In a 2008 interview with Poets and Writers, Toni Morrison remarked, “All good art is political. There is none that isn’t.” 

Her statement was specifically addressing the insinuation that rap music had only just become political, when the opposite is true. Morrison was also challenging the broader idea that art simply exists for the mere sake of it. She emphasized that art should be examined through a critical or sociological lens.

“The ones that try hard not to be political are political by saying, ‘We love the status quo.’ We’ve just dirtied the word ‘politics,’ made it sound like it’s unpatriotic or something,” said Morrison.  “That all started in the period of state art, when you had the communists and fascists running around doing this poster stuff, and the reaction was ‘No, no, no; there’s only aesthetics.’ My point is that it has to be both: beautiful and political at the same time.” 

The idea that art should exist as a medium separate from any social, political or moral sensibilities was introduced by the French writer and dramatist Theophile Gautier in the early nineteenth century. The saying “l’art pour l’art” translates to “art for art,” and gained popularity alongside the Aestheticism movement. Gautier’s idea suggests that a true piece of art is free from any utilitarian motives harbored by either its creator or audience. It exists as something to be judged based on aesthetics. This can mean a couple of different things: the idea that societal definitions regarding what is practical should not dictate what an artist produces, or that art shouldn’t be examined next to said definitions. Gautier’s philosophy spread among other writers, (and later political figureheads who wanted to deny that art that criticized them specifically held meaning). They used it as a counterargument against those who believed art should serve a higher purpose. One such proponent of this belief was the writer Oscar Wilde. In his 1891 essay, The Soul of Man Under Socialism, he wrote: “The moment that an artist takes notice of what other people want, and tries to supply the demand, he ceases to be an artist, and becomes a dull or an amusing craftsman, an honest or a dishonest tradesman.”

It is worth noting that Wilde’s argument about art seemed to have shifted in his writing De Profundis. In the letter, Wilde stated that art should explore the artists’ lived experience. “Art is a symbol because man is a symbol,” he wrote. “For the artistic life is simply self-development. Humility in the artist is his frank acceptance of all experiences, just as love in the artist is simply the sense of beauty that reveals to the world its body and its soul,” (1897). 

Several writers opposed this belief, including Friedrich Nietzsche, who viewed art as a “justification of life,” and much later, George Orwell. The latter published a series of critical essays entitled All Art is Propaganda (1941), wherein he suggests that the beliefs of an artist are interwoven into their creations, intentional or not. He wrote, “Every writer, especially every novelist, has a ‘message,’ whether he admits it or not, and the minutest details of his work are influenced by it… in every sentence that he writes, will ask himself at least four questions, thus: What am I trying to say? What words will express it? What image or idiom will make it clearer? Is this image fresh enough to have an effect?”

So: which argument holds more weight? The answer is nuanced. Art can be used to shape both cultural and political identities, but can also provide commentary on existing issues. This is why statements made about dystopian novels—such as Huxley’s Brave New World or Orwell’s 1984—as having “predicted the future” are ironic. It is bold to assume these authors weren’t merely commenting on patterns and political trends that already exist. 

Furthermore, art has often been a way of deconstructing stereotypes and advocating for inclusivity. Zora Neale Hurston’s writing, for example, worked to portray Black Americans authentically and as independent people, particularly Black women. This is especially seen in her novel Their Eyes Were Watching God. Her work—fiction and nonfiction—aimed to depict African American vernacular and history as a tool of resistance in the face of a country that was built to oppress and erase the complexities and history of its citizens. E.M. Forester’s Maurice was written during the early 20th century, and was revolutionary primarily due to the central queer romance. However, it can be read as a criticism of the British class structure and Edwardian-era attitudes towards homosexuality. Maurice’s happy ending also defied what was the norm for the existing queer narratives, which usually resulted in their characters facing either death or conversion. Orwell’s essay specifically references Charles Dickens’ who wrote about wealth inequality in Victorian England in A Tale of Two Cities by using the French Revolution as a cautionary tale against aristocracy.

These are a few examples of many, but they all were written with some intent of sharing a belief or criticism on an existing issue or pattern. No: Dickens wasn’t just writing about two cities, and Forester wasn’t telling a romance for the love of the game. Each of these writers had a point to prove, and used literature as a means of doing so. 

How does this idea apply during the modern day, then? What role does 21st century art play in the political landscape? The popularity of film has dictated the conversation somewhat. Intersectional stories have become a major theme, for example. Films like Berry Jenkins’ Moonlight combine themes of racism and homophobia with masculinity and addiction, showing that identities aren’t one-dimensional. HBO’s Euphoria features a lesbian relationship with a transwoman (something that makes the show’s actress Sydney Sweeney’s recent remarks about her apolitical nature rather comical). Greta Gerwig’s projects Little Women and Barbie reinforce major feminist pillars while shows like Adolescence work to forewarn against the ways in which young men can be easily roped into incel pipelines.  

The 2000s and 2010s also saw an increase in popularity of dystopian fiction. Suzanne Collins’ The Hunger Games trilogy is said to have been inspired by the ways in which clips of war and reality shows can become eerily blurred when flipping through channels; The Disney film WALL-E is a critique on capitalism and consumerism; The Star Wars spinoff Andor was wildly successful but kept in line with the franchise’s recurrent themes of militarism and democracy versus fascism. 

This phenomenon isn’t new. Writers have long-since turned towards creating dystopian fiction as a means to express their anxieties or reflections on existing ideas. Modern stories often do feature the same concerns that Shakespeare was raising in Hamlet, or Shelley in Frankenstein. What makes this interesting, then, is the ways in which these stories are virtually undisputed as having a deeper meaning. Meanwhile, audiences are ridiculed for suggesting that art just might indeed imitate life. This is because we have run into the “the curtains are just blue” issue. 

Initially aimed as a dig at English teachers desperately trying to get their students to think critically about a piece of literature, “the curtains are just blue” became a joke that has arguably resulted in the declining literacy skills, susceptibility to disinformation and the resurgence of the idea that “art isn’t supposed to be political.” This then suggests that there is no reason to analyze a piece of media for particular themes, symbolism or commentary. That sometimes, what is said on paper is all there is.

Combine this with the growing mockery towards the humanities, the Internet’s beloved phrase “it’s not that deep!” and the apolitical attitudes of millions, and you have a perfect storm. (Which is arguably counterproductive to the unconcerned air they so desperately want to achieve—and you now have an ongoing debate over whether politics has a place in art.)

There are arguments for teaching media literacy in schools, whether regarding how to scope out ulterior motives or fact-check sources. The reality is that these things are taught—in your English classes. Thus, it doesn’t feel like much of a stretch to assert that the refusal to consider subtextual meanings or ask why a piece of art was made in the first place has led to growing vulnerability against propaganda and anti-intellectualism. Art reflects the kinds of ideas and people are centered and which ones aren’t. It is why inclusive art is of such importance—it works to combat marginalization. 

It is easy to dismiss a story as being irrelevant simply because it doesn’t reflect every individual aspect of reality. We haven’t yet seen the type of flying cars featured in Fahrenheit 451 or live “Gilead,” from The Handmaid’s Tale. However, Bradbury and Atwood’s commentary on the world is still applicable. It remains relevant when discussing certain belief systems or political strategies. “The curtains are just blue” and “why does art have to be political?” sentiments are cut from the same cloth. They uphold the quixotic idea that art exists in a vacuum in the hopes of subduing anything that results in the undermining of a state of comfortable oblivion.

This is not to say that all art is made with the intention of providing political commentary. However, it doesn’t mean that lessons, characters and plot lines aren’t influenced by the creator’s preexisting or subconscious ideas. Some things are meant to be lighthearted, raunchy or mindlessly entertaining. Yet, even the most humorous sitcoms often feature moments of political reflection or critique. 

Essentially: the “art for art” mindset reinforces the status quo, and can prevent audiences from getting uncomfortable and making connections. (Also, it is worth noting that authoritarianism attacks the art that does invoke or inspire such behavior). However, the idea that art should not exist to appease its audience (as Wilde suggested) also holds truth. All art does serve a purpose. Imagery and symbolism can often reflect societal norms of the era, something to be discussed and critiqued and explored. Art can help an artist process a personal or major event and discuss a wider idea.

There is always meaning to be found. The questions “Who created this? What was their place in the world and what are they trying to say?” are the antithesis to anti-intellectualism and apoliticism. By asking them, you are looking at art in a way that makes you think critically and creatively about the world around you.