Why are negative emotions so central in art reception far beyond tragedy? Revisiting classical aesthetics in the light of recent psychological research, we present a novel model to explain this much discussed (apparent) paradox. We argue that negative emotions are an important resource for the arts in general, rather than a special license for exceptional art forms only. The underlying rationale is that negative emotions have been shown to be particularly powerful in securing attention, intense emotional involvement, and high memorability, (...) and hence is precisely what artworks strive for. Two groups of processing mechanisms are identified that conjointly adopt the particular powers of negative emotions for art's purposes. The first group consists of psychological distancing mechanisms that are activated along with the cognitive schemata of art, representation, and fiction. These schemata imply personal safety and control over continuing or discontinuing exposure to artworks, thereby preventing negative emotions from becoming outright incompatible with expectations of enjoyment. This distancing sets the stage for a second group of processing components that allow art recipients to positively embrace the experiencing of negative emotions, thereby rendering art reception more intense, more interesting, more emotionally moving, more profound, and occasionally even more beautiful. These components include compositional interplays of positiveandnegative emotions, the effects of aesthetic virtues of using the media of (re)presentation (musical sound, words/language, color, shapes) on emotion perception, and meaning-making efforts. Moreover, our Distancing-Embracing model proposes that concomitant mixed emotions often help integrate negative emotions into altogether pleasurable trajectories. (shrink)

Listening to music can be an intensely moving experience. Many people love music in part because of its power to alter or amplify their moods, and turn to music for inspiration, comfort, or therapy. It is a puzzle, then, why many of us spend so much time listening to sad music. If music can influence our moods, and assuming that most people would prefer to be happy not sad, why would we choose to listen to sad music? I revisit the (...) question of why we like sad music, drawing from work in both the philosophy and psychology of music, as well as work in the philosophy and science of affect. I argue to shift the focus of the question to music-induced moods, not emotions. This reframes the debate but does not dissolve the paradox. To understand what is appealing about the affective experience of listening to sad music I suggest we take into account the unique features of music-induced sad mood. I argue that sad mood and a certain sort of focused music listening are mutually reinforcing in ways that differ from other mood/music interactions. Sad mood and sad music are, in a sense, made for each other. (shrink)

European Journal of Philosophy, Volume 30, Issue 1, Page 3-16, March 2022.

Are horror films immoral? Gianluca Di Muzio argues that horror films of a certain kind are immoral because they undermine the reactive attitudes that are responsible for human agents being disposed to respond compassionately to instances of victimization. I begin with this argument as one instance of what I call the Argument from Reactive Attitudes (ARA), and I argue that Di Muzio’s attempt to identify what is morally suspect about horror films must be revised to provide the most persuasive interpretation (...) of the ARA. I then argue that the ARA provides a compelling standard for evaluating the moral permissibility of creating and viewing horror films, yet I note that it is an exceedingly difficult practical task evaluating the risk that these films create for our reactive attitudes. My conclusion is that the ARA provides a useful way or orienting ourselves to the complicated details of evaluating the moral status of horror films. (shrink)

In paragraph 48 of the Critique of Judgment, Immanuel Kant claimed that ‘only one kind of ugliness cannot be represented in accordance with nature without destroying all aesthetic satisfaction, hence artistic beauty, namely that which arouses disgust.’ However, from Baudelaire to Damien Hirst, there have been artists who delight in arousing disgust through their works, and many of these disgusting works, such as Baudelaire's Une Charogne, have high aesthetic merit. In her splendid new book, Savoring Disgust, Carolyn Korsmeyer rejects Kant's (...) suggestion and argues that there is something called ‘aesthetic disgust,’ that is, ‘the arousal of disgust in an audience, a spectator, or a reader, under circumstances where that emotion both apprehends artistic properties and constitutes a component of appreciation.’. (shrink)

Many philosophers suggest (1) that our emotional engagement with fiction involves participation in a game of make-believe, and (2) that what distinguishes an emotional game from a dispassionate game is the fact that the former activity alone involves sensations of physiological and visceral disturbances caused by our participation in the game. In this paper I argue that philosophers who accept (1) should reject (2). I then illustrate how this conclusion illuminates various puzzles in aesthetics and the philosophy of mind.

The study of the arts in philosophy has often concentrated on the role that emotions (and affective responses more generally) play in art’s creation and value. Philosophical theories of art have sometimes even defined art in terms of its capacity to elicit or express emotions. Philosophers have debated such questions as what it is to express an emotion in art; whether emotions form part of the value of an artwork; whether the emotions involved in art appreciation are of the same (...) kind as those that we experience in real life, or of a different, even sui generis kind (i.e., aesthetic emotions); whether it is rational or appropriate to experience emotions in response to art; and what value, if any, there is in art that evokes unpleasant emotions. Although the focus here will be on what, to a first approximation, can be characterized as the “Western mainstream philosophical tradition,” discussion of the role of emotions in art can also be found in different approaches and traditions of thought: from Indian philosophy to cognitive science, to so-called Continental philosophy. (shrink)

A música pode causar emoções fortes. Como havemos de compreender as respostas afetivas à música? Este artigo apresenta os principais enigmas filosóficos atinentes às emoções musicais. O problema principal diz respeito ao chamado "contágio": os ouvintes percebem a música como sendo expressiva de uma certa emoção (por exemplo, tristeza) e a música suscita neles essa mesma emoção. O contágio é desconcertante, pois entra em conflito com a principal teoria da emoção, de acordo com a qual as emoções são experiências de (...) valores (cognitivismo). Este artigo gira, sobretudo, em torno da apresentação crítica das várias respostas a este desafio ao cognitivismo. Apresenta, também, o paradoxo da música triste, isto é, a questão do motivo pelo qual apreciamos música triste. -/- Music can induce strong emotions. How are we to understand affective responses to music? This article presents the main philosophical puzzles pertaining to musical emotions. The chief problem concerns so-called "contagion": listeners perceive music as expressive of some emotion (say, sadness), and the music elicits the same emotion in them. Contagion is perplexing because it collides with the leading theory of emotion, according to which emotions are experiences of values (cognitivism). This article mostly revolves around the critical presentation of the various responses to this challenge to cognitivism. It also presents the paradox of sad music, i.e. the question of why we enjoy sad music. (shrink)

The horror genre (in film, literature etc.) has, for its seemingly paradoxical aesthetic appeal, been the subject of much debate in contemporary, analytic philosophy of art. At the same time, however, the nature of horror as an affective phenomenon has been largely neglected by both aestheticians and philosophers of mind. The standard view of the affective nature of horror in contemporary philosophy follows Noël Carroll in holding that horror in art (or “art-horror”) is an emotion resulting from the combination of (...) disgust and fear. The view is also often accompanied by the view that horror in art is a distinct affect from horror in real life. This raises the question of what the relationship between horror in art and in real life might be. By looking within and outside art and the horror genre, and using a combination of historical, philosophical and empirical arguments, I argue for a departure from such standard views on the affective nature of horror. In alternative, I outline a novel view, on which horror is common to both real life and art and is primarily, typically individuated by a set of (output) affective reactions. (shrink)

Two recent novels, Ian McEwan’s Atonement and Margaret Atwood’s The Blind Assassin, are philosophically instructive. These books are interesting, I argue, because they reveal something about understanding and appreciating narrative. They show us that audience’s participation in narrative is much more subtle and complex than philosophers generally acknowledge. An analysis of these books reveals that narrative imagining is not static or unified, but dynamic and multipolar. I argue that once the complexity of narrative engagement is better understood, some prominent philosophical (...) problems and debates concerning narrative dissolve. (shrink)

We explore the classical philosophical problem of the “paradox of tragedy”—the problem of accounting for our apparent pleasure in feeling pity and terror as audiences of staged tragedies. After outlining the history of the problem in philosophy, we suggest that Apter’s reversal theory offers great potential for resolving the paradox, while explaining some of the central intuitions motivating philosophical proposals—an ideal starting point to bridge a narrowing gap between philosophy and psychology.

«In un luogo molto lontano, in un tempo non troppo lontano, un artista dalla chioma bianca ha esposto in una galleria un oggetto particolare di nome Brillo Box. Brillo Box era un oggetto diverso da tutti gli altri. Non era una semplice scatola di spugnette abrasive come quelle che ci sono al supermercato. Infatti non era di cartone, bensì di legno, e aveva dimensioni differenti. Ma il punto non era, ovviamente, questo. Il punto era che Brillo Box doveva essere visto (...) come un’opera d’arte, anch... (shrink)

C’è una domanda che sorge spontaneamente: perché mai dovremmo essere interessati a generi di opere quali il terrore e la tragedia? Com’è possibile che questi generi continuino a persistere? Come possiamo spiegare la loro stessa esistenza? O meglio, perché mai qualcuno dovrebbe voler provare emozioni negative quali la paura, il terrore e la tristezza? Poi, come funziona, che più c’è da soffrire e più gli spettatori sono contenti? Si ammetterà che, se le cose stanno davvero così, si tratta di u...

Some of the most successful works of art throughout history have dealt with tragic themes. From Romeo and Juliet to Jack and Rose in the film Titanic, millions of people have sat captivated through stories of death, separation, and loss. John Green’s The Fault in Our Stars has captivated audiences for half a decade, despite it depicting two young teens whose lives are threatened by cancer. Why is it that we actively seek out movies, books, paintings, and music that bring (...) us to tears? What about the agony of these works makes them worth revisiting, especially when we shy away from similar scenarios in our everyday lives? In her essay, “A Strange Kind of Sadness,” Marcia Eaton attempts to explain this phenomenon, arguing that we engage with tragic works because of the control we have over them. In this paper I will argue that her solution is inadequate, instead claiming that our attraction to these works stems from a desire for a safe, detached experience which results in emotional catharsis. I will also argue that these works draw us in because they foster connections in the global community, exposing us to new experiences and ways of life. (shrink)

It may be surprising that the paradox of tragedy is worthy of further attention.1 After all, there are good reasons to assume that at least several of its presuppositions are problematic. Furthermore, it has been questioned whether the paradox forms a problem of its own or if it should be discussed as an issue within the field of pleasurable negative emotions.2 Reasonable objections seem no less important, which regard it as far from self-evident that rational agents merely seek pleasure or (...) flee pain or that emotions have a specific hedonic quality at all.3 If apparently negative emotions, however, do not have to be painful in the first place, it becomes less of a problem why they should ever be.. (shrink)

<P>While there are many books on the romantics, and many books on Heidegger, there has been no book exploring the connection between the two. Pol Vandevelde’s new study forges this important link. </P> <P>Vandevelde begins by analyzing two models that have addressed the interaction between literature and philosophy: early German romanticism (especially Schlegel and Novalis), and Heidegger’s work with poetry in the 1930s. Both models offer an alternative to the paradigm of mimesis, as exemplified by Aristotle’s and Plato’s discussion of (...) poetry, and both German romanticism and Heidegger owe a deep debt to Plato. The study goes on to defend the view that Heidegger was influenced by romanticism. The author’s project is thus both historical, showing the specificity of the romantic and Heideggerean works, and systematic, defending aspects of their alternative mode of thinking while also pointing to their weaknesses. </P>. (shrink)

People tend to show greater liking for expressions of sadness when these expressions are described as art. Why does this effect arise? One obvious hypothesis would be that describing something as art makes people more likely to regard it as fictional, and people prefer expressions of sadness that are not real. We contrast this obvious hypothesis with a hypothesis derived from the philosophical literature. In this alternative hypothesis, describing something as art makes people more inclined to appropriate it, that is, (...) to see it as an expression of their own sadness. Study 1 found that describing the exact same sad text as art (e.g., a monologue) as opposed to not-art (e.g., a diary entry) led to increased liking for the work. Study 2 showed that this effect is not mediated by fictionality. Study 3 showed that the effect is mediated by appropriation. Study 4 looked at the impact of a manipulation of fictionality. Describing a work as fictional did lead to increased liking, but this effect was completely mediated by appropriation. These results provide at least some initial support for the appropriation hypothesis. (shrink)