tragedies activates our endorphin system and increases our pain threshold (Dunbar et al., 2016). This happens because the same areas of the brain that support the experience of physical pain are also involved in mediating psychological pain (Dunbar et al., 2016). Tragic plots allow us to prepare for the worst and build our resilience. We don’t necessarily want to see ourselves in a tragic position, but we can train ourselves to observe and learn from a tragedy performance, which might reduce or minimise the pain we would actually feel if such a tragedy was to fall upon us (Valenzuela, 2018). Evolution has prepared our nervous system for survival and the maintenance and continuation of life (Berger, 2018). As Miguel de Cervantes said, ‘To be prepared is half the victory’ (de Cervantes, 2018). Studies have also shown that if the theatrical plot is too heavy and our minds try to wander away from the pain that is being re-enacted, there is actually increased activity in the DMN (Kucyi et al., 2013). Additionally, there is activation of the periaqueductal grey region of the brain, an endogenous, opiaterich region that mediates pain suppression (Kucyi et al., 2013). Tragedy is not just aesthetic pain. Aristotle and others also refer to a tragedy as inducing a sense of the sublime, awe, or grandeur (Trimble, 2007). Such overwhelming emotion is often
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the basis of great achievements, magnificent works, and mystical experiences (Wettstein, 2012). Researchers have found that these feelings of awe and wonder actually reduce activity in the DMN, leading to reduced focus and awareness of one’s self (van Elk et al., 2019). Such experiences are associated with diminished self‐referential processing and reduced mind‐wandering (or sponta-
Tragedy is not just aesthetic pain
neous self‐reflective thought), compared to being actively engaged in an analytical task (van Elk et al., 2019). A similar engagement in the listener is created by Shakespeare and his grammatical exploration of the language (Keidel et al., 2013). Shakespeare did this by changing words – adding prefixes and suffixes, connecting words together, borrowing from a foreign language, or simply inventing new words by freely
borrowing from and adapting the contemporary vernacular (McCrum, 2016). Not only that, but Shakespeare made extensive use of the functional shift, a rhetorical device involving a change in the grammatical status of words, e.g., using nouns as verbs (Thierry et al., 2008). By monitoring participants’ brain activity with functional Magnetic Resonance Imaging (fMRI) as they read lines from Shakespeare’s plays, researchers have discovered that these functional shifts trigger a mental re-evaluation independent of the semantic process (Keidel et al., 2013). Sentences featuring functional shifts stimulate significant activation of brain areas beyond regions classically activated by typical language tasks, including the left caudate nucleus, the right inferior frontal gyrus and the right inferior temporal gyrus (Keidel et al., 2013). The Shakespearean functional shift also appears to activate the visual association cortex, that is, the ‘mind’s eye’, reflecting how the listener is forced to take on an active role in integrating and visualising the meaning of what is being said (McCrum, 2016). Keidel et al. were surprised to find additional activity in the right fusiform gyrus, which indicates non-verbal access to conceptual knowledge (Keidel et al., 2013). This mental imagery related to functional