Do artworks communicate truth?
I
think the answer to this question is yes, but must be qualified with a certain
definition of truth and also with a description of what qualifies an artwork as
an artwork. I think the kind of truth that artwork communicates is something
that gives one a sense of being enlightened—of seeing something or making some
connection one had never considered before, of developing understanding, of
disclosing something about the experience of life, of directing thoughts
towards something people generally miss or avoid, of revealing meaning in a
place where one hadn’t looked before or where one had looked before but had
come out empty-handed. Perhaps this is too many ways to rephrase “being
enlightened,” but perhaps they can all be grouped under the concept of
“understanding”. Understanding is more than just knowledge, it is knowledge
about how different pieces of information relate to each other. It connects
basic “facts” to one another by some sort of rule that can be universal (reveal
something about how things typically/always relate) or particular (reveal
something about a specific situation of relation). There are a few qualities of
different types of works of art that, according to our authors, cause people to
gain some sort of understanding from them.
Aristotle
talks about the imitative quality of artwork and how we as humans use imitation
to learn and gain understanding. Imitation, then, in plotline or subject
matter, is not inferior to experience because it is in a way “fake”; instead,
imitation in art supplements experience. When Aristotle goes over what he
thinks makes a particularly good tragedy (or, perhaps, a tragedy most effective
in enlightening viewers in some way), he lists order and unity, which draw us
in because they mean that the story in intelligible. But he also says that good
tragedies produce pity and fear, which stretch our emotions in a way that we
would not want in regular circumstances. Finally, good tragedies embody
possibility, as opposed to what is actual or what is necessary. In this final
point, we can see that what makes tragedy good art is that it draws you into it
and makes itself relevant to you, then forces you to think differently about
the ideas it presents by stretching your imagination and surprising you.
Similarly, the ideal main character is one who strives to be good and is easy
to identify with, but then must err in judgment. This motif of being able to
identify with a part of an artwork at the same time as being pulled down a path
of mere possibility by the art continues in Nietzsche and Heidegger.
Nietzsche
says explicitly that he thinks that art is about relieving people of the burden of “truth”, but here I think that
the truth he refers to which we can never acquire is a kind of definitive
version of truth instead of a constantly-reaching-for-understanding kind of
truth. He says that art imitates the world in a particular way: a way that
distorts the incoherent and meaningless world and makes it palatable to people.
But his praise of Greek tragedies actually suggests that they uncover the
tension between the desire to live, experience, find meaning, and the constant
resistance in the world that continuously suggests that death always conquers
life, that experience is only ever relative and insignificant, and that any
meaning that might be found is artificial. I would like to suggest here,
though, that while these devastating “truths” may or may not be objectively
true, the very basic fact that life itself consists of this tension can be
brought to our attention through art, perhaps particularly in Greek tragedy,
and this seems to me to be a kind of revealed understanding of such opposition,
though not a solution to it. The revealed opposition that art has the power to
convey could also be discussed in the Nietzschean terms of the Apollonian
desire to distance ourselves from the world and the Dionysian desire to be
included in the world.
Finally,
Heidegger, too sees some sort of dual purpose in art, in that it brings
together earth—the mere physicality of things which is important but
conclusive—and a world—that which is built from earth but that turns into
something above and beyond it in that it is open, unfixed, open to
possibilities. Heidegger thinks that a certain unrevealing happens when we view
something not as an object, and not as a piece of equipment, but as a work of
art. When art is framed as art, it opens up interpretations and ideas unique to
that kind of presentation, and when this opening up leads to feelings of
enlightenment and understanding, we uphold such works as art. But if the works
seem to only appeal to basic sensation or fail at being interesting or
meaningful beyond mere physicality, then we just call this cheap entertainment.
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