Everyone at some time in life has had an emotional reaction to a work of
art. Whether an expression of fear, anger, or disgust while watching a play or
a film, or a deep melancholy hope while listening to the contours and
expressions of a particular symphony or song, art touches human beings in a way
that a geometric theorem does not seem to do. How does one account for this
emotional reaction to art? Can emotions indeed be what Jenefer Robinson
articulates as deeper than reason? While seriously addressing these questions,
Robinson’s book, Deeper Than Reason:
Emotion and its Role in Literature, Music, and Art, is a product of more
than twenty years of research, in which she digs deep into the nexus between
philosophy, psychology, and aesthetics. Behind her search, however, lies an
implicit claim, namely, that reason is unable to completely control our
emotions. No matter how hard we try, we are unable to persuade ourselves simply
not to be angry in the midst of the rush of the emotion. The same goes for
love, sadness or any other emotion.

In her articulation of how emotion is deeper than reason, the structure of
her book is quite straight forward. Robinson first provides a theory of the
emotions in general before expressing their relation to art. In the first part,
she criticises the view that emotions are judgements and, drawing on recent experimental
psychology research, claims that emotions are "a special kind of automatic
‘affective appraisal’ induc[ing] characteristic physiological and behavioural
changes and is succeeded by what I call ‘cognitive monitoring’ of the
situation" (p.3). In the second part, she discusses literature, primarily
Tolstoy, James, and Wharton and defends the reading of serious novels as a form
of ‘sentimental education.’ In the third part, she provides her own theory of
expression that can be applied to all of the arts. Here, she specifically
discusses Collingwood’s theory of expression after which she applies her own
theory to poetry, painting, architecture, sculpture, and dance. Finally, in the
fourth part, she applies her theory of expression defended in part three to
music. While her theory is convincing for the most part, I nevertheless have a
few critical questions.

The most influential theory in the history of philosophy regarding the
emotional or passionate part of the human being states that humans are able to
understand emotions by means of their rationality, for example, as rational
judgements. If this is the case, then one might (as the Stoics and Descartes
claimed, among others) control one’s emotions by means of other rational
judgements. One clear obsession for the Stoics in particular was the fear of
death. According to them, one is able to tell one’s self, ‘don’t be afraid of
death’ and magically, the fear disappears. This is problematic, however, for
the following reasons.

First, I may tell myself not to be afraid of death since there is nothing
(rational) to be afraid of, but I may still experience physiological remnants
of what seems like the emotion of fear. For example, what if I start sweating
and become tense when I visit a hospital and see many people on the brink of
death? Is this sweating and tension of the nerves an expression of the emotion
of fear? Or is it an expression of something else, for example, a reaction to a
memory of being in the hospital at an earlier time? According to Robinson,
there is something about these physiological appearances themselves that tell
me I am experiencing an emotion.

Second, in the literature on emotion, there is usually a formal object
associated with my fear. "When I am afraid," Robinson writes, "I
regard the situation as threatening…fear is necessarily directed at a
threatening situation" (p.17-18). But what if I am not immediately
threatened by death? Will I have no fear of it at all? Or is it possible to
have a general anxiety or angst concerning this possible occurrence? According
to most rational judgement theorists, any fear must entail something dangerous.
In other words, I evaluate the situation around me as dangerous in order to
feel fear and most importantly, I will stop feeling fear if I replace this
evaluation with the understanding (i.e. the judgement) that ‘there is nothing
dangerous to be afraid of.’ But what is truly the precise object of this fear
of death? In reading Robinson’s criticism of the accepted view throughout the
history of philosophy, I find the discussion of fear in particular to be quite
illuminating. If Robinson’s theory is right about emotions, then both the
fear’s physiological (or, in her words, the ‘non-cognitive appraisals’) and
objectless states break with (almost) the entire history of philosophy.

Why am I afraid of something immaterial like death or something material
like a rabid dog? Is there something intrinsically irrational about my
apparently human fears? What is most fascinating to me about Robinson’s
discussion of fear is her comment that "I can think about danger all day
long without ever becoming afraid or acting to avoid it. And by the same token
a thought of danger does not seem sufficient to produce any of the
physiological symptoms of fear" (p.22). She continues in a footnote,
"although a thought all by itself is not enough for emotion, we do often
respond emotionally to thoughts" (p.417). With reference to the example of
a dog, even though I know the dog is in a cage and is absolutely unable to bite
me, I may still be afraid of it. How does one explain this phenomenon? What I
wish to point out here in agreement with Robinson is the seeming
impenetrability (at least by means of pure rationality) of human emotion. To
first recognize this amazing power held by emotions over human beings is
certainly a step in the right direction. (For more on a similar theory
of emotion in Jesse Prinz, see his book Gut
Reactions: A Perceptual Theory of Emotion, reviewed by Adele Tomlin in Metapsychology
Online Review March 2005)

One of the most striking but less
convincing claims in Robinson’s book is that emotions themselves are processes
— processes that change over the course of a lifetime. The Stoics could not
easily accept this view and Robinson takes pains to criticize their ‘judgment’
theory of emotion (best expressed in the contemporary literature by Robert
Solomon and Martha Nussbaum). She claims, however, that the fundamental
evaluative component of an emotion like fear requires neither judgment nor belief, but that the emotion is basically an
immediate physiological reaction (i.e. a non-cognitive appraisal) to a
situation that changes over time by means of cognitive monitoring. My question
to her is the following: is an emotion real
at all or is it purely socially constructed? It seems to me that she dodges
this question in her book. Can the fear of a rabid dog, for example, be at all
the same thing in India as in England? Today, do I feel more or less the same
emotion(s) as I did when I was twelve years old even though I have learned a
great deal about what and why I feel such feelings? Since emotion is more akin
to desires for Robinson, whether unconscious or conscious — or to use her own
words, there is a "connection between emotion and our interests, wants,
wishes, values, and goals" (p.26) — are emotions as fleeting as some
desires? Or do they represent something (anything?) stable, intransigent,
rock-hard, that is, something one can trust?

Emotions erupt out of human nature or the psyche in a way that is not
immediately controllable — nevertheless, we are still able to monitor the
emotions. We can say, ‘the next time I feel angry, I will try to control it’
and yet the next time comes and we become equally angry. To complicate the
matter further, I become angry or absolutely livid with the character Iago, for
example, while watching the play Othello.
But I know that Iago is being played by an actor. I know that my anger is
directed towards a fictional character. I again say to myself, ‘don’t be so
angry — Iago is not real!’ He is a persona, a character, an expression of
Shakespeare’s imagination. However, in watching the rest of the play, I
continue to grow angry. I literally want to strangle him, but luckily, I
restrain myself. How do such emotions work in relation to art? Can the arts in
fact teach me something about my ‘real life’ emotions?

Setting aside the example of the play, music is more central to her theory.
Music is the subject of the final part of Robinson’s book and her earlier
edited book, Music and Meaning
(Cornell University Press, 1997). Robinson’s discussion begins with Eduard
Hanslick (author of On the Musically
Beautiful in 1854) and then jumps to the 20th century with the philosophers
Susanne Langer, Peter Kivy, Stephen Davies, Aaron Ridley, Jerrold Levinson and
the psychologists Patrick Juslin, John Sloboda, Carol Krumhansl and others. In
reference to the particular example of Brahms’ ‘Immer leiser’ (Op. 105 No. 2),
Robinson says that music can function as a metaphor for emotional life. It is
not the only metaphor, but it is a significant one. Summing up her complex and
outstanding discussion and criticism of the above-mentioned authors on music
she writes:

The music can mirror the desires, memories, and ‘evaluations’ or points of
view of the protagonist (or protagonists) as well as his or her vocal
expressions, expressive movements, action tendencies, and so on. Musical
processes can mirror emotion processes, the transformation
of one emotion into another, blends
of emotion, conflicts between
emotions, and ambiguities in emotion
(p.325).

When we listen to
a piece of music, we might thus hear an expression of certain psychological
states or emotions for three reasons, all of which are significant to her
theory.

First, the development of a piece of music over time is "not just the
ebb and flow of unspecified inner feelings" (as Langer thought), but a
"sequence of particular emotional states" that have significance and
express a kind of "psychological drama": "the form of the piece
develops as it does partly because of the psychological story that is being
told" (p.326-327). This is what Robinson means by a genuine Romantic
expression.

Second, the music itself (and its so-called characters or personae) can
express cognitively complex emotions. One of her examples is Shostakovich’s
10th Symphony in which the persona expressing the emotions is the composer
himself while the listener is able to re-create these emotions. For example,
the hope felt when listening to this symphony represents an extremely layered
and deeply passionate relation to the work of art. After listening attentively,
my hope might never again resemble a naïve youthful ideal, but is now mixed
with desperation and experience, that is, the hope that I now feel is tinged
with melancholy and suffering due to the expressionate quality in the music
itself. In fact, what distinguishes cognitively complex emotions from simple
‘garden-variety’ emotions seems to be precisely their ‘ambi-valent’ structure.
I might feel both happy and sad at the same time and in relation to the past,
present, and future.

Thirdly, instrumental music does not merely express emotions, but it is
also about these same emotions it
expresses. Again, speaking of Brahms’ ‘Immer leiser’, Robinson writes,
"[Brahms] seems to be expressing his own attitude to love and death. The
transformation at the end [of the piece] is not just a shift in the character’s perspective, but also a
shift in Brahm’s conception of life, love and death: like much of Brahm’s late
music it has a certain serenity indicating perhaps that Brahms has accepted his
fate and the loneliness at the heart of his life" (p.328). Thus, Brahms’
or Shostakovich’s inner feelings and experiences become intimated through the
music. Much of Robinson’s discussion is spent on the leading contemporary
theories of music, but her view in the end is that music, like literature,
painting, dance etc. are all important means or conduits of expressing emotion.
Art and science (i.e. the science of psychology) must therefore work together
to deepen public consciousness beyond the emotional engagement of, say,
"Harlequin romances, dime-store horror novels, and run-of-the-mill pop
songs" (p.413).

All in all, this book is well worth reading if one is interested in
contemporary theories of emotions or aesthetics. It is also applicable for an
upper level undergraduate seminar on either of these themes since it is lucidly
written and explains some of the most current research in philosophy,
psychology, and aesthetics. While her examples of romantic music, literature,
and painting might not appeal to many 18-22 year olds, her theory has a
flexibility for being applied to some current music and film. For example.
before reading Robinson’s book, I personally had a prejudice against Edith
Wharton’s literature for being too sentimental and soap-opera-like, but
Robinson convinced me to re-read Wharton and, in doing so, I found her work
both ‘deeper than reason’ (these words are in fact taken from Wharton’s novel The Reef) and immensely rewarding.

 

© 2006 Michael Funk Deckard

 

Michael Funk Deckard is currently completing a doctorate in philosophy on
the relationship of aesthetics and emotion at the Catholic University of Leuven
(Belgium). He has written articles and book reviews on these topics for The British Journal of Aesthetics, Eighteenth-Century Thought, Philosophy in Review, Tijdschrift voor Filosofie, Verbum: Analecta Neolatina, and Világosság.

Categories: Philosophical