Robert Edward Gordon
In one way or another, the issue of finding meaning in life lies in the innumerable choices we make everyday. Shakespeare’s existential “To be, or not to be” soliloquy from Hamlet suggests that the search for a meaningful life has life and death implications. I agree, and believe the visual arts provide part of the answer of what a meaningful life entails.
To begin, the desire for a meaningful life is uniquely human, and creating art is among the things that define our humanity. Paintings, sculptures, and other artworks are explicitly created to be meaningful. Because of this, they tell us something meaningful about being human. But what is this “something?”
Looking back across the history of art, we see that human beings are the primary subject matter of visual art. From the Upper Paleolithic to the contemporary art world, the human face and body are overwhelmingly present as iconographic motifs. Human beings are explicitly depicted in portraits (including sculptures, which mostly represent people), history paintings—a subset of which are mythological and biblical stories, genre and equestrian scenes, and sacred art. A great many landscapes place people and their dwellings within their scenic vistas as well. Architectural and botanical works illustrate humanity implicitly, since the represented structures derive from the human hand and mind, while botanicals document the aesthetic and taxonomic interest humans find in nature’s life forms (as do pure landscapes).
Works such as these put our humanity on display. They celebrate, commemorate, and give perspective to some portion of human existence. More than that, they are acts of creation that reproduce human life, akin to the biological reproduction that likewise perpetuates human life, which is inherently meaningful. At a fundamental level, then, the history of art is about the production and multiplication of human life. It seems, therefore, that the humanity in art speaks to a meaningful need to be around other people, to see and feel their presence and the life and spirit they possess.
We witness this need during gatherings and celebrations. The more people present at a gathering, the greater the celebration becomes (from the Latin celebrāre “to crowd” or “to attend in large numbers”). In these settings, the spirit of those present is amplified, which is what gives a gathering its power and meaning. To celebrate also means “to inhabit” (as in to dwell or occupy). In fact, Catholic priests are called “celebrants” at Mass because they perform the rite of transubstantiation as they preside over a gathering of people. There, the living presence of Jesus inhabits the space through the bread and wine shared by the humanity in attendance.
Another category of art— “still-life” and vanitas paintings—speaks to these ideas in a different way.
These “motionless life” works depict fruit and flowers, as well as objects of human ingenuity such as vessels, books, glassware, textiles, scientific instruments, and the like. They display the artist’s technical skill at realistic reproduction, which delights the eye and inspires astonishment and appreciation.
Yet, the most compelling meaning of vanitas artworks is found in the allegorical and moral messages they convey. The presence of a skull in such artworks is the archetypical motif in this regard. Called momento mori (“Remember death”), when symbolically placed in a painting, skulls or skeletons remind the viewer that life is fleeting. Other symbols of life’s transience include wilted flowers, decaying fruit, clocks and hour glasses, musical instruments (musical notes always fade), smoke (which dissipates), candles (which burn out), and mirrors (or the illusion of life).
Vanitas artworks have a religious and existential connotation. They remind us that what we do on earth has consequences in the afterlife. They tell us that a meaningful life does not entail doing and obtaining everything one can, but acting in a way that brings one closer to God. It is the quality of one’s character as expressed through one’s thoughts and actions that matters, not the quantity of things, money, or experiences one acquires.
But if the acquisition of objects and wealth is not the key to a meaningful life, then what is? This is where the principal subject matter of art—the human face and body—comes into focus. Understanding its implications bridges the space between finding meaning in life and the even larger question about the meaning of life.
The latter query entails stepping back from the concerns of daily life to look at things from a total-life perspective, just as Shakespeare’s Hamlet does when he moves from “the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune” to thinking about what happens “when we have shuffled off this mortal coil.” The penultimate situation of such a perspective occurs just before death (the ultimate life event). If we are granted that opportunity, in these moments, we can reflect upon what it all meant. Did I live well? Did I die well? What will I leave behind? The meaning of life during those poignant instants becomes both monumental and fleeting simultaneously.
This brings us back to art, which is primarily concerned with perspective, looking at life closely (i.e., portraits, botanicals, still-lifes), seeing things at a distance (i.e., landscapes, architecture), and reproducing the various occurrences of human life (i.e., history painting). In other words, if we take a perspectival look at art in general, an unavoidable conclusion is that the meaning of life is tied to what humanity has spent millennia reproducing: other humans. Just as we reproduce ourselves physically through sexual relations, it seems we also do so artistically for the same reason: to see and feel the presence of other people. The more realistic the reproduction, the greater sense of humanity, presence, and togetherness is conveyed.
One reason for this is that no one wants to be alone. Not always, anyway. This is especially the case at death. The many battle/death scenes that exist help illustrate this. Regardless of the particular circumstance, a common theme is the presence of other people to witness, comfort, and lament the dying at the moment of mortality, when the transience of life is at its zenith. “To die, to sleep, no more,” as Shakespeare writes.
In Benjamin West’s famous Agrippina Landing at Brundisium with the Ashes of Germanicus (from Tacitus),
a sorrowful wife carries the remains of her heroic husband, who was poisoned by a political rival. Scores of citizens emerge to honor the fallen and aggrieved. Some have dropped to the ground in grief. Others console the despondent. But the key to the commemoration of the dead is the combined life-force of those assembled: that many other people are gathered together. John Singleton Copley’s The Death of the Earl of Chatham portrays a similar scene. In fact, the artist includes accurate portraits of those who were present to imbue the scene with as much life and spirit as possible.
Finally, the inclusion of the protagonists’ children and offspring is a key feature of both paintings. The touching element is something with which everyone can relate. It confirms that, in the end, the lives of others–particularly family–are what matter most. Paintings like these remind us that the lives we leave behind, the legacy of our living presence is most meaningful. Children and loved ones represent this idea on the personal level. Art, as an expression of the life-force of humanity as a whole, reproduces the meaning of life itself.
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