The Apotheosis of Progressive Art

I thought it was the Pepsi ad. I thought, in the upside down world of progressivism, where fair is foul and foul is fair, this was the hierophantic moment. This was art doing the only thing they believe art is meant to do. This was art as savior, supremely confident in its own righteousness.

But the Pepsi ad turned out to be a mere harbinger––a voice crying in the wilderness. The real apotheosis of progressive art comes as a perfect mixture of millennial scientism and identity politics. It’s even on a show whose title includes the words “saves the world.” It’s so awful, so perfectly progressive, it makes me want to grab Bertolt Brecht by the chin and say, “Look at that, you sonofabitch! You did it! You finally did it!” (Netflix keeps taking the video down. No doubt they are horrified by it.)

Art must never be created to save the world. It must never try to convince Plato that it is worthy of inclusion in the Republic. Never.

To me, the progressive view of art is what Milosz called “dull unconscious power.” Like him, I am against that dull unconsciousness. Art––real art––is a calling up of consciousness.

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