What Should We Be Worried About?

THE PROMISE OF CATHARSIS

ANDRIAN KREYE

Editor, The Feuilleton (arts and essays), of the German daily Süddeutsche Zeitung, Munich

There are no cathartic moments in evolution. There are plenty in faith and ideology. With the former being a mostly private affair in modern society and the latter a remnant of the 20th century, one should not have to worry about the lure of catharsis anymore. Still there it is, keeping those doors to irrational groupthink open by a tiny crack.

It might not be possible ever to get rid of this powerful lure, though; in the Western world this mindset has been embedded in the cultural DNA too deeply. There is no art form lacking built-in mechanisms that simulate catharsis. Most have been derived from religion.

Take the best-known and most powerful of examples—Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony. There are good reasons why this work is performed whenever there is the need to soothe a grieving collective or enhance a moment of national unity. After the attacks of September 11, there were countless performances of the piece worldwide. The divided, cold-war Germany played it whenever sports teams from the two sides joined forces. The European Union has chosen the “Ode to Joy” from the fourth movement as its anthem. It’s easy to hear how this works. The key of the Ninth is the tragic D-minor. Over the course of an hour, this somber mood is lifted slowly, until the fourth movement breaks into the jubilant chorus based on Friedrich Schiller’s poem. This is solid 19th-century instant catharsis. And there’s no doubt where this joy comes from. The poem begins, “Joy, beautiful spark of Gods.”

Just as Beethoven’s Ninth resorts to the dynamics of a church service, with a sermon promising a rapturous end to all worries, pop culture riffs on the spiritual lift. Take a great rock or soul song or concert. In the perfect case, there will be an exhilarating opening, after which the rhythm will slow down below the speed of a heartbeat. If the drumming and the groove are convincing, the human pulse will adapt. Step by step, the music will accelerate and the rhythms speed up past the regular heartbeat. Lighting, movement, and volume will help to create a state of ecstasy. Those tricks are borrowed from faiths like Voodoo or Pentecostalism. Ever wonder why U2 concerts are always experienced as such an ecstatic event? They openly borrow from the traditions of Catholicism.

The same leitmotifs of catharsis can be found in literature, theater, and film. The classic three-act drama still taught in film school is built like a holy book: setup, conflict, resolution. In narrative art, catharsis isn’t simply a reference. When Aristotle came up with the structure of tragedy in the 4th century B.C., the catharsis of the audience’s emotions was his avowed goal.

The urge to experience catharsis is, of course, so strong because it always embodies salvation. After the Rapture, there is Paradise. This dynamic has even transcended to the scientific. What else would the Singularity—the belief that artificial intelligence will at some point surpass human intelligence—be, but a technological Rapture absolving humanity from being the ultimate responsible party on this planet?

The problem with catharsis, though, is that it will always remain an empty promise. There is no paradise, no salvation, no ultimate victory. Progress, be it biological, scientific, or social, is a tedious process of trial and error. If we work toward an unobtainable goal, much effort is wasted, and the appearance of false prophets is almost a given. Catharsis thus becomes the ultimate antagonist of rational thinking. If there is Paradise in the Beyond, why bother with the Here-and-Now?

But there’s no way to change our mental blueprint. The simulation of catharsis is the very way in which we enjoy art, music, stories, even sports. Every joke’s punch line, every hook of a song, promises this tiny moment of release. That is all there is, after catharsis. To ask us to refrain from giving in to this urge would lead to joyless forms of Puritanism. If we are aware of the patterns and dynamic of catharsis, though, it is possible to see the thresholds of escapism.