the argument. Like stated before, there were two cultures and they were always around reminding you that they existed and that they molded who you were. I was taught in the same schools if that helps. They told me that my forefathers were people who came on boats from Europe and landed on a new land that they ‘discovered’ and who after years of oppression decided to cast off their chains and fight back their captors and build what would soon be the best government in the world. I believed it. I knew catalyst was tea because of unjust taxes. I also knew how my friends and their parents often saw us as the “help”, the poor unfortunate souls, a pitiful look for us. I also knew their politics. Growing up in the church you know that if you don’t work you don’t eat. You also learn that taxes are evil and that cops are good and that robbers are bad. Finally, you also learn that living off of welfare is the greatest sin of all.

You couldn’t help but feel second class. I know that most of the time they didn’t mean it but not meaning it doesn’t make it hurt less. I’ll be honest but the first time I had felt angry at the “white man” was after years of not needing to clean the church we used to attend in order to survive, we go back to the same church members and clean their house just to survive again. It feels disgraceful; lower than whom your friends used to be just because you can’t make enough. Call it weakness on the part of my parents. I’ll admit, their financial choices haven’t been the best but I also won’t say that they starved us. Maybe my parents didn’t wish to own a mansion; maybe all they felt to do was to feed their kids (which they were successful in). Maybe that was their only sin. But that was my other upbringing. That which taught me that hard work was honorable and that stealing was bad. How much did I take after them? I’ll have to admit that more than I thought. I’m not that enterprising but more important to me is family and friends. And they were always willing to fly to their home country to see a sick relative. So now I’m trying to learn how to survive in a capitalistic economy.

But I’m not going to go into how socio-economic reasons that made my parents poor. Those things are found almost anywhere if you wish to look for them. What I will say, and what I hope I have been saying, is that immigration is a part of who I am. Those that often want to point the finger in our direction for their money troubles will only find themselves pointing at a mirror. We’ll respond by saying, “we only wanted what you wanted, we wanted a home and a way to feed our children.” Those that find us too different will only find more and more to distinguish themselves and soon they’ll be alone after everyone has been marked. I won’t say my culture is perfect and I think it’s a fallacy to think that your culture is the one everyone should follow, mine, and yours. I enjoy western thought (western thought? I thought Europe was in the eastern hemisphere) and I enjoy my culture. The point is that humans are human. They all have their own needs and wants. For some reason I really did believe that whole life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. So maybe that is why I have no choice (I told you already, I’m a child of two cultures) but to stand for that cliché of equality, and repeat it proudly. I don’t do this because I have some unachievable dream or ideal or because liberal politics got to me first. I do this because it ties in closely with my family’s (and my own) survival. I will fight for it and if you are only going to be in my way, then fight you I will too.

Reasons

My reason for writing a blog comes actually from my love of learning. I don’t pretend to know everything and most things I will not debate unless I have a complete picture of what is going on. But that doesn’t stop me from at least mentioning what makes and does not make sense at the moment. Still I hope there is open discussion on anything. Nothing is sacred.