“The modern man is uncomfortably situated between two contradictory beliefs about art. On the one hand, we maintain that taste is profoundly important. On the other hand, we believe that taste is entirely a matter of personal preference, and so judging another man’s taste is vulgar and senseless. The second belief is false and the first is true, but we have not grasped why artistic taste is so important.”
So begins Joshua Gibbs’ latest book, Love What Lasts, How To Save Your Soul from Mediocrity. This is a book for everyone who has ever wondered what makes art good, why so much of our culture today is disposable, and yes, why artistic taste is so important. In this book, Gibbs divides things into three categories: uncommon, common, and mediocre.
Mediocre things are ephemeral, vapid, and not meant to last more than a short period of time. They are things made purely for the novel emotional value they can afford you, and are quickly replaced by things more emotional and novel than themselves. Blockbusters, pop music, fast food, 21st century art, are just some of the examples he gives of things made mostly in order to be extreme.
Common things, on the other hand, are normal, hardy, average things. Things like beer, sourdough bread, blue jeans, The Office, and birthdays. “Common things are not extraordinarily good, just plain good. Common things are mortal things, standard things.”
The final category, uncommon things, are things that have lasted. “A thing has stood the test of time if it is still loved, studied, understood, revered, sold, or practiced one hundred years after the death of its creator.” Things like this, like The Odyssey, Bach’s Mass in B Minor, Michelangelo’s David, Christmas and Easter, the Nicene Creed, and the Chartres Cathedral, all of these things have lasted despite all odds. Despite death, destruction, common sense, sin, and the way of the world. “The ability to last is so exceedingly rare that when a man finds something which has bested time, he has found a thing for which there is only one fitting adjective: divine.”
Separating things into these three categories helps to explain why certain books, like Paradise Lost and The Divine Comedy are important reads, both in and out of school. Not because of some arbitrary opinion or a few men’s personal taste, but because many generations have read them, loved them, and found them worthy of handing down to the next generation. They have the untold masses of history behind them, telling you that here is a marvelous thing.
Throughout the book, Gibbs argues that “good things are hard to like and good taste is hard to acquire (…) for we have an insatiable appetite for things we know will not last.” You might think to yourself, “I should listen to more classical music” but pop music is easier and indulges the senses immediately. There is an immediate pay off of emotion for mediocre things, and when that invariably wears quickly away, there is always a new mediocre thing to take its place. But not only are these mediocre things claiming our time that could be spent on common or uncommon things, they also, by their very nature, hinder our ability to enjoy and appreciate uncommon things. “Mediocre things corrupt the soul in a way that cannot be fixed through quantity alone. Mediocre things corrupt our desire for good things. The man who accepts mediocrity’s offers of pleasure as authentic will simply become more and more frustrated with good things the longer he is subjected to them.”
Common things, on the other hand, do not interfere with our ability to love uncommon things, and in fact can be a path to them. They make up most of our lives, and are good things to be thankful for. Common art is not divine, but human, and it lasts a lifetime. Uncommon things are uncommon, you do not interact with them as often as other things, and yet you can return to them again and again and get more out of them each time. They are hard to love, but they are also worth loving. How might you begin loving them?
For one, reading this book. It raises many important questions, and does not shy away from calling out things which are worthless. It will ask you to rethink the way you think about art, personal taste, and your interaction with common, uncommon, and mediocre things.
For another, make a plan to lower your diet of mediocre things, and increase your diet of common and uncommon things. Don’t expect the pleasure you would get from a blockbuster from uncommon things; you won’t get it. They have much more to offer you than a quick dose of easily-achieved pleasure. They also have a lot more to ask of you:work, patience, attention, contemplation. But these are things that have been passed down by countless generations and will continue to be passed on after we have passed away. Because of this, they are worth the effort and time.
I cannot adequately summarize in this short article all the things I gleaned from this book, but I will leave you with this paragraph, as an encouragement to you that you should go ahead and read the book yourself.
“I offer this book to anyone who has flipped through a copy of Paradise Lost in a bookstore, longingly sighed, “I wish I liked this,” and then purchased something more exciting which was published last year. I offer this book to anyone who has tired of knowing that their favorite musicians and authors are utterly opposed to common sense and Christianity. I offer this book to anyone who suffers from the stunted intellect which comes from prolonged exposure to mediocrity, but who wants something better for their own children. Quite possibly, I offer this book to you.”
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Enjoyed this review! Definitely curious about the book. I remember an article he wrote that had this kind of thinking behind it that I appreciated.
"The ability to last is so exceedingly rare that when a man finds something which has bested time, he has found a thing for which there is only one fitting adjective: divine.”
The divinity — or inherent goodness —of what's "lindy," isn't obvious, but it pairs well with another non-obvious idea beloved by the Stoics, Plato, and Renaissance thinkers that I believe is true: what is beautiful is good and vice versa. Beauty, then, is not subjective.
“If we cannot catch the Good with the aid of one idea, let us run it down with three: Beauty, Proportion, and Truth.” Plato said.
Plato and the Stoics believed beauty had an ethical dimension. If our character is virtuous, we are beautiful. A beautiful physical thing also has a sort of excellence, or goodness to it.
Which makes me wonder about the moral implications of building a civilization that doesn't aim for beauty by default. How many modern buildings are really beautiful? How much of our art even has the objective of being beautiful?
I think it's not coincidental that many ugly modern buildings — like big box stores and even glass skyscrapers — have a lifespan of 30-50 years. On the other hand, The Pantheon is still going strong after 1,898 years.
Works of art that stand the test of time, be they buildings or sculptures or great novels, elevate our soul on some level.