2/ The Mystery of the Concept and Experience of Beauty

Since the concept of 'beauty' is empty, using it to describe the phenomenon of aesthetic experience—the vivid impression a work of art makes on a viewer—renders that experience profoundly mysterious.

When an aesthete declares a work of art to be beautiful, it is as though they have identified a mysterious quality—'beauty'—within the painting, which immediately raises the question of what that quality might actually be. Furthermore, when another aesthete disagrees and does not find the work beautiful, further questions arise: how can one determine who is correct? How can two equally knowledgeable individuals disagree? How can one fail to perceive the beauty that the other clearly discerns? The usual conclusion has been that 'beauty is subjective'—an expression that itself seems devoid of clear meaning.

In my view, the supposed mystery of both aesthetic experience and aesthetic disagreement is simply a symptom of our reliance on an empty concept to explain them. If we instead interpret these phenomena through the concept of value, any sense of magic, miracle, or mystery dissipates. The experience of art does not lose its power or significance when its mystery vanishes—unless, of course, we insist on grounding art's value in an explicitly empty concept.

Let us therefore turn to the concept of value. Here lies the problem: two aesthetes disagree about the Mona Lisa. One experiences pleasure in contemplating it, while the other does not. Where does this disagreement stem from, and how can we determine who is correct?

When a viewer contemplates a work of art, they are confronted with numerous 'contents of meaning'. In the Mona Lisa, for example, we perceive a smile, an approach to painting as imitation, and several of Leonardo's techniques, such as sfumato. We also notice specific colours—yellow, pink—and the influence of the Renaissance period in which the painting was created. This list could be extended indefinitely.

These 'contents of meaning' each possess distinct ontological realities. A smile, an era, the colour yellow, a technique, and the practice of imitation do not share the same mode of being: some are material, others abstract; some are objective realities, while others are human conventions or decisions, and so forth.

I would propose the following: in experiencing the artwork, the viewer sets aside the ontological nature of the contents of meaning they encounter. Their sole aim is to grasp the meaning and be moved by it, regardless of whether it pertains to a concrete or abstract reality.
The only consideration is whether the meaning they uncover holds significant value for them. If it does, they will take great pleasure in contemplating the work; if not, they will not.

Consider a simple, perhaps even simplistic, example: we often speak of the mysterious smile of the Mona Lisa. If one of our two aesthetes values joy or mystery, he will enjoy contemplating it. If, however, the other values melancholy, darkness, or cruelty, he will find no pleasure in it.
What underlies the conflict between critics is thus an axiological disagreement about what is valuable, rather than an aesthetic disagreement about what is beautiful.

We must acknowledge that this example is somewhat simplistic and consider how it might be made more complex without sacrificing its relevance.
The complication arises because, given the myriad meanings present in a work of art, we cannot predict which meanings the viewer will notice or bring to bear on a value judgement.
With the Mona Lisa, for instance, its status as a global icon might diminish the aesthete's enjoyment if they value the solitary discovery of lesser-known works.
Moreover, a work may contain numerous meanings—some of which the aesthete finds valueless, while others are deeply valued. In such cases, their response may be ambivalent: hesitant to commit to a definitive opinion, they may even feel a kind of 'unease' in the face of the piece.

Furthermore, as our value judgements shift over time, it is common to enjoy a work of art at one point only to lose interest in it years later. This is not because some mysterious quality—the beauty of the work—has been revealed and then concealed, but simply because our value judgements have evolved in the ordinary way.

This theory does not oversimplify the experience of a work of art; on the contrary, it acknowledges that an indefinite number of meanings can be noticed and weighed by the viewer. The interplay among these contents of meaning shapes the viewer's ultimate response of pleasure or displeasure, and its complexity defies full comprehension. We cannot calculate with any certainty whether we will like a work. Nevertheless, this complexity does not alter the fact that it is the value, not the 'beauty', of these meanings that determines our pleasure.

Treating beauty as an empty term is consistent with significant studies in the philosophy of art. Philosophers have historically filled beauty with other definitions, as though it held no intrinsic meaning of its own.
They have described beauty as symmetry (a mathematical proportion), as unity, as perfection (alignment with an abstract concept), as utility, and so on. To assert that beauty is symmetry is to imply that pleasure derives not from beauty itself, but from symmetry (or unity, perfection, utility).
Beauty, then, is merely an empty word into which we pour pre-existing, meaningful concepts. In saying this, I am simply giving voice to an idea that has had currency since antiquity.