What’s beauty in art, according to Joyce’s theory of aesthetics?
According to James Joyce’s theory of aesthetics, a work of art needs three qualities to invoke a feeling of beauty. In this post, I try to break this idea down, in plain language, to help make Joyce’s writings more accessible. He is, after all, a difficult author to read—but certainly someone whose ideas remain relevant. For instance, his theory roughly corresponds to a similar model in cognitive science about aesthetic perception, understanding, and thought.
I recently took a trip to Ireland, a country I’ve long wanted to visit. One motive has been my deep admiration for the island’s celebrated writers. For me, James Joyce ranks as one of the greatest. So I made sure to visit the James Joyce Tower and Museum in Dublin, where he once stayed. (He’d eventually use this setting in the opening scene of his novel Ulysses.)
If you ever go to Dublin, I highly recommend stopping by the museum. It houses rare editions of his novels, as well as a collection of his personal belongings, letters, and photos. Plus, it’s free to visit!
This visit also gave me a good excuse to go back the man’s writings and reflect upon some of the complex ideas in them, including Joyce’s theory of aesthetics. For instance, in his first novel, A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, Joyce addresses what may seem like an obvious question. What makes art beautiful, and how do we recognize this beauty?
What is beautiful art?
To comprehend how art manifests beauty, says Joyce, we must consider the relations between the parts and the whole. For example, novels are works of art, composed of many parts: words, sentences, paragraphs, chapters, as well as characters, settings, plots, and other narrative elements. Joyce refers to the relation between the parts and the whole as rhythm:
“Rhythm … is the first formal esthetic relation of part to part in any esthetic whole or of an esthetic whole to its part or parts or of any part to the esthetic whole of which it is a part” (223).
By looking at art in this way, Joyce argues, we can notice three qualities that emerge from part-whole relations. And these qualities are what make beauty possible:
“the most satisfying relations of the sensible must therefore correspond to the necessary phases of artistic apprehension. Find these and you find the qualities of universal beauty. Aquinas says: ad pulcritudinem tria requiruntur, integritas, consonantia, claritas. I translate it so: There things are needed for beauty, wholeness, harmony and radiance” (229).
Now, as you may notice, his language about these qualities of beauty can sound esoteric at times. So let’s break down what he means by the three qualities to better grasp Joyce’s theory of aesthetics.
Wholeness (integritas)
Wholeness refers to the fact that, even though an artwork is made up of many different things, we still see it as one thing. As Joyce writes:
“the esthetic image is first luminously apprehended as selfbounded and selfcontained upon the immeasurable background of space or time which is not it. You apprehend it as one thing. You see it as one whole. You apprehend its wholeness. That is integritas” (230).
To return to the novel example, it’s a book composed of many parts: words, which form sentences, which form paragraphs, which form chapters, which form a whole story with characters, setting, and plot. Of course, all those parts must fit together harmoniously to give an impression of wholeness, which brings us to the second quality.
Harmony (consonantia)
An artist doesn’t just throw parts together haphazardly; otherwise, they won’t truly form a whole. The parts must go together in a harmonious way:
“Then … you pass from point to point, led by its formal lines; you apprehend it as a balanced part against part within its limits; you feel the rhythm of its structure. … You apprehend it as complex, multiple, divisible, separable, made up of its parts, the results of its parts and their sum, harmonious. That is consonantia” (230).
In essence, harmony is about the relations among the parts. Again, in a novel, words go together to construct sentences, which link up to make paragraphs, which coordinate to shape chapters, which give structure to a whole story that feels complete, with a beginning, middle, and ending—not to mention character arcs, world building, and other narrative details. When you have harmony in this way, each part feels meaningful, which unlocks the third quality of beauty.
Radiance (claritas)
Just as a whole artwork emerges from the harmonious relations of its parts, so too do its particular meanings come together to reveal a more general meaning. In this way, what rings true for the artist may also ring true for other people.
In other words, a great work of art doesn’t only represent something particular from the artist’s own experience. The artwork can represent something more general—perhaps even deep or spiritual—about humanity, so that people from different walks of life may be able to appreciate, or even identify with, the artistic meaning. Joyce calls this meaning “radiance” or “claritas”:
“claritas is the artistic discovery and representation of the divine purpose in anything or a force of generalisation which would make the esthetic image a universal one, make it outshine its proper conditions” (231).
This radiance culminates in an emotional state that Joyce calls “aesthetic arrest”—an idea that requires some explanation.
From radiance to “aesthetic arrest”
When you behold radiance, Joyce says, you experience a kind of “aesthetic arrest,” or an emotional state of “stasis.” By “stasis,” he means something like standing still to simply appreciate the beauty of the artwork. As Joyce puts it:
“That instant wherein that supreme quality of beauty, the clear radiance of the esthetic image, is apprehended luminously by the mind which has been arrested by its wholeness and fascinated by its harmony is the luminous silent stasis of esthetic pleasure” (231).
For Joyce, this emotional state, or “stasis,” is a sign of great art, which he calls “proper art”—opposing it to not-so-good art, or “improper art.” Using these terms, Joyce says:
“The feelings excited by improper art are kinetic, desire or loathing. Desire urges us to possess, to go to something; loathing urges us to abandon, to go from something. These are kinetic emotions. The arts which excite them, pornographical or didactic, are therefore improper arts. The esthetic emotion (I use the general term) is therefore static. The mind is arrested and raised above desire and loathing” (222).
Proper vs. improper art, static and kinetic emotions, desire or loathing … Joyce’s language may sound somewhat confusing to contemporary ears. Let’s briefly clarify his terminology.
Why does Joyce say “static”?
Why does Joyce use a word like static—opposed to kinetic? There may be at least a couple of reasons.
- To start, this static emotional state doesn’t fill you with a kinetic desire to “possess” the artwork. You don’t really want to own it like a commodity, merely to show it off as a material possession. Joyce calls that sort of art “pornographical,” although we might think of it today as compulsive or conspicuous consumption.
- Likewise, the static emotional state doesn’t give you the exact opposite kinetic feeling either, such as “loathing” the artwork because it feels ostentatious. Joyce refers this other extreme as “didactic” art. We might think of it as a pretentious show, such as an artsy exhibition by someone who has an ideological or partisan ax to grind.
Again, a “static” state means something akin to beholding the artwork, or standing still to simply appreciate the artistic beauty, instead of wanting to take possession of it or reject it.
From Joyce’s theory of aesthetics to “emotional design”
In sum, Joyce’s theory of aesthetics revolves around a kind of emotional experience. And this emphasis on the role of emotion in art certainly remains relevant to this day. Emotion, as cognitive scientists like Don Norman have observed, is an underlying factor when we experience any artistic design, whether the “high art” of literature or the “low art” of everyday objects.
In fact, in his book, Emotional Design, Norman lays out a three-level model of how we emotionally experience well-designed artifacts, whether furniture, technology, or other products. Although his model doesn’t map on exactly to Joyce’s theory (and isn’t limited to “high art” like Joyce’s thinking is), the two approaches correspond in striking ways.
Norman’s theory of emotional design
According to Norman, the three levels in which we experience well-designed artifacts (or artfully crafted objects) are:
- Visceral: When we perceive an artifact, we have an immediate emotional reaction to the object, including to the various parts that make up the whole design (such as its size, color, symmetry, and other physical qualities). This perception relates to our likes or dislikes—some which are biologically innate (such as the preference for symmetry), others which are culturally acquired tastes (such as the choice of color).
- Behavioral: When we understand the artifact as a whole, made of parts, we do so in a relational or functional way. That is, we see what use the object can be put to. This understanding is sometimes called usability, or a product’s ease of use. High usability means easy to understand and use. Low usability means difficult to understand or use.
- Reflective: When we think about the artifact, we designate it with some sort of meaning. And perhaps this meaning may be shared by others. Sometimes, artifacts can serve as meaningful objects, such as souvenirs or mementos that remind people of special moments or places.
Again, it’s not an exact correspondence, but Joyce’s wholeness and Norman’s visceral perception are both about perceiving a whole. Joyce’s harmony and Norman’s behavioral understanding are both about relations among parts. And Joyce’s radiance and Norman’s reflective thought are both about meaning.
Even though Joyce was concerned with “high art” like literature, while Norman’s concern is everyday objects or well-designed artifacts, both converge on what makes something good art: the emotional dimension of an aesthetic experience.
References
Joyce, James. (1993). A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man. New York: Penguin Books. (Originally published 1916)
Norman, Don. (2004). Emotional Design: Why we love (or hate) everyday things. New York: Basic Books.
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