FUNDAMENTALS OF A PHILOSOPHY OF ART
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IX(2)
The purpose of philosophy (aside from the academic approach)
is to make every man a philosophical man; the purpose of art is
by works of art to make every man an artistic man. And just as
every man can become a philosophical human being, he can also
become by means of art an artistic human being. Man is a very
strange being who has the wonderful possibility of becoming (and
here becoming in the true sense of the word) more and more a human
being and of realizing more and more, by bring them about, certain
deep underlying dreams of man (the deep desire of living in a
world that has meaning, for example--or the deep desire, which
can be fulfilled in a work of art, of the perfect identity of
essence and existence, meaning and being)--but first and most
of all, man is a questioning being, a being who when faced, for
example, with a phenomenon of something absolutely unique (as
a work of art is) is put into a state of astonishment and out
of this state of astonishment (or marveling as Aristotle says)
starts to ask questions. Man starts to ask the question: Why are
things at all?-- trying to get to the root of the question of
being itself.
Philosophy is the one creative ability of man most concerned
with such questions, the one creative ability of man primarily
concerned with basic fundamental questions--which is why philosophy
is the only creative ability that can explain all the other creative
abilities to themselves and why we call philosophy in here to
help us in our inquiry into what art might be. Philosophy, for
example, can help us bring to light the basic joys that every
work of art can give us--basic joys that because they are fundamental
are hidden, but which also, because they are fundamental, became
self-evident once they are brought to light. This is the strange
thing above fundamental things--although they are hidden, they
are always perfectly self-evident once they are found.
Now (to go on with our inquiry into what a work of art might
be) let’s approach for a moment the question of what a work
of art as a whole is--and whether it can be compared, as it often
has been, to an organism. Is not a work of art rather an entity--an
entity in the real sense of the word where everything in the work
of art is ruled by one central over-all vision of form, where
each thing is relative to the other and all relative to this one
absolute, where every part of the work of art has such a relation
to the whole that even a part of it carries the whole with it
(in the way, for example, that a remaining portion of a Greek
statue can still create for the beholder the feeling of the whole
work of art)? How can something like that be compared to an organism?
How can any concept of an organism ever give us an insight into
a work of art or ever be adequately compared to a work of art--or
to any other creative endeavor of man for that matter?
The idea that something like a work of art or a human community
(that other favorite choice for comparison with an organism) can
possibly be a higher degree of an organism simply does not hold
water. A work of art, which finally resembles nothing so much
as man himself, can no more be considered simply to be a higher
degree of organism than man himself can be, and certainly a human
community as a system of human relations based on man-made laws
to create a certain human order (in order to make it possible,
for example, for human justice to emerge) is a much higher entity
than any identification with an organism could imply. Even from
the point of view of organization, the comparison simply is not
valid--for as far as a work of art is concerned, the artisan part
aside, it has nothing to do with organization at all, and while
it is perfectly true that a human community is organized, it cannot
be considered as an organism even in that sense of the word because
free will already enters in.
Now we have said that a work of art, if it can be compared to
anything, resembles man himself more than anything else--but how
and why? Since we are beings who are born as sketches only of
human beings with the possibility of becoming more and more human
beings--beings who are not born free, wise or just but only with
the possibility of becoming more and more so--we are beings who
can only become ourselves, so to speak, at the end of a successful
life. But then we might get the feeling from a long life of developing
and continuity that everything has been put into a framework of
interrelation that gives sense and meaning. We might finally get
the feeling that we have become a real living entity--an entity
where nothing is senseless, where everything has meaning and falls
into place. It is to us--to man in this sense--that a work of
art finally can only be compared (and conversely it is the work
of art that gives us the greatest assurance of our possibility
to become an entity for how can the creator of something have
less possibilities than the thing he is able to create). We as
creators of art have the possibility to create entities--entities
that are the fulfillment of our innermost ideal: the identity
of essence and existence, being and meaning--the possibility to
assemble everything in ourselves and to bring life into one unity
that has sense and meaning. We as the creators of art on the one
hand have the possibility to bring about in every work of art
the fulfillment of that deep longing of man and as the beholders
of art on the other hand are able to sense that fulfillment in
every work of art and to be put to rest by it.
And that brings us to the problem of the beholder and the work
of art--to the questions: What happens to the beholder? How does
the work of art work on him and how does it come about? What is
the relation of the beholder to the work of art? What is the way
he faces the work of art? The medieval mystic’s way of facing
God was to see truth--to see God and to behold Him. Then he was
in felicity with no questions left, no effort required. He knew
who he was and he was what he knew. The beholder’s main
problem is much the same: to be able to give himself up entirely
to the experience of the work of art. But how does this come about?
How does the work of art start to work on the beholder? One means,
of course, is through the senses, but leaving that aside for the
moment, how does the work of art work on the beholder otherwise?
What is done to the beholder by the work of art?
To answer that let’s go back once more to the Greeks--to
Heraclitus this time and to a concept of his which is particularly
pertinent to our problem. Heraclitus within his whole philosophical
system conceived of the world as the playing of Zeus--the great
world-child Zeus playing the infinite play of change, constant
change that moves by itself, infinite change that is process itself
(which is quite a different proposition from Hegel’s concept
of change). This concept of God conceived by the man who founded
the scientific method itself by his concept of change and by his
position that the laws of nature were limited laws that could
be discovered by man is one of the harshest and cruelest concepts
of God to be found--but nevertheless we find in the idea of Zeus’
play very much the same kind of experience that a work of art
puts us into. The play of a god is creative play; the play a work
of art can put us into is also creative play--creative play in
the sense that art can set our senses into play in the two fundamental
aspects of time and space (since a work of art as formed lives
in time and space) in such a way that what is a task for us in
the world is turned into joy, into play.
We as human beings in the world are not only concerned passively
with time and space, but we are also concerned actively with them.
We have a task with them; we work with them. Insofar as time and
space are physical (as they are in science) our relation to them
can be conceived of only as passive (space is considered as objective
space, space as given in the physical world, time as physical
time), but there are also metaphysical time and space and there
our relation to the phenomena of time and space can only be conceived
of as active. Our relation to metaphysical tine and space involves,
for example, time and space perceptions--which are actions, something
we do actively (as Caesar said when asked about warfare: “The
eyes are the first to be defeated.”). By space and time
perceptions we space ourselves and time ourselves (which means
we are not only in time and space but we also have time and space)
and unconsciously we all do this. In the blind man, for example,
other senses have to be developed to replace his eyes so he can
space himself--touch, smell, hearing have to be developed in order
to replace to a certain extent the loss of sight. In moments of
extreme danger, as in cases of dizziness in climbing or drowning,
we must space ourselves consciously. We must actively assemble
space phenomena around us in order to orient ourselves again.
In art this ability of ours becomes play. One of the basic wonderments
of art is the great miracle that when we see a painting we are
suddenly made beholders of space entirely mastered by us. We are
the location itself and everything is related to us and our location.
This space becomes alive to us, opens up only to us and takes
us into it. We are not only masters of space but we understand
for the first time space in its meaning and it becomes meaningful.
Space in the world can only be objective. We live in space and
can work with space, but it does not convey meaning. Space can
be abstracted into mathematical formulas by us, but they only
make sense--they do not convey meaning to us. We time and we space
in the world, but as a nuisance, as a task--but through art this
is turned into a joy, into play: we enjoy it. Our ability to space
and to time are actively turned into something transcendent and
we are made masters of time and space--masters of space in painting
and masters of time in music--and of tine and space that becomes
meaningful.
Just as painting gives us mastery over space, music gives us
mastery over time--complete mastery because music is entirely
in time. In music we are put before a phenomenon of eternity that
is the same kind of a phenomenon in time that we can have in space:
namely, the phenomenon of eternity that when it deals with finite
space it can nevertheless be infinite because it is closed in
itself. In music we have this kind of eternity in time--an extension
of time given as a whole. We are forced by the work of art to
go back and forth--we are before it and sometimes behind it and
by a constant going back and forth are set above time. We have
a sense of duration of ourselves that spreads all over the extension
of time--which means we have time in music in the same sense we
have space in painting: in a way that transforms our ability to
space and time our-selves (and thus to have space and time as
well as be in space and time) from a task in the world to creative
play, to something that brings us joy. A work of art by activating
our senses in a creative concept to produce joy is able to give
us an ability of creative play that is exactly the same as that
of the world-child Zeus in Heraclitus.
Now we have said that in a work of art, though the basic joys
are hidden at first because they are fundamental, there is nothing
that pretends to be hidden. This makes it possible for us to trust
the work of art and to give ourselves to it--and since we approach
a work of art through the senses, it means that with a work of
art we do something we never do except as children or in love:
we trust our senses and trust them absolutely. As children we
trust our parents through the senses and later when we face our
beloved we take the tremendous risk of trusting our senses--but
it is only with a work of art that we feel we run no risk. We
do the fantastic and courageous thing of trusting our senses--giving
them up fully to the experience, letting the work of art work
on us to the full--and the reward is tremendous. That is why when
we try to make works or art understandable to people who do not
understand them that it cannot be done by intellectual means but
only through the senses. A work of art educates our senses and
we are able to trust our senses in a way we can do with nothing
else because we feel there is or can be no harm in a work of art.
Why? Why are we able to put such trust in a work of art? Because
we sense the fact that a work of art has one absolute incapability--and
one that cannot be said of anything else: the absolute incapability
of hiding any possible harm to us. So we are able to let ourselves
go into the experience of the senses-- and then something very
strange starts to happen: our senses seem to think. But then we
have to ask: What kind of thinking? Are there different kinds
of thinking, and if so what can they be?
There are three different kinds of creative thinking: fundamental
thinking, which we have in philosophy; analytical thinking, which
we have in science; and synthetical thinking which we have in
art--not synthetic in the scientific sense of synthesis but rather
in the sense of metaphorical thinking where the work of art not
only makes us think but to associate too--and here, once again,
not associate in the scientific sense, but in a creative way.
In psychoanalysis there is certain process of association which,
because it is involuntary and cannot be controlled, is physical
in my meaning of the word (as dreams are physical in that sense
too). In art, on the other hand, we have a creative procedure
of association. The medium is the same--the human mind--but a
creative procedure of association in the mind of the beholder
is brought about by the form of the work of art itself--which
is a crystallization of experiences expressed multi-metaphorically.
This phenomenon of the crystallization of human experience (once
we are brought through the means of the senses into the work of
art) causes us to speculate by touching experiences of our own
corresponding to those already expressed in the work of art--setting
in motion a procedure of creative association (which is one reason
why a work of art can be interpreted indefinitely). We are able
to remobilize forgotten experiences-- touching them again and
adding by that to the work of art itself. We are working (working
really rather than interpreting) on the work of art our-selves.
We are in the middle of a great inner dialogue with the work of
art--in a line of metaphorical thinking, adding to the work of
art and interpreting it for ourselves in different stages of our
life.
And--because it is a metaphorical crystallization of life experience--
a work of art can do even more: it can become a mirror of our
experiences too where the deeper we look into the work of art
the deeper it throws us back into ourselves--which is an experience
given to man nowhere else but in art. Genuine artistic experience
is the key that opens our own inwardness to us (and in this sense
can become in a way our judge too). This is the living relation
that art brings about for us as beholders. We are led back into
ourselves by the work of art through enlightenment and in such
a way that it has the possibility to reinforce our own capabilities--
to reinforce, for example, our ability to love. Beholding a work
of art is a sense experience and as such takes on inwardly the
color of sensuous feelings relating back to experiences and insights
of certain moments of our own life. By beholding a work of art
we are able to become ourselves more and more, to unify ourselves
more and more--and here as beholders, we have an advantage that
the artist who created the work of art never has: we become men
who have the possibility of living metaphorical thinking and experience
without the necessity of ever getting out of the real creative
process--which the artist has to do. We, as beholders, have the
possibility of an entirely creative experience--while the artist
has one uncreative side to him: in order to be able finally to
create the work of art he has to get out of the creative process--or
rather he has to try to put himself above the creative process.
But this is an extremely complicated question and one we will
have to come back to because for one thing there is a great difference
between the artist trying to put himself above the creative process
in order to create a work of art and the other danger that can
happen to an artist: the danger to be thrown entirely out of the
creative process. The artist mostly does not know (or cannot at
least consciously think about) what he is doing in the creative
process itself of producing a work of art--and Plato who was a
great lover of art and artistic himself (although Plato as a philosopher
bitterly attacked art--but this was for quite another reason[3])
was one of the first to show us that there must be a cleavage
between the artist’s learning and his art, that the artist
must rule knowledge out of art because as soon as he brings analytical
conscious thinking into his work he throws himself out of the
creative process. But if this should be truer we are faced then
immediately with the question: Does this also mean on the other
hand that the artist really is only, as Plato thought he was,
“the mouthpiece of Apollon,” who as soon as the gift
of Apollon is given to him speaks in beauty of the truth but does
not know what he is doing?--which means that in order really to
inquire into this problem we have to inquire into such questions
as: What is the creative process and what else, if anything, is
necessary to produce a work of art? Is the creative process one
that only possesses the artist, so to speak, or is it a free activity?
Is the artist only “the mouthpiece of Apollon” or
do other things enter in too?
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