Feeling for/with Fiction (and Bree)

When I began this blog, it was with the intention of writing a few posts with at least some profundity to them. Naturally, a fair proportion of those will be philosophical — I have spent five years studying it, and some of what I studied really gripped me. Of course, in my degree I became used to (rather reluctantly) writiing academically on set philosophical topics, but now I hope to utilise the freedom of style and content inherent to writing non-academically.

Several weeks ago, I watched an episode of The Bill (which had recently received a highly successful (to my mind) makeover) which centred around an investigation into the cold case of a young woman's rape at the hands of a family friend, in her own room after a family party. DC Mickey Webb is the main investigating officer after the girl, Caitlin (which he consistently pronounces "Cai'lin", which was bloody infuriating), accuses her boyfriend of rape. It turns out that she had repressed the trauma and confused it with her boyfriend. As a main character, we see a lot of the case through Mickey's interaction with it — Mickey himself was raped several years ago, and it is interesting to observe how this effects his dealing with the case (and his colleagues' perception of how he deals with it). I texted a friend expressing my sympathy for the girl, and was swiftly reminded that it is, of course, merely fiction.

Which brings me to a topic I studied in my second-year unit on philosophical aesthetics — feeling for fiction. Feeling for fiction is basically the area of philosophy of art which is concerned with the audience's emotionally repsonses to works of fictional art. Now, as I look over my old notes, it seems that philosophical concerns with feeling for fiction is based in the idea that there is an apparent paradox:

1. Emotions require a belief that their object exists
2. Audiences do not believe in the existence of the fictional object
3. Yet audiences do respond emotionally to fiction

Now, the way to defeat a paradox is to deny one of the two conflicting assertions. A challenge against (1) is posed in a work by my former professor, Dr Alex Neill: that while an audience must believe in order to respond emotionally, that belief is not necessarily in the existence of the fictional world — rather, as my aesthetics professor, Dr Daniel Whiting, put it, the audience can instead hold "beliefs in what is fictionally the case". Others deny premise 1 through the idea that not all emotional responses require belief — such as fear of a native under attack by aliens, of whom he has neither concept or belief. It's easy to challenge (2) — audiences simply suspend their disbelief in the fictional world in order to temporarily invest emotionally in its happenings. Some challenge (3), suggesting that there is a sort of displacement occuring — that an audience responds not to fictional events, but to real counterparts.

Now, of course philosophers of aesthetics will usually talk about paintings, music, theatre and film, but I've always watched a fair amount of TV. I have to say, though I wrote in my draft notes for this post "I easily feel for fiction", I must revise my claim — I feel easily for certain fiction. Because I watch a lot of television, I watch a lot of television that is not sufficiently well-crafted as to make me respond emotionally — but I happen to watch quite a lot of good TV. My prime examples come from the American production company Mutant Enemy. They're behind Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel, Firefly & Serenity, Dr Horrible's Sing-along Blog and Dollhouse. In each of these shows, I have become deeply emotionally invested in the central characters, simply because they are beautifully and thoroughly crafted into realistic personalities, and placed in real-seeming situations (sometimes despite involving demons, vampires or spaceships!).

I wonder perhaps if emotional response to film media (including here television) is more common, or easier, than reacting to other artistic media, due to the more realistic nature of motion picture and sound together. I watched Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince with Mr Todd and Emma, and found myself feeling deeply saddened by the ending of the film — I wasn't surprised, because I've read the book several times — but the adaptation of those scenes was spectacularly well-done, enough so to recall to my mind emotions for characters who are long-established in my mind as people. One thing I did note though was that Emma responded perhaps more than I (or perhaps just much louder as opposed to my stoic silence).


Anyway, when I texted my friend after The Bill, I wanted to say that I empathised with the fictional Caitlin nonetheless. But then, being the precise sort of person I am, I looked up the difference between sympathy and empathy:

empathy ability to identify with person or object

sympathy sharing of another's feelings

They seem, on the surface, to be the very same thing. Deeper investigation has given me this understanding of the difference, though: empathy requires me to have felt exactly the same as the object of my empathy, whereas sympathy does not — rather I am simply sharing those feelings as if I have.

So, it seems, it did not empathise with the fictional Caitlin, but sympathised with her. There, I shall draw a distinction in our main philosophical concern: I was feeling for fiction, not with fiction. Just like I feel deep sadness for Amos Diggory when he is confronted with his son's death in Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. This leads me to wonder — can one empathise with a fiction character? Would the way I interact with Amos' reaction change if I were to, heavens forbid, lose a child suddenly and tragically?

My draft also read:
-Does too much TV mean less life experience?
-or do I just happen to have a reasonably boring/sheltered life?

But I can't think really what I'd write about those, and besides, I think I've written quite enough!

I'm receiving my (first) new laptop tomorrow (if I don't, blood will be spilt!). My current computer was the first to be mine alone, so I named her — Annie, because the motherboard box she came with says A8N-E. Now I must name my new computer, and I think she shall begin with a B. Currently, my favourite idea is Bree (having heard friends' tales of themed device names), but I want your suggestions!