Blog

Robert Plutchik had already understood that emotions like to stay close to one another, to intertwine, to quarrel, or to keep good company, in his combinations of dyads. Only at the extremities of the petals can we reconcile emotions that, when they reach their maximum intensity, come into conflict with one another. Let us think of serenity and pensiveness: two states of mind that, though opposite, can brush against each other in a kind of subtle balance, similar to wabi-sabi. It would instead be impossible to unite anguish and ecstasy, two extremes that cancel each other out.

At times something distracts us and, at the very same moment, captures our attention: an event that happens and calls us back to the present. It is difficult, instead, to reconcile pure astonishment—the kind that takes your breath away—with vigilance, and in a state of fury we could not perform an extreme act while being overwhelmed by flight in terror. But if a mild discomfort pervades us, a subtle unease may arise: a mixture of fear and anger at low intensity. 

Within the perimeter of the petals, opposites find a point of contact. In the same way, the three kinds of time—Chronos, Kairos, and the Hours—can coexist: time that flows, the moment that happens, and the vital rhythm that unites them. It is in this delicate margin that human experience becomes more meaningful and refined, because it reconciles what seems irreconcilable. 

Let us now see how English has become the lingua franca and has therefore taken over the monopoly of translating emotions: paura becomes fear, gioia becomes joy, and so on. At conferences and international meetings, joy—whether Italian, French, or Chinese—is translated simply as joy. How much meaning do we lose in this translation? 

Let us study this Inuit emotion born from the meeting of joy and anticipation: iktsuarpok, the impatience mixed with excitement felt while waiting for someone, when one keeps going outside to check whether they are arriving. 

Is this a typical children’s emotion—standing by the door full of joy and expectation, asking when their mother will return? Or when the friend they will play with in the afternoon is about to arrive? Children place themselves physically near the door; if they have a garden, they go near the gate—perhaps in the Inuit lands there are no gates. But for this people, who have been decimated, this emotion must mean: going to look with anticipation, an anticipation that is neither simply waiting while seated, nor going to look without joy. 

This is why, beyond the eight universal emotions, we wanted to devote space to geo-localized emotions, because they risk disappearing, just as many languages are dying, absorbed by more powerful cultures. Because beauty lies in the lotus of a thousand petals— it exists, it is called Sahasrara—not only in a flower with eight petals, and it belongs to an ancient Hindu culture that surprises us with its richness and fullness. 

 This Atlas aims to be a tribute to the thousand-petaled lotus, to the countless nuances of emotions. Let us search for them, safeguard them, and inhabit them. 

And what about the happiness we feel before the holidays? The more intimate kind, not imposed by workplace rituals? 

The etymology of festa is linked to Faunus, to the celebration of the sacred: sacred, therefore, was the Sol Invictus, the never-defeated sun, which today we call Christmas Day, that 25th of December which falls four days after the shortest day of the year—because darkness decreases by eight to nine minutes depending on latitude, and light appears. 

I will not conclude with names, nor with the countries of reference for the term joy of celebration, but with meanings found in the various territories explored: 

Can we kill all these nuances with the simple translation Joy of Feast? We do not think so. On the contrary, we believe that every definition adds something more, even if imperceptible. And in the end, joy will no longer be just a single tile but a mosaic. And celebration, even in maturity, can become a wonderful inner achievement, where one is at peace with oneself in a world devastated by wars. 

Thanks to the fifty-five wonderful young scientists who gave life to this Atlas, and to you who are reading it wherever you are, and in whatever phase of life you may be in—whether student, parent, lover, professional in business, healthcare, or the social sector. 

Today I felt a new emotion for the first time: the emotion of finishing the milk just before it expired: I cannot come up with an effective name; “not wasting” comes to mind, but I am not satisfied. “Smiling at having drunk the milk just in time,” a near opposite of “Don’t cry over spilled milk.” The journey continues, and there are other notes that go on beyond the keyboard, into the world of imagination. 

Thank you for following us this far. Now close the book, lower the tablet screen, and close your eyes. Breathe. If you wish, invent the name of an emotion. If you wish, think of your idea of joyful celebration. Only if you wish. 

In the book “Atlas of emotions” the abstracts of every single chapter are available in English at the end of the book: if you wish you can use an AI system to translate the full-text from Italian into your language. The book is a self-help manual.