Are You Falling for the Hero or the Villain?
And how come we have emotions for what we know does not exist?
Ever since I learned about the Japanese man who married the hologram of a fictional pop singer¹, I’ve been wondering about the emotions we feel towards characters and fiction, in general.
Why do we have feelings for what we know does not exist?
Are such responses caused by imagining or belief?
Moreover, are those real feelings? And if they are, are they rational?
I mean, seriously, that guy married a hologram!
Sometimes I sympathize with the villain but to be honest, I wouldn’t do it were that villain a real person. So, does that make my sympathy toward the fictional character fake?
Let’s untangle this mess one string at a time!
The Paradox of Fiction
Formulated by Colin Radford in his How Can We Be Moved by the Fate of Anna Karenina? and Kendall Walton in his seminal Fearing Fictions, the Paradox of Fiction arises when we try to combine the following three, otherwise plausible, statements:
- To have a genuine/rational emotion towards an entity, we must believe that this entity exists. (Or has existed, or is likely to come to exist.)
- We do NOT believe that fictional characters and events exist.
- We have genuine/rational emotions towards fictional characters and events.
Numerous philosophers have attempted to solve or dissolve the paradox, by suggesting that one of those three premises is false. I reckon, that Japanese guy solved the puzzle, by realizing his bride into a hologram and later on into a doll. I won’t delve deeper in the debatable reality of his wife and his equally debatable mental state. Instead, let’s look at a few of the most notable solutions suggested by the academic elite.
The Irrational Theory
The thing is, while we don’t believe that the characters we cry for exist and suffer, we are nevertheless moved. Let’s just say that the tears that fall are real enough. No wonder, then, Radford’s conclusion was that, while the feelings we have towards fictional characters may come very natural to us, they are simply irrational.² We can only rationally grieve someone we believe is dead. If we grieve for them while believing they are in the kitchen, then our emotions are completely irrational. Similarly, because we don’t believe our favorite character is suffering, yet we really feel sad for them, then our emotional reaction is simply irrational.
The Pretend Theory
Kendall Walton doesn’t quite agree with his colleague Radford and instead offers us the Pretend Theory, which states that what we feel towards fictional characters and events is quasi-emotions.³ They differ from real emotions in that they’re not generated by existence beliefs but by “second-order” beliefs about what is fictionally true. We don’t believe that Batman really exists and his wound is bleeding. If we did, we would call an ambulance or take some other form of action, instead of sitting comfortably on the couch and enjoying the rest of the movie. Yet, within the context of the story, we do believe that he is bleeding.
The problem with quasi-emotions is that if they were not real, then we’ll be able to control them. But think of all those times you cried uncontrollably at the not so happy ending of a movie. Sometimes it’s embarrassing and we wish we didn’t sob, but what can we do, it’s out of our control. Moreover we do believe that we get upset, excited, angry, sad, or afraid by movies, books or theater plays.
The Thought Theory
If you are convinced that our emotional response to fiction is both real and rational, then you might embrace the Thought Theory which states that, while in real life existence belief is required for our emotional response, in fiction we simply have to “entertain in thought”, “mentally represent”, or “imaginatively propose” it to ourselves.⁴ All you need is an evaluative belief that a character or event is funny or sad and you are good to go with the appropriate emotional response.
Today, many agree with the Thought Theory which practically dismisses the paradox. We can have genuine feelings for that which is not real. As Seneca noted, we suffer — truly suffer — mostly in our imagination.
Hero or Villain?
There is no evaluative trick in the question whether you are falling for the hero or the villain. Chances are low to none that you exhibit any feelings towards a flat character. And round characters, much like real people, are complex.
It’s pretty obvious why one might fall for the hero or heroin — they are good looking exemplars of virtue. Yet, they are not perfect, which makes them relatable.
But there’s nothing wrong in sympathizing with the villains, either. On one hand, we are likely to align ourselves with them due to pro-attitudes prescribed by the narrative. The reason why a woman may like Harley Quinn is because she is energetic, charming, and free. All those characteristics may be something that woman recognizes as familiar, or as something she is lacking, yet wishes she possessed.
Being introduced to the villain’s point of view in the story, for example, could allow us to discover some hidden redeemable qualities or the tragic backstory of their upbringing. Think of all the spin-offs about anti-heroes, like Loki and the Joker, which unveil the complexity of the story behind their mischief and violence. It almost makes you want to root for them.
Also notice how, while protagonists are good looking, antagonists (while sometimes also pretty hot) often have scars. This, too, helps us relate and sympathize with them, since scars are a wonderful metaphorical tool to humanize the villains. At the end of the day, we all carry our traumas/scars.
Life is not straightforward black or white, but rather resembles the Chinese philosophy of Yin and Yang. Good cannot exist without evil, light without shadow. What seems to be opposite is but a different aspect of a whole. And often, it’s only thanks to our worst enemy (or competitor) that we become the best versions of ourselves. A wonderful example of how the protagonist excels thanks to the villain can be found in the movie Whiplash.
None of us is perfect. We sympathize with the antagonists because we share some of their experiences (most probably in a different context and to a different extend) and understand what they’re going through. The world of fiction allows us to explore the darker side of our characters — the aspects we subconsciously suppress out of fear, without having to worry whether we are actually bad people. After all, one of the ways that fiction enriches us is by allowing us to explore the world and our morals from a safe distance.
Or maybe we fall for the villains simply because they are cool, different, and kinda forbidden to like.
Our emotional world can sometimes be complicated. We often conflate excitement with love towards real people. Or we believe we are angry at the person in front of us, when, in fact, we are angry at ourselves. Our emotions towards fictional characters are not simpler.
Do we like them because we see part of who we are, or who we wish to be?
Or is it because they remind us of someone we know?
In any case, thinking about those things may allow us to reach priceless insights and add more value to our engagement with fiction.
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References:
¹ https://edition.cnn.com/2018/12/28/health/rise-of-digisexuals-intl/index.html
² Radford, C. (1975) “How Can We Be Moved by the Fate of Anna Karenina?” Proceedings of the Aristotelian Society, Supplemental Vol. 49, pp. 67–80.
³ Walton, K. (1978) “Fearing Fictions.” Journal of Philosophy 75.1, pp. 5–27.
⁴ Lamarque, P. (1981) “How Can We Fear and Pity Fictions?” British Journal of Aesthetics 21.4, pp. 291–304.
