Civilisation

Welcome back.

I'm about halfway through watching an outstanding BBC documentary series called Civilisation. It was written and narrated by Kenneth Clark, who, I recenetly found out, was the father of Alan Clark.

Clark is magnificent in the series. The cinematography itself would make this series worthwhile, but his narration is beyond praise. He is absolutely clear, always intelligent, and almost never patronising.

The series is also impressive for the coherence of the thoughts and arguments expressed in it. Some of his slightly more xenophobic comments may be offensive to those who are easily offended; but they should also serve to remind one that the ideas and the narrative are the result of a single man's thoughts. That alone is worth applauding in an era of collectively produced, almost corporate entertainment.

It is also astonishing that there are only two signs of age shown by this work, apart from the obvious signs of the times in background, such as cars. The first is the occasional comments, mentioned above, which do not conform to the bland opionlessness of modern art documentaries. Secondly, the complexity of the thoughts expressed is significantly greater than anything else I have ever seen on television. It is a reminder that television can be educational and intellectually stimulating without failing to be entertaining.

However, the greatest quality of this documentary is its intellectual honesty. The presenter motivates his series with questions, and proceeds to attempt to answer them. But he does so in a scupulously open and honest way. There is none of the disingenuity which makes so many television programs look patronising, or even like propoganda. Where the evidence supporting his point is ambiguous he lets us know, and then explains his opinions, rather than prsenting an unbalanced narrative.

So many articles are written, or documentaries made, by people whose minds are already made up. Their contributions to the public discourse are an attempt to sell their position, and they do so without any regard for this sort of intellectual honesty.

This quality has all but dissappeared today; from political discourse where all issues are reframed by each side in ridiculous black and white, downwards (or upwards, according to one's tastes) through so much of society. It reflects a mind-set which is truly rare even in academic circles. It shows a man who is prepared to make his arguments seem weaker, in order to make them more honest.

Of course, Kenneth Clark was an emminent and distinguished scholar at the time he made the series; and this quality may have been extremely rare at the time. So this quality may never have been widepread in mankind. Nonetheless, I was glad to have caught this glimpse of it.

Materialism

I think that it is clear to most of us that there are, at least, two forms of materialism. Let's be simplistic for a moment and consider only one extreme, to show that there are many forms. And rather than calling the sort that I believe that I display, Good, and the other, Bad; I shall, in a radical departutre from my usual form, strive for an approximation to objectivity.

In my bathroom sits a spongebag. It is a truly beautiful spongebag. Made of a rich, deeply coloured, lustrous brown leather, it holds my attention every time I see it. (Lest you think too poorly of me, I may add that it is somewhat new.) It is a distinct pleasure to use it now; and even with the passage of time, I don't doubt that it will be more pleasurable to use it than it was to use my old, rather ordinary one.

Now, to dwell upon the purely physical qualities of such an object may be called materialistic. However, there is now venality, no greed in my thoughts. I am happy to have it, no doubt, but I would have absolutely no use for another.

This is not the end of the moral aspect. A digression, into waters of which I know little. Hopefully the ship of my allegory shall not run aground on the rocks of my ignorance.

At the beginning of the Renaissance, Humanist architects and artists produced work on a human scale. One identifies this period with small, but beautifully proportioned, rooms in small, but beautifully proportioned, houses.

Later, towards the Baroque, this sense of proportion was lost or discarded. Palaces became bigger (or rather, bigger palaces were made), works of art became more ornate, involved, and extravagant. Did this immediately lead to a decline in quality? No, but we can crudely characterise this progression as one from the building of wonderful houses to the building of, admittedly more, wonderful palaces; from achitecture designed for the enjoyment of individual human beings to architecture designed to overawe and to overwhelm.

So how on Earth does this relate to my spongebag? The point is that I don't intend to show it to anyone. I don't intend to compare it to other people's spongebags, and so the pleasure that it gives me is, in the sense above, humanist and even humane.

It is also reassuringly physical. Its seductive smell, and it smooth, sensuous finish are, of course, entirely irrelevant to its function. But they are to be enjoyed by only me, and so have a different impact on my thoughts than would the beauty of an object designed for ostentatious display, or indeed any sort of display.

The final measures, I feel, are given by how a material object may affect my actions, and my happiness.

The fact is that I didn't covet this spongebag before I bought it. I didn't dream of, one day, buying such a bag. Thus I was not at all unhappy without it, yet I was made marginally more happy by its acquisition. And doubtless, when it is gone, I shall not shed tears for its passing, nor attempt to replace it.

It entered my life unasked, its tenure in my life is marked by a slight increase in my happiness, and at its passing I shall be unmoved. If only I could feel this way about all of my possessions.