Solaris and the Frontier

By Professor G. Royper

It was once remarked by Oswald Spengler that rapid physical expansion is a primary sign of a dying culture. Some may scoff at this; how could a society with the vitality for conquest be one entering its death throes? The problem is not expansion itself, but the choice of frontier. Having exhausted its exploration of the human soul and mind, Europe turned towards world conquest in the 19th century. When there was nothing left to conquer, Europeans next looked towards the stars to satisfy their wanderlust. Unfortunately, what awaited them was an unfathomably vast expanse of dull lifelessness, unable to provide even a single spec of bacteria that would be considered totally mundane anywhere on Earth. In Tarkovsky's Solaris, man does discover intelligent life in the form of the titular ocean. Unlike the alien antagonists in most sci-fi films though, the danger of Solaris is the mirror it holds up to its human visitors, as it calmly and even compassionately dismantles their psyche's through revealing their aimless goals and misguided motivations.

The Role of the Expanse

The ethereal nature of the expanse has always had a philosophical allure. From God speaking to Moses amidst the desert of Sinai, to Captain Ahab's desperate deicidal hunt in the waves, man best comprehends his own smallness when surrounded by unending vastness. The space programs of the 20th century grew out of the same desire in man that sent monks and mystics deep into the desert in times past. Unlike those ascetics though, the astronauts and researchers of this era did not consciously believe themselves to be seeking God, and they preferred to see space as a bountiful final frontier rather than arid nothingness. The irony though is that the value of the expanse lies in its emptiness, and the fact that man can use that isolation to eliminate sensory distraction and dive deep into his own consciousness.

If the scientists were actually seeking physical wonders, they’d have been better off staying at home. Throughout the film, the contrast is emphasized between what the researchers expect space to be and the reality that Earth is where this complexity is to be found. The interstellar space of Tarkovsky's film is not the colorful and breathless expanse of Star Trek. The spaceship itself is claustrophobic and dilapidated, providing none of the warmth or beauty found in an average spring day back near Kris's home.

Tarkovsky doesn't simply glorify nature though, he understands that the depth of the world includes evil and ugliness as well. A murky swamp or an insect consuming a dying apple convey the incredible intricacy and conflict contained within the tiny ecosystems of a few square feet of Kris's backyard. Kris is generally indifferent to all of this and is instead fascinated by the vacuum of space. The nature of Kris's choice is emphasized by his lengthy, uniform, gray journey on a Japanese highway. Tarkovsky uses the sublimity of Bach during both this highway scene and another scene of underwater leaves peacefully swaying in the sunlight. In the natural scene, the music harmonizes with the leaves and reveals a common spiritual core, whereas the music along the highway seems more melancholic, as if it is being left behind.

Man’s Depths

Since the scientists aren’t consciously seeking self-knowledge in the expanse of space, Solaris uses their subconscious to show them the error in their choice of frontier. Solaris drives the scientists to despair through showing them the lack of value that they've placed on the human relationships in their life. Human consciousness is a frontier of depth, not breadth, that dwarfs both nature and space. The fact that the minds of these empirical scientists are so easily conquered by the manifested ghosts of their pasts shows that even a sliver of human consciousness contains greater value than the 90 billion light years of matter between one edge of the universe and the other.

Placing breadth over human depth and attempting to look for metaphysical truth in the physical aspect of the frontier is like thinking that you can know a sphere if you just draw a large enough circle. For the ascetics of the past, the frontier served a subordinate role, as they used the isolation to assist their consciousness. They knew there was no desert cave containing a literal treasure chest of profound truth, and there is no alien planet containing it either.

While we are all somewhat familiar with our own mental frontiers, exploring new ones can be done by binding ourselves to another consciousness through love. Solaris makes Kris recognize this by creating a representation of Kris's dead wife, Hari, from the recesses of his mind. In real life, Kris and Hari's relationship was dysfunctional, likely because neither of them recognized the value of their relationship. Solaris, on the other hand, is able to extract the part of Kris's psyche that is in touch with the truly meaningful and put him face to face with it in the form of Hari. The artificial Hari exists as an example of what Kris subconsciously wanted from his marriage to Hari, and what he potentially could've had if he had prioritized it over his scientific research. The effect on Kris is so strong that even though he is aware that this Hari is not the real one, he sees more value in this replication than in the pinnacle of human scientific achievement, space exploration.

Despite the efforts of Solaris, the other scientists remain blind to metaphysical reality. In Tarkovsky's book, Sculpting in Time, he provides his thoughts on the inadequacy of science compared to human artistic expression for finding truth:

"Artistic creation demands of the artist that he 'perish utterly', in the full, tragic sense of those words. And so, if art carries within it a hieroglyphic of absolute truth, this will always be an image of the world, made manifest in the work once and for all time. And if cold, positivistic, scientific cognition of the world is like the ascent of an unending staircase, its artistic counterpoint suggests an endless system of spheres, each one perfect and contained within itself. One may complement or contradict another, but in no circumstances can they cancel each other out; on the contrary, they enrich one another, and accumulate to form an all-embracing sphere that grows out into infinity. These poetic revelations, each one valid and eternal, are evidence of man's capacity to recognize in whose image and likeness he is made, and to voice this recognition.

As the scientists struggle to understand the physical make-up of the "visitors", Hari emotionally states that she is only sure of her love for Kris. As a manifestation from Kris's consciousness, Hari's statement can be seen as reflecting Kris's own realization on the blindness of science to metaphysical reality. When the gravity shuts off on the space station, Kris and Hari calmly float above the ground, as if having detached themselves from materiality.

The Embrace of Solaris

In the character of Hari we have a tripartite being. Hari is a reconstruction of the original Hari, but the reconstruction is based on Kris's memories and consciousness. Hari was also created by Solaris though, and so she simultaneously represents the minds of the original Hari, Kris, and Solaris itself. There's no contradiction in this multiple nature of Hari though. Solaris is a God-like entity, one that yearns for us to correct our mistakes and to draw us into a deeper union with itself. Our minds are wired on their deepest level to seek God, and the love between a husband and wife is a reflection of God's love for us. This fusion of a God like-being, Kris's subconscious, and a phantasmic idealization of Hari's love for Kris ends up appearing as more of a singular being than a split one, because their essences are so fundamentally united.

Tarkovsky's use of art symbolizes the metaphysical pull of man back towards this unity with God as represented by Hari. The space station includes the work of Cervantes, a writer that represents the transition from the spirituality of the Middle Ages into the coldness of the modern era. Don Quixote is a man who's head still exists in the world of knights and ladies, but who's body is stuck in the rising mercantile epoch. Bruegel's The Hunters in the Snow symbolizes humanity coming back empty-handed from its frigid hunt for meaning in the material, but the hunters are greeted with the warmth of the hearth in the same way that the scientists find the warmth of Solaris.

A character remarks at one point in the film that space travel has created in the travelers a love for humanity that could not have otherwise existed, because you cannot love something without the possibility of losing it. This is really the only philosophical value that can be provided by space travel, and a humanity that cannot find satisfaction with what it has on Earth is one that will perpetually live in the hell of Tantalus, always grasping for meaning that it cannot reach. Tarkovsky’s film provides a reminder that even man’s greatest achievements cannot provide the wonder of nature, the depth of our souls, or the spiritual peace of unity with God.