What is Art?

“That’s not art!” is a not uncommon reaction to Marcel Duchamp’s Fountain. As we ponder the mounted urinal with letters scrawled across it, the question equally arises, “if it isn’t art, why isn’t it art?” And this must naturally lead to the fundamental question, “what is art anyway?” This confusion that comes to the average person when encountering certain “modern art” is further confused by the general ambiguity and broad use of the term “art” in a variety of contexts. For we sometimes speak of the “medical arts,” the “performing arts,” the “liberal arts,” “the culinary arts,” or we may even speak of the “art of basketball,” or the “art of living well.” So, what exactly is “art” and how do we know if something like Fountain would constitute a work of art?

The purpose of this essay is neither to offer an evaluation of whether Fountain is “art” nor whether if it is art, whether it is good or bad. Rather, this essay seeks to outline a beginning taxonomy through which we could possibly consider these questions. A single definition of “art” seems unlikely to account fully for the variety of objects and activities that we normally speak of as “arts.” For this reason, classifying different kinds of “arts” might possibly help us to understand the variety of ways we experience art in the world.

The first major division of “art” is the somewhat self-referential distinction of art as a “cause” on the one hand, and as an “effect” on the other. When we speak of art as a “cause,” it refers to the rules that govern an action and the skills needed to achieve some end; thus we speak of the “art of basket-weaving” or the “art of ship-building,” etc.  Art as an “effect,” refers to the “work of art” that is produced as a result of the actions of the one operating under the rules and skills of production. So the cause of the basket is the “art of basket weaving,” and the effect of basket-weaving is the “basket” which is produced. Both these (cause and effect) are properly “arts.”

We can refer to that which is produced as an “artifact,” but not all “arts” (as a cause) produce artifacts (as an effect). For example, the “medical arts” (as a cause) refers to all the scientific knowledge concerning the health of the body, along with the various skills needed to attain that health (like surgery or diagnosis). However, the one practicing the “medical arts” does not produce an “artifact.” Instead, the “health of the body” is the effect of the causal “medical arts.” Similarly, the “art of logic” (cause) produces syllogisms (effect), and the “art of governing” (cause) leads to the “act of ruling” (effect), but neither produce artifacts.

The two notions of art, however, are not on equal footing logically. For “art as cause” is the fundamental meaning of “art;” while “art as effect” is derivative or dependent (as is the case with all cause and effect relationships). Aristotle, Thomas Aquinas, and Kant all seem to agree on this point. Aristotle defines “art” as “identical with a state of capacity to make, involving a true course of reasoning” (Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics, 1140a9-10).  And likewise says Thomas, “Art is nothing else but the right reason about certain works to be made. . . . Art, properly speaking, is an operative habit” (Thomas, Summa Theologica, I-II. Q. 57 A. 3). The cause is fundamental because it must come prior to the effect—without knowledge of “how-to” there can be nothing produced.

On this account, all actions have an “art”—it is the “know-how” to produce a desired effect, and all “arts as effects” will have a corresponding series of rules governing their production. (This statement is not entirely accurate, as will be seen below. For, according to Kant, the distinguishing characteristic of the “fine arts” is precisely the lack of universal governing rules, and yet there being an effect desired by the work of the artist.  How these two ideas can work together consistently will be explored below.) Hence Thomas’ reference to art as “right reason” concerning things “to be made”. And so points out Kant that “every art presupposes rules which are laid down as the foundation which first enables a product, if it is to be called one of art, to be represented as possible” (Kant, Critique of Judgement, 136.).

Art, therefore, is like science in that it involves a kind of speculative knowledge concerning the nature of reality. However, “science,” properly speaking, aims at knowledge of “what is,” while “art” aims at knowledge of “how to make X” or how to achieve a desired effect. In some cases there is clear overlap between “science” and “art”—as is the case of the “science of medicine” and the “art of medicine.” For without the “science of medicine” it is dubious that a doctor could achieve the health of the body, which is the desired effect of the “art of medicine.” On the other hand, some arts seem to be able to operate somewhat independently of the corresponding science. For example, it seems that a person can be quite capable in the “musical arts” yet have little knowledge “music theory”—and vice-versa.

The remaining discussions of the various kinds of “art” all deal with arts as “effects.” In the first major sub-division of “art as effect” we can distinguish between arts which produce something outside of the artist and arts which work on the mind of the artist (i.e., those which do not produce something outside the artist). The latter of these are called “liberal arts” and are most closely associated with education. According to Mortimer J. Adler, “the liberal arts are traditionally intended to develop the faculties of the human mind, those powers of intelligence and imagination without which no intellectual work can be accomplished…once all were acquired, the student was “free” to stand before all things as a whole, both to know and to act” (Adler, What Is Liberal Education?). Traditionally the liberal arts were seven in number, constituting the language and mathematics arts necessary for the student to be “free” to know and to act in the world.

The former arts (those which produce something outside the artist) are variously called the “mechanical arts,” the “servile arts,” or the “practical arts.” What they have all in common is some end beyond the formation of the human mind. For example, the “medical arts” would fall under this category because the end of the art is something produced outside of the doctor (i.e., the health of the body of the patient). Hence, in this category would fall all manner of “arts” which will need to be further divided—for within this category of arts would include such things as the “art of carpentry,” the “art of the pianist,” the “medical arts,” and even the “fine arts.”

In further separating the “arts” at this point, Immanuel Kant is most instructive. According to Kant, when it comes to arts which produce something outside the artist, there are two broad categories: the “mechanical arts” and the “aesthetic arts.” The difference between the two are the ends the artist has in mind when creating the artwork. To understand the difference, we must go back the original distinction between “art as cause” and “art as effect.” There it was argued that all “art” is created according to the “universal reason”—that is according to some rule. These “arts” are here called the “mechanical arts”—they are arts made for some use. And hence they are sometimes called the “useful arts.” Here would include certain “industrial arts” like carpentry, ship-building, etc.

However, according to Kant, the “aesthetic arts” have no “useful” purpose in mind when they are created, or rather, they are not created according to a “universal rule”. The consequence of this, is that there is no “right or wrong” to the “aesthetic arts” in the same way there is a “right or wrong” in the production of a chair. For the chair, there are universal rules of carpentry by which the artisan works, but not so the painting. There is no “right or wrong” way to paint the Flint Hills. Furthermore, the painting of the Flint Hills is not made for some use in the same way that the chair is made for sitting.

“Aesthetics arts,” however, are not without an end, for the artist must have some end in mind when acting, otherwise he would not act. According to Kant, the end of these arts is pleasure. As such, Kant distinguishes between two kinds of “aesthetic arts:” “agreeable arts” and “fine arts.” The “agreeable arts” have pleasure as “sensation” as their end. Here Kant seems to have in mind perhaps the “culinary arts” and such “arts” as are pure enjoyment, as in “entertaining narrative, the art of engaging the whole [dinner] table in unrestrained and sprightly conversation, or with jest and laughter inducing a certain air of gaiety” (Kant, Critique of Judgement, 134-135).

And so we have finally arrived at the distinguishing features of the “fine arts.” The “fine arts” belong to that broad category of arts which are effects of human actions and which produce something outside of the one acting, and yet are ones for which there is no use. But unlike the “agreeable arts,” the “fine arts” are presented not as objects of “sensational enjoyment” but of a pleasure aimed at “modes of cognition.” That is, they are presented as objects of Beauty. Kant seems to have in mind Thomas Aquinas’ understanding of Beauty: “Beauty,” says Thomas, “relates to the cognitive faculty; for beautiful things are those which please when seen” (Thomas, Summa Theologica, I. Q. 5 A. 4). And by “seen” Thomas and Kant have in mind “seen by the mind.” So, if we ask the question, “what is that painting for?” the answer is “for enjoyment, for contemplation.”

Kant also denies that “fine arts” are meant to communicate something. Because “fine arts” are not made according to a universal rule, and although they present Beauty to the mind for contemplation, the “fine arts” are devoid of concepts. That is, they are not meant to “mean” one thing or another. Says Kant, the “fine arts” do not “permit of the judgement upon the beauty of its product being derived from any rule that has a concept for its determining ground” (Kant, Critique of Judgement, 136). So to ask, “what does this painting ‘mean’?” is to misunderstand the “fine arts.” “Fine arts” are presented to the mind as an object of Beauty for contemplation, which is what Thomas indicates is the nature of “beautiful things.”

One final division of “arts” should be addressed. Within the “fine arts” we can distinguish between “plastic arts” and “performing arts.” Both of these would contain the characteristics described for “fine arts” above. The difference here is that “plastic arts” would constitute whole, or completed art forms which involve the manipulation of matter. Such things as painting, sculpting, ceramics, etc. would fall into this category of “fine arts.” The “performing arts,” by contrast, are “fine arts” which are always “in progress” in their presentation. Such art forms as theatre or “musical arts” would fall into this category. A musical performance, by its nature, is always in “progress” of presentation, unlike a sculpture which is a completed whole.

If we now return to our original queries concerning Duchamp’s Fountain, we now have the conceptual categories with which to place it. The original urinal that Duchamp repurposed would seem to fall under that category of industrial arts which produce ceramic fixtures. The fixtures are made for certain uses according to universal rules. The question, however, whether something can be repurposed and presented as “fine art” by merely scrawling some letters on an object and calling it “fine art” is not something we are capable of evaluating at this point. The general direction of the discussion would seem to allow for such a piece as constituting “fine art.” If it is a “fine art” we are still left with the question of whether it is any good. Kant would seem to indicate that that question itself violates the nature of the “fine arts” and Beauty. What we have not explored in this essay is the true nature of Beauty and whether it has an objective definition. Thomas indicates it does, Kant that it does not. The method by which we could evaluate Fountain would have to settle this definition first, for the “fine arts” depends upon presentation of “art” as an object of Beauty for contemplation. If Beauty does have objective content we could possibly evaluate Fountain as either “good” or “bad,” but if Beauty has no objective content the most we could say is that we either find Fountain “enjoyable” or “unenjoyable” as a judgment of the mind. What we have seen, nevertheless, is that Fountain falls generally within the definition of “fine arts,” and what we mean by the “fine arts.” So, yes, that’s art!

Everything Important In Life Is Unknown

The best conceivable education, the education at which college-bound students should aim, comes from studying the greatest literary, scientific, philosophical, political, artistic, and musical works known to mankind, because their authors have the most to teach. Of all who have left records behind, they have understood most profoundly that we have much to learn, that the wonders of learning are exhilarating though its challenges are humbling, and that “everything important in life is unknown.”

Christopher B. Nelson, “Advice to the College-Bound”

Socrates Prophecies the Internet

You [Theuth] who are the father of letters, from a paternal love of your own children have been led to attribute to them a quality which they cannot have; for this discovery of yours [writing] will create forgetfulness in the learners’ souls, because they will not use their memories; they will trust to the external written characters and not remember of themselves. The specific which you have discovered is an aid not to memory, but to reminiscence, and you give your disciples not truth, but only the semblance of truth; they will be hearers of many things and will have learned nothing; they will appear to be omniscient and will generally know nothing; they will be tiresome company, having the show of wisdom without the reality.

~Plato, Phaedrus, 275

Of course, Socrates was speaking of the invention of writing, but is there any more apt description of the Internet Age?

The Misery of the Scholar

How many poor scholars have lost their wits or become dizzards, neglecting all worldly affairs and their own health, being and well-being, to gain knowledge for which, after all their pains, in the world’s esteem they are accounted ridiculous and silly fools, idiots, asses and (as oft they are) rejected, contemned, derided, doting, and mad! . . . Because they cannot ride a horse, which every clown can do; salute and court a gentlewoman, carve at table, cringe and make congees, which every common swasher can do, they are laughed to scorn, and accounted silly fools by our gallants. Yea, many times, such is their misery, they deserve it: a mere scholar, a mere ass.

~Robert Burton, The Anatomy of Melancholy, 303.

 

An Old Scholar, Salomon Koninck (1609-1656)

 

 

The Success of Euclid’s ‘Elements’

In a survey of books used for education throughout the history of Western civilization two books stand out: the Bible and Euclid’s Elements (Carl B. Boyer and Uta C. Merzbach, A History of Mathematics, 119). Poet and schoolmaster Edna St. Vincent Millay says of the Elements that “Euclid alone has looked on Beauty bare.” And Euclid earned a spot amongst Raphael’s School of Athens painting alongside Plato and Aristotle. What can account for such high praise and popularity? Is it that Euclid has laid the foundations for all mathematics? If so, why has Euclid been left behind in the modern classroom? Is there any value in a return to Euclid? What value might there be in studying Euclid today?

It may be too strong a claim to say that the Elements provide the foundation for all mathematics. Nevertheless, the basic principles or axioms of many of the branches of mathematics can, in fact, be seen in Euclid. In the classical mathematical Quadrivium of Arithmetic, Geometry, Music, and Astronomy, we see that Geometry is but one of the fundamental subjects of mathematics. Yet, in Euclid’s Elements there are applications and axioms for the other branches. For example, his earliest axioms like, “If equals be added to equals, the wholes are equal” have clear implications for the axioms (if not being identical) in Arithmetic. The proofs for relationships of ratios throughout Book X (and elsewhere) have clear implications for the science of Music which deal in harmonies and patterns. And certainly the principles of trigonometry that are laid down by Euclid have far reaching application from Astronomy to sea-faring to engineering.

Yet Euclid does not specifically set forth the axioms of those other branches. However, to the student who is attentive, the Elements does teach an important principle concerning the nature of learning and of certain disciplines. In demonstrative sciences one always begins with axioms and definitions and then begins to reason from those assumptions. They are the grounds or conditions of the reasoning that follows. In this sense they are indemonstrable. To ask for such demonstrations is to misunderstand the nature of the science. For example, Aristotle in the Metaphysics, sets forth to show that the Principle of Non-Contradiction (the foundations of Logic itself) cannot and should not be demonstrated. To attempt a proof is to misunderstand the nature of proof, for one cannot prove it without assuming it. The best Aristotle can do in this case is show that it is impossible to deny, because to deny it, one must assume it.  In Geometry it would be improper for Euclid to attempt to prove that “a proportion in three terms is the least possible.” Rather, this definition functions as an assumption from which the proofs proceed.

As indicated from the example from Aristotle, Geometry is not the only science that proceeds in this fashion. The student who is attentive in his studies of the Elements should see parallels in other disciplines as well, such as the philosophical and theological sciences. Just as there are axioms of Geometry, so too are there axioms of philosophy and theology that are not subject to proof, but are the grounds from which reasoning proceeds. This may be one of the mistakes of Descartes in Epistemology: he attempted to assume nothing and prove everything. A task which is impossible, for all disciplines requires axioms. Even Moral Philosophy, of which Thomas Aquinas asserts the axiom of all action is: “good is to be done and pursued, and evil is to be avoided” (Summa Theologica, II-I, Q. 92, A. 1).

This may partially account for the staying-power of the Elements throughout history, the implicit lesson about the nature and procedure of demonstrative sciences. In addition to this, the one who studies Euclid does not just study Geometry. For the Elements is also a lesson in the Trivium of Grammar, Logic, and Rhetoric. That is, Euclid bridges the gap between the Trivium and the Quadrivium. This is also why Euclid may appeal to those persons who find mathematics difficult or intimidating. For as a modern student peruses the Elements they may be struck with how “unmathematical” it appears. There are no numbers, no Cartesian coordinate planes, no formulas. It is as much a book of literature as it is of geometry. This may account for the testimony throughout history of its elegance and beauty. For each of Euclid’s proofs begin with an assertion followed by the elegant “for if not” reductio ad absurdum and ending with pointed “the very thing which was to be shown” (Q.E.D.) or “the very thing which was to be done” (Q.E.F.). Thus, in the process of learning Geometry, the student also learns Grammar and Logic, as well as certain principles of persuasive argumentation (Rhetoric). This may also account for the popularity of the Elements in education.

Will Euclid ever be used again to the same degree as he was in the past? This seems unlikely for a number of reasons. First, there is a need for certain modern concepts in geometry like the Cartesian coordinate plane. Second, textbook companies have no incentive in publishing Euclid since the Elements is in the public domain. Third, the modern student (for a variety of reasons beyond the scope of this essay) may no longer have the capability to read Euclid as an introductory text on Geometry. Yet, for the student who struggles with mathematics, Euclid may be a way to bridge the gap between the humanities and mathematics. And maybe, these students too may come to see that: “Euclid alone has looked on Beauty bare.”

Of Idle Tales and Stupefying Joy

 

Virgil Nemoianu claims that “‘Christian humanism’ is rooted primarily in the Gospels of Luke and John.” Nowhere is this more evident than the 24^th chapter of Luke. In this remarkable chapter, Jesus’ tomb is discovered empty, Jesus appears to two of his followers on the road to Emmaus, he has a meal with his disciples, and he ascends into Heaven—all in 53 verses. Yet, in spite of these tremendously important events, dare we say, the most important events of Jesus’ life, we are given little detail. The reader may be struck by the lack of specifics concerning these events, and we can only speculate as to why Luke did not take more space to explain just what happened in these last crucial days of Jesus after the crucifixion.

That Luke does not take the space to provide more detail may be an indication of the disciples own state of mind at the time. That is, Luke presents, in a quite literary fashion, the puzzlement of the events from the point of view of the disciples. None of them had expected the resurrection and they struggled to understand just what was happening. Their confusion is evident from the very beginning. When the women find the stone rolled away and the tomb empty, “they were perplexed about this.” (Luke 24:4) When the women tell the disciples and others about this, they disbelieved the women. There is no blind credulity here that is often attributed to religious believers. “These words seemed to them an idle tale, and they did not believe them.”(Luke 24:11) So convinced were they that the women’s story was an “idle tale” that only Peter went to investigate. He finds the tomb empty as the women had described and went away “marveling” because he still did not understand what was going on. Much like Joseph seeking to leave Mary when he learned she was pregnant, the disciples displayed the kind of common sense and healthy skepticism that critics of religious believers tout as incompatible with religious belief. Yet here it is present in the most devout of Jesus’ followers.

Even when Jesus appears directly to the disciples, they still do not understand. In fact, they think he is a spirit, a vision from beyond the grave. It is this encounter, along with Jesus breaking of the bread with the two he met on the road, that reveals the deep mystery of the Incarnation. For just what kind of being are they encountering? He appears and disappears at a blink, yet he has a physical body and eats and drinks. He is their beloved Lord, back from the grave and standing before them in the flesh. “Why are you troubled, and why do doubts arise in your hearts? See my hands and my feet, that it is I myself. Touch me, and see. For spirit does not have flesh and bones as you see that I have.” (Luke 24:38-39) At this, Luke says, they “disbelieved for joy.” (Luke 24:40) It is too much for the disciples to take, it is too good to be true, and so they doubt. Again, this is a reasonable, human response to the situation. The joy is beyond their comprehension, it simply cannot be. And so Jesus takes the time to eat with them, showing them that he is not some disembodied spirit, and to explain to them all that had happened as “he opened their minds to understand the Scriptures.” (Luke 24:45) On their (and our) own, we are not able to understand. It takes the work of God to overcome our limitations and doubts.

The notion of Jesus’ resurrection and resurrected body is as stupefying to us as it was to the disciples. With the hope and joy in the final resurrection we are given a glimpse here of eternity, but the nature of this resurrection and resurrected body are still a mystery. Just what sort of body did Jesus have, and just what sort of body will we receive? Paul explores these notions at great length in I Corinthians 15. Resurrection means something more than mere resuscitation, a notion that was not foreign to Jewish beliefs. With resurrection we are given a new body, one at the same time continuous with the present body, and yet transformed and recreated. Heaven is not a place of disembodied life, but a life fully embodied and transformed. Such passages as these ought to go far in dispelling the notions of Gnosticism. To be human is to be embodied.

These are no “idle tales,”—they represent the full hope and joy of the Christian. The joy that is beyond both our deserving and our comprehension. Luke shows us the commonality between us and the disciples, and the reasonableness which ought to typify us. The Christian is not called to blind credulity, nor to pessimistic skepticism. For the former who lead them astray, the later would keep them from the truth. And the truth is in the promise of the resurrection, the promise of the fulfillment of human nature. There is no escapist philosophy here, but a philosophy of joy and hope grounded in truth.

Summer Reading List

This has been an incredibly busy semester for me. In addition to my full time teaching load of Philosophy, Theology, Logic, & Rhetoric, I took a course on Mathematical & Scientific Reasoning (affectionately called the “Numbers Class”), which stretched me as much as any class I’ve ever taken. I also had the amazing opportunity to play Prospero in Topeka Civic Theatre & Academy’s production of The Tempest. Topeka has one of the strongest theatre communities I’ve ever seen and I am blessed beyond words to be able to be a part of these productions (back in 2012 I played Claudius in the production of Hamlet). With all this going on I wasn’t able to keep my blog updated, I was only able to write one essay that I’m working on adapting for a blog post here. It was on the value of studying Euclid.

In the meantime, I’ve figured out my summer reading list, which should give me ample opportunities for reflection and writing over the summer.

First up, I’m taking a course on Christian Humanism, which includes the following books:

• J.I. Packer & Thomas Howard, Christianity: The True Humanism
• R. William Franklin, et al., The Case for Christian Humanism
• Joseph Shaw, et al., Readings in Christian Humanism
• Craig W. Kallendorf, Humanist Educational Treatises
• Jens Zimmermann, Incarnational Humanism
• Walker Percy, Lost in the Cosmos: The Last Self-Help Book

Secondly, I doing an independent tutorial on the question “What is Human Nature,” which includes the following selections:

• Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics, Books I, VI, & X
• Athanasius, On the Incarnation
• Augustine, On the Trinity, Books IX-XIV
• Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologica, Prima pars, Questions 75-89
• John Calvin, Institutes of the Christian Religion, Book II, Chapters 1-4
• Reinhold Niebuhr, The Nature and Destiny of Man
• René Girard, I See Satan Fall Like Lightning

In between these readings, or more likely when I’ve finished these around mid-July, I’ll relax with some fiction:

• Ray Bradbury, Dandelion Wine (the first book of the summer—a new tradition)
• Cormac McCarthy, The Road
• Neil Gaiman, American Gods
• Wendell Berry, Jayber Crow
• Annie Dillard, Pilgrim at Tinker Creek
• Dostoevsky, The Double

For now, I’m just celebrating the end of the school year. Papers & exams are graded, report cards are updated, and now to Commencement Ceremonies to say goodbye to the Seniors.

James V. Schall on the New State Religion

But if it is the state itself that insists its legislated or juridical doctrines are the ruling force, it can and does cause both restrictions on the public expression and cause legal and financial burdens on people who disagree with it. Religion is forced to support the “religious/ideological” laws of the state that now defines what is to be tolerated. To disagree with the state causes financial loss and requires approval of what people hold to be wrong. The difference between Jefferson’s hypothesis and the situation today is, at bottom, that the modern state is not just a “temporal order” but itself a quasi-established religion that enforces what it will or will not allow in ultimate questions about human life and death.

~James V. Schall, “Obama’s Right to Worship Ushers in New State Religion”

Alvin Plantinga, Always the Gentleman

That Juggernaut of Christian philosophy, Alvin Plantinga, is at it again, with all the grace, dignity, and winsome repartee that has defined his work as a scholar. This time, it’s in an interview in the New York Times where Plantinga touches on such diverse topics as The Problem of Evil, The Evolutionary Argument against Naturalism, evidentialism, Calvin’s sensus divinitatis, and concludes with the claim that, contrary to modern atheists, it is not the theist who is intellectually deficient, rather it is the atheist who is irrational.

One of my favorite lines from the interview:

Some atheists seem to think that a sufficient reason for atheism is the fact (as they say) that we no longer need God to explain natural phenomena — lightning and thunder for example. We now have science.

As a justification of atheism, this is pretty lame. We no longer need the moon to explain or account for lunacy; it hardly follows that belief in the nonexistence of the moon (a-moonism?) is justified. A-moonism on this ground would be sensible only if the sole ground for belief in the existence of the moon was its explanatory power with respect to lunacy. (And even so, the justified attitude would be agnosticism with respect to the moon, not a-moonism.) The same thing goes with belief in God: Atheism on this sort of basis would be justified only if the explanatory power of theism were the only reason for belief in God. And even then, agnosticism would be the justified attitude, not atheism.

From: Is Atheism Irrational?

Does God Laugh?

Stephen Masty has a great article up over at the Imaginative Conservative, “Does God Have a Sense of Humor?”

In addition to Masty’s thoughts, I would add these two great quotes from Thomas Aquinas & G. K. Chesterton:

Jokes and plays are words and gestures that are not instructive but merely seek to give lively pleasure.  We should enjoy them.  They are governed by the virtue of witty gaiety…which we call pleasantness.  A ready-witted man is quick with repartee and turns speech and action to light relief…It is against reason to be burdensome to others, showing no amusement and acting as a wet blanket.  Those without a sense of fun, who never say anything ridiculous, and are cantankerous with those who do, these are vicious, and are called grumpy and rude. (Summa Theologica, II-II Q148)

Seriousness is not a virtue. It would be a heresy, but a much more sensible heresy, to say that seriousness is a vice, It is really a natural trend or lapse into taking one’s self gravely, because it is the easiest thing to do. It is much easier to write a good Times leading article than a good joke in Punch. For solemnity flows out of men naturally, but laughter is a leap. It is easy to be heavy: hard to be light. Satan fell by the force of gravity. (Orthodoxy)