Understanding Emotions in Opera: A Psychological Perspective

There is something transcendent about opera—a world where human emotions burst into song, where heartbreak and ecstasy are painted in sweeping melodies, and where we are invited to not just observe, but to feel. Maria Callas once said, “An opera begins long before the curtain goes up and ends long after it has come down. It starts in my imagination, it becomes my life, and it stays part of my life long after I’ve left the opera house.”

For those of us who love opera, her words capture the magic perfectly. Opera isn’t just a performance; it’s an emotional journey that lingers, reshaping how we perceive love, loss, and life itself. But have you ever stopped to consider how opera has this effect? What is it about a simple arrangement of voices, music, and storylines that pulls on the deepest corners of our psyche?

As a lover of both opera and psychology, I often find myself dissecting this emotional impact. Let’s wander into this interplay of sound and soul, using two of my favourite operas,

Tosca and Carmen, as our guide.

A photo of me at the Budapest Opera

Tosca: Passion and the Tragedy of Choice

In Tosca, we are plunged into the tumult of love, jealousy, and sacrifice. From the opening chords, Puccini’s music transports us into a heightened state of urgency. The sweeping arias seem almost too big for human lungs, yet they resonate with a rawness we all recognise.

And then there’s "E lucevan le stelle." It is one of my favourite arias, and it is not just a song—it is a raw, unfiltered outpouring of emotion that transcends language, time, and circumstance. Sung by the doomed Cavaradossi, these lines capture his longing for a love he is about to lose forever.

For me, this moment sends me into another world. Whenever I hear the greatest tenor,  Luciano Pavarotti’s voice, carrying those hauntingly beautiful notes, it feels like time slows down. Goosebumps rise across my skin, and tears inevitably follow—unbidden, unstoppable. Every time, without fail, I am overwhelmed by its poignancy.

It’s as though Pavarotti, with his unmatched artistry, reaches into the deepest parts of my soul, pulling out feelings I cannot name. This is the power of opera—it takes your emotions, magnifies them, and lays them bare. Tosca holds a mirror to our most vulnerable moments: love that burns brightly, loss that cuts deeply, and the inevitable passage of time that leaves us helpless in its wake.

Sitting in the Budapest Opera, my favourite sanctuary for such experiences, only heightens the magic. The moment I step into the building, with its grand chandeliers and ornate balconies, I feel like royalty. There is a certain reverence that fills the air as if the walls themselves hum with stories of passion and tragedy. When the curtains rise, and the first note from the orchestra pierces the silence, my heart quickens. In those seconds, I feel alive in a way that is almost impossible to describe—my heart is filled with a mix of anticipation, wonder, and awe.

Carmen: The Allure of Freedom

Contrast this with Carmen, where Bizet creates an intoxicating dance of seduction, freedom, and fatalism. Carmen’s character is a psychological study in itself—a free spirit who refuses to be tamed, even when it costs her life.

I had the pleasure of seeing Carmen at the Zurich Opera, and it was a night I’ll never forget. Although I attended alone, I didn’t feel alone. Sitting on a balcony with a breathtaking view of the stage, I found myself surrounded by fellow opera lovers. Conversations sparked effortlessly as we shared our excitement for the performance and our love for Bizet’s masterpiece. It struck me then that opera doesn’t just connect us to the art—it connects us to one another.

Let’s look at Carmen’s "Habanera", which is more than a song; it’s a manifesto. “Love is a rebellious bird,” she sings, her voice coy and defiant, daring anyone to contain her. As the audience, we are both seduced and forewarned.

G.B. Shaw humorously remarked, “Opera is when a tenor and soprano want to make love but are prevented from doing so by a baritone.” Yet Carmen flips this narrative. Here, the tenor (Don José) falls for Carmen, but her refusal to bend to societal norms or love’s chains prevents their union.

The psychological impact here lies in our conflicted emotions. We admire Carmen’s independence, but we fear the chaos it brings. Her tragic end leaves us contemplating the cost of freedom—an unresolved tension that stays with us long after the final curtain falls.

The Psychology of Opera

Why does opera feel so profound? One reason is its ability to bypass the barriers of language and logic, speaking directly to our emotions. Research in psychology shows that music triggers activity in the brain’s limbic system, the seat of our emotions. This is amplified in opera, where the combination of music, story, and performance creates a perfect storm for emotional engagement.

Moreover, opera often deals in extremes: love so intense it destroys, betrayal so deep it consumes, sacrifice so noble it breaks us. These heightened states act as mirrors, reflecting our inner lives. We see our struggles and joys writ large, exaggerated but familiar.

But it’s not all tragedy. Opera also gives us beauty—the soaring arias, the delicate interplay of strings and voice, the perfect stillness of a moment suspended in time. It reminds us that even in pain, there is art, and in art, there is a connection.

A Lasting Impact

For me, opera is more than entertainment; it’s a companion. It has whispered truths in my ear and held my hand through difficult moments. And perhaps that’s its greatest gift: opera doesn’t just tell stories—it helps us understand our own.

Sitting in the Budapest Opera or reminiscing about Zurich, as the final notes fade into silence and the applause erupts, I feel a sense of profound gratitude. I am grateful for the music, the emotions, the art, and the chance to lose myself in something so achingly beautiful.

The next time you’re in the opera house or listening from the comfort of home, let yourself be swept away. Lose yourself in the music, but also notice what it stirs within you. That, after all, is where the magic lies.

As Maria Callas said, “It becomes my life, and it stays part of my life long after I’ve left the opera house.”

Krisztina Kovacs / Evolve with Krisztina, 2024. All rights reserved.