In recent years, Jordan Peterson has become a household name—at least in households that discuss psychology, politics, or cultural conflict over dinner. With the tone of a professor and the certainty of a prophet, Peterson has captivated millions with his commentaries on self-responsibility, archetypes, and the supposed decline of Western civilization. But among his many forays into public discourse, perhaps one of the most curious is his commentary on art. When Peterson speaks about art—particularly modern and postmodern art—he tends to do so with the same symbolic and moral intensity he brings to religious texts or mythological analysis.
However, the problem with this approach is not just his lack of formal art historical training, but the reality that Peterson’s interpretations of art often reveal more about his own psychological worldview than about the works themselves. Art, after all, is multivalent. It resists being pinned down to a single, definitive interpretation—especially one that insists on reading everything through a lens of moral decay or archetypal order. In trying to make sense of art, Peterson inadvertently lays bare the contours of his own belief system: a worldview shaped by chaos-versus-order dualism, evolutionary psychology, and a deep suspicion of ambiguity.
This essay explores how Peterson’s approach to art is a projection of his inner logic rather than an engagement with the complexity and intent of the art he critiques. Through a critical examination of his views on beauty, symbolism, postmodernism, and cultural meaning, we will see how Peterson, rather than explaining art, uses it as a canvas upon which to paint his own ideas.
The Art of Projection: Peterson’s Symbolic Universe
To understand why Peterson’s art commentary reveals more about himself than about art, one must first understand how he sees the world. Peterson believes in a symbolic structure that is deeply embedded in the psyche, developed over evolutionary time. His psychological framework is heavily influenced by Carl Jung’s theory of archetypes, the hero’s journey as described by Joseph Campbell, and the Judeo-Christian narrative of order emerging from chaos.
Within this framework, everything—whether it be literature, film, or painting—is a manifestation of deep psychological truths. A snake in a painting, for example, is not just a reptile or a representation of temptation; it is the archetype of chaos, of danger, of the unknown. A chaotic painting, therefore, becomes not simply an aesthetic choice but a dangerous symbol of cultural decay. Art, to Peterson, is not just subjective—it is moral. It should point toward truth, structure, and the elevation of the human spirit.
This approach, while appealing to those seeking certainty in a confusing world, becomes problematic when applied to art that was never meant to fit such structures. Modern art, surrealism, conceptual works, and postmodern expressions often thrive on ambiguity, irony, or critique of the very moral hierarchies that Peterson upholds. His interpretations often fail to engage with what the artist intended, replacing context with projection.
Beauty as Biological Destiny
One of Peterson’s most repeated claims is that beauty is not in the eye of the beholder but is biologically hardwired. He frequently references studies showing that people across cultures prefer symmetrical faces or landscapes resembling the savannah. From this, he extrapolates a broader theory: true art is that which aligns with these natural preferences—balanced, ordered, harmonious.
But here again, Peterson confuses a psychological observation with an aesthetic rule. While it may be true that humans are drawn to certain visual patterns, that does not mean art must conform to these preferences to be valid or meaningful. A Francis Bacon painting may be grotesque and asymmetrical, but that is precisely its point: to evoke horror, distortion, existential angst. To say it is “bad art” because it doesn’t conform to symmetry is like saying tragedy is a failed genre because it doesn’t make you feel happy.
Moreover, many artists deliberately subvert notions of beauty to challenge the viewer. They do not aim to please, but to provoke or deconstruct. When Peterson reduces beauty to an evolutionary function, he flattens art into biology and misses its deeper function: to reflect, critique, and even distort human experience in ways that aren’t always comfortable or pretty.
Postmodernism: The Scapegoat
No exploration of Peterson’s views on art would be complete without addressing his arch-nemesis: postmodernism. For Peterson, postmodernism is a nihilistic force that denies truth, beauty, and hierarchy. He often accuses postmodern artists and thinkers of being cynical deconstructors who, unable to create anything beautiful or true, opt instead to destroy traditional values.
This sweeping condemnation, however, is both historically inaccurate and philosophically simplistic. Postmodernism arose not to destroy meaning but to question how meaning is constructed. It is a movement that interrogates power structures, language, identity, and yes, even beauty—not to erase them, but to understand their contingency.
When Peterson critiques a postmodern painting as “ugly” or “meaningless,” he rarely engages with its historical or conceptual context. He doesn’t ask: What is this work responding to? What questions is it raising? Instead, he tends to see it as either morally bankrupt or culturally corrosive. But by refusing to engage with the intentional ambiguity of postmodern art, Peterson once again reveals his discomfort with what he cannot clearly label as “order” or “truth.”
His war with postmodernism is less a critical analysis and more an ideological reflex. And in this reflex, we see the contours of a psyche that longs for stability in a world that has become increasingly unstable.
The Cultural Critic Without Art History
Despite his confidence in discussing art, Peterson rarely grounds his claims in art historical knowledge. He references Picasso, Pollock, or Duchamp as though they were self-evident examples of cultural decline, but he seldom examines the movements they belonged to or the contexts in which they worked.
For instance, when Peterson views Picasso’s later works as signs of degeneration, he misses that Cubism was not about decay—it was about deconstructing perception, reflecting the fractured experience of modern life. When he critiques Jackson Pollock’s drip paintings, he sees randomness and chaos; what he misses is the rigorous physicality, the ritualistic engagement with canvas and paint that made Pollock a pioneer of Abstract Expressionism.
This lack of historical depth leads to shallow conclusions. Art becomes merely a battlefield for Peterson’s cultural anxieties. Every smear of paint is a sign of moral rot. Every abstract sculpture is a symptom of postmodern decadence. But these are not observations about the art—they are expressions of his own fears about disorder and decline.
Art as a Moral Compass
At the heart of Peterson’s worldview is a belief in the moral function of culture. He sees myths, stories, and religious symbols as tools to orient the individual toward meaning and responsibility. In his book Maps of Meaning, he describes how cultural symbols help individuals navigate the chaos of existence.
This belief extends to his view of art. For Peterson, good art should uplift the spirit, reinforce social cohesion, and align the individual with transcendent values. Art that confuses, mocks, or destabilizes—he argues—is dangerous.
But this view ignores the fact that some of the most powerful art is transgressive. From Goya’s Saturn Devouring His Son to Käthe Kollwitz’s depictions of war, from the grotesque masks of African ritual art to the surreal dreamscapes of Salvador Dalí, art has long been a mirror of human complexity—not just its virtue.
Peterson’s demand that art serve a moral or redemptive purpose is a form of aesthetic authoritarianism. It leaves no room for art that disturbs, questions, or subverts. In demanding that art be virtuous, he strips it of its power to be honest.
The Audience Effect: Influence and Oversimplification
Peterson is not merely a private commentator. His words influence millions. When he speaks dismissively about an entire museum exhibit or derides modern artists as degenerates, his followers—many of whom lack art education—adopt his views wholesale.
This leads to a cultural atmosphere where nuance is replaced by slogans. “Modern art is trash.” “Postmodernism is evil.” “Beauty is objective.” These are not arguments; they are reductions. And yet they spread like wildfire because they offer clarity in a world of complexity.
In this way, Peterson’s commentary doesn’t just reflect his own worldview—it begins to reshape others’, narrowing the collective imagination rather than expanding it. Art is not a discipline in which one can afford to be simplistically dogmatic. To reduce it is to misunderstand it.
A Missed Opportunity
What makes Peterson’s art commentary so frustrating is that it could have been much more. His background in psychology could have provided rich insights into how humans emotionally and symbolically engage with art. His interest in myth could have opened thoughtful discussions on the narrative function of visual imagery. Instead, his art critiques often become platforms for reiterating cultural grievances.
Art deserves more. It deserves the kind of attention that listens before it judges, that explores before it condemns. Peterson, with all his intellectual tools, could have added to the conversation. But instead, he often shuts it down—because the art doesn’t fit his system.
Conclusion: A Canvas of Projection
Ultimately, Jordan Peterson’s interpretations of art say more about Jordan Peterson than about art. They are reflections of his desire for meaning, his fear of chaos, and his longing for a return to symbolic order. These are not invalid concerns—but they are psychological projections, not objective truths about the art world.
When Peterson stands before a painting, he is not simply interpreting it—he is using it as a mirror. In that mirror, we see the contours of a worldview that is both deeply felt and narrowly applied. We see a mind hungry for structure struggling to grasp a world that refuses to be neatly organized. And in that struggle, art becomes not a window into beauty, pain, or complexity—but a battleground for ideological certainty.
To truly appreciate art, one must let go of the need for it to confirm one’s worldview. One must be open to contradiction, to ambiguity, to discomfort. Jordan Peterson, for all his intellect, has yet to embrace this essential truth of art.
