A philosophy of the moving image
“A self-destructive man feels completely alienated, utterly alone. He's an outsider to the human community. He thinks to himself, ‘I must be insane.’ What he fails to realize is that society has, just as he does, a vested interest in considerable losses and catastrophes. These wars, famines, floods and quakes meet well-defined needs. Man wants chaos.” – A Waking Life.
I have noticed, when looking back over my brief, brief existence that many an intellectual likes to proclaim they have read many books. Oh yes, my friends, dropping a cheeky quote here and a clever reference there is impressive when one is attempting to be a raconteur. Nevertheless, the same regard doesn’t seem to exist for film. Why is this the case?
It is fair to say that the classic medium of communication for philosophy, aside from talking, has been through the written word; or, in other words, a book. Thus, one can be a tad romantic when referring to a work of philosophy. Furthermore, books are less passive in a sense. When one reads a book, be it a work of philosophy or not, it is up to the reader to connect ideas, deduce, analyse, discover and imagine. With a film, these elements are controlled by the director.
Nevertheless, my friends, can you imagine what Aristotle, Nietzsche, Mill, or a plethora of other dead philosophers, could have done with a moving image? In the end, we can only imagine.
Film is incredibly crucial to philosophy. In fact, I would go so far as to say that philosophy’s accessibility is dependent on the moving image. Also, I think watching philosophical films should be studied side by side written works of philosophy. I cannot think of a single reason why not.
Are the debates between Lennox and Dawkins not of a high quality? If one would rather refer to a film, is A Waking Life not provocative enough? Its contributors analyse the very essence of reality – amongst educating its viewers about history, literature and dreams. And there are many, many little gems out there, too. The Three Minute Philosophy shorts by the YouTube user CollegeBinary are absolutely brilliant; I really couldn’t commend them enough. If you haven’t seen them, watch them. The videos are, quite simply, must see philosophy.
Now, I would like to discuss a film which inspired me to think of the moving image: Cloud Atlas. I really enjoyed the film, despite the prejudices I had, and maybe still have, regarding reincarnation. The film, directed by the Wachowskis and Tom Tykwer, is a philosophical masterpiece. There are, quite literally, many delicious onion-like layers to this film. It’s based upon the novel by the same, written by David Mitchell, which I have just read (see, I’m clever ‘cos I reads booksies). The film is largely true to the novel.
A huge theme of the film is reincarnation. Now, I must admit that I have no sympathies with the theological/ spiritual notion of reincarnation. It’s completely illogical from my perspective – that of a scientific materialist. However, in spite of my theological prejudice, I thought the exploration of the idea of reincarnation, being the main theme over three hours of film, was very extensive. And although I came out of the cinema with my thoughts on spiritual reincarnation unchanged, my thoughts on nurture and consequentialism had been refined. One line which inspired me to think is as follows:
“Our lives are not our own, we are bound to others, past and present. And by each crime and every kindness, we birth our future.”
Whether you agree or disagree with this comment is of no consequence. From my perspective, an opinion succeeds if it is loved or hated with equal measure. However, I do think the above quote really touches on something. Genealogy is a subject which I find to be of incredible interest.
Our identities are not solely created by ourselves. We have no say as to which culture we are born in; we have no say as to who our genetic creators are. When I researched my family tree, I found that a correlation exists: many of my ancestors were highly educated. Is it then, merely a coincidence that I am a teacher? If a positive ethos towards learning has been prevalent within my family for six generations, was it almost inevitable that I would be a teacher?
And, what of me? I am only a part of the massive jigsaw that is me: the causes of me, and the consequences of me, are not entirely known to me. How very interesting! If I own my house and give it to my daughter upon my death, she will be more affluent. If she is more affluent, her children are more likely to be affluent. Conversely, I could have a descendent who is an alcoholic, and by coming into property, their habit could be funded to horrid extremes.
The truth is, I had been very much focused on the now. Yes: getting tattoos, writing poetry, trying to stand out and hoping that by creating something of potential beauty, my life would have some value in the eyes of my peers. Cloud Atlas has changed that, at least to an extent. Although I feel pathetic at such an admission, and rightly so, I now view my life as a link in a long, long chain. Whilst this is nothing new per se, it is a new experience for me – to take a step outside of myself, and realise I am a consequence of many forces over which I have had no control. In addition to this, I know my decisions have many consequences, not just for the present, but for future generations I will never meet.
I am worried that this seems so very obvious: but that’s what excellent philosophy does! It takes what should be obvious, and presents it in a simple way. I love quotes, so let me end with a quote from Cloud Atlas, one which I will leave to you, the reader, to muse upon.
“Fear, belief, love. Yesterday my life was headed in one direction; today it is headed in another. Fear, belief, love: phenomena which dictate the course of our lives. These forces begin long before we are born and continue after we perish. Yesterday I believe I would have never had done what I did today. I feel like something important has happened to me. Is this possible? I just met her, and yet I have fallen in love.”
Samuel Mack-Poole
