Munch, E. (1893). The Scream [Tempera and pastel on cardboard].
The National Museum, Oslo, Norway
The National Museum, Oslo, Norway
The History of Emotions
as Objective Facts
Every prehension has its public side and its private side...Prehensions have public careers, but they are born privately
Alfred North Whitehead, Process and Reality
Alfred North Whitehead, Process and Reality
“Everything is suffused with a sense of primal, overwhelming horror.” So writes Alastair Sooke, a Features correspondent for the BBC, in describing the iconic image from the Norwegian artist Edvard Munch: The Scream. For Munch, it was inspired by a moment of sudden terror when the “scream of nature” seemed to echo through his body and soul. For many viewers since, it has come to symbolize the raw, unfiltered side of human emotion, where fear, anguish, and horror are not hidden but laid bare.
For my part, I think of many screams: the cries of children in Gaza and Ukraine, the wails of mothers in Sudan, the gasps of those being tortured, the silent screams of people gripped by terror or despair, the anguished shouts from hospital rooms, refugee camps, and darkened bedrooms. I think of the screaming of other animals, too. And of spirits. And of the Earth.
And I think of the philosophy of Whitehead, with his image of a divine reality, the Soul of the universe, who feels the feelings of each and all with tender care, and incorporates those feelings and those who suffer into the divine life, such that they become part of what God, too, feels. I cannot help but think that God screams, too - and not with divine fingers crossed, because he (or she or they) knows that everything will be ok. Maybe at some deep level everything will be ok. Maybe the poem that God weaves from misery may be a harmony of harmonies, with beauty of its own, albeit with a tragic side. I hope so. But I cannot be content with a God who knows only happy endings. This God must know sad endings, and hopelessness.
When we hide from screams—when we anesthetize ourselves, look the other way, and go about our business—we are hiding from something absolute. A scream is not just noise; it is a disclosure of reality in its rawest form. To ignore it is to step back from truth, from the elemental fact that suffering is woven into the fabric of existence.
For my part, I think of many screams: the cries of children in Gaza and Ukraine, the wails of mothers in Sudan, the gasps of those being tortured, the silent screams of people gripped by terror or despair, the anguished shouts from hospital rooms, refugee camps, and darkened bedrooms. I think of the screaming of other animals, too. And of spirits. And of the Earth.
And I think of the philosophy of Whitehead, with his image of a divine reality, the Soul of the universe, who feels the feelings of each and all with tender care, and incorporates those feelings and those who suffer into the divine life, such that they become part of what God, too, feels. I cannot help but think that God screams, too - and not with divine fingers crossed, because he (or she or they) knows that everything will be ok. Maybe at some deep level everything will be ok. Maybe the poem that God weaves from misery may be a harmony of harmonies, with beauty of its own, albeit with a tragic side. I hope so. But I cannot be content with a God who knows only happy endings. This God must know sad endings, and hopelessness.
When we hide from screams—when we anesthetize ourselves, look the other way, and go about our business—we are hiding from something absolute. A scream is not just noise; it is a disclosure of reality in its rawest form. To ignore it is to step back from truth, from the elemental fact that suffering is woven into the fabric of existence.
Emotions are complex mental states that resist reduction. They are visceral reactions but also beliefs about the world. They are spontaneous outbursts but also culturally learned performances. They are intimate and private and yet gain their substance and significance only from interpersonal and social frameworks. And just as our emotions in any given moment display this complex structure, so their history is plural rather than singular. The history of emotions is where the history of ideas meets the history of the body, and where the history of subjectivity meets social and cultural history.
In this Very Short Introduction, Thomas Dixon traces the historical ancestries of feelings ranging from sorrow, melancholy, rage, and terror to cheerfulness, enthusiasm, sympathy, and love. The picture that emerges is a complex one, showing how the states we group together today as "the emotions" are the product of long and varied historical changes in language, culture, beliefs, and ways of life. The grief-stricken rage of Achilles in the Iliad, the happiness inscribed in America's Declaration of Independence, the love of humanity that fired crusades and revolutions through the ages, and the righteous rage of modern protest movements all look different when seen through this lens.
With examples from ancient, medieval, and modern cultures, including forgotten feelings and the creation of modern emotional regimes, this Very Short Introduction sheds new light on our emotions in the present, by looking at what historians can tell us about their past. Dixon explains the key ideas of historians of emotions as they have developed in conversation with psychology and psychiatry, with attention paid especially to ideas about basic emotions, psychological construction, and affect theory.
In this Very Short Introduction, Thomas Dixon traces the historical ancestries of feelings ranging from sorrow, melancholy, rage, and terror to cheerfulness, enthusiasm, sympathy, and love. The picture that emerges is a complex one, showing how the states we group together today as "the emotions" are the product of long and varied historical changes in language, culture, beliefs, and ways of life. The grief-stricken rage of Achilles in the Iliad, the happiness inscribed in America's Declaration of Independence, the love of humanity that fired crusades and revolutions through the ages, and the righteous rage of modern protest movements all look different when seen through this lens.
With examples from ancient, medieval, and modern cultures, including forgotten feelings and the creation of modern emotional regimes, this Very Short Introduction sheds new light on our emotions in the present, by looking at what historians can tell us about their past. Dixon explains the key ideas of historians of emotions as they have developed in conversation with psychology and psychiatry, with attention paid especially to ideas about basic emotions, psychological construction, and affect theory.