The comparison to LBJ is not to the LBJ who was pushing for the Civil Rights Act as President (while running against Goldwater and Wallace right after the Kennedy assassination; let’s just say Johnson wasn’t running too much of a personal political risk, regardless of what he did to the Democratic party.) The comparison is to the LBJ of the Senate, who went far further than Obama ever has–he was a race-baiter, whose first major Senate speech was a defense of the filibuster’s use to strike down Truman’s proposed anti-lynching act. (Read about it starting at the bottom of the page here.) This is the guy who sent Eisenhower’s 1957 civil rights bill to a committee headed by James Eastand to have all of the enforcement provisions pulled out. The result was that LBJ got to say he’d passed civil rights legislation while in the senate without actually pissing off any Southern Democrats. He pushed for the Civil Rights Act of 1964, and spoke eloquently in its favor, because he thought he could get it passed. (And he got it passed, and it was a huge deal!) But he didn’t do anything to hurt his political chances in 1949 or 1957. Anyway, to be clear, that’s the comparison, and if anything Obama will come out looking better if he gets anything important done in his second term; he never won an election by smearing gays, while Johnson used racism to ingratiate himself with powerful Southern Democrats and build his own political power. (And that power is what allowed him to jam through the Civil Rights Act as President, and around and around we go.)

I agree with the rest of what you’re saying; I just wanted the point of the Johnson comparison to be clear.

If anything, I’m (mostly jokingly) accusing you of being an enabler, for perpetuating the idea that a toothless, heavily qualified, damage control PR interview on ABC News (which was even there quickly followed by a “let’s get onto serious issues”) counts as a powerfully symbolic statement. And I still insist that if you’re judging it on its merit as a symbolic statement of principle, you cannot bring questions of political risk into it — it’s either a statement of conviction, or it’s a sound bite. It can’t be both. If you’re judging it on its merit as a platform or a statement of policy, well good luck, because there is no policy to back it up.

In response to avistew’s comment, I started looking for quotes that betrayed LBJ as at least a little bit racist, as a pithy example of “I’d rather have someone say this and institute a federal policy against discrimination, than the opposite.” The problem was that all the LBJ quotes re the Civil Rights Act that I could find online were powerful statements in favor of equality, including a condemnation of the KKK. (And he didn’t need to talk about his daughters’ black friends to make them). So the comparison between Obama’s interview and LBJ are even more laughable.

And I lost faith in politics a while back, but not in politicians. Once you’ve detached yourself from the idea that people with good intentions can work within and/or change the system, you might as well stop pretending to be engaged at all, and acknowledge that you’re only looking at it as a game. (Which is why I believe that defending Obama’s statement by talking about its political fallout isn’t a defense at all, but an accusation). I’ve prided myself on being able to distinguish BS like Sarah Palin’s desperate attempts to portray John Cain as a maverick outsider from someone who’s genuinely interested in making a difference. And I thought Obama genuinely was a man of conviction — he made it clear up front that he wasn’t as interested in being progressive as he was in backing the country away from the ridiculously polarized partisanship it’d fallen into after the Bush & Clinton years. (Or I guess more accurately, the Karl Rove years).

And by “justice” I mean marriage equality in particular, but civil rights in general. I’ve been calling it “gay marriage” or “same-sex marriage” all this time (since the law doesn’t ask people if they’re in love before it gives them a marriage license, so technically two straight guys should be able to get a license, even though that violates the spirit of the institution). But really I should’ve been calling it marriage equality, since that’s what I mean when I say that there’s no rational objection: the law doesn’t make any demands on heterosexual couples for civil marriage that would disqualify homosexual couples. The end result, of course, is a victory for gay rights, but in the eyes of the law, discrimination based on genitalia is patently unjust.

Which is relevant because for the longest time after I came out, I felt like I was obligated to help other people from having to go through the same BS, which I thought meant winning “hearts and minds.” I used to believe I was in some unique position to say, “Yes, I believed in all these stereotypes, and I thought it was a big, scary deal, and I thought it was incompatible with religious belief, and here are all the ways that I was wrong.”

But over time, I’ve realized that a) it doesn’t do much good, if any; and 2) it’s unnecessary. We obviously didn’t end racism before the Civil Rights Act was passed. We obviously didn’t end sexism before the 19th Amendment was ratified. Nobody should have to give a rat’s ass whether gay marriage is becoming more popular, and nobody should have to care what other people think of them before they can get a civil marriage license. I don’t believe anything short of policy at the federal level is going to achieve that. If Romney (and Bush) can pledge a Constitutional amendment banning same-sex marriage, then Obama (or Democratic Candidate 2016) can propose one protecting it.

Until then, it’s a blatant case of unfair law that’s been used as a bargaining chip for decades, and it’s been met with nothing but stalling tactics and empty promises that it’ll happen when enough people get comfortable with it. I like to think that even if I weren’t a homo I’d still be appalled at seeing such an unfair policy kept in place. And I’d be disgusted that a President talks about the need to be considerate of people’s religious beliefs when we’re talking about United States law, and I’d be disgusted that anyone would say it’s an issue that’s best left to the majority vote.

Of course, it shouldn’t matter what a politician thinks, but it did to some degree for Americans (especially liberal/progressive-minded Americans) with Obama, since his campaign relied so much on symbolism and so much on him being the opposite of Bush — not just Democrat vs. Republican, but an intelligent and well-spoken man from a modest background vs. well, Bush. The fact that he’s black and has an unusual name just sealed the image of a President who was going to be progressive and all-inclusive, even before he made any of his speeches. It’s been clear from the past 3 years that he’s more interested in capitulation than being actually progressive, and of course I’ve been completely against his stand against marriage equality from the start. But this statement — election year damage control dressed up as a victory in gay rights history — effectively killed the last bit of me that cared whether he was on “my side” or not. I just want to see fair policy put into place; he can take his opinions with him when he goes away at the end of his second term.

When people started praising him, I tried to understand what the big deal was. People said it’s the first time a US President has stated his support for marriage equality. Maybe the symbolism is important to them because now, people might be able to state publicly that they’re in favour of it, rather than have to hide it to have a chance to be elected.
If that’s the case, I find it pretty sad. The personal opinion of political figures should not matter. I wish the President was able to make a statement to that effect. Even if he was against it. I would have preferred if he had said “I’m not comfortable with homosexuality. But what I think doesn’t matter. What individuals think doesn’t matter, no matter how prominent they are. What matters is that human beings should be treated equally. So I’m going to pass marriage equality into the law, because what matters isn’t my personal feelings, it’s not my comfort level, what matters is that I’m the President of all Americans, regardless of religion, sex, race or sexual orientation, and I owe it to them to give them all the same rights.”

It might sound ridiculous that someone who isn’t comfortable with homosexuality would put his personal feelings aside and make same-sex marriage legal, just because it’s right and fair. But Obama basically did the opposite. He stated his personal feelings, and then put them aside, in favour of injustice.

Now, he’s running for President while openly for gay rights, and I hope he gets elected. But I’m not convinced it will make a huge difference if he still insists on doing nothing about it. Maybe some people will feel like they have an ally at the White House, but will it really helps? If you’re being bullied, does it actually help to have a friend sit idly if you know that in their heart, they’re on your side? I’m not convinced. Maybe you’ll feel a little bit less lonely knowing that you have some silent support, but they’re still a lousy friend.

“There are three points of view from which a writer can be considered: he may be considered as a storyteller, as a teacher, and as an enchanter. A major writer combines these three—storyteller, teacher, enchanter—but it is the enchanter in him that predominates and makes him a major writer.”

“To the storyteller we turn for entertainment, for mental excitement of the simplest kind, for emotional participation, for the pleasure of traveling in some remote region in space or time. A slightly different though not necessarily higher mind looks for the teacher in the writer. Propagandist, moralist, prophet—this is the rising sequence. We may go to the teacher not only for moral education but also for direct knowledge, for simple facts. Alas, I have known people whose purpose in reading the French and Russian novelists was to learn something about life in gay Paree or in sad Russia. Finally, and above all, a great writer is always a great enchanter, and it is here that we come to the really exciting part when we try to grasp the individual magic of his genius and to study the style, the imagery, the pattern of his novels or poems.”

I’m not going to say anything that Nabokov didn’t put better, but my contention is simply that some artists are enchanters, most are not, the difference isn’t entirely subjective, and the difference matters. Genre fiction, plot-driven fiction, whatever you want to call it, are written by writer-as-storyteller, content to “try to squeeze the best they can out of a given order of things, out of traditional patterns of fiction.” Collins, I believe, is a storyteller. Crichton was always writer-as-teacher; at his best, in Jurrassic Park he managed to be teacher and storyteller. He was never an enchanter. (Mark Twain was.)

Nabokov’s ideas about how to approach a work of art are similar to what you turned away from at SFMOMA–there’s a right way to do it–but I don’t think they’re arrogant or condescending. Everyone has works of art or kitsch that they respond to strongly for personal reasons. We all have weak points, raw nerves that respond to even the crudest pokes and prods. (And because everyone has these things, I agree that the Talking Heads video is arrogant and condescending.) I believe that the woman you saw at the art museum would have responded similarly to any photo of the buildings she remembered, no matter how poorly composed it was, don’t you? Because it wasn’t about the photos, for her, it was about her life. By the same token, when a greeting card makes Jesse tear up, I think it’s fair to say that almost any expression of the same sentiment would provoke the same reaction; it hits a nerve. That’s the author’s intent: mission accomplished.

But there is a difference between that reaction and the spine-tingle Nabokov talks about, and surely you know the difference when you feel it. If you make the effort to remain “a little aloof” (and note that it’s just a little aloof) from a greeting card, the writer will lose his grasp on you completely. With great art, becoming a little detached only deepens your appreciation and enjoyment. Where that line falls may be slightly different between people (though obviously I draw it at exactly the right point) but it’s nuts to pretend it doesn’t exist at all. If the issue is making it a hard line, think of it as a continuum–one that moves as we become better readers. It does imply a value judgment; enchanters are superior to teachers and storytellers. But Maus is better than Watchmen is better than Archie, whether you call them comics or comix or graphic novels–is that really a disputable statement? I don’t mean “better for you,” by the way, I mean “more pleasurable”–you’re exactly right that distinguishing between enlightenment and entertainment is silly.

I suspect that some of the reason this issue is so vexed is because there was a time I liked Watchmen better than Maus, and at a certain age would have preferred Archie. As I learned to read more closely, the things that gave me pleasure changed–but the enjoyment I got from reading increased. (The same is true for film; in the last five years or so, the kinds of films I enjoy have changed dramatically, but when I love a movie now, it’s a stronger emotion than I had about my favorite films when I was just out of college. And that isn’t because I have more experiences for filmmakers to prod and poke, unless you think there’s a lot in Andrei Rublev that I can relate to; it’s because I watch more closely.) This doesn’t have to do with children’s literature versus adult literature or genre condescension or whatever: I think The Pirates! In An Adventure With Scientists is a better film than The Hunger Games (and a much better film than American Beauty) and would have felt differently ten years ago. So when I meet someone who prefers Watchmen there’s something of “I was like you, once, but then became wiser.” But it’s not (entirely) arrogance, it’s more like “If you liked that, this will really blow your mind.

Anyway, that’s enough for now. I’d be interested in hearing what you think of the Nabokov essay.

It’s difficult to talk about this stuff without sounding like a member of the Church of the Savvy, but surely you lost faith in politicians before 2005-2006? The Bush v. Gore opinion was the last nail in the coffin for me; I used to think the Supreme Court was the one branch that basically argued in good faith, instead of finding ways to justify their preferred policy goals. I know what you mean, though–Obama, as candidate, seemed to be promising to basically step away from bad faith arguments, but as president hasn’t done that. (If I hear one more statement about how the government needs to tighten its belt in hard economic times, just like American families I’m going to puke, then assume the metaphor goes both ways and start printing my own currency.)

Unfortunately I do think mouth-breathers are more likely to turn out to vote against gays than they are to stay home instead of vote for a Mormon. They don’t beat up Mormons in high school, or pray outside Mormon tabernacles, or faint and moan about their kids being recruited by Mormons. Unless you are blogging from Missouri in the 1830s. In which case I highly recommend relocating to California before 1860.

As far as justice around this issue in your lifetime, I guess it depends what you mean by “justice” and how long you live, but game it out. If we don’t have gay marriage in California within a couple of years I’ll be amazed, either because of a Prop 8 decision affirming the 9th circuit or because of another proposition in 2014 . I would bet that, if Obama is reelected, one of the issues in the 2016 Presidential election will be federal recognition of gay marriage (for taxes, federal law, &c.) in the states that recognize them. Once that happens (and it will) we’re one court case away from national. So even if we assumed gay marriage didn’t become any more popular than it is right now, the worst case scenario is what, 2014 for California, 2025 for Alabama? But the fact is, even with the lag between polling and the way people are actually voting, gay marriage is becoming more popular by leaps and bounds, so I don’t think it will take anywhere near that long to pass on a national level. Ten years? Even in the worst case scenario, I expect you’ll be around to see it.

Is that right?

Here’s what I’m saying: being judgmental about high-art-versus-low-art has no purpose, and to call the difference between high art and low art “irrelevant” is to perpetuate judgmentalism, not refute it.

The differences between things should be savored.

Comparing Moriarty’s definition of sublime art to my comment about the value of art doesn’t mean that meaningful interpretations are interchangeable. It simply means that the two definitions are functionally equivalent. “The still evocation of the inexpressible” refers to a work that provokes an interpretation that can’t be adequately expressed in a synopsis or summation. The Wikipedia article about The Road is not a “meaningful interpretation” of The Road (and neither is my description above).

And saying that the line between high art and low art is irrelevant doesn’t mean that all art is equal. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have said that The Road has more weight and more intent than The Hunger Games, for just one example. It simply means that it’s irrelevant and purposeless to classify one as high art and the other as low art. It’s only a “disservice” to say that if you’re still clinging to a value judgment inherent in the term “high art.”

The fact that there’s a value judgment is shown in your use of “real” books; why the need for quotes unless there’s an awareness that it’s a meaningless distinction that doesn’t have real merit except out of convenience? It’s like the distinction between graphic novels and comic books, which implies that calling something a “comic book” is immediately an accusation of lack of depth. And I don’t think the terms “genre fiction” and “literary fiction” have a lot of use, either, since they’re loaded down with connotations of value — it implies that genres are inherently less valuable, and that, say, character studies of New Yorkers in their late 30s trying to process current events are no less a “genre” than “Western.”

What they all rely on is one of the 2 main concepts I’m getting at in this post: the idea that the value of a work is encoded in the work itself. Most of us get that The Road will tend to have a greater impact on anyone who has a child than it would on me, and that it will have an even greater impact on fathers who have sons. So if you accept that there’s already a sliding scale in the audience/artist interaction for a single work, where exactly does it stop being a continuum, where does it hit that dividing line that separates “high” and “low?”

Whenever I make the claim that intent isn’t everything, that interpretation is equally important; that invariably somehow gets translated into “intent is nothing, interpretation is all that matters.” My whole point is that taking it to either extreme isn’t just elitism or populism, it’s just plain irrelevant.

There are plenty of people — the majority of the audience, I figure — who’d consider No Country For Old Men to be a significant, capital-H High Art film. I thought it was technically outstanding but ultimately trite in its desperation to be ponderously meaningful. Who’s right? Is there so much value embedded in the movie itself that it renders my take on it irrelevant?

And even when I acknowledge that The Road attempts to comment on the universal nature of human existence, while The Hunger Games attempts to tell an action story that provides a role model to teenagers, that’s also missing the point, to some degree. What about the reader who found The Road to be dull and ultimately pointless, but understood exactly and profoundly what it means when the boy in The Hunger Games says that if he has to die, he wants to do it without losing himself? Is her interpretation more facile and worthless than mine?

We can draw the line between “high” and “low” in all sorts of ways — the intention of the author, the bell curve of who finds a work significant vs. who finds it too simplistic or too complex, the targeted audience, the emphasis on plot vs. introspection, the emphasis on genre vs. present-day “reality,” the inclusion of a cannibal family, the inclusion of genetically created dead child dog creatures called “muttations” ‐ but I ask: if the line is that flexible, then what purpose is the line really accomplishing? (If we’re passing judgment, I’d much rather draw the line between Hunger Games and Twilight, which is the line between saying positive things and saying horrible things, without caring a bit about literary intent or target audience).

My favorite book is a fantasy/comedy about an angel, a demon, and the reluctant Antichrist. The best book I’ve ever read is written in dialect and is about a boy riding on the Mississippi River with an escaped slave. The book that got the most emotional reaction out of me was about a couple of comic book creators. Which are genre fiction, literary fiction, high art, low art, cinematic or interpretive? I’ve never made much attempt to classify each one, because those classifications are irrelevant. Did each one of the authors deliberately set out to make something “literary,” that would in some way make a profound statement on the human condition? I’ve never thought much about it, because it doesn’t make that much of a distinction.

I think even with the admission of “putting on a front” about high art while enjoying low art, it still belies an externally-imposed value judgment that doesn’t serve any purpose. It’s the idea of a distinction between reading for pleasure vs. reading for enlightenment (as if enlightenment weren’t pleasurable). Or a hard distinction beween guilty pleasures/”empty calories” and reading or watching “important” stuff.

Before it gets misinterpreted: there is most definitely some difference between entertainment and enlightenment. I definitely have TV shows, comics, games, and books that I’ll read simply for a diversion as opposed to the ones that I think have genuine significance. But I’ve found that which work ends up going into which category, often has zero correlation to whether someone else classifies it as “high art,” “low art,” or anything else.

Short version: if you like to listen to Neil deGrasse Tyson, it “counts” as long as you understand it.