Many consider Richard Wagner to be among the greatest composers ever to have lived. His creative genius is scarcely in doubt; the constant procession of pilgrims to his “shrine” in Bayreuth bears witness to his enormous talent and enduring appeal. Also beyond serious dispute is that Wagner was an exceptionally unpleasant man: staggeringly arrogant and self-obsessed, quite without scruple in exploiting others, disloyal to those closest to him … an endless catalog of foibles and vices. And if anything, his views were even more repellent than his personality: intolerant, racist, virulently anti-Semitic; a keen advocate of racial cleansing who called for the expulsion of Jews from Germany.
How much does any of this matter? Does our knowledge of Wagner’s character, dispositions, beliefs, etc. have any relevance to our understanding and appreciation of his music? We might suppose that such considerations are relevant to the extent that they inform or affect his musical works; that knowing what motivated him to produce a particular work or what intentions lay behind its creation could lead us to a fuller understanding of its purpose and meaning. However, according to an influential critical theory developed in the middle years of the 20th century, interpretation of a work should focus purely on its objective qualities; we should strictly disregard all external or extrinsic factors (biographical, historical, etc.) concerning the author of the work. The (alleged) mistake of supposing that the meaning and value of a work can be determined by such factors is called the “intentional fallacy.”
“One doesn’t need to know the artist’s private intentions. The work tells all.”
Susan Sontag, b.1933
Public works Although the idea has since been introduced into other areas, the original provenance of the intentional fallacy was literary criticism. The term was first used in a 1946 essay by William Wimsatt and Monroe Beardsley, two members of the school of New Criticism that emerged in the USA in the 1930s. The main concern of the New Critics was that poems and other texts should be treated as independent and self-sufficient; their meaning should be determined purely on the basis of the words themselves—the author’s intentions, stated or supposed, were irrelevant to the process of interpretation. A work, once released to the world, became a public object to which no one, including the author, had privileged access.
A long-running debate in philosophy has centered around the question of whether art that is morally bad can itself be good (as art). The question has tended to focus on figures such as Leni Riefenstahl, the German film-maker whose documentaries Triumph of the Will (about the Nuremberg rallies) and Olympia (about the 1936 Berlin Olympics) were essentially Nazi propaganda but which are nevertheless considered by many to be technically and artistically brilliant. The ancient Greeks would have readily dismissed the question, as for them the notions of beauty and moral goodness were inextricably linked, but it has proved more troublesome for moderns. Artists themselves tend to be relatively indulgent, amongst whom the poet Ezra Pound is fairly typical: “Good art however ‘immoral’ is wholly a thing of virtue. Good art cannot be immoral. By good art I mean art that bears true witness.”
Drawing attention to the intentional fallacy was not purely a theoretical matter: it was intended as a corrective to prevailing trends in literary criticism. Certainly, as far as ordinary “uncorrected” readers are concerned, it is clear that we do in fact depend on all sorts of extraneous factors in interpreting a text; it simply seems implausible to suppose that our reading of a book on the slave trade would be unaffected by knowing whether the author was African or European. It is of course another question whether it should have any such effect, but we ought perhaps to be wary of ideas that push us so far from common practice. It is indeed questionable whether it is even possible, let alone desirable, to make so complete a separation between an author’s mind and its products. Making sense of a person’s actions necessarily involves making assumptions about their underlying intentions; might not interpretation of a work of art depend in part on making similar assumptions and inferences? In the end it is hard to swallow the idea that what an author or artist intended a work to mean is actually irrelevant to what it really means.
“The poem is not the critic’s own and not the author’s (it is detached from the author at birth and goes about the world beyond his power to intend about it or control it). The poem belongs to the public.”
William Wimsatt and Monroe Beardsley, 1946
The affective fallacy In appreciating a text or a work of art—especially a complex, abstract or otherwise challenging one—we expect that different audiences will respond in different ways and form different opinions. We expect each interpreter to form their own interpretation, and in a sense each such interpretation imposes a different meaning on the work. On the face of it, the fact that these various meanings cannot all have been intended by the author or artist seems to support the idea of the intentional fallacy. However, in their unerring focus on the words themselves, the New Critics were no less concerned to exclude the reactions and responses of the reader in the evaluation of a literary work. The mistake of confusing the impact that a work might have on its audience with its meaning they called the “affective fallacy.” Given the countless different subjective responses that different people might experience, it does seem unhelpful to tie these too closely to the meaning of the work. But, again, might not our evaluation of the supposedly objective qualities of a work be influenced by its capacity to elicit various responses from its audience?
The dangers of the intentional fallacy warn us to ignore the creator’s intentions when it comes to assessing the value and meaning of a work of art. But if we are forced to regard a putative work of art in isolation, cut off from the intentions of its maker, we may struggle to retain some distinctions we would be sorry (or at least surprised) to lose.
Suppose a forger creates a perfect Picasso—exactly in the style of the master, faultless down to the last brushstroke, undetectable as a fake by the experts. Normally we would downgrade a copy, however good, as it is not the work of the master; it is a slavish imitation, lacking originality and creative genius. But once the work is severed from its roots, aren’t such considerations all so much hot air? A cynic might say that hot air is putting it mildly: preferring an original to a perfect copy is an unedifying mix of snobbishness, greed and fetishism. The intentional fallacy is an antidote to this, a reminder of the true value of art.
And what if there are no intentions to ignore—because there is no creator? Suppose that millions of chance lappings of the sea happen to shape a piece of wood into a beautiful sculpture, perfect in color, texture, balance, etc. We might treasure such a piece, but would it be a work of art—or art at all? It seems clear that it is not an artifact. So what is it? And what value does it have? The fact that it is not the product of human creativity changes the way that we look at it. But isn’t this wrong, if the origins of the sculpture are irrelevant?
Finally, suppose that the greatest artist of the day carefully selects and displays a bucket and mop in a leading gallery. Then the cleaner comes along and happens to put down his or her identical bucket and mop alongside the “work of art.” The artistic value, in this case, lies precisely in the process of selection and display. Nothing else separates the two buckets and mops. But if we consider only the objective character of the buckets and mops, is there really any difference?
These thoughts suggest that we may need to reassess our attitudes toward art. There is a real danger of being dazzled by the emperor’s new clothes.
the condensed idea
Meanings in art
| Timeline | |
|---|---|
| c.375BC | What is art? |
| c.350BC | Virtue ethics |
| AD1946 | The intentional fallacy |