It is better to go to the house of mourning than to go to the house of feasting

— Ecclesiastes 7:2

he house of mourning? Better? Is it because death is the culmination of man and so inherently attractive to us, or is it that there is something to learn in mourning while feasting is a temporary pleasure? Maybe a mourning ignites in us certain passions that do not surface easily. What is it that makes tragedy pleasing, at times?

Tragic plays were performed as early as the ancient Greeks. Yet it was not until 1750 that the concept of tragedy took the modern form. There is something that moves us when we finish a tragedy, whether in the form of theatre, film or a novel. Shakespeare is well known for this art, but why is it that we love watching another man’s afflictions?

It is important to note that pleasure does not reside solely in joy. We are not, therefore, happy at another man’s afflictions; rather, according to Julius Caesar Scaliger, man finds joy also in learning. How is that so? What sort of learning brings delight? Tragedy is there to teach us the highest moral truths, and if I may say so, I’d name this learning enlightenment. There are two forms of tragedy:

Man goes from misery to fortune, learning that there was justice in fate, that was why our hero overcame the perilous situation and received the fruits of his suffering.

Man goes from fortune to misery. Here, a man discovers his personal moral judgment. Fate has been unjust. He then realises that we are reasonable and humane to dislike that injustice.

Well, this is one aspect of tragedy where there is something to learn and attain enlightenment. Another aspect that makes a ‘good’ tragedy worthwhile is the concept of catharsis put forth by Aristotle. The concept is simple to understand: intense feelings are used to engage the audience, leading them to release their emotions and cleanse their emotional responses. They are effectively moved by the experience. However, according to Aristotle, the actor’s display of emotion is an integral part of this cathartic experience. If the audience does not bond with the actor or feel their misery, they won’t achieve the level of emotional release, leaving the tragic story lifeless.

This leads us to another aspect—the artist’s mastery of his art. Johannes Vossius, a Dutch humanist theologian, attributes the pleasure of tragedy not to the hero’s calamities but to their artistry. One may find delight in observing pictures of monsters and specifically admire the painter’s skills. We glorify the aesthetic of pain experienced by the actors while ignoring the actual pain. The pleasure found in imitation plays a major role in deriving delight from tragedy, as has been explained by the Scottish philosophical-writer Alexander Gerard. The more effective the imitation of the tragic act, the more the audience can transform the suspense, anxiety and terror of the tragedy into pleasure. Take, for example, F Scott Fitzgerald’s tragic hero, Jay Gatsby. It was the way the author developed his character and guided the reader through his journey that made the ending so impactful. Readers experience passions of love, envy, isolation and injustice. Therefore, a tragic experience involves many passions that intermingle and provide us with a way to deal with our own repressed feelings.

Importantly, there is one clear distinction put forth by philosophers of tragic play—pleasure arises only when the audience knows that the drama is an artifice and not reality. We are particularly aware that whatever we read or see in the form of tragedy is an act of entertainment. The inner sense of one’s own safety while watching the tearful act is what makes it enjoyable. A cynical view, in this case, would be that tragic pleasure does not spring from pity or fear but from our reflection on our own safety.

If we feel safe while watching another man’s afflictions, what is there to claim that humanity is present, especially when it is quite noticeable that many movies and plays tend towards subjects dealing with explicit gore and carnage?

There is, then, a clear distinction between the subject of tragedy and the pleasure it might evoke. We may delight in the play or its artistry, but experiencing a real tragedy brings direct pain and sorrow. Addison draws a strict line between art and reality, arguing that a real tragedy would not allow us the time to reflect; we cannot turn the suffering of the sufferer into our own happiness. Even if we claim that while watching a tragedy, we sympathise with the sufferer rather than finding happiness, Hume disagrees, stating that not all sympathy is pleasurable. According to him, if that were the case, a hospital would be more entertaining than a ball. In essence, tragedy is easily discussed and enjoyed from a distance. It is far more difficult to endure in reality.

This article was largely inspired by Earl R. Wasserman’s The Pleasures of Tragedy (Vol. 14, No. 4), which one can read for further thought. After reading it, I came to a basic conclusion: when one imagines the tragedy they are reading or watching (importantly, not a real tragedy) as applied to themselves, they largely sympathise with their own situation. They imagine their own greatness of character, how they would act differently if faced with a similar situation, and envision others’ sympathy being directed toward them. For man, the self, and thus self-love, is the overarching drive.

The writer is a student at LUMS with an interest in foreign languages, particularly German. She may be reached at faleha.hakim@gmail.com