First published in 1960, The Paradox of Tragedy raises the fundamental question, why do we enjoy tragic drama with its themes of death and disaster? D. D. Raphael offers a new theory of Tragedy, as a conflict between two forms of the sublime.

We offer a new answer to the paradox of tragedy. We explain part of the appeal of tragic art in terms of its acknowledgement of sad aspects of life and offer a tentative explanation of why acknowledgement is a source of pleasure.

The paper offers a disjunctivist solution to the paradox of tragedy. The first part of the paper defends a version of disjunctivism as that doctrine is understood in the epistemology of perception, and contrasts it with its rival, conjunctivism. In the second part of the paper, it is argued that the traditional paradox of tragedy—the question why tragedy gives pleasure—can be solved by adopting a disjunctivist approach to the relevant felt emotions. The tragic audience does (...) not really feel ‘sorrow, terror, anxiety’ (so Hume), but simulacra thereof, emotions which resemble the originals in certain respects but which have quite different connections with action. A conjunctivist approach to the paradox discerns a ‘highest common factor’ in both non-fictional and fictional scenarios: but this is not only phenomenologically implausible; it decouples the agent from the actions that are essentially keyed to particular emotions, and so splits the self. (shrink)

What accounts for our pleasure in tragic art? In a widely-cited essay, Susan Feagin argues that this pleasure has moral roots; it arises when we discover ourselves to be the sort of people who respond sympathetically to another’s suffering. Although critical of Feagin’s particular solution to the tragedy paradox, I too believe that our pleasure in tragedy often has moral roots. I trace those roots differently, however, by placing the concept of virtue front and center. I argue (...) that a noble pleasure arises when we perceive virtue in tragic characters and when we practice it ourselves as audience members. My account draws on insights from the history of philosophy, most notably Aquinas’s conception of the virtues of charity and mercy in the Summa. (shrink)

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Democracy and tragedy captured a delicate poise in ancient Athens. While many today perceive democracy as a finite, unquestionable and almost procedural form of governance that glorifies equality and liberty for their own sake, the Athenians saw it as so much more. Beyond the burgeoning equality and liberty, which were but fronts for a deeper goal, finitude, unimpeachability and procedural norms were constantly contradicted by boundlessness, subversion and disarray. In such a world, where certainty and immortality were luxuries beyond (...) the reach of humankind, tragedy gave comfort and inspired greatness. Before the disciplinary segregation and the delimiting of the poetic and artistic, tragic art dramatized the paradox of existence in a most political manner. The purpose of this paper is to explicitly highlight the crucial links that existed between democracy and tragedy during their formative years in ancient Athens. What was it about democracy that necessarily incited and depended upon the ascendency of tragedy during the time of the Athenian city-state? And why and how did a peculiar institution such as Athenian tragedy play so central a role in the democratic polis of Athens? (shrink)

First published in 1953, Tragedy and the Paradox of the Fortunate Fall argues that our response to tragedy is made up of a series of responses: the impact of experience which produces the archetypes of belief; the formation of the archetype of rebirth; the crystallization of the archetype of rebirth in the myth and ritual of the ancient Near East; the transformation of myth and ritual in the religions of the ancient world, including Christianity; the formalization of (...) the archetype of rebirth into the concept of felix culpa, the paradox of the fortunate fall and finally the secular utilization of the paradox of the fortunate fall as the substance out of which tragedy is made. This book will be of interest to students of literature, philosophy and history. (shrink)

Many of the most popular genres of narrative art are designed to elicit negative emotions: emotions that are experienced as painful or involving some degree of pain, which we generally avoid in our daily lives. Melodramas make us cry. Tragedies bring forth pity and fear. Conspiratorial thrillers arouse feelings of hopelessness and dread, and devotional religious art can make the believer weep in sorrow. Not only do audiences know what these artworks are supposed to do; they seek them out in (...) pursuit of prima facie painful reactions.Traditionally, the question of why people seek out such experiences of painful art has been presented as the paradox of tragedy. Most solutions to the paradox of tragedy assume that the reason we seek out tragedies, horror films, melodramas, and the like is because they afford pleasureful experiences. From there, theorists attempt to account for the source of this pleasure, a pleasure assumed to be had from representations of events from which we do not derive pleasure in real life. I argue that this assumption is suspect: the motive for seeking out devotional religious art, melodrama, tragedy, and some horror is not clearly to find pleasure. (shrink)

An evolutionary approach to ethics supports, to some extent, the sceptical meta-ethics found by some of the Greek sophists and Nietzsche. On the other hand, a modern naturalistic account on the origin and nature of morality, leads to somewhat different conclusions. This is demonstrated with an answer to three philosophical questions: does real freedom exist?, does the good, or real virtue, exist?, does life have a meaning?

In this article, I aim to demonstrate that in Die Bedeutung der Tragödien Friedrich Hölderlin (1770-1843) takes distance from the Aristotelian interpretation of Tragedy. In this fragment, the poet suggests this literary genre should be understood on the bases of the notion of paradox and on how this concept relates to the tragic hero. In order to prove this, I first clarify what the German poet means when he proposes paradox as the easiest way to understand (...) class='Hi'>Tragedy. Second, I highlight the correlations between the assertions of this text and Hölderlin’s former stances about Tragedy in the Grund zum Empedokles, the Anmerkungen zum Oedipus and the Anmerkungen zur Antigonä. Finally, I argue that the approach regarding paradox is evidence of the distance Hölderlin took from the Aristotelian definition of Tragedy as mimesis of an action. (shrink)

The object of the study is atheism and theism as important ideological components of two opposing solutions to the "main question of philosophy" – materialism and idealism – forming two systems of human life navigation. The subject of the study is two ideological paradigms – Soviet atheism and Orthodox Christianity. Materialism and atheism are the fundamental elements of the Marxist doctrine underlying the philosophy and culture of the Soviet period of Russian history, opposing theism, creationism and providentialism of the Christian (...) understanding of the world and man, characteristic of the ideological paradigm of pre–revolutionary Russia. The purpose of the study is to clarify and substantiate the ideological intersection of these seemingly incompatible ideological positions. One of the objectives of the study is to substantiate their vertical semantic and value orientation. The novelty of the research, in particular, lies in the substantiation of the statement that two incompatible ideological poles represent varieties of the classical philosophical tradition with its vertical value-semantic orientation, and together oppose the main orientation of non-classical philosophy based on a horizontal scale of meanings and values. One of the main conclusions is that the vertical of Soviet materialism and atheism is a paradox and at the same time its tragedy: surprisingly, due to the vertical orientation of Soviet culture – formally atheistic – it is actually permeated with religious intuitions, questions, problems, ideas and plots disguised as secular concepts and terms, which finds its manifestation in various works of Soviet artistic culture. (shrink)

How can we experience real emotions when viewing a movie or reading a novel or watching a play when we know the characters whose actions have this effect on us do not exist? This is a conundrum that has puzzled philosophers for a long time, and in this book Robert Yanal both canvasses previously proposed solutions to it and offers one of his own. First formulated by Samuel Johnson, the paradox received its most famous answer from Samuel Taylor Coleridge, (...) who advised his readers to engage in a "willing suspension of disbelief." More recently, philosophers have argued that we are irrational in emoting toward fiction, or that we do not emote toward fiction but rather toward factual counterparts, or that we do not have real but only quasi-emotion toward fiction, generated by our playing games of make-believe. All of these proposed solutions are critically reviewed. Finding these answers unsatisfactory, Yanal offers an alternative, providing a new version of what has been dubbed "thought theory." On this theory, mere thoughts not believed true are seen as the functional equivalent of belief at least insofar as stimulating emotion is concerned. The emoter's disbelief in the actuality of components of the thoughts must be rendered relatively inactive. Such emotion is real and typically has the character of being richly generated yet unconsummated. The book extends this theory also to resolving other paradoxes arising from emotional response to fiction: how we feel suspense over what comes next in a story even when we are re-reading it for a second or third time; and how we take pleasure in narratives, such as tragedy, that excite unpleasant emotions such as fear, pity, or horror. (shrink)

The intuitions of Raimundus Lullus religious metaphysics are in this article explicated according to the opportunities of the convergence between the medieval and the new time philosophy. Such approach to the creativity of the thinker is possible, because his conception is one sides associated with the mystical symbolic theologism, that is typical for the medieval tradition, over sides develops Lullus the new understanding of the infinity of the world, inherent in the newtime philosophy. This opposition conditions some of the features (...) of Lullus spiritual quest. This quest connected the respect to the past, that causes the homesickness to the lost ideals, together with the progressivity – the presentation of the future. This presentiment is by Lullus expressed as the desire to change the external world. The aim of this change is the approximation of the rational theological base – the model for the real life. Lullus experiences the combination and the unrealized synthesis of this intentions as the tragedy. The acute and intensive conflict of this intentions triggers the practical atheism, when the stimulation of the external distraction of the evil leads causes the appearance and the activation of the new evil. This disaster of life is determined with some aspects of Lullus metaphysics, in that the infinity of God is realized as the infinity of the world. The infinity of the world is by Lullus given as the rational hierarchical order, leading to the creator of the world. The tragedy of life is for Lullus the marker, that emphasizes the crisis of the medieval philosophy, that was based on the revelation. This crisis discovers the land of new philosophy. This philosophy stresses the autonomy of the human personality. (shrink)

In this article, I will first present a number of contemporary philosophical conceptions that offer various solutions to the “paradox of negative emotions” as a general problem of how one can enjoy art that involves painful emotions. Solutions presented include ambivalence and value judgments theories, compensatory theories, and theories of catharsis. Then the article highlights a number of modern empirical studies devoted to this paradox. Despite the fact that they contain methodological and substantive problems, and do not add (...) up to a coherent system, their results are valuable, since they challenge the possibility of a universal solution to the paradox. (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.

This article highlights some paradoxical aspects of Voltaire's admiration for Racine. He paid little attention to Racine's plays as dramatic entities, followed received opinions, and made many unfavourable judgements, especially concerning Racine's mix of tragedy and galanterie. What he idolized was Racine's use of language and his poetic skill. He thus removed Racine's tragedies from the contingencies of the theatre, and transformed them into an eighteenth-century linguistic and cultural ideal that he used for polemical purposes in a war against (...) Shakespeare and encroaching barbarism, leading the Romantics subsequently to reject the `Racine' he had been so influential in creating. (shrink)

Nietzsche’s interest in tragedy continues throughout his work. And yet scholarship on Nietzsche’s account of tragedy has focused almost exclusively on his first book, The Birth of Tragedy – a work which is in many ways discontinuous with his more mature philosophical views. In this paper, I aim to illuminate Nietzsche’s post-Birth of Tragedy views on tragedy by setting them in the context of a particular historical conversation. Ever since Plato banished the tragic poets from (...) the kallipolis, various philosophers have attempted to respond to his challenge to offer a ‘defense of poetry’. What Nietzsche offers, I argue, is a distinctive form of response to Plato’s challenge. I show how Nietzsche takes seriously Plato’s worries, and even ends up in partial agreement with him: tragedy is not (unqualifiedly) valuable; it can be spiritually dangerous. Key to Nietzsche’s account is a distinction he draws between two types of tragic audience. For the ‘lower types’, tragedy is – as Plato feared – dangerous. For the ‘higher types’, however, tragedy can act as a regenerative force. Finally, I discuss a distinctive form of value that tragedy makes available to a modern audience: tragedy can act as a stimulus towards the process of the revaluation of values. (shrink)

Reflecting on aesthetics of the Russian religious philosopher Nikolai Berdyaev, the author discusses one of its main principles: the tragedy of creativity. Berdyaev believes that the genuine tragedy of creativity of a real artist lies the contradiction between the artist's desire for perfection and the impossibility of realizing it. An artist cannot but strive for that which is from the very beginning—under this “earthly world's” terms of existence—unattainable.

Two assumptions are common in discussions of the paradox of tragedy: (1) that tragic pleasure requires that the work be fictional or, if non-fiction, then non-transparently represented; and (2) that tragic pleasure may be provoked by a wide variety of art forms. In opposition to (1) I argue that certain documentaries could produce tragic pleasure. This is not to say that any sad or painful documentary could do so. In considering which documentaries might be plausible candidates, I further (...) argue, against (2), that the scope of tragic pleasure is limited to works that possess certain thematic and narrative features. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Hume Studies Volume 30, Number 2, November 2004, pp. 213-236 Pleased and Afflicted: Hume on the Paradox of Tragic Pleasure E. M. DADLEZ How fast can you run? As fast as a leopard. How fast are you going to run? A whistle sounds the order that sends Archie Hamilton and his comrades over the top of the trench to certain death. Racing to circumvent that order and arriving (...) seconds too late, Archie's friend Frank screams in rage and despair. Archie is cut down before he has run twenty yards. Peter Weir's film Gallipoli is a chronicle of the disastrous Dardanelles campaign of the first World War, but it is also a film about racing. Archie is trained by his uncle Jack to run "as fast as a leopard." The film begins as it ends, with Archie sprinting in response to a whistle. Frank is first shown racing after a train, along with friends who are on their way to enlist. Archie and Frank meet while competing in a race, they race in Cairo once they have enlisted, and they finally race death. From the beginning, Archie has been faster; even at the end he is the first to die. And from the beginning he has swept Frank along in his wake, encouraging him, pushing him, inspiring him, and helping him to positions for which he is inadequately qualified. In the end, Archie's compassion and kindness prompt a decision which has grim consequences both for himself and for hundreds of others. Knowing that his friend fears death in the trenches, Archie recommends Frank as a substitute for himself, a designated message runner. But Frank is not fast enough, and falls short by mere seconds which Archie would not have lost. This is what leads to the failure of the one real effort to countermand the fatal charge. E. M. Dadlez is Professor of Humanities and Philosophy, University of Central Oklahoma, Edmond, OK 73034, USA. e-mail: [email protected] 214 E. M. Dadlez I am an emotional wreck by the time the movie is over, though I should admit that most of my tears are the result of sheer rage. Both my dogs exited the room in some haste once I began to shout at the television and the unpardonably dimwitted British officers who sat sipping tea at a comfortable distance as they gave the order for soldiers to commit suicide. But it isn't just the scope of the real human disaster, or the enormity of the blunder, or the pointlessness of the entire enterprise, or even my renewed conviction that stupidity is, in fact, evil, that is so unsettling. The film unnerves with respect to personal as well as global concerns, focusing attention on the chance of vanity's leading one to undertake responsibilities beyond one's competence, the possibility of advancement or security being achievable only at the expense of another, and the realization of how easy it might be to let those things happen. Gallipoli is a sad, disturbing film, and the spectator is grieved and disturbed in the course of watching it. Yet, having said that, I must own to having a copy in my possession, and to having watched it more than once. I recommend it to friends, offering to lend them my videotape. In fact, I press it on them. I say that it is a terrific, rewarding work which they should take the time to see. How is it that I can describe my experience of the film in such glowing terms and at the same time acknowledge the extreme distress I felt in the course of watching it? How can I reconcile the discordant aspects of my experience? David Hume explores some possible answers in his essay "Of Tragedy."1 He begins by calling attention to the paradox of tragic pleasure: It seems an unaccountable pleasure, which the spectators of a well written tragedy receive from sorrow, terror... and other passions, which are in themselves disagreeable and uneasy. The more they are touched and affected, the more are they delighted with the spectacle.... The whole art of the poet is employed in rousing and supporting the compassion and... (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Hume Studies Volume 30, Number 2, November 2004, pp. 213-236 Pleased and Afflicted: Hume on the Paradox of Tragic Pleasure E. M. DADLEZ How fast can you run? As fast as a leopard. How fast are you going to run? A whistle sounds the order that sends Archie Hamilton and his comrades over the top of the trench to certain death. Racing to circumvent that order and arriving (...) seconds too late, Archie's friend Frank screams in rage and despair. Archie is cut down before he has run twenty yards. Peter Weir's film Gallipoli is a chronicle of the disastrous Dardanelles campaign of the first World War, but it is also a film about racing. Archie is trained by his uncle Jack to run "as fast as a leopard." The film begins as it ends, with Archie sprinting in response to a whistle. Frank is first shown racing after a train, along with friends who are on their way to enlist. Archie and Frank meet while competing in a race, they race in Cairo once they have enlisted, and they finally race death. From the beginning, Archie has been faster; even at the end he is the first to die. And from the beginning he has swept Frank along in his wake, encouraging him, pushing him, inspiring him, and helping him to positions for which he is inadequately qualified. In the end, Archie's compassion and kindness prompt a decision which has grim consequences both for himself and for hundreds of others. Knowing that his friend fears death in the trenches, Archie recommends Frank as a substitute for himself, a designated message runner. But Frank is not fast enough, and falls short by mere seconds which Archie would not have lost. This is what leads to the failure of the one real effort to countermand the fatal charge. E. M. Dadlez is Professor of Humanities and Philosophy, University of Central Oklahoma, Edmond, OK 73034, USA. e-mail: [email protected] 214 E. M. Dadlez I am an emotional wreck by the time the movie is over, though I should admit that most of my tears are the result of sheer rage. Both my dogs exited the room in some haste once I began to shout at the television and the unpardonably dimwitted British officers who sat sipping tea at a comfortable distance as they gave the order for soldiers to commit suicide. But it isn't just the scope of the real human disaster, or the enormity of the blunder, or the pointlessness of the entire enterprise, or even my renewed conviction that stupidity is, in fact, evil, that is so unsettling. The film unnerves with respect to personal as well as global concerns, focusing attention on the chance of vanity's leading one to undertake responsibilities beyond one's competence, the possibility of advancement or security being achievable only at the expense of another, and the realization of how easy it might be to let those things happen. Gallipoli is a sad, disturbing film, and the spectator is grieved and disturbed in the course of watching it. Yet, having said that, I must own to having a copy in my possession, and to having watched it more than once. I recommend it to friends, offering to lend them my videotape. In fact, I press it on them. I say that it is a terrific, rewarding work which they should take the time to see. How is it that I can describe my experience of the film in such glowing terms and at the same time acknowledge the extreme distress I felt in the course of watching it? How can I reconcile the discordant aspects of my experience? David Hume explores some possible answers in his essay "Of Tragedy."1 He begins by calling attention to the paradox of tragic pleasure: It seems an unaccountable pleasure, which the spectators of a well written tragedy receive from sorrow, terror... and other passions, which are in themselves disagreeable and uneasy. The more they are touched and affected, the more are they delighted with the spectacle.... The whole art of the poet is employed in rousing and supporting the compassion and... (shrink)

This chapter offers a new solution to the paradox of negative emotion in art. Crucial to the defense of this new solution is the normative sense of predicates such as 'is moving', 'is touching', 'is powerful', and 'is gripping'. Roughly, the solution itself is that, in their normative sense, these predicates designate aesthetic properties that we enjoy and value experiencing, even tough, in the cases which generate the paradox, the enjoyment comes at a price.

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Striving To Do Good:Well-Springs, Realities, and Paradoxes of Medical Humanitarian WorkRenée C. FoxThe voices that speak from the pages of these testimonial narratives are those of physicians who are engaged in medical humanitarian work. The preponderance of them are based in U.S. academic medical centers where they have clinical, teaching, and research responsibilities from which they regularly "commute" to care for patients in what the euphemistic language of "global (...) health" terms "resource-limited," rather than "poor" countries." This "hybrid life," as one of the physicians (Robert Riviello) refers to it, has transported them periodically to numerous African societies (to Algeria, Ethiopia, Gabon, Morocco, Rwanda, Sudan, Tanzania, and Uganda), to Haiti, to India and Nepal, and to Guatemala and Mexico. Three of the "stories" are written by physicians at work in the countries where they were born (Prasanta Tripathy in Eastern India, Sridevi Seetharam and colleagues in Southern India, and Paul Pierre, in Haiti).Only one group of physician-coauthors (Maricruz Merino, Jonathan Iralu, and Sonya Shin) write about their experiences in practicing medicine among poor and socially disadvantaged patients on the American mainland—in the setting of the Navajo Indian reservation in Gallup, New Mexico.All these physicians describe their involvement in humanitarian medicine as emanating from their commitment to "social justice," to "saving lives," and to "caring for the poor"; to their universalistic convictions about "human solidarity," and the non- otherness of others; to their indignation about the inequities and injustices of the world, particularly with regard to access to health care (in the words of Jeffrey Deal, "[They] deserve better. They all do"); and to their "passionate" desire, not just their "sense of duty," to help rectify these wrongs (Richard Keiden). I was struck by the fact that none of them uses the word "suffering" to describe the plight of the persons whom they feel they have been called to medically assist.Three of the physicians express the wellsprings of their motivation in religious terms. Richard Keiden refers to a "guiding principle of Judaism" on which his medical humanitarian work has been founded—"tzedakah"—which "translates as charity but actually means righteousness," is based on a "concept of social justice," and is "an obligation, not a choice." Robert Riveillo says that at the time of his graduation from high school he envisioned his "life's work as a long-term missionary surgeon"; he invokes "loving mercy," as well as justice, "in this work of solidarity" that he has undertaken; and he poignantly admits that "most days I still long to pack my things, my family, and our efforts and move to Africa for a life of direct service." What Jeffrey Deal writes is the most explicitly and ardently religious of all. He identifies his work as a physician in Sudan with Jesus's "desire for us to care [End Page 115] for the poor and downtrodden in His stead." He is haunted by his "failure" to deliver alive a "partially born" baby girl who for him incarnated "the least of the least" of whom Jesus "spoke passionately." And in touching "ever so briefly... [that] one, tiny being [he] encountered... [on ] that hot morning in Sudan," he attests, he "touched Jesus."Jeffrey Deal is not the only one who was so stricken by the death of a baby or a child. For a number of these physicians (Sadath Sayeed, Maneesh Batra, and for Sridevi Seetharam, Lisa Adams and their colleagues), it was a tragedy that they found hard to bear with "detached enlightenment" (Sayeed), or to accept. The most demonstrably heartbroken and morally outraged among them is Sadath Sayeed, who "wept uncontrollably" over the death of a baby boy, born "at home" in Haiti, "probably in one of the hundreds of make-shift tent cities." The baby was not breathing continuously, and was "handed" to him to care for. At the close of the "story " about this experience that he recounts, Sayeed lashes out with fury and angst at those who were likely to ask him, "How was it in Haiti?" Do you want to hear "my real answer?" he replies:... [L]et me summarize my last patient for you: Good luck Dad... (shrink)

Classical Athens assimilated and disenfranchised a large, free immigrant population of “metics” on the basis of blood, generation after generation. Yet immigration politics remain a curiously displaced context for interpreting ancient Greek political thought and its instructive criticisms of democratic citizenship. Accordingly, Euripides’s Ion—the only classical text devoted to exploring the founding myth Athens used to naturalize metics’ exclusion from citizenship–is underexamined by political theorists. Attending to the play’s metic figurations and historical-poetic contexts, this essay argues that the Ion is (...) a hitherto unappreciated immigration fable about the paradoxes of blood-based citizenship. Drawing ultimately on the work of Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick, it shows that the tragedy is a still-relevant political critique of the practices of concealment and disclosure—so dominant in today’s U.S. immigration rights debate—that make political status look prior to and generative of citizenship practice. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content: Reviews PASSION AND PARADOX L G Religious Studies / McMaster U. Hamilton, , Canada   @. Joan Cocks. Passion and Paradox: Intellectuals Confront the National Question. Princeton and Oxford: Princeton U. P., . Pp. . .; pb .. ccording to an ancient legend, four Rabbis ventured into the garden of Aphilosophy. One, it is said, went insane, another became a heretic, a third died and (...) only the fourth emerged unscathed. A modern variation of this story might go like this. Four or perhaps  philosophers entered the jungle of nationalism and for the most part went insane. There were those who embraced nationalism and consequently abandoned the universality of philosophy for the promotion of xenophobia, racism and even Nazism. Others remained internationalist and hence became futile—philosophical Canutes—commanding the raging beasts of nationality to be still. No one struggled harder with nationalism than Bertrand Russell. In , writing as an internationalist, he announced the demise of the principle of nationality only to see nationalisms explode in every region of the world (see his “National Independence and Internationalism”, Papers ). He opposed it relentlessly and without compromise until near the end of his life when he found himself endorsing wars of national liberation. Nationalism is often depicted as a howling beast. It would be better to think of it as an anaconda that wraps itself around everyone who ventures into its domain. Joan Cocks’ Passion and Paradox is an important book on nationalism and the intelligentsia. She traces the intellectual encounter with nationalism of a number of figures—Karl Marx, Rosa Luxemburg, Isaiah Berlin and the Scottish nationalist Tom Nairn, among others. All are exiles, most are Jews, and all try to hack their way through a jungle of conundrums of nationalist thought. Her accounts of these thinkers sometimes read like complex legal briefs, but are always illuminating. Though an internationalist, she sees the power of nationalist imperatives. Her approach to the contradictory strains of nationalism and hostility to nationalism echoes that of Hegel. She presents critical but sympathetic accounts of each side of the nationalist problematic and shows how their difficulties might be resolved in a higher synthesis. Alas! her resolution suffers from the unworldliness that she finds in other versions of internationalism. Her argument begins with a personal experience. In the early ’s she joined a group of Arabs and Jews against the Gulf War. In the course of their associ- Reviews  ation she learned that the Jews were all internationalists, while the Arabs were outspoken nationalists. This experience presumably demonstrated that a happy collusion of nationalism and internationalism was possible. But, of course, there was another side: those prosecuting the war she opposed were also nationalists. Her central thesis addresses the tragedy of opposition. It states that nationalism is “dilemmatic”, that is, that “all paths of thought obscured equally telling contrary thoughts; all courses of action were strewn with causes for regret and remorse” (p. ). The horns of the dilemma are the valid claims of the internationalist who sees the underlying self-destructive deep structures of nationalism on one side, and the claims of the national particularistic who is engaged in the compelling theatre of national liberation and the protection of local customs and roots on the other. Her book is an account of how her thinkers are framed by this dilemma, locked in by the imperatives of either side. In the period between the Gulf War and the composition of this book in  Cocks was able to observe what she identifies as the destructive logic of nationalism. The ’s were a period of postmodernist celebration of the local, a sensibility that helped to legitimate nationalism. The explosion of nationalism that followed the breakup of the Communist imperium was a time of liberation of the imprisoned nations—a springtime when it was good to be alive. But as the decade wore on the concealed pit bulls came out—in Yugoslavia, in Rwanda and elsewhere. In Cocks’ view nationalism showed an inner logic, of a sort that Russell called attention to in the early ’s—a logic that led from euphoria to self-destruction (see his Prospects). Her aim is to revive the half-remembered internationalist tradition as formulated by Marx and Luxemburg—but also to show... (shrink)

[Final version in Philosophical Papers, 2000] Much has been made over the past few decades of two related problems in aesthetics. First, the "feeling fiction problem," as I will call it, asks: is it rational to be moved by what happens to fictional characters? How can we care about what happens to people who we know are not real?[i] Second, the so-called "paradox of tragedy" is embodied in the question: Why or how is it that we take pleasure (...) in artworks which are clearly designed to cause in us such feelings as sadness and fear?[ii] Various solutions to these puzzles have been proposed, but my primary aim is neither to offer a novel solution nor to summarize and critique most of the alternatives.[iii] My focus instead will be on the issue of consciousness and, more specifically, to view these problems from the point of the view of the so-called "higher-order thought theory of consciousness" . Although some work on these puzzles have raised important questions about the nature of consciousness and "aesthetic experience," no attempt has yet been made to examine them in light of a specific theory. (shrink)

Aristotle'sRhetoricdefines fear as a kind of pain (lypē) or disturbance (tarachē) and pity as a kind of pain (2.5.1382 a 21 and 2.8.1385 b 13). In hisPoetics, however, pity and fear are associated with pleasure: ‘ The poet must provide the pleasure that comes from pity and fear by means of imitation’ (τ⋯ν ⋯π⋯ ⋯λέου κα⋯ ɸόβου δι⋯ μιμήσεως δεῖ ⋯δον⋯ν παρασκευάζειν14.1453 b 12–13). The question of the relationship between pleasure and pain in Aristotle's aesthetics has been studied primarily in (...) connection withcatharsis.Catharsis, however, raises more problems than it solves. Aristotle says nothing at all about the tragiccatharsisin thePoeticsexcept to state that tragedy accomplishes it. Though he gives a more complete account ofcatharsisin thePolitics, the context of this passage is so different from that of thePoeticsthat its relevance is questionable. A more promising, but largely neglected, approach to Aristotle's theory of tragic pleasure and pain is through a study of his psychological works. Here, Aristotle describes a number of emotional and cognitive responses to kinds of objects that include works of art. These descriptions support an interpretation of thePoeticsaccording to which (1) a tragedy is pleasurable in one respect and painful in another, and (2) pity and fear, though painful and not in themselves productive of pleasure, are nevertheless essential to the production of theoikeia hēdonē, ‘proper pleasure’, of tragedy. This interpretation has the advantage of not depending on a particular view ofcatharsis. It also makes much better sense than alternative views, once its seemingly paradoxical aspects are explained with the help of the psychological works. (shrink)

Aristotle's Rhetoric defines fear as a kind of pain or disturbance and pity as a kind of pain . In his Poetics, however, pity and fear are associated with pleasure: ‘ The poet must provide the pleasure that comes from pity and fear by means of imitation’ . The question of the relationship between pleasure and pain in Aristotle's aesthetics has been studied primarily in connection with catharsis. Catharsis, however, raises more problems than it solves. Aristotle says nothing at all (...) about the tragic catharsis in the Poetics except to state that tragedy accomplishes it. Though he gives a more complete account of catharsis in the Politics, the context of this passage is so different from that of the Poetics that its relevance is questionable. A more promising, but largely neglected, approach to Aristotle's theory of tragic pleasure and pain is through a study of his psychological works. Here, Aristotle describes a number of emotional and cognitive responses to kinds of objects that include works of art. These descriptions support an interpretation of the Poetics according to which a tragedy is pleasurable in one respect and painful in another, and pity and fear, though painful and not in themselves productive of pleasure, are nevertheless essential to the production of the oikeia hēdonē, ‘proper pleasure’, of tragedy. This interpretation has the advantage of not depending on a particular view of catharsis. It also makes much better sense than alternative views, once its seemingly paradoxical aspects are explained with the help of the psychological works. (shrink)