A wager on hierarchy in art

The understanding and the feelings are molded by intercourse; the understanding and feelings are corrupted by intercourse. Thus good or bad society improves or corrupts them. It is, then, all-important to know how to choose in order to improve and not to corrupt them; and we cannot make this choice, if they be not already improved and not corrupted. Thus a circle is formed, and those are fortunate who escape it.
Pascal

A dedication to reading, and writing, the greatest works of philosophy and literature demands that I keep myself apart from lesser works, that I not let myself be distracted by them. They lure me by appealing to the unrefined part of my mind, the part I denounce and detest in the name of excellence. This passionate desire to keep apart from what is low and ignoble is what Nietzsche calls “the pathos of distance.” The problem I face is, how can this pathos exist alongside the democratic pathos that insists there is no above and below?

Is some art higher than other art? I would like to know the correct answer to the question, but there is no way to know without studying the allegedly canonical works. People are divided, and each camp vehemently denounces the other. At least to begin with, I will have to decide without knowing. What if I make the wrong decision?

If there is no rank of value in art and I imagine there is, what have I lost? If all art is equal, then choosing the canonical works is no worse than choosing pop culture. I may find pop culture more entertaining, and I will lose this. My elitism will also deprive me of the sense of camaraderie that comes with sharing a common culture.

What if, on the other hand, there is indeed a hierarchy of values in art, and I mistakenly suppose there is not. In this case, I will deprive myself of some of the profoundest forms of excellence available to the human mind.

One thing we have omitted from the calculation thus far is the question of difficulty. To understand the alleged classics requires far more sustained intellectual effort than it takes to understand pop culture. Whether I count this as a positive or negative will depend on my goals. If I desire to cultivate the mind, this difficulty would have to counted as a benefit, since it stimulates the mind to greater activity. If I have no interest in cultivating the mind, however, the difficulty would be merely an inconvenience.

There is also the question of money. If I exhaust my intellectual energy at work, I will have none left for difficult art. I will need something undemanding, that allows me to relax, unwind, recover, and restore my energy. If, on the other hand, I exhaust all my intellectual energy in reading difficult books, my performance at work will certainly suffer. A devotion to high culture may demand that I maintain a pathos of distance not only from popular culture, but even from ordinary comforts. Comfort costs money. And after I have exhausted myself reading the classics, I will no longer have the time and intellectual energy to earn it.

One of most tragic aspects of the American experience is that we are too busy making money to read the great books, while it is precisely in these books that we would discover the finitude of our needs, and the futility of a life that seeks gratification from production and consumption rather than intelligence and virtue.