Apr 10, 2016 07:15 PM
https://aeon.co/essays/is-reality-tv-a-k...ek-tragedy
EXCERPT: . . . These shows do indeed traffic in suffering and humiliation. Certainly there is a veneer of plot – the pursuit of a husband, the creation of a garment, the opulent lifestyles of the rich and famous, survival on a desert island. And, no doubt, the accomplishments and loves of the characters bring us joy as spectators. And yet, the most cursory glance at any of these franchises will reveal that these weak plot-lines are a red herring, a ruse planted for no other purpose than to catalyse the humiliation of their principals. [...] In fact, by shaming their characters, these shows are trafficking in a very old, very deep aesthetic pleasure. Aristotle called it ‘catharsis’.
Aristotle’s Poetics is the oldest work of literary criticism. In it, the Greek philosopher behind The Physics and Rhetoric outlines the principles at work in great tragedy. Crucially, the plot must be structured so that he who hears the tale will ‘thrill with horror and melt with pity at what takes place’. These emotions – pity and fear – operate like leaven in the audience’s encounter with tragic drama: as the plot unfolds, fear and pity rise and develop within the bosom of the viewer, and a magical transformation takes place. Aristotle called it ‘catharsis’ – which, depending on your interpretation, translates as purification, cleansing or clarification.
What exactly did Aristotle mean by ‘catharsis’? Since the Renaissance, scholars have struggled to uncover the meaning of this elliptical text. Perhaps as a clue, Aristotle insists that only a very specific kind of character can elicit the feelings of fear and pity in us. A virtuous man who goes from good circumstances to bad ones will not do the trick, ‘for this moves neither pity nor fear; it merely shocks us’, Aristotle rather cannily observes. Nor can the hero of a tragedy be a villain whose star is rising, which satisfies neither our moral sensibilities nor calls forth any pity or fear. ‘Nor, again, should the downfall of the utter villain be exhibited,’ Aristotle warns. A plotline involving a villain punished would no doubt satisfy our moral sensibilities, but it would inspire neither pity nor fear precisely because we are so sated on virtue.
Fear and pity, the flint and steel that together ignite cathartic pleasure, require a very specific condition, namely, that the tragedy portray a man like ourselves – neither eminently good nor filled with depravity, but rather, someone whose misfortune is brought about ‘by some error or frailty’. The perfect conduit for catharsis is a character with our own foibles – someone who is otherwise a rather decent sort, but in possession of a fatal flaw that we recognise as our own.
The drama concludes when the character is publicly humiliated for that very flaw, exposing our own shameful desire and its destructive power. We watch with horror as our onstage avatar gives form to our own most shameful wishes, and is subsequently horribly punished and shamed for these desires. The fear we feel of suffering a similar fate expunges – purges – those shameful desires, leaving us with the pleasurable sensation of being conflict-free....
EXCERPT: . . . These shows do indeed traffic in suffering and humiliation. Certainly there is a veneer of plot – the pursuit of a husband, the creation of a garment, the opulent lifestyles of the rich and famous, survival on a desert island. And, no doubt, the accomplishments and loves of the characters bring us joy as spectators. And yet, the most cursory glance at any of these franchises will reveal that these weak plot-lines are a red herring, a ruse planted for no other purpose than to catalyse the humiliation of their principals. [...] In fact, by shaming their characters, these shows are trafficking in a very old, very deep aesthetic pleasure. Aristotle called it ‘catharsis’.
Aristotle’s Poetics is the oldest work of literary criticism. In it, the Greek philosopher behind The Physics and Rhetoric outlines the principles at work in great tragedy. Crucially, the plot must be structured so that he who hears the tale will ‘thrill with horror and melt with pity at what takes place’. These emotions – pity and fear – operate like leaven in the audience’s encounter with tragic drama: as the plot unfolds, fear and pity rise and develop within the bosom of the viewer, and a magical transformation takes place. Aristotle called it ‘catharsis’ – which, depending on your interpretation, translates as purification, cleansing or clarification.
What exactly did Aristotle mean by ‘catharsis’? Since the Renaissance, scholars have struggled to uncover the meaning of this elliptical text. Perhaps as a clue, Aristotle insists that only a very specific kind of character can elicit the feelings of fear and pity in us. A virtuous man who goes from good circumstances to bad ones will not do the trick, ‘for this moves neither pity nor fear; it merely shocks us’, Aristotle rather cannily observes. Nor can the hero of a tragedy be a villain whose star is rising, which satisfies neither our moral sensibilities nor calls forth any pity or fear. ‘Nor, again, should the downfall of the utter villain be exhibited,’ Aristotle warns. A plotline involving a villain punished would no doubt satisfy our moral sensibilities, but it would inspire neither pity nor fear precisely because we are so sated on virtue.
Fear and pity, the flint and steel that together ignite cathartic pleasure, require a very specific condition, namely, that the tragedy portray a man like ourselves – neither eminently good nor filled with depravity, but rather, someone whose misfortune is brought about ‘by some error or frailty’. The perfect conduit for catharsis is a character with our own foibles – someone who is otherwise a rather decent sort, but in possession of a fatal flaw that we recognise as our own.
The drama concludes when the character is publicly humiliated for that very flaw, exposing our own shameful desire and its destructive power. We watch with horror as our onstage avatar gives form to our own most shameful wishes, and is subsequently horribly punished and shamed for these desires. The fear we feel of suffering a similar fate expunges – purges – those shameful desires, leaving us with the pleasurable sensation of being conflict-free....
