Art and Motive
Excerpted from, “False Friends and the Failure of Influence” (Flash Art)
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“…as for the so-called abstract painters of today, it seems to me that too many of them depart from a void. They are gratuitous, they have no power, no inspiration, no feeling; they defend a non-existent point of view: they imitate abstraction. One doesn’t find any expression in what is supposed to be the relationship of their colors. If they can’t create relationships, they can use all the colors in vain. Rapport is the affinity between things, the common language; rapport is love, yes, love. Without rapport, without this love, there is no longer any criterion of observation, and thus there is no longer any work of art.” — Henri Matisse, 1952
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So then, let us turn our attention to the real — that is, to what is a work of art and what are the possibilities in our relationships with those works of art. If we were to consider the possibility of friendship with a work of art, we’d have to understand that, of course, not every friendship is an ideal one. This is the case even though every friendship arises from some concatenation of goodwill, according, anyhow, to Aristotle. By his way of thinking, friendship depends on three factors: friends must “feel goodwill for each other, that is, wish each other’s good”; they must “be aware of each other’s goodwill”; and “the cause of their goodwill must be one of the lovable qualities” — thethree lovable qualities are being or appearing to be useful to one’s own good; being or appearing to be pleasant; and being or appearing to be good. The three lovable qualities can be understood as the ground or basis of any given friendship, and for this reason, the three modes of friendship arise according to the lovable qualities: friendships of utility, friendships of pleasure, and perfect friendship.
Aristotle further clarifies the modes: “Friends whose affection is based on utility do not love each other in themselves, but in so far as some benefit accrues to them from each other. And similarly with those whose friendship is based on pleasure: for instance, we enjoy the society of witty people not because of what they are in themselves but because they are agreeable to us. In a friendship based on utility or on pleasure, men love their friend for their own good ortheir own pleasure, and not as being the person loved, but as being useful oragreeable. […] Friendships of this kind are easily broken off […] for if no longer pleasant or useful to each other, they cease to love each other. […] When the motive of the friendship has passed away, the friendship itself is dissolved, having existed merely as a means to that end.”
But the “perfect form of friendship” is something altogether different — it can exist only “between the good,” between “those who resemble each other in virtue”: “It is those who wish the good of their friends for their friends’ sake who are friends in the fullest sense since they love each other for themselves and not accidentally. Hence, the friendship of these lasts as long as they continue to be good, and virtue is a permanent quality. […] Such friendships are, of course, rare because such men are few. Moreover, they require time and intimacy […].”
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Perfect, virtuous friendship is not only the ideal mode of friendship but, by virtue of the time and intimacy it requires, its endurance and depth, and even its permanence, it can be said to be the most influential form of friendship. We could draw forth from all that we have touched upon a more mature understanding of influence itself, for it would seem that the greatest influence on our lives arises from really loving relationships in which we see and are seen over time and with intimacy, with mind to our good, with mind to our increasing virtue, and with mind to the praise, preservation, and advancement of our best qualities, and the reciprocal, authentic delight in our lovability.
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Suppose I asked you, Has there ever been a work of art that has made you feel thus loved?
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For you are an inherently lovable creature, and a true masterwork is one that seeks out the good in you against all odds and delights in and fights for that good, no matter what.
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Suppose I asked you, Has there ever been a work of art that has made you feel thus loved? When did you encounter it? Has it continued to speak to you in new ways, even as time has passed — has time deepened and matured its intimacy?
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Suppose I asked you, Has there ever been a work that you have abandoned because it made you feel thus loved? Have you ever stepped out of relationship with a work of art because of the good it called forth in you? Did you decide it was not interesting enough to love it and be loved by it? Was it too challenging, or perhaps just too lame? Has there ever been a work of art that outstripped you in virtue, and did you ever abandon relation with it because it was, in its advanced, simple, powerful virtue, no longer agreeable to you or useful to what you felt was good for you, socially, emotionally, politically, psychologically, spiritually, religiously?
Recall Aristotle; recall how he notes that, though people often “quickly have the wish to be friends, [they] cannot really be friends without being worthy of friendship, and also knowing each other to be so; the wish to be friends is a quick growth, but friendship is not.” Recall also his insight that we “are called good in two senses, either as having a virtuous disposition or as realizing virtue in action, and similarly friends when in each other’s company derive pleasure from and confer benefits on each other, whereas friends who are asleep or parted are not actively friendly, yet have the disposition to be so. For separation does not destroy friendship absolutely, though it prevents its active exercise. If, however, the absence is prolonged, it seems to cause the friendly feeling itself to be forgotten: hence the poet’s remark: ‘Full many a man finds friendship end / For lack of converse with his friend.’”
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When was the last time you entered into a real conversation with something that was made to love you and be loved by you? When was the last time you pursued something deep, rare, and permanent with a real work of art? Has it never happened to you? If not, have you ever wondered why?
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Rapport, as Matisse puts it, is nothing less and nothing more than love, an intuition of love. And the desire for the good is the seed of the good, in art and in life, in reception and in creation and in relation. But for that rapport to grow and bear fruit, for the point of real art to be realized in the soul it seeks, it is not unlike the requirements of perfect friendship — “for perfect friendship, you must get to know a man thoroughly and become intimate with him, which is a very difficult thing to do. [By contrast,] it is possible to like a number of persons for their utility and pleasantness, for useful and pleasant people are plentiful, and the benefits they confer can be enjoyed all at once.”
Have we too often chosen the inferior company of many over the rare perfection of the few?
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What influences you? The answer to that question is either for you or for Wall Street. Suppose you kept the answer to yourself, and moved accordingly. Suppose you tracked down that work of art, known or unknown to you, that influences you beyond all reason, beyond all simple sense — What was the last thing it said to you, before you stopped returning its calls?
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André Maurois once spoke of love as a “vast gentleness…”
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This vast gentleness — where is it in your life?
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