Ruminations on Ruinations

Philosophy

We can see ruins as objects that have a foot in three different times: the past, the present, and the future. This is the nature of the ruin: they help us imagine the past, affords us interesting aesthetic opportunities in the present, and asks us to project ourselves (and it) into the future. We think about those who once lived, our own current experience, and what will be. There are two kinds of aesthetic experiences of ruins that are often conflated: that of recording the ruin be it in poetry, prose, or picture and that of engaging with a ruin qua ruin (the experience of the ruin in situ). In this paper I discuss ruin appreciation and the major and minor appreciations discussed by Rose Macaulay. Minor forms of appreciation include graffiti while contemplating the sublime and engaging in multisensory ruinlust are considered major forms of appreciation.

Ruminations on Ruination – Philosophers' Magazine (penultimate draft) Elizabeth Scarbrough is a lecturer in philosophy at Florida International University I spend a considerable amount of my time thinking about (and when I'm lucky, visiting) architectural ruins and I'm not alone. Consider the most visited historical sites in the world. They consist mostly of ruins. Sites such as Machu Picchu, the Pyramids at Giza, and the Angkor Archaeological Complex receive tens of millions of visitors a year; the Great Wall of China alone receives 9-10 million visitors annually, and Hadrian's Wall can boast over one million visitors a year. Why do people go on pilgrimages to these sites? Why are they so attractive to so many of us? I believe these sites are more than mere historical curiosities. Those of us who are fortunate enough to travel spend a great deal of time and money to stand on the earth and look upon the vestiges of architectural structures. We could much more easily look at professional photos of these cultural landmarks on the Internet. We could read about their histories from any one of dozens of various historical accounts. Yet this somehow isn't enough. There is something special about being there. In the context of architectural ruins, it just isn't comparable to experience them through another's eyes or words. We feel a pull to bear personal witness. One of the most engaging interactions I've had with a ruin was with Ta Prohm in the Angkor Archaeological Complex in Cambodia. Of all the structures housed at the Angkor Archaeological Complex, Ta Prohm is the most photographed. It is also a structure that has had fewer conservation interventions; while the walls of the temple have been buttressed with wooden planks and some metal scaffolding, no major reconstruction work has been done. Some readers might recognize this ruin as the "Tomb Raider" temple, featured in the movie (and video game) of the same name. The structure is not the most complete structure in the archaeological complex, nor is it the most historically significant. Rather, it is the structure that has been most uprooted by the banyan trees. In Ta Prohm we see nature overtaking the work of (ancient) mankind. The walls of the ruin are in the process of turning into rubble. Unlike many other structures at this archaeological site, this ruin has been allowed to ruinate. Ruins are ephemerality writ large, and I think that the most impactful engagement with ruins are those that remind us that the ruin has a life-cycle. Ta Prohm helps us see what I call the tripartite nature of ruins. We can see ruins as objects that have a foot in three different times: the past, the present, and the future. This is the nature of the ruin: they help us imagine the past, affords us interesting aesthetic opportunities in the present, and asks us to project ourselves (and it) into the future. We think about those who once lived, our own current experience, and what will be. In the present, the ruin asks us to walk around it, through it, and sometimes climb upon it. We can smell the air as we reimagine what it was like, but we also stumble around its boulders, recognizing that the structure is no longer fit for its original purpose. There are two kinds of aesthetic experiences of ruins that are often conflated: that of recording the ruin be it in poetry, prose, or picture and that of engaging with a ruin qua ruin (the experience of the ruin in situ). Much artwork has been made with ruins as its subject precisely 2 because ruins elicit complex emotional and cognitive responses. Talented artists, such as Turner, can capture some of the beauty of ruins. However, painting and photographs are twodimensional art forms, both intentionally created for an audience. Such works provoke questions about artistic intent, framing, color choice, etc. that we don't have when appreciating a ruin qua ruin. In this sense, ruin appreciation is more akin to nature appreciation. As we do with nature, we walk through ruins, smell the damp moss, touch the weathered stone. Proprioception is absent in two-dimensional artworks but is highly relevant to engaging with ruins. While there is, I believe, an important difference between ruin appreciation and the appreciation of art whose topic is ruins, no one will deny that the one can inform the other. In The Decay of Lying Oscar Wilde states that while there may have been fogs in London for centuries, no one noticed them until Art invented them. We must allow that our knowledge of iconic art informs our appreciation of its subjects. The distinction between ruin appreciation and appreciation of art with ruins as their subject is a topic which I will return to shortly. I'm hardly the first to ponder the power of ruins. One of the most beautiful books written about the aesthetic appreciation of ruins is Pleasure of Ruins by Dame Rose Macaulay. Macaulay explores the kinds of pleasure elicited by looking at the spectacle of a ruined building during various epochs, and details the various reactions to this ruinlust (a term, I believe, she coined). According to Macaulay, our myriad reactions include: admiration of the ruin in its architectural prime; the aesthetic pleasure in its present appearance; the historical or literary association the ruin may elicit; the mere pleasure of decay; the mystical pleasure in "the destruction of all things mortal and the eternity of God;" the egoistic satisfaction of realizing you are alive while so many others have fallen; the joy of seeing your foe's empire destroyed; and, the melancholic ruminations of the river of time, alongside the more intellectual pleasure of archaeology and antiquarianism. Macaulay distinguishes major and minor pleasures of ruins. Minor pleasures include looting, graffiti (which she claims "all good tourists have done in all times"), self-projection into the past, and "being portrayed against a ruinous background," the ruin "selfie" in contemporary terms. Major ruin pleasures were skillfully explored by contemporary ruin-philosopher, Robert Ginsberg, whose ode to ruins, The Aesthetics of Ruins, is as much a love poem to architectural ruins as Macaulay's tome. Ginsberg categorizes philosophical accounts of ruin appreciation into classical and romantic. According to the classical conception, aesthetic appreciation of ruins requires imagining the existing ruin as a previously existing whole. The classical conception is similar to the "archaeological model" of ruin appreciation as both view the ruin as data to be used to learn something historical without regard to present aesthetic experience with the site. Using the ruin as a prop in a game of imagination is relevant to ruinlust and ruin tourism, one of Macaulay's "minor pleasures" – to imagine oneself living in the past. Similarly, there is an emerging trend in Western philosophical aesthetics to talk about the aesthetic enjoyment of sites, buildings, and places that no longer exist, which can be found in work by Jeanette Bicknell and Jennifer Judkins. This appreciation involves "imaginative reconstruction" and evokes the classical conception of ruin appreciation insofar as the aesthetic goal is to re-imagine the original structure's appearance. 3 In contrast, the romantic account of ruin appreciation centers on the thoughts and emotions of a person absorbed in the experience of a ruin. In this model, the focus is on engagement with the forces of nature, acknowledging the eternal interplay of nature and time. This conception is emotive, drawing less on the scientific knowledge to be gained from the artefact and more on one's emotional experience. For example, the ways plants and animals encroach on the artefactual structure of Ta Prohm have special importance in this romantic account. Besides the experience of ruin qua ruin, we see the romantic conception of ruins in the paintings of G.B. Piranesi, the poems of Percy Bysshe Shelley, and the written word of Grand Tour diarists. Ginsberg's prose beautifully summarizes, "The ruin in the Romantic attitude is a temple of reverie. Here we sit apart from the world, while in the presence of its underlying flux. The ruin takes shape from the flow of our associations and sentiments. It breaks open the gates of the soul." The romantic conception may spur a more emotional response, one that might remind us of death. Ruins are memento mori on a grand scale. This is best evidenced by what has been called the "Ozymandias effect" named after the Shelley sonnet: My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings: Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair! We see the remains of powerful men, taken over by nature, and we despair. The great scholar of art and cultural property law, John Henry Merryman states, "We cherish cultural objects as intimations of immortality, of the defeat of time. . . by their continued existence, they encourage the further human effort to create something that will endure, to hold back the night of oblivion." While Ozymandias might remind us to despair, to see that even the mightiest work of man will succumb to nature, Merryman urges us to stake our claim to this world. Recognizing the inconsequentiality of man while understanding that we, too, stand upon this earth, evokes another familiar concept: the sublime. Feeling tiny in comparison to time and nature allows us to feel terror when looking at the ruinous remains of a human construction. According to Immanuel Kant, the experience of the dynamical sublime is an experience of the enormity of nature and our role within it. We feel puny against the forces of nature, but also realize our reason gives us standing. Although Kant believes only nature can evoke the sublime, it seems conceivable that we could apply his theory to human structures. The experience of ruins, like the experience of nature, can make one feel small in relation to the universe, encompassing all of space and time as it does. When looking at an ancient ruin, one can imagine her own civilization also falling prey to time, leaving behind only remnants of its former glory. This feeling soon leads to another – one of wonder that although time waits for no one and no civilization has bested mother nature – we, as humans, can leave something lasting. We can leave a mark that stands the test of time, proving we are not so insignificant as it once seemed. It is probably no surprise to my fellow ruin tourists that the notion of the picturesque is connected to this romantic conception of ruins. The term "picturesque" traces back to a 1768 essay by 4 Reverend William Gilpin, "An Essay on Prints." He defined "picturesque" as "a term expressive of that peculiar kind of beauty which is agreeable in a picture." Similarly, Christopher Hussey, in The Picturesque: Studies in A Point of View (1927), called the picturesque, a "practical aesthetic for gardeners, tourists and sketchers." At its core, the notion of the picturesque is the prospect of converting beautiful vistas into two-dimensional pictures. While the 18th century was the heyday of the picturesque, we appear to live with a picturesque hangover in the 21st. Amateur photographers, especially Instagrammers, have changed the travel landscape, angling to take pictures of ruins without people in the frame. A quick search on the internet yields various tutorials on how to remove people from your travel photos. Millions of people flock to Angkor Archaeological Park every year, yet when people post pictures of their trip, all we see are the beautiful structures seemingly divorced from the commerce of cultural heritage tourism. There appears to be little desire to capture the authenticity of the moment, recording for posterity an accurate account of the experience. Rather, modern ruin tourism is bent on producing picturesque photos, posted on social media for all to see. Instead of climbing around the structures, people angle and wait to take the perfect photo on their iPhone. This modern-day trend emphasizing the picturesque smacks of Macaulay's minor pleasure – graffiti. In my opinion, Instagramming is a form of digital graffiti. This digital graffiti has been exacerbated by the trendy aphorism "pics or it didn't happen," which (in the travel context) means if you fail to capture an experience with a beautifully framed shot on Instagram, it's as if the experience didn't happen. Unlike the travel slide shows some of us were subjected to in the living rooms of friends and family, Instagram pictures (like graffiti) are public, and public for a reason. They merely announce, "Yes, I was here!" They also speak to the opulence of a lifestyle, our modern-day, watered-down Grand Tour. Instagram graffiti does not ask of its author any self-reflection; it asks only for others momentary attention. In sum, the classical conception helps us imagine the ruin in the past, the picturesque is one of many modes of interacting with the ruin in the present, while the sublime invites us to consider the future. To fully address the tripartite nature of ruins we may need to employ multiple modes of appreciation. The classical conception alone does not fully capture this tripartite nature as it looks backward. The romantic conception more aptly addresses the tripartite nature of ruins, but too often can lead one into the future, while ignoring the present. Memento mori, one facet of romantic ruin gazing, is an implied reference to the future as it translates to, "Remember that you die." Also, since the romantic conception focuses on the trains of thoughts the ruin evokes in the observer, it relies almost exclusively on visual perception, to the detriment of other kinds of aesthetic engagements. The same criticism could be made of the sublime. The picturesque ruingazer exclusively focuses on the ruin as subject of two-dimensional art; and while picturesque ruin-gazing can afford us with some aesthetic experience of the ruin in the present, it collapses ruin appreciation into the appreciation of pictures where ruins serve as the subject matter. Returning to the beginning of this rumination on ruins – why visit a ruin if all one cares about is how the ruin looks on a piece of paper or screen? It is significant that Ta Prohm is the most photographed ruin in the Angkor Archaeological complex. It speaks to its power as an object of the picturesque. It is also relevant how it is photographed. You see two main types of ruin photographs at this site: the ruin selfie and the picture of the structure devoid of people. Both can be types of Instagram graffiti, this modern-day 5 ruin tourism. While the photograph might elicit some of the same responses, it lacks many of the powerful elements we gain when engaging with these sites in situ. My vacation photos of Ta Prohm are quite different. They are pictures of people taking selfies at the ruin; pictures of people taking pictures of the ruin; pictures of the scaffolding; pictures of the signage. I like watching and documenting how people engage with the site. Besides the differences in my vacation photos to that which you might find on Instagram, I think my experience of the ruin is different from many modern ruin tourists. I think it is important to put the camera away and experience all the unexpected beauty the ruin has to offer. Walking through the ruin, climbing on the ruin, smelling the soil beneath your feet and touching the stones are all parts of ruin appreciation lost when we engage solely in picturesque ruin-gazing. These non-visual ways of aesthetically appreciating ruins adds our sense of really being there. Next time you're literally reflecting in your cell phone screen – capturing that perfect vacation selfie, take a moment to reflect on the sublime power of architectural ruins. Remember that there is more to experiencing ruin than the minor pleasures of the digital graffiti of Instagram culture. Immerse yourself in the timeless and multisensory pleasure of ruinlust.


Philosophy

Advances in Microbiology, 2014, 4, 754-760 Published Online September 2014 in SciRes. http://www.scirp.org/journal/aim http://dx.doi.org/10.4236/aim.2014.412082 How to cite this paper: Lalande, V., Barnabé, S. and Côté, J.-C. (2014) Comparison of the Bacterial Microbiota in a Bale of Collected Cardboard Determined by 454 Pyrosequencing and Clone Library. Advances in Microbiology, 4, 754-760. http://dx.doi.org/10.4236/aim.2014.412082 Comparison of the Bacterial Microbiota in a Bale of Collected Cardboard Determined by 454 Pyrosequencing and Clone Library Valérie Lalande1,2*, Simon Barnabé3, Jean-Charles Côté2 1Département de Biologie Médicale, Université du Québec à Trois-Rivières, Trois-Rivières, Canada 2Agriculture and Agri-Food Canada, Research and Development Centre, Saint-Jean-sur-Richelieu, Canada 3Département de Chimie, Biochimie et Physique, Université du Québec à Trois-Rivières, Trois-Rivières, Canada Email: *email@example.com Received 21 June 2014; revised 24 July 2014; accepted 22 August 2014 Copyright © 2014 by authors and Scientific Research Publishing Inc. This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution International License (CC BY). http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ Abstract Biofouling, the accumulation of microorganisms, is a major problem in paper mills processing paper and cardboard. This leads to the production of lower quality recycled products. Several studies have focused on the microbial content in the paper mill and the final products. Our aim was to determine the microbial biota in a bale of collected cardboard prior to entering the paper mill. Total genomic DNA was isolated and analyzed using two different methods for comparison purposes: 454 pyrosequencing and clone library. A total of 3268 V6-V8 454 pyrosequencing reads and 322 cloned V6-V8 16S rRNA nucleotide sequences were obtained. Both methods showed the presence of three major bacterial genera: Bacillus, Solibacillus and Paenibacillus, all members of the spore-forming phylum Firmicutes. Pyrosequencing, however, revealed a richer and more diverse bacterial community than clone library. It showed the presence of additional minor Firmicute genera and of a small number of Proteobacteria. The sorting at the recycling plant, the storing, and the processing at the paper mill, the end uses, will all contribute to the bacterial microbiota present in a bale of collected cardboard as revealed here. Keywords 454 Pyrosequencing, Bacterial Microbiota, Cardboard, Clone Library, Paper Mill *Corresponding author. V. Lalande et al. 755 1. Introduction In a paper mill, collected paper and cardboard obtained from a recycling plant are mixed with water to form a fiber slurry. The slurry is passed through fine mesh screens, leaving sheets of wet paper and cardboard fibers on the screens, and white water, water with cloudy appearance due to the presence of fibers. The former are further dried and processed to yield the final recycled products. Owing to the large volumes of water used, the latter is re-circulated in the treatment of additional bales of collected paper and cardboard. Bales of collected paper and cardboard, owing to their high cellulose content, provide a substrate for microbial growth during storage and processing [1] [2]. Moreover, because the white water has been enriched in cellulose and residual sugars through multiple reuses, it is a suitable substrate for microbial proliferation. These lead to the formation of biofilms, the clogging of pipes and the corrosion of equipment. Biocides can be used to control the microbial contamination. This, however, is not without drawbacks. Biocides are costly and eventually released in the environment where they cause negative impacts. Plant downtime for cleaning can occur and, in some cases, the quality of the final recycled paper and cardboard can be much lowered as evidenced by the presence of bacteria, holes, pores, undesirable odor, and decreased mechanical strength [3]. A better knowledge of the microbial contamination source is necessary to control the problems caused by the accumulation of microorganisms, biofouling, and to increase the quality of the final recycled paper and cardboard [4]. Culturable bacterial population diversity has been studied in the fiber slurry [5]-[7], white water [5] [8], biofilms [6] [9] [10], and the final recycled products [11] by 16S rRNA gene sequences. In addition, biofilms were also studied by microscopy [5] [9] [10] [12], physiological and biochemical characterization [9] [10] [12], and fatty acids analysis [10] [12]. Unculturable bacterial population diversity has been determined in the fiber slurry [13] [14], white water [14] and biofilms [13]-[15] by 16S rRNA gene sequences. One of the most important sources of bacterial contamination in a paper mill is the cellulosic raw material [2]. However, the microbiota present in bales of collected paper and cardboard has never been characterized. The characterization of bacterial populations traditionally relied on cultures followed by sequencing the 16S rRNA gene, the nucleotide sequence of choice in bacterial identification [16]. Most bacteria, however, cannot be cultivated [17]. Metagenomics is the study of the entire genetic material present in a sample. Here, total DNA is isolated and a 16S rRNA clone library is prepared. The nucleotide sequence of each clone is determined. More recently, high-throughput massively parallel pyrosequencing has revolutionized environmental microbiology [18]. It permits the direct sequencing of the amplified target DNA, bypassing the need for cloning. Our aim in the present preliminary study was to determine the bacterial microbiota in a single bale of collected cardboard, prior to entering the paper mill. Two different approaches were used: 454 pyrosequencing and clone library. 2. Materials and Methods 2.1. Sampling A bale of collected cardboard of 1.8 m × 0.7 m × 1.2 m in size was obtained from a recycling plant (QC, Canada). Fifteen samples of approximately 20 g each were randomly collected from the bale using a high-speed hole cutter (3.5 cm in diameter) coupled to an electric drill. They were pooled together, transferred in a plastic bag and frozen at −80 C until use. 2.2. Total Genomic DNA Extraction A 10 g cardboard sample was transferred in a 1 L flask containing 125 ml saline (0.85% NaCl) and incubated on a rotary shaker at 120 rpm, at room temperature, overnight. A 12 ml volume of mixture was transferred to a 15 ml tube, centrifuged in a Beckman-Coulter Allegra 25 R Centrifuge tabletop at 1000 rpm, 3 min, at room temperature , to pellet the fibers. The supernatant was transferred to a 50 ml tube, centrifuged in a Beckman (Model J2-21M) at 9000 rpm, 15 min, at room temperature, to pellet the cells. The supernatant was discarded and the cell pellet resuspended in 480 μl 50 mM EDTA pH 8.0. Total genomic DNA was isolated using the Wizard DNA Purification Kit (Promega, Madison, WI, USA) according to the manufacturer's instructions for "Isolating Genomic DNA from Gram Positive and Gram Negative Bacteria". 2.3. PCR Amplification of the 16S rRNA Gene V6-V8 Region and 454 Pyrosequencing Two separate PCR amplifications were performed; a first one in which the amplicons were sequenced on a V. Lalande et al. 756 Roche 454 GS-FLX Titanium platform, a second one in which the amplicons were cloned and sequenced. The 16S rRNA gene V6-V8 region was amplified with the primer pair used for 454 pyrosequencing A1B969F (5'-CCATCTCATCCCTGCGTGTCTCCGACTCAG∙ACGAGTGCGT∙ACGCGHNRAACCTTACC-3') and B-BA1406R (5'-CCTATCCCCTGTGTGCCTTGGCAGTCTCAG∙ACGGGCRGTGWGTRCAA-3') as designed by Comeau et al. [19]. The forward primer included Roche's A adaptor, a multiplex identifier and the 16S rRNA gene V6 specific primer. This primer corresponds to nucleotide positions 969 to 985 in the E. coli 16S rRNA gene. The reverse primer included Roche's B adaptor and the 16S rRNA gene V8 specific primer. It corresponds to nucleotide positions 1390 to 1406. The amplification was performed as described by Comeau et al. [19] at the Plate-forme d'Analyses Génomiques (PAG), Institut de Biologie Intégrative et des Systèmes (IBIS), Université Laval, Quebec City, QC, Canada. The amplification conditions were as follows: an initial denaturation at 98 C for 30 s, followed by 30 cycles at denaturing temperature of 98 C for 10 s, annealing at 55 C for 30 s, extension at 72 C for 30 s, followed by a final extension at 72 C for 5 min. The nucleotide sequences were determined on a Roche 454 GS-FLX Titanium platform at IBIS. The raw pyrosequencing reads were deposited in the NCBI Sequence Read Archive with accession number SRR961674. 2.4. PCR Amplification of the 16S rRNA Gene V6-V8 Region, Cloning and Sequencing The 16S rRNA gene V6-V8 region was amplified with the primer pair B969F (5'-ACGCGHNRAACCTTACC -3') and BA1406R (5'-ACGGGCRGTGWGTRCAA-3') [19]. A PCR reaction contained 15 μl of Top Taq Master Mix (Qiagen Sciences, Germantown, MD, USA), 0.6 μl of each primer and 50 ng of total genomic DNA, in a final volume of 30 μl. The amplification conditions were as described above. The PCR amplicons were visualized on a 0.7% agarose gel and stored at −20 C. The PCR amplicons were cloned using a TOPO TA Cloning® Kit (Invitrogen, Carlsbad, CA, USA) according to the manufacturer's instructions. The isolation of recombinant plasmids was performed using a QIAprepSpin Miniprep Kit (Qiagen Sciences) following the manufacturer's instructions. The nucleotide sequences were determined for both strands by the dideoxynucleotide-chain-termination method [20] using a capillary array automated DNA sequencer (ABI3730XL DNA Analyzer, Applied Biosystems, Foster, CA, USA) at the sequencing platform of the McGill University and Génome Québec Innovation Centre, Montreal, QC, Canada. The nucleotide sequences were deposited in GenBank under accession numbers KF589334-KF589827. 2.5. Sequence Analysis, Taxonomic Identification and Statistics Raw 454 pyrosequencing reads and V6-V8 16S rRNA nucleotide sequences obtained following cloning were processed within Mothur v.1.30.0 (http://www.mothur.org) [21] [22] as described by Comeau et al. [23]. Briefly, low-quality pyrosequencing reads and low-quality V6-V8 16S rRNA nucleotide sequences obtained following cloningalong with chimeric sequences were removed. The high-quality reads and nucleotide sequences were aligned against the bacterial SILVA (http://www.arb-silva.de/) [24] reference alignmentand were improved by removing misaligned reads. The singletons were finally excluded to yield the final dataset. These final reads were clustered into Operational Taxonomic Units (OTUs) at the 97% similarity level, and taxonomic identification of the OTUs was carried out in Mothur against a modified 16S rRNA gene database based upon the "GreenGenes97" (http://greengenes.lbl.gov) [25] [26] reference files for pyrosequencing [23]. The rarefaction curves, the plot of the number of OTUs over the number of sequences sampled, were generated. The Chao 1 richness estimator, the Shannon and Simpson diversity indices, and the evenness were calculated at the 97% similarity level using Mothur. 3. Results and Discussion 3.1. PCR Amplification of the 16S rRNA Gene V6-V8 Region and 454 Pyrosequencing A total of 3268 V6-V8 454 pyrosequencing finalreads was obtained. Their average length was 435 bp. At the 97% similarity level, these reads were clustered into 117 OTUs. As shown in Figure 1(A), 97% of these OTUs belonged to the phylum Firmicutes. The remaining 3% belonged to the phylum Proteobacteria. All Firmicutes were assigned to three families: Bacillaceae, Planococcaceae, Paenibacillaceae with 76%, 14% and 7% of the total OTUs, respectively. These three families comprised six, two, and one genera. The unclassified Bacillaceae V. Lalande et al. 757 Figure 1. Taxonomic distribution of all bacterialOTUs at the 97% similarity level. (A) Distribution of bacterial genera obtained from 454 pyrosequencing; (B) Distribution of bacterial genera obtained from clone library. and Planococcaceae represented 16% and 2% of the total OTUs. Interestingly, the genus Bacillus, a member of the Bacillaceae family, accounted for 53% of the total OTUs. The genera Solibacillus and Paenibacillus, members of the Planococcaceae and Paenibacillaceae families, were also predominantly represented with 11% and 7% of the total OTUs. 3.2. PCR Amplification of the 16S rRNA Gene V6-V8 Region, Cloning and Sequencing A total of 494 V6-V8 sequences was obtained. They vary from 436 to 441 bp in length. Following processing, a total of 322 sequences was retained. Their average length was 439 bp. At the 97% similarity level, these sequences were clustered into 27 OTUs. As shown in Figure 1(B), they all belonged to the phylum Firmicutes. Here also, all Firmicutes were assigned to three families: Bacillaceae, Planococcaceae, Paenibacillaceae with 74%, 19% and 7% of the total OTUs, respectively. These three families comprised two, two, and one genera. Here also, the genus Bacillus accounted for 70% of the total OTUs. The genera Solibacillus and Paenibacillus were also predominant with 15% and 7% of the total OTUs. 3.3. Comparison of the Bacterial Communities Obtained Using 454 Pyrosequencing and Clone Library The rarefaction curves showed that 454 pyrosequencing yielded more OTUs than clone library when the same number of sequences was sampled (Figure 2). Pyrosequencing revealed a richer bacterial community than clone library. In addition, pyrosequencing yielded Chao 1 and Shannon indices with higher values compared to clone library (Table 1). This indicates a richer and more diverse bacterial community, respectively. Furthermore, pyrosequencing generated a Simpson diversity index and evenness with lower values compared to clone library. Clearly, 454 pyrosequencing revealed a much more diverse bacterial community than clone library. Bacteria, mostly Firmicutes and Proteobacteria, are introduced to the paper mill through contaminated cellulosic raw material, fresh incoming water and paper-making chemicals [2] [5]. Physical conditions in the paper mill range from basic to acidic pH, ambient and high temperatures, aerobic and anaerobic environments, etc. V. Lalande et al. 758 Figure 2. Rarefaction analysis of the bacterial sequences obtained from 454 pyrosequencing and clone library at the 97% similarity level. Table 1. Comparison of the richness and diversity of the bacterial communities for the two approaches used (97% similarity level). 454 pyrosequencing Clone library Accession numbers SRR961674 KF589334-KF589827 Chao 1 richness 117 27 Shannon diversity index 3.41 2.42 Simpson diversity index 0.06 0.14 Evenness 0.26 0.42 Bacterial spores, owing to their resistance, will survive these very harsh environmental conditions and will be selected for. This leads to the accumulation and predominance of the spore-forming Firmicutes and the near absence of the much more sensitive non-spore-forming Proteobacteria. This was shown by Öqvist et al. [8] who found Bacillus and Enterococcus in white water. Disnard et al. [27] and Rättö et al. [28] both found Bacillus and Paenibacillus in biofilms. Suihko and Stackebrandt [29], Suominen et al. [30] and Väisänen et al. [31] all found Bacillus and Paenibacillus in final recycled food packaging paper and board. Suihkoand Stackebrandt [29] also found Bacillus silvestris, which has since been renamed Solibacillus silvestris [32], a genus present in our study. Likewise, McCusky Gendron et al. [11] and Namjoshi et al. [33] found Bacillus and Paenibacillus on unused paper towels and linerboard, respectively. Following use, some of these final recycled products will re-enter the recycling process. The bale of cardboard used in our study was a mix of cardboard collected from different sources. Most cardboard present in our bale had already gone through the recycling process several times, from the recycling plant to the paper mill, the production of the final recycled products, their various uses and back. The recycling plant is also a major source of microbial contamination. It receives paper, cardboard, glass, metal, plastic and textiles from domestic, industrial and commercial sources, some potentially soiled with food, grease and other organic residues, all substrates for microbial proliferation and accumulation. Following sorting, bales will most often be stored outdoors, under different meteorological and environmental conditions (rain, snow, wind, temperature, and the presence of small rodents and birds, etc.) for extended periods. This will most certainly lead to the formation of a much more complex and dynamic microbiota. Ultimately, bales of cardboard ready to enter the paper mill for recycling have already been in contact with V. Lalande et al. 759 several potential sources of contamination. This is what we found herewith the presence of Firmicutes: Bacillus, Solibacillus and Paenibacillus, and the near absence of Proteobacteria in our bale of cardboard. We are planning to follow up on this study by analyzing the bacterial community in other potential sources of contamination in a paper mill such as fresh incoming water and chemicals, additives and fillers. We will also study different bales of cardboard stored under various conditions. A better knowledge of their microbiota appears necessary to improve the storing conditions in order to reduce biofouling in the paper mill and ultimately to increase the quality of the final recycled products. 4. Conclusion In conclusion, both methods, 454 pyrosequencing and clone library, showed the predominance of spore-forming Firmicutes in the bale of collected cardboard. However, pyrosequencing revealed a richer and more diverse bacterial community than clone library. The large number of steps in the recycling process, from the paper mill to the recycling plant and back, contributes to the bacterial microbiota revealed in this study. Acknowledgements This work was supported in part by the Natural Sciences and Engineering Research Council of Canada (grant EGP 436904-12). We thank Dong Xu for technical help with the cloning of PCR amplicons and Hassan Chadjaa and Kokou Adjallé for assistance in bale sampling. We thank Marie-Hélène Charest and Roger Gaudreault for helpful comments throughout the course of this study. References [1] Sorrelle, P.H. and Belgard, W.E. (1991) The Effect Of Recycled Fiber Use on Paper Machine Biological Control. TAPPI Proceedings, 569-575. [2] Blanco, M.A., Negro, C., Gaspar, I. and Tijero, J. (1996) Slime Problems in Paper and Board Industry. Applied Microbiology and Biotechnology, 46, 203-220. http://dx.doi.org/10.1007/s002530050806 [3] Flemming, H.C., Meier, M. and Schild, T. (2013) Mini-Review: Microbial Problems in Paper Production. Biofouling, 29, 683-696. http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/08927014.2013.798865 [4] Milferstedt, K., Godon, J.J., Escudié, R., Prasse, S., Neyret, C. and Bernet, N. (2012) Heterogeneity and Spatial Distribution of Bacterial Background Contamination in Pulp and Process Water of a Paper Mill. Journal of Industrial Microbiology and Biotechnology, 39, 1751-1759. http://dx.doi.org/10.1007/s10295-012-1196-8 [5] Väisänen, O.M., Weber, A., Bennasar, A., Rainey, F.A., Busse, H.J. and Salkinoja-Salonen, M.S. (1998) Microbial Communities of Printing Paper Machines. Journal of Applied Microbiology, 84, 1069-1084. http://dx.doi.org/10.1046/j.1365-2672.1998.00447.x [6] Desjardins, E. and Beaulieu, C. (2003) Identification of Bacteria Contaminating Pulp and a Paper Machine in a Canadian Paper Mill. Journal of Industrial Microbiology and Biotechnology, 30, 141-145. [7] Suihko, M.L. and Skyttä, E. 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Journal of Industrial Microbiology and Biotechnology, 25, 74-80. http://dx.doi.org/10.1038/sj.jim.7000036 [11] Gendron, L.M., Trudel, L., Moineau, S. and Duchaine, C. (2012) Evaluation of Bacterial Contaminants Found on Unused Paper Towels and Possible Postcontamination after Handwashing: A Pilot Study. American Journal of Infection Control, 40, e5-e9. http://dx.doi.org/10.1016/j.ajic.2011.07.007 [12] Väisänen, O.M., Nurmiaho-Lassila, E.L., Marmo, S.A. and Salkinoja-Salonen, M.S. (1994) Structure and Composition of Biological Slimes on Paper and Board Machines. Applied and Environmental Microbiology, 60, 641-653. [13] Lahtinen, T., Kosonen, M., Tiirola, M., Vuento, M. and Oker-Blom, C. (2006) Diversity of Bacteria Contaminating Paper Machines. Journal of Industrial Microbiology and Biotechnology, 33, 734-740. V. Lalande et al. 760 http://dx.doi.org/10.1007/s10295-006-0105-4 [14] Granhall, U., Welsh, A., Throbäck, I.N., Hjort, K., Hansson, M. and Hallin, S. 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(2009) Re-Examination of the Taxonomic Position of Bacillus silvestris Rheims et al. 1999 and Proposal to Transfer It to Solibacillus gen. nov. as Solibacillus silvestris comb. nov. International Journal of Systematic and Evolutionary Microbiology, 59, 1054-1058. [33] Namjoshi, K., Johnson, S., Montello, P. and Pullman, G.S. (2010) Survey of Bacterial Populations Present in US-Produced Linerboard with High Recycle Content. Journal of Applied Microbiology, 108, 416-427. http://dx.doi.org/10.1111/j.1365-2672.2009.04437.x


An Exchange on Disinterestedness

Philosophy

Contemporary Aesthetics Volume 1 (2003) 2003 An Exchange on Disinterestedness Ronald Hepburn University of Edinburgh Follow this and additional works at: http://digitalcommons.risd.edu/liberalarts_contempaesthetics Part of the Esthetics Commons This Article is brought to you for free and open access by DigitalCommons@RISD. It has been accepted for inclusion in Contemporary Aesthetics by an authorized administrator of DigitalCommons@RISD. For more information, please contact email@example.com. About CA Journal Contact CA Links Submissions Search Journal Editorial Board Permission to Reprint Privacy Site Map Publisher Webmaster An Exchange on Disinterestedness Arnold Berleant and Ronald Hepburn Abstract The idea of aesthetic disinterestedness has been a central concept in aesthetics since the late eighteenth century. This exchange offers a contemporary reconsideration of disinterestedness from different sides of the question. Key Words Disinterestedness, sublime, emotion, distance Editor's note: Readers are invited to contribute to this discussion. Please send comments by following the regular submission procedures for Contemporary Aesthetics. Arnold Berleant Wherefore Disinterestedness? The concept of aesthetic disinterestedness is surely one of the axioms of modern Western aesthetics, if not its central principle. Developed mainly in the eighteenth century in the writings of Alison, Shaftesbury, Addison, Hutcheson and others of the British school, the notion of disinterestedness denoted the perception of an object "for its own sake." This central idea became the mark of a new and distinctive mode of experience called the aesthetic, a kind of experience that was distinguished from more common modes, such as practical, cognitive, moral, and religious experience. During the same century many of these writers grouped what we now call the fine arts into a generally accepted set in which they were all organized by the same principles and could be compared with one another.[1] Finally, in the latter part of the century and especially in Germany, the general theory of the fine arts achieved the status of a separate discipline and, in the work of Kant, came to occupy a distinct and integral place in a philosophical system. Kant's formulation of disinterestedness is generally regarded as definitive: "...[T]aste in the beautiful is alone a disinterested and free satisfaction; for no interest, either of sense or of reason, here forces our assent...Taste is the faculty of judging of an object or a method of representing it by an entirely disinterested satisfaction or dissatisfaction. The object of such satisfaction is called beautiful."[2] Even though axioms claim eternal verity, we now understand them as human constructions. As such, they have historical origins and relevance. I believe that aesthetics today labors under the burden of a conceptual apparatus that has lost its relevance and impedes our ability to understand and appreciate the arts, especially their recent developments. It also obstructs our appreciative experience of other human creations, such as built environments, agricultural landscapes, industrial sites, and the like. It is important to add that appreciation need not always be positive. Indeed, aesthetics can provide the basis for a powerful critique of human actions and their products that demean human values and devastate large parts of the human habitat. What might we say is the historical significance of aesthetic disinterestedness? Disinterestedness served to identify intrinsic normative experience. As first developed it was used in a moral context to help the recognition of things and actions that were good in themselves, apart from their usefulness. Thus Shaftesbury, who, along with Hutcheson and Alison, was one of the principal contributors to this view, contrasted "the disinterested love of God," a love pursued for its own sake, with the more common motive of serving God "for interest merely." The disinterested love of God has, then, value that is entirely intrinsic.[3] When applied to the experience of beauty, it denoted the same recognition of intrinsic value. There is a valid insight here, for we often find ourselves valuing a work of art for its own sake. Somehow the value of good art seems to be self-contained. The work commands respect and admiration in itself, apart from practical considerations such as monetary value, the conferring of social status, or its association with the hand of genius. Coming from a time when art served the purposes of church, state, and aristocracy, this doctrine was liberating. It offered an opportunity to throw off, however briefly, the cares of commerce and politics during a period of great industrial and social change. Disinterestedness, moreover, was combined with other, related ideas into a new aesthetic, especially the contemplative ideal of appreciation and the isolation of its object from practical uses. These ideas lent themselves later to new movements and intellectual fashions, such as art pour l'art and formalist criticism of art. This is not the place to expatiate on the long, complex, and fascinating history of the idea of disinterestedness.[4] The question here is how to understand the role that disinterestedness played at this point in the history of aesthetic thought and its relevance for the present. I contend that modern aesthetics, insofar as it is grounded on disinterestedness and related notions, is obsolescent if not altogether obsolete. It cannot adequately account for much in the contemporary development of the arts, for the aesthetic appeal of the natural world, or for the aesthetic manifestations of industrial cultures. The aesthetics of disinterestedness offers an escape from those domains rather than an enlivening understanding of how art works. To be sure, these traditional notions possess some valid insights into aesthetic experience. One is that attention should be intently focused on the situation and not distracted by features or factors irrelevant to the aesthetic occasion. A casual, wandering gaze or a dwelling on associations that distract one from the perceptual situation diminish the effect of the art. And there is the recognition that there are objects that possess intrinsic value. These concerns apply in all cases and to all theories. Of course, appreciating art or nature has its distinctive character, but the Kantian strategy is not one that serves well to identify it. Moreover, these common notions in aesthetics lead to serious pitfalls. One is the transformation of experience into an intellectual puzzle that compromises the perceptual immediacy at the heart of aesthetic. Another is the tendency to fragment the aesthetic situation into separate elements, typically the beholder on one side and the art object on the other, elements that then need to be related and reconciled. Such a division has created many of the "problems" that dog much philosophical aesthetics, among them problems concerning emotion, representation, expression, and the like. Characterizing appreciation as ideally contemplative is misleading and unnecessary. An activist, participatory sense of aesthetic appreciation does not exclude an attitude of thoughtful, receptive regard when that is conjoined with intense, focused attention to the ongoing course of experience. Such 'contemplation' is as participatory as walking through a building or accompanying a violinist in a Beethoven sonata. The art, the object, and the situation determine what mode or style of appreciative engagement is most appropriate. One can still easily distinguish aesthetic engagement from acquisitive or manipulative motives and responses, but at the same time we can recognize and appreciate those many instances in which a powerful aesthetic dimension inheres in practical or telic (i.e. "interested") activities. This fusion of the aesthetic and the practical that often occurs is something that disinterestedness cannot accommodate. Yet practical concerns are a significant factor in all the crafts, in design, and in architecture. Elements of practice may also be an inseparable element in all the arts involving overt performance. These explicitly exhibit the fusion of art and practice, a fusion that at its most successful approaches the overwhelming incalculability of the sublime. This "practical" dimension doesn't make performance or the crafts any less aesthetic. Indeed, all artistic making involves such considerations, pace Croce and Collingwood. On the contrary, I think it points up a dimension of all the arts and their experience that is traditionally overlooked or undervalued. Thus intrinsic value need not be exclusive but can occur in harmonious juxtaposition with instrumental concerns. A fine painting may ennoble a room; a sculpture may sacralize the surrounding space. The moral effects of theater, literature, and music have been recognized since Plato. Furthermore, there is no need to sacrifice the distinctive, complex quality of aesthetic appreciation without separating such experience from its other modes. We can retain intense attention, perceptual acuity, wonder, and the raptness of powerful aesthetic occasions without the necessity of erecting a separate mode of experience to account for it. Surely, too, we can acknowledge the complexity of aesthetic experience without relying on the constraints of the Kantian formula to do it for us. Better an account that is least assumptive, that explains difficulties rather than creating them, and that remains true to descriptive experience. I believe that a non-Kantian account such as I have sketched out here and developed at length elsewhere succeeds in these ways. Endnotes [1] Paul Oskar Kristeller, "The Modern System of the Arts," in Renaissance Thought II (New York: Harper & Row, 1965), pp. 163-227. [2] Immanuel Kant, Critique of Judgment (l790), Sect. 5. For an extended critical account see A. Berleant, "The Historicity of Aesthetics I," The British Journal of Aesthetics, Vol.26, No.2 (Spring 1986), 101-111; "The Historicity of Aesthetics II," The British Journal of Aesthetics, Vol.26, No.3 (Summer 1986), 195-203; and "Beyond Disinterestedness." The British Journal of Aesthetics, 34/3 (July 1994). [3] Anthony, Earl of Shaftesbury, Characteristics, ed. Robertson (London, 1900), II, 55, 56. The definitive discussion of this history is Jerome Stolnitz, "On the Origins of 'Aesthetic Disinterestedness'," The Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism, XX, 2 (Winter 1961), 131143. The history of the idea of disinterestedness continues to be debated. See my Art and Engagement, Ch. 1, esp. n. 3, pp. 215-216. [4] Some basic sources of this history are discussed in A. Berleant, "The Historicity of Aesthetics," I and II. The important literature on the history of disinterestedness includes Jerome Stolnitz, "On the Origin of 'Aesthetic Disinterestedness';" Remy Saisselin, "A Second Note on Eighteenth Century 'Aesthetic Disinterestedness'," Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism XXI/2 (1962), 209; "George Dickie, "Stolnitz Attitude: Taste and Perception," Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism, 43/2 (1984), 105-203; Jerome Stolnitz, "The Aesthetic Attitude in the Rise of Modern Aesthetics--Again," Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism, 43/2 (1984), 205-208; Dabney Townsend, Aesthetic Objects and Works of Art; "From Shaftesbury to Kant," Journal of the History of Ideas, 48, 2; and "Archibald Alison: Aesthetic Experience and Emotion," British Journal of Aesthetics, 28/2 (1988), 132-144. _______________________________________________________________________ Ronald Hepburn Response to Arnold Berleant on Disinterestedness Arnold Berleant presents a many-sided and attractive case for "engagement" rather than "disinterestedness" as fundamental to aesthetic appreciation, whether of art or nature. A disinterested attitude may, he thinks, have been appropriate to eighteenth-century art and aesthetics, but today both philosophy and the arts must free themselves of its outmoded influence. In his Art and Engagement, Berleant gave examples from recent art of works that require active participation from the appreciator, "wall pieces, paintings, and sculptures . . . that respond to environmental stimuli, emitting sounds, echoes, or light at [one's] approach" (pp. 26-27). This is of course true not only of the art of today: sculpture and architecture, as Berleant well knows, have always invited, even required the appreciator to walk around them, or through them, so as to build up a many-facetted experience. Why then do I have some uneasiness about his readiness to displace disinterestedness? Disinterestedness need not be thought of as a "separate mode of experience." It plays more roles than one, for instance, in the demarcating of aesthetic from non-aesthetic, art from non-art. It involves a snipping or displacing of attention from our individual lifeconcerns, from our acquisitive urges, from questions about the actual existence of the objects and the situations depicted or symbolized in and through works of art. Disinterestedness (says Berleant) leads to the "transformation of experience into an intellectual puzzle that loses sight of the perceptual immediacy at the heart of [the] aesthetic". But that "perceptual immediacy" (I want to respond) is not so unreflective as to bypass the appreciator's recognition that the perception belongs to art (as an ongoing sequence of genres and traditions and styles) and is not to be integrated with practical living. That is to say, there is a sensed discontinuity or disinterestedness, but not one that is inimical to the sensory component of aesthetic experience. So too with aesthetic appreciation of nature: we suspend our utility-dealings with nature, suspend equally our pleasure-seeking recreational encounter with it, and disinterestedly appreciate nature's own qualities. We can certainly be animated in that appreciation and enjoy an intense emotional response to art and to nature: we can be active in aesthetic exploration, but all within the awareness, once again, of that discontinuity from our other engagements-with work, personal relationships, amusement. We may move through, be immersed in, the ever-changing, turbulent nature we aesthetically appreciate, and yet be aware also of a contemplative, calm still centre in our consciousness. Paradox is hard to avoid: we experience, at different levels, both animation and stillness. So construed, an aesthetic of disinterestedness does justice to the distinctness of the worlds of art from the non-art world, and the distinctness of aesthetic from non-aesthetic approaches to nature. In non-representational music, I experience the sequence of emotional qualities, tensions and resolutions, as belonging to the music itself. In a painting, the world represented is, in the end, not my own world with its objects, happenings, dramas, but, once more, the world of the painting itself. Besides, in appreciating the painting, I attend not only to the items represented but also to the spaces between and around them, and I let the whole painting, all of its components interacting, modify my perception, and create, it may be, a unique expressive quality, which is available to me nowhere else. In other words, one's first aesthetic obligation, in considering any part of a work of art, is to take its bearings, to grasp its place, its meaning, its emotional qualities, in relation to the rest of that art-work on which one is concentrating. (That is not to deny that the work as a whole may well be related additionally to the world beyond it, on which it may comment.) Art-works, then, are not, so to speak, wired directly into the system of my desires, longings and satisfactions. There surely is some "standing back" here; at least enough to allow me to bring into a synthesis, a single grasp, what is often a multitude of interdependent components. In the area of emotions, feelings and moods, there is an important difference-again well marked out by the concepts of disinterestedness and discontinuity-between simply suffering an emotion, on the one hand (let's say, a vague and confused fear of the inevitability of death), and having that emotion clarified, articulated, in a work of art, and so better grasped. In grasping it through fictive situations analogous to our own but sufficiently distanced, we are delivered, at least in part, from our debilitating passivity. It should be clear now why I see disinterestedness as having several roles to play in an account of aesthetic experience: a formal role in indicating a boundary between aesthetic and other modes of experience, an epistemological role in characterizing that discontinuity, that particular posture of consciousness with which we can make most, and most appropriate, sense of complex art-objects, or attend to items of nature in a distinctively aesthetic mode. Still further, it would be rewarding if we could be aware of affinities (today less familiar and less obvious) between aesthetic disinterestedness and an overcoming of the anxious flux of everyday events and the "interested" activity (self-interested, most often) that aims, but fails, to bring calm out of conflict. In this respect, we can learn from Schopenhauer, though our metaphysic is bound to be different from his. For Schopenhauer, the aesthetic (creating and appreciating), because it is not enmeshed in our personal strivings, offers release, even if temporary, from "will", whether our own will or that of the blindly wilful "in-itself" of the cosmos as he understood it. Surely, you may say, my readiness to accept the story about aesthetic experience as disinterested, in the sense of discontinuous with the non-aesthetic life of doing and suffering, is most obviously flawed when we try to apply it to the range of daunting and momentous experiences which have traditionally been called "sublime" (in nature or in art). Typically, in these we find ourselves confronted by the spatial or temporal vast, or by the immense forces of nature. Can there really be room here for a disinterested stance or a sense of discontinuity.? I think that we can distinguish two aspects of the sublime (in its very roughly Kantian dual form) which do connect significantly with the cluster of ideas centred on disinterestedness. First: the daunting object of a sublime experience can seem to stand quite apart from, to be quite incommensurable with, the categories of our ordinary experience: a remote and immense snow-capped mountain peak, a supernova or a black hole. Secondly, the total experience called sublime, in this tradition, powerfully sensuous though that experience may be, can by no means be seen simply as our being "bowled over," stunned, overwhelmed by excessive magnitude or by nature's energies. A further component is fused with that moment of sheer sensory impact-a realization (it can take different forms) that we are not pure vulnerability only, but conscious beings, free and reflective beings, mysteriously able to summon resources of intellect and imagination, which "balance" and in a measure "distance" that daunting sensory impact, and fuse both components into the one complex-daunting-and-exhilarating-experience of the sublime. Looking back, my impression is that Arnold Berleant and I are not so far apart as is suggested by our taking opposed positions over "disinterestedness." Each of us wishes to accommodate many of the same features of aesthetic experience, though under different overarching concepts or categories. But the differences do matter: they may even determine how willing or unwilling we shall be to welcome particular radical innovations in the arts. I do not accept the view that aesthetics must be ready to remodel itself in response to any and every trend or fashion in "the contemporary development of the arts." It is possible that philosophers of art may, on occasion, speak out legitimately as critics of particular trends, having greater confidence in certain principles and values than in the worthwhileness of art which flouts or discards them. Inevitably, those principles and values will have been brought to light through the work of particular authors at particular times. But it cannot follow that what they excogitated had relevance to their own time only (nor, of course, that it necessarily applies to ours!).[1] Endnote [1] On disinterestedness and the aesthetic appreciation of nature, see also Emily Brady, "Don't Eat the Daisies: Disinterestedness and the Situated Aesthetic," in Environmental Values 7 (1998), pp. 97-114. _________________________________________________________________________ Arnold Berleant A Reply to Hepburn As I began to ponder the disparity between Ronald Hepburn's views and my own, I realized that a basic philosophical difference underlies them. A pervasive rationalism and cognitive privilege infuse Hepburn's defense of disinterestedness. Hepburn's argument, despite his disclaimer, distinguishes aesthetic experience from other modes of experience and leads us to differentiate non-art from complex art objects and natural ones experienced aesthetically. For him the aesthetic enables us to turn away from the tedious concerns of daily life. Doing this requires a distinction between art and non-art and between actual situations and those depicted or symbolized in art. The rational discrimination among genres, traditions, and styles is also part of the aesthetic process for him. Both procedures involve categorical distinctions: between the aesthetic and the practical tedium of the mundane, and between art and non-art. Such cognitive processes, I argue, are not inherent in the appreciative act even though they may provide some criteria that we may choose to use in guiding our aesthetic behavior. I, in contrast, insist on a continual reference to appreciative experience and to the occasions that evoke it as the basis for an account of the aesthetic. Hepburn's sensitive defense of disinterestedness vividly illustrates the plausibility and continuing influence of that doctrine. He regards the question of whether the aesthetic is a separate mode of experience as the key question and he affirms such a separation. I claim that aesthetic experience is distinctive though not separate, and that although it is not always dominant, it is pervasive. If we think of aesthetic as intrinsic perception that is focused, intense, and fraught with significance, there is no situation or object that cannot be experienced aesthetically. Yet this experience is different from experience that is social, practical, religious, or cognitive, even though such experiences are often conjoined with the aesthetic. The dripping rain water that taps a regular pattern as it filters downward to rot and undermine a house can, at the same time, play the very same role that the clicking of train wheels did for Rossini in suggesting a musical figure. Similarly, a pervasively aesthetic culture such as the Japanese can find no object or pursuit so lowly that it cannot be enhanced by aestheticization. Hepburn draws again on Kant in employing distance to deal with the sublime. By summoning our resources of intellect and imagination, we are able to balance the powerful sensory impact of overwhelming might or magnitude. We can then overcome "that daunting sensory impact, and fuse both components into the one complex...experience of the sublime." We see clearly here the use of such distancing as a cognitive act. Here, perhaps, it may be thought of as complementary to the aesthetic one, but it is still a different act, one that requires a shift of experience into an alternative mode. Hepburn calls the juxtaposition of turbulence and inner calm a paradox in our appreciation of nature. This juxtaposition is a puzzle only if one is committed to the doctrine of disinterestedness, for such a "paradox" confuses the conditions for appreciation with the act of appreciating, itself. It may be desirable and even necessary on certain occasions, but it is not universally so. Thus there is a categorical confusion between conditions for appreciation and the activity of appreciation, and between a conventional setting for appreciative enjoyment and the activity itself. It does not require disengagement to take an art-object on its own terms. The "system of my desires, longings and satisfactions" does not require "some standing back here; at least enough to allow me to bring into a synthesis, a single grasp, what is often a multitude of interdependent components." Engagement allows these to enter, indeed it encourages recognizing and experiencing these connections. The key word here is 'experiencing,' for experiencing such a confusion of conditions may be central to the act of appreciation in such an instance, as it is in the case of Anselm Kiefer's powerfully evocative paintings. Similarly with emotions. Fictive situations may indeed lead us to face the same emotions of helplessness and suffering evoked by such things as death. Insofar as such emotional feelings are an integral part of the appreciative experience, there is no reason to exclude them. But the knowledge that a situation is fictive may not diminish the emotional response. Knowing that an object does not exist or that a situation did not actually occur involves a cognitive act that may be aesthetically irrelevant. One's response to violence in film, for example, may be intense and overwhelming, even intolerable, despite that knowledge. As for the effectiveness of aesthetic disinterestedness in enabling the articulation and refinement of such feelings, what is important, I believe is experiencing, not conceptualizing, those feelings, which is what happens in art as aesthetic. We do not need to face emotions from a safe distance in order to have powerful emotions clarified and articulated. We need to encounter those emotions and live through them. Some of the most powerful art breaks down our protective defences, including distancing, to engage us in unforgettably intense feelings that we then must somehow work through. Further, I believe that aesthetic theory has not a legislative function but rather a reactive one. As aestheticians we are not the arbiters of what constitutes art at any time in the history of cultures. This is ultimately a social decision made over time by the willingness and ability of people to appreciate objects and activities in ways we understand as aesthetic, and those ways themselves change. That there may be a circularity here is unavoidable and even desirable. Social groups and societies develop characteristic modes and patterns of experience. Philosophers have typically re-enforced such patterns in moral philosophy, where our function should be more critically reflective and assist in the evolution of ethical understanding. In aesthetic theory I believe we have a different function, to explain our capacities for experience of the sort we call aesthetic and to assist in the enhancement and enlargement of those capacities. In citing Schopenhauer, Hepburn recognizes the strong appeal that disinterestedness has in overcoming the forces of the everyday, interested world-narrowly self-seeking, anxious, and turbulent. It is, put directly, a precious alternative to and an escape from that world, an evasion it would be sad to lose. Aesthetic engagement offers us an alternative to that violent but mundane world but not one that separates us from it. Engaging in the many and various worlds of art is no escape but an entry through magic casements into new and sometimes important regions of experience. Engagement rather forces us to confront that world as it is presented to us in the arts and impels us to seek to change what is avoidable. In that way, the theory becomes an instrument for betterment, not only because is it unrelentingly direct but because it contains a vision of reconciliation and harmony. Ronald Hepburn displays his characteristic graciousness in suggesting that he and I are not so far apart. We do share an openness to the richness and many nuances of aesthetic experience of both art and nature. But, yes, as Hepburn acknowledges, the differences between us do matter. There is a difference, indeed, that underlies our differences: a sophisticated yet clear conflict between an essentially rationalist approach and an empirical one. _________________________________________________________________________ Ronald Hepburn Disinterestedness: Reply to Arnold Berleant's Reply Is there any point, then, in reaffirming a view of aesthetic experience and the aesthetic attitude which gives a central place to disinterestedness? In banishing the concept of disinterestedness altogether, would we not be dismantling a gratuitous barrier, one that isolates art from life (or, if you like, takes art to be an escape from life rather than engagement with it), deprives art-emotions of their strength, directness and relevance, interposes concepts and rational structures where there should be only unconceptualized expression-and submits aesthetic appreciation of nature to some analogous distortions? I do realize that the language of "disinterestedness" is open to a variety of understandable misreadings and that it cannot serve as our sole key-concept in aesthetic theory, yet I am not persuaded by these charges. Let me restate the core of the view I am defending (in this friendly polemical exchange with Arnold Berleant):Disinterestedness should not be seen as an attitude that makes our aesthetic encounters with art and nature something insipid or effete, their objects held at arm's length. We should see it, rather, as basically a disconnecting, disentangling, from the flow of life's projects, allowing wholehearted entry to the world of the art-work (or to nature out-ofrelation to our practical involvements in it), a vivifying and liberating of the imagination, so as to follow and to reconstruct the intentions of an artist, or in the case of nature (with markedly greater freedom) allowing us to improvize our own "natural" aesthetic object from sensory and cognitive elements. Once constituted, art-objects or items of nature are appreciated, enjoyed and valued for themselves. As the word "disinterestedness" intimates, the basic thought is negative-"without interest", in the sense of not seeking to exploit or possess, but only to experience, to appreciate, to grasp: everything else being subordinate to these. Arnold Berleant draws attention critically to places where I speak of concepts, categories, rational discrimination among genres and traditions-as involved in aesthetic appreciation, as internal to it. For my part, I cannot see that as part of a "distancing" process in a bad sense, the outworking of an inappropriately rationalistic mind-set that allegedly goes with a "disinterested" approach to aesthetic experience. I allow that, very occasionally (and very briefly), we may have a purely sensuous, uninterpreted, experience: but immensely more often interpretative concepts are at work helping to constitute our aesthetic experience, even if not all their work is explicit and verbalized. They ask and answer the questions we need in order to orientate ourselves with regard to our object of experience. For instance, "Is this item a piece of nature or an artefact?" I shall experience it differently, depending on which I decide it is. Or again, I can't avoid (ought not to avoid) asking, "Is this essay [or piece of music, or painting] ironical?" Or: "Is this reworking of an ancient myth turning out to be an entertaining but superficial fantasy, or a serious thinking-through of the human situation today?" Questions like these and their answers are important elements in the constructing of our appreciative experience; they are not added as an inessential (rationalistic) supplement. On "the sublime": when dualistic types of sublime experience combine sensory and imaginative frustration or incapacity with a resurgent feeling of exhilaration, the latter may well be founded on a recollecting, realizing and cherishing of features of personal life (freedom, moral awareness, aesthetic sensitivity itself), features that are not measurable on scales of magnitude or physical force. I do not see how concepts can be avoided in this sort of context. If this "requires a shift of experience into a different mode" (A.B.), then again I'd say, These components-sensuous and conceptual-can be fused into a single, contemplative and moving experience, and are so in often-attested episodes of the sublime. To me, there is no problem about including cognitive components within an aesthetic whole. In general, aesthetic experiences would become greatly impoverished without them. Is art a mode of escape from life? From the chaotic and formless in life, it can be; but "escape" is, in other ways and contexts, not at all appropriate. We may think of Goya's Disasters of War or Picasso's Guernica. On emotional intensity, Berleant writes: "Knowing that a situation is fictive may not diminish the emotional response". I entirely agree. I may in fact experience more powerful emotions concerning the vicissitudes of a fictional character (appreciated in disinterested mode on stage or in a novel) than about a real life character in a similar situation. The situation can indeed be imaginatively realized, "brought home", in art more vividly than is often the case in everyday life, where emotional evasiveness or sluggishness may shield me from that depth and fullness of response. I also commonly experience emotions in art which I have never known in my life outside art (let us say, a leader's triumph in battle, or the desolation of a child abandoned by its parents). Yes, the expressive resources of art also "articulate" and "refine"-in the sense of giving definition, precision and particularity to emotional qualities, getting beyond clichéd concepts, and in very effective art-I readily admit-often beyond concepts altogether. (The arts can both use and transcend concepts.) Such emotional particularity is the resultant of an "all-in" use of an art medium: in musicmelody, rhythm, timbre of instruments, musical forms, established and innovative-we actively bring all of them into a single whole-to-perception, almost a world in itself, the proper object (I have to say) of disinterested concentration. The particularity of emotions in a fine work of art may, then, preclude conceptualizing with any accuracy. While we experience emotions, let us say vis-à-vis death, as they are expressed in an art-work such as Brahms' Requiem, we actively interrogate the work so as to discover the particular quality Brahms has given these emotions; we are not made, simply, to weep or shudder. We realize as we listen that here is a treatment of solemn, grave emotions, emotions surrounding death, as expressed through the filter of a nineteenth-century symphony orchestra and the personality of a particular composer, using (but doing highly individual, original things with) the musical idioms of his day. And we may ponder as we listen-how far can we make these, deeply valued, emotional qualities our own, and learn to retrieve them in memory? So Berleant and I agree about the ability of art to communicate emotions with peculiar vividness and power. But since we (whether listeners, spectators or readers) remain aware that it is the rich resources of art that are opening them to us-in the complex object-ofappreciation before us (or unfolding itself for us in sound)-I cannot see that as inconsistent with my claims about disinterestedness: rather the reverse. Let us ask once again, and finally for this "reply", What do those claims amount to in such cases? It is easy to oversimplify; perhaps the following is a little more adequate. There is an important difference between our experience of emotion-fear, dejection, joy-in non-aesthetic, everyday-life contexts, and in art. With art, we are aware that our fear has no immediate object in our personal life: our anger no target, dejection or joy no specific occasion in the episodes of our lives. When we give ourselves to tempestuous music, or to music of great serenity, we realize that this is still our own sustained act, a self-surrender that is always rescindable: we ourselves have put those experiences as it were within brackets. But that does not dampen or extinguish their drama, their emotional force. These persist; even though not as continuous with the dramas and emotions of our extraaesthetic lives. Nevertheless-for our subject is irreducibly, and happily, complex-life can certainly come to draw upon aesthetic experiences such as these, often be nourished by them over long periods. What has been "discontinuous" can, in part at least, be made once more continuous, what has been "disengaged" we may re-engage and integrate.