XII 1984

BWA Gallery in Lublin

as part of the exhibition-meeting Intellectual trend in Polish art after World War II (5 XII 1984 – 13 I 1985)

Photo by Andrzej Polakowski

Description of the manifestation:

The interior of a large hall at the BWA gallery on Narutowicza Street. The hall is prepared for a lecture. The audience is seated on chairs. In front of them stands a table and a chair for the speaker. Cups of paint are placed on the table.
Action: The artist walks out naked and stands before the audience. He holds two books in his hands: Fear and Trembling by Søren Kierkegaard and Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus by Ludwig Wittgenstein. He places the books on the table and begins his lecture, titled The Dispute on the Supreme Values.

He walks naked before the audience, periodically pausing to paint first a white vertical line, then a red horizontal line on the front of his body, forming a white-and-red cross. The artist concludes the lecture, sits down in the chair, and invites questions and discussion.

Jerzy Bereś: I walked naked before the gathered audience with two books in hand: FEAR AND TREMBLING, THE SICKNESS UNTO DEATH by SOREN KIERKEGAARD ​​and TRACTUTUS LOGICO-PHILOSOPHICUS by LUDWIG WITTGENSTEIN. The first part of the lecture involved painting two lines on the back of my body: a white, vertical line along my spine and a red, transverse, horizontal line across my shoulders. Walking before the audience, occasionally painting a line in white, then red, I said: With the help of Kierkegaard and Wittgenstein, I want to share with you my thoughts, which I have titled THE DISPUTE ON THE SUPREME VALUES.

Realizing the pompous nature of this title, I will explain the meaning of its individual words. I chose the word “dispute” from among two others: argument and dialogue. While argument implies opposing positions, it does not suggest the possibility of fruitful contact, whereas dialogue is too vague and does not necessarily imply differing viewpoints. Therefore, I chose a dispute. The word “highest” introduces a gradation and implies the need to distinguish at least two other categories of values. Thus, the first category consists of fundamental values, such as bread, home, and others. Throughout the development of civilization, humans multiply and refine these values ​​to such an extent that a vast scum develops, an outgrowth in the form of sometimes highly elaborate and perverse luxury. Justice comes to the rescue in separating the outgrowths of luxury from fundamental values, but justice is a different value and leads us to the second category, the category of higher values.  

In addition to justice, this category includes love, truth, dignity, and so on. A defining feature of higher values is that they do not exist in isolation but condition one another. What good is justice if it diverges from truth? More complex tensions can also arise, such as those between love and truth. In Samaritan situations, truth can deprive someone of the will to fight for life. In other situations, between two people, truth can destroy love. Then another value is needed: forgiveness. Religions and ideologies arise from higher values – the better ones contain more of them. Nevertheless, even in a seemingly favourable situation where almost all higher values are present, a rigid ethical armor can develop that stifles creative activity and threatens total stagnation. Fortunately, there is freedom, which also belongs to this category, and it allows us to transcend rigid ethical armor and reach the highest values, such as language, faith, and art.

Regardless of the possibility of ascending, freedom allows for choices on a broader plane. There are attitudes that reject all hierarchies of values – nihilistic attitudes, programmatic disbelief – and, ultimately, the question “Is life worth living?” remains open. Examples include drug addiction as a radical remedy and alcoholism, which acts more slowly but is also suicidal. There was even a hit song by Piwnica pod Baranami – “Tylko upić się warto”(“Only getting drunk is worth it”). Leaving the question “Is life worth living or not?” open, we follow those who believe that life is worth living. This is a necessary condition, because the highest values are unnecessary, unlike basic values, which are essential for life. Without language, faith, art, or certain types of knowledge, one can biologically survive. Therefore, the highest values are unnecessary, but they can become inalienable – they can reach a state of inalienability for people.

For example, the use of a language can be prohibited. In such a case, a human community may abandon it and the language may disappear. But things may be different when the language continues to be used because it has already become an inalienable value for a given community. Then, if the community is not physically destroyed, the language will survive, even underground, outlasting all prohibitions, including those lasting for generations, and becoming an enduring, indestructible value. Similar examples can be found in the continuation of faith or art, and in their dramatic persistence when these values have reached a state of inalienability for people.

 I would now like, after outlining the hierarchy of values as I understand them, subjectively and controversially, to present how a human being, a single person, can enter into a dispute about the highest values. To this end, I will invoke two attitudes presented by Kierkegaard: the tragic hero and the knight of faith.  The tragic hero – putting it more directly – moves straight toward a clearly defined goal, dedicates himself to others, and sacrifices himself for the common good. Ordinary people identify with the hero, accepting him as one of their own. The hero becomes universal.

The knight of faith, on the other hand, like Abraham, who resolved to kill his beloved son Isaac – but as we know, this did not happen – enters a paradox and remains unsure whether he is a man of the greatest faith or a murderer. Isaac lives, Abraham rejoices in his son, but he will never overcome this paradox. The tragic hero is on everyone’s lips; the knight of faith is lonely – he cannot share his paradox with anyone. And although the tragic hero is great and celebrated, the knight of faith has one advantage over him: he simply remains himself, while the tragic hero dissolves into generality.

The knight of faith becomes a personality, and therefore he is also great. But his greatness lies not in being free from fear, despair, and misery, but in the opposite, the fact that he is caught in fear, despair, and misery, unable to escape the paradox. To make my point more concrete, I will now refer to our Polish historical and present situation. We Poles have been tragic heroes in our distant and more recent history. Our history is filled with tragic heroes who sacrificed themselves for others. World War II offered countless examples of Polish heroism – tragic heroism – self-sacrifice for others, which the public eagerly embraced. We were, and are, famous. After World War II, however, came a time when we Poles decided, like Abraham, to kill the memory of our heroes, to kill the memory of our history, for the sake of peace, for the vision of a just world. But – again like Abraham – it turned out differently. The memory of our heroes lives, and so does the memory of our history, but we Poles have entered a paradox from which we cannot escape. Yet we remain ourselves, and the world must understand that we will no longer be heroes of either socialism or capitalism. We have become a personality not because we are free from fear, despair, and misery, but because we are stuck in fear, despair, and misery.

The cross, formed by a vertical white line and a horizontal red line, was complete on my back. (End of part one of the lecture.)