A Subjective Look at the Possible Implications of Systemic Philosophy as Applied to Spirituality

The previous was an attempt to describe the objective reality that we all exist within. The conclusions were derived through a process of comparison of materials and concepts and could possibly be observable to anyone through physical perception (analysis of the five senses). It was an attempt to describe our general reality. A scientific offering. As was stated, this philosophy was reached through by looking at science and spirituality as two sides to the same coin.

So, the following is an attempt to offer a subjective perspective on the applications that this philosophy could have on spirituality. In order to begin, spirituality could be understood as the interrelation between the system of existence as a "whole," and its complete individual parts, the "selves."

To begin, a description of the dichotomy between "total" and "local." The total might be the sum or a multiple of all existent parts (selves). It is a function of the whole, and might be thought of as "The Existential Spirit."

The concept of "Spirit" might be conceived as the overall effect of a single system. Spirit could only be determined objectively at the end of ends.

Spirit and Value exist in a dichotomy. As Value is the total temporary movement currently in existence within any given system, and Spirit would be the over all effect of any given system determined at the end of the continuum of spacetime. Value can be determined subjectively and in a consensus, and Spirit might only be determined objectively.

Existence occurs in local "pockets" or localities in spacetime, due to the cause of a source of existence. Our local source is the Sun. The Sun's local source is the center of the Milky Way. This source is the basis for a complete, organic system. Complete meaning local resources and by-products are in balance. The purpose of a product would be to contribute it to the whole. A complete, organic system could be absolutely measured (quantitatively, and qualitatively) as one whole unit, or "holy." Mechanistic systems are excluded because they do not account for their by-products within themselves without the aid of another system, and are therefore "incomplete." The "self" could be thought of as one whole unit, or holy.

Existence can be thought to have "Desire." Existence does so because it wants to. The devolution of desire to the "selves," and their subjective use of desire might be the cause of organic and mechanistic entropy. If a self becomes too "desirous" it might begin to act against the way of the whole, and become a "cancer," causing "dis-ease" within the whole of a complete system.

The ultimate desire of existence might be the desire to strike an absolute balance.

Systems Theory as a Means of Understanding

In these precarious times we are faced with challenges that seem overwhelming, and without solution. Maybe all we need to do is change our minds about our situation. Maybe it's time for a new way of thinking things through.

This is a proposal for a collective brainstorm about Systems Theory. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Systems_theory

The Wikipedia article is maybe inaccessible to some, but at a glance it seems as though almost ANYTHING can be understood through systems theory. Unfortunately systems theory and systems thinking are new fields, without any connective philosophy. This is an attempt at creating an existential philosophy based on systems theory (Note: existential does not mean relating to Sartre's theories of Existentialism). The following is a subjective opinion, a personal presumption about how systems theory can be used to describe and define existence as a whole. It is in no way the dictation of a doctrine, or an attempt to create an ideology, just a suggested point of view. Please note, there are liberties taken in the re-definition of accepted scientific terms, and the expansion of certain theoretical fields of study. This is a personal philosophy, and an attempt to offer systems theory as a sort of combined art and science. At times many of the proposed ideas could be difficult to understand, and might be considered radical in the worlds of science, art and philosophy. Constructive criticism is welcome.

I. Systems theory can be possibly best understood as the study of the process of movement. It may be thought that the perceivable existence we live in (everything basically) is constantly moving internally and externally. If this is the case it can also be perceived that everything does so in various patterns or processes structured in a series of levels, and almost anything can be understood as some kind of system.

Let's say that nothing happens without a cause, and everything has a defined duration of existence (beginning, middle and end). Let's say that the event of a thing happening is determined by the circumstances that preclude and exist around the creation and duration of any individual thing.

If this is the case, then it can be assumed that nothing happens or exists without a cause, and that everything is connected by one single cause (the Big Bang). That is the commonality of existence. Everything is moving at a relative rate, determined by a thing's governing circumstances. Movement is perceived as change, and all locally perceived changes determine a thing's relative rate of movement (time).

The governing circumstances of anything are those factors that determine what causes the creation of a system, how it moves, and how it is eventually destroyed. All individual systems (except for the perceivable whole, the universe) requires some sort of input and output and necessarily has some method of destruction, be it implosion, explosion or slow decay. These are "co-dependent, open systems." Existence itself is the only perceivable "independent, closed system."

II. The following requires the incorporation of one basic proposal from existential phenomenology (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Existential_phenomenology): everything that is perceived internally and externally by any system is actually existent in our reality. Our perceived reality can therefore be thought of as having two harmonious aspects: external perception (objective), and internal perception (subjective).

External perception is that which can be perceived through the senses: our physical reality, the relation of matter to energy.

Internal perception is that which is perceived within any subjective system, through "internal senses" (thinking and feeling): our metaphysical reality. It can be thought that the metaphysical reality maintains an existential aspect of its own which can be called "conception," and can be defined as the relation of concepts to energy.

Energy can be redefined as the governing circumstance of movement in the system of existence. Energy is what connects the physical reality and the metaphysical reality.

To recap this line of thought: Existence has two sides (the physical and the metaphysical), and three aspects (matter, energy, and conception). All of these contribute to the "governing circumstances" of the system of existence. There are many more possible circumstances that govern our existence, but for the sake of staying on task, only a few more will be discussed.

III. If everything is caused, that means that nothing "just happens." Each cause can create a range of effects, and each effect is in itself a new cause. This is thought of as a "chain reaction, " and is due to the fact that movement only goes "forward." It is existentially impossible to travel backward in time. Existence is a massive chain reaction. If each cause is determined by its governing circumstances, then it is possible to tally up the circumstances and determine the likelihood that an event will occur. How? Value.

Value can be thought of as the total movement of a system throughout its duration. A system's value is directly related to the governing circumstances of any following or co-existent system. There are two kinds of value: qualitative and quantitative. Quality is a subjective valuation based on what another system might "think or feel" about it. Quantity is an objective valuation based on the measurable circumstances of a system. Quantity can be determined through arithmetic, quality cannot. They are two sides of the same coin, and all systems have both.

So, how does this determine the chances of the event of a new system? First start by determining quantity. Measure all of the quantifiable circumstances around a possible event, and determine how they relate. The second half is much harder, nearly impossible, because there is no way to absolutely measure quality. Quality is what creates the "uncertainty principle" of any event. The only real way to determine quality is to ask enough "people" what they think about a possible event. Quality is based on desire. Everything has desire.

It must be understood that anything is possible in the metaphysical reality, but only certain things are probable in the physical reality due to the governing circumstances of existence that control all events. So the likelihood of any event is really just a game of probability, where there is always some level of uncertainty from the subjective point of view. You can determine the chances, but the coin still has to be tossed before any outcome is certain.

The probability of an event becomes more uncertain as we draw closer to it. This is called the event horizon.

IV. In the physical reality there are only two kinds of systems known to us. Mechanistic and Organic.

A mechanistic system is one in which a resource or number of resources are input into the system and put through a process of change. At the end of the process the resources have been turned into a product, and there is a certain level of loss of resources. This loss is due to what we call entropy. The only known mechanistic systems are man-made.

An organic system is one in which a resource or number of resources are input into the system, and are utilized in the systems overall growth. After a time the system reaches a peak of growth and begins a decline. An individual system's "waste" is, more often than not, another system's necessary resource. This creates a balance in the overall system in which the two smaller systems belong. "Entropy" in an organic system can be understood as constant complexification within a system. It could be that this complexification is the cause of the decline in an organic system. Organic systems, as far as we know, are the only naturally occurring physical systems.

V. In the metaphysical reality there is potentially an infinite number of kinds of systems. It is maybe best to consider metaphysical systems as the ways that physical systems interrelate.

Some examples of metaphysical systems are: all forms of communication, interpersonal relationships, networks, hierarchies, democracies, dichotomies, trichotomies, etc.

VI. Those are the basics of this systemic existential philosophy. This is only the starting point for further debate, clarification, and definition. If generally accepted, this philosophy could have wide-ranging ramifications throughout society, possibly affecting everyone's way of life. If not, whatever.

VII. What about that which does not move? Is there anything that does not move and has no beginning or end? Maybe Dark Matter? What if that's the "stuff" that existence exists within...

In conclusion, this philosophy could have the potential to influence and change the arts and sciences. It's applications and effects on psychology, medicine, industry, government, biology, physics, economy, etc are possibly enormous. Much study and deliberation is obviously needed, but hopefully this text can kick it off.

The topics presented, and the conclusions derived from them may be difficult for some people to understand. If you get it, please help to explain it to those who don't. This is a living document and should be shared and amended openly and publicly. The conclusions were determined through a study of science and spirituality as two halves of a whole, and through a countervailing process of induction deduction, and connection. Some influential texts and authors were: The Tao of Physics by Fritjof Capra, The Art of the Commonplace by Wendell Berry, The Universe in a Single Atom by the Dalai Lama, the works of Willis Harman, the works of Buckminster Fuller, The Bible, The Baghavad Gita, The Tao Te Ching, and Wikipedia, among others.

What do we really own?

It has been too long since my last post, and I now have much on my mind. This blog may lose reverence to its initial purpose, being a commentary on the motion picture arts, to expand into a reverence to the greater need of hosting the discussion most important in these dire times.

I say dire, and I mean it. We are royally screwed, and many of the most able of us are sitting on our asses, twiddling our thumbs, and kidding ourselves about the implications of our current circumstances. I personally never wish to sound like a doomsayer, but doom is upon us, coming from many fronts. The economic crisis and unemployment supposedly hovering at 10% (discounting all those jobless not collecting unemployment, and those that are fully capable, yet are under-worked and/or under-paid), the oil gusher in the Gulf of Mexico, the annual pump of CO2 into our atmosphere (and its cumulative effects), the exponential loss of habitat and mass extinction of species, the unaccounted for and unknown number of nuclear weapons internationally, the rape and disenfranchisement of the "Global South," and the constant and unending stupefaction of our citizenry all sum up to a situation that is indeed precarious. And, it is very unclear whether human civilization, indeed all life on this planet will be able to survive the effects.

I write now after a year of near-unemployment, and after many experiences of being exploited myself. So much exploitation that I come to believe now that it, and selfishness in all its forms, is the direct initial cause of nearly all of our problems. Now, this term can be very broadly understood, but to make it simpler I will say that in this writing exploitation is at its core the denial of a person, place or thing its intrinsic value by placing upon it a finite (monetary) value. Intrinsic value has the possibility for infinite meaning for the self, and for the greater community. To understand this idea one has to keep in mind that if you live on Earth you are a PART of Earth, and are therefore connected to it in every way. The Earth will be here after we are gone as individuals, and as a race. So, therefore, we can never own the Earth or anything on it, because to own something you have not only rights to it, but responsibilities to it as well. Things cannot be owned, because they can be easily taken, consensually or not, and places cannot be owned because the place is likely to be there long after we, the "owner" depart it. Owning a person is right out, as that would be denying him or her the idea of their own mind, own soul, which has been proven time and again in the constant struggle of person against person.

So what do we really own? All that we can really own is ourselves and the consequences of our actions. And that means that in owning these consequences we have the moral obligation, the responsibility to mitigate the damage. Fortunately, the means to reverse some of these circumstances is already understood, and proven to be effective. Unfortunately, we are now at a time when the bandwidths and airwaves are cluttered beyond description of mess, and most of the general public are listening only to the nay-sayers, the cynics, and the outright uncaring. The chance for government action has come and gone, but the time for its necessity is drawing nearer, faster than can be truly understood. It is now up to the individual to take the daily steps toward a true and honest reversal of our impact. I have many ideas that might be helpful, and I will share them here and elsewhere. I encourage discussion here and elsewhere as well.

The (Real) World.

So, now that it's been more than half a year since my first post, I'll make another. I like to think that this hiatus will not be habitual, but given the track record, I'm not going to promise anything.

During this long fermata I've graduated college with a BFA degree in the Visual and Media Arts. I have also worked on my first feature film, had one of my most serious bouts of poverty, and semi-successfully started a freelance career.

I am a filmmaker. I am a cinematographer. I am an artist. What those words mean these days seems to be up for interpretation, but I like to think that it makes me a technician, an aesthete, and a philosopher in equal parts, all rolled into one.

Currently, I am in the middle of shooting and cutting a short talkie on HDV, with an aspiring writer/producer whom I very much admire. It's a movie very much in the vein of contemporary independent talkies (see: mumblecore), though I like to think it's a little more accessible. Beyond that I'm in pre-production on a short film to be shot next month, written by a first-time writer/director. The script is impressive, and very ambitious, but with the enough effort it can be pulled off.

I have been reading as well. Mostly James Fenimore Cooper's Leather Stocking Tales, the series of novels that follows the life of the character Natty Bumppo, (also thought of as Daniel Day-Lewis's character in The Last of the Mohicans [1992]). The series takes place in the pre-Revolutionary wilderness of central New York, for the most part, and has completely fascinated me. Cooper does an interesting job of showing the relations between Native Americans, and the white colonists hell-bent on uglifying their homeland (though not necessarily described as such in the narratives). I have always had a love of the outdoors, and untouched land, and reading about the world described in these novels makes me yearn for something quikly receding in this hack-and-burn capitalist economy. After reading Last of the Mohicans, I was thoroughly dissapointed with the '92 film, which was far less about the last mohican than the book, which is really a "return of the prodigal son" story. I feel the urge to update the film version, or at least make a short showing the best parts left out.

I have also managed to start volunteering some time at a local community darkroom in Allston. It's a great service for those film-o-philes who don't have their own darkroom, and don't have the time/money/patience to set one up. They have a negative scanner, and I've been successfully able to scan many of the negatives that I've never had a chance to even see in positive. The place is called the "Allston Community Darkroom," formerly "Blue Zebra Photo Labs." The owners are really awesome, and the prices are very affordable ($10/hour, free chemicals, bring your own paper).

So, I'll leave you with one of my favorite scans of this batch:

Pilot

I used to write all the time. In fact, in High School I even considered being an English major somewhere like Sarah Lawrence, or Welles College. It's been almost four years since those thoughts have crossed my mind, and I am far from either of those places and from being an English major. So please excuse me if I seem out of practice. 

Instead I went the visual route. I now exist as a second-semester Senior at Emerson College, studying cinematography. In essence this means that I am both an artist and a technician, one sometimes out-weighing the other depending on who you ask. Cinematography is one of those arts that is better appreciated in that unnoticed way. It is usually presented as a part to a whole, and if it is the thing that is remembered in the end, then someone wasn't doing their job well enough, or perhaps too well. Literally, cinematography means motion-writing, which stems from the idea that a cinematograph was converse to the photograph in that the image presented was imbued with the gift of motion. Therefore, a cinematograph is also blessed with the gift of a temporal dimension, and is often more akin to a play, a piece of music, or dance rather than just existing in the realm of mere photo-realistic mimesis. 

But, it cannot be forgotten that cinematography is a direct relative of photography, and is thus subject to the same conceptions (mis, or pre) that are attached to the art of photography. Most specifically that it is not an art, but simply an exercise in scientific ingenuity, and mechanical reproduction. This is a shame, and may explain why a cinematographer is often relegated to the aisle of "mere" technicians. 

However, it is their images that we watch on screen. It is their choices that lead to a visual manifestation of the story, and without them, films would not be films, but perhaps radio-plays. 

It is my dream to be a recognized cinematographer. It is my wet-dream to be a member of the ASC. But however unlikely that is, I can still hope, and as long as I am hoping, I feel I have the right to write about it. So that is the primary objective of this publication: to talk about cinematography, that which I witness and that which I make. It is my belief that our language is evolving to become more of a visual-vernacular. With the advance of the internet and consumer video, the cinema has become a realistic form of two-way communication, a language that exists first in style and then in syntax and therefore without a legitimized grammar. Maybe, due to these rapid technological advances the role of the filmmaker will become more akin to that of a lexicographer, or etymologist. Maybe. 

As I said earlier, I used to write. That was a bit of a lie. I still do write, but not the same sort of thing. Now I write mostly papers. Theory. Philosophy. And I've realized that I really enjoy it. And so, it may also be that this publication will contain these theories and philosophies that I have come to ponder, and possibly understand. Therefore, I'd like to end this entry with a piece I've just finished. It was an attempt to make concrete some ideas I had about how and why people make films in relation to how people watch them. Feel free to chop it to bits, as this is not something I feel is anywhere near personal completion:

Cine-Semiotics and the Approach Toward Visual Literacy

Since its inception semiology, or the study of signs and their significance in the various modes of communication, has been pervasively used as a foundational philosophy in the dialogue between critics, theorists and creators of cinema. Beyond that, it has also proven to be in itself a point of argument between critics and theorists especially when considering the possible applications that semiology can have in the analysis and critique of the cinematic art in its various incarnations. One of the most primary disagreements in this discussion is whether or not the cinema can be considered its own language, and by extension, whether or not a linguistic theory (such as semiology) can be properly applied to the analysis of cinema and the filmic arts if these forms of communication aren't thought of as operating under a language system. 

Semiology has come a very long way since it was first posited by Ferdinand de Saussure in lectures he gave at the University of Geneva. Originally relegated to linguistic application and to understanding simple sign systems (such as text, traffic signs, and hieroglyphs), semiology was rapidly used to explain many forms of communication and expression. One of the first theorists to apply semiology to the study of cinema was Christian Metz, a french linguist and philosopher. Following Saussure's dyadic model of semiotics in which the sign is made up of only the signifier (the referent) and the signified (the implied meaning), Metz theorized that the language of cinema, an idea that was already long hypothesized, could be interpreted as a sign-system or a form of communication that is made up of signifiers whose meaning could be understood without the need for text or spoken translation or augmentation. Metz then went beyond this hypothesis to try to develop an organized cinematic syntax he termed the Grande Syntagmatique. This attempt to typify stylistic film form was met with great skepticism, and even derision mainly due to his lack of specific examples. His theories, however, have been applied again and again in critical and philosophical readings of many films. 

For example: in viewing the Soviet Russian film Solaris (1972) by Andrei Tarkovsky many inferences can be made concerning the significance embedded in the images presented by the filmmaker. This is particularly true with a scene towards the end of the film in which the protagonist, Kris, a scientist who has been sent to the space station Solaris to determine whether or not it should stay in operation, hastily returns to the station's library to find that Hari, a figment of Kris' long-dead wife who has been reincarnated via the mysterious disorder that is plaguing the station, has been engrossed in the painting “The Hunters in the Snow” by Brueghel. The audience is then presented with a sequence of close-up pans across the painting, intercut with a close-up of Hari staring at the painting, and a shot of Kris's reaction to the situation. From this presentation it can be inferred that the painting signifies human culture and by extension humanity itself. It is also understood that the shot of Hari's intense perusal may connote her understanding of the painting, and more importantly what it means to be human, a problem that has been plaguing the figment of Hari since her introduction into the narrative of the piece. 

A similar understanding of this scene was also reached by Timothy Hyman in a critical review of the film published in Film Quarterly in 1976: 

Magically, she is  in the landscape, and for some moments we explore it with her; the skaters and the homesteads below, the birds and trees silhouetted against the sky, the men and their dogs as they move across the brow of the hill. When she turns to Kris, we realize that through Brueghel she has been able to apprehend what it is to be a human being on earth. In the cessation of gravity that follows, we watch Hari and Kris as they float together in mid-air, in front of the Brueghel, while around them slowly circles the Cervantes, with Don Quixote riding forth. This sequence must be seen as Tarkovsky's cultural testament. Cervantes and Brueghel are both felt as representative of a humanistic culture that is earthy and realistic, yet transcends naturalism, even as love transcends the weight of matter...

Although the review is focused mostly on the thematic nature of the film, and very poetically written, the analysis of the filmic elements is overwhelmingly semiological. Hyman states that Cervantes and Brueghel are “representative of a humanistic culture,” or in other terms, that Tarkovsky's inclusion of these cultural pieces is an attempt to signify the existence of human culture, and its presence on the Solaris space station. Hyman also states that “when she turns to Kris, we realize that through Brueghel she has been able to apprehend what it is to be a human being on earth,” or again, that Natalya Bondarchuk's performance coupled with the way the shot is framed and the diegetic history of Hari's sub-human predicament all connote a point of realization for Hari of what it means to be human. 

These are just a few interpretations of what this scene could mean. To many viewers this scene, and this film could be completely without relevance or significance. Indeed, at the very beginning of Hyman's article he states that “Solaris was the first of Tarkovsky's films to be seen at all widely in the West and, perhaps inevitably, it was misunderstood. Audiences and almost all critics brought to it the most conventional expectations – of a genre film, a sci-fi epic, 'Russia's answer to 2001.' And although it clearly owes part of its continuing availability to this science-fiction label, Solaris has never, I suspect, found the wider audience it deserves.” He goes on to proclaim that Solaris is not actually a science-fiction film but an allegory explaining the lack of humanity contemporary society seems to posses. This proclamation is an example of the disconnect that often exists between the filmmaker's intended significance in his or her imagery and the viewer's ability to accurately read these images as such. But if a filmmaker is knowingly applying certain significance to his or her films then from where does this disconnect stem?

In an article titled “Film Language: From Metz to Bakhtin” Robert Stam makes an attempt to explain the existing theories concerning a cinematic language especially those of Christian Metz. He states that “the question which orients Metz' early work, therefore, is whether the cinema is a langue (language system) or langage (language), and Metz' well-known conclusion is that cinema is not a language system but that it is a language.” What he means by this is that Metz considered the cinema to be a strong form of communication in which significance can be very easily derived from the deliberate construction and juxtaposition of the imagery and sound, but that these texts and their meanings are operating under no established structure or strict syntax.

Pier Paolo Pasolini agreed with this position, and in an address he gave in Pesaro in 1965 Pasolini took this notion further through a comparison between the differing signification processes of writing and filmmaking:

The cinema author has no dictionary but infinite possibilities. He does not take his signs, his im-signs, from some drawer or from chaos, where an automatic or oniric communication is only found in the state of possibility, of shadow. Thus, toponymically described, the act of the filmmaker is not one but double. He must first draw the im-sign from chaos, make it possible and consider it as classified in a dictionary of im-signs (gestures, environment, dreams, memory); he must then accomplish the very work of the writer, that is, enrich this purely morphological im-sign with his personal expression. While the writer's work is esthetic invention, that of the filmmaker is first linguistic invention, then esthetic.

This proposal is an important one, and can offer some insight into the predicament stated above. According to Pasolini, a filmmaker is constantly tasked with formulating understandable meanings in each of his or her images, and then making sure that this signification is coherent and matches their desired vision. Through doing so, a filmmaker has the ability of establishing a code or langue which can be specific to the film, the filmmaker's ouvre, the genre, etc. This process is known as encoding, and is the key tool an auteur has in developing significance, style, and a specific cinematic language system. It is through the encoding process that a filmmaker can truly create a singularly intended significance in his or her work. 

And yet, there can still be a disconnect between what the filmmaker intended and what is understood by the viewer. Because the cinema is not a langue and is not governed by a grammatically categorical system, the audience must conduct a converse process of interpretation known as decoding.   Through this process the images and their significance are transposed in the mind of each individual viewer which can result in very unique interpretations from viewer to viewer, depending on the individual's cultural background and identity, and their experience understanding codified cinematic texts. Pasolini states in the same address that “it is true that after some fifty years of cinema, a sort of cinematic dictionary has been established, or rather a convention, which has this curiosity – it is stylistic before being grammatical.” Often there arises a syntax of convention in which visual semantics become determined by an overall cultural codification. A low-angle becomes powerfully meaningful in a way by using the audience's perspective and the relative size of the subject on the screen to make the viewer appear, and thus feel small compared to the mimetic image of a person. Conversely, this representation of a person is imbued with a connotation of superiority and power. The first time this technique is used it is a sensation, a spectacle. If it is used a second time to convey the same connotation it has become a convention, and thus a cultural sign. This has not been pre-determined but has grown organically, and can be learned by each individual viewer of cinematic text. 

The ability and aptitude of each viewer to quickly and accurately decode a cinematic text has come to be known as visual literacy, a term which was coined by John Debes from Eastman Kodak in the late 1960's, and has since been a topic of study by numerous institutions throughout the world. It is thought that the more saturated with imagery our environment is, the more able we are to comprehend the significance behind each image, or juxtaposition. In a review by Peter Felten titled “Visual Literacy,” he attempts a brief overview of the state of intellectual and pedagogical studies on this topic. He states:

 

Research demonstrates that seeing is not simply a process of passive reception of stimuli but also involves active construction of meaning. A typical person, for example, perceives a line drawing of a cube to have three dimensions; our eyes project depth onto a flat surface by assembling a familiar shape from a two-dimensional drawing on a sheet of paper. Proponents of visual literacy contend that if the physical act of seeing involves active construction, then the intellectual act of interpreting what is seen must require a critical viewer. 

If what Felten has determined is true, or at least possible, then that means that the act of viewing cinema is just as active if not more-so, and demands that the viewer be engaged in a sort of participatory “reading” of the cinematic text. This also means that the successful creation of signifier-signified relationship in a cinematic text is equally the responsibility of the filmmaker to encode meaning in the creation of his or her imagery, and the film viewer to actively read, decode, and interpret the signs included in the text. Felten makes the observation that due to the rapid advancement of technological practices, coupled with the evolution of more complicated and intricate cinematic signs and syntaxes there has been an emergence of a generation that is more intuitively capable of decoding cinematic texts and is in general more visually literate than those prior. 

But there is still more to learn. In an interview with Tarkovsky's cinematographer, Vadim Yusov, included in the Criterion Collection's edition of Solaris, he says “By then we had already seen Kubrick's 2001: A Space Odyssey, which served as a basis for comparison... When we saw Kubrick's film we were mesmerized by the film's imagery, its expansiveness and space, the massive flying objects, and much more. But as for the scenes of the birth of humanity, his understanding of it was alien to us. They were logical for Kubrick's interpretation, but for us, who were inspired by different concepts, they could not serve as a good model.” This is telling of how much of an impact cultural identity has upon a viewer's decoding process. It may be that Kubrick's understanding of humanity was more rooted in theories of evolution and conquest, while Tarkovsky's understanding had more to do with cultural contribution and socialization. Whatever the case, there existed the same disconnect in Tarkovsky and Yusov's decoding of 2001: A Space Odyssey, that occurred when Western audiences approached Solaris. This implies that visual literacy is as much a possession cultural socialization as it is determined by the viewer's exposure to the deluge of imagery that exists in most of the societies that exist today. 

In the same interview Vadim Yusov states that “all Tarkovsky's films are extremely expressive cinematographically. It's easy to understand why, because through this medium he was striving to express his ideas. We mustn't forget that cinema is a protean art, a visual art, and it conveys its ideas through images.” Tarkovsky's Solairis is evidence of this. Through the masterful creation of it's imagery, the most careful and attentive direction of performance, and the extremely intelligent juxtaposition of image and sound in sequence Tarkovsky was able to create a piece of cinema that is rich with significance and thematic ramification. Unfortunately for him, in some cases this was only half the battle. In order for cinematic signs to carry meaning, that meaning must be extrapolated by the audience in its decoding of the text. It may be the case that this film, and many others have fallen on the blind eyes of the visually illiterate, who were unable or unwilling to actively read the text offered to them. It is the hope of every intelligent filmmaker to create an art that is profound, and whose significance is read and appreciated. In order for this to happen, a filmmaker must have an audience that is at a level of visual literacy which facilitates the understanding and appreciation of such an art. There is evidence that in the future our society will be as able to read, write, and understand cinematic texts just as it is able to read, write, and understand written literature. If this is true, then it may be plausible to determine that the future of the cinema is likely to become more complex, intelligent, and rich with significance, and that society's appreciation of cinematic spectacle will evolve into an appreciation of cinematic literature.