Photography is more than just capturing a moment. It is an act of seeing, of selection, of interpretation - and therefore deeply philosophical. There is a decision in every photograph: What is shown, what is excluded? Who is looking and who is being looked at? The camera is not neutral. It is a prolonged gaze, a mechanical eye that simultaneously reveals and shapes reality.
Photography has a paradoxical character: it stops time and lets it pass at the same time. A photograph shows what was - never what is. Its metaphysical weight lies in this tension between present and past. The moment in the picture is irretrievable, and yet it can be viewed again and again. Susan Sontag writes: “A photograph is a small form of death.” It preserves a moment - but only as a shadow of its original life.
At the same time, photography raises epistemological questions: Does it show truth? Or only an excerpt, a construction of reality? In the era of digital processing and AI-generated images, the distinction between reality and fiction has become fragile. Trust in what is visible is shaken. Jean Baudrillard speaks of “simulacra” - images that no longer refer to an original, but assert their own reality. Is photography
a lie, or merely another means of truth?
Last but not least, photography is also a form of memory culture. It archives the personal and the collective. Family photos, war photography, protest photos - they all write history, not just in archives, but in the collective memory. But at the same time, the mass of images tempts us to devalue the individual. What does memory mean when it is only perceived through digital filters?
The philosophy of photography therefore not only poses questions about art and technology, but also about the nature of human beings. What does it mean to be seen? What does it mean to choose what is shown? In photography, people encounter themselves - as both subject and object.