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Imagine you and a friend are 
strolling through an art exhibit

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and a striking painting catches your eye.

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The vibrant red appears to you 
as a symbol of love,

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but your friend is convinced 
it's a symbol of war.

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And where you see stars in a romantic sky,

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your friend interprets global 
warming-inducing pollutants.

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To settle the debate, you turn to the
internet, where you read 


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that the painting is a replica of 
the artist's first-grade art project:

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Red was her favorite color 
and the silver dots are fairies.

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You now know the exact intentions 
that led to the creation of this work.

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Are you wrong to have enjoyed it 
as something the artist didn’t intend?

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Do you enjoy it less now 
that you know the truth?

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Just how much should 
the artist's intention

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affect your interpretation 
of the painting?

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It's a question that's been tossed around

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by philosophers and art critics for 
decades, with no consensus in sight.

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In the mid-20th century,

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literary critic W.K. Wimsatt and 
philosopher Monroe Beardsley

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argued that artistic 
intention was irrelevant.

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They called this the Intentional Fallacy:

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the belief that valuing an artist's 
intentions was misguided.

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Their argument was twofold:

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First, the artists we study are 
often no longer living,

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never recorded their intentions,

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or are simply unavailable to answer 
questions about their work.

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Second, even if there were a bounty 
of relevant information,

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Wimsatt and Beardsley believed

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it would distract us from the 
qualities of the work itself.

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They compared art to a dessert:

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When you taste a pudding,

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the chef's intentions don't affect whether
you enjoy its flavor or texture.

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All that matters, they said, 
is that the pudding "works."

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Of course, what "works" for one person 
might not "work" for another.

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And since different interpretations 
appeal to different people,

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the silver dots in our painting could be 
reasonably interpreted as fairies,

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stars, or pollutants.

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By Wimsatt and Beardsley's logic, the
artist's interpretation of her own work

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would be just one among many equally
acceptable possibilities.

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If you find this problematic,

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you might be more in line with Steven 
Knapp and Walter Benn Michaels,

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two literary theorists who rejected the
Intentional Fallacy.

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They argued that an artist's 
intended meaning

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was not just one possible interpretation,

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but the only possible interpretation.

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For example, suppose you're 
walking along a beach

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and come across a series of marks in the 
sand that spell out a verse of poetry.

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Knapp and Michaels believed the 
poem would lose all meaning

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if you discovered these marks were not 
the work of a human being,

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but an odd coincidence 
produced by the waves.

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They believed an intentional creator

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is what makes the poem subject to 
understanding at all.

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Other thinkers advocate for 
a middle ground,

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suggesting that intention is just one 
piece in a larger puzzle.

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Contemporary philosopher Noel Carroll 
took this stance,

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arguing that an artist's intentions are 
relevant to their audience

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the same way a speaker's intentions

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are relevant to the person they’re 
engaging in conversation.

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To understand how intentions function 
in conversation,

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Carroll said to imagine someone holding
a cigarette and asking for a match.

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You respond by handing them a lighter,

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gathering that their motivation is to 
light their cigarette.

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The words they used to ask the question 
are important,

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but the intentions behind the question 
dictate your understanding and ultimately,

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your response.

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So which end of this spectrum 
do you lean towards?

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Do you, like Wimsatt and Beardsley, 
believe that when it comes to art,

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the proof should be in the pudding?

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Or do you think an artist's plans and 
motivations for their work

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affect its meaning?

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Artistic interpretation is a complex web

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that will probably never offer 
a definitive answer.