In a museum stands a man facing a painting as blank as the wall behind it. He rubs his chin and tilts his head, disturbing the museum’s silence to mutter something to his companion. Perhaps he sees nothing at all in this painting, but the fact that it graces the wall of a museum tells him that he must attempt to find meaning in it regardless. We must ask ourselves why he feels prompted to do this, why he feels obligated to pay tribute to an ideal that is not his, and the answer lies in the concept of elitism.

Under elitist views, art – paintings, music, literature – is less about how strikingly powerful the expression of emotion can be, and more of a cheap trick in feigning personal superiority. Thus elitism proves to be the rotting disease in the veins of art and its consumers, contorting the honest and touching nature that makes art meaningful into a mad rush for status and prestige. Elitism shapes this art into nothing more than a concern for a higher personal standing based on a deceitful portrayal of interests, which undermines the true value of a literary work.

We cannot protect the integrity of this genre of art if we lie about its personal worth to us in order to obtain an intellectual status. We cannot, instead of reading and judging an author’s work based on the beauty of its prose and the premise of its plot, allow elitism to run our fingers over the word ‘classic’ on its cover and deem it a masterpiece without having read a word. It has become common practice for elitists to judge the worth of art without focusing on its actual substance, instead basing its value on what it says about them and their standing in society. Yet, art does not owe its consumer a certain status; it does not exist in order to feed egos or hand out medals to the unconventional.

Art exists to reflect humanity, to resonate, to astound, and the idea that a certain piece of art can distinguish its consumer as superior to others is a crime against the art itself. Elitism fuels this crime, gnawing at the roots of artistic expression and prohibiting us from associating with the art we truly feel a connection with. But the art itself still remains the ultimate, unsullied truth, and elitism impedes its progression, so if the artistic community cannot purge itself of this arrogance, perhaps we have no right to the morality of art at all.