Beyond Good and Evil
At the beginning of the album ‘The Red Sea Sharks’, Tintin and Captain Haddock are coming out of the cinema. Haddock is only moderately satisfied with the film; he finds the ending far too coincidental. They talk about an old acquaintance, General Alcazar… “Do you think he’ll just turn up around the corner if I think of him!?”
And, of course, that’s exactly what happens. Coincidence in ‘real life’ is different from coincidence in imagined life; there, it is orchestrated.
In the collision, the general has lost his wallet. Tintin and Haddock decide to return it to him, as the general had mentioned he was staying at Hotel Bristol. However, when they arrive at the hotel, they find that the general is unknown there. They go to the hotel café to discuss what to do next. A waiter approaches their table to ask what they would like to drink.
Much to the captain’s dismay, Tintin orders two glasses of mineral water (in my forty-year-old album, it actually said ‘sparkling water’ [‘spuitwater’]). Then Tintin goes to make a phone call to a number written on a small piece of paper inside Alcazar’s wallet. When he returns to Haddock’s table, we see the following frame:
The text here is not important — it’s all about the image. Haddock has not touched his mineral water but is holding a different glass. His expression says it all.
Is this little story within the larger one merely a joke, and thus an ornament? The main story seems to work perfectly well without this humorous digression, unlike, for example, the constant fights, destruction, stumbling, and falls in ‘Laurel & Hardy’ films, which are inseparable from the narrative.
When is a particular element of a work of art an ornament, and when is another, outwardly similar element an essential part of the content? And how can we determine this?
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Richard Wagner attempted to explore this distinction in his much-maligned — because of its antisemitism — essay ‘Das Judenthum in der Musik’. Although the essay primarily appears to be an invective against Judaism, it can also be interpreted as an investigation into the difference between ‘form’ and ‘content,’ between the ‘What’ [das Was] and the ‘How’ [das Wie], through which he tries to distinguish ‘Jewish’ art (by which he essentially means ‘French’ or ‘Latin’ art) from ‘German’ art. If one strips away the undeniably abhorrent antisemitism, this diatribe can be seen as a plea for the What, which, according to Wagner, must be regarded as superior to “that repugnant How” [diesem widerlichen Wie].
Regarding the music of Felix Mendelssohn-Bartholdy, Wagner speaks of a tragic twist of fate: Mendelssohn was of Jewish descent. Here, antisemitic poison seeps into Wagner’s argument. Despite the fact that Beethoven had brought musical language to full maturity — having achieved both human and “individual, precise expressiveness” — Mendelssohn, Wagner argues, could not progress beyond an “unreal shadow image.” This, according to Wagner, was because Jews speak modern European languages only as “acquired” rather than “innate” languages. As a result, they are inevitably trapped in the form of language, in the How, and cannot express the What in an “independent and original” manner. A language, Wagner asserts, is not the work of individuals but of a historical community. “Even the Jews’ own language (Hebrew) is merely a dead language to them.” The same, he claims, applies to music. “The prematurely deceased” Mendelssohn undeniably possessed an “exceptional talent,” along with “the highest degree of refinement and the most delicate sense of honor,” but despite these “admirable qualities,” he never once manages to produce “a deep, heart- and soul-stirring effect on us.” His music, Wagner contends, remains confined to presenting and stringing together “the finest, smoothest, and most virtuosic figures, like the charming colors and shapes of a kaleidoscope.” The tragedy of Mendelssohn, Wagner argues, was that his fate loomed over him, but it never became for him “a real, painful, and purifying awareness.”
The question of the difference between the What and the How, particularly in relation to German Romantic music versus Latin music, is in itself a legitimate and interesting topic. The antisemitic charge that Wagner attaches to it, however, has nothing to do with this distinction and thus appears to be an ornament — a How rather than a What.
— § —
The question of the essence of ornamentation also arises in the music of Frédéric Chopin. The guirlandes in the melodies of Chopin’s piano style raise the question of whether they are so dominant that these melodies would be unthinkable without them. There is an interesting example in Nocturne Op. 9 No. 1, where this question is pushed to its limits. In measures 51 to 69, all guirlandes disappear — the music becomes bare and austere, reduced to a single motif in the right hand: an embellishment of the dominant seventh chord on D-flat, which is repeated continuously. Meanwhile, the left hand alternates between the root and the fifth of this chord in eighth notes. This chord suggests itself as the dominant of G-flat major. But this resolution never comes, because after measures 59 and 60, where only the left hand plays, the motif in the right hand returns — but now without the note C-flat, the seventh of the chord.
[maat 57 – 62]
The dominant seventh chord has dissolved over time. As a result, the music can bypass G-flat major effortlessly and return to the home key of B-flat minor. At the very core of this nocturne, every suggestion of ornamentation is absent — only the essence remains.
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According to accounts, Chopin was not exactly an easy person; his lover, George Sand, broke with him, partly after accusing him of having romantic feelings for her daughter, Solange. Wagner’s antisemitism is indisputable, and the creator of Tintin, Georges Rémi, had ties to the German occupiers during World War II, as well as contacts with the Belgian fascist leader Léon Degrelle. He was also accused of incorporating racist elements into his albums.
Should we consider such aspects attached to certain artists as mere ornaments, or do they fundamentally corrupt the content of their work? Where do we draw the line? And does it help, for example, to ‘clean up’ (opkuisen, to use a Flemish expression) the potentially racist elements in Hergé’s work? Does the core of the work remain unchanged? In other words, is the racist element purely decorative?
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The world has become significantly more complex over the past five decades compared to the period before. Right/wrong, left/right, progressive/conservative, form/content — all these oppositions have become increasingly hybrid. Likely, in addition to neoliberalism, rapidly advancing technology plays a major role. History has shrunk as a result; we are inundated with too much information. And so, there arises a need for clarity. The late eighteenth century, the era of the French Revolution, must have felt similar in this regard. Conspiracy theories become appealing in such times because they give shape to chaos. (Safranski – Romanticism: A German Affair). This phenomenon is not exclusive to (far-)right circles but also occurs in so-called progressive ones.
In (far-)right circles, emphasis is placed on national culture, classical values, and traditional principles, often glorifying strong leadership. In progressive circles, emancipatory ideals are promoted through language adjustments. Words like slave are changed to enslaved person, blank (fair-skinned) becomes white, and an army of ‘sensitivity readers’ is deployed to sanitize any form of undesirable language. The right calls these linguistic interventions a form of ‘wokism’, a term that clearly articulates the political intentions of the right: they repurpose a term originating from progressive emancipatory thought as an insult to undermine that very movement. The left typically responds nonchalantly: ‘Adjusting texts to fit the times is nothing new.’ Changing sparkling water to mineral water is a good example of this.
However, not all adjustments are innocent — some fundamentally alter the content. And that is likely the intention; word choice becomes a political instrument. Joseph Goebbels understood this better than anyone. Sensitivity readers would undoubtedly recommend replacing Goebbels with Machiavelli — same meaning, less controversy. But is the name Goebbels merely an ornament? Of course, I use this example not because of his utterly abhorrent views, but because of his understanding that language — in the broadest sense, including imagery — is an excellent tool for propaganda, and he was a master at it. Language is not neutral.
A fascinating example of contemporary language replacing centuries-old usage can be found in Bible translations. The oldest Dutch translation, the Statenvertaling, dates back to the early seventeenth century. Recent translations, written in “plain language,” attempt to adapt the text to our current era. Here are three examples from Paul’s First Letter to the Corinthians, 7:29-32.
- Statenvertaling [1619]
29 But this I say, brothers, that time is short; so that those who have wives may be as not having them;
30 And those who weep, as not weeping; and those who rejoice, as not rejoicing; and those who buy, as not possessing;
31 And those who use this world, as not misusing it; for the form of this world is passing away.
32 And I want you to be without worry. - NBV-translation [2021]
29 What I mean, brothers and sisters, is that there is little time left. Therefore, let each who has a wife live in such a way that he is not consumed by it;
30 each who grieves, in such a way that he is not ruled by it; each who feels joy, in such a way that he does not get lost in it; each who owns possessions, as if they were not his own;
31 each who lives in this world, as if it did not matter to him. For the world as we know it is coming to an end.
32 I would wish that you had no worries. - Bible in Ordinary Language [2014]
29-30 Friends, what I mean is this: Our world will not last much longer. Soon, earthly life will come to an end—our marriages, our celebrations, and our sorrows. And we will also have to part with our possessions. Be prepared for this now!
31 Yes, always remember in your life that everything in this world will pass away. For the whole world, as we know it, will soon disappear.
32 Above all, I want you to have no extra worries in these times.
The Italian philosopher Giorgio Agamben points out in his book ‘The Time That Remains’ the typically messianic formula of the ‘as_not’. “Weeping as not weeping, buying as not possessing.” This formula is not a comparison, as in ‘as if’, but a resolution of weeping in its opposite. This is where the phrase “time is short” (from the originally used Greek, also translatable as “time comes to rest”) comes into play. This messianic meaning is completely lost in the recent translations.
While the right saw the most nonsensical conspiracies in the government’s policy to mitigate the danger of Covid-19, the left now believes it can point out power structures surrounding figures like Trump and Musk. Of course, there can be thorough criticism of the government’s Covid-19 policy, and certainly, critical analysis of Trump, Musk, and others’ policies and behaviors is necessary. But to think that there is a single, all-explaining analysis possible seems, to say the least, naive. Just like the ‘spuitwater’ in ‘Cokes in Voorraad’ [‘The Red Sea Sharks’], there are always little stories within the larger story. In the interview with French President Macron and Trump in the White House, you see how Macron dominates the conversation while Trump sits somewhat resignedly. Eventually, he says to the attending journalists, “If you believe this, it’s okay with me.” It seemed that he had no idea what was happening around him. During the sensational visit of Zelensky, it was not Trump, but Vice President Vance who lashed out at Zelensky. Was that planned? Conspiracy theorists will think so. I have the impression that all of Trump’s measures and announced decrees are a form of bluffing. Many decrees are immediately nullified by a judge. In the Netherlands, we see exactly the same happening — grand words from Wilders and the Angry Farmers, but political practice proves to be more stubborn than all those big words.
— § —
On a smaller scale, which artists deal with, we see something similar. In the subsidy policy of the government’s most important art fund, the ‘Nederlands Fonds voor de Podiumkunsten+’ (better known as FPK), neoliberal strategies are observed, where rejections for a specific project are seen as part of some legal tactic. That this fund policy is based on neoliberal politics seems crystal clear to me; I have dealt with it all the way to the Council of State. But that doesn’t mean that every action within the fund can thus be explained. It would, of course, be nice if it could, as it would make the rejection, often felt as a personal failure, more bearable.
It’s much worse than that. The world, including the world of art, is gradually transforming into a jungle, where, of course, strategies and tactics are employed, but where, in my opinion, indifference, triviality, and randomness reign to a much larger extent. The alpha on the monkey rock must certainly have certain talents to get on top, but above all, he must have luck stuck to his ass. And that luck is always finite.
We live ‘Jenseits von Gut und Böse’. Have we finally moved past Romanticism?
— Cornelis de Bondt, April 1, 2025