Some Thoughts on the Postmodern Critique of Enlightenment

Horkheimer and Adorno’s Dialectic of Enlightnment is a now classic source for the critique of the modern-era enlightenment ideal.

In the second half of the twentieth century there was either pessimism about or else just outright rejection of the ideal of “enlightenment,” a concept which could be characterized as the foundation for all discussion of politics in the modern era. “Enlightenment” as a Western European political concept, is essentially the idea that reason and rationality can show us the way toward social progress. That progress would be the result of ongoing dialogue. Democracy and other forms of government that allow for reasoned discussion and disagreement, which put the fewest impediments in the way of liberty and freedom of expression, are best according to that ideal, since they allow for the best chance of that development which depends upon free discussion.

Nevertheless, we can see actual and potential problems with liberty (gun control legislation or even the growth of fascism) and with freedom of speech (which seems to be subject to the influence of the media, or muted by political partisanship) present in our society and in modern history. The conclusion of some critics is that liberty is something too dangerous to be handed to the masses. There is too much potential for liberty to be manipulated in ways that lead the masses astray, sometimes with horrific results (e.g. the holocaust).

All this could very well make one think that the enlightenment project was misguided. I think a mistake was made in overestimating the extent to which we have actually developed. There is a distinction that must be made between knowing what is right and building that knowledge into a cultural norm that can be called true progress. In other words, the step from rational discussion to actual cultural changes, rooted in changes in actual human behavior, is much, much longer than the enlightenment philosophers expected.

The twentieth century bears witness to this: while to many people living at the start of the twentieth century authoritarianism, totalitarianism and fascist ideologies might have seemed obviously wrong, there were equally obviously the seeds for such developments in human nature which were allowed to grow and were exploited by open societies that permitted such growth. If true enlightenment was attained at the end of the twentieth century, it would be in the form of the establishment of new cultural norms that reject such ideals and have the effect of guiding everyday people away from such behavior in their private lives. It would amount to a shift in consciousness and behavior on a social level.

This seems like a nice attainment, but certainly runs very much counter to the optimism of the 17th and 18th centuries. It seems that we must wait to learn things culturally, adopt ideals as cultural norms, even if just about everyone agrees upon them. Despite the extent to which the 20th century has disappointed our sense of our own progress, in a sense, putting such things as unjust authoritarian behavior behind us though a revaluation of values would be a major accomplishment. Arguably, such things as the growth of truer forms of equality in the latter part of the 20th century and early 21st may have received some impetus by the growth of such consciousness; and again, what some perceive as fascist tendencies in Trump would not be so ruthlessly criticized were it not for the growth of such awareness.

On First Looking into Sontag’s Barthes Reader

Photo by the author, Gem Lapin Beaucoup 

Despite my allusive title, I have mixed feelings about the Barthes Reader.  Before actually reading Barthes, I had read that he was maybe the either the most important or “greatest” author of the twentieth century. I have worked my way through half of the Reader now and “my two cents” is: a few really good essays, but not too sure about the overall coherence of his ideas. He draws a lot on linguistics and formalism and later enters a deconstructive mode, and he’s ahead of the curve in terms of literary movements. But his work seems to be more about gestures at ideas than fully articulated ones. Sartre, by contrast, tries to work his ideas out on paper. I think in the long run that I prefer the more fully articulated approach. He is kind of Borgesian in his gestures. Perhaps my lack of awe is just due to the fact that the movements he’s initiating aren’t really new to me and linguistic structuralism and formalism just aren’t really very exciting topics (cf. his tenacious “Structural Analysis of Narratives.”)  That being said, his wrestling-themed essay and his essay on the Eiffel Tower are great reads and probably even classics.  

A Few Simple Questions for Phenomenologists, Husserlians, and Heideggarians or those Who Otherwise Claim to Be “In the know” Regarding their Views:

“Giving Away the Metaphor,” by Firuz Kutal

Phenomenology is often credited with broadening the range of discussion of what is involved in perception. But what philosophical issues does it really resolve?  One major aim of the phenomenological movement is its attempt to resolve philosophical issues about subjectivity as a way to find a sure footing for knowledge.  Husserl attempted to find a way to ground our experience in the surest possible way.  The simple answer was to embrace our subjective experience as that ground and as the only possible ground for evaluating our experiences. But certainly not everyone has felt that subjetivity was sufficient : certainly Descartes, for example, wanted to get beyond subjectivity as the ground of experience.  Later, Husserl discussed expanding the range of subjedtive experience into the realm of intersubjectivity. Are there any compelling reasons for discontent with subjectivity?

Descartes, again, provides a foil.  Descartes famously attempted to find an objective basis for his subjective experiences in his faith in a benevolent God (one who would not decieve him).  To many, such an approach might appear extravagant, but it should be remembered that a) Descartes most likely did believe in God and b)his whole project was about finding a once-and-for-all  objective basis for knowledge.  At worst, his appraoch makes objectivity possible for those who believe in God.  But that doesn’t seem to satisfy philosophical minds who don’t buy his proofs for the existence of God.  But why was objectivity important for Descartes in the first place?

What he was after was a special kind of knowledge-a knowledge the truth of which could not possibly be doubted.  Such a knowledge would be based upon inbuditable first principles.  Its value? We could KNOW things.  But what on earth does such KNOWING amount to when it comes to our sensory experiences?  Apparently, that when I see a tree, I not only know a) that I am seeing a tree (uncontroversial) and b) (more exciting) that THERE REALLY IS A TREE THERE.  It seems odd to think that our subjective experiences couldn’t take us to that knowledge (can’t I just feel it, taste it, smell it, etc. to confirm its existence?).  Answer: not if you are Renee Descartes, who has found ways to doubt the truth of such experiences.  But if you are Descartes, presumably you can also reflect that God wouldn’t decieve you and that, therefore, there IS a tree there.

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Is there anyone who does not find this silly?  It is, nevertheless, a problem that those who followed Descartes had to deal with and is, arguably, the setting for the split between continental and analytic philosophers.  Continental philosophers who follow Husserl bracket the question of the existence of their perceptions, putting it outside the parameters of what we can know.  Analytic philosophers often assume (e.g. Russell) that everyday objects do generally exist unless everyday perception can falsify that fact.  One can go further back: John Locke assumes that everyday objects must generally exist since something must have caused our perceptions.  Russell agreed that the problem was insoluble.  What, then does this dispute amount to?

Both sides agree that the problem of whether objects exist outside our perception is insoluble, but one side decides to assume that everyday objects exist whereas the other refuses to do so.  The Husserlians might claim to be more firmly grounded since they do not make an unwarranted assumption, but do so at the cost of maintaining a worldview that doesn’t even embrace the real existence of the phenomena they find present in it.

Husserl attempted to bridge the gap between subjectivity and objectivity through the idea of intersubjective analogical experience, with special implications for the realm of aesthetics.  A difficultly for this view is that it doesn’t take into account that there are certain things that we can never fully grasp even by analogy. Qualia are an example: no matter how empathetic one might feel, one may never really know what it is like to feel another person’s depression (or itch, or pain, etc.).  There remain gaps in our experience that leave us bereft (if it does matter to us) of any possibility of knowing certain things as they are in themselves that limit the boundaries of intersubjectivity that only add to the question of existence that must, at the end of the day, also be bracketed.                                                                                                                                                                                                                       Many people who study Phenomenolgy, however, do seem to think that it has put the question to rest by focusing our attention on the phenomena as they exist (in the mode of their presentation to us as existing phenomena (as it were)).  But Husserl explicitly brackets the question of existence and thus, in fairness to Husserl himself, it should be said that Phenomenology does not claim to solve the problem.  A preliminary question then is, if Phenomenology does not claim to solve this problem, does it make any progress toward solving it by bracketing it?  The answer should be straightforard.  If it does not, and it merely takes objects “as if” they really exsited, is it not making the same assumption as analytic philosophers do?  Analytic philosophers (Russell et al.) do not attempt to answer the question and thus bracket it in their own way.  They assume that objects exist.  Don’t their views on the problem of perception and existence really amount to the same thing in that case?  Lastly, if that is so, what greater claim to knoweldge, based upon its method, can phenomenology claim to make, besides the many caveats it enters against “objectivity” on the side of our subjetive experience?  While such caveats as the need for an awareness of the way that the past experience of an individual shapes his/her present experience are enlightening in some ways, do such caveats take us closer to the firmly grounded basis for knowledge that Phenomenolgy aspires to?

 

 

 

 

Art and its critics: an opinion on the role of the critic

What is the role of the critic?  How should criticism interact with an art form?  These are questions that have been asked and answered in various ways before.  In what follows, I would like to draw from my own personal experience as someone who has been writing on jazz for a little over a year.  I do not wish to claim absolute originality for any of my thoughts, but only the originality of them as my own personal observations, based upon the particular context of my experiences.  I invite comments and criticism from readers that may further the discussion.  In the course of these thoughts about the role of the critic I have also been led to say a few things about the relationship between art and philosophy, and moreover, about the relationship between science and philosophy.  My belief about the relationship between the artist and the critic is that when they work together best, the one acts to push forward the thought of the other.  The particular way in which that positive interaction comes about will be the subject of what follows.

In the case of non-linguistic arts (such as music or painting) when the critic puts into words a description of a non-linguistic art form, the result is a kind of translation that involves a jump from something communicated at a sensual level to one that engages the understanding in a rational reconstruction of the “sense” of that sensuality.  Embedded in this description is a more general assumption about what critics ought to be doing.  It may be spelled out clearly as the assumption that critics ought, at some point, to make an effort to interpret art, and not merely evaluate it in terms of whether it is agreeable to their personal tastes.  From a long-term perspective, tastes may vary, and while it may be interesting to read about the tastes of different critics, or of different critics over time, the more enduring and more valuable critical work is the work that shows us how a way of seeing or feeling can perhaps be linked to a way of  thinking or understanding.  Critical work that takes on that kind of task is critical work that engages in the project of interpretation.  An interpretation, despite the seemingly arbitrary nature of art, can be refined over time to the point where a world view begins to be articulated through reflection upon art.  It may also be the work of multiple hands.

This point seems to call for an explication of the role of the artist in relation to the critic.  The view I would like to propose is that the artist presents in art a way of seeing that can introduce listeners or viewers to new ways of seeing.  New ways of seeing, in turn, push interpreters toward ever new ways of thinking and understanding.  Thus, art can be seen as an embryonic stage in the march toward the development of systematic philosophies.  All art seems to have a way of seeing embedded in its creation.  That way of seeing is typically not rigorously drawn out in terms of a systematically ordered set of concepts.  That wouldn’t be “art”, but something else, like a mature form of criticism or a philosophy perhaps.

But to anticipate a possible objection, does philosophy always begin with art?  In one sense the answer will be “No”, but with a way of seeing, and with the project of articulating that way of seeing.  This, it seems to me, is the point at which philosophy divides itself from science (to the extent that a division based upon modern practices in the universities must be rationalized): whereas science takes the elements of the empirical world as its starting point, philosophy takes a way of seeing involving an act of interpretation as its starting point.  But there was also a “yes” answer.  What, then, is the way in which philosophy always begins with art?

The “yes” answer to this question involves embracing the thesis that what makes art “art” is simply the intentional act of seeing it as art.  For example, I am sitting in a café at this moment and there is a coffee cup on the table.  I may decided to look upon it as a scientific object, in which case I will be interested in its empirical properties with a mind toward some sort of classification or seeking answers to questions like “Why does it appear white?” or “What might be the best material for a coffee cup?”.  But, if my interest is an artistic one, I will look upon it in a different way, with a different set of intentions.  I might decide that it is a beautiful object, or I might decide that a different sort of lighting could help its appearance.

The point is that any object can be considered as art inasmuch as any object can be looked upon from an artistic point of view or with the intention of evaluating it from an artistic perspective.  Seeing an object as art, furthermore involves the possibility of seeing it as representing a way of seeing.  To return to the coffee cup, it might seem far fetched that a coffee cup could represent a way of seeing; but if one considers centuries of work that has been done on ancient artifacts, whether Greek, Etruscan, or Egyptian, one cannot help but admit the possibility of seeing a worldview in such creations.  That critics would like to articulate the sense of that worldview might be considered the starting point toward a philosophical viewpoint.  Here, it may be realized, the progression does not go from one medium or subject matter to another.  The progression is rather from the presentation of a viewpoint toward a systematic articulation of that viewpoint.

Finally, I would like to introduce the thought that the relationship between the artist and critic is a macrocosm of what occurs in each one of us when we attempt to understand the world on the basis of the information that the senses deliver to our intelligence.  We work toward an understanding of the world, and of ourselves in relation to the world, seemingly as an extension of our innate drive toward survival.  Those poles seem to interact as follows: we begin with a sensuous kind of understanding that later reaches a fuller articulation once it has been subject to the task of adhering to logical consistency.  Once the latter is achieved, a kind of philosophy may be said to have come into bloom.

Art, Interpretation, and Understanding

It is not uncommon these days to hear people say, when the subject arises, that there can be no answer to the question, “What is art?” If we begin by considering modern art, there does not seem to be any distinction between the sorts of objects that can be considered art objects and those that cannot. This is partly due to the fact that artists in the early 20th century set out to expand the public’s perception of what art can be. Is a urinal an art object? Duchamp thought so. Is a pile of newspapers in the MOMA art? Why not? Do objects become art objects by being placed in a museum? Cannot even simple everyday objects be seen as art?

And yet, is it plausible that there should be no way to differentiate art objects from others? I would like to approach this issue by first supporting the thesis that what fundamentally differentiates art objects from others is not a difference in the objects themselves, but a difference in our way of seeing them. It would follow that if we are to truly understand art, we must understand what constitutes an artistic point of view. In what follows, I will explore this thesis in an effort to lay the groundwork for answering a question that is sometimes taken to be intractable.

In the process, I will make a further attempt to set out what differentiates the project of interpreting art from that of acquiring scientific knowledge. These two components, which relate to answering the question of what kind of thing art is and how it may be differentiated from other things may be used to yield a working definition of art.  Moreover, the results of this investigation will have a bearing on the way that we view what it means to communicate, interpret and understand the world around us for ourselves and for others.

Generic considerations about the nature of art~

Consider a coffee cup. If I wish to understand it from a scientific standpoint, I will typically begin by bracketing all my feelings about it, such as whether it is pleasing to look at or whether it reminds me of a certain friend, or many other things that might occur to me but that are considered irrelevant to approaching it scientifically. Instead, I would typically focus on such things as its size, weight, chemical composition, its material components, etc.: in short, all the attributes that can be said to belong to it as an “object” that can be understood from an objective standpoint in the sense of a point of view that can be shared by others.

If I were to approach it as art, the same object that was being considered scientifically is now transformed by the simple act of looking upon it from an aesthetic standpoint, or aesthetically. I now pay attention to its colors, to its shape, whether they are pleasing or not, and whether it falls into a category of recognized artistic styles. Is it related to the Bauhaus school? Is it “modern”? Is it a “classic” style? What set of associations does it seem intended to invoke? Each style may bring about an aesthetically based response in me that would not arise from considering it from a scientifically trained point of view.

This example merely brings to our awareness the everyday experience that there is such a thing as an aesthetic or artistic point of view and that it differs from the scientific one.
But moreover, it seems that there is no obstacle to considering any object from an aesthetic standpoint if any object may be considered as art.

It seems that language, more than anything else (mistakenly) leads us into thinking that objects, by some intrinsic property they might possess, either are or not art. We are taught to refer to objects such as the Mona Lisa, or to a bronze sculpture as art; but, in truth, since we may consider any object as an art object, there does not seem to be any one property or set of properties in an object that makes it art, nor can any criterion be proposed that would prevent us from seeing an object as an art object.  If we seek for a general definition of art by examining the properties of an object in a scientific manner, there is nothing in an object can assist us in differentiating what is art from what is not art. In order to find the key to the differentiation one must look rather to the genesis of the way in which we see objects as objects as a certain kind of entity.  Understanding a way of seeing as a way of seeing, moreover, involves reflecting on the way in which we view the world interpretively as something more primary in us than either scientific method or an educated aesthetic viewpoint.

Toward a definition of Art: differentiating art from what is non-art~

In another way of speaking, the differentiation we are after will involve an awareness of an “adverbial” bias to our way of seeing and knowing.  We do not simply “see”, but see “scientifically” or experience an object “aesthetically”.  This realization suggests the conclusion that a basic part of understanding the world from a philosophically well grounded standpoint will involve an awareness of how objects stand to us once we have first become aware of ourselves as interpreting and not merely sensing observers.

To return to the main line of argumentation, we come now to an important question: what primarily differentiates the aesthetic point of view from other ways of seeing or being involved with objects around us? One might say that there are at least three basic characteristics: first, and most generally, the aesthetic standpoint can be distinguished from the scientific one by virtue of the fact that it involves, necessarily, an admittance of one’s affective responses (of the sort mentioned above) into one’s evaluation of an object as an art object. It shares this with other points of view such as when one views an object hungrily or thirstily.

Secondly, what is to be considered as art must be something that can be presented as art.  This presentation, in turn, functions as an invitation to view the object as art.  In the case of something like a pile of stones, something that is not made but only found in nature, the act of making may be nothing more than a “dubbing” or a pronouncement like “behold: this is art” that leads to the consideration of the object as an art object.

But, thirdly, the aesthetic viewpoint can be further differentiated according to a particular interpretive viewpoint that may arise in connection with it. I would like to propose that the aesthetic point of view is unique in that it admits (though it does not necessitate) an interpretive standpoint that does not arise in connection with other points of view or ways of being involved with things.  It will be the aim of what follows to describe this interpretive standpoint.  In doing so, a better sense of just what aesthetic seeing is will be brought to light.

Art and the sciences

Since the act of interpreting seems to have something in common with the scientific viewpoint and since, moreover, it was said that there was something unique about interpretation within the aesthetic viewpoint, it will be important to distinguish aesthetic interpretation as an aesthetic way of seeing from a scientific mode of seeing and interpreting, which has the aim of arriving at scientific knowledge.                  

An initial distinction has already been alluded to above.  Certainly, what modern scientific methodology sets apart as relevant data are the relevant objective facts, which can usually be circumscribed within the scope of quantifiable data (witness modern psychology).  The aesthetic standpoint, by contrast, seems to require a different apparatus, including one’s subjective reaction to the art object; and, at times, some concern with the intention of the artist or author in creating his artwork may play an important role.  Neither of these concerns are allowed to arise as legitimate kinds of data within a purely scientific standpoint.

Data

This type of scientific viewpoint may be labeled the modern empirical-scientific standpoint, so as to distinguish it from a further kind of “scientific” standpoint that might be called the classical epistemic-scientific standpoint.  This latter point of view is one that was developed at what is often considered to be the infancy of western culture.  It is the kind of epistemic standpoint that Plato and Aristotle developed according to which anything, whether it be a goose, a rosebud, or even such things as justice and love, can be made accessible to the understanding through a process of classification and division.  The foundation and guiding principle of this classification and division is ultimately the goal of defining each thing in such a way that it can be distinguished from all other things.  This way of conceptualizing what it means to know or understand something is so deeply ingrained in our very way of discussing those terms that it is difficult to conceive of another way of understanding them that does not lead into it at some point.  Since understanding is usually held to be a matter of both relating one thing to other things and of telling them apart, we seem to be led inexorably into the whirlpool of episteme when we wish to discuss “understanding” and “knowledge”.

Aesthetic interpretation, especially if it involves an effort toward systematic interpretation, may find itself unavoidably drawn into this whirlpool, and with mixed results.  On the one hand, it allows for a systematic treatment of the affective elements (for example, the reader’s response to a novel) that the interpretation of art must accept and which the empirical-scientific standpoint cannot admit.  It accomplishes this by treating such elements as concepts that may be related to other concepts (for example, the reader’s response to various elements in the text).  A certain unity of meaning is, moreover, held to emerge from a blending of such elements with others that may be taken to be more or less the facts of what is presented.  For example, if one sets out to interpret Picasso’s Guernica, not only the figures presented and their historical context will be relevant to grasping a sense of the painting, but also a reflection upon the way in which one is affected by the way in which they are presented, and not only this, but perhaps some attempt to divine what Picasso must have intended in that presentation may be relevant to its interpretation.

An Image from Picasso’s Guernica

On the other hand, there is that within the aesthetic standpoint, something within affectivity itself that resists conceptualization, and to that extent resists the epistemic model of understanding.  Indeed, if the epistemic model is taken to be the only model for understanding, then there is that in art that cannot be understood.  This aspect of art, its affective element, has a greater importance for its interpretation than might at first be recognized.  One could not get very far in understanding Guernica without first grasping, at a very basic affective level, such things as shock, horror, and revulsion; nor could one truly comprehend Chekhov’s “Lady with a Dog” without first being able to relate to emotions such as the desire, desperation, and long sought fulfillment that make up the elements of his story of fin amor.  A good writer or artist may even be judged, as was the case with Tolstoy and others, to be a master of his art precisely because he understood such emotions and was able to make his audience feel them and weave them together into experiences perhaps hitherto unknown as such to his reader.

Yalta: the setting for Chekhov’s, “The Lady with the Dog”.

It is not that the epistemic approach fails, so much as the fact that its success depends upon what cannot revealed by pure episteme alone.  In this respect, its projected definitions of love, loss, etc. fall short in a crucial respect.  It even seems quite reasonable to say that inasmuch as a definition for such terms fails to invoke the essential affective qualities, the kind of approach to knowledge classical episteme involves leads away from its essential attributes.  Hence, art comes to have what appears to be a doxastic, open-endedness with respect to the extent to which the interpretation of it can be said to be conclusive.

On the other hand, inasmuch as art can be said to reveal, of itself, what is essential to such inner experiences, it may be said to get nearer to what is essential to them than a purely conceptual approach can reveal.  Herein may be seen certain limitations of both Platonic and Aristotelian approaches to knowledge.  More than this, the present discussion can be linked to contemporary debates on the nature of consciousness that affirm it to be something inaccessible from a purely scientific standpoint.  Thomas Nagel’s “What’s it like to be a bat” and David Chalmer’s discussion of zombies are two prominent examples.  According to these lines of argument, the qualitative aspects of our inner experiences  are said to be inaccessible from an empirical-scientific standpoint precisely because that qualitative aspect in some ways resists objectification.  More precisely, it falls short of being able to answer the question of “what it is like” to have such experiences as smelling a rose or hearing a pleasant melody.

It seems that this epistemic failure is due not only to the fact, that there is that in art which resists objectification.  The empirical-scientific approach fails to a certain degree, due to the fact that (as was explained above) even within the conceptual sphere, such affects cannot be made into conceptual objects as Plato’s Forms and their Aristotelian descendants may be said to have been.  It seems rather that what is essential to them must be invoked within the subject and experienced on a bodily level in some way by art itself and in those who would understand art-to the extent that it can be “understood”.

Finally, to the extent that aesthetic interpretation, properly understood, uniquely involves an attempt to “understand” in terms of affectivity (inasmuch as it must involve an interpretive standpoint which acknowledges the fundamental role of the affective side of art), we may be said to have arrived at an aspect of the interpretation of art that sets it apart not only from purely “scientific” perspectives, but differentiates it from other ways of grasping or “understanding” something.

This critique of an over-reliance on the empirical-scientific point of view that has become so second nature to us in our age may be summed up by saying that we lack access, from that point of view, to what is revealed by a properly aesthetic point of view.  But, moreover, it may be seen that these two viewpoints represent two distinct aspects of human experience.  In what follows, the idea will be explored that art has a unique role in bringing together these two aspects of human experience, and subsequently, in teaching us what it means to be human in the fullest sense: a sense that projects toward overcoming alienation from oneself and from humanity by reunifying these two sides of our experience.

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The harmonious composition of the aesthetic and epistemic that arises when we feel we have “understood” a work of art may be termed “interpretation”.  As was said above, because the purely aesthetic is that which resists a purely epistemic approach to “understanding” or grasping a work of art, interpretation will have an element of doxastic open-endedness.  Thus, for example, if one reads Tolstoy’s “The Death of Ivan Ilyich” one cannot be said to have grasped the “meaning” of the story fully by simply arranging its plot in the proper order; nor could one do so by understanding all the words Tolstoy uses on a literal level; nor would even a full understanding of all the historical facts relevant to the story suffice.  It is, rather, something that surpasses all these that eludes the epistemic approach and provides art with its field of openness that is essential to its being art.  This field of openness, moreover, can only be grasped from an aesthetic viewpoint, and cannot be contemplated or accessed from a purely epistemic or scientific point of view.

This description of interpretation may be seen to have a certain allegiance to a Kantian approach to what occurs when one attempts to understand, in some sense, what is presented in the field of aesthetics.  Although it does not have any pretentions toward a transcendental viewpoint, it might be said to provide a foundation for a way to look at art as something that transcends the self.  Rationalists have traditionally attempted to transcend the self on a purely conceptual basis.  But part of the difficulty with this approach is that it does not allow the self (for example, the archetypal, isolated Cartesian self) to get beyond its own concepts.  Art provides for a fuller transcendence of the self by introducing a form of communication that requires an “understanding” of its terms to take hold on an affective, as well as an intellectual level.

Consider the process of creating a work of art.  If one were to set out to create a love story like Chekhov’s “Lady with a dog”, one would ordinarily have to combine epistemic elements that provide a basic sense of the facts upon which the story is based with elements that call up the affective side of what it means to fall passionately in love.  This may be called a form of communication.  Communicating on such a level requires a shared inner experience if it is to be effective.  It requires communication not only on a conceptual level that invokes a certain intended response in the reader on an affective level.

Thus, one may imagine a model, from the standpoint of the speaker, writer, or artist that begins with his own affective experiences, gets packaged in language that is epistemically accessible (or readily understood on a conceptual level), and, if understood properly, is interpreted in the appropriate way by being “understood” on both an aesthetic and epistemic level.  In this way, art may be said to perform the unique function of bridging a gap between self and other that occurs on an aesthetic level.  In this way, art may also be said to hold out the promise of enabling the self to transcend itself.  A successful case may be said to arise when one feels oneself to have interpreted properly not only what the artist intended to communicate, but also, inasmuch as the story is open to many interpreters, to something that applies to humanity in general and may be said to characterize what it means to fall passionately in love as a human experience.

And yet, there seems to be that in art which surpasses, or transcends even the intention of the artist.  This can occur in a number of ways.  For example, the artist may work without any explicit intention; or again, the meaning of a work of art may shift over time according to the standpoint of its interpreters; or, in general, the artist may not be aware of the full implications of their work.  In such cases, interpretation is no longer tied to intention in any straightforward way.  In such cases one may look for an “intention” that transcends the artist and may be said to belong to the artwork itself as something that it communicates.  But this type of “communication”, which is no longer interpersonal, reaches a level where it might be said to be transpersonal: i.e. to transcend the intention of the artist and to signify in such a way that its meaning transcends (although it does not absolutely exceed) the level of communication between persons.  In this way it attains the status of a symbol.

Moreover, as a symbol, the meaning of a work of art is always in some way relative to an interpreter inasmuch as its perceived meaning may be grounded in many different contexts.  I would like to call this capacity of a work of art to belong to many different contexts its meta-contextuality.  Any artwork may be said to have this quality inasmuch as it is looked upon as a symbol, with a concomitant implication of meta-contextuality.

The perceived meta-contextual quality of a work of art comes close to being at the core of what makes it truly a work of art.  The only thing lacking to such a characterization is that it does not exclude the possibility of meta-contextuality on a purely conceptual basis.  Some highly rationalistic conceptions of religion seem to come close to fitting this criterion.  What is needed as an addition to this characterization to make it fit the conceptual area that art occupies more precisely is the further differentiation that art necessarily involves the aesthetic, non-epistemic side of human experience.

Some final thoughts toward a definition of art~

As was said at the beginning of this section, art involves a form of communication in which the epistemic aspects of language are used to communicate non-epistemic, aesthetic ones.  It is the epistemic aspects of language that may be said to present us with regular examples of words being associated with referents.  According to an epistemic point of view, of which Quine, for example, might approve, such associations would be communicated with a minimal degree of vagueness.  But in the aesthetic realm, the ideal of pure referentiality and removal of all vagueness is impossible due to the privacy (i.e. the non-objective quality) of aesthetic intentions when they arise. Thus, inasmuch as a work of art may be said to necessarily involve such aesthetic intentions, art my be said to be essentially something that may be viewed as a meta-contextual symbol, which has the capacity to communicate to us, in a sense, not only on a conceptual level, but also on an aesthetic one.

This capacity, moreover, has the potential to educate us about the aesthetic aspects of what makes us human.  Inasmuch as its proper interpretation must involve a harmonizing of the epistemic and aesthetic, it will involve some attempt to harmonize both of these aspects of human experience, and thus assist us in discovering a complete, harmonious vision of what it means to be human.