A small problem in the philosophy of art

 Yesterday’s note was about G.K. Chesterton, a writer I shouldn’t like but do. I also run into writers and artists I should like but don’t.

That happens a lot to me. It’s a puzzle I can’t answer, but I also can’t ignore.

You can see what I’m getting at if you consider an ancient idea in the philosophy of art. It’s the idea that good human beings create good art and bad human beings create bad art.

Plato pitched a version of that theory.

It works for me when I think of the German composer Richard Wagner. Before I knew anything about him, I disliked his music, which struck me as bombastic, overwrought and long. When I found out what an unpleasant human being he was, my initial reaction — my prejudice against him — seemed just.

Of course there's no justice in that judgment at all. It was just a smug, ugly thing.

Fortunately, my smugness has limits. Wagner is the only case I can think of where I’m tempted to conflate the character of the artist with the quality of the art.

The other day I listened to “A Song Before Sunrise,” one of the many beautiful pieces of music written by the English composer Frederick Delius, another difficult, unpleasant man. I shouldn’t like a note of his music, but I do.

That’s just one aspect of the problem.

I should love the prose poems of Russell Edison. When I read his interviews, I think I’ve found a kindred spirit. But while I’m fascinated by what he has to say about prose poems, the prose poems he wrote just aren’t my cup of tea.

So there is the problem: There are writers (and artists) I should like but don’t. There are writers (and artists) I shouldn’t like but do.

I have no explanation.