Portraits	of	Philosophers Hans	Maes Abstract This	paper	presents	a	close	analysis	of	Steve	Pyke's	famous	series	of	portraits	of	philosophers.	By comparing his photographs to other well-known series of portraits and to other portraits of philosophers	we	will	seek	a	better	understanding	of	the	distinctiveness	and	fittingness	of	Pyke's project. With brief nods to Roland Barthes, Jean Baudrillard, G.W.F. Hegel, and Arthur Schopenhauer	and	an	extensive	critical investigation	of	Cynthia	Freeland's ideas	on	portraiture in	general	and	her	reading	of	Steve	Pyke's	portraits	in	particular,	this	paper	will	also	aim	to	make a	contribution	to	the	philosophical	debate	on	portraiture. NB Final	version	to	appear	in	H.Maes	(ed.)	Portraits	and	Philosophy,	Routledge,	2019. https://www.routledge.com/Portraits-and-Philosophy/Maes/p/book/9780367189402 Please	do	not	quote	without	permission. 2 Could a closer look at portraits of philosophers help to shed light on the philosophy	of	portraits?	Conversely,	can	we	turn	to	the	philosophy	of	portraiture to	help	illuminate	some	of	the	ways	in	which	philosophers	have	been	portrayed? These are the general questions I would like to address in this concluding chapter – a chapter that will mainly focus on the work of one photographer, Steve	Pyke, and the series	of	black-and-white	portraits	of	philosophers that	he took	over	a	span	of	thirty	years	and	collected	in	two	volumes	(1993,	2011a).i My starting point will be the decidedly mixed review that these photobooks received from prominent philosopher of portraiture, Cynthia Freeland (2011), who considers the series unflattering and unsuitable to its lofty subject. I	will take issue with her reading and offer an alternative perspective on Pyke's portraits that will hopefully result a renewed appreciation of their distinctiveness. To grasp	how	distinctive	Pyke's series of portraits really is, I	will compare	his work to other series of portraits (section 1 and 2) and other portraits of philosophers (section	3).	I	will	also	draw	on	some	insights	from	the	philosophy of	portraiture,	with	brief	nods	to	Roland	Barthes,	Jean	Baudrillard,	G.W.F.	Hegel, and	Arthur	Schopenhauer	and	a	more	elaborate	critical	investigation	of	Cynthia Freeland's	ideas	on	portraiture. <FIGURE	1	Arthur	Danto	HERE> Oddity	and	flattery It's not hard to see why, generally speaking, many portraits offer flattering images	of	their	sitters.	After	all,	it	is	the	sitters	themselves	who	often	commission and	promise to	pay for the	portrait	–	on the	condition,	of	course, that they	are pleased	with	the	end	result.	Certainly	in	the	pre-modern	era,	when	many	artists were entirely dependent on their patrons, portraiture and flattery would frequently go hand-in-hand. This began to change when artists gained more autonomy and gradually obtained the freedom and	means to select their own sitters as well the manner in which these sitters would be depicted (Berger 1969).	That	development	culminated,	one	could	argue,	in	the	second	half	of	the 20th	century	when	certain	portrait	artists	seemed	to	aim	for	the	direct	opposite of	flattery. 3 Diane	Arbus is a prime example. Arbus famously said about her own	practice: 'You	see	someone	on	the	street	and	essentially	what	you	notice	about	them	is	the flaw. There's a point between what you want people to know about you and what	you	can't	help	people	knowing	about	you'	(Arbus	1972,	pp.	1-2).	It	was	this point	that	she	would	seek	out	as	a	photographer.	One	can	observe	it	in	some	of her best portraits such as Puertorican Woman with Beauty Mark (1965) or Woman	with	a	Veil	on	Fifth	Avenue	(1968). Her	friend	and	fellow	New	Yorker,	Richard	Avedon,	adopted	a	similar	strategy	in his influential series In the	American	West (1985). Subjects in this series look marginalized	and	odd	and	are	often	deliberately	placed	off	kilter	in	the	frame	to suggest social and mental instability. Telling examples are Bill Curry, Drifter, Interstate 40, Yukon, Oklahoma (1980) and Dave Timothey, Nuclear Fallout Victim, Orem, Utah (1980). These stark black-and-white portraits offer up anything	but	a	flattering	image	of	the	American	West. In her review for	The	Philosophers	Magazine, Cynthia Freeland seems to place Steve Pyke and his Philosophers series squarely within this lineage of photographers: 'The pictures suggest that Pyke ... finds philosophers strange. Here	we	find	philosophers,	warts	and	all:	wild	eyebrows,	unkempt	beards, lank hair, lantern jaws, crossed eyes,	weak chins, bad teeth,	weird	noses' (Freeland 2011,	p.	52).	She	notes	how	Pyke's	lens	choices	and	his	penchant	for	the	extreme close	up 'can	distort facial features in	unflattering	ways'	(2011,	p.	56)	and	how there	are	several	instances	'in	which	the	prints	show	the	face	of	a	sitter	as	bright white	against	a	dark	background,	making	it	seem	to	float	above	the	picture	plane ... inducing a kind of alienation effect' (2011, p. 56). His portrait of Mary Mothershill	would	be	a	case	in	point.	Freeland	concludes:	'What	do	philosophers actually look like?	Rather odd, I'm afraid, or if truth	be told, unappetizing – at least	if	we	are	to	go	on	this	collection	of	portraits	by	Steve	Pyke'	(2011,	p.	52). However,	there	is	something	not	quite	right	about	placing	Pyke	in	this	lineage	of photographers. Yes, the aesthetic affinity with both Arbus (who also used a Rolleiflex	camera	and	preferred	the	square	format	print)	and	Avedon	(the	highcontrast	black-and-white,	the	inclusion	of	the	negative's	frame)	is	unmistakable. But Pyke's portraits differ in at least one very important respect. In Avedon's American	West	and also in Arbus's	work, oddity and alienation are a constant feature.ii	They	would	consistently	select	subjects	that	stood	out	in	some	way	and then use various photographic techniques to emphasize their strangeness and marginality.	Not	so	with	Pyke.	Strangeness	is	not	a	criterion	for	inclusion	in	the Philosophers series. The only relevant criterion is the particular philosopher's standing in the	profession.	Only if they	are	nominated	by	at least two	or three other prominent philosophers will Pyke contact said philosopher and create their	portrait. 4 Pyke also does not go out of his way to depict philosophers as odd and unappetizing. Plenty of portraits are testimony to this. His portraits of Susan James,	David	Papineau, Jerrold	Levinson,	Delia	Graff	Fara,	show	dignified,	wellcoiffed, handsome individuals.iii <FIGURE 2 Jerrold Levinson HERE> Or take his beautiful	portrait	of	Arthur	Danto.	Danto	had	strabismus	–	a	feature	you	couldn't help	notice	when	you	encountered	him.	Someone	like	Arbus	would	surely	have sought	out this	particular characteristic (the 'flaw'), but	not	Pyke.	Granted, the portrait	series	has	its	share	of	wild	eyebrows,	unkempt	beards,	and	weird	noses. But	that	doesn't	yet	mean	that	there's	a	deliberate	effort	on	Pyke's	part	to	show philosophers	in	an	unflattering	light.	That	would	be	completely	contrary	to	what originally inspired	him	to	make	the	series.	As	he	explains in	an interview: 'The Philosophy	Tribe	is	made	up	of	thinkers,	which	is	an	honorable	profession	that deserves	a	wider	audience...	I'm	interested	in	some	way	of	putting	philosophers on	more	people's	radars'	(Stanley	2011,	p.	11).   So,	we	need	a	different	frame	of	reference.	One	photographer	that	comes	to	mind is	Walker	Evans,	particularly	his	series	Many	are	called	(1938-41;	1966).	For	this project	Walker	Evans took	candid	pictures	of subway	passengers in	New	York. He did this by hiding his camera underneath his coat and photographing the random	people	who	sat	across	from	him.	In	this	series,	too,	one	encounters	some unkempt	bears, odd looks, and	weird	noses.	But, as is the case	with	Pyke, one cannot say that the photographer is deliberately seeking out such features. It would	all	depend	on	who	happened	to	sit in front	of	his lens	on	that	particular day in the subway. (Cf. the work of DiCorcia, discussed elsewhere in this volume.) Walker	Evans's	aim	was	a	documentary	one	and	he	very	much	valued	'neutrality' in	pursuing	this	aim.	As	he	later	wrote,	it	was	his	idea	of	what	portraiture	ought to	be: 'anonymous	and	documentary	and	a	straightforward	picture	of	mankind' (Evans	1971).	Taking	the	subjectivity	of	the	photographer	out	of	the	equation,	in favour	of the	automatism	of	photography,	was thus	partly	what the series	was about. It is here that we see a notable difference with Pyke. There is no anonymous	observation	in	the	Philosophers	series.	All	philosophers	consented	to being photographed and participated in the process. Taking pictures without permission or taking the photographer out of the exchange	was never on the cards.	Pyke	himself	puts	it	very	aptly: 'People	talk	about	taking	pictures.	It's	a	word	I	never	ever	use	because	'taken' is the wrong adjective. If it's anything, it's giving. You know, you're giving pictures. It's a collaboration, it's like a conversation	... it's going	backwards and	forwards,	we're	both	learning	different	things	about	each	other	but	also about	what	it	is	that	we	do.	It's	all	about	exchange.'	(Pyke	2011b)iv 5 Because	his	aim	was	never	to	observe	anonymously,	Pyke	was	not	forced	to	keep his	distance	in	the	way	that	Walker	Evans	was.	Instead	he	could	come	very	close to his subjects, creating a sense of intimacy that is noticeably lacking in the subway	series. So perhaps the work of someone like David Bailey or, more recently, Platon offers	a	better	comparison.	In	Box	of	Pin-Ups	(1965)	Bailey	presents	a	collection of portraits of celebrities that	were at the heart of London's Swinging Sixties: Michael Cain, Rudolf Nurejev, the Beatles, and other fashionable folk are captured	in	striking	high	contrast,	black	and	white,	square	format	photographs. Similarly, Platon was able to portray an impressive list of world leaders, including Putin, Erdogan, Berlusconi, and George W. Bush, for a series called Power	(2011).	In	contradistinction	to	Walker	Evans,	and	very	much	in	line	with Pyke's	practice,	both	these	photographers	opt	for	the	extreme	close-up	and	make no effort to hide the I-You relation between photographer and photographed subject. The sitters in these two other series also share a distinctive group– identity (influential politicians, London-based celebrities) as is true for the Philosophers	series.	v And,	yet,	there	is	also	a	remarkable	difference	between	Pyke's	approach	and	the portraits in	Power	or	Box	of	Pin-Ups.	Bailey	and	Platon	clearly	glamourize their sitters. Bailey's actors and musicians are invariably depicted as hip and cool. There	are	no	blemishes in their	appearance.	Platon's	politicians	always	appear powerful and charismatic. Lighting is even arranged so that their heads seem surrounded	by	a	halo.	Nothing	could	be	further	from	the	way	Pyke	photographs his	philosophers.	There's	no	halo there,	no	effort to	hide	any	blemishes.	Pyke's revealing	close-ups	are	not	at	all	about	glamourizing	the	sitter. Still,	as	we	have	already	established,	and	as	is	clear	from	the	pictures,	Pyke	does not set out to mock, belittle or expose the philosophers. So, what are the portraits about then? Why does he opt for the all-revealing close-up, if demystification	is	not	the	aim?	We	find	the	answer	in	a	final	comparison	with	yet another	photographic	series:	Pyke's	own	Astronauts	(1990s). Proximity	and	puzzlement The series	Astronauts consists of photographs	of the gear that astronauts took with	them	into	space,	some	of	the	rocks	they	brought	back	from	the	Moon,	and some of the instruments that were crucial in their endeavor. It also includes 6 close-up	portraits	of	the	astronauts	themselves:	mainly	of	their	faces	but	in	one instance	also	of	the	last	foot	to	have	walked	the	surface	of	the	moon. <FIGURE	3	Last	Foot	HERE> Like	the	Philosophers	series,	the	project	was	largely	self-funded	and	the	result	of a	strong	personal	fascination	on	the	part	of	the	photographer.	As	he	explains	in the	documentary	Moonbug,	he	had	always	been	awestruck	by	space	travel	and	by missions	to	the	Moon	in	particular.	But	becoming	an	astronaut	himself	just	never was	a	live	option	(Pyke	quit	school	when	he	was	seventeen).	So,	photographing the	people	who	did	visit	the	moon	became,	as	he	puts	it,	'the	next	best	thing'. To understand	why these close-up photographs would count as the next best thing, it helps to keep C.S. Peirce's distinction between 'icons' and 'indexes' in mind. Roughly speaking, icons represent in virtue of resembling their referent, whereas indexes represent in	virtue	of a	physical	relation to their referent, e.g. smoke	being	an	index	of	fire.	'An	Index	is	a	sign	which	refers	to	the	Object	that	it denotes	by	virtue	of	being	really	affected	by	that	Object.'1,	says	Peirce	(1955,	p. 102). Photographs, it has often been pointed out, qualify as both icons and indexes. They	will typically resemble their referent in some	way, but are also directly	affected	by	the	referent,	in	that	light	bounces	off	the	object	in	front	of	the lens and onto the contact sheet. It's the latter aspect that helps to understand what	motivated Pyke to	make the	Astronaut	series. By	making a photographic imprint	of	those	moon	rocks	or	of	the	last	foot	to	have	left	its	print	on	the	moon, Pyke	seeks	to	establish	a	direct	line	of	contact	between	himself	and	the	Moon.	It is	this	sense	of	physical	proximity	that	produces	the	chills	that	he	reports	feeling in	the	presence	of	these	astronauts	and	their	space	gear. My	contention is that	we	need to interpret the	Philosophers series in	much the same way. On the one hand, Pyke's portraits of philosophers are meant to function as "icons". Many people don't know what the most prominent philosophers	of	our	time look like	and	the	photographic	series	aims	to	address that. 'They	are in	essence	the	world's	big	thinkers,	and	yet	we	don't	know	who they	are.	That	really	interested	me;	that	they	were	kind	of	faceless'	(Pyke	2015). On the other hand, the photographs are also meant to function as "indexes", whereby a sense of contact is key. In the words of Roland Barthes: 'The photograph	is	literally	an	emanation	of	the	referent.	From	a	real	body,	which	was there, proceed radiations	which ultimately touch	me,	who am	here;	... like the delayed	rays	of	a	star'	(Barthes	1981,	pp.	80-81).	Thus,	the	portraits	gave	Pyke (and	are	meant	to	give	the	viewer)	a	chance	to	establish	a	connection	and	get	up close and personal with these intellectual stars. Pace Freeland, I would argue that it is fascination and admiration, rather than	demystification, that helps to 7 explain the all-revealing close-up. (Often, the closer an admirer can get to the object	of	admiration,	the	better.vi)	This	is	one	reason	why	I	find	the	series	quite fitting:	viewers	fascinated	by	philosophy	are	allowed	an	intimate	encounter	with leading	thinkers	and	are	given	the	chance	to	get	close	to	this	particular	kind	of greatness. A	couple	of	things	are	worth	noting in	this	context.	First,	Pyke	does	not	always opt for the close-up and keeps a fair amount of distance when the sitter is someone	he	does	not	admire	–	as	was	pointedly	the	case	for	his	famous	portrait of	Augusto	Pinochet	for	The	New	Yorker	(1998).	Secondly,	in	claiming	that	Pyke's portraits	of	philosophers	are	setting	the	viewer	up	for	an	intimate	meeting,	I	do not	mean	to	imply	that	viewers	will	become	familiar	with	intimate	details	of	the philosopher's personal lives or with their innermost secrets. Rather, intimacy here refers to the experience of physical proximity, of seeing the	philosophers from	so	close	a	distance	as is	ordinarily	reserved	for	those	who	are	actually	on an intimate basis with them.vii Thirdly, likeness and recognisability can be somewhat	compromised	due	to	the	unusual	proximity	of	the	lens	to	the	face	in making	these	photographs.	Pyke	is	aware	of	this	and	comments	on	the	fact	that sitters often don't immediately recognize themselves: 'On a	most fundamental level	one	may	question	a likeness	"How	is	that	me?	...	it	doesn't look	like	me	... but it is	there	in	front	of	me	...	it is	a	photograph	of	me."'	But	he	adds,	creating 'that moment of puzzlement is at the very least a beautiful byproduct of photography'	(Stanley	2011,	11).	This	may	be	another	reason	to	consider	Pyke's approach	quite fitting.	After	all,	puzzlement is	also	at the	very least	a	beautiful byproduct	of	philosophy. Pyke	very	much	welcomes	the	puzzlement	that	his	portraits	tend	to	induce.	In	so doing, he articulates and demonstrates an important insight regarding portraiture in	general,	namely the idea that	puzzlement	and	perplexity	("Is	this really X?") are not necessarily bad-making features for a portrait. On the contrary,	it's	what	makes	some	portraits	particularly	compelling.	A	case	in	point, besides	Pyke's	own	work,	would	be	Lucian	Freud's	head-and-shoulder	portraits (which	exhibit	a	framing	and	topography	of	the	skin	that	is	similar	to	Pyke's)	or many of John Deakin's portraits (their combination of blurriness and dark shadows	shows	affinities	with	some	of	Pyke's	more	'puzzling'	photographs,	such as	the	ones	he	did	of	Rae	Langton	and	Peter	Ludlow). This basic insight poses a direct challenge to a	widely held but ultimately too narrow belief, namely that all great portraits offer clarity by capturing or distilling the essence of a person ("This really is	X!"). That belief,	which I have elsewhere labelled the 'standard view' of greatness in portraiture, is given philosophical	credence	by	Freeland	in	her	monograph	Portraits	&	Persons	where she notes how 'the greatest portraits ... reveal someone's essential nature or 8 their	character in	a	deep	sense'	and	that 'the	best	portraits	manifest	a	person's "air", their unique essence or inner character' (2010, p. 44).viii	Given this firm normative	stance	on	portraiture,	it	should	not	come	as	surprise	that	Freeland	is less	than	enthusiastic	about	Pyke's	work. But	whereas	Freeland	is	somewhat	disappointed,	G.W.F.	Hegel	would	have	been downright	horrified	to	witness	such	depictions	of	philosophers.	In	his	Lectures	on Fine	Art	he	devised	some	instructions	for	the	portrait	artist:	'the	portrait-painter ...	must	flatter,	in	the	sense	that	...	the	purely	natural	side	of	imperfect	existence, little hairs, pores, little scars, warts, all these he must let go, and grasp and reproduce the subject in his universal character and enduring personality' (Hegel	1975,	p.	155).	Or,	as	he	also	puts	it,	'the	portrait	painter	will	omit	folds	of skin and, still more, freckles, pimples, pock-marks, warts, etc... For in all this there is little	or	nothing	of the spirit, and the	expression	of the spiritual is the essential thing in the human form' (1975, p. 165). In order for the artist to capture the sitter's universal character, 'he must have seen him in several situations	and	actions,	in	short	been	well	acquainted	with	him'	(1975,	p.	165). Pyke, of course, does none of these things. He does not seek to become	well acquainted	with	his	sitters	(a	photo-session	will	typically	take	less	than	an	hour). Furthermore,	he	emphatically	does	not	omit	folds	of	skin,	pimples,	pock-marks, warts, in favour of an attempt to capture a sitter's spiritual personality. From Hegel's perspective this is particularly horrifying because Pyke's sitters are philosophers and it is precisely in philosophy, according to Hegel, that spirit achieves	its	ultimate,	absolute	understanding	of	itself. Philosophers	and	pharmacists There	is	one	more	reason	why	Freeland	considers	the	series	a	failure	that	bears mentioning: 'The	problem is that there is not really anything to	be seen about philosophers	per	se' (2011,	p.	54).	Pyke's	book is	entitled	Philosophers	but	one might	as	well	guess	that	his	sitters	are	pharmacists	or	magicians.	So,	according	to Freeland, his approach does not appear particularly suitable or attuned to its subject. This	is,	of	course,	partly	due	to	how	the	series	is	set	up:	'the philosophers seen here are mostly heads (remember those aliens from Star Trek). Rarely do they have bodies. Nor do they employ any tools of their trade.' (2011,	p.	54).	Pyke's	headshots	carry no information about the characteristic attire, accessories, and activities of philosophers.	In	that	respect	they	appear	rather	mute.	We	can	contrast	this	with other	well-known	portraits	of	philosophers.	Think	of	Hans	Holbein's	portrait	of 9 Erasmus (1523), Peter Paul Rubens' Four Philosophers (1611-12), or LouisMichel van	Loo's	portrait of	Diderot (1767).	Here the clothing, setting, tools	of the trade, and depicted activity are clues that enable an artist to portray someone	as	a	philosopher.	Pyke's	portraits,	on the	other	hand,	offer the	viewer no	clues	in	terms	of	clothes,	setting,	or	accessories. That said,	his approach	does	have	one	big	advantage.	By removing those clues from	the	final	image,	Pyke	effectively	removes	anything	that	could	distract	from the individual's face. There are no silly hats, unusual chairs, or attentiongrabbing trousers in his pictures. When you see the early eighteenth-century portraits	of	members	of the	Kit-Cat club (of	which the	philosopher John	Locke was	also	a	member)	the	first	thing	that	strikes	you	is	the	huge	wig	they	all	wear. As Gombrich (1972) points out, these	wigs create a so-called "masking effect" whereby	a	strong	impression	impedes	the	perception	of lower	thresholds.	That prominent and, from our perspective, peculiar feature makes it extremely difficult to	see	how	the faces	of these	Club	members	differ.	As	a	result, they	all look	the	same.	With	Pyke	there	is	no	chance	of	a	similar	distraction.	Because	the focus is	entirely	on	the face it is	not	at	all	hard	to	see	the	sitters	as individuals and to see how their faces differ. Once more, that makes his approach very appropriate,	given	that	his	explicit	aim	is	to	give	these	influential	but	"faceless" thinkers	a	face.ix However	that	may	be,	Freeland	is	dismayed	that	there is	not	really	anything	to be seen about philosophers per se in the series. This is partly due to Pyke's decision	to leave	out	any	sartorial	or	environmental	detail	and	opt	for	close-up headshots.	But there is	more	to it than	that.	Freeland is	also	disappointed	with the	manner in which these close-ups are made. To find out why that is, it is helpful to compare portraits of philosophers	with portraits of people in other professions.	Take	pharmacists. Like	philosophers, pharmacists can	be	depicted in their	professional	role.	But to	portray	a	pharmacist	as	a	pharmacist	one	will need	to	include	some	clues	as	to	their	occupation,	e.g.	a	lab	coat,	some	medicine bottles,	or	a	pharmacy	cabinet.	Without	any	such	details it	seems	impossible	to portray	a	pharmacist	as	a	pharmacist. This	is	different	with	philosophers.	It	does	seem	possible	to	portray	someone	as a	philosopher	without	including	any	details	in	terms	of	clothing,	setting,	and	tools of the trade. Just consider Alfred Eisenstaedt's portrait of Bertrand Russell (1951), Albrecht Dürer's portrait of Philip Melanchton (1526), or the famous clair-obscure	portrait	of Immanuel	Kant	made	by	an	anonymous	painter in the 18th c. In each of these cases, the artist has succeeded in portraying the philosopher	as	a	philosopher,	not	by	adding	any	extraneous	detail,	but	simply	by giving him a particularly thoughtful expression or an 'air' of intelligence. But Pyke refuses to adopt a similar strategy in his series. And this is a source of 10 disappointment for Freeland: 'Arthur Danto ... says that all the people shown here look "fiercely smart". I beg to differ. A few (you	will understand	my not naming names) look a bit vacant. Judith Thomson looks mischievous, Peter Singer tired, Timothy Williamson meek... Some of them (Ernie LePore, Harry Frankfurt)	just	look	like	nice	guys	to	have	a	beer	with	at	the	local	pub'	(2011,	pp. 53-54).	She	adds, 'it also	means,	unfortunately, that if	we	seek the	mystique	of the	philosopher	as	sage	here,	we	will	not	find	it'	(2011,	p.	59). Freeland is right. But the one word I take issue with is 'unfortunately'. The philosophers	in	Pyke's	work	are	not	consistently	depicted	as	a	kind	of	sage,	but	I think	that's	rather	fortunate	and	fitting.	Consider	the	alternative:	a	book	where philosophers	would	all	don	looks	of	deep	cogitation.	A	book	of	that	kind	would create	the	impression	that	philosophers	have	intellectual	powers	that	cannot	but manifest themselves in their appearance. Such a book would fit nicely with Schopenhauer's thesis, as laid down in his essay 'On Physiognomy', that a person's intellectual capacities will inevitably shine through in their face and demeanor: 'Stupid	people	move	like	lay	figures,	while	every	joint	of intellectual people speaks for itself. Intellectual qualities are much better discerned, however, in the face than in	gestures	and	movements, in the	shape	and	size	of the	forehead,	in	the	contraction	and	movement	of	the	features,	and	especially	in the	eye'	(Schopenhauer	2010,	p.	280).x But	this	view	is	now	horribly	outdated	and	the	pseudo-science	of	physiognomy has	been	widely	debunked.	The idea	that,	say,	mischief	and	vice	are	written	on the	face	of	criminals	is	no	longer	taken	seriously.	Accordingly,	a	portrait	series	of criminals where they are all depicted as criminals (with faces expressive of murderous	thoughts	and	desires)	would	nowadays	be	received	as	quite	dubious. Well,	equally	dubious,	I	suggest,	would	be	a	portrait	series	of	philosophers	where they	are	all	depicted	as	philosophers	(with	faces	expressive	of	wisdom	and	deep thoughts).	And	that	is	precisely	what	Pyke	manages	to	avoid.	As	such,	Pyke	has got the better of Schopenhauer. In one of his interviews he explicitly states: 'I have	no	more	reason	to	believe	that	we	can	understand	philosophy	by	looking	at the	faces	of	its	practicioners	as	I	have	that	we	could	understand	the	complexities of	a	family	by	studying	its	family	albums	(or	the	minds	of	murderers	by	studying their	police	portraits)'	(Stanley	2011,	p.	10). Whereas Schopenhauer thinks that blemishes must point to intellectual and other	shortcomings,	Pyke's	portraits	serve	as	a	powerful	rebuttal.	In	that	regard, incidentally, Pyke also seems one step ahead of many other contemporary photographers. As Jean Baudrillard points out, 'In the name of realism and testimony, contemporary photography ... condemns itself (and not just in reportage)	to	photograph	victims	as	such,	the	dead	as	such,	the	poverty	stricken as such, left entirely to their poverty' (Baudrillard 1999). He adds: 'this self- 11 proclaimed	realist	photography	in	no	sense	captures	what	is.	...	It	is	a	moralizing photography (though perfectly immoral in the aesthetic use it makes of its images)'	(Baudrillard	1999). Sebastiao	Salgado's	lush	portrayals	of	migrants	and refugees	come	to	mind	here.	But	one	could	also	think	of	Platon's	photographs	of politicians, always	depicting the	powerful	as	powerful. (Hence	also the title	of the	series:	Power.) Part of what makes Pyke's work distinctive is that it does not seek out a distinctively	philosophical	look	or	expression.	(Note	that	the	title	of	his	series	is not	'Wisdom'	or	'Intellect'.)	It	is	not	a	moralizing	photography	and	all	the	better for	it.	So,	what	he's	doing	for	individual	philosophers,	he	also	seems	to	be	doing for philosophers as a group, that is, creating a	moment of puzzlement: Is that what philosophers look like? And, again, given that puzzlement is at the very least	a	beautiful	byproduct	of	philosophy, I think that	makes the	whole	project very	fitting,	indeed.xi References Arbus,	Diane.	(1972).	An	Aperture	Monograph.	Millerton,	NY:	Aperture. Barthes,	Roland.	(1981).	Camera	Lucida:	Reflections	on	Photography.	Trans: Richard	Howard,	New	York:	Hill	&	Wang. Baudrillard,	Jean.	(1999).	Poetic	Transference	of	Situation.	In:	Luc	Delahaye, L'Autre,	London:	Phaidon, unpaginated. Berger,	John.	(1969).	The	changing	view	of	man	in	the	portrait.	In:	The	Moment	of Cubism	and	other	essays.	Pantheon	Books,	pp.	41-47. Blank,	Gil	and	Ruff,	Thomas.	(2004).	Gil	Blank	and	Thomas	Ruff	in	Conversation. Influence,	2,	pp.	48-59. Evans,	Walker.	(1971).	Interviewed	by	Paul	Cummings.	Oral	History	Interview with	Walker	Evans.	Smithsonian	Archives	of	American	Art.	[Online].	Available	at: https://www.aaa.si.edu	[Accessed	on	1	March	2019]. Freeland,	Cynthia.	(2010).	Portraits	&	Persons.	Oxford:	Oxford	University	Press. 12 Freeland,	Cynthia.	(2011).	Philosophers.	The	Philosophers'	Magazine,	pp.	52-59. Gombrich,	E.H.	(1972).	The	Mask	and	the	Face:	the	perception	of	physiognomic likeness	in	life	and	in	art.	In:	E.H	Gombrich,	Julian	Hochberg,	Max	Black,	Art, Perception,	and	Reality.	Baltimore:	Johns	Hopkins	University	Press,	pp.	1-46. Hegel,	G.W.F.	(1975).	Aesthetics:	Lectures	on	Fine	Art. Vol.	1.	Trans:	T.M.Knox, Oxford:	Clarendon	Press. Korsmeyer,	C.	(2012).	Touch	and	the	Experience	of	the	Genuine.	The	British Journal	of	Aesthetics,	52:4,	pp.	365–377. Maes,	Hans.	(2017).	Conversations	on	Art	and	Aesthetics.	Oxford:	Oxford University	Press. Peirce,	C.	S.	(1955).	Philosophical	Writings.	Ed.	Justus	Buchler,	New	York:	Dover. Pyke,	Steve.	(1993).	Philosophers.	Manchester:	Cornerhouse. Pyke,	Steve.	(2011a).	Philosophers.	Oxford:	Oxford	University	Press. Pyke,	Steve.	(2011b).	Interviewed	by	Zack	Smith.	Thebridgesessions.	Available	at: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lfuAOCIaCs0	[Accessed	on	22	April	2019]. Pyke,	Steve.	(2015).	Interviewed	by	Steven	Brahms.	Inconversation.tv.	Available at:	https://vimeo.com/118553704.	[Accessed	on	1	March	2019]. Schopenhauer,	Arthur.	(2010).	Essays	of	Schopenhauer.	The	Floating	Press. Stanley,	Jason.	(2011).	An	Interview	with	Steve	Pyke.	In:	Pyke,	Steve.	(2011a). Philosophers.	Oxford:	Oxford	University	Press. i	His	most	recent	portraits	of	philosophers,	including	portraits	of	Jenefer	Robinson,	Gregory Currie,	Kendall	Walton,	and	(!)	Cynthia	Freeland,	are	to	be	found	in	Maes	2017. ii	Contemporary	portrait	artist	Thomas	Ruff	is	highly	critical	of	their	work	for	that	very	reason: 'Avedon	and	Diane	Arbus	are	to	my	mind	arch	perpetuators	of	[the]	sentimental	tradition.	Theirs is	a	glib,	New	York	version	of	sentimentality,	one	that	thrills	itself	with	the	hysterical	belief	in antagonism	and	grit	as	truth,	but	that's	sentimentality	all	the	same.	Provocative	as	their	pictures may	seem	to	be	at	first,	people	love	them-perhaps	counterintuitively-for	that	titillating myopia,	because	they	corroborate,	rather	than	challenge,	our	baser	preconceived	notions.'	(Blank and	Ruff,	2004:	52) 13 iii	To	be	fair,	there	are	more	such	portraits	in	the	second	volume	(2011).	This	may	be	partly	due to	the	fact	that	the	philosophers	in	this	volume	are,	on	average,	younger	than	the	subjects	of	the first	volume.	Another	reason	why	they	may	appear	less	'foreign'	has	to	do	with	Pyke's	own maturation	as	artist:	'Prior	to	having	myself	traveled	a	long	course	of	disciplined	creation,	there was	a	certain	reverence.	...	As	one's	understanding	of	mankind	matures,	one's	sense	of	the foreigness	of	other	paths	erodes.'	And	this,	he	suggests,	'has	ultimately	changed	the	portraits	and made	my	subjects	perhaps	seem	more	humane'	(Stanley	2011,	10). iv	It's	worth	noting	in	this	respect	that	Pyke	also	asked	all	philosophers	to	contribute	50	words capturing	their	particular	philosophy. v	There's	an	obvious	link	here	with	one	of	the	most	famous	and	influential	photographic	series,	as Pyke	himself	acknowledges:	'I	realized	that	philosophers	form	a	community,	not	unlike	the communities	represented	in	August	Sander's	People	of	the	20th	C'	(Stanley	2011:	11).	But	Pyke	is not	simply	following	in	Sander's	footsteps.	His	project	is	quite	distinctive.	Whereas Sander	is mainly,	or	perhaps	even	exclusively,	interested	in	people	as	representatives	of	a	particular community	or	class,	Pyke	is	much	more	interested	in	people	as	individuals.	Sander's	pictures bear	generic	titles	(e.g.	"Police	constable,	1925",	"Grammar-school	girl,	1928",	"The	painter", 1924),	but	Pyke's	philosophers	are	all	individualized.	Pyke's	focus	is	also	on	the	individual	face, whereas	Sander's	portraits	are	often	full-figure,	deliberately	depicting	the	posture,	clothes,	tools, and	surroundings	thought	to	be	indicative	of	the	group	or	profession	to	which	the	subject belongs. vi	That	is	why,	at	live	concerts,	the	greatest	fans	will	often	want	to	be	as	near	to	the	stage	as possible,	or	why	many	people	reportedly	wish	to	touch,	hug,	or	just	shake	hands	with	(whoever happens	to	be)	their	idol.	Carolyn	Korsmeyer	thematizes	this	in	her	work	on	the	aesthetics	of	the genuine	(2012). vii	Not	all	sitters	will	have	been	equally	comfortable	with	this	kind	of	intimacy.	Some,	I	know	from personal	testimony,	would	have	preferred	to	have	kept	the	photographer	and	the	viewer	at	more of	a	distance.	(It	is	perhaps	not	a	surprise	that	David	Velleman,	who	places	such	emphasis	on	selfpresentation,	as	is	explained	in	Costello's	contribution	to	this	volume,	refused	to	be	portrayed	by Steve	Pyke.) viii	Freeland	is	drawing	on	Barthes	here:	'All	the	photographs	of	my	mother	which	I	was	looking through	were	a	little	like	so	many	masks;	at	the	last,	suddenly	the	mask	vanished:	there	remained a	soul,	ageless	but	not	timeless,	since	this	air	was	the	person	I	used	to	see,	consubstantial	with her	face,	each	day	of	her	long	life.'	(Barthes	109) ix	There	are	other	reasons	why	Pyke's	portrait	series	might	be	considered	appropriate	for	its subject.	For	instance,	his	photographs	are	quite	'truthful'	in	that	he	uses	no	Photoshop,	no artificial	light,	no	theatrical	poses. Moreover,	the	high-contrast	black	and	white	fits	well	with	the popular	image	of	philosophers	seeking	light	in	the	darkness.	There	is	also	his	focus	on	the	head as	the	seat	of	thought.	And,	finally,	his	portraits	aptly	convey	that	all	abstract	philosophical systems	ultimately	originate	in	people	of	flesh	and	blood,	who	are	often	more	vulnerable	and	frail than	the	neatly	construed	and	robust	theories	they	gave	birth	to.	(I	am	grateful	to	Eileen	John	for this	last	suggestion.) x	As	he	also	states	at	the	outset	of	the	essay:	'that	the	outside	reflects	the	inner	man,	and	that	the face	expresses	his	whole	character,	is	an	obvious	supposition	and	accordingly	a	safe	one, demonstrated	as	it	is	in	the	desire	people	have	to	see	on	all	occasions	a	man	who	has distinguished	himself'	(Schopenhauer	2010:	271) xi	A	distant	cousin	of	this	paper	was	presented	at	the	London	Aesthetics	Forum,	the	White	Rose Aesthetics	Forum,	the	Scottish	Aesthetics	Forum,	the	ASA	Eastern	Meeting,	the	Dubrovnik Philosophy	of	Art	Conference,	and	the	universities	of	Murcia,	Warsaw,	Warwick,	and	Antwerp.	I want	to	thank	the	various	audiences	(and	in	particular	Maria	José	Alcarez	León,	Adam Andrzejewski,	Diarmuid	Costello,	Victor	Durà-Villà,	Steven	Houlgate,	and	Andrew	Huddleston) for	their	valuable	comments	on	my	proposed	ideas.	I	also	wish	to	thank	the	students	on	my module	The	Art	of	Portraiture:	Historical	and	Philosophical	Perspectives	whose	enthusiastic questions	and	suggestions	have	helped	to	make	this	a	better	paper.