A Beautifully Uncivilized Act: Josh weighs in

This discussion is taking off! From an internet cafe somewhere in Casablanca (I think) Josh Smyth has sent his ever-thought-provoking take on this whole arts-civilization thing. I am loving that you are all taking such an active role in this blog! Mostly because it gives me wonderful food for thought and the chance to get to know you all better, even from a distance, but also - I have to confess - because it buys me time. When I first posted about Steven Galloway's book I had no idea what I was unleashing. The function of the arts in this world is a question I have been grappling with increasing intensity for a while now and I still don't really feel ready to articulate my thoughts. I promise I will eventually post something about this, but in the meantime, you can continue sending in your insights, which I'm sure will help me come to some clarity. You are also invited to read Karl Paulnack's welcome address to the parents of the students at the Boston Conservatory of Music. You may have read it - it was circulating widely among musicians this winter (and Paul Pulford posted it on the door of 318) - but I only got around to reading it when Pat, author of the previous post sent it to me the other day. Whatever I end up writing about all this will draw on this article, as well as everything you have all given me to mull over. Gah! I talk to much! I give you: Josh Smyth.

"At the most basic level, I too have often had a problem with the
term "civilization". It comes up within a discourse that labels the
whole concept as colonial, as designed only to allow us to label
things we don't like as "uncivilized". If you want to get a rise out
of normally staid political scientists, try using it. I certainly
cannot dismiss those objections out of hand, though - even without
delving into whatever cultural frameworks are underneath Galloway's
particular understanding of it, I don't think that we can escape the
thought that part of what that cellist is doing - or what any artist
is doing in war, for that matter - is reasserting his or her
membership in civilization, in a group that doesn't kill people
indiscriminately with mortars and the like. For that characterization
to make any sense, there must be a group that does kill, destroy,
hate, etc. Call them uncivilized, call them barbarians, whatever, but
whatever the conscious logic is, I cannot help but think that the
creation and assertion of artistic beauty in such times is at least
partially captured by the need to "other" those who would destroy. To
me, this is all somewhat misleading - the really horrifying thing is
that those who are killing your family are just as "civilized" as you
are, that the same bonds of fellowship that can draw a community
together in belonging are the ones that lead us down some pretty
terrible roads.

In any case, this is but a side point. I'm more interested in thinking
about the contractual nature of "civilized" life. This is certainly a
dominant view of civilization, as a set of agreements between us to
treat each other a certain way, but I'm skeptical of the social
contract. To me it seems to understate the role coercion plays in our
lives, and in the history of our societies' development. I'm not sure
that it is a broad agreement that keeps us all from bopping each other
on the heads with microphones - it may also be the simple threat of
punishment for it, and the more complex internalization of social
norms, the violation of all of which carries at least a social
penalty. This point has been driven home for me recently while on the
road, where a great many of the social norms of Canada - not driving
like a maniac, for example - don't apply. When I fling myself into
traffic to get across a road, I still cringe at the violation of rules
that I've internalized long ago, even though to follow those rules (or
even to cringe at them) would put me in more danger. I suspect the
same is often the case with much of the rest of our lives. We're not
always that conscious of just how much sanction would come our way for
violating the rules of the civilized game. The creepy thing is how
quickly those rules can result in norms that make terrible acts not
only acceptable, but mandatory - witness Bosnia, or Rwanda.

More broadly speaking, thinking about civilization as a contract
seems to me to understate the role that coercion played in creating
modern society. We didn't just come together as a group of individuals
and agree to create civilization. It evolved slowly, and it has always
been characterized by increasingly sophisticated methods of control;
indeed, the things that characterize civilized life in the broadest
sense - writing, for example - probably emerged as a way for the newly
rich elite to keep track of their stuff.

How does this all tie into the arts? In a way I find quite
inspiring. I've been reading "Dancing in the Streets" by Barbara
Ehrenreich, recently - you gave it to me! - and she spends a good deal
of time pointing at how the ecstatic rituals, drumming, and dancing of
our precivilized past were viewed as a threat by the nascent elites of
slightly later times. They were equalizers, social spaces in which
one's wealth or power ceased mattering. To me, this is how the arts
fits in in the face of despair - not as an act of maintaining
civilization, but as exactly the opposite, as a rejection of the
"civilization" that bands us together into heirarchies that destroy
each other and the earth. The production of art is a beautifully
uncivilized act, one that does not depend on the social structures
around us but instead connects us through to the 4 basic things that
human beings do : eat, sleep, have babies, and create art. The
assertion of the cellist, to me, is not to proclaim the survival of
civilization, but to deny forever the possibility that civilization
could ever destroy our innate relationship with beauty. When we sing,
or play, or write, or paint, or dance, we can assert that even if
civilization has me killing my neighbours, all is not lost. That's
pretty neat.

--- End ramble ----"