Let us summarily dismiss the idea propagated by critics eager to pander to the liberal arty farty elite’s democratic pretensions that Duchamp “nominating” a urinal to the status of art object is a gesture of “inclusion.” No. Fountain’s significance is the exact opposite: If it challenges the distinction between art and nonart, it is only to make that distinction explicitly and exclusively institutionally authorized. The seemingly arbitrary inclusion of select ordinary objects into the pantheon of art formalizes the authority of a collaboration between the nominator and the elite institutional framework that ratifies these nominations. There is no dismantling of boundaries, no levelling of “high” and “low.” Instead, the readymade makes flagrant the obduracy of that hierarchy. A urinal is something to piss on. Fountain is a museum piece. You couldn’t find a more brazen demonstration of the cultural hegemony of the bourgeoisie than that.

Through its seemingly miraculous ability to author vacancy, the readymade gilds everything it absorbs into itself with an “infrathin” aura that permits the banal to be consumed as the ironic. The readymade is a fetish. It intervenes as the last barrier to the recognition of the insufferable hideousness of an encroaching, engulfing banality. In lieu of a passive surrender to banality, the readymade delivers the spectacle of banality’s active embrace. The readymade is the paradoxical phallicization of flaccidity and impotence.

But the readymade also grudgingly hints at a recognition that the most complex and engaging forms in the modern world are consumer products. In other words, it hints at the untenability of the modern distinction between things of use and things of aesthetic value. But it does so by hiding the usefulness of things like urinals and snow shovels behind or underneath the ritual of their (redundant) art-ification. In theory, the readymade invites a dismissal of the very notion of  art. In practice, it functions as the artistic equivalent of transubtantiation.

Once we understand this, we can appreciate the value of the readymade within the libidinal economy of capitalism. The problem is that the very profusion of the dazzling forms with which capitalism gluts the world renders them invisible. This is what Benjamin was getting at with his notion of aura and its loss through reproducibility. Standardization and mass production rob the object of its quiddity, turn it into something that passes through our hands too quickly, too unobtrusively. The readymade enables a slower mode of consumption, a more deliberate enjoyment of the act of acquisition. It permits an appreciation of the substantiality of the disposable object.

Viewed this way, the readymade is not an attack on art. It is not antiart. It is rather the last artistic means that modernity can muster to stave off disenchantment.