Herein, I think, lies the great discovery of the postmodern experiment: the troubling and yet exultant truth about human culture. Nothing can limit the human capacity to find meaning, beauty, pleasure, love, solidarity, and all of those great spiritual ideals in the artistic productions of our own kind. We are by nature ordered towards the perception of these goods, which is why banal art — whether it takes the “highbrow” form of a self-consciously superficial Warhol print, or the “lowbrow” form of a derivative space epic — still excites our capacity to penetrate the mysteries of the human condition.
Human culture will always strive, instinctively, towards the very ends which the aesthetic elite fears are being lost. It will do so as it has always done, amid a great deal of banality, imbecility, foolishness, cupidity and poor craftsmanship. It will do so because it is a reflection of the human heart, which strives, seeks, and finds beauty and meaning without end.