It seems to assume that art has some kind of guarantee of quality attached to it merely by virtue of its status as art, and also – a secondary assumption – that art is automatically some kind of improving thing.Neither of these are obviously true; I mean, if you accept that Martin Creed's lights are a work of art, it doesn't commit you to approving of it, or thinking that it has any merit. Similarly, when Stockhausen, the other week, said that he thought that the atrocities of 11 September were, in some way, a gigantic work of art, his views were somewhat eccentric, but only deplorable if you thought that art was necessarily a force for good in the world; and that is obviously not the case when you think of all the artists, writers and composers who have used their media to defend or propose mass murder.The question here is really not "Is this art?". In an atmosphere that, since Duchamp's invention of the "ready-made", has not made it easy to see the obvious difference between a created work of art and an object from the world, we probably have to take the word of artists that what they are doing does constitute art.We still have, and will always have, the right as members of the audience to say "this is no good". The correct sequence of argument, in the case of much conceptual art, ought to go like this: "Is this art? Yes. Is this any good? No."That's really the only sensible tone of the discussion.

No doubt denigrators of conceptual art think they've hit on a brilliant strategy by denying that all this stuff is art at all, but it is really the nuclear option, and it has had a very deplorable effect on many people who are quite interested in conceptual art.In normal circumstances, where there is no assumption that it is any compliment to say that anything in particular is a work of art, we can easily say "This is good/This is bad" without feeling we are letting down the side by disliking a particular work of art or a particular artist.In these circumstances, however, with a large constituency bent on saying not what they mean, which is "Come on, Martin Creed – he's rubbish, isn't he?" but "He's not an artist in any sense, really", many people feel honour-bound to assert that yes, indeed, Mr Creed is an artist; and then – a brilliant but not very necessary leap of thought – to assert that he's a good artist.It ought to be perfectly possible to accept that the existence of great conceptual artists such as Duchamp or Beuys doesn't mean that the hapless products of art schools are worth looking at, and yet, in the interests of supporting what is undoubtedly an interesting movement in art, hopeless drifters are praised to the skies, and on the other side, great artists are idiotically knocked down.I can't help thinking it would all be a lot more rational if we decided to say, from now on, what we mean.hensherp dircon.co.uk More from Philip Hensher. One night, not so very long ago, I found myself seated next to an extraordinary guy at a semi-work, semi-social dinner. He was a businessman, besuited, be-groomed and exuding wealth, health and confidence so palpable you could almost lick them But still, he was unlike any businessman I'd ever met. For a start he seemed curiously – though for me, happily – reluctant to talk about business, or money, or capital or markets.Instead he talked about eradicating world hunger, removing a plethora of debilitating but curable diseases from Africa, and generally making a few nips, tucks and recallibrations to the present global system in order to remake the world as a Utopian paradise. He didn't talk about these things as merely being in the gift of a globalised economy.

The remarkable thing about him was that he implied he'd be doing these important tasks himself.He referred breezily to adding a vitamin or two to genetically modified rice and virtually wiping out blindness, as if he was off with his chemistry set to do that very thing next week, or planting a few trees to combat global warming, as if he'd got a spade and some saplings under the table there and then.While, ultimately, he brooked no opposition, at the same time he seemed unusually open to, and interested in, voices of dissent. Myself, my husband, and an Independent colleague, sat giving him the undivided attention he's no doubt used to. But we also worked hard, in a merciless, three-pronged attack, at eroding his Pollyanna-like optimism, and offering an altogether darker analysis of the state of the globalising world.All this he listened to attentively, asking for further elucidation when he felt that it was necessary, demanding meanings for words he hadn't come across, and unself-consciously noting such apparent biggies as amanuensis, amelioristic and quixotic on a scrap of paper. He engaged with gusto in the increasingly lively debate, eventually saying in a voice that can only be described as despairing, enthusiastic and at the same time boyishly awed: "Wow! You guys are the most left-wing people that I've ever met."Which leaves me today as one of the most left-wing people that Michael Bloomberg, the brand-new Mayor of New York, has ever met, a benchmark it's safe to assume is more significant for me than for him. It also leaves me unsurprised by his sudden elevation.Whatever might be being said about his buying his way into the job, with $50m (£34m) of his own dollars spent on securing it, or his worming his way in under the annointment of Rudy Giuliani (whom he has said he'll be constantly consulting with), one thing is for sure.