I have been listening to a seminar called The Good, the Beautiful, and the True – Buddhism and Western Philosophy. Don’t know much about Buddhism (or any religion for that matter) but intrigued. Week 2 lead by Manjusiha discussed the value of aesthetics from a philosophical position, looking at the ideas of mainly Kant, Plato, and Schopenhauer in regards to music and the arts.
It started with a quote from Iris Murdoch’s novel The Black Prince, ‘Art tells the only truth that ultimately matters. It is the light by which human things can be mended. And after art there is, let me assure you all, nothing.’ Ummm; even I don’t want that (mainly due to my loyalty to nature). Though ‘truth’ in art is in the eye of the beholder. It is one of the few platforms where the unknown or unanswered can be met with more questions, where we are more likely to admit that we do not know; that there is no right or wrong.
He also stated one philosophical positioning of art as being ‘the only things that artworks have in common are that we call them artworks’.
Absolute music was also discussed. Music without a title, words or accompanying literature. Music apparently without signifiers. Absolute music is used as a sceptical tool by some philosophers. Abstract painting was referred to as a visual equivalent to absolute music. I guess for argument purposes both would need to be untitled and the artist unknown. It is argued that unlike tragedies or arts with narrative, absolute music can have no truth. For example if a death occurs in a novel, most people will have an emotional response to what is represented because of our humanness. Our empathy. The sceptical view being, the arts are only transcendental when there are representational triggers.
I think we underestimate what will always be there, even when we take everything away. Surely there will always exist the basic of signifiers. Sensed by the truths and needs all are born with, interpreted and reflected in our bodies. Though primitive (and cheesy!) there is a correlation between the beat of a drum and the beat of a heart. There is a truth, albeit simple, in a rapidly made, red brushstroke.
