A Conception of Symbolic Truth in Art [1 ed.] 1527593533, 9781527593534

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A Conception of Symbolic Truth in Art

A Conception of Symbolic Truth in Art By

Michael H. Mitias

A Conception of Symbolic Truth in Art By Michael H. Mitias This book first published 2023 Cambridge Scholars Publishing Lady Stephenson Library, Newcastle upon Tyne, NE6 2PA, UK British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Copyright © 2023 by Michael H. Mitias All rights for this book reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner. ISBN (10): 1-5275-9353-3 ISBN (13): 978-1-5275-9353-4

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Chapter One ................................................................................................ 1 Purpose of the Book Chapter Two ............................................................................................... 8 The Question of Recognizing the Artwork Chapter Three ........................................................................................... 27 Czarnocka and the Question of Truth in Art Chapter Four ............................................................................................. 47 A Conception of Symbolic Truth Chapter Five ............................................................................................. 73 Object of Reflection in Art Chapter Six ............................................................................................... 95 Can an Artwork Communicate Truth? Chapter Seven......................................................................................... 120 Truth and the Aesthetic Judgment References and Selected Bibliography ................................................... 140

CHAPTER ONE PURPOSE OF THE BOOK

This book is an in-depth analysis of the object of reflection in the activity of creating the artwork and the process of perceiving it, and the epistemological and ontological conditions under which this activity takes place. What does the artist express or communicate in the activity of creating her work? What is the nature of the object of reflection? What kind of mind reflects on the object of reflection? Here, I assume that the creative act is not fortuitous or phantasmic, but purposeful in character; I also assume that the purpose of art is not frivolous or superficial but, on the contrary, significant, important. Accordingly, if the artwork is expressive or communicative, and if the content it expresses or communicates is significant or important, it should follow that the object the artist reflects on is essentially a desirable or meaningful reality. But, in art, the reflective act is not merely affective, for it is expressed or communicated in the medium of feeling, but also cognitive in character primarily because reflection is an activity of acknowledgment, intuition, apprehension, thinking, understanding – in short, knowing. It is impossible to reflect on an object without being conscious and cognizant of its identity; it is equally impossible to express or communicate meaningful content if the artist is not conscious or cognizant of its identity and importance. Philosophers would generally agree that the object of reflection in science is the facts that make up the scheme of nature, but they do not agree on the object of reflection in philosophy. However, despite this disagreement, I shall argue that the object of reflection in philosophy is human meaning. The realm of human meaning is the realm of human values. I shall, moreover, argue that, as a type of reality, human meaning is realized value. What is the ontological status of human value? Again, what do we mean when we say that the realm of values is the object of reflection in art?

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When we speak of any type of human value, we think of a particular concept of value. A concept is what it means. Suppose the artist reflects on a concept of value or meaning – what kind of reality do they reflect on? How does it exist as an object of reflection? The articulation of a value judgment in practical life, is an arduous and frequently daunting task. Do people not feel, especially when they face difficult moral, political, professional, or personal problems, helpless and sometimes confused when they try to make the right decision, even if they happen to know the rules they should act on? But, as we shall see, the object of reflection in art is not simply a value concept, but a cluster, a web, or a slice of value concepts, mainly because values frequently imply other values. For example, the value of friendship implies values such as trust, honesty, courage, compassion, loyalty, caring, and affection, to mention a few. What is the mode of existence of this slice in the activity of artistic creation? How is it translated into a particular content of meaning in the artwork? Unlike the philosopher and the scientist, who create definable concepts or propositions, the artist does not create a readymade reality, but the potentiality of such a reality, which can be realized in the experience of the aesthetic perceiver. Do we experience a particular feeling of joy when we listen to Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony, of love when we read Bronte’s Wuthering Heights, or of enigma when we contemplate DaVinci’s Mona Lisa? Moreover, the artist does not create a finally formed work of art; she creates a potentiality that comes to life as a work of art in the aesthetic experience. What is the mode of existence of this kind of potentiality? How does the artist reflect on it? In what sense does it exist as an object of reflection in the activity of artistic creation and the process of aesthetic perception? How can the perceiver recognize it when she approaches the painting intending to perceive it as a work of art? I raise this question because the artwork exists as an ordinary object in the world. Perceiving it as an artwork uniquely differs from perceiving it as an ordinary object. The ordinary object is physical, sensuous. The artwork qua art is not. How can human content exist in a physical object? Implied in the analysis of the object of reflection in art is the question of the consciousness, intellectual power, mind, or subject who undertakes the activity of reflection: what is the nature of this subject? How does it perform the activity of reflection as a creator and as an aesthetic perceiver? The

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process of creating the artwork consists of forming a material medium in a certain way. The artist does not create their medium; they form it. Her only contribution to the medium is the form she imposes on it. In the sphere of literature, the outcome of the creative process is a conceptual construct or framework – a narrative, a poem, or a play. This construct is an ordinary object in the sense that it is given the way a scientific or philosophical construct is given. Wuthering Heights is given as a ready-made reality to our intellect, in the same way a painting qua representation is given to our eyes as a ready-made reality. Like the painting, e.g., the Mona Lisa, which we can perceive with our eyes as a representation or as a picture of an ordinary woman seated in a certain way, we can read Wuthering Heights as a narrative. The artistic dimension of this novel inheres in its formal organization the way the artistic dimension of the Mona Lisa inheres in its formal organization. Ever since the latter part of the eighteenth century, aestheticians have relegated the task of creating, perceiving, and appreciating an artifact as a work of art to the faculty of the imagination in contrast to the intellect, which performs the task of perceiving, conceiving, and thinking about ordinary objects. The imagination reflects on and apprehends images or depictive forms; the intellect reflects on and apprehends ideas or concepts. Apprehending an idea is generically different from apprehending an image, but neither the intellect nor the imagination exists as a general or abstract faculty; it is always the intellect or imagination of a particular individual or a type of individual. How this individual or type of individual imagines is quite different from how another individual or type of individual imagines. Again, how a kind of individual imagines – e.g., a philosopher or a scientist or a mystic – is different from how other types of individuals imagine. Similarly, how one individual perceives the world or the meaning of human life differs from how other individuals perceive or think about such issues. This generalization is based on the fundamental assumption, which I shall discuss in chapter three, that the human individual is a multidimensional, complex, and complementary reality; moreover, she is a biological, anthropological, and axiological reality that is cultivated in a particular social, cultural, religious, political, technological, and geographical environment. The question I am raising is not simply metaphysical but existential and, more concretely, epistemological. How do we perceive,

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imagine, or create a certain human or material object? Can we answer this question if we do not proceed from a clear conception of the cognitive conditions under which the activity of perception, imagination, or creation takes place? In my endeavor to answer, or at least throw as much light as possible upon, these questions, I shall rely on Malgorzata Czarnocka’s conception of symbolic truth. Hers is the most cogent analysis of the logic, method, and concepts required for an adequate conception of perception. Although the focus of her attention in A Path Toward a Symbolic Conception of Truth is the concept of perception in scientific inquiry, I shall use her conception as a model of explanation in the analysis of perception in art. The essential elements of this model are her concepts of the cognitive object, cognitive subject, resemblance relation, and the epistemic conditions under which the process of perception takes place. As I argued in a recent study, I am convinced that her analysis of perception applies efficiently in any attempt to explain the epistemological basis of the logic and cognitive dynamics of perception in the realm of art (see Mitias, 2022). As far as I know, no aesthetician has advanced a more illuminating, more realistic, more lucid, or more adequate explanation of the essential nature of the concepts that make up the structure of her conception of perception. The thesis I shall defend is that the fundamental object of perception in art is human meaning or human values. This object exists as a potentiality (a) in the activity of artistic creation, and (b) in the process of aesthetic perception. First, the object the artist reflects on in the heat of the creative act is a slice of human meaning. This slice is not general or abstract; it is a particular type of meaning. Although it is a particular type, it exists as a potentiality primarily because it is a limitless possibility of realization. The artist’s objective is to delve deep into this depth, capture the largest possible dimension of it, and try to articulate it into a particular work which retains its ontic structure as a depth. Second, this particular depth of meaning, which inheres in the formal organization of artwork as a potentiality, is the object of reflection in the process of aesthetic perception. The objective of the aesthetic perceiver is to realize this depth, qua depth, in her experience. This depth comes to life in the aesthetic experience as a living world of meaning.

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In my elucidation and defense of this thesis, I shall begin with a discussion of the question of recognizing the artwork for two reasons. First, it is assumed in any type of discourse about the artwork and the aesthetic experience, and second, it presents (a) the basic categories I shall employ in my discussion of the object of reflection in art and (b) the conceptual structure of my analysis of this object. This discussion is followed by a detailed analysis of Czarnocka’s concept of perception. My objective in this discussion is to reveal the basic structure of the activity of perception and to show how this structure functions as an adequate model in the analysis of the object of reflection in art. The remainder of the book is devoted to a critical yet constructive examination of the cognitive object in the activity of artistic creation and the process of aesthetic perception. I shall now advance a summary of the frame of the present book. It should provide a kind of landscape of the main issues and problems involved in my study of the object of reflection in art. In chapter two, I explicate and defend the proposition that an adequate account of the epistemological and ontological dynamics that underlie the activity of recognizing an artifact as a work of art is a necessary condition for an adequate understanding of what it means to recognize the artwork. My discussion is composed of four sections. In the first section, I raise the question of identifying the artwork, discuss its significance, and explain the need to discuss the epistemological and ontological dynamics in our attempt to recognize the artwork. In the second section, I discuss the principle of artistic distinction, or the possession of aesthetic qualities, and then proceed to discuss the artistic dimension of the artwork. In the third section, I discuss the object of aesthetic perception with special emphasis on its ontic status. In the fourth section, I analyze the conditions under which we can recognize the artwork: possession of aesthetic sense, aesthetic versatility, and assuming an aesthetic attitude. Chapter three focuses on (a) the relevance of Czarnocka’s conception of symbolic truth to an adequate analysis of the object of reflection in art, and (b) the epistemic conditions for the possibility of truth in art. First, truth is a function of the correspondence relation between a cognitive claim and the object to which it refers. If the claim is an assertion of the object of which it is an assertion, the following question necessarily arises: what kind of relation relates the claim to the object? Is it homomorphic or isomorphic in

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character, as the majority of epidemiologists have argued? Second, if perception is a process in which we acquire knowledge of the object, what are the structural elements of this process? It is generally agreed that this process is composed of a cognitive object, a cognitive subject, and an activity in which the subject cognizes the object. What is the structure of this process? Can we articulate a true statement if we do not proceed from an adequate understanding of the relation between the cognitive object and the cognitive subject? Chapter four is devoted to a detailed analysis of Czarnocka’s conception of symbolic truth. The primary objective of this analysis is to show how Czarnocka’s conception of symbolic truth can serve as a model of explanation in examining the object of reflection in art. Czarnocka argues that an adequate examination of the elements of perception is a necessary condition for a satisfactory account of the correspondence relation, which connects the cognitive claim with the object mainly because the truth or falsity of the claim is a function of this type of relation. Accordingly, we should explore the structure of the cognitive object, how the cognitive subject perceives the object, and how the mind receives the content delivered in the activity of perceiving the object. This whole process is unusually complex. Czarnocka’s study of perception is based on the most recent findings in neuroscience and critical evaluation of the major theories of knowledge in the past century. The outcome of her study is that the cognitive claim, or any linguistic expression, is a mode of symbolic representation. The purpose of chapter five is to defend the proposition that an artwork can, in principle, communicate genuine knowledge about a dimension of human reality, problems, or human nature on a par with the kind of knowledge philosophers communicate in their systems, theories, conceptions, or dialogues. This defense is accomplished by an analysis of three questions. First, what makes an activity, a work, a discourse, or a judgment philosophical? Second, what makes a poem, a play, or a novel a literary work of art? Third, what is the source and basis of philosophical and artistic reflection or knowledge? My argument assumes that the reality that the artist and the philosopher contemplate in the process of artistic and philosophical reflection, as well as the substance of the artistic and philosophical work, is human meaning. Philosophers communicate their

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knowledge conceptually; artists communicate their knowledge depictively, symbolically. Both types of communication are modes of symbolic representation. Chapter six is devoted to explicating the thesis that the object of reflection in the activity of artistic creation and in the process of aesthetic perception is human meaning. The realm of human meaning is the realm of human values. This realm exists to the artist as a system of value concepts; it is the philosopher’s systematization of the various types of values that are the foundation of human life. Each value concept signifies a domain of meaning, and each domain is a possibility of infinite realizations. In the activity of reflecting on this domain, the artist confronts a depth, an indeterminate ocean of meaning. This depth is the object of reflection in art. The outcome of the creative activity is a concretization of the artist’s intuition of this depth and expressing it as a particular type of depth in and through the formal organization of the medium she uses as a means of expression. Next, this particular depth is the object of reflection in the process of aesthetic perception. It unfolds in the aesthetic experience as a living world of meaning. This world is the basis of aesthetic enjoyment, evaluation, and teaching. Two main ideas constitute the focus of discussion in chapter seven: the concept of truth in general and the concept of the correspondence relation between the artwork and judgment that qualifies the work. In my discussion of the first concept, I argue that absolute or indubitable truth is an unattainable ideal primarily because nature and human nature change constantly. It is more prudent to inquire into the possibility of an objective basis for any kind of judgment we make about an object. In my discussion of the second concept, I argue that an examination of the basis of the judgment should be founded on the adequate knowledge of the nature of the artwork and the epistemic conditions that underlie the construction of the judgment. The locus of this examination is the correspondence relation that connects the statement to the object. A judgment is true inasmuch as the aesthetic experience is an adequate realization of the meaning potential in the artwork, and inasmuch as the judgment is an adequate articulation of the meaning that unfolds in the aesthetic experience.

CHAPTER TWO THE QUESTION OF RECOGNIZING THE ARTWORK

Introduction The proposition I elucidate and defend in this essay is that the ability to recognize an artwork, or what it means for an artifact to be art, implies knowledge of the quality, dimension, or reality that makes the object art. However, this quality, dimension, or reality is not given as a ready-made reality, either to the ordinary senses or to the intellect. Rodin’s Thinker remains silent when we stand before it, contemplate it with our eyes, or stroke it with our fingers. Melville’s Moby Dick is a boring story when we simply read it as a narrative, and the Brandenburg Concertos are monotonous, tedious musical formations when we listen to them with our ordinary ears. Yet, these, and countless works like them in the sphere of painting, sculpture, theater, dance, photography, architecture, and music, are works of art. In addition to science, philosophy, and religion, the realm of art is a central domain of the world of culture. Each one of these domains represents a central sphere of human values. If the artistic dimension of the artwork is not given as a ready-made reality to the senses or to the intellect the way physical objects or narratives are given, how can we recognize the artwork as art? How can we appreciate it, evaluate it, or teach students how to appreciate or create it if we cannot focus our attention on the artistic dimension, which is the basis of aesthetic appreciation, evaluation, and teaching? In fact, we frequently recognize and enjoy artworks in the course of our ordinary lives in different ways and by different means. Technology has played a significant role in making the creation and experience of artworks accessible to human beings everywhere in the world. There is no need for me even to underscore the abundance of

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art and the means of appreciating it in contemporary human life. But the question I propose for analysis in this essay is neither scientific nor practical; it is epistemological and ontological in character. It is a request to explain the conditions under which we recognize – which is a cognitive activity – an artwork as art: what kind of reality does the artist create and the aesthetic perceiver enjoy? What is the stuff of this reality? Under what conditions can we recognize it when we approach an artwork with the intention of experiencing it aesthetically? These questions would not arise if the artistic dimension of the work is given to ordinary perception as a ready-made reality. This assertion is based on the assumption that the artist does not create her medium; she uses it as a means of creating the artistic dimension of her work. The sole contribution of the artist to the medium is the form she imposes on it. This form is unique, but although unique, it does not literally contain what the artist creates. In other words, her creation does not exist in the medium the way any element of the medium exists. Accordingly, we can ask: how can we move from perceiving the given form to what inheres in it? Let me illustrate the significance of this question by an example. We know that the distinctive elements of our humanity are thinking, feeling, and willing. These three elements exist in us as capacities, and their existence is an indubitable fact. The question that has intrigued philosophers since the days of Socrates and Plato to the present is not, however, the fact that human beings think, feel, and will, or the fact that they can explore the nature of thinking, feeling, and willing – rather, it is the question of what in human beings does the thinking, feeling, and willing. I can be aware of these activities and of the fact that I perform them, but I am neither aware nor cognizant of what, or who, in me performs them. The major questions philosophers of mind seek to answer are the questions of the mode of existence and the nature of the being that performs these activities. These questions would not arise if reality existed to our cognitive faculty in the same way that ordinary objects exist to our senses, or the way images and ideas exist to intellect. The primary task of the philosopher of mind is to explain the dynamics of thinking, feeling, and willing and the agent that performs them. An answer to this question is crucially important for understanding what and who we are as human beings, or for understanding the essential nature of our humanity.

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By analogy, a primary task of the aesthetician is to explore, and hopefully explain, the mode of existence and nature of the reality that makes an artifact art. I do not pretend to give a final answer to this highly difficult, contentious, and problematic question, but I shall try to shed as much light as possible on it. I hope that my answer is one that functions as a reasonable explanation in our endeavor to understand the nature and mode of existence of the artistic dimension of the artwork, with special emphasis on the conditions under which we can recognize it as art, which is a necessary condition for appreciating, evaluating, creating, and teaching about the artwork. I shall begin my discussion with a brief analysis of the question of the identity and mode of existence of the artistic dimension of the artwork, because it is difficult to explain the conditions under which we can identify the artwork if we do not have a clear idea about the kind of reality the artistic dimension is or the way that it exists in the work. In my elucidation and defense of the proposition that the ability to recognize the artwork is a necessary condition for perceiving it, I shall discuss the following questions. First, what is the principle of artistic distinction, or what makes an artifact art? Second, what is the mode of existence of the artistic dimension of the artwork? Third, under what conditions can we recognize the artwork? Here, I shall briefly analyze three conditions: possession of aesthetic sense, aesthetic versatility, and assumption of an aesthetic attitude.

What Makes an Artifact a Work of Art? Aesthetic quality is the principle of artistic distinction: an artifact is art inasmuch as it possesses aesthetic qualities. When I say that aesthetic quality is the principle of artistic distinction, I mean that the presence of aesthetic qualities in the artifact is what transforms it into a work of art. However, aesthetic qualities are not natural qualities or aspects, and they do not exist independently of ordinary objects but as qualities of such objects. This is why they are not objects of sensuous perception. In the case of literature, they do not exist independently of a narrative or a conceptual construct. Although they are neither sensuous nor conceptual in character, they are human creations, and they exist in sensuous and conceptual frameworks or artifacts. But if they are human creations, and if they do not

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exist in the sensuous medium the artist creates during the process of artistic creation, how are they created? What is the stuff out of which they are made, and how are they made to enter into the sensuous medium? As I indicated in the preceding section, the analysis of these questions is a primary task of aesthetic theory, primarily because their existence is the raison d’etre of the artwork. I shall briefly discuss the first question in this section and the second question in the following section. Let me immediately state that, in the activity of artistic creation, the artist does not create a material or any kind of sensuous or conceptual reality. She simply forms her material medium in a certain way. The form she creates is the ontic locus of the artistic dimension she creates. However, if the content she creates is not physical in character but nevertheless exists in the form, we can certainly ask, in what sense does it exist in it? Put simply. how can a non-sensuous reality exist in a sensuous medium? I propose that we can characterize this mode of existence as a potentiality – i.e., existence in potency – by virtue of the kind of form the artist creates, because this form functions as a symbolic language or representation. The meaning of any symbolic form, regardless of whether it is natural, religious, political, communal, linguistic, or cultural, always exists in the symbol as a potentiality by virtue of its mode of structural organization. As I shall presently explain in detail, a symbol is a kind of language; as such, its meaning exists in it as a potentiality. This claim implies that the meaning exists outside the parameters of the given symbol. We learn how to read the different symbolic languages in certain ways and under certain conditions of human communication. The proposition I need to underline at this point in my discussion is that the reality the artist creates, viz., the artistic dimension, inheres as a potentiality in the formal organization of the artwork. I say “inhere” because it does not exist in it directly, but indirectly. “Inhere” comes from the Latin inhaerere, “to stick in, adhere to.” The meaning of the symbol does not exist in or belong to it in the same way that water exists in a glass or the way that a tree exists in a certain natural environment. It adheres to or belongs to it by a process of supervention according to particular conventions, rules, and practices of symbolic formation. More concretely, it inheres in the dynamic interrelatedness of the elements that constitute the form as an organic unity. This dynamic interrelatedness is the source, or the birthplace, of the aesthetic qualities of

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the artwork; their unity makes up the structure of the artistic dimension of the artwork. A form that is capable of expressing or communicating aesthetic qualities is significant because it signifies, as I shall explain, a content of human meaning. This idea calls for two remarks. First, the aesthetic qualities the artist creates inhere in the formal organization of the artwork as a mosaic, not simply as features we perceive or enjoy independently of each other but as a unity. We do not stumble on this or that aesthetic quality when we contemplate an artwork aesthetically; we gradually penetrate an artistic dimension. This is why it is reasonable to say that the aesthetic qualities the artist creates constitute a dimension. This dimension unfolds in the aesthetic experience as a world of human meaning. The world may be large or small, complex or simple, great or mediocre, beautiful or ugly, shallow or deep, enduring or transient. Nonetheless, what we experience when we perceive an artwork aesthetically is a dimension of human meaning, one that exists as a kind of island in a sea or an oasis in a desert – that is, as genuinely different from the natural or ordinary world. Second, when I say that the artistic dimension inheres in the formal organization of the representation, I do not mean it inheres in its shape or appearance, nor do I mean that it mysteriously hovers over or within the representation, but in the way the whole work is formed. This assertion implies that the medium the artist employs in the creation of the artwork is part and parcel of the form of the artwork. This medium loses its sensuous character and becomes an integral part of the experience qua a particular aesthetic event. Let me elaborate on this idea in some detail. This elaboration is necessary for an adequate understanding of the conditions under which we recognize the artwork. If, in the process of artistic creation, the artist does not create a definable or a ready-made reality, should we infer from this statement that the potentiality is not a reality – for a potentiality is a possibility and not a reality, at least not yet! In what sense does an artist create a reality, or in what sense does the reality she creates inhere in the potentiality she creates? I raise this question only to shed more light on the mode of existence of the artistic dimension of the artwork, which is my primary concern in this section. The artistic dimension does not inhere in the artwork as one of its elements, nor does the work function as a receptacle in which it invisibly

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exists; it is immanent in the formal structure of the work, and it is not immanent in it the way life is immanent in the body of an organism but as a reality that can emerge, or come into being, under certain perceptual conditions. The dynamic interrelatedness of the elements that make up the formal structure of the work enables their emergence. This is why potentiality does not exist as an independent reality, but as a function of its formal organization. Change the way these elements are interrelated, and you change the identity of the artistic dimension that inheres in the work.

The Object of Artistic Creation and Aesthetic Perception For the sake of discussion, let us grant that the reality the artist creates exists in the mode of potentiality. What is the content, or stuff, of this reality? Or, what kind of datum does the artist reflect on in the process of artistic creation and seeks to communicate to the aesthetic perceiver? I raise this question because the artwork is not a frivolous object designed merely for entertainment (although it accommodates this purpose), or for killing time, therapeutic help, decoration, and similar practical purposes, but for something we deem important, something significant, something that makes a difference in our lives as human beings. I submit that the object of artistic reflection and aesthetic perception, artistic criticism, and art teaching is a slice of human meaning. The articulation and communication of human meaning is the reason for being of the whole phenomenon of art. How can human meaning exist as an object of reflection in the activity of artistic creation and aesthetic perception? Ontologically, any discourse about human meaning, no matter its kind, is a discourse about human values. Human meaning is realized value. The realm of human meaning is the realm of human values. We can distinguish four basic types of human values and their derivatives: truth, beauty, goodness, and freedom. Values such as wisdom, erudition, insightfulness, or profundity are derived from the value of truth; values such as elegance, grandeur, sublimity, or grace are derived from the value of beauty; values such as justice, friendship, courage, or tolerance are derived from the value of goodness; and values such as individuality, prosperity, success, or progress are derived from the value of freedom. The pursuit and realization of human values is the source of the meaning people crave as human beings.

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Indeed, this craving underlies the whole system of civilized existence, viz., the construction of the institutions within which people pursue their happiness. However, human meaning does not exist in the world as a part of the scheme of nature; it is not a natural fact. The craving for meaning exists as an essential urge in human nature. We crave food, shelter, drink, sex, and rest. These cravings are biological in character. But we also crave love, justice, freedom, beauty, and happiness. These cravings are human in character. A human value is a conceptual articulation of the conditions under which these cravings can be pursued and realized. The articulation under which these cravings can be fulfilled constitutes a value concept, e.g., justice or elegance. Ever since the days of Socrates, Plato, and Aristotle, philosophers have been trying to conceptualize and systemize the realm of values or meaning. However, whether at the conceptual or existential level, meaning does not exist as a ready-made object but as an inexhaustible possibility for realization. For example, love is a depth; it is an infinite possibility for realization in its different types and roles in human life socially and individually. This feature applies to all the values. Accordingly, if every value concept reflects a type of craving because it is founded in it, it should follow that a value concept – example, friendship – is a general schema or a plan of action, a kind of guidepost that points the direction to a vision or an articulation of a slice of meaning. The point I should emphasize here is that the realm of values is a kind of conceptual map that reflects the essential types of meaning people crave as human beings in the different areas of human experience – political, moral, scientific, philosophical, religious, artistic, economic, or cultural experience. An investigative study of the themes of the artworks that make up the realm of will, I think, reveals that they are value themes. Consider for a moment the passion for the ultimate that Brancusi captures in Bird in Flight; the depth of joy that Beethoven captures in the Ninth Symphony; the cry for love and human community that Van Gogh captures in The Potato Eaters; the enigma of human existence that DaVinci captures in Mona Lisa; the crushing hand of decadence that Eliot captures in The Wasteland; the depth of romantic love that Brontë captures in Wuthering Heights; or the ugliness of war that Picasso captures in Guernica. There is no need for me to lengthen this list of examples to create a picture that clearly shows that

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human values are the substance of the artworks that make up the realm of art. Now I can state that the object of reflection in the activity of artistic creation and that of aesthetic perception is a slice of human meaning or a cluster of human values. However, as I have just indicated, neither value concepts nor meaning as such exists as a ready-made reality, but as a potentiality for possible realization. The artist confronts such a slice as an ocean of potentiality. Her eyes act as the eyes of a hawk that flies into the infinite sky, or a diver who sinks into the depths of the ocean. Yes, whether it is love, joy, tragedy, or loneliness, her objective is to capture this depth as much as she can and allow it to shine in and through the form she creates. This form is significant primarily because it signifies (expresses or communicates) this kind of depth. Once she gives the meaning a form, it ceases to be merely a value concept; it becomes a value-in-action, a value with a human heart, because what was abstract is now concrete, what was silent now speaks, what was general is now particular. The artwork speaks by the power of the form the artist creates. This power inheres in the dynamic interrelatedness of its structure. Unlike scientific, ordinary, or philosophical language, which are symbolic means of communication and, in turn, communicate a particular kind of meaning, the symbolic form the artist creates is a possibility for penetrating a deeper dimension of the various types of human meaning. When I read a philosophical or scientific work, I comprehend a conceptual structure, which is given to my mind as a definable reality, but when I penetrate the depth of the meaning potential in the symbolic form of the artist, which resists exact definition, I do not merely think – I also see, feel, and understand what I see and feel. I am transported to the edge that overlooks an ocean of meaning. As I pointed out a moment ago, this ocean is a living reality that transcends the boundary of conceptual constructs. The meaning I discern comes to life in the medium of feeling, not in the medium of conception. Although the content I see, feel, and understand is not a conceptual structure, it is cognitive in character: I do not conceive, I intuit; I know by a direct acquaintance what I see, feel, and understand. I may be told that my friend is a liar or a thief. In this case, what I understand or what I hear takes place in the medium of thinking or conception. However, the knowledge I acquire when I see or discover that my friend is a liar or a thief

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would be deeper, different, and more certain than the knowledge I acquire through hearsay. I have spotlighted the object of reflection in the activity of artistic creation and aesthetic perception only to underscore the fact that the outcome of this activity is a symbolic form of an artistic dimension, one that can be a worthy object of aesthetic perception. The artwork is not a stimulus that provokes a certain feeling, emotion, mood, or state of my mind, nor is it a mere instrument for achieving a practical end – though it can serve both purposes, as in architecture, interior design, or music – rather, it is an occasion to explore a dimension of human meaning, to enjoy the life of this dimension, to appreciate its aesthetic beauty, and to grow in understanding and human feeling.

Recognizing the Artwork The artistic dimension of the artwork is a bipolar reality – that is, it has two poles: one tethered to the work the artist produces in the activity of artistic creation, and the second pole is tethered to the activity of aesthetic perception. The first pole exists as a potentiality in the formal organization of the representation the artist creates; as such, it is not real, but a possible reality. The second pole exists as a living reality. We may view these two poles as ontic loci. The artistic dimension is not a reality qua potentiality, yet it cannot exist outside parameters of this potentiality. These parameters are generally defined by the concept of the value, which gives rise to the potentiality and the generally recognized conventions, rules, and practices that govern the activity of recognizing the artwork. This is why an adequate understanding of these loci, which signify two modes of existence, is a necessary condition for knowing what it means for an artifact to be art and an experience to be aesthetic, consequently for recognizing the artwork. Moreover, it is a necessary condition for explaining the possibility of art criticism, teaching art, and art appreciation. Here, we can ask: what is the datum of these three types of activity? How can we perform these activities if we do not understand, at least have a feeling for, how this datum comes into being, how it exists in the artwork, and how it becomes a living reality in the aesthetic experience? I raise these rhetorical questions because how we understand the nature and mode of existence of the artistic dimension

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determines, in the sense of influence, how we evaluate, appreciate, and create the artwork. In the preceding section, I discussed the principle of artistic distinction, viz., the artistic dimension as a potentiality. In the first section of this essay, I discussed the principle of artistic distinction, and in the second, I discussed the object’s reflection in artistic creation and aesthetic perception. In this section, I shall discuss the conditions for recognizing artworks. But first, a remark is in order. In this remark, I shall spotlight the significance of the basic ideas I discussed in the preceding two sections. The artistic dimension of the artwork, which inheres as a potentiality in its formal organization, unfolds as a world of meaning in the aesthetic experience. This world, I propose, is the basis of artistic evaluation, appreciation, teaching, and art appreciation. Our conception of these four types of activity will be satisfactory inasmuch as our understanding of their content, texture, and the mode of existence of this artistic dimension is adequate. For example, how can we say that the Mona Lisa is a profound work of art if we do not experience and comprehend the world of meaning that unfolds in the experience – if we do not see it with our mind, feel its profundity, and understand what we see and feel? Can we make an evaluative judgment on this work merely by perceiving it as the representation of a woman gazing into an indefinite space or merely by admiring its technical or sensuous qualities? However, the artistic dimension is not given to our ordinary perception as a ready-made reality; we cannot perceive it by anyone or a combination of the five senses. I can even say that this dimension is a rather shy reality; it hides within the folds of the formal organization of the artwork. This indirect presence raises the question I spotlighted in the first part of my discussion: how do we recognize the artistic identity of the artwork, or how do we know that a certain artifact is a work of art? We may know that the artifacts that are exhibited in museums, galleries, or public buildings; those that are performed in theaters, concerts, or dance halls; or those that are erected as architectural monuments in the different cities and towns of the world are art. We cultivate skill in identifying certain, but not necessarily all, types of artworks from ordinary objects. Moreover, we may know that certain artworks are art because we read the evaluation of art critics or listen to the lecture of teachers and parents. The question

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under consideration is both epistemological and ontological in character: how does the critic, the parent, the teacher, the museum curator – in short, any official of the art world – know, distinguish, or recognize an artifact as art? Suppose I stand before the Mona Lisa and contemplate it with my ordinary eyes. How can I discern or recognize that an artistic dimension hides within its folds? Let me illustrate this pivotal point of my discussion with a living example. The organizing committee of an annual meeting of the American Society for Aesthetics, held at the University of British Columbia in Vancouver, Canada, arranged a visit to the university’s museum. The group lingered for a while in a large wing of the museum devoted to American-Indian art. An impressive assortment of sculptures was exhibited at a counter in the wing. One aesthetician wondered loudly, “are all these sculptures artworks?” This question was answered with dead silence. The silence lasted for several seconds, but the eyes of the group were suddenly directed to Francis Sparshott, a distinguished Canadian aesthetician as if to ask for an answer or a comment. Sparshott understood the meaning of the look. He raised his eyebrows, looked at the sculptures for a few seconds, and then said, “Yes, at least some of them are artworks.” “How do you know that those are artworks?” another aesthetician asked. “No one can show you their aesthetic qualities. You have to discover them.” “But how?” Sparshott smiled. “Maybe we need special eyes to discern their aesthetic qualities. Maybe we need to look at the work in a special way.” I was a member of the group of aestheticians. I had a strong feeling that Sparshott gave that kind of response because he was reluctant to discuss in any detail the conditions under which we can recognize the artistic identity of the artwork. Nevertheless, although succinct and informal, Sparshott’s response expressed the basic conditions for recognizing artworks, or for moving from the ordinary to the aesthetic mode of perception, in our attempt to explain the possibility of aesthetic perception. I shall now discuss three basic conditions for recognizing artworks.

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Conditions of Recognizing the Artwork First, Possession of Aesthetic Sense. Having an aesthetic sense is a necessary condition for recognizing the artistic identity of an artwork. In this context, by “sense,” I mean an ability to react to a quality, relation, or object and perceive, grasp, or discern its identity. I say “aesthetic” rather than “artistic” sense because the artistic quality or dimension to which we react when we contemplate the artwork as art is a perceptual quality or dimension. The artistic, as such, acquires a new identity and mode of existence in the activity of contemplating the work aesthetically. An aesthetic quality as potentiality is generically distinct from an actualized quality. For example, the eye allows the sense of sight by which we perceive or grasp the identity of any type of object in our material environment. I can look at the book that sits on my desk and perceive its blue color. In this activity, the focus of my attention is the color of the book. The color is given to my eyes as a ready-made object. Although the medium of recognizing the entity of an object is intuitive, it is not non-cognitive, primarily because the capacity of recognition is, essentially, a cognitive act. The perceptive act is an interactive event, one that takes place according to certain conditions, but it is also an intellective act, because it involves the recognition of the identity of the perceived object. Indeed, cognitive activity is a necessary condition for recognizing any object. The five senses are given similarly to all human beings. They function according to the laws that govern the natural process. Like all natural objects, they cannot deviate from the way they react to natural objects from these laws. For example, the eyes cannot perceive what the ears hear or what the hand feels when it strokes a book or a statue. Again, the eyes can see under specific conditions – e.g., they cannot see in the dark or from a far distance. Accordingly, when contemplating the painting Mona Lisa that hangs on the wall of a room in the Louvre, my eyes see the given representation and nothing else. However, unlike any of the natural senses, the aesthetic sense enables us to discern or detect the aesthetic quality or dimension that exists as a potentiality in the artwork. The ability of aesthetic sense to discern this kind of potentiality – that is, to penetrate the given representation of the artwork into the artistic dimension that lurks within its folds – is not a natural faculty. It does not function according to the laws of nature but according to the

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rules, conventions, and practices that are established by the officials of the art world – artists, art lovers, art critics, art teachers, art connoisseurs – during the past two millennia. This is based on the assumption that, unlike the natural world, the realm of artworks is a human creation. Accordingly, the conditions under which the artwork is created, appreciated, or evaluated are also human creations. However, although they are human creations, the rules, conventions, and practices originate from demands essential to the nature of art. We learn how to acquire aesthetic sense by training and experience in the process of social living in the different institutions of culture. In this process, we learn how to read a particular type of symbolic language. Whether it is in science, philosophy, or ordinary life, the content of the communication is human meaning: truth, beauty, goodness, and freedom. The means of communicating any slice of meaning is a kind of symbolic language. In the realm of philosophy, science, and ordinary life, concept, sentence, or proposition, is the meaning of communication. The medium in which any conceptual structure is communicated is the “word.” The written or spoken word is a human construct – a symbolic formation. Words are the building blocks of any type of linguistic structure in philosophy, science, literature, and ordinary language. Implied in this assertion is that language is a symbolic structure. Its diverse elements and the way they are organized are a means of communicating human meaning. We learn how to speak any kind of language through training or experience. As I have just pointed out, we learn how to speak the ordinary language at home through nuclear and extended family members and in different social institutions. We learn the languages of science, philosophy, and art formally or in school. We become proficient in the use of any of these languages the more we grow and develop theoretically, socially, and professionally. The point that deserves special mention now is that the cultivation of aesthetic sense is, in effect, the cultivation of an ability. It is not, in principle, different from the cultivation of moral, political, religious, or social sense. Each of these and similar abilities performs a special function in our lives. They are basic instruments in our endeavor to meet our human needs and realize human purposes. However, learning how to speak or write an ordinary or scientific language by experience and training is, in fact, learning a skill, an art (techne),

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because a potentiality, as such, is a depth, and because human experience is always a particular event. Any type of meaning is amenable to articulation and communication by a limitless diversity of symbolic formations. The original act of symbolization, regardless of whether it is a word, an image, or a sentence, is essentially a creation of the mind. We learn how to articulate and communicate meaning in the different areas of social, cultural, political, scientific, philosophical, and religious situations in our lives. This type of learning is, in fact, learning a skill. Any judgment we make in the sphere of practical or theoretical life is, to a large extent, creative in character, for it is essentially a translation of a general rule, law, concept, or convention into a particular judgment. This translation is an activity of reflecting on the meaning of a concept or a value as a wealth of possibility, intuiting the depth of this wealth, and then articulating its content into a judgment, which is an activity of symbolic formation. For example, when I am in a problematic situation of justice, the question I face is how I should act in this situation. The rule says, “be just!” or “be fair!” But how? No two human beings in a similar situation, and no two human beings from different cultural or historical contexts, would reflect on the wealth of meaning implied by the value of justice and then translate it into a particular judgment. Similarly, the ability to intuit the various rules, values, or concepts that are the basis of the various judgments we make in the course of practical life is a kind of skill. The more proficient a cultivated skill is, the more adequate the judgment will tend to be. How does this kind of skill enable a person to recognize an artwork? Let me reiterate that possession of aesthetic sense is a necessary but not sufficient condition for recognizing the artistic identity of an artwork. But how does it function as such a condition? The medium in which the aesthetic experience unfolds is feeling. The kind of activity involved in perceiving an artwork sensuously or conceptually is affective in character: we do not react to the sensuous representation of the artwork intellectually but affectively. Accordingly, if the artistic dimension of the artwork inheres in it as a potentiality, the only means by which the perceiver can lure it into the realm of reality, i.e., the activity of perception, is feeling. However, since it is not given to any of the natural senses, the only way of penetrating the sensuous dimension of the given representation is an intelligent feeling, viz., aesthetic sense. This sense is a function of the affective faculty of the mind. The major

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difference between it and the feelings we experience in the various domains of experience is that it is trained to respond to certain objects in a manner different from the way we react to natural objects and events. Second, Artistic Versatility. In addition to the aesthetic sense, the aesthetic perceiver should also possess a reasonable measure of artistic versatility. The etymological root of “versatility” is the French word versatilis, “to turn often”; it denotes “competence,” an ability to move or turn around in many directions. A versatile human being is a person who is not only capable of responding to a situation, seeing or examining it from different points of view, but also proficient in the way she moves from one position to another. This implies that she can shift her attention from one mental orientation to a different type of orientation; for example, we can view a crime from the standpoint of a detective, a psychologist, a sociologist, or a lawyer. We frequently confront challenging problems. Sometimes, the problem is overpowering. A naïve, guileless, or impatient person may give up her attempt to solve it, primarily because she does not know how. But a versatile person – one with fertile, keen imagination, broad knowledge, and a lively aesthetic sense – can examine the problem in terms of its cause, nature, and implications. She may look at it from different points of view and then consider a possible solution to the problem. The ability to see a problem or a situation from different points of view is a mental skill. For example, in her attempt to explain the question of the existence of God, a teacher may adopt, in her first lecture on the subject, the point of view of the believer. The student may accept the argument she advances in support of her defense. In her second lecture, she may adopt the point of view of the atheist. The students may see the force of the argument, and they may feel confused. Broadly speaking, versatility presupposes a fair measure of exuberance or erudition. One may be skilled in shifting her mental apparatus from one point of view to another, but if she is not erudite, her ability to make these shifts will be limited. The more erudite an individual is, the more easily she will shift her mental apparatus from one point of view to another. How can the teacher explain the question of God to her students if she does not possess knowledge of theism, atheism, agnosticism, and skepticism? Moreover, how can she possess this general knowledge if she

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does not know what it means to argue, analyze, or explain? How many parents or a teachers fail to influence the child or the student constructively because they cannot adopt the standpoint of the child or the student? Skill in any area of theoretical or practical experience, or in the activity of thinking, feeling, and willing, implies some knowledge of the area of the skill. Recognizing an artwork necessarily implies an ability to shift from the ordinary mode of perceiving the artwork to the aesthetic mode of perceiving it. Broadly, we may perceive an artifact from the standpoint of the physicist, the artist, the economist, the businessperson, the philosopher, or the engineer. People who are locked up in one kind of perception see, view, or understand an object from the standpoint of this point of view only because they do not have the skill to change their way of seeing, viewing, or understanding. Accordingly, it would be difficult for people who are unable to assume more than one point to shift from the ordinary to the aesthetic mode of perception – not only because they are not skilled in shifting from one mode of perception to another, but also because they may not be artistically erudite. How can I make such a shift if I do not know what it means for an object to be art or to be able to shift from one mode of perception to another? Again, how can I know to make this kind of shift if I do not possess some knowledge of the nature and role of art in human life? Third, Assumption of Aesthetic Attitude. The etymological root of “attitude” is the Italian word attitudine, which comes from the Latin word aptus – “to grasp, to touch.” I begin my discussion of the third condition with a statement of the etymological root of “attitude” because it reveals the essential features of the concept of the aesthetic attitude. We may define this concept as a mental state, disposition, or stand that we assume toward objects, events, situations, or the world as a whole and, more concretely, as a “manner of acting, feeling, or thinking that shows one’s disposition, opinion…or mental state” (WNCD). An attitude reflects a posture of mind in the process of interacting with an object, event, or problematic situation. The kind of posture the mind assumes depends on the kind of object, event, or problematic situation it reacts to, which may be personal, social, religious, political, moral, philosophical, or scientific. For example, the kind of attitude I assume when I visit my dying mother is different from the kind

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of attitude I assume when I discover that my friend is a liar and a thief, or the kind of attitude I assume when I worship in a religious place. The kind of object or situation I confront elicits or provokes the kind of attitude I assume. By analogy, the kind of attitude I assume when I approach an artwork with the intention of perceiving it aesthetically is aesthetic primarily because the artwork elicits this kind of attitude – because it comes to life in the medium of perception. What are the essential features of the aesthetic attitude? Let me at once state that these features are disinterestedness and constructive responsiveness. By “disinterestedness,” I mean the ability to perceive the artwork objectively. This condition is strongly emphasized in philosophical, scientific, legal, indeed in every serious, cognitive endeavor. The requirement of assuming an objective attitude implies that we perceive the artwork as it is in itself without the influence of external factors. This statement may seem clear, but it is not – primarily because assuming this kind of attitude is not, in principle, easy. The faculty of perception is unusually complex, and the conditions under which it performs its function are frequently tangled. Sometimes, it resists analysis because it is enmeshed in a heterogeneous composite of emotions, feelings, moods, dispositions, desires, expectations, beliefs, biases, and idiosyncrasies. Moreover, the perceiver’s degree of intellect, affect, imagination, and creativity may or may not be adequate or prepared for this kind of perception. Again, regardless of whether they are physical or mental, the objects of experience are sometimes hard to inspect or even perceive clearly. This difficulty is magnified when the object of perception is not given as a ready-made reality, but as a potentiality, and when we recognize that it is not essentially definable. The challenge, as well as the ambition, of the art critic, the art teacher, and the art appreciation teacher is to develop the most feasible manner of assuming an aesthetic attitude. However, the aesthetic attitude is not a passive state of mind aroused by an external stimulus, but a dynamic state of mind; it is an intellectual orientation, a way of thinking, feeling, and willing. Essential to this kind of interaction are responsiveness, receptiveness, and intuitiveness. The aesthetic attitude is an intentional state of mind. The more we advance in the art of aesthetic perception, the more this mental orientation grows in depth, strength, and versatility. Here, I assume that the aesthetic experience

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is cognitive par excellence. How can I appreciate Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony if I do not know the meaning of joy, love, power, and humanity? How can I delve deeper and deeper into my experience of this work if I do not comprehend the meaning of joy, love, power, and humanity? Do I not grow in understanding the deeper I delve into this masterpiece? The artist grows emotionally and intellectually in the process of artistic creation, but the aesthetic perceiver also grows emotionally and intellectually in the process of aesthetic perception. We may grant that the aesthetic attitude is a dynamic state of mind – that is, interactive, responsive, receptive, and cognitive – but in what sense is it a necessary condition for recognizing the artwork? Does the perception of the aesthetic dimension provoke this kind of attitude? Or, does assuming an aesthetic attitude enable a perceiver endowed with versatility and a lively aesthetic sense to recognize the artwork? If the perception of the aesthetic dimension provokes the aesthetic attitude, what is the use of assuming this attitude? Let me respond by saying that the aesthetic attitude is, like that aesthetic sense and artistic versatility, an established orientation in the mind of the aesthetic perceiver. No one of this trinity functions independently of the others. On the contrary, they function as an organic unity. Only an aesthetically refined aesthetic perceiver can detect the artistic dimension of an artwork. This kind of mind is a charmer! It can lure out the aesthetic dimension from its hiding place, viz., the formal organization of the artwork, with its aesthetic smile. Now, suppose a person meets all these conditions. How does she identify the artwork? This is a practical question. Aesthetic perceivers are different in the way they identify artworks. This depends on the perceiver’s life experience and the extent to which she is proficient in recognizing artworks. Alternatively, artworks do not embody their artistic dimension in the same manner. Some reveal their artistic identity more easily than others, while others resist aesthetic penetration. However, I tend to think that recognizing the artwork is not merely a skill – it is also a creative activity. A person who is a competent aesthetic perceiver can read the artwork with an admirable facility. But, in general, a skilled perceiver – that is, one who has mastered the language artworks speak – can detect the rays that shine through the formal organization of the work. Like human beings, some artworks smile, and others frown. The competent perceiver can read these smiles and

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frowns. The point that deserves special mention is that there are no rules for recognizing the identity of an artwork. As Sparshott suggested, hints, suggestions, and similar gestures or techniques can frequently be helpful, but we cannot treat them as rules!

CHAPTER THREE CZARNOCKA AND THE QUESTION OF TRUTH IN ART

Introduction In my interview for my first position in the philosophy department at a major university in the mid-sixties of the last century, I had an audience with a senior member of the philosophy department. He was an old man. His face, neck, and hands were covered with wrinkles, and his eyes emanated a solemn look that must have risen from the depths of time, as if it was a bridge between the present and the past century. In the midst of our conversation, he surprised me with the following question: “what is the major defect of the analytical and positive schools of philosophy?” This question caught me off guard. I hesitated a little, and then shot an astonished look at him. I did not answer the question immediately, and he did not utter a word when I was in the midst of my astonishment, for he was expecting an answer from me. A mysterious force, perhaps the impulse to life, surged into my consciousness. I was able to answer his question from the standpoint of Hegel’s philosophy, in which I was immersed for some years then. The old professor commended me for my philosophical understanding of Hegel, but he told me I did not give him an adequate answer. Then he looked at me with two sad yet inquisitive eyes and said, “young man, the defect, and I can say the moral crime, of these two dominant schools of philosophy, is that they divorced the quest for truth, which has been the aim and elan of philosophy from its inception in the seventh century B. C. to the first part of the last century, shortly after I was born, from the practical life of human beings. The philosophers of this long period of history were essentially social reformers. They were not merely theoreticians, system builders, speculators. The conditions under which human beings can complete

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themselves as human beings were uppermost on their minds. They philosophized to live; they did not live to philosophize! “Unfortunately, the majority of contemporary philosophers busy themselves with the analysis of this and that concept, this and that language, or this and that question without any awareness or regard for, and without any interest in the moral wellbeing of human beings. They live in a coldblooded ivory tower, as if it is the philosophical kingdom of heaven on earth, as if philosophical speculation is irrelevant to the struggle of people for a better life, as if questions regarding the meaning of human existence are not worthy of analysis, as if the question of the truth of nature and humanity is unimportant.” The professor suddenly stopped, pursed his lips for a few seconds, and cast a peaceful look at me; it was a metaphysical look, not an ordinary look at all. I was dumbfounded! He concluded our audience with the following remark: “you are young. You shall have time to think about my comment. Please, do! I wish you success.” I begin my discussion of Czarnocka’s conception of symbolic truth with this conversation, whose wisdom remained alive and a constant challenge to my mind throughout my life, only because I wish to say that one main objective in writing her book is to establish the inquiry into the nature of truth on a moral foundation. The pillar of this foundation is the criterion of objectivity: a claim to truth is not valid or authoritative if it merely serves a particular ideology, philosophy, religion, political system, or idiosyncratic purpose. This pillar has been a basis of success in the sphere of science. There is no justifiable reason why it cannot be a basis for success in analyzing truth in the sphere of human life. The object of inquiry in the realm of science is nature. This realm is an objectively given reality. Similarly, the object of inquiry into the nature in human life is the realm of values. Like the realm of nature, the realm of human values is an objectively given reality, primarily because it is founded in human nature, which is one and the same in all human beings. As I shall explain, human values are responses to essential needs of human nature, not merely to certain individuals, groups, cultures, or religions. This is the primary reason why the quest for truth cannot be subservient to any particular interests, but to the interests of all human beings. Moreover, this is why the need to establish a firm foundation, on an objective ground, for inquiring into the basis,

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nature, and method of the analysis of the concept of truth is, in Czarnocka’s A Path to a Symbolic Conception of Truth, crucial. In the introduction to this book, Czarnocka clearly states that she departs from the analytic approach to the inquiry into the nature of truth, mainly because this approach is based on the given common-sense beliefs of the nature of reality. “All existing correspondence truth concepts,” she writes, “are based on common-sense beliefs of truth which are generally accepted as obvious. In terms of content, basing philosophical concepts on commonsense beliefs and their subsequent refining and honing to ‘smooth out all burrs and bumps’ – as analytic philosophy typically does – cannot take us beyond the common knowledge about truth. Hence, the approach to the truth issue is unable to throw any essential light on the nature of truth” (Ibid., p. 9). On the contrary, the truth we should study must be based on the correspondence relation that exists between the cognitive mind and the object. Accordingly, “truth is a link between a (true) statement and reality” (Ibid.). Treating this relation as the starting point of inquiry into the nature of truth pits Czarnocka’s view of truth, which is self-less, against the utilitarian view, which is self-centered. The first is founded in the essential demands of reason; the second is founded in the demands of a person, a group, an ideology, a religion, or a philosophy. “The pursuit of truth as correspondence truth,” she writes, “is an essential sign of self-less humanity which strives for cognition for intellectual and not utilitarian purposes, which do not exhaust human longings and needs” (Ibid.). The self-centered approach to the study of truth extends to contemporary pragmatism, which has substantially deviated from the classical pragmatism of Pierce, James, and Dewey, who viewed “experience” as the basis of truth in human experience and not merely as the experience of particular individuals or groups. In Czarnocka’s words, “the pursuit of pragmatic truth, so fashionable in today’s era is marked by absurdly overgrown and degenerated pragmatism, is, in fact, a tribute to self-centered, narrow and summary particularity, which sometimes takes on a vulgar tone” (Ibid.).

Object of Perception in Art In the preceding chapter, I firstly argued that aesthetic quality is the principle of aesthetic distinction and that the unity of these qualities in the

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artwork constitutes the basic structure of its artistic dimension; this dimension exists as a potentiality in the formal organization of the work the artist fashions in the process of artistic creation. Secondly, the artistic dimension comes into being ex nihilo. Thirdly, the artistic dimension comes to life in the process of aesthetic perception; it emerges as a world of meaning in the aesthetic experience. Fourthly, whether it is in the mode of potentiality or actuality, this object is the artist’s objective in the activity of artistic creation and the aesthetic perceiver in the activity of aesthetic perception. Moreover, it is the objective of the art critic, the art teacher of art, and the teacher of art appreciation. My discussion of the process of aesthetic perception has been both epistemological and ontological in character: what is the essential structure of the reality that makes an artifact a work of art, and how do we arrive at an adequate knowledge of this reality? What is the nature of the activity in which the artistic dimension comes to life in the process of aesthetic perception? Perceiving this dimension is generically different from perceiving an ordinary object, such as this table or this tree, because the artistic dimension is not a sensuous object, and because it exists as a potentiality in the formal organization of the given artwork. The perception of a potentiality is quite different from the perception of an actuality. Thus, my question is a request to explain the nature of aesthetic perception. Implicit in this request is a demand to analyze the concept of potentiality, how it comes into being, and how it comes into being in conjunction with the structure of the perception in which it comes into being. Here, I assume that any cognitive activity is, at the same time, ontological in character, because the cognitive act is essentially intentional. In short, cognition is always the cognition of a type of object. Moreover, the perceptual conditions under which an object is perceived or known play a critical role in the kind of knowledge we have of the object. For example, the kind of method we employ in our inquiry into the nature of life, God, matter, mind, or justice determines the kind of knowledge we attain of any one of these objects. This claim necessarily raises the question of the adequacy of the method we should employ in our endeavor to know a type of reality such as potentiality and, consequently, the artistic dimension of the artwork. However, as we have seen in the preceding chapter, this dimension inheres as a potentiality in the artwork. It is not a ready-made or an independently given reality; it is a creation ex nihilo. Accordingly, the

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method by which we should examine its mode of existence and essential structure is perception. The kind of perception involved in the analysis of the artistic dimension of the artwork is, as I have just indicated, generically different from the kind of perception involved in the study of scientific, religious, or historical objects because, as an object of perception, the artistic dimension is different in its structure and mode of existence. It is generally called “aesthetic perception.” However, although it is different from the kind of perception involved in scientific, religious, or historical inquiry, it is nevertheless perception. This is because, regardless of its kind, perception is an interactive event between the senses or the intellect and the object, in which the mind apprehends, grasps, or intuits some of its features. I say “interactive” because, as I shall discuss, the mind and the object are dynamic realities. The mind is not a tabla rasa, but a creative, apprehending, grasping faculty; similarly, the object is not a passive or inert object waiting to be apprehended or grasped by a mind, but a dynamic unity of its elements qua capacities. However, the kind of object the mind perceives determines the nature and kind of perception in which it is cognized. However, unlike the ordinary, scientific, or historical object, the artistic dimension is a bipolar reality. It simultaneously, yet paradoxically, exists as a potentiality in the formal organization of the artwork and as an actuality in the aesthetic experience. It cannot exist as a potentiality if the potentiality is not real – yet, the potentiality is not an actuality, at least not yet! The paradox is resolved by virtue of the fact that the potentiality comes to life in the aesthetic experience. Outside this experience, neither the potentiality nor the actuality has a claim to reality because a potentiality is not yet a reality in the proper sense of the word “real.” The question that challenges the aesthetician is: how can we perceive the artwork as art? Or, how can we perceive the artwork as art? Or, how can we perceive the artistic dimension that inheres in it as a potentiality? The focus of this question is the conditions under which we perceive potentiality as a particular kind of potentiality, in a particular kind of formal organization. This question is especially significant because the sensuous or conceptual stratum of the artwork is transformed, in the process of aesthetic perception, into an integral element of the aesthetic object as a spiritual reality.

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Since the artistic dimension inheres in the artwork, which is a physical or conceptual object, and since the perception of the work is a necessary condition for perceiving it in the mode of potentiality, it is, I think, important to begin the analysis of the conditions under which we can perceive it in its mode of potentiality with an examination of the structure of perception. In the preceding chapter, I discussed the conditions under which we recognize the artwork. We should view these conditions as “formal” because their fulfillment is not sufficient for perceiving the artistic dimension qua potentiality. The process of aesthetic perception begins when we distance ourselves from our subjective and objective world and move into the artistic dimension of the work. In this and the following chapter, I shall discuss the conditions under which we can perceive the artwork as a sensuous object. I shall discuss the literary work as a conceptually given object in a separate chapter. I adopt this method of discussion because an adequate analysis of the given object of perception should shed ample light on the way a potentiality inheres in a material or conceptually constructed object. As we shall see, a discussion of the concept of perception is vital to the analysis of aesthetic perception for two main reasons. First, it will serve as a model in the analytical examination of the perception of the artistic dimension as a potentiality and the conditions under which it can be actualized. Second, the apparatus and dynamics of the perceptive faculty are the basis of the activity employed in perceiving the artistic dimension. The concept of perception is central to the analysis of the origin, perception, and formation of the artwork. I say “central” because, as I indicated a moment ago, the artistic dimension is a bipolar reality. It exists as a potentiality in the formal organization of the work and as a reality in the aesthetic experience. These two modes of existence are distinct. The artistic dimension, which is the object of artistic reflection in the activity of creating the artwork, and the object of reflection in the activity of creating the aesthetic object, logically imply each other. A potentiality is not a potentiality if it is not a possible reality, and a reality is not a reality if it is not a realized potentiality, as we shall see in detail in the following chapters. Perception is the medium in which the artwork comes to life as an aesthetic object. If I am to express myself metaphorically, I can say that the life of the artwork is lived and fulfilled in the medium of aesthetic perception. This is the primary reason a viable conception of perception, one that functions

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as a model of explanation, is crucial for an adequate analysis of the concept of the artwork and the aesthetic experience. I shall now proceed to a brief discussion of Malgorzata Czarnocka’s conception of perception. This discussion will be the basis of my analysis of the object of reflection in the activity of artistic creation and that of aesthetic perception. I shall focus my attention on the structural elements of the symbolic conception of perception. I begin my discussion of this conception for three reasons. First, her analysis of the concept of perception is based on the most recent findings in neuroscience, philosophy of mind, and theory of knowledge. In this analysis, she blends the philosophical and scientific way of thinking with the imagination of the artist and the analytical mind of the philosopher. I do not know of a more comprehensive, more insightful, and more adequate theory of perception. Second, although Czarnocka intended her theory as a principle of explanation in the sphere of scientific knowledge, it functions adequately as a model of explanation in our attempt to analyze perception as a basis of artistic creation and aesthetic perception. The function of any model of explanation is to shed as much light as possible on the origin, structure, implications, and significance of a phenomenon. As my discussion unfolds, I hope to show that Czarnocka’s conception of perception functions adequately in the analysis of the source, structure, implications, and significance of the artistic and the aesthetic as such. Third, distinctive to Czarnocka’s conception of perception is her thesis that any form of human expression is symbolic in character. Not only in science and philosophy, but also in art, the expressive act is communicated symbolically. Like the scientific judgment, which Czarnocka discusses in detail, the artwork is a symbolic representation. Whether it is in philosophy, science, religion, or ordinary life, the signification of the symbol is human meaning.

The Topic of Truth in Art “Czarnocka’s conception of perception, which will be the basis of your forthcoming inquiry into the nature of artistic creation and aesthetic perception,” my loyal critic would now wonder, “was devoted to an analysis of perception in the area of scientific knowledge. This kind of inquiry darts at the question of truth in art. Your proposed plan of analysis assumes that the object of reflection in the process of artistic creation, and which is the

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object of reflection in aesthetic perception, is cognitive in character. The object of reflection is a source of the kind of knowledge the artist aims to communicate to her audience. However, unlike the scientist or the philosopher, who aims to communicate knowledge conceptually, the artist aims to communicate the knowledge she acquires in the activity of reflection symbolically – depictively, imagistically, or representationally. The difference between scientific and artistic knowledge consists in employing varying types of symbolization – in science, it is linguistic, while in art, it is depictive in character. But your assumption is problematic, if not aporetic. It simply raises the following questions: Does the artwork communicate knowledge? If it does, what kind of knowledge does it communicate? If the knowledge communicated is genuine, is it verifiable? Can it be elevated to the status of truth the way it is in science and philosophy? Moreover, if, as Czarnocka argues, the correspondence relation is the ontic locus in the determination of the veracity of any statement or any cognitive claim, what is the cognitive object in art? In science, a cognitive object is a natural object or a slice of nature; accordingly, it is a given directly to perception. Is the cognitive object in art an objectively given reality, or is it given directly to intellectual or sensuous perception? The target of these questions is the correspondence relation. How can we determine or inquire into the nature of the truth or falsity of any claim to knowledge if the cognitive object is not given as an objectively given reality? Indeed, the absence of an objectively given object is what inclined Czarnocka to sideline inquiring into the nature of symbolic truth in literature, cosmology, religion, mathematics, and metaphysics primarily because truth is a function of the correspondence relation between a cognitive subject and a cognitive object. Otherwise, the claim to knowledge would be subjective. But such a claim cannot be validated satisfactorily although it might be useful or even truthful.” This whole line of reasoning assumes that scientific truth is paradigmatic, in the sense that it is the standard or criterion we should employ in our endeavor to establish the truth status of cognitive claims, according to which a claim to truth is established if it passes the test of empirical verification. But, first, this assumption implies that scientific truth is the only authentic, authoritative kind of truth. Consequently, the scientific method is the only method of establishing the truth status of any claim to knowledge. But it is

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doubtless that all philosophers, and even all scientists, would accept the legitimacy of this implication because of two other dimensions of reality, viz., the human and metaphysical domains, which exist side by side with the domain of nature. While the first two domains exist indirectly to the human mind, the second exists directly to the senses. As I shall explain, the domain of humanity is not an abstraction; it is a real domain, and its reality constitutes a distinct domain of being. The fabric, or substance, of this reality is realized value in the abundance of its kinds. It is manifested in two modes of being. The first is metaphysical, and embraces the realm of values, and the second is concrete, and embraces the realm of civilization or the realm of human life both objectively and subjectively. We may characterize the domain of humanity as the domain of realized values. For example, the institution – which comprises a system of laws, legislature, lawyers, law schools, law courts, judges, police, law libraries, to mention some important departments of this institution – is a concrete realization of the value of justice. The same applies to the other institutions that make up the structure of civilized existence. We become the human individuals we are in growing and developing within these institutions. Whether individual or social, human life – i.e., the life that throbs in the hearts and minds of living human beings – emerges when a slice of values, whose existence is essentially metaphysical, is realized in a sphere of human experience. This realization is the ultimate basis of civilized endeavor or achievement. The realm of art is an instantiation of this type of realization. “Let us, for the sake of discussion, grant,” my critic would now intervene, “that the human and metaphysical domains of being are real, that the human domain is a realization of human values, and that the reality of humanity is on par with the reality of nature, although some philosophers and scientists would doubt this equivalence – the focus of my concern is the correspondence relation between the cognitive object in art, on the one hand, and the artist and the aesthetic perceiver as cognitive subjects on the other. In what sense is the object of reflection in the activity of artistic creation an ‘object’? Again, in what sense is the aesthetic object – that is, the object that comes to life in the aesthetic experience – an ‘object’? Does a correspondence relation exist between the object of reflection in the activity of creating artwork and perceiving it aesthetically? Does a real object – that is, one that can be recognized inter-subjectively – exist in

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creating and experiencing the artwork? I underline this question because any claim to knowledge acquires the status of truth inasmuch as it passes the test of verification. Can the cognitive object in art be identified? Can the knowledge communicated be verified objectively?” These questions assume that the natural object (for example, the pen with which I am writing these words) is the only type of reality that can be an object of knowledge. However, I tend to think that any real object can be an object of reflection. Do we not reflect on “mind,” “life,” “existence,” “triangle,” “beauty,” “humility,” “faith,” “infinity,” “space,” “friendship,” or “time”? Can we deny that they can be objects of reflection? No. The term “object” comes from the Latin word objectus, meaning “a casting before, that which appears.” Not only are the things that make up the fabric of nature objects of reflection, any thing, or phenomenon, that shows up in the realm of consciousness is also an object of reflection. Natural objects are one kind of real object. Broadly speaking, objects can be sensuous, mental, metaphysical, mathematical, spiritual, or transcendental. What matters in this context is that “object” refers to any reality that appears to the reflective consciousness. However, the critical question is not merely the mode of existence of an object, but also its identity or definability. Is the object of reflection in art identifiable or describable? Can we refer to or describe it the way we refer to or describe natural objects? We should make a distinction between subjective and objective truth. In both cases, a correspondence relation exists between the cognitive object and the cognitive subject. The truth entailed by the first is subjective, and the truth entailed by the second is objective. For example, a person who suffers from a severe case of hallucination may honestly believe that his sister is carrying a dagger. He may claim that he sees both his sister and the dagger that is moving toward his chest. In this case, a correspondence relation exists between the hallucinatory person and the person about to stab him with a dagger. We can verify that neither the sister nor the dagger exists, but can we deny that the hallucinatory person sees his sister, who is about to stab him with a dagger? If we suppose that the hallucinatory person actually sees his sister with a dagger in her hand, for we cannot deny the existence of the hallucination in the mind of the hallucinatory person, we can say that his assertion that he sees his sister with a dagger in her hand is true, but this kind of truth is subjective, not objective, because his experience

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cannot be verified objectively. Next, suppose that the meteorologist says that the moon will be eclipsed by the earth tomorrow. In this case, a correspondence relation exists between the statement of the meteorologist and the moon. The lunar eclipse may or may not occur; what matters is a correspondence relation between an assertion and objective fact. In either case, the truth or falsity of the statement will be determined by observing the moon on the following day. If it occurs, the truth of the assertion will be objective because it can be confirmed by objective means – direct empirical observation. I assume that my critic is interested in the possibility of objective truth in art. She wonders whether we can establish the existence of a correspondence relation between the cognitive object, the cognitive subject in the activity of artistic creation, and the process of aesthetic perception. If we cannot describe or identify the cognitive object, it would be difficult to speak of truth in art because a correspondence relation cannot be established. Such an object may exist to the artist or the aesthetic perceiver, but it would be an object exclusively to the artist or the aesthetic perceiver. Accordingly, any discourse about truth in art is meaningful only if we can provide an adequate account of the cognitive object in the activity of artistic creation and that of aesthetic perception, as well as the conditions under which a correspondence relation exists between them. This account should include an adequate, or at least reasonable, explanation of the extent to which the cognitive object in art is a real object and, therefore, can be a basis of knowledge. Here, I assume that the existence and knowledge of the natural object is not the only basis of objective knowledge. It seems to me that the criterion of this kind of knowledge is not exclusive, but also inclusive of real objects. Accordingly, the criterion of objectivity is not naturalness or sensuousness, but realness, or reality, because the real is a basis of objective knowledge by its very nature. Otherwise, it would not be reality, because reality is a higher mode of existence. A natural object may exist, but it may not be real (not to human beings), but a real object necessarily exists. This distinction implies that existence is a mode of being; it is a genre because it includes more than one kind of being. The being of natural objects is one mode of being, but it is not the only mode. As I indicated a moment ago, mental, metaphysical, or spiritual objects entail different modes of being.

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If the basis of knowledge is reality, how should we understand “reality”? More concretely, what are the differentiae of reality? If I am to invoke Russell’s theory of descriptions, I can say that the reality of any object consists of the set of descriptions that sum up the essential features which constitute its nature (Russell, 1961). The features that are the source of the descriptions are the basis of any type of knowledge or discourse about any type of object. What is the atom, life, Rome, the Indian Ocean, the Emir of Kuwait, or the North Pole, which are each supposed to be natural objects, but the set of descriptions we have or can have of each of them? For example, observe the stages of development through which the concept of the atom has passed, and is still passing, from the days of Democritus to the present day – if we do, we shall discover a developing, evolving concept of the reality of the atom. What is this concept but the unity of the descriptions we have of the object we call “atom”? Do we not discover similar concepts when studying the historical development of concepts such as life, space, time, or gravity? Again, suppose we ask: what is the Emir of Kuwait? What is he but the set of descriptions we have of that particular human being – the features relating to his body, his thoughts, feelings, actions, achievements, emotions – and the way he governs his emirate? My critic would now remind me of the distinction between the objectin-itself, and the object as it appears to our reflective consciousness. I grant the prevalence of this distinction in the history of philosophy, and that which we assume in our analysis of real objects, but regardless of whether the object-in-itself is or is not knowable, the reality of the object consists of the unity of the descriptions we have of it. What is our concept of the unknowable but the set of descriptions we have of it? Can we speak of the unknowable if our speech is not based on this set of descriptions? Can it be a real object of discourse without this assumption? Again, what is Socrates, Dante, Newton, Rembrandt, or Tolstoy but the set of descriptions we conceive when we think or discourse about them? Our thought or discourse may be adequate, inadequate, or even false, but the basis of the thought or discourse is the kind of descriptions we have of them. What is the apple I see hanging on the branch of the apple tree but the descriptions we use when we encounter or talk about it? We do not encounter objects-in-themselves in the marketplace or on the campus of universities; we encounter concrete,

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living, perceptible, describable objects. If these objects have an essence that exists in itself, this essence shines through the qualities that give rise to the descriptions; or, to use Hegel’s account, which he expounded in the smaller Logic, the essence shines through the appearance. Can we speak of the object-in-itself if it does not reveal the essence from which it arises, and because of which it exists? In our attempt to analyze the nature of the given object, I tend to think that, instead of arguing from the essence to the appearance, we should argue from the appearance to the essence, in the sense that we know the essence by an examination of the appearance in and through which it appears in the natural and human world. The living reality of our experience of this kind of appearance is the epistemological basis of any examination or analysis. Do we not inquire into the nature of the sun by an examination of the light that emanates from it? Do we not inquire into the nature of the human mind by an examination of the actions or activities human beings perform? Although this line of reasoning is, to my mind, cogent, one may still point out that it is logically and epistemologically difficult to recognize the existence of an object without assuming the existence of an object-in-itself. Maybe logically, but not epistemologically, because the contrary of this assumption is equally valid. As Czarnocka argued, it is epistemologically impossible to inquire into the nature of the object without assuming the objective existence of the object. The validity of this claim is, I think, superior, more cogent than the claim, which assumes the inability to know the object-in-itself. It is like the claim of an impotent king who proudly and boisterously claims that he is the king! “Let us assume, as you do,” my critic would intervene, “that reality is the criterion by which we can establish the objectivity of the cognitive object. This claim assumes that an object is an objectively given object, inasmuch as it is real. Let us also assume that nature is not the only domain of reality – what is the method by which we can (a) know the object, and (b) determine the truth or falsity of our knowledge of the object? In the domain of natural reality, which is the subject of scientific investigation, the method employed in cognizing an object and verifying its truth or falsity of our knowledge is the empirical method of verification.” Generally speaking, the method employed in knowing a real object is always appropriate to the kind and nature of the object. The method

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employed in exploring the nature of past incidents, achievements, or character is different from the method of knowing God, beauty, mathematical entities, mental events, or moral values. Regardless of its kind, the method of cognizing a real object and verifying the truth or falsity of our knowledge of the object must be clearly and adequately conceived. We can generally say that the method employed in cognizing any real object is implied by the nature of the object. For example, the method employed in cognizing a natural object and verifying the truth or falsity of our knowledge of the object is the empirical method. The basis of this method is observation or sense perception. Its design is based on the fact that natural objects are essentially sensuous objects. In contrast, mathematical numbers, figures, or relations are abstract entities; they are not a part of the natural world. They exist exclusively to the intellect. Intuition, conception, and deduction are the means of knowing and validating our knowledge of these entities. We can take metaphysical objects, e.g., the Infinite, the One, or the Absolute, as examples of objects that fall between mathematical and natural objects. Any discourse about a metaphysical object is founded on a synoptic contemplation of the domain of nature as a whole. The inference or intuition of the metaphysical object is inconceivable apart from this kind of contemplation. This assertion is based on the assumption that the basis of our knowledge of the infinite is twofold: (a) contemplation of the universe in the plentitude of its being, and (b) intuition of a reality that transcends or underlies it. Usually, this kind of contemplation is not initiated by a whimsical or fortuitous impulse or desire, but by a justifiable aim or a need to explain the nature, design, and purpose of existence in general and human existence in particular. Accordingly, the truth or adequacy of a concept of the infinite is determined or verified by the extent to which it sheds light on the objective for which the concept was constructed is based on a rational, comprehensive, analytical observation of the cosmic process and the dynamics of human life as a historical reality. When we move our investigative eye to the realm of art, we encounter a completely different type of reality, primarily because the aesthetic object, which is the object of reflection in the activity of artistic creation and in the activity of aesthetic perception, does not exist as a readily definable or concretely given object. In these types of activity, it exists as a potentiality. First, the object the artist reflects on in the activity of creation is a slice of

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human values. This slice exists as an abstract, potential reality; second, the outcome of the creative process also exists as a potentiality that inheres in the formal organization the artist creates. This very potentiality is the object of aesthetic perception. In the following chapters, I shall discuss the sense in which the object of reflection is a cognitive object in the artistic and aesthetic process. In both domains of activity, the object of reflection is a cognitive object. The creative process is essentially exploratory, cognitive activity; its objective is to communicate the knowledge acquired in this kind of activity. Similarly, the object of reflection in the process of aesthetic perception is cognitive. The aesthetic object that unfolds in the aesthetic experience as a world of meaning is informative – that is, it is enlightening, insightful, and a source of genuine knowledge. Here, I assume that the cognitive object in art is binary; instead of one, we encounter two cognitive objects. The object the artist reflects on in the activity of artistic creation is cognitive in the sense that it exists and that it is a source of the knowledge the artist communicates to her audience. However, this object is not an object in the ordinary sense of the word. It is not definable or identifiable because it is not a reality, not yet, but a potentiality that inheres in the formal organization of the work. Accordingly, the knowledge it communicates is relatively general. It is a possibility of another act of reflection. We can say that the slice of values the artist reflects on, and which exists as an abstract object, is transformed into another kind of object – a concretely crafted object. It becomes real in the aesthetic experience. Nonetheless, in its two modes of existence, it is a potentiality for infinite possible realizations. It seems to me that the real object of reflection in art is practically the object the artist creates sui generis and embodies as a potentiality in her artwork – but is it? My answer to this question is “not exactly”, because the work the artist creates is a potentiality, but a potentiality is not a real object; she creates the possibility of a real work. Accordingly, we would not be mistaken if we say that the aesthetic perceiver is a co-author of the work, primarily because she perceives it as a potentiality and because she creates a real work out of this potentiality. What if an artist creates a masterpiece, but no one perceives it – is it a work of art? No. This is a reason why it is reasonable to say that the locus of truth in art is the correspondence relation that exists between the artist as a cognitive subject and the slice of value as a cognitive object, on the one hand, and the

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perceiver as a cognitive subject and the artwork as a cognitive object on the other.

Toward a Concept of Perception In contradistinction to a long-standing tradition in philosophy, according to which the domain of inquiry into the nature of truth is the logical and conceptual analysis of the various types of language, each one of which communicates a significant type of knowledge, for example, scientific, philosophical, religious, moral or political language, (Czarnocka, pp. 21118), Czarnocka argues that this domain is the correspondence relation that exists between a real object and the mind that knows the object and more concretely, between an assertion and the object of which it is an assertion. We understand the nature of truth by examining the structure of the relation between the assertion and the object, not by examining the structure of an already existing language. The analysis of linguistic statements, Czarnocka argues, is not a sufficient basis for an adequate understanding of the nature of the truth (Ibid.). Put differently, the cognitive act is essentially intentional; it is always the cognition of an object. Accordingly, the truth or falsity of a statement, or the degree to which it is true or false, should be explored by studying the relation between the statement and the object, which is its basis – that is, by the extent to which the statement is “true to” the object. Therefore, the primary aim of investigating the nature of truth is “to grasp the character of the relation between the object of truth and the true cognitive results” (Ibid.). The study of the relation in which we cognize an object, and which results in a statement about the object, should be the primary task of the theory of knowledge, because it reveals the nature of the process in which the cognitive act takes place in view of its source, structure, truth, and implications: “the character of the correspondence relation is best discernible in the analysis of the processes of acquisition of knowledge, in tracing the epistemic path from being to the constitution of the object of cognition and a true statement about the object” (Ibid., p. 122). This relation is not a physical or given object; it comes into being in the event of cognizing an ontologically given object. It “is constituted simultaneously with the initiation of the cognitive process and therefore an epistemic relation which

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doubtlessly depends on the possible cognitive conditions, including the possible conditions of the subject” (Ibid.).

Metaphysical and Epistemological Realism The proposition that the correspondence relation should be the focus of inquiry into the nature of truth implies a soft version of metaphysical realism: “the assumption of realism is a necessary assumption in the studies of truth understood as correspondence because its negation makes such an understanding of truth impossible. Needed here is not any specific kind of realism but its most general, hence weakest conception from which all subsequent variations stem” (Ibid., p. 124). The basic premise of this assumption is that the cognitive object is real and that it is independent of the mind that cognizes it. The main reason for this assumption is that the identity or nature of the object cannot be assumed prior to the act of knowledge. Otherwise, to know the object would be superfluous. The act of knowledge is, in the first place, initiated primarily because the identity or nature of the object is not yet known. This identity or nature is established after the act of knowledge is completed. However, although this assumption does not necessarily entail knowledge of the object, it implies that “reality beyond that subject (non-subjective reality) and beyond the process of cognition (non-epistemic reality which is prior to and ontically more primary than cognitive processes and the truths they create) – is cognizable and at times cognized” (Ibid., p. 126). The claim that the object is real – that it exists independently of the mind that knows it and that it is cognizable – implies that it can be experienced under different perceptual conditions. Accordingly, our knowledge of it is a construct made up of its perceptual features. This is mainly why the only thesis soft realism postulates is “the existence of reality which is categorically different from its cognitive representations. Such reality is ontically primary; its existence precedes the cognitive operation applied to it. In other words, reality is not ex nihilo, subjective, and purely mental construct” (Ibid.). The point which Czarnocka emphasizes is that the ontic priority of the object does not entail epistemological priority, for the object would not exist as a cognitive object without a mind that cognizes it. It simply recognizes the existence of the object as a necessary condition of the

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cognitive process. This is based on the assumption that the cognitive subject should be approached “as it exists in reality.” This claim is tantamount to a rejection of the idea “of the transcendental subject – one that is derived from the fact of knowledge as a necessary condition of cognition and usually regarded as world-alien and non-empirical” (Ibid., p. 127). This idea is not only abstract, but it also naively ignores the dynamic nature of human natural reality. On the contrary, “both human existence (or more precisely, its possible modes) and human nature are immersed in reality, and therefore conditioned by it” (Ibid.). While the mind experiences the object from particular, subjective, and existential perceptual conditions, the object confronts the mind as an indeterminate object, one that acquires a certain identity in the cognitive process. Accordingly, the relation between the mind and the object is not a natural reality, and yet it connects the mind to the object and transforms its reality into knowledge. If it exists – and it does – it comes into being as an act of the mind. This is a reason why an inquiry into the truth of our knowledge of the object is this very experience, which is interactive in its structure. This assertion implies that neither the mind nor the object can be excluded in our study of the truth of our knowledge of the object, and this is why the study of the truth should focus on the correspondence relation. As we shall momentarily see, the experience of the object plays a decisive role in comprehending the truth of the object. We can even add that the “frame,” or skeleton, of the experience is, to a large extent, determined by the essential structure of the object. I have made this brief remark only to accentuate the importance of Czarnocka’s emphasis on assuming a mild version of metaphysical realism, for, without this assumption, the object would be at the mercy of the mind that perceives it, as we see in cases of radical epistemological idealism, e.g., Berkeley’s idealism. This version of idealism cannot explain the nature of truth of the different types of objects, for it reduces the object to an ideational construct and deprives the mind of any means of verifying the knowledge acquired by the mind.

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Perception as Medium of Inquiring into the Nature of Truth in Art It should follow from the preceding discussion that the cognitive act is a bipolar reality; it is an interactive event that takes place between the cognitive object and the cognitive subject. This event, which is a process, is called perception; it is the ontic locus in our attempt to inquire into the nature of the correspondence relation. The word “perception” comes from “to perceive,” which in turn comes from the Latin word percipere, meaning “to take hold of,” “feel,” “comprehend,” or “grasp mentally” (WNWCD). We say that the object of perception is a “cognitive object” and the mind that perceives it a “cognitive subject” because the subject that aims to know the object functions as a cognitive mind, as the kind of mind that can know. For Czarnocka, “the most complete and adequate insight into the correspondence relation is achieved by tracing the cognitive processes, equivalently, the process of acquiring truth. An especially effective way of revealing the nature of correspondence truth is by analyzing perception” (Ibid., p. 129). However, Czarnocka defines “cognitive object” rather narrowly, because she assumes that the object of cognition is the scientific object, viz., the natural or physical object. If we restrict our study to this kind of object, we shall necessarily exclude other types of objects from the study of truth – for example, religious, literary, mathematical, and metaphysical objects. This raises the following questions: can a type of value or human meaning be an object of perception? Is the ream of human values unreal? Is the artistic dimension of artistic creation unreal? Is the aesthetic object, the object that unfolds in the aesthetic experience, unreal? Can we reduce the object of any value experience to a mere act of the imagination? It seems to me that if we restrict “reality” to the realm of nature, it follows that the realm of nature would have an exclusive title to truth. We may readily claim that the realm of nature is real, although some metaphysicians view it as an appearance, but can we readily deny that the realm of human values is real? If, as I shall argue in the following pages, it is real, then we need to explain the sense in which it is real, and the kind of truth we can attribute to it. Although I shall argue that the realm of human values is real, possibly as real as the realm of nature is, and therefore can be an object of knowledge, the question of the method of cognizing a human

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value as an object is crucially important: by what method can we know and establish the truth of our knowledge of a human value? The proposition I shall clarify and defend is that a value is a non-natural object. Therefore, the method of verifying the truth of our knowledge of it must necessarily be generically different from knowledge of a natural object. Nevertheless, Czarnocka’s conception of truth functions is an effective model of explanation in the investigation of the nature of truth in the realm of human values. In the following chapter, I shall advance an analysis of Czarnocka’s conception of the cognitive object and the cognitive subject. This analysis will be the basis of my discussion of perception, in which the correspondence relation, and the method appropriate for its communication, is revealed. The idea I shall spotlight is that Czarnocka’s analysis of the concepts of the cognitive object and the cognitive subject – which is absent from most, if not all, contemporary theories of knowledge – functions as an effective model of explanation in the analysis of (a) human values as objects of reflection or knowledge in the activity of artistic creation, with special emphasis on the fact that this object exists as a potentiality in the formal organization of the artwork, and (b) how this object unfolds as a world of meaning in the process of aesthetic perception. The structure of this model consists of two basic elements. First, Czarnocka’s novel analysis of the concepts of the cognitive object and cognitive subject, and the indispensability of this analysis for an adequate explanation of the possibility of truth. Second, the logic that underlies her analysis of the correspondence relation. The model derives its power of explanation by being a basis of an analogy. If a conception is adequate by virtue of its type of analysis and the logic that underlies the analysis, then emulation of these elements would be adequate in the explanation of problematic aspects within the same class of objects. Put slightly differently, if the logic and method of analysis contribute to the adequacy of the conception of truth in the analysis of natural objects, it should follow that adopting this logic and this method would also contribute to the adequacy of the analysis of the concept of truth in art. In other words, given a class of objects, if the method of and logic of analysis of a problematic aspect of one type of object in the class is successful, we can successfully employ the same method and the same logic in the analysis of problematic aspects of other types of objects within the same class.

CHAPTER FOUR A CONCEPTION OF SYMBOLIC TRUTH

Czarnocka’s Conception of Perception The problematic aspect of our attempt to explain the dynamics of the cognitive act is how we might arrive at an adequate understanding of the correspondence relation – i.e., the relation in which the cognitive act takes place. This relation is the structural medium in which perception takes place: “it is a well-known fact,” Czarnocka writes, “that the question of forming inquiries into perception is crucial as it determines what is to be investigated with regard to the content and image of perception. In other words, one must first select the type of perception conception which promises the most complete disclosure of the correspondence relation that is constituted in the activity of perceiving” (Czarnocka, 2017, p. 135). This premise is based on the assumption that our knowledge of the object is articulated, formed, or constituted in the method and the kind of perceptual conditions under which the cognitive act occurs. An adequate account of these conditions is necessary for understanding (a) the kind of relation that exists between the object and the idea, or statement, which refers to it, and (b) the kind of method we choose for the verification of the truth of the idea or statement. To begin, Czarnocka rejects three generally recognized approaches to the concept of perception, primarily because they fail to provide a reasonable explanation of the correspondence relation that connects the object and the statement that refers to it – put differently, because it fails to explain how this act is performed and how our knowledge of the object is articulated or communicated as a statement or a type of linguistic expression. The first approach, which dates back to the early empiricists (e.g., Locke, Berkeley, and Hume), and reached its highest development in twentieth-century empiricism (e.g., Russell, Wittgenstein, and Ayer), is

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generally known as the sense-datum conception of perception, according to which “sense-data are objects which appear in the mind of the subject during the act of perceiving” (Ibid., p. 136). These data are the object of perception; they are the stuff out of which the cognitive content is transformed into a kind of linguistic expression. The questions that the advocates of this approach cannot answer are as follows: what are these data? What is their ontic status? How do they come into the sphere of consciousness? They are not created by the mind that perceives them; accordingly, they are not mental states. If they are not mental states, then, in what sense are they the basis of the cognitive act? On the other hand, if they are mental in character, in what sense can we speak of an object of the cognitive act, and hence subjective idealism? The main difficulty of this approach to perception is that it cannot explain the relation between the cognitive act and the object of perception: “phenomenalistic and idealistic theories of perception based on the sense data category,” Czarnocka argues, “preclude inquiry into the relation between sense data and what they represent right at the outset. In effect, they exclude the representation (correspondence) relation either on the epistemological level…or on the ontological level (in claiming that the external object which exists beyond and independently of the object is nothing but an epistemic illusion)” (Ibid., p. 137). The second approach to the study of perception is the language analysis approach. “Here, the study of perception is limited to the linguistic results of perceptual acts, i.e., analysis of perceptual propositions and terms” (Ibid., p. 138). This limitation necessarily precludes any reference to the reality of the object of perception in the attempt to explore the nature of the correspondence relation, because the datum of the linguistic analysis is a given language and not the reality we seek to know. It assumes that knowledge of reality is the task of the scientist, not that of the philosopher. However, the issue at hand is the relation that exists between the language the philosophical analyst studies, and the reality that is the basis of the language. The third approach that Czarnocka rejects is the neuroscientific approach, according to which the neuroscientific method is the only means of studying perception. This approach is “strongly naturalistic and negates the autonomy of philosophy” (Ibid.). It suffers from the following shortcomings. Firstly, it does not provide a comprehensive picture of

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perception, mainly because it restricts its focus to neuroscientific analysis, which applies to a part, rather than the whole, of the perceptual process. Secondly, it reduces the categories of analyzing perception to scientific categories, which is tantamount to a dismissal of philosophical reflection and categories of thinking in the attempt to articulate the findings of a perceptual process into semantic or philosophical conceptions. Thirdly, the neuroscientific model of explanation restricts the analysis of perception to brain processes without sufficient consideration of the object and the perceptual field in which the object is located. Whilst this restriction necessarily ignores the factors at play in the development and direction of the perceptual process, the more serious defect of this approach is that it fails to answer “a question which is essential for the philosophy of perception: how is the validity of the cognitive results of perception grounded? Or, more simply – in what way is perception cognitively valid?” (Ibid., p. 139). Finally, the neuroscientific approach indirectly employs philosophical categories in its attempt to explain the nature of the cognitive act. For example, it reduces any discourse about the mind-body problem to a discourse about the brain: the mind is a function of the brain, or more precisely, the neurophysiological functions of the central nervous system (Ibid.). First, if extreme idealism, e.g., Berkeley’s, sidelines the cognitive object and reduces it to a conceptual construct, thereby undermining the possibility of any consideration of the correspondence relation, and, second, if extreme realism sidelines the cognitive subject, thereby undermining any possible consideration of the cognitive act, as well as the cognitive subject, and along with it the correspondence relation, the question that would glare us in the eyes is, how can we or by what method can we refocus our inquiry into the nature of truth or the correspondence relation that reveals the structure of cognitive act as adequately as possible? It is important to point out that the extremism of the idealist and realist approaches, which were prevalent in most traditional theories of knowledge, was recently opposed and practically replaced by the neuroscientific and linguistic approaches, both of which sideline the cognitive subject qua subject and consequently the cognitive object. The most reasonable and effective method Czarnocka recommends for avoiding the impasse created by both schools of philosophy is the metaphilosophical method. The adoption of this method does not

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sidestep the basic tenets of idealism and realism, as we have just seen; on the contrary, it recognizes them mainly because they are basic assumptions of human experience – indeed, a necessary condition for its very possibility. “In my opinion,” Czarnocka writes, “only a metaphilosophical basis which binds together the ontological, mentalistic (consciousness) and linguistic paradigms can allow a comprehensive picture of perception, one that could resolve the mounting difficulties encountered in earlier approaches, which always moved within one metaphilosophical paradigm – mentalistic or, in the case of 20th-century studies, linguistic” (Ibid., p. 140). The argument on which this approach to truth rests, Czarnocka emphasizes, is that perception “cannot be brought down to language analysis or the individual consciousness of the subject, nor can one exclude from such reflection the assumed – or at least presumed – existence of a material reality, i.e., a sphere of being that is external to the subject” (Ibid.) The point that deserves special attention is that the concept of perception is essentially a heterogenous concept. It begins with the activity of perceiving the object and culminates in the activity of expressing the intuition of the content of this activity in a linguistic representation. The thrust of the metaphilosophical method enables the inquirer to envision the activity of perception and trace it from the moment of its inception to the moment of its climax. This view of perception integrates the idealistic and realistic methods of analysis on the one hand, and the neuroscientific method on the other. Accordingly, Czarnocka argues that it is justifiable to say “perception takes place in three domains of three realities: in the sphere of material objects, the sphere of subjectivity (and not only conscious-related), and the sphere of language” (Ibid.). As I shall momentarily discuss, heterogeneity is a distinctive feature not only of perception qua process, but it is also a distinctive feature of the cognitive subject and the cognitive object. First, “the nature of the subject of perceptual cognition is multidimensional, complementary, and homeostatic” (Ibid., 142). This concept of subject is grounded in two foundations; the first is anthropological in character, and the second is perceptual. Czarnocka assumes that the subject is characterized by its dimensions. Contrary to a long-standing orientation in philosophy, which assumes that the subject is a homogeneous reality, mental, physical, or social, she proposed that the subject must be characterized by its

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dimensions. The dynamic, interactive unity of these dimensions determines its identity. These dimensions are corporeal, mental, biological, and cultural in character. The subject is anchored in a social and physical environment. It influences, and is influenced by, its environment. Moreover, it performs conscious and unconscious acts. Accordingly, it does not live only in the realm of nature, society, or culture, but also in the realm of language. The content of this realm is human achievement in the abundance of its historical development. Delete human language, and you delete the realm of science, art, philosophy, religion, and technology. Again, language is the medium by which the subject interacts with the material world, and asserts itself as a human individual in said world. Furthermore, it must be assumed, Czarnocka adds, “that the mind of the subject functions not only in the sphere of language but also conducts non-linguistic operations as it has the capacity to create and process pictures – or, more generally, non-linguistic representations” (Ibid.). Although briefly, Czarnocka spotlights those features of the cognitive subject because she emphasizes that this is the kind of mind that engages in the process of perception. “Such a rich, heterogeneous subject,” she writes, “is necessary in acts of perception because perception consists of interconnected physical, mental (conscious and nonconscious), and linguistic operations, which only together form its cognitive result” (Ibid., p 143). Moreover, the subject is not an atomistic or mathematically unitary or self-enclosed being that is independent of its physical, social, or cultural environment. Rather, it is co-extensive with its environment, open and interactive; in short, it is not a windowless monad. “I believe,” Czarnocka writes, “that the perceiving subject is not an autopoietic creation which operates only within its own sphere of consciousness. The internal sphere of the subject exists and functions in permanent contact with what is external to the subject, i.e., the world beyond it. The subject remains in physical, biological, and mental homeostasis with the world. It is the sum of itself and that which is beyond it and in which it is immersed. It has no fixed boundaries, maintaining its existence and co-creating its identity in constant physical and mental interaction with the world” (Ibid.). The feature of openness to the world is not mutually exclusive with that of subjectivity or mental privacy. Both openness and independence are essential functions of the mind as a presiding subject over its activities. The point which

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Czarnocka emphasizes is that the mind which perceives the object is not a homogeneous or one-dimensional reality, but a multidimensional and homeostatic being. The atomistic model of perception, advocated by philosophers such as Max Black, Quinton, and Ayer, holds that perception is the no-complex reception of sense data, directly apprehended by the mind (Moore) (Ibid., p. 144). Different individuals may look at an object and identify it by subsuming it under a general concept or category, but do they actually see the same object in the same way? No. Human beings are, to a great extent, individuals. No two persons see, touch, hear, think, feel, or experience the world in the same way. On the contrary, every person is a unique “center of perception.” The basis of this uniqueness is the fact that people live in different social, physical, and cultural environments. They experience, understand, and respond to the human and natural world from the standpoint of who and what they are as unique individuals. Humanity is an infinitely complex mosaic of different individuals. The preceding remark is based on the assumption that there is a difference between a moral and ontological sense of individuality. Every reality, human or natural, is, so far as it exists, an individual being. It derives this status by virtue of the fact that it occupies a particular locus in the scheme of natural reality; this feature applies to the human being as a part of nature. A human being acquires the status of “human individual” if it meets the conditions of autonomy, viz., the capacity of self-determination: a human being is autonomous inasmuch as it is capable of selfdetermination. The type of individuality that is under consideration in the present discussion is ontological, in the sense a human being is an individual by virtue of the fact that she exists and lives from the standpoint of a particular biological, social, cultural, axiological, and anthropological environment. Now, if perception is a bipolar relation in which a subject cognizes an object, and if the knowledge acquired in this process is expressed in a statement, the question arises: what is the nature of the relation between the perceiving mind and the perceived object? Again, what is the nature of the relation between the object and the statement? What sort of reality does the mind perceive when it cognizes the object? These questions focus on the relation between the statement, which is a linguistic unit, and the reality that it signifies. It is assumed that the statement performs two functions: it

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represents a reality, and it communicates knowledge about this reality. But in what sense does it represent the object? An adequate understanding of this relation is crucial, because adequate knowledge of it reveals not only the nature of the cognitive object and the statement, but also the means needed to verify its truth or falsity. This is the primary reason an analysis of the correspondence relation between the object and the statement that results from the perceptual act is the centerpiece of Czarnocka’s inquiry in A Path to a Conception of Symbolic Truth. She considers three main answers to the question about what kind of relation representation is: “the analogical representation concept, according to which this relation is an analogy, the causal concept, which claims that it is causal, and the conventionalist concept, which states that it is convention-determined” (Ibid., p. 145). Czarnocka evaluates these three attempts in her effort to explain the kind of correspondence relation that exists between the object and the statement and, in doing so, shows that they are defective. This defect stems from the fact that they treat representation as a binary relation: “the binary character of the representation relation is the essential flaw of almost all representation theories” (Ibid., p. 148). As we shall see in detail, this relation is more than binary. This fact entails the need to depart from the traditional model of realism and base the analysis of perception on an adequate concept of the cognitive object, the cognitive subject, and the epistemic conditions under which the perceptual act occurs. I shall now proceed to discuss Czarnocka’s conception of perception. As a process, the activity of perception passes through three main phases: the physical, the subjective, and the consciousness. Although these three types of activity will be discussed separately, as if the physical phase happens first and then followed by the other phases sequentially, they, in fact, happen simultaneously. We can say that the fundamental structure of the cognitive act consists of three fundamental types of activity that may be distinguished conceptually, but do not happen independently of each other. “I use the term ‘phase’ in a somewhat atypical sense;” she writes, “the various phases of perception can loop on themselves in time or progress simultaneously” (Ibid.).

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The Physical Phase For Czarnocka, “the physical phase of perception takes place in a physical system which contains an object (physical and external to the subject’s body), a subject (whose role in this phase is only corporeal and consists of receiving photons), and physical objects located in the corresponding (environment) of the subject’s body and the object” (Ibid., p. 148). This account calls for two remarks. First, acknowledging the existence of the object as a basis of the perceptual event is a necessary condition for any discourse about the representation relation or about the possibility of the cognitive act, for the act of knowledge assumes the existence of an object. If we delete this assumption, we ipso facto delete the act. Thus, an understanding of the physical conditions of the perceptual act is a necessary condition for an adequate comprehension of the nature of the representation relation in which the act is articulated into a statement. Second, contrary to the basic assumption of the traditional theory of knowledge, which views the object as a unitary reality, Czarnocka argues that this object is an integral part of the perceptual field, or environment, in which it is located. This claim assumes that “the subject does not confront the object directly but ‘reaches’ it cognitively through objects in the environment (photons), hence objects beyond the perceiving subject and the perceived object necessarily condition perception” (Ibid.). Here, it is assumed that the medium in which we perceive the object is the photons that emanate from the object. Since the perceptual field consists of a diversity of objects, which also exists to the subject as photons, and since these photons are not bounded or motionless but intermingle with the field of photons emitted by the perceptual field, it follows that the photons that emanate from the object of perception are conditioned by the adjacent photons. Parenthetically, photons are electromagnetic radiation; they are massless quanta of energy. The point that deserves emphasis here is that the object of perception is always perceived as an object in context. Accordingly, “the process of perceiving begins beyond the subject, and consists of the relaying of a beam of photons and its incidence on the perceived object, on the area of space in which the object is located” (Ibid., p. 150). An understanding of the structure and the dynamics of this process is critically important for an adequate conception of the correspondence relation, for the physical phase of this process

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determines the emergence or formation of this relation; it is the soil from which the relation comes into being. Therefore, we should ask, how does the physical phase proceed? From the standpoint of quantum theory, Czarnocka writes, “the photons which fall on the perceived object are absorbed by its atoms, as well as the atoms of other objects in the surroundings. This absorption excites the atoms, which pass into a higher quantum state, which in turn depend on the frequency of the absorbed protons” (Ibid.). An interaction between the atoms and the photons takes place. Neither the photons nor the atoms that result from this interaction are the same, nor are they the same kind of atoms from which they result. “They cannot be regarded as ‘reflections’ in common-sense term because they have different frequencies from the absorbed photons, and frequency is the only property by which photons can be identified. It is the frequency of the emitted photons which reach the eyes of the perceiving subject that are the physical carrier of information about the perceived object or objects” (Ibid.). This is the main reason Czarnocka rejects the basic thesis of the sense datum theory, and especially the concept of the unitary object as the object of perception, and this is what led her to argue that the perceptual field in which the object is located co-forms the information that reaches the mind of the cognitive subject in the perceptual act. The point that she underscores is that in the perceptual event, the mind does not perceive sense data as constitutive elements of the essential features of the object, but the photons that are emitted by their atoms. These atoms are not “in any degree copies but indirect and environment-distorted physical traces of the objects. These traces are the physical source of information about the perceived objects. The environment participates actively in the creation of this base” (Ibid., p., 151). The upshot of the analysis of the source of the perceptual event is that it is difficult, if not incorrect, to say that the information the subject receives in the activity of perception copies or reproduces the essential features of the object as a given unified structure, or that the sense data formed in this activity copies or mirrors this structure.

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The Subjective Phase Most, if not all, sense data and contemporary theories of knowledge reduce the cognitive act to an act of the mind, or consciousness, in the sense that it takes place exclusively in the domain of the mind or consciousness as if the content of the sensuous intuition of the object is not a constitutive element of cognition. They assume that the object is totally external to the mind, and that it is irrelevant to the activity of cognition. It may well be the case that the object is external to the mind ontologically; this is the basic tenet of metaphysical realism. However, Czarnocka argues, epistemologically speaking, it is not irrelevant to the mind. How can it be irrelevant if the perceptual act is relational, interactive with the object, and if it is a grasping or comprehending of its essential features? “Consciousness philosophy,” she argues,” reduces perception to its subjective phase and the subject to consciousness. Certain philosophical schools and movements still adhere to the dogma that the body plays no epistemic role and is not a part of the cognizing subject” (Ibid., p. 152). This dogma, viz., the cognitive act is exclusively an act of consciousness, which has become a prejudice, is based on a dubious assumption that the mind, or consciousness, exists independently of the body. Even animals, which do not seem to have an advanced faculty of mind, undergo perceptual activities similar to those performed by human beings. The activity of sensuous perception is coextensive with the faculty of mind. The first stage of this process is physiological and non-conscious in character. In the case of visual perception, “it is initiated by the photons which reach the subject’s eyes (sensory receptors) and act on the retina, then, in a changed form, pass on to the optical nerve and finally proceed, in constantly changing forms, along the nervous system to the brain” (Ibid., p. 154). This process, which begins with the initial sensuous encounter, reaches the highest level of movement through the nervous system, beyond which empirical or scientific observation stops, primarily because it cannot investigate what happens next. Here, the scientist stops, and the philosopher takes charge. The mind can investigate the way it transforms the content it receives from the photos into cognitive content. Contrary to the assumption of causal theories, “the transmitted sensuous stimuli do not move in an open and empty perceptual path, a kind of empty physiological corridor in the

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subject’s physiological system. The physiological path is a sequence of the subject’s own states, which the subject itself transforms owing to the specialized biological construction of its body. It is the subject’s organism that transmits and at the same time cocreates sensuous data in the form of the subject’s physiological (bodily) states” (Ibid., p155). This part of the physiological phase is initiated by the impact of the photons on the sense, but once it happens, the sensory system of the body, which is physiological in nature, takes over; the process passes from being physical to being physiological. Tthe data delivered to the sphere of consciousness get encoded by the system during the transmission from the first impact of the protons to the last stop at the sphere of consciousness. The content that arrives in this sphere is conditioned by the kind of nervous system the subject has. Put differently, the content that arrives in the sphere of consciousness is not an exact copy of the impact of the photons emitted from the object. This assertion is based on the assumption – one supported by neuroscientific observation – that “the body does not submit passively to the influence of sensory information carriers” (Ibid, p., 154). On the contrary, “in the physiological stage, the subject processes the physical basis of sensory information according to schemas encoded in the species memory shaped in biological evolution” (Ibid.). During its path to the sphere of consciousness, the encoded sensuous content undergoes a number of transformations. “All such changes irrevocably destroy some of the initial sensory information, which is ousted or transformed, or supplemented by information constructed by the subject’s body. Thus, what mainly drives this destruction is the constitution of the human organism” (Ibid. p. 156).

The Consciousness Phase When the encoded content reaches the sphere of the brain, the activity of the scientist recedes, and that of the philosopher proceeds. The mind forms an image of the encoded content. This image becomes the perceptual field and the object of the philosopher’s perception. The transition from the sensuous-physiological to the reflective state marks “an ontic transformation in which the subject’s physiological states change into mental states generated by its individual consciousness. Introducing a new distinction, we can say that what is generated is a state of consciousness, and the perceptual

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model is a product of this state” (Ibid., p., 157). Here, the following questions necessarily arise: how do we move, or rather make a jump, from the sensuous to the non-sensuous process of perception? Is this jump, which is a basic assumption, justifiable? I raise this question because Czarnocka assumes that the mind, or the sphere of consciousness, is not a physical reality. It cannot be reduced to a physical category that can be a basis for a satisfactory explanation of the possibility of cognition. Regardless of whether we can provide an explanation of this epistemo-ontic jump, which Czarnocka assumes is a pragmatically given fact ,does this conclusion lead to a kind of subjective idealism? The answer to this question is in the negative – not only because the representation conceived is a basic assumption, but also because this jump is a de facto assumption. I tend to think that neither the philosopher nor the neuroscientist can, at this level of human knowledge, provide an adequate explanation of this jump. However, in the activity of reflection, the perceptual field is converted into a conceptual, or mental, structure. This structure may be viewed as a representation of the object of perception, or what the mind perceives when it “seizes” the object. In Czarnocka’s words, “the perceptual model, or, equivalently, the conceptual structure of perception, can be seen as the representation of a perceived object, or, in other words, the mental picture ‘of what we see in perception,’ what presents itself to us as the object we are looking at” (Ibid.). Although the mental picture is a representation of the essential qualities of the object, nevertheless, it is a prelinguistic content of cognition and the basis of linguistic articulation. “I got out from the assumption,” Czarnocka writes, “the concepts which underlie the perceptual model are primal, prelinguistic elements of cognition, cognitive ‘atoms’ that form the linguistic layer of knowledge which follows conceptual conversion. My assumption is based on a well-established philosophical tradition – similar convictions can be found in reflections on sense data, qualia, sensuous impression, etc.” (Ibid., p. 158). The concepts formed in this act reflect the structure of the perceptual model. However, unlike the perceptual model, the concept is immaterial; its mode of existence is ideal and, as an ideal, it is not located in a spatiotemporal context. If it were, it would be difficult, if not impossible, to explain the possibility of interpersonal communication. Still, Czarnocka is keenly aware of the difficulty of explaining the conversion of the perceptual into the conceptual

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mode of existence: “the main problem lies in explaining the ontic leap and the ideal products of an immaterial mind” (Ibid., p. 163). Perhaps this difficulty is an aporia, and will remain so for a long time. Neither the scientist nor the philosopher can provide a satisfactory resolution to this problem. Yet, one may venture to hypothesize that the key to an explanation of this conversion lies in the fact that the object is not a dead lump of “matter”, but a dynamic reality and that it is a complex of power. On the other hand, the mind, which is immaterial, is also a dynamic reality. We can view it as a complex or a heterogeneous center of power. Why should it be strange, or perhaps even ludicrous, to say that the perceptual model interacts with the perceptual model and affects it in a certain way? Why should it not be possible for the mind, which is a comprehending, grasping heterogeneous power, to comprehend or grasp the structure of a perceptual model by virtue of its form? Here, I should emphasize that the interactive relation between the mind and the perceptual model is not, strictly speaking, causal in character in the physical sense of causality, since it is a mutuality between two powers whose activity is not reducible to physical terms. If the capacity of a given sense can structure or articulate a perceptual content into a model or image – i.e., into a form, if the mind can comprehend a form or create it – why can it not transform the perceptual model by virtue of its form into a conceptual model into a concept that reproduces a corresponding form? Although it may not be possible to provide a final, indubitable explanation of the ontic jump from the perceptual to the mental, it is possible to say with a reasonable measure of certainty that “the character and effects of conceptual conversion are co-determined by the subject (especially in the sphere that is essential for defining the correspondence relation” (Ibid., p. 165). The sensory signals that are produced by the impact of the photons undergo relative change of identity on their way to the sphere of consciousness. This clearly shows that “conceptual models cannot be copies, or even weak similarities, of perceived objects” (Ibid.). This assertion, which is vital in Czarnocka’s conception of symbolic truth, is founded on the assumption that the perceptual model, that is formed based on information conveyed by the photons in the initial process of perception, does not originate merely from the photons emitted by the object, but also by the multitude of the photons that originate from the perceptual field in

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which the object is located. “Therefore, one can say that in the physical phase of the perceptual process is melted together with its physical environment” (Ibid.). Here, the point that deserves particular emphasis is that the interaction between the object and the mind that perceives it is neither homomorphic nor isomorphic. Although it is neither homomorphic nor isomorphic, it is, nonetheless, representational in character, for it expresses the essential features of the structure of the object. The basis of this representation, Czarnocka argues, is not reproducing or copying the structure of the object but, as we shall see, symbolizing it. Does this conclusion lead to a kind of subjective idealism? The answer to this question is in the negative – this is not only because the representation relation is founded in the essential structure of the object, but also because it is inherently a representational relation. Such a relation cannot exist if its basis is not the object of perception. “The object of perception,” Czarnocka writers, “is not created but represented in an abstract form, with abstraction understood in a sense close to that which is used in aesthetics” (Ibid., p. 166). Does it then follow that one final perceptual model of the same object is not possible? How can an object of perception be a subject of discourse or inquiry if the participants in it do not, or cannot, have the same perceptual model? First, although no perceptual model can represent an object of perception perfectly, the essential or general structure can be represented. This kind of representation is the basis of discourse in science, philosophy, and ordinary life. Second, the incompleteness of a perceptual model is not an obstacle to discourse about the object. Frequently, the incompleteness of the perceptual model is the reason for the discourse or the inquiry, especially in science and philosophy. Was it not for this incompleteness would we advance in our inquiry into the nature of the atom, light, space, mind, art, and the totality of the objects that make up the order of nature and humanity? We should always assume, as Czarnocka emphasizes, that the object is a possibility for a multitude of diverse perceptual models. Would the physicist perceive the rock the same way the artist or the hunter perceives it? Again, do we not perceive the same object differently when we grow, when we are sick, or when we change our visual perspective? Czarnocka is keenly aware of this aspect of the perceptual model. She points out that there is no one definite relation between the sensory signals and the perceptual model for

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two reasons: “[f]irst, neither the subject’s corporeal dimension nor the physical, extra-subjective mechanism that underlies reception are selective enough to generate sensory information sufficiently unambiguous to allow its conversion to a single perceptual model. Second, the capabilities of sensuous apprehending are too variegated, and the capacity for fitting are too creative and too strongly guided by diverse factors (subjective, cultural, educational, subjective, etc.) to produce only one perceptual model in a given perceptual situation. Because of the nature of perceiving – and especially the specific features of the perceiving subject – what we are faced with here is a surplus which allows for the formulation for different perceptual models in the same perceptual conditions” (Ibid., p. 168). Concepts are the building blocks of scientific knowledge – of any type of linguistic formation in science. However, although such blocks exist as identities, they do not exist in the mind as unitary, independent units, but always associated, related, or clustered with other concepts. How could it be otherwise, if they are conceived as integral parts of other perceptual or conceptual fields of perception or reflection? Concept formation implies concept recognition – but concept recognition takes place in some kind of relation to other concepts. The cognitive act never takes place in an abstract space or vacuum. Besides, the articulation of a concept occurs in relation to and sometimes in terms of other articulated concepts. The point that Czarnocka underscores is that the perceptual model is the ontic basis of the representation relation that exists between a linguistic expression and the object to which it refers. For her, “conceptual models (conceptual structure in Whorf’s terms) precede language. In my opinion, it is not language in its common form of linear sentences, but precisely conceptual models that are the primary, deeper than language, basis of cognition” (Ibid., p. 169). Accordingly, perceptual models must be treated as the basis of knowledge.

Transformation of Perceptual Models into Observational Sentences The final phase of perception consists of transforming the conceptual model into an observational sentence: “when ready, the conceptual models are the basis on which sentences about what we see are built” (Ibid., p. 170). This transformation is an ontic jump; it is a perceptual movement from the

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conceptual model, which is founded in the perceptual model, into a linguistic formation that is a generically different reality and has a different mode of existence – regardless of whether this formation is verbal or written. In this jump, “an ideal object is transformed into a material one” (Ibid.). More concretely, “the perceptual model, which is an immaterial object, changes into a sentence equipped with meanings, i.e., in a mixed ideal-material object” (Ibid.). Here, we can ask, if the sentence that results from the perception of an object is one a particular mind makes about the object, how do we determine the truth or falsity of the sentence? Broadly, we can say, as Czarnocka does, that the sentence is true to the object if the activity of perception proceeds adequately or reliably. How, then, do we assess this adequacy? As I shall discuss in detail in the final chapter of the book, it is difficult to establish finally valid criteria “not only because this process partly takes place beyond the subject’s consciousness, but also because of the imperfection of the human mind, which we have to accept” (Ibid.). Besides, the perceptual process is not entirely within the control of the perceiving subject. In this final phase, the perceptual models undergo a structural change. In themselves and as given to the sphere of consciousness, they are neither linear nor linguistic, but plentitudes. However, when they are transformed into sentences or linguistic units, they are changed into linear structures: “transformation to language reduces the structural diversity of reality and perceptual models to linear structures, i.e., one-dimensional streams of linguistic signs” (Ibid., p. 171). The perception that delivers to consciousness a multidimensional reality is flattened into one-dimensional reality clearly represented by the one-dimensional verbal, written language. How, then, can we establish the possibility of the perfect truth or falsity of sentences? How can any linguistic formation be “honestly” true – that is, honest to the reality of the object? Regardless of the extent to which they may be true, Czarnocka argues that conceptual models are the basis of knowledge. She rejects the claim “that (not only perception) consists of linear series of linguistic expressions – usually sentences equipped with meanings. I believe that on its basic level, knowledge (and not only perceptual knowledge) is a set of conceptual models or, equivalently, non-imitative representation of fragments of reality in the form of non-linear, non-linguistic conceptual structures.” (Ibid., p.

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172). We may view linearly constructed language as a means of communicating cognitive content; the model is the basis of the cognitive act in the mind of the person who constructs it, and the mind who hears or reads it. Let me illustrate the meaning and significance of this central proposition by an example. Suppose I listen to a teacher deliver a lecture on the nature of space. What happens in my mind when I listen to the exposition and arguments of the lecturer? Do I perfectly comprehend the meaning of the sentences I hear as the lecturer speaks? Do the other listeners comprehend the same content of meaning I comprehend? No. On the contrary, when I try to cognize what she says, from the sentences as concepts or ideas to the depth of meaning implied by the sentences I hear, I move from the language qua symbolic representation to the depth of meaning it signifies. Put differently, I move from the sentences to the conceptual model that gave rise to them and whose content is deeper and more abundant than the lexical meaning denoted by the sentences and words I hear when I listen to the lecturer. The content of what I truly know when I listen to the lecture is immaterial. Models are means of communicating knowledge. In Czarnocka’s words, “models are the basic tool with which reality is represented and thought about, and in fact the main subject-matter of the intellectual reflections of both scientists and common-sensical subjects” (Ibid., p. 173).

Correspondence Relation: Symbolization The preceding discussion of the structure of the cognitive act reveals the nature of the correspondence relation – i.e., the relation between the sentence that is formed in the process of perception and the object of this process. A true statement is constructed in the course of three transformational phases, viz., the photons as carriers of the sensory content of perception from the perceptual field to the sphere of consciousness of the subject, as well as the transformational activities that culminate in the formation of the observation sentences. First, Correspondence and the Subject. The first element of the threefold process in which the correspondence relation emerges is the cognitive subject. The preceding division of the structure of perception in its entirety

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clearly shows that Czarnocka dismisses the dichotomy between extreme realism, which treats the object as the basis of the cognitive act, and extreme idealism, which treats the subject as the basis of the cognitive act. In contrast, Czarnocka argues that “the constitution of the correspondence relation in acts of perception requires the presence of the subject’s body as well as its mind, which communicates with other minds, creates conceptual images of what the subject ‘sees’ and then converts it to language. Therefore, the constitution of the correspondence relation is based on the complementariness of the body and the mind” (Ibid., p. 178). It is important to emphasize that Czarnocka rejects the view of the subject as a homogeneous, one-dimensional being, and argues that only the conception of “a heterogeneous subject as only a multidimensional, complementary, homeostatic, and multifunctional subject is able to achieve perceptual results” (Ibid.). The subject receives sensory signals, which the photons transmit from the impact of the perceptual field. These photons gradually assume a certain structure that, in turn, transforms them into a perceptual model, or an image of the content of the perceptual act. The mind converts this content to a conceptual model, which becomes the basis of the cognitive act. However, the cognitive content constructed in this process is co-created by the subjective and objective poles of the process. A critical examination of this ontic locus of the cognitive act – i.e., the stuff out of which it is constructed – will clearly show that the knowledge articulated into a sentence or a kind of linguistic expression is not a copy or a mirror of the reality external to it (Ibid.). The object provides the primary stuff of the cognitive act, viz, the photons that originate from the perceptual field and become the basis of the perceptual model, and the mind provides the conceptual model and transforms the content of this act into observation sentences. Second, The Relation of Correspondence. The correspondence relation is a relation between the cognitive subject and cognitive object. Accordingly, our understanding of the nature of this relation depends on our conception of the identity of the object and subject which, as Czarnocka recognizes, is problematic in character. The first major problem centers on the object of truth. This object is apprehended by a subject from more than one perspective, and every perspective depends on the cognitive aim and a

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priori anticipations of the subject: “however, beings in metaphysical reality are the ontic fundament of the conceptual formation of objects of truth. In other words, objects of truth are rooted in and constituted upon beings – which is provable by perception analysis” (Ibid., p. 179). If the subject perceives the object from among many perspectives – that is, if human beings are unique, different individuals – does it follow that the truth of the object is relative to the kind of perceptual conditions under which the individual mind perceives the object? Not necessarily. To avoid the shortcomings of extreme realism, Czarnocka argues that the apprehended object is “rooted” or enmeshed in a perceptual field of beings: “the ontological groundings of objects of cognition in beings guarantees the realistic nature of cognition” (Ibid.). This enables us to say that the cognition of the object involves “subjective factors”, primarily because the cognitive act is performed by the kind of cognitive apparatus of the subject and the conditions under which it performs the cognitive act. These factors can be identified and included in the definition of the object: “[t]hus, one can adopt – following the attitude of the majority of contemporary epistemologists – the involvement of subjective factors in the very constitution of the object of cognition” (Ibid.). If the object of cognition can be perceived from different perspectives, in which every cognitive act generates a truth relation, it should follow that “the correspondence relation is not a function: different truths can be created about any object of cognition” (Ibid., p. 180). This proposition does not necessarily imply the claim of ontological realism espoused by philosophers such as Goodman and Kuhn. In fact, Czarnocka rejects this kind of implication. She argues that the different types of truth relation an object is capable of are of the same object. Consequently, we may view them as ways of revealing the plentitude of the nature of the truth of the object. “I reject,” Czarnocka states, “the thesis about multiple worlds in their ontological sense and adopt one about the multiplicity of conceptual representations of reality, i.e., differently-conceptualized reality models and truths referring to reality” (Ibid., p. 182). The cognitive object is multivalent in two ways: it is a heterogeneous, complex structure, and it is enmeshed in a particular environment. We cannot perceive it as a unitary, monadic reality, rather we must perceive it in its relatedness to its environmental context, which conditions it and is

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conditioned by it. This makes the determination of the truth of the object difficult, but not impossible – especially when we recognize that the cognitive subject is an individual that perceives the object in a particular way and therefore cannot be completely neutral. Third, Correspondence and Symbolization. It should be clear from the preceding discussion that the correspondence relation is very complex; it is “immeasurably more complicated than its accepted images” (Ibid., p. 185). It is difficult – indeed, impossible – to establish a necessary, ontically describable relation between the cognitive subject and the cognitive object. A corollary to this assertion is that “there are no grounds for ascribing the character of imitativeness to the correspondence relation – diversely understood as perfect reproduction, imitation, mirroring, isomorphism, homomorphism, (or generally, any kind of standard or non-standard morphism), analogy, similarity, or structural similarity of the perceived object” (Ibid.). It is important to notice the term “created” in this account of the correspondence relation. There is a big difference between the activity of imitation and that of creation. The original cognitive act of any object is essentially creative activity. The truth of the object is not given to the subject as ready-made content, but as a possibility for conceptualization and, more concretely, for symbolization. What is symbol? In what sense is the articulation of any linguistic unit an activity of symbolization? In her attempt to answer this question, Czarnocka begins with a brief discussion of Cassirer’s conception of symbol. Although she finds this conception informative and, to some extent, inspirational, she does not deem it adequate; yet, she shares Cassirer’s fundamental insight that, as a kind of image or representation that signifies the truth, or meaning, of the various types of human experience, a symbol does not in general copy or mirror the truth of the object it symbolizes. “Consciousness is not satisfied to simply possess sensuous content but creates it from itself. The force of this creation transforms the regular content of feelings and impressions into symbolic content […] Each [symbolic] form not only takes its beginning in sensuosity but is also permanently enclosed in the sensuous sphere. It does not turn against the sensuous but exists and creates within it” (Ibid., p. 193). The symbol does not mirror the cognitive object; it expresses our comprehension of the features that define its nature or essence: “symbols

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are bound to sensuous material and simultaneously permeated by subjectivity, carrying in themselves subjective factors presumably connected with human nature and culture. Symbolization is a specifically human way of encoding spiritual states, also in the sphere of consciousness” (Ibid.). This relation between the symbol and the object, Czarnocka observes, makes it difficult to provide a perfect or final definition of the symbol. It is more effective to say what it is not than what it is: “it is not a metaphor, a copy, an analogy nor any version of similarity” (Ibid., p. 195). On the contrary, it underlies all forms of symbolic representation. This is the main reason why philosophers, such as Friedrich Theodor Fischer, likened it to Proteus, the ancient Greek god who could change his form at will.

The Symbolic Nature of Correspondence and Correspondence Truth We can now direct our attention to the question of symbolization. What is the structure of this activity? How does it take place? The ability to symbolize, Czarnocka argues, is a fundamental ability of human nature. Whether linguistic, bodily, religious, cultural, individual, or social, the different modes of symbolic expression and communication are essential ways of meeting human needs, human spirations, or the desires that matter to us as individuals or communities. Accordingly, it is impossible “to define symbolization within the standards of philosophy based exclusively on logics, i.e., by specifying which of the relations logics deal with it” (Ibid., p. 197). This impossibility is due to the relation between the cognitive object and the cognitive subject being complex and polyadic: “the correspondence relation, which is the basis of human cognition, is primary epistemically but not logically” (Ibid.). For example, the correspondence between the cognitive object in art differs from the cognitive object in science, religion, metaphysics, or social and cultural settings. Again, the aim that underlies the symbolization – i.e., expression or communication of a certain meaning – is different in the different types of human experience. Despite the actuality of this difference, and “in view of the limitation of cultural flexibility of human nature, as well as its biological dimension (which is the same for the entire human species), one may postulate the existence of common, hidden, intercultural, biologically-rooted fundaments of the

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human ability to symbolize reality” (Ibid., p. 198). How can different people in different human situations express and communicate the various meanings of experience if we do not assume that symbolization is a fundamental, creative capacity of human nature? Although symbolization differs from one culture to another, and in the different historical periods of human development, the modes of encoding the symbols are, to a large extent, universal. This is primarily because of the unity and universality of human nature. How we respond to the world in the multitude of its objects and events is determined by the essential needs and capacities of human nature. Otherwise, how can we explain the possibility of the different peoples in the world’s different cultures communicating at the different levels of existence? “People who live in different cultures are able to communicate, even at times incompletely, without prior knowledge about the alien culture’s symbolic codes. This, I think, shows that certain codes are universal and are the common core, although concealed, of all cultures” (Ibid., p. 199). Another strong argument in support of “the claim that knowledge symbolizes and does not imitate (mirror) reality is the nature of language, which appears in the final phase of symbolic encoding and communication of knowledge (following the formulation of conceptual but still prelinguistic levels” (Ibid.). At first, during the early period of human development, language was imitative in character; however, as human nature and experience developed, the means of expression and communication of human aims became complex and sophisticated. As a human phenomenon, language ceased to be onomatopoetic, and instead became symbolic. Nonetheless, the symbolic structure of the different languages continues to perform its representational function, albeit in various types of communication. Regardless of the prevalence of human language and the commonality of the means of encoding and the way they were structured, symbolization was not “an imitative way of creating conceptual and then linguistic representations of reality; in other words, it does not produce copies of reality” (Ibid., p. 200). This non-imitativeness is the distinctive feature of symbolization; it implies that the concept we have of an object is not founded in, or based on, a general concept under which the object is subsumed.

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Contrary to the central claim of empiricism, I do not think of a general concept when I reflect on the concept of an object, and this kind of activity is not always associated with the concept I reflect on (at least not always). This is not only because the meaning I apprehend when I think of the concept, which is its essence, is inherently formless, but also because, whether it is general or particular, it is not a copy of any object or class of objects. Moreover, even if I necessarily think of a particular object, the idea of this object exists in my mind as pure meaning. This meaning instantiates the meaning of the concept I think of. Objects do not exist in my mind; the meaning of their ideas does. The apprehension of meaning is an event of pure experience. As Whitehead insightfully and metaphorically characterized it, it is a drop of experience. In Czarnocka’s words, “the essence of cognition consists in the creation of the subject of objects that are fundamentally different from the cognitive object – symbols. It is only our strongly-rooted (but not too reliable) illusion that there is similarity between knowledge and reality” (Ibid., p. 201). We should always remember that the meaning the symbol signifies or expresses transcends the symbol itself. How can there be a relation of similarity if the meaning transcends the symbol – that is, if the meaning and the symbol are two ontologically different types of reality? If knowledge does not copy reality, it should follow that it expresses, communicates, or represents some of its essential features, which translate into meaning in the act of apprehension; it should also follow that the objectin-itself, or reality-in-itself, remains hidden from us. Czarnocka expresses this point clearly: “reality remains concealed behind a curtain of symbols which represent it” (Ib., p. 202). Is this conclusion pessimistic? Why should it be pessimistic? Have human beings, in their capacities as scientists, philosophers, theologians, artists, and ordinary individuals, achieved the knowledge of any object, human, natural, or supra-natural, or even the world as a whole, perfectly? What is the history of civilization but a history of the growth of humanity’s knowledge of the world? We should make a distinction between the object-in-itself and the object-as-it-appears to us. What appears to us, which is the basis of our knowledge of the object, is the object – that is, nothing but as the object is in and of itself. Could it be that the human mind is not yet equipped with the means, neither human nor technological, to fathom the depth of the object in the fullness of its being? Otherwise, how have we been progressing

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in our knowledge of matter, life, and mind? Could it be that the distinction between the object-in-itself and the object-as-it-appears does not signify two ontically different objects, but two different modes of being of the same object? How can we speak of an object-in-itself if we do not know that it exists? Even if we assert its existence based on inference, the inference is not justifiable if it is not implied by real aspects or features of the perceptible object, and if its existence is not necessarily continuous with the existence of the object of inference. I have made this remark only to undercut the possible objection that Czarnocka’s conception of perception is a reformulation of Kant’s, Locke’s, or Spencer’s theories of perception – primarily because, as the preceding discussion in its entirety clearly shows, her analysis is different from theirs. If the correspondence relation between the cognitive subject and cognitive object is founded in the symbolization of the conceptual model, which culminates in the perceptual process – that is, if our knowledge of the object is neither homomorphic nor isomorphic – the following question arises: how do we determine the truth of our knowledge? The criterion by which we ascertain the truth cannot be based on a similarity, or resemblance, between the structural elements of the object and the statement based on it; on the contrary, it should be based on the content created in the symbolization process. If the subject perceives the object from one among several possible perspectives – that is, if human beings are individuals or unique – does it follow that the truth of the object is relative to the kind of conditions under which the subject perceives the object? “How do we access the object if cognition consists in creating a symbol which totally differs from it, and the relation between the two (i.e., correspondence) is not known? One could put this issue aside by concluding the symbolic character of knowledge is an inscrutable secret of human cognition connected with the mysteriousness of human nature” (Ibid., pp. 204-205). Is it really inscrutable and connected with a mysterious aspect of human nature? Not really. We should rule out the possibility of a criterion of truth based on analogy or resemblance at once, primarily because the statement is nonphysical, and the object is a physical reality. It is ontologically impossible to establish a relation of resemblance between these two generically different types of reality. As we saw in the preceding pages, since the activity of cognition is not one of constructing a facsimile of the object but

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a symbol, we can access the object in terms of the essential qualities that constitute the symbol or at least some of its structural elements. “Cognition,” Czarnocka argues, “is not the mental or physical generation and operation of object, which are facsimiles of objects in nature. Knowledge is possible thanks to the properties of the human subject, its ability to create, symbolically reconstruct and reproduce the object by means of a completely different object – the symbol.” (Ibid., p. 205). Accordingly, a criterion of truth should be based on our knowledge of the symbol, viz., the cognitive content symbolized in the perceptual process. The quest for a criterion of truth, which has been plaguing the minds of epistemologists ever since the days of Pyrrhonists, is, in effect, a quest for a representation relation – not in the sense of some analogy between the object and the statement, but between the essential features of the object, insofar as the object is accessible to perception, and the statement qua symbolic representation. This is primarily why Czarnocka treats the possibility of accessing the object as a necessary condition for establishing the representation relation: “if one knows the symbolic representation of an object, i.e., the value of the symbolization function (and the function itself), one can in some way access the argument of the function or that which is symbolized” (Ibid.). However, Czarnocka is quick to point out that establishing this relation is not easy. “The problem here,” she adds, “is that we never know the symbolization function, and it is this failing of knowledge that causes the broad gap between reality and its symbolic representations” (Ibid.). Unfortunately, this gap lingers, and it is sometimes forgotten. The final representation remains an epistemic goal, or perhaps a quest. This fact, which is characteristic of the development of human knowledge in science and philosophy, leads Czarnocka to refer to Plato’s metaphor of the cave: “consequently, one can say that the world of our cognitive productions is not the world in itself (metaphysical reality in the metaphysical sense) but its shadows perceived by the prisoners in the Platonic cave.” (Ibid., p. 206). What we know when we claim knowledge of an object is the appearance and not the object in itself. Czarnocka characterizes this view of the correspondence relation as symbolic realism, but it is a special kind of realism: “first, it assumes the participation of subjective factors in knowledge, hence in truths, and secondly, it postulates

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that the nature of knowledge is representational but non-imitative” (Ibid., p. 207). According to Czarnocka, symbolic realism holds that “knowledge represents the object of perception but does it by means of symbolic coding, which underlie the entirety of human knowledge; the source of symbolizing lies in human nature as the source of symbolic codes – special forms formed by culture – leads to the conclusion that the nature of cognition is shaped and permeated by subjective factors” (Ibid., p. 210). The fundamental premise of this brand of realism is that human knowledge is human creation – that is, a construct – founded in reality as it appears to the mind in the process of perception. This premise ensures the representation relation against the charge of extreme idealism and realism, because it bases the cognitive act on the object and argues that this act is a formative act of the mind that perceives the object. Accordingly, knowledge is co-created by the subject and the object. “Symbolic realism, “Czarnocka states, “professes that knowledge consists of specifically constructed constructs – symbolic representations of reality, which the human subject creates by means of symbolic codes (forms)” (Ibid., p. 211). From this line of reasoning, it should follow that any criterion of truth should be based on the representation relation that connects the statement to the object and, more concretely, that expresses the essential features of the object. I shall assume this conclusion in my analysis of the criterion of truth and the basis of the aesthetic judgment in the present book’s final chapter.

CHAPTER FIVE OBJECT OF REFLECTION IN ART

Introduction We may view the analysis advanced in the last chapter as a map or a conceptual framework of the basic structure, concepts, and assumptions of Czarnocka’s conception of symbolic truth. Let us now place this map on the table of discussion and reflect on the way it can function as a principle of explanation that may shed ample light of understanding on the object of reflection, or cognition, in the realm of art; more concretely, on the object of reflection in the activity of artistic creation and in the process of aesthetic perception. First, what does the artist reflect on and seek to cognize in the activity of creating her artwork? Second, what does the aesthetic perceiver reflect on and seek to understand, enjoy, or evaluate in the process of aesthetic perception? This twofold question is in urgent need of answer, or examination, primarily because, unlike the object of reflection in science or ordinary experience, the object of reflection in art is not given as a readymade reality to sensuous or conceptual perception or reflection, and yet it is real – no less real than the reality of my body, or the apartment in which I am writing these words. The question my critic would now ask is: how can the conception of the cognitive object in science serve as a model of explanation in the cognition of a non-material, non-sensuous object such as the aesthetic object? This is a fair and logically perceptive question. Even Czarnocka did not overlook its significance, as I pointed out in my analysis of A Path to a Conception of Symbolic Truth. As a preliminary response to my critic at this stage of my discussion, I shall begin with a remark on the logic and structural elements of Czarnocka’s conception of symbolic truth, which will serve as a model of explanation in the analysis of the object of reflection in the activity of artistic creation and aesthetic perception. The mode of existence of the object of

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reflection in the activity of artistic creation and aesthetic perception has remained a mystery, and has been frequently evaded by aestheticians during the past two centuries. In the ancient Greek period, it was believed that artwork is produced by an act of inspiration, imagination, revelation, or some kind of mysterious power that lurks somewhere in the mind of the artist; it was not, in short, viewed as a cognitive activity with a logic of its own, one that is founded in a cognitive object and certain imaginative activity. However, I tend to think that the work of the artist is as serious, important, informative, and creative as the work of the scientist and the philosopher. As I emphasized earlier, a dimension of reality is the basis of reflection in art, just as it is a basis of reflection in science and philosophy. This similarity provides a justification for the possibility of using a scientific conception, theory, or system as a model of explanation in our attempt to understand the nature of the object of reflection in art, especially when this very object is not given to sensuous or intellectual reflection as a readymade reality. As we have already seen, the structure of Czarnocka’s analysis of the cognitive process consists of three main elements: cognitive object, cognitive subject, and representation relation, which connects the statement to the object. The statement is the articulation of the cognition of the object. This means that understanding the nature of the object, the subject, and the way the statement is connected to the object is tantamount to an understanding of the nature of the dynamics of scientific knowledge. We know how the scientist attains the truth of a natural object by understanding the conditions under which the cognitive act takes place. By analogy, we understand the cognitive object in art by understanding the nature of the cognitive object, cognitive subject, and correspondence relation between them by understanding the object of reflection in the activity of artistic creation and aesthetic perception. In the forthcoming discussion of the object of reflection in art, I shall, first, assume the structure of Czarnocka’s conception of the nature of the cognitive subject as a multidimensional, complementary, and homeostatic being. Second, I shall assume that the object of reflection is a multidimensional and homeostatic reality that is known as it appears to the mind and not as it is in itself. I am quite aware of the fact that the object of reflection in art is not sensuous. However, although it is not sensuous, it is

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nevertheless a depth of being, just as the scientific object is a depth of being and as such an inexhaustible source of reflection. Third, the truth of the aesthetic judgment is based on the relation that exists between the artwork and the judgment. The point that calls for special attention here is that Czarnocka’s conception of symbolic truth functions as a model of explanation by virtue of the logic that underlies here fundamental intuition of the essential nature of the cognitive object, the kind of relation that connects the statement to the object, and the knowledge attained in the cognitive process. This intuition is not in any way fortuitous, idiosyncratic, or slanted toward a certain philosophical orientation, as we saw in the preceding chapter, but based on a serious and synoptic comprehension of the most recent discoveries in neuroscience and a comprehensive, analytical, and constructive evaluation of the most recent theories of knowledge. One may wonder whether the understanding of the cognitive object and cognitive subject can be useful or even feasible in the analysis of the cognitive object and cognitive subject in art. My response to this is yes; I aver, as the forthcoming discussion will show, that the object of reflection in art is generically different from the object of reflection in science. The question under consideration is not the nature of the structural content or details of the concept of the cognitive subject and cognitive object but the logic that underlies the analysis of these concepts. How can we undertake the analysis of the cognitive act in science if we do not proceed in this undertaking from an adequate understanding of the agent that performs the cognitive act on the one hand, and the object of cognition on the other? Can we provide an adequate account of the truth of the judgment we make of the artwork if this conception is narrow, limited, or if it is not articulated based on the adequate knowledge of the nature of the cognitive subject and cognitive object? The means of cognizing natural and human reality have been undergoing amazing change during the past several decades. This change has revolutionized our understanding of nature and human nature. No theory of the conception of the human subject and the natural object can afford to neglect the new discoveries about the essential constitution of the different types of objects that make up the building blocks of natural and human reality. As the preceding analysis of the cognitive object has clearly shown, this object cannot be viewed according to the classical, atomistic, insert object, but instead should be viewed as a multidimensional,

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complementary, and homeostatic object enmeshed in a complex environment and dynamically interactive with it. Nor can we view the subject as a pure or homogeneous cognitive faculty – rather, it should be viewed as a function of a multidimensional, apprehending, anthropological, axiological, and creative power that is dynamically interactive with its body, and by means of which it is anchored in a particular social, physical, cultural environment.

Potentiality as an Object of Perception My critic, who hovered as a Socratic gadfly in the philosophical sanctuary of my mind in the preceding discussion, would now raise the following question: “the object for Czarnocka is a cognitive object; it is the fundamental object of inquiry in science. The outcome of the cognitive process is a verifiable statement. This statement, a conceptual construct, is a means of communicating knowledge of the object. When I hear or read it, I acquire knowledge of the object. But the question that puzzles me is whether the object of reflection in art, i.e., in the activity of artistic creation and in the process of aesthetic perception, is cognitive. My puzzlement intensifies, especially when I reflect on your view of the object of reflection and perception in art that exists, as you claim, in the mode of potentiality. How can a potentiality be an object of reflection, much less cognition? The scientific object is given as a ready-made reality with a particular perceptual structure that can be the basis of cognition. But a potentiality is by its very nature abstract, structureless – in what sense is it, or can it be, an object of reflection or a cognition? I cannot understand how an object such as a potentiality can be multidimensional, complex, or homeostatic. Moreover, it is generally recognized that the scientist communicates knowledge, but it is not generally recognized that the artwork communicates knowledge. Even some aestheticians who believe that art communicates knowledge are not agreed that it communicates genuine knowledge, scientific or philosophical. Again, those who agree that it communicates knowledge are not agreed on the kind of knowledge it communicates or the extent to which it communicates it (see, for example, Gaut, 2000; Kierman, 2006). Could it be that the object of reflection in art is elusive, and so resists the kind of reflection of the object the scientist reflects on or cognizes? Furthermore, you claim that the object of reflection in art is the domain of human

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meaning, that this realm is the realm of human values, and that the ontological status of this realm is the status of potentiality – can, at least in principle, a particular potency be an object of reflection?” My critic has raised two important questions. First, can a structureless reality such as potency be an object of reflection or perception? If it can be, in what sense? Second, a more serious question, one that has been a topic of discussion by aestheticians during the past three decades: can artworks, at least some kinds of artworks, communicate genuine knowledge? What are the differentiae of genuine knowledge? In science or philosophy, proposition and verifiability are necessary conditions for genuine knowledge. The proposition is a verifiable cognitive claim according to objectively established philosophical or scientific criteria. Can the aesthetic judgment be verifiable according to objectively established criteria? Is a claim to knowledge genuine if it is not verifiable according to objectively established criteria? I shall discuss the first question in some detail in the remainder of this chapter, and I shall discuss the second question in the following chapter. It is important to point out at the outset that of my discussion of the first question the critic has raised that, unlike the cognitive act in science, which consists of a cognitive subject, viz., the scientist, and a cognitive object, viz., the natural object, the cognitive act in art consists of two types of subject, viz., the artist and the aesthetic perceiver, and two types of object, viz., a slice of human values whose mode of being is that of potentiality and, as such, exists as an abstract object, and a particular potentiality that is a concretization of the slice of values the artist reflects in the activity of artistic creation. Although it exists to the perceiver as a concretization, its mode of existence is nevertheless that of potentiality. Accordingly, there are two types of potentiality as an object of reflection: the first is limitless, and the second is particular. The aesthetic perceiver transforms the potentiality that is concretized and expressed by the artist as a potentiality in the formal organization of the artwork into a living particular actuality in her experience of the work qua art. The main difference between the two types of potentiality is that the first is free, in the sense that the value concept exists to the artist as a limitless source of formation but exists to the perceiver as a potentiality within a particular domain of a slice of value, or values. For example, joy may be expressed musically, pictorially, dramatically, sculpturally, or dynamically, in different ways and depths. But

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whether the potentiality exists for the artist as a limitless possibility of concretization, or for the aesthetic perceiver as a concretized potentiality, its mode of existence in both activities of reflection is that of potentiality. Accordingly, the critic’s first question applies to the object of reflection in the activity of artistic creation and the object of reflection in the process of aesthetic perception. Unlike philosophical works, which can reach a high level of greatness and can accordingly expand into horizons of being for the intellect, the glory of the artwork is that it can serve several human purposes – pleasure, therapeutic, entertainment, religious, political, social, cultural, ideological, time-killing, enlightenment, and others. But when aesthetic and philosophical purposes blend in an artwork by the creative genius of the artist – as we see in Plato, Dante, Goethe, Sophocles, DaVinci, or Brancusi – the artwork soars into the highest heavens of the human mind. The object of reflection in the activity of artistic creation, as well as in the activity of aesthetic perception, is cognitive in character. Reflection is an intellectual function par excellence; it is essentially exploratory, intuitive, cognitive activity. Whether it is in the realm of human values in general or in a particular formal organization, the activity of reflection is cognitive in character. The person who reflects on the object discovers something new – new insight, understanding, or knowledge.

Object of Reflection in Artistic Creation Following Czarnocka’s analysis of the process of perception, which is essentially a reflective activity, we may divide this process into two phases – a pre-reflective phase and a reflective phase. The first is the basis of the second; it is intuitive in character. It is undifferentiated into particular elements or features but, nevertheless, is cognitive in nature. It is a primordial, sui generis experience that cannot be analyzed because, by its very nature, it resists analysis. We can say that it provides the stuff out of which the cognitive act is constructed or symbolized. It would not have been able to give rise to the reflective act if it were not a cognitive content – a primordial kind of “knowing.” For Czarnocka, the pre-reflective phase culminates in what she calls the perceptual model, which is the material out of which the conceptual model is formed and consequently gives rise to the statement. As we can see, the first phase is purely intuitive and, to some

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extent, unconscious, in the sense that its activity is not directly or completely subject to the power of the conscious mind only. This is because the data of its activity come from the perceptual field in which the object is located, and because it is the outcome of the impact of this field on the relevant sense. In this part of the first phase of perception, the object, or the perceptual field, is more active than the sense. Besides, the subject perceives the object to know it or to know something about it. Accordingly, the mind has to submit to what the object has to offer. Although this activity is essential and sensuous, it is intuitive in character, mainly because it is a grasping, formative activity. It is an activity of taking hold of, apprehending, or seizing certain features of the object. Contrary to a basic assumption of the sense data tradition in epistemology, the senses are not passive – they are dynamic and constructive in character. They do not receive the content of their activity submissively, passively, not completely; on the contrary, they respond to the object actively, creatively. They structure the content of their intuition according to the basic form of the object. This is mainly why, I think, Czarnocka argued that the intuited content in the first phase of perception is a “perceptual model.” The reflective phase is an activity of concept, or symbol, formation. The movement from the reflective to the cognitive phase is, as we saw in the preceding chapter, an ontic jump, for it is a movement from the sensuous to the non-sensuous or intellectual of reflection. It results in the conceptual model; as such, it is generically different from the activity that results in the perceptual model or from the intuitive phase of perception. However, although the object of cognition in art is not material or sensuous, its perception is, nevertheless, divisible into two phases: the prereflective, intuitive phase, and the reflective, symbol-forming phase. Let me at once propose that the object of cognition in art is the realm of human values, viz., truth, beauty, goodness, freedom, religiosity, and their derivatives. This realm, to which I alluded in chapter two and that I shall visit again in the following chapter, exists to the human mind as a realm of value concept in contrast to the realm of concepts in science and philosophy. A value concept signifies a type of value. For example, the value concept of goodness signifies values such as justice, courage, friendship, or honesty. The realm of values constitutes a vast and diverse realm. Although they are different from other types of concepts, values do not exist atomistically

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or discretely, but interconnectedly and, to a large extent, organically. The objects that make up the realm of nature exist interconnectedly and organically. This aspect of nature, which is generally known as “plenum,” is subsumed under the principle of plentitude, which was first conceived by Leibnitz and later on developed into a metaphysical orientation by Arthur Lovejoy: the universe is an interconnected, continuous whole or, in Lovejoy’s words, a great chain of being (see Lovejoy). There are no gaps in the universe or the cosmic process. Similarly, the realm of values constitutes an interconnected, continuous, unified realm of reality, which exists parallel to the realm of nature. The first is spiritual, and the second is material. Unlike natural objects, which exist in one realm of nature, human beings exist in two realms: the realm of values and the realm of nature. The realm of values derives its unity from the unity of human nature. These values are existential responses, and we can say demands, to primary needs existent in the body as drives, urges, or cravings. They are powers, potencies. Like any other potency, a drive exists in human nature as a potentiality. I do not perceive the oak tree in the acorn, but the oak tree exists in the seed as a potency, as a power that demands realization. Human beings feel restless and incomplete if these needs are not fulfilled; on the contrary, they feel satisfied, and they feel gratified when they are fulfilled. Broadly speaking, people feel satisfied inasmuch as they realize or fulfill them. The more they fulfill them, the more they feel gratified, the more they feel complete. These needs are the ontic sources of values. A value is a conceptual articulation of a need. Any discourse about human nature is a discourse about the unity of the needs and the values they generate in the course of human life. Meeting a need is important, something we prize essentially, urgently. Ultimately, they derive their significance from the fact that they exist as a potentiality in the human body. They are given to us the way our eyes, ears, and the rest of the organs are given. This is why they are characterized as basic, essential, or indispensable to any serious attempt to understand human nature. The realm of values derives its unity from the unity of human nature, which, in turn, derives its unity from the unity of the body. The humanity of the individual comes into being in the daily activities of meeting or realizing the human needs qua potentialities in the body. The more we grow in realizing them, the more we grow in our humanity. On the other hand, if inhibit or delete them, you inhibit or delete the humanity of

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the individual. Do we not inhibit or restrict them when we place criminals in prison, or prevent children from learning love or friendship? Does a parent not inhibit or restrict the humanity of her child when she deprives her of knowledge, beauty, freedom, or goodness? Now I can state more directly that the object of reflection in the activity of artistic creation and aesthetic perception is the realm of human values. This realm exists as an ocean of human meaning to the artist and as a slice of a particular domain of values to the aesthetic perceiver. Let me illustrate this point by an example. Having decided to write a romantic novel and having felt that she is in labor and ready to give birth to the novel, a novelist begins the process of writing. How does this process begin? She knows that a world of feeling, vision, and intuition is in need of articulation, but is not yet articulated. The plot is not yet started, much less constructed, and yet the life of the novel fills the space of her imagination. The possibility of choosing any one of a large number of plots is open; the same applies to the characters and every other element she needs to construct a coherent, dramatic, and meaningful novel. She can write a novel that is mediocre or a great, simple or complex, tragic or comic, pessimistic or optimistic, historical or imaginary. Again, the novel may be between two poor or rich or young or adult human beings, and the scene of action may be a battlefield, a university campus, or an office in a government building. All this, and much more, lays as an ocean of possibility in her imagination. This ocean is limitless in its extent and possibilities; it exists to the artist as a potentiality, as an open, limitless potentiality. This is what the artist reflects on in the early stage of the activity of artistic creation. She does not reflect on it abstractly as a detached mind, but as a cognitive subject that is, as a world of knowledge, of values, of experience, of understanding; she faces this ocean from the standpoint of this world. But how does the artist move from reflection on this world to the activity of construction – of building the characters, scenes, incidents, and the type of action that will give body to the novel? Can she make this move if some crucially important factor does not first emerge from the bosom of this the ocean she confronts, around which the course and activity of construction, or concretization, takes place? Can this factor emerge if it is not consistent with the logic of the intuition of the theme she wishes to explore? The emergence of this logic is not only the ocean she reflects on, but also the depth of the world that fills the mind

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and soul of the artist. The artist is, after all, the author of the activity of reflection. Now, suppose the hand of Jove sparks the fire of creativity in the imagination of this novelist, and suppose she begins to write the first sentence, and then constructs the first scene, character, or incident. In short, suppose she begins the process of construction, which may last be a short or long process. What has this novelist created? Consider the main character she has constructed. What is this character? Is she a living or specific human being? Is she a concrete human being with whom the reader can interact? Do I encounter this character in the street or anywhere in the natural or human environment? No. The novelist has created a conceptual construct, a particular construction, but not of a particular, living human being – although it may, in general, be a living human. What the novelist created is a type of character and, more concretely, a schema; in short, a potentiality that can acquire life by the reader. Is it not possible for any human being to be a Hamlet, a Prince Mishkin, or a Mona Lisa? This human being is brought to life by the reader and exists in her imagination and nowhere else. The point that merits special emphasis here is that the character that comes to life in the reader's imagination is constructed by the reader – her creation. It is not an imitation, but a creation. This claim is based on the fundamental assumption that what the artist created when she wrote the novel is a schema and, as such, a potentiality. The artist created the elements of a type of character that can be quickened, that can become a living reality only in the mind of a creative imagination. Do we not fill the multitude of gaps within the main elements of the novel? How one reader fills these gaps may differ from how another fills them. Otherwise, how can we account for the multitude of interpretations of the novels we read? Do we not experience the same artwork differently every time re-dread it, especially when we grow older? Do two people experience the same work in the same way? How many interpretations of the major novels exist in the world of literary criticism, not to mention the world that makes up the minds of the readers of the same work? We encounter the same feature of artistic creation and realization in all the arts. Albeit brief, it should be clear from the analysis of the preceding example that the work the artist creates is a depth – a potentiality for a multitude of different realizations. This potentiality is a concretization, or a particularization, of the limitless potentiality the artist

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reflects on in the activity of artistic creation. The romantic world Hardy created in Far from the Madding Crowd is different from the world Bronte created in Wuthering Heights, still different from the world created by Tolstoy in Anna Karenina. This difference only reveals the infinity of the depth the novelist has reflected on in the heat of the creative act. Although these different worlds are concretizations or particular potentialities, each one is a depth insofar as it is a type of romantic love. Following Czarnocka’s analysis of the cognitive object, I can say that human values are, first, multidimensional. This feature is evident in their limitless possibility for creation, and their capacity to give rise to derivative values that are essential to human nature, each one of which is multidimensional and capable of expanding in depth, shades, and vibrancy. Second, human values are complementary and homeostatic in character. They constitute an interconnected web, a whole, just as human nature, from which they arise, constitutes a web ontically located in the human body. Can a person be a true friend if she is a liar, a hypocrite, coldhearted, or a deceptive human being? Or if she is not loving, caring, giving, or honest? Can an artwork be aesthetically beautiful or great if it is not true to human nature and experience, or if it is not insightful or elevating? Can we nurture the young in the art of human living if we do not cultivate them in moral, intellectual, social, aesthetic, religious, or political values? How can one be a well-rounded human being if she is not alive and active morally, intellectually, culturally, and individually? Moreover, do we not feel guilty or disappointed because of ignorance or because the situation we happen to be in is complex or problematic if we violate one or more moral, social, religious, or cultural values? Do we not sometimes condemn an artwork for moral, religious, ideological, or political reasons even if it is aesthetically pleasing? There is no need for me to lengthen this list of examples, but I hope I have thrown some light on the claim that human values are complementary and entail each other in different ways and degrees in the ordinary course of our individual lives. The point that merits special emphasis here is this: when the artist reflects on a value concept, the object of her reflection is not the philosopher’s concept of the value, but the domain of the value as a depth, as an infinite possibility for realization in contrast to the philosopher who focuses her attention on the essential features of the concept that define it in a certain way. For example, when

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we contemplate or reflect on a value concept in an attempt to comprehend its connotation, we discover that it is an inexhaustible depth of meaning. By its very essence, a concept or a general idea does not denote the meaning of a particular object but the essential features of a class of objects. However, unlike concrete or natural objects, values are depths of meaning. We may define them in general, but the definition always remains an inexhaustible source of intuition and comprehension primarily because, as a reality, it exists as a wealth of potentiality.

Object of Reflection in Aesthetic Perception The means of presenting a slice of human values qua potentiality as an object of reflection in the activity of artistic creation is a cluster of value concepts. This cluster does not exist to the artist the way it exists to the philosopher in a moment of contemplation or creation. The kind of reflection the artist engages in this activity is not conception or intellection, nor does it involve logical reasoning – although it has a logic of its own – it is pre-reflective and intuitive in character. A cluster of values that stand before the imagination of the artist in this kind of moment is a formless, limitless depth of meaning. It is critically important to point out at this juncture of my discussion that meaning qua meaning, in itself, is formless. When I reflect on any type of meaning, the content of my reflection is not a particular object, or form, regardless of whether it is physical, conceptual, or imaginary. Even in philosophical thinking, when I apprehend the meaning connoted by a concept or proposition, the concept or proposition exists to my mind as an undifferentiated content of meaning. For example, when I think, or conceive, of the idea “chair,” I may associate the meaning I apprehend with a vague or general form of “chair,” but in itself, the content I apprehend is formless. This essential feature of meaning is the main reason for saying that the cluster of value concepts the artist reflects on in the activity of artistic creation exists in her imagination as a potentiality acting as a cognitive faculty. Potentiality as such, or in itself, does not exist; it is always a particular kind of power, ability, or capacity, that inheres in a particular object or type of object, natural or human. It acquires its identity from the kind of object in which it inheres. Accordingly, the different types of values that make up

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the realm of human values in here as a potentiality in human nature and, more concretely, in the different types of action human beings perform in the course of their theoretical and practical lives. The human being has the ability to perform various types of value-based action; for example, moral, religious, political, aesthetic, intellectual, cultural, or social action. The philosopher has rendered a great service to the study of culture – science, religion, art, cosmology, politics – by articulating, analyzing, systematizing, and justifying the various types of values human nature is capable of. Their analysis and method of justifying their existence and application is now the task of the theory or philosophy of values. The cluster of value concepts the artist reflects on in the activity of artistic creation is the meaning signified by the value concepts the philosopher constructed. In itself, this meaning transcends the content that constitutes their definition. The artist may or may not begin with the process of reflection within the domain of this content, but her objective is the depth of meaning that gave rise to the concept the philosopher has constructed. Her aim is not to conceptualize any aspect or element of this depth but to create a symbolic representation that comprehends it as depth. I should here emphasize that this kind of depth is not and cannot be reduced to a conceptual formation of any kind, primarily because it is essentially pure meaning, and because it is a depth of meaning. By its very nature, a depth – any kind of depth – resists concretization or any kind of articulation. This is why we can say that, as a symbolic representation, the artwork is a depth of meaning; it is a kind of window that overlooks a particular depth of meaning. Whether in the process of creating the artwork or in the process of perceiving it, the reflective activity of the artist – unlike the reflective activity of the scientist or the philosopher, which is general or abstract – is existential. It is living in character, mainly because it is not a conceptual or abstract reality; it is realized value. It steps into reality in the process of realizing it. Put differently, it steps into reality in the mode of experience, but experience is by its very essence a living reality – a drop of life. It comes to life in the reflective activity of the artist when it breaks through the conceptual structure of the value concepts it is reflecting on, and, second, it comes to life when the perceiver breaks through the given formal organization of the artwork. I say “break through” in the movement from

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the sensuous representation of the artwork to the world of meaning it embodies is, as Czarnocka recognized, an ontic jump. The first is an object of sensuous perception. The second is an object of the mind. Like her, I assume that the mind is ontologically different from the object of sensuous perception. Sensing is an activity of the body. Thinking is an activity of the mind. When I contemplate Van Gogh’s The Potato Eaters aesthetically, the content of my contemplation is not the sensuous representation, although it is the means of my contemplation. On the contrary, I penetrate the sensuous representation I see with my eyes into the world of meaning potential in it. I move from the symbol to what it symbolizes, which transcends the parameters of the given symbol. The activity of aesthetic penetration infuses the symbol and its signification with life, with the life of my soul. How does this mystery take place? I cannot discuss this contentious question here, but I shall accept its possibility as a de facto function of human nature. It is an existentially given happening. Again, when I embark on writing a long novel whose theme is human life and death, I infuse the narrative I construct with life, with human life. The characters, scenes, incidents, actions, and topics of conversation that make up the fabric of the novel as a literary work of art are not ordinary or scientific descriptions or constructions, even though they may be similar to actual incidents, scenes, actions, or conversations we encounter in real life. They are symbolic representations. I load and impregnate the narrative I construct with the power of revealing the meaning of human life and death. But how can I accomplish this mysterious feat if I do not first delve deep into the ocean explored by the philosopher, theologian, artist, scientist, and myself? Can I be a magician or a Jove who can infuse spirit, spiritus, into my narrative the way the Roman Jove infused spiritus into the clay Cura fashioned into a human form? Again, do we not feel, and sometimes live, the soul of the artist in her work? Alas! Does the artist not live in her work? Metaphorically speaking, is her work not an image of her soul? As an aesthetic perceiver, can I remain the same person after I undergo an aesthetic experience of the world of meaning potential in artworks such as Mona Lisa, Tolstoy’s The Death of Ivan Ilych, Sophocles’ Oedipus the King, Brancusi’s Bird in Flight, Bronte’s Wuthering Heights, or Beckett’s Waiting for Godot?

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While the artist reflects on the infinite depth of meaning signified by a cluster of value concepts, the aesthetic perceiver reflects on a particular domain of that cluster. Although it is particular, it is nevertheless a depth not only because the domain represented in the artwork is a depth, for this is how the artist represented it, but also because the human being who reflects on it is also a depth – a spiritual depth. Suppose I meet the conditions of recognizing an artwork I discussed in chapter two, suppose I approach The Potato Eaters with the intention of having an aesthetic experience of this work, and suppose I focus my attention on the representation I see on canvas. In this case, the representation would be the object of my reflection. As such, it is a window that overlooks the aesthetic depth potential in the painting. But, as I shall momentarily explain, this window, i.e., the canvas, is an integral part of the artistic aesthetic depth. The first and primary stream of my reflection reveals a group of people having a potato dinner. But when I penetrate through the sensuous scene, I see into what lies beyond it, and these people, who first appeared to my ordinary eyes as abstract human figures, now appear as living human individuals. The figures I perceived a moment ago are now “dressed,” endowed, with humanity, with the essential features that make an organism a living human individual. What was infused by the artist in the representation comes to life in the activity of aesthetic perception. Moreover, the setting of the people that seemed to my eyes as jumbles of geometrical figures now appears as a community of human beings having dinner. When I dwell on the way this community eats and interacts with each other, I perceive human presence: see this presence shines from the communal setting. This scene reveals the essence of the human spark. The light of this spark emanates from the depth of meaning Van Gogh envisioned in the activity of artistic creation, such as love, justice, divinity, contentment, faith, intimacy, piety, joy, modesty, or community. But, alas, is his all I perceive? No! This stratum of aesthetic perception transports me into a deeper dimension of human meaning. It is clear that the human beings having dinner are two families, but they appear to my vision as one human family, one human community. This oneness represents the true meaning of human presence. This presence is pure – a human jewel that shines from within.

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It is obvious that the members of the two families are poor and live poorly. Their clothes, their eyes, noses, and lips that protrude from their faces as potato fruits, their knuckles, their headdresses, the meal they are eating, which consists mainly of potatoes and a cup of coffee, the furniture of the room – in short, everything about them and that small dining room suggests material poverty. Yet, the human jewel shines from within this very poverty. How can I reflect on this human jewel without apprehending its shining light from the standpoint of the light that streams from the lamp that illuminates the room and the humanity that emanates from their presence? I believe that the brightness of this light and the way it illuminates the humanity of the people in the room symbolizes the divine light. Could it be that the light that descends from the lamp over their heads does not only reveal their humanity, but also transforms their dinner into a supper – the kind Jesus held with his disciples? Is this light the source of the values that underlie their humanity? How can I experience this human depth without also moving into a wider vista of human meaning potential in the formal organization of the artwork, viz., the question that necessarily entails the meaning of human life and existence in general? How can I witness – no longer perceive or simply experience – the poverty of these families without raising the question of the meaning of death, of the death of the human individual in relation to life? There is no need for me to press this point any further, but I hope I have said enough to suggest that the object of reflection in art is not an ordinary object and that the potentiality that inheres in its formal organization is a world of human meaning. As I indicated earlier, art is a serious pursuit, no less serious than the pursuit of the scientist, the philosopher, or the theologian.

The Subject of Reflection in Art In their analysis of the nature of the artistic and the aesthetic, most, if not all, aestheticians hardly pay any attention to the subject of reflection in the activity of artistic creation and in the process of aesthetic perception. They uncritically assume a subject as the author of these two types of activity. In traditional aesthetic theory, this assumption was accepted as a result of a residual belief, first articulated by Plato and Aristotle and then

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revived by a long tradition that began with Descartes and Locke and culminated in the mosaic of contemporary philosophies of mind. Regardless of whether their analysis of mind is empirical as in Russell, neurophysiological as in materialism, psychoanalytical as in Freud, or metaphysical as in Bergson, a basic feature of the human mind is that it is a unitary reality, a subject that presides over its experiences. A corollary to this assumption is that, as a metaphysical category, mental activity is generically different from physical activity. The ghost of Cartesian dualism lurks in or on the fringe of the majority of the theories of the human mind circulating during the twentieth century. But this twofold assumption, which was questioned and practically shattered by Freud and subsequent schools of Freudian studies in the middle of the last century and the philosophical and scientific development of human anthropology in general, brought into a new focus not only the concept of mind but especially that of human nature. Even topics such as the “Philosophy of Mind,” “Concept of Mind,” or “Theory of Mind” suggest that the human mind is a kind of generically distinct category, or ontologically different from the body as a physical category. The purpose of the preceding remark is not to propose, much less embrace, a concept of mind. As I emphasized more than once, the cognitive subject is a multidimensional, complex, and homeostatic being. It is a world of ideas, feelings, emotions, visions, desires, capacities, beliefs, inclinations, social interests, and cultural orientations. Moreover, she does not perceive or experience her natural and human environment merely as a mind but as the unity of her mind and body, as an existential and historical being, as a whole. This whole is co-extensive with its social and natural world. The idea that it is the subject of its experiences is not mutually exclusive to the idea that it is co-extensive with it. On the contrary, it interacts with it as an integral part of it. “Subjecthood” emerges in this very interaction in the same way that the subject itself emerges as a subject in the activity of selfconsciousness. Similarly, the idea that we perceive the object as an integral part of its environment and that the environment as a perceptual field plays a role in the development of the perceptual model, or the content of perception that the mind grasps in the activity of constructing a symbolic representation – be it artistic, religious, or scientific – is not mutually exclusive of the idea that a cognitive object is an object or that has integrity.

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Like Czarnocka, I think that an adequate understanding of the mind or the cognitive subject that perceives, reflects on, or experiences a material or human object, or how this subject performs the activity of perceiving or reflecting, experiencing, or cognizing, is crucially important and, I may add, a necessary condition for understanding the nature of the object of reflection, perception, or cognition, and consequently for our knowledge of the object. This assertion is based on the assumption that the method or the conditions under which we perceive or experience the object plays a decisive role in the kind of knowledge we have of it. For example, in the past, people believed that the earth was flat. This belief seemed reasonable to the majority of common-sense people throughout the world and for quite a long time because the perceptual conditions under which they perceived the surface of the earth confirmed the truth of the belief. But when these conditions changed, i.e., when people began to have experiences, such as sailing around the earth or watching the masks of in-coming ships slowly emerge from the distance, they began to doubt this firmly established belief. Experiments were performed. Their doubts were confirmed. Again, it was believed by philosophers, scientists, and ordinary people that the earth is the center of our solar system and that all the planets in this system revolved around it. But when this belief was formally doubted, and scientists such as Tycho Brahe, Kepler, and Copernicus doubted this belief, and when experiments with the aid of mathematics and instruments confirmed the falsity of the old belief, a completely new way of explaining the motion of the sun, the earth, and the other planets replaced the earlier one. A critical examination of the historical development of science, philosophy, theology, art, and technology will, I think, show that the conditions under which we perceive the object plays a significant role in the kind of knowledge we have of the object. We may view mathematics, experiments, instruments, and the machines we use to achieve our purposes in the different domains of human life – cars, airplanes, radars, microscopes, telescopes, computers – as extensions of the mind and the body, i.e., extensions of the perceptual and cognitive faculties. But it is not enough to recognize the vital role the means of perception play in our endeavor to understand the dynamics of the cognitive act. It is equally important to proceed in the analysis of these dynamics from an adequate comprehension of the cognitive object and the cognitive subject:

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what is the object of perception? How does this object reveal its structure to the faculty of perception? Again, what is the structure of the cognitive act? Or, how does the cognitive subject receive the content of its perception of the object and transform it into a concept as in science and philosophy and into a world of meaning in art? As we have already seen, the cognitive subject, as well as the cognitive object, are quite different from those in science and philosophy. While in science, the object is physical in character, and the content of its cognition is a concept or proposition, and while the cognitive object in philosophy is a slice of human meaning and the content of its cognition is also a concept or proposition, in art, the cognitive object is a slice of human meaning; the content of its cognition is not concept or proposition, but a human reality that emerges in the experience of the aesthetic perceiver as a living world of meaning. Now the question that demands an answer is: what is the mode of existence of this object? As we have already seen, it exists as a potentiality inherent in the formal organization of the artwork. But a potentiality is not a sensuously perceivable object, although it is discerned and constructed in the medium of sensuous or conceptual perception. For example, I do not perceive the man in the boy with any or a combination of my senses, and yet the man exists as a potentiality in the boy. How do I perceive the man in the boy? Can I perceive the man in the boy? No, because the process in which I discern the man in the boy is a creative process, one that takes place under certain perceptual conditions. I am not the author of the process of ordinary perception because it is conditioned by natural laws, but I am the author of the creative process. In this process, the potentiality that inheres in the formal organization of the work emerges as a world of meaning. I am the sole author of the creative process, but I am the co-author of this world. In the process of artistic creation, the artist grasps of a slice of meaning. As I have emphasized, this slice is not conceptual or theoretical in character, but existential, primarily because meaning exists as a living reality. The artist lives this reality during her creative process; her imagination is one with it. The form she creates does not have the character of a concept, and it is not abstract, but a living form, the kind that speaks that communicates a content of meaning. It can do this by virtue of its capacity to function as a symbol. Accordingly, it’s a kind of language, but not like the language of ordinary life, science, or philosophy that are public in their function. It is, in

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principle, a private language by which the artist speaks in and through her style and the form she creates. It speaks by the way the artist organizes her medium into an artwork. This way reflects the kind and depth of the meaning she lives in the heat of the creative act. A sort of dialogue takes place between the medium and the depth of meaning she lives during that moment. This dialogue is, I think, one of the Jovian mysteries of the creative act. In it, the form welcomes the meaning to its space, and the meaning surrenders the to the form. The meaning inhabits the form not only because it is designed for it, but also because it is capable of assuming a form, mainly because it is indeterminate and limitless. When the artist is pregnant with a feeling or an urge to express a slice of human meaning, does this urge not exist in her soul as a drive, as an impulse, as a “cry” for expression? Is this cry not the cry of the artist to speak? Again, does this cry not announce the form of its expression? Put differently, does the form in which it will inhere not exist as a potentiality in the cry, that is, in the kind of meaning that seeks expression or desire to speak? Suppose a novelist feels the oppressive, insistent, crushing hand of evil in the different spheres of individual and social life, suppose this feeling grows in magnitude, and suppose this growth reaches the level of a strong and urgent moral cry in her soul – yes, suppose she hears this cry clearly, and suppose she embarks on expressing it in a concrete, living form, what better image, i.e., form, can she design to express it than the image of the devil that can assume different shapes, wears different masks, and speaks different languages in its attempt to wreak havoc in the lives of individuals and societies? Is there a better image to use to show the ugliness of evil? In this case, which I think is common in events of artistic creation, does the image of the devil, or a similar image, not arise from the depth of the moral feeling of anger this novelist experiences before embarking on the adventure of writing her novel? Artistic form cannot be borrowed, plagiarized, stolen, or received as a gift; it originates from the bosom of the artist, from the logic of the intuition that gives rise to the creative act. Unfortunately, many of the artworks that make up the art world are not as original as one would expect. Those works that originate from thoughtful, caring, knowledgeable, understanding, truthful, and divine souls linger in the history of the human spirit. These are the types of works that change individual lives and sometimes the course of social life.

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Although the form in and through which the artist communicates a slice of human meaning is subjective and private, it is readable under certain perceptual conditions, as I discussed in Chapter One, because the creation of artistic form is usually achieved according to generally established rules, conventions, and practices. It usually takes an aesthetically cultivated imagination to read or move from the symbolic form to the domain of its signification or meaning. Now, in my aesthetic perception of an artwork, when I make a transition from the sensuous to the aesthetic domain of the artwork, I stand before a different object. That is, I stand before a different kind of object. In the initial stage, the object of my reflection was the form of the work, but when transit into the aesthetic domain, I confront a different type of object; although it is a different object, it is, nevertheless, the same object because the aesthetic domain drives the fabric of its being from the form in which it inheres: the form of the work is the basis of the formal structure of the aesthetic domain. It is part and parcel of it. As my discussion of The Potato Eaters has shown, the aesthetic object does not have the identity of a scientific, ordinary, or philosophical object, e.g., the paper on which I am now writing these words or the identity of the tree I can see through the window; it is living, spiritual object – a reality in the process of being lived. It is, to repeat a metaphor I used earlier, a drop of human experience. I say drop because it does not endure in time the way natural or human objects endure. It has logic and time of its own. It is an island of time in the tine that makes up the cosmic process. From the human point of view, it is a kind of an “eternal now.” Am I aware of the flow of time when I am totally absorbed in a piece of music, reading a novel, appreciating a sunset, or when I am writing a letter to my beloved, or when I am enjoying the warmth of her love? Moreover, although the aesthetic object is not a public object the way ordinary objects are, for it is private and subjective, it is as real as natural objects are. I may doubt the existence of a tree or a human being I see in the distance, but I cannot doubt the reality of an experience I undergo consciously, knowingly, purposefully – one that is authored by me. Again, as an object, it does not exist to my consciousness the way the ordinary object exists to my senses because a living experience is not a spatiotemporal reality but a living, spiritual process, one that does not exist with a stable or enduring structure but one that is the totality of my being, which is the object and

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subject of its consciousness at the same time. The Cartesian “I exist” is at the same time “I am conscious that I exist.” This assertion is based on the fundamental assumption that the aesthetic experience, and consequently the aesthetic object that unfolds in the process of aesthetic perception as a living reality, does not happen to, or befalls, me: I am its co-author. Aesthetic perception is not a passive activity. It does not occur spontaneously, automatically, or fortuitously; it is a dynamic, creative, constructive activity. On the other hand, the potentiality that inheres in the formal organization of the artwork is not a passive reality, for it is not given elements of the medium I perceive sensuously or conceptually, but a reality that emerges from their dynamic interrelatedness that makes up the structure of the artwork as a symbolic representation. The ability to transcend the symbol into its signification, a kind of ontic jump, is a creative act of the imagination. We may characterize it as constructive because every moment of realizing the potentiality is a moment of constructing the aesthetic object. The continual construction of this object is why we can say that the aesthetic object unfolds in the process of perception as a world of meaning.

CHAPTER SIX CAN AN ARTWORK COMMUNICATE TRUTH?

Introduction The creation of the aesthetic object is the aim of the artist in the process of artistic creation, the perceiver in the process of aesthetic perception, and the art critic in the activity of evaluating the artwork; it is also the aim of teaching art and art appreciation. But what kind of object is the aesthetic object? Why does society place a high value on art, to the extent that it is considered a major institution on a par with science, philosophy, law, government, or technology? Why do artists devote a lifetime to the creation of artworks – to serve an ideological, religious, political, philosophical, entertainment, decorative, educational, psychological, or some practical purpose? Broadly speaking, art can serve important practical purposes, and it actually does. I tend to think that one of its central aims, or functions, of art, is cognitive in character. I believe that, like the work of the philosopher or the scientist, the artwork can communicate genuine human knowledge. I aver that not all artworks are cognitive or intended to communicate genuine knowledge, although some are spiritually uplifting, culturally illuminating, insightful, or enlightening. An inquiring look at the extant realm of art will, I think, show that a large number of the masterpieces in the domain of literature, painting, music, theater, or movies are storehouses, and are perhaps sources, of genuine knowledge of human nature, the meaning of human life and the universe, and the ultimate questions human beings asked and continue to ask about the universe and the mystery that underlies it. This knowledge is not less serious, less genuine, and less truthful than the knowledge of the philosopher or the scientist, although it is not communicated discursively, conceptually, or propositionally but depictively. Nevertheless, it is the kind of knowledge we can take seriously.

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Having reflected on the import of the preceding remarks, my critic would intervene: “it is not clear to me that all aestheticians would agree with you that, first, art can in principle communicate genuine knowledge and, second, can assume the status of “truth” the way it is understood in philosophy and science. Knowledge is verified, or verifiable, opinion, theory, hypothesis, or a certain claim to knowledge. Can the knowledge communicated by the artwork be truthful in the sense of “verified” knowledge? Philosophers have established generally recognized criteria for ascertaining the truth or falsity of a claim to knowledge. But the artwork is a subjective object in its mode of creation and perception. It is not a publicly or inter-subjectively observable reality. How can the truth or falsity of such an object be verified, or by what method? Moreover, while knowledge of the facts of nature is the task of the scientist, knowledge of the meaning of these facts is the task of the philosopher and, now we should add, the artist. As you have argued in the preceding chapters, the realm of human meaning is the realm of human values. This distinction is based on the assumption that human meaning is realized value; accordingly, meaning is not given to our mind as a public, sensible fact. Philosophical knowledge is the paradigm of our knowledge of human values. The philosopher has, during the past twenty-five hundred years, identified, systematized, analyzed, and sought to find ways to apply these values in the sighers of practical life. Countless theories are devoted to this analysis. In what sense is the knowledge communicated by the artist genuine knowledge? As you can see, my concern is twofold: can the artwork, in principle, communicate genuine knowledge? Can the knowledge communicated by the artwork be tested, i.e., can it be true or false?” These are fair questions. I shall try to answer the first question in the remainder of this chapter and the second question in the following chapter. The thesis I shall clarify and defend is that some artforms can communicate genuine knowledge, and that the knowledge they communicate can assume the status of truth. In my discussion of the first question, I shall restrict myself to the literary novel, with special focus on the philosophical novel, for two reasons. First, not all works of art communicate genuine knowledge by virtue of their artistic structure. Some types of art forms, such as architecture or dance, cannot, in principle, communicate genuine knowledge; accordingly, it is important to narrow the focus of my attention

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to the artforms that can and, in fact, do communicate genuine knowledge, e.g., literature, theater, or movies. Second, some artistic forms, e.g., the literary novel, have succeeded in developing and refining the art of communicating genuine knowledge. This is mainly why in my attempt to show that an artwork can communicates genuine knowledge, I shall restrict myself to the philosophical novel. I have added “philosophical” only to emphasize that only the literary work of art has aspired to have philosophy as its main theme.

Remarks on the Possibility of the Philosophical Novel In a recent study, The Philosophical Novel as a Literary Genre (see Mitias, 2022), I argued that the philosophical novel can justifiably be classified as a literary genre on par with the generally recognized literary genres such as mystery, romance, science fiction, or religious fiction. This proposition is based on two assumptions. First, philosophical ideas can be communicated or expressed metaphorically, symbolically, or depictively and literary novels can communicate philosophical ideas. Second, theme is the principle of genre distinction; for example, a novel is romantic if its theme is romance or religious if its theme is a religious concept, view, value, or problem. This assertion implies that the incidents of the novel are organized around its theme. If theme is the principle of genre distinction in the sphere of the literary novel, we can readily recognize that some of the masterpieces of literature – for example, Melville’s Moby Dick, Eliot’s The Wasteland, Dante’s The Divine Comedy, Sophocles’ Oedipus the King, Hesse’s Narcissus and Goldmund – are philosophical in character. However, in what sense can a literary novel communicate philosophical knowledge metaphorically or depictively? Some aestheticians may question the clarity and validity of the thesis that a literary novel can be philosophical. First, they would argue that the demarcating line between art and philosophy, drawn a long time ago by Plato, seems to be clear, for it seems obvious that what the philosopher does is uniquely different from what the artist does. Next, if the knowledge philosophical novelists communicate can be the theme of a literary novel, why should they attempt to communicate it metaphorically or depictively? Would such an attempt not be a kind of redundancy? Again, can there be a

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difference between the meaning philosophers seek to communicate in their work and the meaning literary novelists are trying to convey? For example, Aristotle communicates an idea of the good life philosophically or conceptually in his Ethics, whereas Tolstoy, in The Death of Ivan Ilyich, presents a notion of the good life metaphorically, depictively. Is one of these two conceptions more or less philosophical than the other? If the answer to this question is yes, how or in what sense? However, my critic, who recognizes the clarity of Plato’s demarcation line between art and philosophy, albeit for different reasons, would argue that philosophy is philosophy, art is art, and the twain cannot mingle. The aim and work of the philosopher, for this commentator, are quite different from an artist’s objective and creation. The philosopher thinks, argues, and communicates ideas; the artist imagines, intuits, and offers images. Ideas cannot be depicted; images cannot be “imagined.” Images are constructed by the imagination; ideas are constructed by the intellect. Again, the philosopher conceives ideas that are general and so intersubjective; the artist expresses meaning by means of symbols or images. The latter’s expression originates in subjectivity. It is also intended for a subjective viewpoint. Unlike the ideas of the philosopher, an artist’s expression cannot be verified. We may enjoy the literary work, and we may glean, discern, or intuit an insight or acquire some knowledge or understanding of an important question or dimension of human life or the world; but this insight, knowledge, or understanding cannot be verified, primarily because the literary work is an invitation to see, feel, and understand a slice of human meaning. Concept is the medium of communication in art; aesthetic beauty is the medium of communication in the literary work or in art in general. This invitation may be persuasive, enlightening, delightful, even alluring, but its purpose is not to persuade or argue. We are under no obligation to believe the truth revealed in our experience when we read a literary work. For example, we admire the nobility, power, and beauty of the love we see and feel when we read Wuthering Heights or Tristian and Isolde, but do we feel obliged to act according to the ideals of the love they lived? We look up to this kind of love and may desire it in the depth of our hearts, but do we, or indeed can we, really live up to its demands? In contrast, the proposition of the philosopher is a claim, an assertion that something is the case, e.g., “human beings are rational animals” or “democracy is the best

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form of government.” We can establish the truth or falsity of these propositions by logical and empirical arguments, although we cannot even attempt to establish the truth or falsity of a poem, novel, or play simply because it is an expression and the truth it may embody is not clearly determined or defined. It is a subjective expression. When artists complete their work and present it to the public, they silently or indirectly say: “This is how I feel!”; “This is how I see the question, the situation, or the problem”; or “This is my view of the matter!” We may contest, deny, or even question the veracity of what is revealed or expressed in that work or the way artists reveal or express themselves, and we can accept or endorse it; moreover, the artist may wish or hope that you accept the truth expressed, but they know, and the public too, that the artist’s expression does not entail a demand to accept it, primarily because the expression is not an assertion. The work may, as I have just indicated, be inspiring or enlightening, and it may have a persuasive quality by the power of the expression or its beauty, for beauty is seductive, but it cannot be treated as an assertion. Only an assertion or claim is verifiable, or only when the expression is translated into an assertion or claim – as some teachers or critics do – can it be verifiable. Literary criticism, which is a complex mosaic of conflicting and diverse interpretations and evaluations of literary works, clearly illustrates the validity of my assertion. Before I respond in detail to this objection, a remark is in order. An affirmative response to this objection is a denial of the validity of the first assumption on which the thesis of this essay is founded, for it would then seem that if philosophical ideas cannot be communicated metaphorically or depictively, a philosophical novel cannot be classified as a literary genre; how can it be, if its theme is not genuinely philosophical? It may, at most, communicate an insight, contain a philosophical conversation as a part of the plot, or may shed some light on a philosophical question or problem, but it certainly is not a literary genre, would be the argument. I tend to think that the critic’s argument against the possibility of classifying a philosophical novel as a literary genre is mistaken. It is hasty, and overlooks central critical assumptions that underlie the construction of both the literary work and the philosophical work. Moreover, its formulation of the question of the relation between art and philosophy is simplistic. We cannot answer this question adequately without first examining the principle

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or basis of literary distinction, viz., what makes a novel a literary work, and second, the principle or basis of philosophical distinction, that is, what makes a discourse, a conception, or a theory philosophical? I concede that the artist expresses a certain state of mind, one that signifies a kind of human meaning, vision, or experience and that this expression is not amenable to logical or empirical verification primarily because it is an expression; I also grant that a philosophical proposition is an assertion and that it is amenable to such verification. In general, philosophers and artists accept that the philosophers seek to establish the truth of their propositions, whereas the artist presents the possibility of a meaningful experience – that is, a kind of meaning, vision, or experience – in a beautiful form. The issue, however, is not these aspects of artistic and philosophical works but their basis: what does it mean when you say that the artist creates an artwork or that the philosopher creates a philosophical work? What is the ontic source of these types of works? In other words, from where does the philosophical or artistic work derive its being? This question leads to another: is the meaning of most, if not all, philosophical propositions absolutely clear and finally definable? The history of philosophy is replete with abandoned or updated definitions of basic theories and conceptions, all of which were used as principles of explanation. Even those propositions that at first appear enduring and precise turn out to be neither lasting nor clear. Consider for a moment Aristotle’s definition of anthropos, man, as a rational animal, which was taken for granted by some philosophers for centuries; what do we mean by “human” or “rational”? Even the concept of philosophy – its aims, method, role in human life – is not clear or quite definable. Any attempt to shed light on this concept is a request to analyze or define it metaphilosophically; as I shall do presently. And yet, how can we define, much less understand it, if what we call philosophy is a tapestry of methods and conceptions of philosophy? However, this difficulty applies to a large number of propositions or conceptions that may seem well defined or articulated. I say this only because it is important to tread warily in our attempt to theorize on the nature of philosophical concepts, propositions, thinking, or practice. In my attempt to elucidate and defend the proposition that a philosophical novel can communicate genuine philosophical knowledge and, therefore, can be classified as a literary genre, I focus on the following questions. First,

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what are the differentiae of philosophical thinking and discourse? Put differently, what is the principle of philosophical distinction, or what makes a train of thought or discourse philosophical? Next, what makes a narrative, a play, or a poem a literary work; that is what is the principle of literary distinction? We cannot determine whether a novel is or can be classified as a literary genre if the knowledge it communicates is not genuine philosophy. Second, what type of reality do the philosopher and the litterateur contemplate? For instance, the reality Plato’s philosopher seeks to know is the Sun, and the forms that emanate from it, whereas the artist contemplates the realm of appearance, i.e., natural objects that he aims to represent. I think that a satisfactory answer to this second question is a necessary condition for any explication of the possibility of claiming that a philosophical novel can communicate genuine philosophical knowledge, for how can we know whether it is genuine if we are not clear about the kind of reality it denotes or signifies, or what kind of reality it is of? Yet the fact is, as I shall momentarily argue, that both artists and philosophers contemplate the same type of reality in creating their work. The knowledge they seek to convey is knowledge of this reality. Third, what are the means or mediums of communicating knowledge in art and philosophy? It is obvious that the vehicle of communication in philosophy is concept, which is abstract and non-sensuous, while in art, the medium is sensuous or conceptual form. Philosophers articulate their intuition of an aspect or dimension of reality into a conceptual framework composed of propositions; artists articulate their intuition into a sensuous or conceptual medium – marble, lines and colors, words, or sounds. Implied in the analysis of the preceding question is that the construction of the literary work in general, and the philosophical novel in particular, is a creative act of the imagination. Both the philosophical work and the artwork come into being ex nihilo. Could it be that the philosophical work is a work of art or that the artwork is essentially philosophical in character? Whether artistic or philosophical, is there a possibility that the work is an image of the mind that created it? Fourth, what does it mean to say that philosophers verify the validity of their propositions logically and empirically while the artist presents it in the medium of symbolic representation? Does the process of verification establish the truth of the proposition? What is the ultimate test of truth, any type of truth?

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The purpose of formulating the preceding questions is to lay the ground for elucidating and establishing the validity, at least to a reasonable extent, of the proposition that the knowledge the philosophical novelist communicates in a novel is genuine philosophy and that it can justifiably be classified as a literary genre.

What Makes a Work Philosophical? This question is a request to identify the essential features that distinguish the philosophical work from the religious, scientific, or any other type of work as a genre or type. The most reasonable, and I think effective, way to answer this question is to examine the activity through which the philosopher creates a philosophical work or conducts a philosophical discourse. This examination is a kind of “philosophical observation,” in which we investigate and observe what the philosopher does or says. This can be done in the medium of a conversation, reading the philosopher’s work, or studying the act in which that work comes into being. If such observers happen to be philosophers, they can also observe how they philosophize and the conditions under which they construct a conception, a theory, or a system and try to establish the validity of the conception, theory, or system. I assume, here, that the method employed in this context is the phenomenological method of inquiry. Now, suppose we undertake this kind of observation as observers of what other philosophers do and what we do as philosophers – what kind of differentiae would we discover? I might not be wrong in saying that the features we discover and which could gain the assent of the majority of philosophers – regardless of their different philosophical persuasions – are conceptual analysis, logical reasoning, demonstration, verification, conception, interpretation, clarification, and explanation. The general aim of the philosopher is to communicate a slice, a ray, or a measure of knowledge about a dimension or aspect of reality, e.g., moral, aesthetic, religious, political, cultural, historical, or cosmic reality. This knowledge is communicated in the medium of a conceptual framework, be that a book, theory, conception, proposition, essay, or conversation. In arriving at this knowledge, the philosopher analyzes, argues, demonstrates, explains. The purpose of this activity is to construct a conceptual framework that is

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logically and conceptually coherent. The philosopher always hopes that the conception or theory proposed for consideration is rationally sound, cogent, or meaningful. It is assumed that if the conceptual frame of the conception or theory is clearly conceived and supported by sound arguments, it would be reliable, reasonable. The point to be emphasized here is that the building blocks of the conceptual framework are propositions. A proposition is a conceptual construct. The medium in which the concepts are articulated is perception, and the medium of perception is the activity of reflecting on or contemplating the type of reality the philosopher seeks to know. The concept of the philosopher is born in the activity of penetrating perceptually a dimension of reality by direct acquaintance with it. The outcome of this kind of penetration is cognitive intuition. Philosophers articulate their intuition of the meaning of the reality they reflect on by means of concepts – that is, concept is the vehicle of communication or expression. This is why a conceptual framework is a reflection of the essential structure of the dimension of reality they seek to know. For example, a philosophical system such as Aristotle’s or Hegel’s is a conceptual reflection of the essential structure of reality as a whole, and an ethical conception or theory such as Kant’s is a conceptual framework that reflects the essential structure of the moral life. When I penetrate, and in a sense conceptually live, the totality of Aristotle’s or Hegel’s philosophy, I acquire, by a constructive act of my mind, a coherent and logically constructed image or a conceptual map of the world from Aristotle’s or Hegel’s point of view. Again, when I penetrate and, in a sense, conceptually live the ethical theory of Kant, I acquire, by a constructive of my mind, a coherent and logically formed image of the moral life from Kant’s point of view. In this case, the system functions as a vehicle of knowledge. However, I do not, in my penetration of the system, which necessarily takes time and intellectual effort, merely acquire knowledge of the world; I also understand what it means for it to exist and to exist the way it does. Does this kind of knowledge not illumine how I should conduct myself in this short life of mine? However, the philosopher is not only a seeker of knowledge, a feature characteristic of all human beings, for they are by nature curious and so desire to know; they are also seekers of true, valid, or certain knowledge. Regardless of whether they can achieve this aim, the inherent desire for truth or for tested, verified knowledge is an essential craving of human nature.

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This craving seems to underlie any kind of pursuit or endeavor in both theoretical and practical life. Do we not desire that our friend, partner, or associate is honest? Do we not try to make sure that the project we are about to undertake will be feasible? Don’t we wish that the political, economic, or legal system under which we live is the right one? Might we not wish, or at least hope, that God really exists? Is our going to war not predicated on the expectation of victory? The point I wish to underscore is that a central differentia of philosophers and philosophical thinking is a quest for true or verified knowledge. The power by which philosophers establish the truth of their propositions is reason, and the instrument by which reason achieves this goal is empirical and logical reasoning – deduction and induction, and appeal to scientific knowledge. I have added “scientific knowledge” here because it is, generally speaking, verified knowledge. In order for any claim of knowledge to assume a philosophical character, it should be tested or verified knowledge by the most recent and sophisticated means of verification. I am not unaware of the divergent views on the aims and methods of philosophy, and the role that the discipline plays or should play in human life. However, regardless of this divergence, which is sometimes radical and contentious, and notwithstanding the fact that we may be living in an age of uncertainty, of constantly evolving in every sphere of theoretical and practical life, as some social critics argue, philosophical thinking is essentially systematic, rational, propositional, truth-oriented, and system-based.

What Makes an Artwork Art? What makes an activity, an experience, or an artifact art? What are the differentiae of the artwork? Put differently, what kind of object, phenomenon, or aspect should we think about when someone mentions “art” or “artistic”? Here, I make a distinction between the artwork we enjoy in an aesthetic experience or work that is of a class of objects classified as “artworks” on the one hand, and on the other hand, the attributes that make the said work art, entitling it to membership in the class of artworks, on the other. The experience of such works, i.e., as art, is usually characterized as “aesthetic.”

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I hasten to add that the artistic or aesthetic dimension of the artwork is not a natural fact or reality; it is not a part of the furniture of nature. We do not encounter it when we take a walk in the garden or when doing our shopping in the marketplace. What actually exists is a class of objects called or classified as works of art, but these objects are given to us as ordinary objects. These objects do not immediately possess their artistic aspect or quality – that is, we do not perceive the artistic aspect or quality when we contemplate the given object by means of our senses. For example, we do not perceive the object in the way we perceive its color or shape by our eyes or the way we perceive its texture by means of our tactile faculty. Yet, artworks possess a quality or a dimension that makes them works of art. This is why I began the discussion of this section with the question: what makes an activity, an experience, or an artifact art? An answer to this question is, I submit, a primary task of aesthetic theory. It is not my intention here to advance such a theory, but on the basis of the generally discussed conceptions of the artistic and the aesthetic as such during the past century and the first decade of this period, I can say with reasonable certainty that the principle of artistic distinction is aesthetic quality. An artifact, an activity, or an experience is art inasmuch as it possesses aesthetic qualities. A corollary to this proposition is that a novel, a poem, or a play is a literary work inasmuch as it is art – that is, inasmuch as it possesses aesthetic qualities. For example, the main theme of a novel may be philosophical ideas, problems, or questions. If this theme is not embedded in the literary or artistic dimension of the narrative, the narrative would not be a philosophical novel. It will be a philosophical novel only if it is a work of art. A novel that is not a work of art may be a philosophical work or narrative but is not a literary work of art. Indeed, even the question of whether it is philosophical would not arise. However, the question under consideration is whether a literary novel can be philosophical or whether the knowledge it communicates is genuine philosophical knowledge. I shall henceforth use “literary” and “artistic” interchangeably. The aforementioned qualities are not, as I have just emphasized, a given, or ready-made realities. They are created by the artist in the activity of artistic creation, although not as ready-made realities; the artist creates them as potentialities or as potentially aesthetic objects. We do not directly perceive them in the given artwork the way secondary or primary qualities

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are given to our senses. Yet, the aesthetic qualities the artwork possesses belong to the work and exist in it. Now, what are these qualities? How do they exist in the artwork as a potentiality? For that matter, how does a potentiality exist in any object, since that which is potential is characteristic of any kind of object? Again, what does it mean to say that artists create a potentiality when they create the artistic dimension of the artwork? As a conceptual category, potentiality does not exist as an independent reality, physical or conceptual, but as an aspect of reality, as a possibility inherent in it. For example, we do not perceive an oak tree in the acorn when we examine it perceptually, yet the acorn is a potential oak tree. Again, we do not see the woman in the girl, yet the girl is a potential woman. In these and similar cases, the potentiality of the object to become or assume a different identity inheres in the structural form of the object. The ontic locus of the potentiality inheres in the formal organization of the object or in the way the object is constituted or structured. By “form,” I do not mean the shape or appearance of the object, although the shape or appearance is a part of the form, but Aristotle’s concept of form, according to which “form” connotes its essential features or structure – that is, the way the various elements that make up its structure are constituted or formed. When I contemplate the apple tree that stands in my neighbor’s garden, with the intention of conceiving, grasping, or comprehending its essence, I do not focus my attention merely on its shape or how it appears (it may look like other trees), but on the elements that make it an apple tree and distinguish it from any other types of trees. The identity of the apple tree is determined by the way its elements are constituted. Other types of trees are not different by virtue of the fact that their stuff is organic, for this stuff is practically the same in all species of the plant kingdom, but because of the way that same stuff is put together. Accordingly, when I say that as a potentiality, aesthetic qualities exist or inhere in the form, or formal organization, of the artwork, I mean that it is not an element of the given form but inheres in the way the form is structured. All the paintings housed in a museum are made of lines and colors, but not all of them are formed in the same way. Each one is formed differently, uniquely. This difference, or uniqueness, is the ontic locus of potentiality and consequently of aesthetic quality; we look for this potentiality or quality in the uniqueness of this way-ness.

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But then, my critic will now wonder: how can we move, in our perception of the artwork, from the given form the artist produced in the process of artistic creation to the artistic dimension that inheres in it as a potentiality? This question is critical because it spotlights the conditions under which the aesthetic experience is possible; accordingly, an adequate answer to the question should illuminate the ontic locus of the philosophical knowledge of the artwork, which begets the question: does the philosophical novel communicate genuine philosophical knowledge? How can knowledge in the medium of concepts, or propositions, inhere as a potentiality in the artistic dimension of the literary novel? The question is intentionally phrased this way because it raises the further question, which I shall discuss in the following pages, as to what we mean when we say that philosophical knowledge is conceptual or propositional. How does the mind apprehend the knowledge communicated by a concept or a proposition? What does it apprehend in the activity of apprehending it? If the philosophical novel communicates knowledge and, as many aestheticians have argued, if any means of communication is a kind of language, we can say that the artwork in general and the philosophical novel, in particular, is a kind of language. Like any kind of language, it is a type of symbolic language. Again, as a literary work of art, the philosophical novel is a linguistic structure, but it is a symbolic means of communication as an artwork. Accordingly, the philosophical novel is a symbolic structure, and being such a structure, it is a means of communication – that is, communicating human meaning. I say “symbolic structure” because, as I shall explain, the literary novel communicates more than one kind of meaning. As a symbolic structure, the philosophical novel does not communicate the type of meaning that inheres in it directly, the way a truck transports a load of furniture from one house to another or the way my hand transports a loaf of bread from the counter to the dining table, but indirectly, because the load it transports, namely a slice of knowledge or meaning that inheres as a potentiality in its structure, does not exist as a ready-made reality; qua symbol, it signifies the meaning, points to it. The meaning it signifies lies outside it, yet it points to or signifies the meaning by virtue of its form. For example, the word “tab” is a linguistic symbol. It signifies a concept, and the concept connotes a type of meaning. However, it signifies this type of

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meaning by virtue of the formal organization of the letters that make up its structure. Change this structure, and you change its signification. If you change “tab” to “bat,” you change the meaning or signification of the word. The meaning of a word in every language is determined by the way, or order, of its organization. What I conceive or “think” when you utter “tab” is quite different from what I think when you utter “bat.” Still, symbols are not merely linguistic in character; they can be natural. For example, the moon is a messenger of love. Socially, for example, a wedding ring symbolizes enduring love. The point I stress is that the meaning of the symbol lies beyond the parameters of its given form. Whether it is public, as in science, philosophy, art, ordinary life, and religion, or in private life, as in the interaction between friends, co-workers, or family members, human communication takes place in the medium of an unusually complex mosaic of symbols. We ordinarily master the language symbols “speak,” or the meaning they embody, in the process of social growth; and when the symbols become sophisticated or technical, we learn the language they speak in schools or in the various professions. The philosophical novel is, like the different types of artworks, a structure of symbolic representation. However, unlike most symbolic languages, which we learn in the course of practical life, the symbolic representation the artist creates is unique. The wedding ring is a symbol. This symbol, like the different linguistic forms people speak, is a public, intersubjective symbol. People learn what it means the way they learn how to speak their mother tongue. The symbolic representation the literary novelist creates is, as I have just indicated, unique. How do we learn its language? That is, how do we learn to read it, or how to decipher its meaning? Although it is unique, a symbolic representation is created according to generally recognized norms and practices. For example, different formations of lines and colors affect us in certain ways; a curved line affects us differently from the way a straight or broken line affects us, and red color in its different shades affects differently from the way different shades of gray or black affect us. Moreover, when they are formed in a way that communicates a depth of human meaning, they affect us quite differently. The deeper, more profound the meaning is, the more challenging the uniqueness of the form tends to be. It is important to point out that the form

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the artist creates is not, and cannot be, imposed on the content of meaning the artist aims to communicate; on the contrary, the kind and depth of the meaning she aims to communicate gives birth to the appropriate form for expression of the meaning. Oh, how many a so-called artist borrows her form from recognized artistic forms or styles! I do not exaggerate when I say that the form the artist seeks in the heat of the creative act is implicit in the kind and depth of the meaning sought to be expressed. The meaning cannot be dressed up by a ready-made form or formal gimmicks or techniques. The form arises from the soul of the artist, from their worldview, and from the kind of mind or imagination they possess. This soul is the source of their style, and their style is the image of their soul. We can learn how to read artworks or their meaning mainly because the material, as well as the form, of artworks in general, is derived from the bosom of human life. It is not necessary for me to discuss the logical dynamics of symbol and symbol formation, which is beyond the scope of this essay. I made this brief excursus into it only to emphasize that artistic form is symbolic in nature, that it inheres in the work as a symbolic representation, and that the meaning it communicates also inheres in it as a symbolic representation. What, then, is the formal structure of this potentiality? I raise this question because the philosophical novel the literary novelist creates is a representation, a depiction; they create a human world. Accordingly, if what they create is a potentiality for the possible existence of such a world, the potentiality they create must be a complex structure. What are the formal elements of this kind of potentiality or structure? The formal elements of the artistic, or aesthetic, dimension of the work the artist creates are the aesthetic qualities that I discussed in the preceding section. As an aesthetic object, that is, as an object of aesthetic perception, the artwork qua art is the unity of the aesthetic qualities that inhere in it as an organic unity. This work emerges as an aesthetic object in the process of aesthetic perception. For example, when I contemplate Da Vinci’s Mona Lisa, I apprehend the multitude of the aesthetic qualities that inhere in it and that come to life in my experience of it as a representation. I cannot fail to discern and comprehend the world of meaning inherent in it. This world emerges gradually as I progress in my contemplation. The moment the aesthetic qualities, perceived as a unity, emerge in my perception, the features of the woman – a few moments earlier, only a patch of colors and

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lines to my ordinary eyes – become a human face, and this face ceases to be merely human. It emerges as a particular, living face. The Mona Lisa's eyes and lips are no more just the eyes and lips of any human being; they become the eyes and lips of a human individual, of a human being who speaks in a particular way and tries to deliver a particular message, the content of which is a slice of human meaning. I do not merely hear or see what they say. I also feel and understand what they say; I feel what I see, and I see what I feel. I communicate with the Mona Lisa! The language her eyes and lips speak is the language of the heart and mind, which speak in one harmonious voice and look. The speech this voice communicates is a speech of wonder, of desire, of anxiety, of care! The meaning I comprehend is the meaning of existence – of life, death, knowledge, ignorance, infinity, and a world that seems to crush everything humans create. The ultimate questions of human life seem to be distilled in the speech I hear! It is normal to wonder about the secret, power, or the magic of the creative act in which the artist creates the potential existence of a meaningful reality, the way God created this amazing universe, but it is baffling to wonder about the creation of human meaning ex nihilo. Who but a supreme being can have this kind of power? Were the Romans mistaken when they believed that Jove created human man (anthropos) by giving spiritus to the clay Cura fashioned into a human form? However, I shall not speculate on this kind of secret, power, or magic. I shall assume that the artistic dimension is created by a creative act of the imagination.

The Object of Reflection in Art and Philosophy Let us grant, for the sake of discussion, that the principle of philosophical reflection is verified knowledge or truth and that the principle of literary distinction is possession of aesthetic qualities; let us also concede that the philosophical knowledge the literary novelist communicates inheres as a potentiality in the literary stratum of the artwork and that it comes into being in the process of aesthetic perception. We can now ask: what type of reality do the philosopher and the literary novelist contemplate, and whose knowledge do they aim to communicate? This is a crucial question, because this kind of reflection, or contemplation, is the source of the identity of the novel as a literary work and as a philosophical novel. For example, the

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physicist reflects on the physical dimension of the world, viz., the physical objects that make up its structure: what is the nature of the stuff of the physical object? Matter, I may be told, but what is the matter? Atoms, I may be told, but what is the stuff of the atom? And so forth. The knowledge of the stuff out of which physical objects are made is the basis and source of scientific knowledge. By analogy, what do the philosopher and the artist contemplate or reflect upon in the activity of creating their work? Whether it is philosophical or not, the literary novel is cognitive. Otherwise, it would be a means to a practical end. An inquiring look into the field of the literary novel will certainly reveal that it is, in some way and to some extent, cognitive. It is usually a source of insight, understanding, enlightenment, or knowledge of human nature and the world. Let me at once state that the reality the scientist contemplates and aims to know is the realm of nature or the material world, whereas the reality the philosopher and the artist contemplate and aim to know is the realm of human values or of human meaning; in other words, while the scientist aims to know of the facts that make up the scheme of nature, the artist and the philosopher would like to know the meaning of these facts. In their attempt to know the meaning of the facts, both the philosopher and the artist rely on the knowledge of the scientist. This assertion is based on the assumption that knowledge of the meaning of a fact presupposes a knowledge of the fact. The scientist is the source of this knowledge. No matter what its kind, whether scientific, moral, political, artistic, religious, personal, or scientific, meaning exists in the world as realized value. The activity of realizing a value in human experience is the locus of meaning; otherwise, it exists as a potentiality in a value qua concept. We may distinguish four types of value: truth, beauty, goodness, and freedom, and their derivatives. For example, the values of wisdom, erudition, and insightfulness are derived from the value of truth; the values of elegance, grandeur, or grace are derived from the value of beauty; the values of friendship, justice, and courage are derived from the value of goodness, and the values of prosperity, individuality, and inner peace are derived from the value of freedom. However, human values are not facts the way natural objects are facts; they are concepts. As concepts, they are schemas, plans of action. We may generally define their meaning or essential features, but they are inexhaustible sources or possibilities of conception and realization.

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For example, we may define justice in terms of equality and equality in terms of merit or fairness, or qualitatively, but the interpretation and realization of justice has been remarkably diverse. The map of such interpretations and realizations historically and in different parts of the world is vast. Different individuals and cultures understand the meaning of justice differently. Even the same culture and the same individual change their understanding or interpretation from one situation or mentality to another. Yet, the realm of values is the existential medium in which human beings live. They originate as responses to essential needs inherent in human nature. Their pursuit and attainment are the substance of human life. Every important goal we strive for, every desire we feel, every project we design, every concern that matters to us, and our every satisfaction or complaint is founded in a value! Every institution – science, art, philosophy, politics, economics, or religion – is based on a basic human value. It is, I think, reasonable to say that human values are the architects of human life at the social and individual levels. We seek them because they are the source of our humanity. Their attainment is the basis of self-fulfillment, completion, or realization of the good life. Delete human values from the realm of existence, and you delete the fabric of humanity. Is it an accident, then, that the main theme of the philosophical and artistic work revolves around one or more human values, such as friendship, love, freedom, the meaning of human life, or religion and their opposites? I say “and their opposites” because the concept of value is bipolar; one pole is positive, and the other is negative. Every value entails an opposite, a disvalue. For example, the opposite of justice is injustice, the opposite of beauty is ugliness, or the opposite of life is death. Let us grant that the object of reflection in science and philosophy is the realm of human values or meaning; my critic would now intervene: how do philosophical novelists qua philosophers articulate their intuition of a slice of meaning and communicate it in a literary form? The medium of their expression as a philosopher is concept or proposition. How can the concept be translated into a literary, read artistic form of expression? The expression may be philosophical in the sense that its content is philosophical; but is it, or can it be genuine philosophy? How can it be genuine philosophy if its medium of expression is not concept?

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I aver that the philosophical novelist and the professional philosopher intuit the same object or content of expression, viz., meaning, and they articulate their intuition in different symbolic forms: the philosopher articulates it conceptually, whereas the philosophical novelist articulates it depictively. It should follow from this fundamental assumption that the substance of both forms of expression is one and the same. However, what interests my critic is knowing whether the knowledge the philosophical novelist expresses is genuine philosophical knowledge. The critic would remind me that the philosopher conceives the intuited meaning while the artist imagines and depicts it. A concept is not a representation. Concepts are ingredients of logical reasoning, which is essential to philosophical activity, yet the novelist does not argue; the novelist presents, and the mode of her presentation is depiction. We can verify a proposition, but we cannot verify a depiction. The critic would add that the realm of values as a set of concepts, questions, problems, not to mention the difficulty of the method of their discovery and conceptualization, was first explored by the philosopher. Although it was the philosopher, not the artist, who undertook this supremely important task of identifying the major values and the method of systemizing the realm of values, that does not imply that the philosophical knowledge communicated by the philosophical novel is not genuine, nor does it suggest that the artist was not cognizant of their reality and significance in human life; one may venture the remark that the rise and development of human values as a realm of being has been accomplished by both artists and philosophers. Did Hellenic and Hellenistic philosophers not derive much of their knowledge and insight from the work of the artists, and did the rise of literature, sculpture, theater, and architecture not precede the rise of philosophy? In fact, the cooperative exchange between artists and philosophers in their analysis of human values has continued into the present. It would be an exaggeration to say that the philosophical knowledge communicated by the artist is not genuine or that it is different in kind from the philosophical knowledge communicated by the literary novelist, just because the realm of values was articulated and systematized by the philosopher. The question is, my critic would hasten to interject, can philosophical knowledge, in principle, be communicated by depiction? If the philosophical knowledge the novel communicates inheres in its artistic or literary

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dimension, and if the texture of this dimension is aesthetic qualities, how can philosophical knowledge, which is propositional in nature, inhere in it? The immediate response to this is, what actually inheres in this dimension? The only thing that can inhere in it is pure human meaning or the potentiality of this kind of meaning. First, we should keep a steady eye on the fact I emphasized earlier that meaning is the substance of both philosophical and artistic works. A concept does not, and cannot, inhere in any kind of object, physical or non-physical; meaning does and can. A proposition does not inhere in a literary work as a linguistic structure; its meaning does and can. The linguistic structure is a form of symbolic representation; but, then, can the meaning a proposition communicates inhere in the literary dimension in the fullness of its being? Can a system or a conception communicate the fullness of the meaning of the reality it communicates? The concept, qua concept, articulates a content of meaning, but it cannot articulate the fullness of the meaning of the object that gives rise to the concept. The real question is whether the artist can fathom the depth of meaning that a proposition can connote. The answer is yes. Here, the point is whether the meaning the philosopher aims to intuit and articulate into a proposition can be communicated. Why not? A number of masters of the philosophical novel – e.g., Proust, Mann, Sartre, Tolstoy, Elliott, Dostoevsky, Melville, Hesse, and Bronte – have presented some of the major concepts, views, and questions engaging philosophers over the past three millennia. Let me illustrate this point by a concrete example: reality is a concrete process, flow. Philosophers such as Heraclitus, Alexander, Bergson, and Whitehead have erected philosophical systems on this fundamental proposition as a foundation of their systems. The point of the system in each case is to shed light on the idea that process is the essence of human and natural reality, on what it means for an object to be a process. This idea functions as a principle explaining the basic types of human experience – religious, moral, political, artistic, or individual experience. Can we understand the meaning of life, the quest for happiness, or the pursuit of science, art, and philosophy if we do not understand the meaning of death, and can we understand the meaning of death if we do not understand the meaning of the assertion that process is the essence of reality? However, what does it mean to say that the essence of reality is process? Can any of the existing philosophical systems capture the meaning

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of this reality in the fullness of its being? Again, Aristotle constructed a conception of the good life in Ethics. We can read this book analytically, critically, and empathically and grasp what Aristotle means by the good life – a life of human perfection – but do we not have a similar grasp, albeit through a different mode of expression, when we read Tolstoy’s The Death of Ivan Ilych? Many philosophers would, I think, agree that the fundamental view that underlies and permeates the plot of this novel is that the life Ivan Ilych led was not a life of human perfection; contrariwise, the good life is an authentic life, one that aims at human perfection. The difference between Aristotle’s conception and Tolstoy’s is that Aristotle’s view is presented conceptually, or propositionally, while Tolstoy’s is a depiction. In reading Aristotle’s work, we understand conceptually the meaning of an authentic life, while through Tolstoy’s novel, we think, see, and feel what it means for a life to be authentic! Again, it seems to me that Aristotle’s Ethics is a conceptual system whose structure is made up of propositions, arguments, explanations, demonstrations, analogies, clarifications, illustrations. Can we comprehend his conception of the meaning of human life if we simply read this or that part of it? I would think that any inquirer into the meaning of human life who desires to have a serious comprehension of Aristotle’s conception of the issue should read the whole book as a kind of organic unity, which is not an easy task. We may view this conceptual system as a kind of symbolic representation that performs the same function a symbolic representation in art performs. The point that merits special attention is that the substance of the artwork or the philosophical work is one: human meaning. Whether it is a system, conception, theory, or proposition, the conceptual structure philosophers construct is derived from the intuition of the inexhaustible wealth of meaning of the values, or slice of meaning, they contemplate. The conceptual structure is a symbolic representation. As such, it points to the depth of meaning from which it originates. It would be a grave mistake to think that the symbolic representation of the philosopher is the only form of symbolic representation. What matters is not the type of representation chosen for articulation or expression but the depth of meaning that inheres in it. In itself, the meaning is formless; it is essentially amenable to articulation by any form of symbolic representation. We should always remember that the correspondence relation between a sentence, a

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conception, or any kind of conceptual construction and the reality to which it refers is not isomorphic or homomorphic. The concept, sentence, or conception does not mirror or copy the reality it represents; it is a symbol – more concretely, a symbolic representation. As such, it is one among different types of symbolic representation, all of which can express the same type, but not necessarily the same magnitude, of meaning. The point I should underline at this point is that the basis of the claim that the knowledge the philosophical novelist communicates is genuine is the claim that for both the philosopher and the philosophical novelist (a) the object of knowledge is one and the same, viz., meaning, and (b) the conceptual structure by the philosopher and the novelist's depiction are modes of symbolic representation. My critic, having followed every step of my reasoning, would now ask, “you have used ‘symbolic representation’ as a general or umbrella concept that applies to all the arts, including the literary novel – can you explain the sense in which the philosophical work is a symbolic representation? The philosophical novel is a narrative depiction; it is also a literary work of art. How can this kind of depiction communicate philosophical knowledge?” As a form of expression, symbolic representation is abundantly diverse in its formal organization; it is created by artists from their “artistic worldview,” the kind of medium they employ as a means of expression, and the type of meaning they seek to communicate. Regardless of its kind, though, the activity of communication or expression is always symbolic in character. Metaphor is a prominent means of symbolization. Like any type of symbolic expression, a metaphor embodies a content of meaning. Let me briefly illustrate this point with an example. Consider, first, the main theme of Dostoevsky’s The Idiot. Most literary critics would agree, I think, that the theme of this novel is the improbability, if not impossibility, of leading a truly Christian way of life, as Jesus lived. How does Dostoevsky communicate this theme to the aesthetic reader? Metaphor. Prince Mishkin, returning to his society after a prolonged sojourn in a sanatorium in Switzerland, interacts with the members of the different classes of his society – rich and poor, illiterate and educated, men and women, young and old – as a living embodiment of Christian love. He is ridiculed, mocked, insulted, treated like an idiot, robbed, alienated, abandoned by the woman who loved, or pretended to love, him. Despite this, although he is conscious

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of the way he has been treated, he is neither punitive, furious, nor unkind to anyone who mistreated him. Eventually, when he finds himself completely forsaken and unable to function as a human being anymore, he returns to the sanatorium in Switzerland – where he belonged! We may treat Prince Mishkin in this novel as a Jesus figure, one who exemplifies the life, values, and destiny of the historical Jesus. However, the forms of symbolic representation that literary novelists can employ in their attempt to provide understanding of a slice of human meaning are limitless. Let me reiterate a point I have already discussed: one of the defining features of philosophical knowledge is the ability to grasp, articulate and communicate a slice of meaning in a symbolic representation. The kind of symbolization implied in this statement is conceptual representation, as we saw in chapter three. The comprehension of meaning is not the exclusive or privileged task of the philosopher. The hallmark of the philosopher is that she discovered a truly significant method for delving deep into the ocean of human meaning, intuiting the modes of their expression in the different areas of human experience, systematizing, and articulating them into value concepts. But as the history of human civilization has clearly shown, the symbolic representation of the philosopher is not the only type of representation. This statement is based on the fundamental assumption that human nature inheres in the human body as a creative power. The way it expresses itself, to a large extent, depends on the social, economic, technological, cultural, religious, and political conditions under which it thrives. I tend to think that art, like science and philosophy, is a basic form of human expression and that the datum of this expression is human meaning. My loyal critic would now raise the question of verification of the knowledge in the literary novel: “can the philosophical knowledge communicated in a literary novel be verified to be absolutely true? How can we ascertain that a piece of knowledge is true or verifiable? My immediate response to this question is, what truth? Whose truth – the truth of philosophers such as Plato, Aristotle, Descartes, Kant, Hegel, Marx, Dewey, or Whitehead, or the truth of philosophies such as idealism, naturalism, Marxism, pragmatism, or existentialism?” This question, which has been debated by philosophers from the days of the Pyrrhonists down to the present, remains unanswered. There is no need for me to discuss it in any

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detail here since this kind of discussion is beyond the limits of this short essay; however, two statements are in order. First, neither the method of verification in science nor the method of verification in philosophy establishes the truth of any proposition, conception, or system with absolute certainty. As Hegel pointed out some time ago, philosophical systems, conceptions, and theories die of old age, not because they are true or false. A system or a conception, even a proposition, may not be verified and yet may be more truthful than a verified proposition or conception. Like organisms, knowledge grows and expands constantly, along with the growth and expansion of the conditions of human life in the different areas of human experience. The history of philosophy is the history of conceptions, views, and systems that perform a useful function in the problems people face in a given epoch. Yet, their explanatory power gradually wanes with the evolution of education, science, art, technology, and the economic conditions of life. Second, the process of verification in philosophy rests primarily on the rules of logic, whereas these rules do not always accord with the existential conditions of life. Moreover, the arguments of the philosophers cannot be absolutely certain, for although they may be coherent or sound, they are limited by the limitations of the propositions on which an argument is based. The truth of these propositions is based on the verified knowledge of the scientist, but this knowledge is never absolutely certain. In the end, the significance of the conception, theory, or system of the philosopher depends on the extent to which it promotes our understanding of the questions we need to answer. What is the use of a logical argument that is sound but useless theoretically and practically? Many a book and article remain silent, voiceless, on the shelves of libraries and bookstores. The ultimate test of the truth-value of a proposition, as James and Dewey argued in the past century, is the human experience, whether individual or communal. Does it matter if this truth is presented or communicated depictively? Alas! How do we explain the endurance of the masterpieces in science, philosophy, and art? Why, in fact, do they endure because they are verified or because they are truthful? Why do we continue to read Tolstoy, Shakespeare, Spinoza, Hegel, Kant, Heidegger, or Whitehead? Their systems, even arguments, are sometimes obviously flawed, but do we care about such mistakes? The greatness of artistic works lies in the fact that the truth they communicate is

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profound and that it is presented to the human mind as a luminous presence. We not only think of or conceive it. We also see it and feel it, as I have emphasized more than once in the preceding discussion. What matters in this context is that if philosophical knowledge can be communicated by a literary novel, and it can, then the ultimate test of its veracity is living human experience, not merely logical argument. In short, the philosophical novel, like any type of literary novel, can communicate any type of knowledge symbolically. This assertion is based on the assumption, which I have discussed in detail in the preceding pages, that the cognitive object, or the object of reflection in art and philosophy, is human meaning, that this meaning inheres as a potentiality for realization in countless ways and magnitudes in the formal organization of the novel, and that the conceptual framework philosophers construct as a means of communicating their knowledge is a form of symbolic representation.

CHAPTER SEVEN TRUTH AND THE AESTHETIC JUDGMENT

Basis of Truth in Art My loyal critic, who has been following my line of reasoning studiously in this discourse, would now ask: “suppose philosophical knowledge can be communicated by the literary work of art, or suppose any other type of artwork that communicates genuine knowledge, can be taken seriously in the course of practical or theoretical life – can this knowledge be verified? Can it assume the status of ‘truth’? How can it be taken seriously if it is not reliable, and how can it be reliable if it is not true, at least truth-full?” First, is a claim to knowledge true because it is verifiable or because it is truth-full? Are scientific or philosophical conceptions of truth the only means of determining the truth or falsity of a claim to knowledge? Does the truth of a proposition not shine from the proposition? Has the truth of any verified proposition, or a proposition verifiable by the established criteria of the philosopher or the scientist, stood the test of time? Alas! How many a philosophical or scientific truth – theory or conception – has been superseded or shown false by future claims to knowledge? Can we agree to verify a proposition if we do not first intuit, discern, or somehow see its truth? Philosophy in general, and any one philosophical method in particular, do not exist. Particular philosophical conceptions, theories, systems, methods, ideas, or proposals exist. Since its inception in ancient Greece, the realm of philosophy has been a mosaic of philosophical conceptions and methods. During the past twenty-five centuries, this mosaic has been amazingly complex and varied. Can we identify one philosophical method as absolutely final or authoritative? No. Indeed, the history of philosophy is a history of rising and falling conceptions and methods of philosophy, of more developed or advanced philosophical outlooks, and sometimes competing and conflicting concepts and methods. Has the question of truth that the

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Pyrrhonists raised in the post-Aristotelian period been resolved? We would, I think, not exaggerate if we viewed the history of philosophy as an amazing garden of philosophical conceptions and methods that have been proclaimed as valid by their authors. Can we look at this garden as a garden of philosophical truths? Again, is there one philosophical method for ascertaining the truth of any claim to knowledge that stands out as authoritative? Maybe, but even this “maybe” is provisional. Alas! To what extent is philosophical truth – the truth of any philosopher or philosophy – the truth that cannot be questioned or doubted? How many people actually live according to the truth proclaimed by a recognized philosopher or philosophy? For example, many thinkers thought that existentialism was a philosophy of human life, of living genuinely as human beings – how many people actually live according to the principles or precepts of this philosophy? The desire to know and live the truth is a basic impulse in human nature. Why do most, if not all, people seem oblivious to the truth of the philosopher? Do philosophers actually live by the truth of their philosophies? On the contrary, as one of my professors told me when I was still in graduate school, I can defend a moral theory as valid without necessarily living according to its precepts! The same applies to any kind of philosophical theory. Again, people, in general, tend to accept and act according to the most recent discoveries in empirical science rather than in the most recognized philosophy or philosopher. They tend to accept the voice of their experience, and sometimes the voice of the sage, more readily than the voice of the philosopher. Why? My aim in raising the preceding string of skeptical questions is not to underestimate or denigrate the importance or relevance of philosophical truth or its role in the development of human civilization; I do not overlook the fact, ever since the days of Socrates, that many an individual life, many an artistic discovery, many a scientific vision, many a religious change, many an educational system, many a political or cultural revolution were inspired or influenced by a philosophical truth, insight, or vision of human nature and the meaning of existence in general and human existence in particular. We should always remember (a) that the truth of the philosopher is theoretical and based on the assumptions of a philosophical system or outlook in which it is verified, and (b) that it is destined for the understanding of the intellect. Here, I assume that the truth advanced by the

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philosopher is directly derived from general propositions, which are usually derived from human experience, but they are generalizations, while real experience is concrete and always changing or developing. The gulf between the living stream of human experience and the propositions is rather wide. The truth of the proposition is frequently limited. Although briefly, and to some extent sketchily, my aim in making the preceding remarks is to spotlight two ideas. First, neither the method of verification in science nor the method of verification in philosophy establishes the truth of any proposition, conception, or system with absolute certainty. As Hegel pointed out some time ago, philosophical systems, conceptions, and theories die of old age, not because they are true or false. A system, conception, or even a proposition, may not be verified, and yet may be more truthful than verified systems, conceptions, or propositions. Like organisms, knowledge grows and expands constantly with the growth and expansion of the conditions of human life and the different areas of human experience. The history of philosophy is the history of conceptions, views, and systems that perform useful functions in solving the problems people face in a given epoch and sometimes in the life of human individuals. Yet, their explanatory power gradually wanes as education, technology, science, and economic conditions evolve. Second, the process of verification in philosophy rests primarily on the rules of logic, but these rules do not always accord with the existential conditions of human life. Moreover, the arguments of the philosophers cannot be absolutely certain, for although they may be coherent or sound, they are limited by the limitation of the propositions on which the argument is based. Moreover, the truth of these propositions is based on the verified knowledge of the scientist, but this knowledge is never absolutely certain. In the end, the significance of the conception, system, or theory of the philosopher depends on the extent to which it promotes our understanding of the questions we need to answer or the problems we need to solve. What is the use of a logical argument that is sound but useless theoretically and practically? Many a book or article remains voiceless or silent on the shelves of libraries and bookstores. As James and Dewey argued in the past century, the ultimate test of the truth value of a proposition is human experience, whether individual or communal.

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Does it matter if this truth is presented or communicated depictively? How do we explain the endurance of the masterpieces in science, philosophy, and art? Why do they endure – because they are verified, or because they are truth-full? Why do we continue to read Sophocles, Tolstoy, Dostoevsky, Balzac, Melville, Shakespeare, Heidegger, Kant, Hegel, Descartes, or Whitehead? Their works, even their arguments, are sometimes obviously flawed, but do we care about their mistakes? The greatness of artistic works lies in the fact that the truth they communicate is profound, that it is presented to the human mind as a luminous presence. We not only think or conceive it, but we also see it and feel it, as I have emphasized more than once in the preceding discussion. What matters in this context is that if philosophical knowledge can be communicated by a literary novel or any other kind of art, and it can, then the ultimate test of truth of its knowledge is living human experience. I wish to emphasize that the philosophical novel, like any other type of literary novel, can symbolically communicate philosophical knowledge. I here assume that the cognitive object, or the object of reflection in art or philosophy, is human meaning – that this, meaning inheres as a potentiality for realization in countless ways and magnitudes in the formal organization of the work, and that the conceptual frameworks philosophers construct are forms of symbolic representation.

A Tale about Absolute Truth It seems to me that the quest for any kind of certain, indubitable truth is neither realistic nor constructive – not only because human and natural reality is an unceasing process of change, of development, and consequently of a final standard according to which it can be attained and ascertained, but also because the method and means of attaining and ascertaining it are also in an unceasing process of change and development. Many philosophers would, I think, endorse this claim. It was first revealed to me by a story my grandmother told me when she discovered that I chose philosophy as a way of life. “Philosophy?” she wondered, with two puzzled eyes.

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“Yes, Grandmother!” I said, with two serious eyes. She chuckled for a second, shook her head, and then surrendered to a long moment of abstract reflection. “Why philosophy? Why not physics, chemistry, biology, or literature?” I looked at her with timid eyes but pursed lips. “I have a nagging, irresistible desire, one I can call urge, to have a vision of the Truth!” “What truth?” she asked, trying to avoid the question of “the Truth.” “The truth of all existence – of human life, of this mysterious world, and yes, the truth that can be a beam of light in my practical life. Truth is the light of the world and human life; falsehood is the eternal night of the world and human life. How can I know this or that truth if I do not possess a vision of the being that makes every type of knowledge true?” My grandmother’s chuckle that pierced through my ears a few moments ago was now transformed into a sad gaze, one that provoked some anxiety in my mind only because I never saw my grandmother so sad, so pensive, so skeptical. I bit my lower lip with a secret feeling of embarrassment. Her gaze was fixed on my face. I wish I could read the depth of that gaze, but I could not! “No one can stand in your way, son. If you feel a strong, irresistible urge to pursue philosophy as a vocation, no one can or should stop you. But before you embark on this most important adventure, for it will be the adventure of your life, let me tell you a short story.” My anxious eyes suddenly glittered with curiosity. “I would very much like to hear it, Grandmother!” “Please take it as a story.” “Oh, Grandmother, I can never forget your stories. They were and will always remain an important source of insight, of inspiration!” My grandmother smiled, but her smile was tender, maternal, compassionate. “An old man, who lived on the northern fringe of our town, was enamored by the Truth. He thought that the Truth was the beauty of all beauties and the source of everything good in this universe. He was a living torch of curiosity. A strange passenger with whom he had a serious conversation told him that the most beautiful woman in the world has the secret of the Truth in her heart. This woman lives in a resplendent palace on the other side of Akra Mountain. It is bold and slippery. Not many people

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were able to ascend it; those who did never came back. The stranger added that only true lovers of beauty in all its forms could climb this mountain. “This strange lover of truth spent almost all his life learning all he could about beauty, and he experienced all types of beauty in nature, art, and human life before he began ascending the Akra Mountain. He was wearing the white crown of old age on his head with some wrinkles on his face and neck when he began his ascent. To his good fortune, he was able to locate the resplendent palace he was looking for. His heart throbbed with joy, and his mind danced with excitement about the prospect of meeting the most beautiful woman in the world, the same woman who would reveal to him the secret of the Truth. “His hand was shaking a little when this stranger knocked at the magnificent, imposing door of the palace. Deep in his heart, he never thought of it as a resplendent palace where the most beautiful woman lived but as the Palace of Truth! When he knocked at that door, he was received by a handsome and courteous man. Two inquiring eyes greeted the stranger. The man did not speak; he simply waited for his inquiring look. When he declared his purpose to him, the man led the stranger to the chamber of the Queen of Truth. The eyes of the old man sparkled when she welcomed him to her presence. She was an icon of the most dazzling radiance of beauty he had ever experienced during his lifetime. Even though his eyes were trained in the appreciation of the most beautiful scenes of beauty in nature, art, and human life, it took his eyes a few moments to regain their normal vision. ‘No wonder the secret of the Truth dwells in her heart,’ he thought in the depths of his mind. He tried to speak, but he could not. His lips trembled a little, and his mind wandered a little more. “‘Is this why you came to see me – to tremble and wonder?’” “‘No, I am a seeker of the Truth. My only ambition in life is to have a vision of the Truth.’ “‘A vision of the Truth?’ she said quizzically. “‘Yes!’ he hesitated for a moment. “‘Why?’ “‘Is there anything more beautiful, more valuable, more self-justifying than this vision – this singular vision?’ The Queen of Beauty shook her head softly and then cast a gentle look at that strange man.

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“‘I was informed that you have the key that opens the door of the mansion where she lives.’ “‘The mansion you are seeking is in my heart.’ “‘I would do all I can to stand at the door of your heart.’ “‘You are old. Are you willing to wait seven years?’ “‘As long as it takes. As long as I live!’ I have spent all my life exploring the mysteries of nature and human existence. I have studied the books of the learned, the lives of the mystics, and the confessions of the sages. The more I read and experienced this world, the more my urge to have a vision of the Truth deepened.’” “‘I wear seven robes. Each robe is an infinite depth of beauty. I shall dance for you at the end of each year for seven years. You shall remove one robe at the end of each dance. You will be able to luxuriate in its beauty for a year. When I perform the last dance, you will remove the seventh robe. Then you will be able to stand at the door of my heart. You will be able to open it only because you are a true lover of beauty. When you open the door of my heart, you will be able to have a vision of the Truth you are seeking. The gentleman who welcomed you to my palace will attend to your needs during these seven years. He will always be at your service.’” “‘The old man,’” my grandmother continued, ‘followed all the instructions the Queen of Beauty laid down. Just when the last dance was about to end, the Queen of Beauty cast a sarcastic look at the old man and murmured, ‘fool!’ When the old man triumphantly removed the seventh robe off the body of the Queen of Beauty, he found himself standing at the edge – the edge of being. His legs were sliding into the realm of non-being.” My grandmother stopped and threw a compassionate look in my direction. “I am sure your journey will be meaningful, son, but I am not sure whether your discovery will be meaningful.” In retrospect, I can add that I am not sure whether my grandmother knew whether the old man had a vision of the beam of infinite light he was hoping to delight in or the beam of infinite darkness he always abhorred. I tend to think that he discovered the latter.

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Symbolic Representation Although a vision, or statement, of the absolute truth of any dimension of natural or human reality is not within reach, it is, I think, possible to construct a reasonable, effective, pragmatically grounded criteria for the evaluation or ascertainment of the truth of knowledge claims or expressions in science, philosophy, art, and the different spheres of human experience. Accordingly, a statement, expression, or any claim to knowledge is true inasmuch as it meets the conditions implied by these criteria. This is the requisite, indispensable, yet prevalent assumption that underlies the quest for truth in science and philosophy. The basis of these criteria and the determination of the truth of the knowledge proposed by the scientist is what Czarnocka has called correspondence relation: a statement is true inasmuch as it corresponds to the essential features of the object that are articulated by the statement as a symbolic representation. In science and philosophy, the object of perception is a given, and to some extent identifiable, object – for example, the tree I see through my window, the painting that is hanging on the wall of my room, or the crime I witness on my way to my apartment last night. However, as we have seen, the object of perception in art is not given as a ready-made or directly perceivable reality, but exists to the artist and the aesthetic perceiver as a potentiality, as a possibility for limitless realizations. Although it exists as a particular potentiality to the aesthetic perceiver, nonetheless, it exists as a potentiality. In both modes of existence, infinite and particular, the object of perception is a subjective and private reality. How can this type of reality be a basis of a cognitive statement? Is it objectively valid? How can we construct criteria for the evaluation of the artwork? First, the ontic basis of the evaluation or criticism of the artwork is the artistic dimension of the artwork, which steps into reality as a world of meaning in the aesthetic experience of the perceiver, regardless of whether this world is simple or complex, small or large, mediocre or profoundly, intrinsically valuable or extrinsically valuable, transient or enduring, entertaining or deeply moving. This dimension is the basis of any type of discourse about the artwork qua art. Second, this basis is real; it is not more or less real than the reality of the natural and human objects that make my environment. I may doubt the existence of certain material objects under

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certain perceptual conditions, as I pointed out earlier, but I cannot doubt my senses, feelings, or the experience I am having when I am having it, even though I may mistrust, misinterpret, or fail to respond to my senses’ call or needs. For example, when I experience a feeling of pleasure as I am writing a letter to my lover or a feeling of loneliness when she is away from me, it is impossible for me not to be absolutely certain that I am having this experience. Similarly, when I experience the nobility and mystery of marital love as I read Nicholas Sparks’ The Notebook, this experience is as real as the reality of the room in which I am reading the book. “I would grant,” my critic would now interject, “that aesthetic experiences are real, but their reality is subjective. What my experience is like or whether my evaluation of it is true is not verifiable. How can such a subjective reality be the basis of an objective aesthetic judgment? The person who has the experience of the artwork may judge it in a certain way and may be certain of the truth or validity of her judgment. She may be honest, and she may be sure that her judgment is true or valid, but how can we be sure of the truth or validity of her judgment? It seems to me that we should make a distinction between subjective and objective certainty. The first is inter-subjective, but the second is not. The first is verifiable objectively, but the second is not. From the fact that a person is certain that her belief is true, as a large number of religious, ideological, tribal, political, and idiosyncratic people are, it does not necessarily follow that the belief is true. However, I think that the aesthetic judgment cannot be established as objectively valid; it seems to me that it is essentially relative. I say “relative” because, first, as you have just explained, absolute certainty, even in science and philosophy, remains an ideal; second, unlike the scientific or philosophical object, which is given as an objective reality, the aesthetic object is not. Although it is not given as a ready-made or as an objectively given reality, it is founded in an objective reality, viz., the artistic dimension of the artwork; third, by its very nature, the artistic dimension is an inexhaustible potentiality for realizations. Fourth, the aesthetic object is not completely given as a ready-made reality but as a co-created reality in the process of the aesthetic experience; and finally, the aesthetic object comes to life in the medium of feeling and, more concretely, in the feeling of the subject of the aesthetic experience. How can such an object be evaluated inter-subjectively?”

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An answer to my critic’s questions should proceed from a serious consideration of Czarnocka’s conception of the correspondence relation, which I discussed in detail in chapter three, mainly because the certainty or validity of any statement is determined based on our conception of the kind of relation that exists between the statement and the object it denotes. Making a statement on the assumption that its structure corresponds isomorphically or homomorphically to the structure of the object is different from making it on the assumption that it is a symbolic representation. As we have seen, for Czarnocka, the relation between the statement and the object is neither isomorphic nor homomorphic in character. The truth of the statement does not depend on the extent to which it copies or reproduces the essential or formal structure of the object – not only because a relation of similarity does not, and cannot, exist between them, since one is sensuous and the second is not, but also, and especially, because the object in itself does not deliver itself as it is to the perceiving consciousness. The content it delivers is the photons that originate from the perceptual field in which the object is located. The photons are organized as a perceptual model on their way from the sense to the perceiving mind by the faculty of sensibility. In and by themselves, the photons are structureless but nevertheless carry the basic features that represent the essential structure of the object. The transformation of the perceptual model into a conceptual model is a creative, constructive activity of the mind, not replicative or passive. Its articulation into a conceptual structure or statement is a symbol-creation activity in which the created symbol is representative of the basic features it receives from the perceptual model. Accordingly, what I think when I comprehend the meaning of the statement is not a picture of the object but its essential features. The comprehension of these features is based on the apprehension of the meaning of the statement. The preceding account of the logic of the correspondence relation in principles applies to the correspondence relation between the cognitive subject in the activity of artistic creation and the process of aesthetic perception on the one hand, and the artwork qua potentiality and the domain of meaning in the experience of the aesthetic perceiver on the other. Unlike the ordinary or cognitive object in science, the object of reflection in art is indeterminate; it is not readily identifiable as an object. Its ontic locus is the value concept articulated by the philosopher. As a symbolic representation,

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this kind of concept is a schema or outline. It designates a domain of or a type of human meaning; it does not denote a certain conception or a particular slice of meaning apprehended or lived in a particular way by a particular human being. For example, Shakespeare reflected on the value concept of romantic love, envisioned or apprehended a dimension of the possibility of a profound, limitless romantic love between two human beings, and articulated the content of his vision, or intuition, in and through Romeo and Juliet. As a potentiality, a value concept is an ocean: a limitless possibility of realization. It is distinguished as a domain or type by virtue of certain essential qualities the way a type of ordinary or scientific object is distinguished by virtue of essential qualities. For example, joy is distinguished from sadness by the kind of mental state or feeling the joyful object produces in the mind. But the feeling of joy is, or can be, a depth, limitless in its magnitude, vibrancy, kind, and different in its effect on the mind that enjoys it. The feeling of joy I experience when I listen to Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony is different from the feeling of joy I experience when I contemplate Michelangelo’s scene in the Sistine Chapel in which God’s hand touches Adam’s, when I see my dearest friend after a long absence, or when I contemplate El Greco’s Assumption of the Virgin. In these and similar cases, the object of reflection in the activity of artistic creation is the domain of the joy the artist articulated as a potentiality in the heat of the creative act. The potential existence of this domain in the formal organization of the work is the artistic dimension that makes the work art and that the perceiver seeks in the aesthetic experience. This domain stands before the artist’s imagination as a possibility for realization. It is distinguished from the other domains of human meaning by certain general features. However, these features do not communicate the depth and abundance concretely. The genius of the artist can penetrate this depth and abundance in the fullness of their being and express her discernment of the content she apprehends as an infinite possibility of apprehension and embody it in an appropriate symbolic organization, one that can transport the aesthetic perceiver into a significant dimension of the ocean depth she has apprehended with her imagination. It is, I think, critically important to point out at this point of my discussion that this moment of apprehension and expression is the ontic locus of the creative act; it is also the ontic locus of the mystery that challenges any inquirer into the nature of this kind of

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act. Was it an accident that Plato attributed its source to a kind of divine inspiration? Was it also an accident that the Romans invoked a god like Jove to explain its mystery, or a philosopher such as Whitehead to advance a new system of metaphysical categories according to which creativity is an ultimate and that God is, as the author of the cosmic process, this ultimate category of creativity? The creative mind is a divine fountain of creation; it is the kind of mind that can envision the infinite wealth of potentiality, any type of potentiality, embrace it with her imagination, penetrate the “walls” of this potentiality, and enable it or allure it to step into the realm of human reality by an appropriate symbolic representation – one that can speak! The symbolic representation the artist creates in the heat of the creative act does not, and cannot, be a homomorphic or isomorphic copy of the object of reflection. How can it be such a copy if the object of reflection is not given as a ready-made reality the way an ordinary object is given to the senses? How can any possible form the human is capable of creating copy a depth, i.e., a limitless domain, of human meaning? How can that which inherently resists direct reference or identification, or that which is limitless in its being, be limited? We should always remember that, whether in the activity of artistic creation or in the process of aesthetic perception, the object of reflection is a potentiality and that it comes into being as an act of creation, not imitation. I tend to think that even when this kind of being steps into reality in the aesthetic experience, it steps into it as a depth, and it is lived as a depth. Suppose I have contemplated DaVinci’s Mona Lisa aesthetically, and suppose I was able to delve deep into the depth of the enigma it embodies. Can I express to you the wealth of meaning that makes up this depth? I can use general, metaphorical expressions or superlatives, such as great, magnificent, wow, amazing, and so forth, but can I describe or in some way depict this depth? Suppose I soar in depth in the world of joy the Ninth Symphony embodies. Can I describe or in some way depict this depth? The virtue of symbolic representation is that it is a vehicle, or a carrier. It is the kind of vehicle that can convey a heavy load of human meaning not within itself in the way that human beings carry a heavy load of anxiety, concern, or worries within them, for it does not have an interiority, but the way people carry a heavy load of wheat on their back or shoulder. By analogy, the load of meaning the symbolic representation carries sits on its

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back, not within its chest; put differently, we perceive the load of meaning on the back of the symbol, not inside it. Most aestheticians would say that the meaning transcends the symbol, that the meaning the symbol signifies transcends the symbol epistemically but not ontically because the symbol blends with its signification in the event of comprehending its meaning. Do I perceive joy in the stream of the sounds I hear when listening to the Ninth Symphony? As a particular form of organization, the sounds I hear open up the world of joy they carry. I say “carry” because I cannot move into the world of meaning without the sounds, just as I cannot receive the load of wheat the carrier brings without the carrier. This is based on the assumption I discussed in my analysis of the aesthetic experience that the sensuous medium is spiritualized in the process of aesthetic perception. Although the artist creates a symbolic form that is unique and appropriate for the expression of the depth of meaning she aims to communicate, it is neither oracular, hieroglyphical, nor unreadable; on the contrary, as I explained in ample detail in chapter two, it is readable primarily because it is usually constructed according to the established rules, conventions, and practices recognized in the given sphere of the artform. The concept of uniqueness does not logically imply unreadability or incomprehensibility. “Unique” comes from the Latin unicus, ingle, which derives from unus, one. A unique object, or form, is singular in the sense that it does not have a like or an equal. We usually characterize a unique or singular person or object as extraordinary or rare. The greatness, or magnitude, of the uniqueness of the form of any object, human or natural, is proportional to the greatness, or depth, of its signification or meaning. With a friendly smile dancing on her lips, my critic would now ask, “if the symbolic representation the artist creates is neither a homomorphic nor isomorphic copy of the depth of meaning it conveys, if this meaning steps into reality in the experience of the aesthetic perceiver, which is subjective, how can we assess and ascertain the truth or falsity, or the reasonability, of the aesthetic judgment? Again, if the object that steps into reality in the aesthetic experience is truly real, then its mode of existence must be objective, as you agreed in chapter three. But how can it be an ontically real object if it exists exclusively in the experience of the perceiver? Can we speak of aesthetic judgment if it is not verifiable inter-subjectively or by objective criteria? Is it an accident that a large number of aestheticians

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founded the aesthetic judgment in the feeling of the perceiver rather than in the artwork?” It seems to me that the questions my critic raised can be summed up in the following question: can the aesthetic object that exists exclusively in the experience of the aesthetic perceiver be a basis of anesthetic judgment, one that can be verifiable, or which may be the source of agreement between two or more persons? It may at first look seem that such a judgment is not possible because, ontologically speaking, “the subjective” is, by its nature, mutually exclusive of “the objective.” If a phenomenon is objective, it would ipso facto cease to be subjective, and if a phenomenon is subjective, it would ipso facto cease to be objective. The critic seems to assume that both subjectivity and objectivity are spatiotemporal categories – that is, subjectivity is a kind of mental enclosure, or space, the way a room is a spatial enclosure or space. Mental objects exist in the mind the way physical objects exist in physical space. This analogy is an instance of what logicians have called “category mistake.” The mind is not a kind of box that contains drawers or shelves for the different types of ideas, images, feelings, or emotions that make up the mental world of the individual. As Czarnocka cogently argued, the correspondence relation that exists between the cognitive object and the cognitive object is not homomorphic or isomorphic. That is, the structure of the object is not a kind of picture that is imprinted on the mind, nor is the mind an extended reality. This view is based on the assumption that the mind is a kind of reality that pictures or mirrors the structure of the objects it perceives. Moreover, the idea is not a kind of picture or image. It is more appropriate to say that the mind is a multidimensional, manifold, and complementary power and that its contents – ideas, images, emotions, moods, or drives – are mental events. The idea or image I reflect on in a process of thinking does not exist before my consciousness as a picture on a canvas the way the Mona Lisa exists as a picture on canvas. I construct the idea as I think it, and I never think the same idea twice. Next, I do not search for the ideas I am thinking in my mind the way I search for a book on the bookshelf, because my mind is not a kind of store – although scholars refer to it as a store of ideas and all types of mental experiences. I summon an idea from “the depth” of my being. This depth is a dynamic, unusually complex, unusually refined reality. Otherwise, how

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can we speak of the cultivation of human character or of the human mind? An enclosure cannot be cultivated; a tree can. But a tree is a surge of life, of power, dynamis. Although this way of discoursing about the mind is, in a sense, metaphorical, it is critically important to point out that my metaphor is quite informative and explanatory. Viewing the mind as a kind of enclosure, which began with the early empiricists in the early period of the eighteenth century, is misleading, especially in light of the contemporary findings of neuroscience, philosophy, and theory of knowledge. What is at issue in the present study is the correspondence relation between the judgment of the cognitive subject, be it a statement, an image, or a symbolic representation, and the cognitive object, be it an ordinary, scientific, or imaginary object. We have seen that the scientific statement is not a copy of the object but a symbolic representation of its essential features. The object-in-itself, as it is in itself, remains hidden behind the photons that originate from the original field of perception. This is why Czarnocka was keen on espousing a mild version of realism – primarily because the object we know or judge is a conceptual construct. Epistemologically, it is a subjective reality because, as we saw in chapter two, human beings are individuals. They perceive the world around them from the standpoint of their individual and idiosyncratic orientation – knowledge, experience, and mental endowments. But the ontic status of the cognitive object in art is not different from its status in philosophy or science. Let me explicate and defend this proposal by an analysis of an artwork I have already cited, viz., the Mona Lisa. What do I perceive when I stand before this painting? What is the object I contemplate aesthetically when I begin the process of aesthetic perception? I may be told that the object of my perception is, or should be, the art object the artist created. This picture is not the aesthetic object – the object I seek. This object I seek inheres in the formal organization of this picture as a potentiality. Let me pause for a moment only to make a vitally significant distinction. In casting my look at the painted canvas, I do not try to perceive it as a scientific object; I try to perceive it as a picture – more concretely, as this particular picture. In this type of perception, my focus is on the relations between the various elements – lines, colors, and representations – and not the stuff out of which they are made – that is, not the canvas as a sensuous object. I try to see the picture in these elements in the way they are

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organized. I try to glean, discern the artistic dimension the artist ingressed in this formation as a potentiality. We can reasonably say that the object of my contemplation or perception is the potentiality that inheres in the formal organization of the painting. In other words, the painting qua form is the object of my contemplation or perception. Although the aesthetic object comes to life in the aesthetic experience of the perceiver, it is not merely as a subjective creation or an object created exclusively by the perceiver, but of the perception of an objective reality, viz., the potentiality the artist created and ingressed in the formal organization of the work. The activity of perception is an activity of realizing, of bringing to life, this very reality – that is, of realizing the potentiality the artist created as a living experience. I should hasten to add that the activity of realization is, as I have already argued, essentially creative in character, for the aesthetic object, which did not exist as a real object, now comes to life as a living reality in the experience of the perceiver. The same potentiality may be realized differently by another perceiver. Still, in principle, it is the same object because this is the nature of the artistic dimension as a type of reality. Due to the fact that the artistic dimension can be perceived differently by different perceivers, it does not necessarily follow that the activity of realization is a subjective or idiosyncratic creation. However, one can experience the artwork subjectively. This happens frequently – more frequently than we tend to think, in fact – but his type of experience is irrelevant to the analysis of the artwork as art. Accordingly, three art critics may perceive the Mona Lisa aesthetically. One may say that it expresses enigma, the second may say that it expresses the mystery that underlies the existence of the universe and human life, and the third may say that it is the representation of a woman who suffers from deep depression. Unlike the ordinary or scientific object, which is given as a ready-made object, i.e., with a limited number of perceptual features, the aesthetic object is given as a potentiality that is a possibility for an unlimited number of features, primarily because of the reality that inheres in the potential is a depth of human meaning. As such, it is a possibility for limitless realizations. It is, I think, in principle, possible for these three art critics to have a conversation in which they explore the basis or reasons for their different judgments. “Let us grant,” my critic would here interject, “that the although

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the aesthetic experience is a subjective undertaking in the sense that it takes place exclusively in the subject’s mind and nowhere else; let us also grant that from the fact that it is subjective, it does not necessarily follow that it is whimsical or arbitrary or phantasmic because it is a realization of an objective reality that inheres potentially in the formal organization the artwork, how do know that their interpretation or judgment of the artistic dimension is correct or incorrect, adequate or inadequate, or true or false? What if two distinguished art critics or aesthetic perceivers with refined aesthetic sense and knowledge contradict each other? What if one says that it is aesthetically beautiful or great and the other says that it is aesthetically silent or mediocre – is there a way to settle their disagreement or conflict of judgment?” My critic raised two different questions. The first concerns the perceiver’s interpretation of the artwork, and the second concerns its value. The first is a request for explaining, translating, or disclosing that meaning that inheres in the formal organization of the work. Experiencing this meaning is the substance of artistic creation and aesthetic perception. For example, the accounts of the three different art critics of the Mona Lisa are examples of three different interpretations of the wealth of meaning that inheres in the work. They were able to perceive and experience three dimensions, or types of aesthetic qualities, that inhere as potentialities in the artwork. Each critic can justify their interpretation or judgment by referring to certain aspects in the formal structure of the work – the first pointing to the features that embody enigma, the second to the features that embody mystery, and the third to features that embody depression. Every one of them can justifiably say, “I have perceived, or experienced, this quality in my experience of the painting.” Although we cannot doubt or falsify the veracity of their interpretation or judgments, we can doubt or question the adequacy or inadequacy or the extent to which they perceived and apprehended the fullness of their depth. It is certainly possible for the three aesthetic perceivers to have a conversation about the reasoning that led them to their interpretations or judgments. This kind of conversation should be conducted based on generally recognized definitions, rules, conventions, and artistic practices that underlie the creation and perception of the artworks. For example, the second perceiver of the Mona Lisa may point to features in the painting that the other two did, consciously or unconsciously, not perceive

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or emphasize. She may interpret the gaze as an expression of selfexamination, bewilderment, helplessness, or despondency in response to a universe that resists understanding: who created this amazing machine we call the cosmic process? Why do I exist rather than not? Why is there evil in this strange world? Similarly, the third perceiver may interpret the gaze as an expression of loss, forlornness, deep-seated anxiety, or melancholy. It is possible for the three perceivers to point out to other features of the painting and give convincing justification for their interpretations or judgments. However, this justification should be based on generally recognized assumptions about or mutual understanding of artistic creation and aesthetic perception. These may differ from one culture to another, one historical period to another, and sometimes one type of artform to another. What matters in this kind of discourse is the criteria acknowledged by the art world. We should never overlook that human life, and the material and spiritual conditions under which it is lived, are always changing, always developing. The concept of interpretation does not necessarily imply an evaluative judgment on the aesthetic quality or qualities that constitute the aesthetic dimension of the artwork. It is simply an acknowledgment of their presence or perception in the work. Put differently, it is an acknowledgment of what the perceiver experiences and feels in her aesthetic experience. As I noted earlier, the artwork may be simple or complex, small or big, rich or poor, lucid or recalcitrant, great or mediocre, profound or shallow, silly or serious, and we may describe it in other ways. The point that deserves mention at this point of my discussion is that the interpretation of the artwork is founded on the perception of the aesthetic qualities that make up the substance of its artistic dimension. This stratum of the work is the basis of aesthetic perception, aesthetic appreciation, art criticism, and art teaching. Second, there is a higher level of aesthetic qualities. Unlike the aesthetic qualities that constitute the artistic dimension of the artwork and that emerge in the course of the aesthetic experience, this stratum is evaluative in character. It consists of qualities that emerge from the unity of the aesthetic qualities perceived in the work and emerge in the aesthetic experience. First, they are the basis of the experience of meaning in the work; they enable us to say that the work is meaningful. I do not experience meaning in the work because, in itself, “meaning” does not exist. The experience of meaning is

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always concrete. We feel it when we perform a particular type of action – moral, social, intellectual, political, religious, or personal. We experience a particular type of meaning when we experience a specific artwork. The enjoyment of the realized meaning arises from the type of aesthetic experience we undergo. Having experienced the Mona Lisa aesthetically, I can say, “I find this painting a meaningful work of art.” This feeling arises from the realization of the aesthetic world that emerges in the course of my experience. This judgment is evaluative in character. The aesthetic qualities constitute the building blocks of the aesthetic world implicit in its artistic dimension. They do not directly refer to the work as a given object; they are about the work – that is, about the unity of the aesthetic qualities that are perceived in the work or about the world of meaning that unfolds in my experience. I may perceive the qualities of mystery, passion, or enigma in Mona Lisa, and I may acknowledge the existence of other aesthetic qualities in it. The world of meaning that emerges when these qualities are realized may strike, move, or affect me in a certain way. I may reflect on it intellectually or imaginatively, and I may contemplate the world of meaning that stretches before my eyes. This kind of contemplation is always comparative in character – not only because the world I contemplate is my world, for it unfolds in my mind and by me, but also because the stuff of its fabric is human meaning, or realized value. The experience of meaning is inherently evaluative in nature. Having experienced the Mona Lisa aesthetically, i.e., as a world of meaning, I may say, “this work is profound,” “this work is great,” “this work is really good,” or “this work is beautiful.” Qualities such as greatness, profundity, or beauty do not directly exist in the artistic dimension; although they are interpretive in nature, they are also evaluative of the kind of qualities that emerge in the aesthetic experience or the kind of meaning that unfold in the experience. They emerge in my mind in the process of contemplating them. Here, my critic may wonder whether evaluative judgments are verifiable. In principle, they are! The evaluation should be based on a critical, analytical account of the depth of the world of meaning that emerges in the aesthetic experience. This is what art critics usually do. They first illuminate, reveal the kind of world of meaning that artwork embodies, and then explain the aspects of this world that prompted them to say that the world is great, poor, mediocre, beautiful, or profound.

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A detailed discussion of the criteria used in the interpretation or evaluation of artworks lies outside of the parameters of this book. My primary aim has been to analyze the logic and objective basis of the aesthetic judgment in general because, unlike the object of perception in science, the object of perception in art exists as a potentiality in the formal organization of the work, and steps into the realm of reality in the subjective experience of the aesthetic perceiver. The question my critic raised was: how can a judgment based on this kind of experience be objective? That is, how can a symbolic representation of the essential qualities that constitute the domain of potentiality the artist creates and embodies in the formal organization of her work be objective? I sincerely hope that the answer I advanced in the preceding discussion is cogent, or at least reasonable.

REFERENCES AND SUGGESTED BIBLIOGRAPHY

Bailey, John (1975), Tolstoy and the Novel, London: Macmillan. Barrett, Terry (2000), Criticizing Art, London: Mayfield Company. Barrett, Terry (2008), Why is That Art, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Bell, Clive (1958), Art, New York: Capricorn Books. Bersani, Leo (1965), Marcel Proust: The Function of Art and Life, New York: Macmillan. Beardsley, Monroe (1981), Aesthetics, Indianapolis: Hackett Publishing. Black, Max (1962), Models and Metaphors: Studies in Language and Philosophy, Ithaca: Cornell University Press. Cassirer, Ernst (1944), An Essay on Man: An Introduction to a Philosophy of Human Nature, New Haven: Yale University Press. Chalmers, David, ed. (2002), Philosophy of Mind: Classical and Contemporary Readings, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Collingwood, R.G. (1958), The principles of Art, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Czarnocka, Malgorzata (2017), A Path Toward A Conception of Symbolic Truth, Frankfurt: Peter Lang Czarnocka, Malgorzata (2016), “Two-level, Plastic, and Multidimensional Human Nature”, Dialogue and Universalism, No. 1, 121-136. Da Costa, Newton (2003), Science and Partial Truth: A Unitary Approach to Models, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Descombes, Vincent (1992), Proust: Philosophy of the Novel, translated by Catherine C. Macksey, Stanford, California: Stanford University Press. Derrida, Jacques (1987), The Truth of Painting, Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Dewey, John (1958), Art as Experience, New York: Capricorn Books. Dufrenne, Mikel (1973) The Phenomenology of Aesthetic Experience, Evanston: Northwestern University Press. Focillon, Henri (1942), The Life of Forms, translated by C. B. Hogan and G. Gubles, New Haven: Yale University Press.

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