Grappling with Philosophy and Art

I have been thinking recently about what attracts people to art. I have a tendency to believe that our initial draw is bound-up in the social world and influenced by selfish motives. It can be a way to gain cultural or social capital, to explore our own identities, and to gain access to new groups. Considering these factors, it can be difficult to discern what one’s own motivation is in seeking it out.

I recently watched Ingmar Bergman’s “Wild Strawberries”, and found myself asking these very questions. What led me to watch this old, slow, 1950s Swedish classic? Surely, I didn’t want to watch it in the same way that I want to go see the new Joker, or the same way that I want to go watch a Raptors game with my friends. For some reason, I thought it was necessary to take on more of Bergman’s work in order to better understand the history of film and, I guess, refine my tastes. Whatever my reasons, what I ended up viewing was a subtly profound and meditative film about a wistful old man contending with his life’s regrets. A film that I found strangely moving.

Questioning what draws us to something only begs for a deeper understanding of the authenticity of our own choices – an arguably impenetrable question. But I believe, when you are truly and genuinely affected by art, your reasons for engaging with it no longer matter.

“Wild Strawberries” seemed to make clear to me feelings and ideas that were previously out of focus in my mind. It’s the same effect good writers have when they are able to seemingly articulate your own ideas for you, putting words to deeply held thoughts or inclinations that would have otherwise remained inaccessible.

I have found a similar effect from reading philosophical/theoretical text. Often the ideas and concepts can feel so powerful while I am engaging with them, it’s as if I’m peeling back layers of reality. The trouble is, shortly after I stop actively contending with the text, my ability to understand its concepts fades away. It’s an experience comparable to having a vivid or intense dream, the kind which dissolves throughout the day losing clarity until it is nothing but a vague sensation.

I think the art, philosophy, and culture that is most powerful and moving typically goes beyond sourcing its material from our conscious experience – our relationships, history, politics — and instead lets loose the contents of the unconscious and dares to express what is unknown. It can pull forth latent ideas that we don’t fully understand, or aren’t fully aware of, and force us to interact with them. This is what makes it particularly challenging, why it can inspire undefinable feelings such as awe, and why its impact can have that lingering dreamlike quality. It’s as if in some way great art is molded by the same mysterious, but apparently vital, substance as dreams.