Aesthetics as a theory of beauty in philosophy emerged only in 1750 thanks to the efforts of the German philosopher Alexander Baumgarten. However, since antiquity, questions about beauty and the nature of art have interested both thinkers and creators themselves. At the same time, the seemingly obvious premise that the beautiful is in some way pleasurable has almost always been accepted with many caveats or even skepticism.

The reason for this is simple: as early as the examples of hedonists and cynics, past philosophers understood well that betting on pleasure almost always goes hand in hand with protest or a cynical rejection of culture. And there is a certain contradiction in this, since art is usually an artifact of a developed culture.

But this is not the only reason for attempts to "cultivate" pleasure in theory, and later in practice. Art in the Western world has often changed quite significantly, and the sense of pleasure has accompanied both honorable classics and fashionable styles to some extent. Attempts by the ruling elite and intelligentsia to justify their distinction from the rest through references to rational, sublime, and refined pleasures experienced from art have been just as persistent throughout the ages. Let's look at the history of the theme of "pleasure" in classical and modern aesthetics.

Classical Aesthetics: Rational Pleasure

Classical aesthetics in the narrow sense emerged in the gallant century, fundamentally a plethora of vivid texts written from the mid-18th to the mid-19th century. In a broader sense, "classical" encompasses all theories of art starting from antiquity and ending with the Romantic era. It is in this latter sense that we use the concept.

In antiquity, aesthetics is derived from cosmology. The world is perceived as beautifully ordered, akin to a work of art (the word "cosmos" itself is associated with order and clarity), hence early thinkers primarily explored how it came into being and what it consists of. Consequently, discussions about beauty’s pleasure often took a backseat, overshadowed by dialogues about beauty's objective aspects—form, proportion, harmony. Even the psychology of beauty at that time was merely an addition to cosmology: the soul recognizes beauty in things because it resonates with its own structure. In other words, the soul itself is a beautiful entity, at least potentially.

The ancient Greeks valued and generally did not condemn hedonism, yet ideas about pleasure rarely penetrated their theories without difficulty. The Sophists, for instance, frequently appealed to the notion that people perceive rather than enjoy—obvious to modern individuals but not so for those in antiquity.

This is particularly evident in Plato's "Laws": utility and goodness are accompanied by pleasure, but experiencing pleasure alone, without any substantial benefit, is considered negative—for why this is "bad," Plato provides greater insight. Already in his "Republic," he suggests that changes in musical arts (discussing pleasure derived from music and singing, freed from the primacy of words) lead to the disruption of laws, decline of morals, and ultimately societal decay.

This gives rise to the concept of rational and irrational pleasures, which, despite its glaring non-obviousness, faced little criticism (except from extremists like the radical hedonists). The ancient philosophical mind was convinced that unchecked pleasure leads to passion, mental discord, and, ultimately, the depletion of reason. Thus, a fragile union between pleasure and art first emerges: in art, the soul is directed towards the good, and pleasure becomes valuable, though merely as a tool.

Ancient thinkers described tragedy, satire, and music in aesthetics. Aristotle suggested that art's form provokes pleasure, leading to a desire for goodness. Unlike pleasure, art is inherently human; without reason, pleasure can reduce us to a bestial state. However, Aristotle did not address whether a lack of pleasures could cause savagery in a person.

The Middle Ages, contrary to gloomy and oversimplified generalizations, had a nuanced understanding of sensual pleasure in both life and art. It's crucial to distinguish that while sensual pleasure was viewed with suspicion (as it could be a temptation of the devil), it was not outright forbidden. Medieval townspeople enjoyed baths and thermal springs while also listening to preachers warning against bodily sins.

Augustine and other authors often justified beauty as part of God's design. It's crucial to approach beauty and the pleasure it brings correctly: they are not valuable in themselves but serve as symbols for the soul (which is in search of God). Pleasure is not only a symbol for the soul but also a stimulus for the body, which can sometimes lead to vice and sin. Additionally, identifying and interpreting symbols in the world and art was a special, elevated form of pleasure for medieval people (at least the educated ones).

In general, it is worth noting that Christian dogma essentially equates God to a poet/artist who takes pleasure in the act of creation ("And God saw the light, that it was good..."). Consequently, any authorship is seen as merely a reflection of His creativity. This is why medieval authors often did not put their names on their works and viewed inspiration almost literally as an external influence.

Since the time of Plato, the question of regulating pleasure, especially in music, has only intensified. Augustine precisely captures the essence of the problem: if singing in church is so beautiful and pleasant, one might completely forget about the Word of God that these voices are meant to convey.

Considering the development of music through the Church, each innovation faced suspicion of "sin through the ear" because Gregorian chants or polyphony could be more a joy of the flesh than of the spirit. Pope John XXII even issued the decree "Docta sanctorum Patrum" to bring order to church music. This issue continued to be revisited regularly thereafter.

An important distinction from ancient aesthetics is that pleasure is considered much more broadly than in connection with speculative form. Medieval authors valued the materials themselves and placed significant importance on fantasy (rather than intellect) in the experience of beauty. Huizinga noted that during that time, when contemplating art, people gave free rein to their imagination without focusing on the unity of the whole.

Interestingly, the only craftsman canonized in Catholicism was a jeweler and metalworker (Saint Eligius). Additionally, the pleasure derived from beautiful objects, materials, and sounds was no longer just about the objects themselves but also about the functioning of the sensory organs. Therefore, all pleasure is closely linked to God's design (giving us sensory organs), and any aesthetic joy easily transforms into the joy of being or even a mystical experience. After all, despair is considered one of the deadly sins.

Overall, both of these vast epochs recognize pleasure as an accompanying factor in the experience of beauty but inevitably introduce a value norm—reason/virtue is more important. Consequently, thinkers are left to search for an apt definition of this secondary role—whether it be as a tool, symbol, or part of a divine plan.

Classical Aesthetics: Elevated Pleasure

The Renaissance era generally deepened the trends of the Middle Ages, but certain elements can be highlighted as specific to the period. Thinkers of that time developed a strong intellectual defense for art and the artist, which ultimately allowed for the "rehabilitation of sensuality." Art was equated with the representation of nature, which was seen as a mirror of the Creator. Thus, the artist became almost an ideal human being—a creative entity continuing the task of creation in a way, following God.

As a result, the idea that art is a kind of enhanced nature became quite popular, and pleasure was seen as evidence of how a weak impression becomes strong. In other words, nature provides the stimulus to the artist, who then amplifies it, as evidenced by the reaction to a work of art.

If we are precise, it was during the Renaissance that aesthetic theory dared to directly link beauty and pleasure. This connection sparked a long-lasting debate about whose pleasure it is—the artist's, the critic's, or the viewer's. This idea was prominent in Renaissance Epicureanism but only found its verbal expression towards the end of the era—in the 16th century.

For instance, Castelvetro defined the aim of poetry (and art in general) as pleasure and novelty. This was perhaps the boldest statement of the entire era, as it finally placed pleasure, rather than virtue, at the forefront. Most of his contemporaries were more cautious, such as Torquato Tasso, who believed that art leads to truth through pleasure, much like sugar syrup helps to swallow bitter medicine.

Similarly, Philip Sidney saw poetry as "delight that teaches virtue." A modern thinker might extend these metaphors to ask uncomfortable questions—such as what happens if art becomes "childfree pleasure"? Or, what if there is sweet syrup but nothing to treat or no ailment to cure?

Overall, the aesthetic theory of the Renaissance sought to justify pleasure in various ways. Many masters, such as Alberti and Michelangelo, defined beauty as something that is difficult to achieve. Thus, when we receive it effortlessly, in its finished form, the work of art brings us pleasure.

It's worth noting that an artist's work was understood not only as craftsmanship (working with materials) but also as intellectual work (understanding the laws of the cosmos and morality, knowledge of history, geography, anatomy, etc.). Albrecht Dürer saw pleasure as "a certain proportion between the object and the feeling," thus a good work of art should not be too easy to comprehend, but at the same time, it should not overwhelm the senses.

Classicism once again dismissed the question of pleasure as part of or a criterion for beauty, subordinating everything to reason through a moral canon. However, Le Bossu defended the necessity for a dramatist to perfectly understand and achieve the required emotional states, where pleasure is an important part of many affects (such as admiration).

The leading theorists and authors of treatises on the fine arts—Boileau and Batteux—in various ways referred to reason (clarity of idea, rules) and nature (the pursuit of the ideal and truth) but avoided the question of pleasure. They implied that "good taste" brings a form of satisfaction but did not directly address pleasure as a criterion.

Even the sensualism of English philosophers did not allow them to fully express the importance of pleasure. Despite Locke's general premise that humans are naturally inclined to seek pleasure, in aesthetics, this notion was replaced by the concept of aesthetic taste, where moral undertones almost always outweighed individual joys.

Addison attempted to discuss the joys of imagination but got lost in the complexities of "high sentiments." In the teachings of Hutcheson and Shaftesbury, there is as much Platonism as there is influence from Locke's program. Interestingly, it has been noted that, despite being a great thinker, Locke was completely indifferent to art and aesthetically not far removed from a troglodyte.

Baroque offered a much more intriguing perspective: here, pleasure becomes a powerful and important affect that provokes semblance—play, illusion, imitation. Baroque took a step towards imagination and individuality, recognizing, as Pascal did, that there are no rules in art like there are in mathematics and medicine, so no one knows why music or poetry brings pleasure.

Essentially, art becomes both a product of imagination and a way to develop it, which is fundamentally important for the existence of taste and the ability to experience elevated pleasure not directly linked to satisfying physiological needs.

Baroque theorists like Tesauro, Gracián, and Góngora were inspired by the idea of sublimation—the elevation of human passion to a cultural state. Recognizing human nature's inclination toward pleasure, they aimed to shape it according to the era's ideals. Thus emerged the gentleman—a person of good taste and manners who knew how to enhance pleasure through mediation and ritual. This included practices such as flirting, salon and dining etiquette, duels and card games, wit, following fashion, promenades, and masquerades.

In the 19th century, the issue of elevated pleasure in aesthetics once again took a backseat. Leading thinkers focused on the ontology and metaphysics of art, as well as the structure of the perceiving and contemplative subject capable of evaluating beauty.

The topic of pleasure returns to prominence with experimental investigations into the feeling of beauty and the concepts of Freud and his followers. Early researchers focused on strong and weak impulses in perception (e.g., Lipps' "psychological dam" concept), while psychoanalysis explored why subjective art holds high social status (sublimation concept). Both aspects are likely essential to understanding why we find sunsets, ancient broken statues, and certain contemporary paintings pleasing.

Modern Aesthetics: The Enjoyment of the Avant-Garde

In the 20th century, following Freud and the "aesthetics from below" (Taine, Fechner, Lipps, etc.), no serious art theorist denied the importance of pleasure in both the creation and appreciation of art. However, formal searches and experiments led to a completely new question: what kind of pleasure is this?

Indeed, at the core of global debates on modernism, avant-garde, kitsch, and postmodernism lies a differing approach to deriving pleasure from art. In this context, the so-called "perversions" of Joyce and Proust, the theater of the absurd, the new novel, cubism, Dadaism, and many others are indeed related to perversion and atypical forms of pleasure in some sense.

Roland Barthes offered a clever distinction between "texte-plaisir" (text of pleasure) and "texte-jouissance" (text of bliss). This concept isn't so much about characterizing texts but rather about describing two reading strategies, and this logic can easily be applied to other art forms. The author's writing intentions significantly influence the choice of strategy, which Barthes refers to as the text's resistance to readability or unreadability. However, as Barthes admits, there is no clear boundary, leaving room for uncertainty.

The "text of pleasure" (texte-plaisir) is often associated with classical literature and popular fiction (many detective stories, romance novels, adventure novels, and fan fiction). These texts follow a familiar path—from intrigue through climax to resolution—focusing primarily on telling a story without undue emphasis on the author's style and language. In other words, a text of pleasure is designed for comfortable immersion in the narrative reality. Barthes cites Jules Verne as an example, but this category also includes authors like Tolstoy and Hemingway when read primarily for their plots.

Consequently, text as pleasure is most characteristic of avant-garde and modernist prose, which leans towards a unique style, rhythm, or narrative format. A text of pleasure urges and requires savoring each word, seeking out gaps, hints, oddities, but the reader themselves must also be special, prepared. As Barthes notes, this is not someone who devours books but someone who delicately enjoys them and, therefore, returns to these texts time and again. In fact, many authors of modernist prose discussed this kind of aristocracy of the reader, although there is no less fetishism in this. And pleasure/enjoyment has the most direct relation to this. Here is what Barthes writes:

"A text of pleasure is one that provides satisfaction, fills us completely, induces euphoria; it comes from culture, does not break with it, and is associated with the practice of comfortable reading. A text of enjoyment, however, is one that induces a sense of loss, discomfort (sometimes to the point of melancholy); it disturbs the reader's historical, cultural, psychological foundations, their habitual tastes, values, memories, and provokes a crisis in their relationship with language."

Barthes' post-structuralist solution essentially only solidified and quite successfully expressed an idea that had been in the air throughout the 20th century. Any reader of a text can be either a consumer, a guided subject, effectively responding to all the conventions and tricks of the author (for which they will be rewarded with pleasure), or they can be a producer, co-author, or even an opponent of the text. In the latter case, it can be either the reader's choice or the inability to adapt to/understand the author, and in such a case, they have to take care of their own enjoyment - through a peculiar cultural hedonism. Here, Barthes captures not just the "death of the author," but also the "double split, the twice perverted subject (reader).

Modern Aesthetics: The Guilty Pleasure of Mass Culture

By distinguishing between two reading strategies, we simultaneously arrived at a new variant of the distinction between high (elitist-intellectual) and low (mass) culture. After all, who will read all these texts of enjoyment besides humanities scholars well-versed in contemporary text theories?

Interestingly, it is not difficult to notice that contrary to declarations of democratism, it was left-wing intellectuals who particularly often opposed mass culture in the 20th century, condemning it not only as capitalist but also as vulgar, primitive, uninteresting, and harmful. This is especially evident in the works of the Frankfurt School – Theodor Adorno, Max Horkheimer, Herbert Marcuse. Adorno, by the way, was a great admirer of atonal music (Anton Webern, Arnold Schoenberg), and this left a significant mark on his aesthetic theory.

In his voluminous opus, Adorno takes a rather original position: on the one hand, he criticizes the "bourgeois" view that "art should be lush and life ascetic," but on the other hand, he tries to dialectically reconcile the enjoyment of art and the happiness of knowledge. Nevertheless, by the end of the 20th century, the criticism of the mass became so commonplace that attempts to draw intellectuals' attention to the serious study of mass culture works turned into a real scandal.

One of the first was Andrew Ross, who in his book "No Respect: Intellectuals and Popular Culture" convinced his colleagues that this part of modernity also deserves study. Unlike Susan Sontag, he did not strive to find intellectual depths in camp, pornography, or magazine photography; rather, he attempted to build a bridge between the general populace and university cultural studies.

To this day, despite examples from Žižek, Jameson, Baudrillard, and a series of collective volumes (Philosophy and The Simpsons/Dr. House/Tolkien's Trilogy/Harry Potter/South Park/etc.), the approach to mass culture is always under double suspicion: too simple for some, too obscure for others. As philosopher Alexander Pavlov aptly noted, any intellectual who admits to their love and interest in popular mainstream culture resembles someone confessing to a shameful pleasure.

Surprisingly, by the end of the 20th century, we find ourselves almost in the same position as in Antiquity: only now many intellectuals do agree that ordinary pleasures (those condemned by others) are worthy of justification and recognition. In this sense, what has been mistakenly labeled as postmodernism is in fact a multitude of various aesthetic strategies, some of which attempt to preserve elitism, while others, on the contrary, seek to blend all artificial boundaries, such as genres, canons, and social orientations in creativity.

Even the so-called "postmodern irony" in some cases sounds much like "good taste" from the Modern era. Meanwhile, today, with the merging of any cultural element with marketing, the maxim "the consumer is always right" becomes almost unconditional, meaning that the criterion of pleasure decides a lot.

Precisely because of this, the persistent attempts of intellectuals to be above others have become quite tiresome; moreover, their regularity now appears not as a form of pleasure (even narcissistic), but rather as hypercompensation for its lack. But where creativity is not fueled by pleasure and joy, soon there will be no creativity, nor understanding either. It is no coincidence that in his book, Pavlov, already in the introduction, recounts an episode from the film "Back to School," where a rich man orders an essay on his work from Kurt Vonnegut, and the university professor says that the author of the essay understands nothing about the writer's work.

Therefore, turning to popular films, TV series, video games, music, etc., is not only a question of eliminating the "gap from the people," but sometimes also a matter of finding what supports the pleasure of existing as a subject of culture. And regarding contemporary culture in general (i.e., both commercial mainstream and high culture that has driven itself into a ghetto), one can agree with Žižek: the task of intellectuals is to work with "readings" of culture – that is, to understand how a particular work transforms into a message that, in turn, will influence what we will call "culture" tomorrow.

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