Art as Dharmic Duty
Art As Dharmic Duty
Philosophy and Literature
Professor Christopher Shinn
The artist occupies a paradoxically singular role in human experience. As an observer of humanity, the artist fundamentally exists outside of society yet is simultaneously central to many of humanity's crowning achievements. It would be impossible to have “a world with pyramids” without the creative vision, near-religious devotion, and obsession that drives the world's finest writers, artisans, painters, and artists in other disciplines to make beautiful things. Literature, film, and philosophy reveal artistic creation as an end in itself, achieving cosmic significance precisely through its independence from utilitarian concerns. Just as a flower's dharma is to bloom regardless of who sees it, the artist's dharma is to create regardless of societal consequences. Ultimately, artistic creation constitutes its own moral universe, where the artist's dharma is to art itself.
While traditional Aristotelian philosophy separates human experience into making, doing, and knowing, the dharmic view suggests these categories merge in the artist's practice—making becomes both doing and knowing, representing a total expression of cosmic duty. In making, man is alone in his ability to shape the natural world into things, whether that be artifacts, weapons, utilities, and works of art. In doing, man is a moral and social being, free to decide what is right or wrong. In knowing, humans learn for the explicit purpose of understanding. These three dimensions are what fundamentally separates man from animals, which are what makes him a sentient being. Man is singular in the ability to make beautiful, strive to do good, and desire to know the truth. Yet the artist's practice is peculiar in that it transcends these divisions—the artist’s creation is simultaneously moral action and pure knowledge, their craft both ethical stance and epistemological quest. The artist alone achieves what Aristotle thought impossible: the unity of making, doing, and knowing in a single devoted act. This unity emerges precisely because artistic creation, like dharma, represents not merely choice but cosmic necessity for these artists.
Another conventional philosophy asserts that art is inherently political, so therefore the artist must respond to the demands of their country, community, or family. Supposedly, the artist must have his art serve a greater purpose than the practice in and of itself. However, prioritizing the impact rather than the art itself betrays a fundamental misunderstanding of artistic creation. This debate over art's social utility is ultimately a secondary conversation about political theory and human behavior that reduces the cosmic to the social, the necessary to the contingent. When artists fully embrace their dharma, they create from necessity rather than obligation, achieving universal significance precisely by rejecting utilitarian demands. True art serves the universe by refusing to serve—its purposelessness is its purpose; its uselessness is its highest use. What is important to distinguish is that art's autonomy reveals itself not as aesthetic isolationism but as alignment with cosmic order itself. The karma generated by this pure creation contributes to universal harmony true to the artist.
Characters from literature and film embody this perspective, as well as the creators of the characters themselves. Jiro Horishiki from The Wind Rises and William Stoner from “Stoner” devote themselves entirely to their craft, respectively, through aeronautical engineering and literature. The creators behind these characters likewise treat their craft as an end and not as a means, and more importantly, generate these characters as an expression of their own inner artistic desires. Jiro expresses his dreams through aeronautical engineering, seeing aircraft not merely as machines of war but as expressions of pure aesthetic vision. In his pursuit of aircraft design excellence, Jiro focuses on achieving perfect form, treating engineering as an art form with its own internal logic and beauty. His commitment to design transcends both personal comfort and national utility along with simple moral calculus, elevating design itself to the level of dharma. He pursues aerodynamic beauty not as a means toward military strength but as an end in itself, judging his work by its adherence to principles of perfect form rather than practical utility. He dreams of perfecting the Mitsubishi A6M Zero, which is ultimately deemed a masterpiece, working on the aircraft through pages of calculus and complicated diagrams until the sun rises in order for “the wind to rise,” where the film finds its eponymous title. Despite the realities of a bleak world, one must continue to try to live through the pursuit of personal dreams, regardless if these dreams are corrupted by the world. The cost of this devotion deeply impacts Jiro's personal life: he continues to create, even though his planes are used in cruel wars. He continues to create these machines of transcendent beauty, but he remains physically and emotionally distant from Nahoko, his dying wife. This separation is not cruel but inevitable, following the natural karma of following his artistic dharma with complete fidelity.
William Stoner demonstrates how artistic dharma operates independent of social validation or practical success. Stoner finds truth in literature that transcends social status or professional advancement. Throughout his entire life, Stoner remains a disciple of literature, finding ultimate truth and meaning in the discipline even as events in his personal life collapse: even when a parent dies, or when his marriage with Edith freezes over, or when his relationship with his daughter ceases emotional meaning, he maintains a stoic, almost monastic devotion to reading, writing, and studying. His dedication to teaching and scholarship persists through personal setbacks and professional isolation precisely because it draws meaning from internal artistic truth rather than external validation. The novel has moments of transcendence where, despite surrendering his life to literature, Stoner finds that he has only a transitory understanding of his art in the time he is on earth: “There would come to him the awareness of all that he did not know, of all that he had not read; and the serenity for which he labored was shattered as he realized the little time he had in life to read so much, to learn what he had to know” (Williams 108).
These fictional characters find their real-world counterparts in their creators. Hayao Miyazaki, in creating The Wind Rises, reflects his own artistic dharma: an obsessive dedication to animation. Like Jiro, Miyazaki is known for his perfectionist approach, often redrawing entire sequences multiple times to achieve his vision, sleeping at his studio, and demanding the same dedication from his staff. The energy and devotion that Miyazaki puts into his craft, and likewise the high expectations he demands from his team, are first in order to create beautiful films, but second because Miyazaki imbues each of his characters with his own soul. In almost every Miyazaki, there is a character whose highest ideal lies in the pursuit of an abstract ideal that has no utility outside its own relationship with itself: for example, Howl obsessing over his beauty in Howl’s Moving Castle, or Marco's devotion to flying for its own transcendent beauty in Porco Rosso. Miyazaki plays with dreams: the world comes to humanity in different registers, different modes, but all of them have the capacity to be real in their own dimensions, which drives his creation. However, the karma of this devotion manifests in his estranged relationship with his son Goro and his multiple "failed" retirements—each time drawn back to creation by the pull of his dharma.
There are some counter arguments here: first, that male artists neglect the fact that social systems are set up for men to intrinsically have an easier time with dedicating life to a craft. Secondly, Kant’s deontology, virtue ethics, relational ethics, and utilitarianism all can present possible alternatives to this proposed philosophy of art as dharmic duty. Arguably, for humanity to function, most people's duties must contain objective morals such as not cheating, a good character in hitting the mean, or building relations with the people in their life. However, this perspective of art as dharmic duty argues that these primary ethical theories are rendered irrelevant in service when discussing individuals who experience this intrinsic calling towards creation.
The perspective suggesting that artists balance artistic dedication with personal life fundamentally misunderstands the nature of true artistic dharma. Just as a monk's devotion cannot be part-time, the artist's dedication to craft demands complete submission to its demands—a creative asceticism that, like monastic life, requires a certain distance from worldly attachments or one’s personal life. The karma this generates is not a problem to be solved, but a necessary shadow cast by the light of artistic truth. The artist's dharma, whether expressed through engineering, literature, or any other form, demands not just dedication but complete surrender to craft.
Works Cited
Chonko, Larry. "Ethical Theories." The University of Texas at Arlington, 2012.
Miyazaki, Hayao, director. Howl's Moving Castle. Studio Ghibli, 2004.
Miyazaki, Hayao, director. Porco Rosso. Studio Ghibli, 1992.
Miyazaki, Hayao, director. The Wind Rises. Studio Ghibli, 2013.
Mortimer Jerome Adler. Aristotle for Everybody : Difficult Thought Made Easy. New York, Touchstone, 1997.
Napier, Susan. Miyazakiworld : A Life in Art. New Haven, Yale University Press, 2018.
"The Spirit and the Strength: A Profile of Toni Morrison." Poets & Writers, 1 Nov. 2008, www.pw.org/content/the_spirit_and_the_strength_a_profile_of_toni_morrison.
Williams, John, and Edzard Krol. Stoner. Amsterdam, Uitgeverij Rainbow Bv, Januari, 2020.
