It is a title that makes your skin crawl. Honestly, it’s supposed to. When Thomas De Quincey penned "On Murder Considered as One of the Fine Arts" back in 1827, he wasn't trying to be a monster; he was being a critic. He was looking at the horrific through the lens of aesthetics. Today, we’ve taken that uncomfortable intellectual exercise and applied it to something even more visceral: the concept of terrorism considered as one of the fine arts.
This isn't about praising violence. Far from it.
It’s about understanding how modern terror has shifted from a tool of military utility to a form of dark, psychological performance. If you look at the way global events have unfolded over the last thirty years, it’s impossible to ignore that these acts are often designed for the camera first and the battlefield second. They are "staged." They are "produced."
The Aestheticization of the Unthinkable
The philosopher Karlheinz Stockhausen famously got into hot water—rightly so—for calling the 9/11 attacks the "greatest work of art for the whole cosmos." People were horrified. He was effectively cancelled before we even had a word for it. But beneath the profound insensitivity of his comment, Stockhausen was pointing toward a terrifying reality of the 21st century.
The planners of that day didn’t just want to kill people. They wanted an image. They wanted the silhouette of the towers, the blue sky, and the orange fireball to be seared into the collective retina of the planet. They curated the timing.
When we talk about terrorism considered as one of the fine arts, we are talking about the "spectacle." The Situationist Guy Debord wrote about the "Society of the Spectacle" decades ago, arguing that everything that was once directly lived has moved away into a representation. Terrorists know this. They aren't just combatants; they are twisted art directors. They understand framing, lighting, and the "money shot."
Think about the orange jumpsuits used in ISIS execution videos from the mid-2010s. That wasn't an accident. Those jumpsuits were a direct, visual "callback" to the uniforms at Guantanamo Bay. It was visual branding. It was a high-definition, multi-camera production designed to evoke a specific emotional response through color theory and cinematography.
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Why the "Art" Label Matters
You might think calling this "art" is a reach. Or just plain offensive. But in academic circles, particularly within the study of "Terrorism and the Media," this framework is essential for understanding recruitment.
Art moves people. It bypasses the logical brain and hits the gut.
By framing terrorism considered as one of the fine arts, we start to see how groups use propaganda to create a "sublime" experience for their target audience. Edmund Burke described the "sublime" as a feeling of awe mixed with terror. It’s the feeling of looking at a massive, destructive storm from a safe distance. For the sympathizer sitting behind a screen thousands of miles away, these violent acts are consumed as a digital sublime.
It’s a horrific sort of "content."
In 2005, the scholar Frank Lentricchia and others explored this intersection in various journals, noting that the "artistry" of terror lies in its ability to hijack the imagination. If an act is purely tactical, you forget it once the damage is repaired. If it’s "artistic," you never forget it. It lives in your nightmares. It becomes a meme. It becomes a part of the culture.
The Audience is the Target
In a traditional gallery, the viewer looks at a painting. In the theater of terror, the "viewer" is the victim, even if they aren't physically hurt.
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The medium isn't paint or clay. It's us. It's our collective anxiety.
Take the 1972 Munich Olympics. That was arguably the birth of modern, televised terror. The perpetrators knew the world’s cameras were already there. They didn't have to invite the press; the press was the architecture of the event. They used the Olympic village as a stage. They understood that the contrast between the "joy of sport" and the "darkness of the mask" would create a visual tension that no one could turn away from.
We see this again with the rise of "First-Person Shooter" style attacks. Several attackers in the last decade have worn GoPro cameras. They livestream their crimes. This is a direct appropriation of gaming aesthetics. They are turning mass murder into a participatory, digital experience. It’s a "snuff film" for the social media age, designed to go viral.
It’s the ultimate perversion of the "performance."
Breaking the Mirror
So, what do we do with this? If we acknowledge that terrorism considered as one of the fine arts is a real phenomenon, does that mean we’re giving in?
Actually, it's the opposite.
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By recognizing the theatrical nature of these acts, we can begin to "deconstruct" the performance. We can stop being the passive audience they require. Media organizations have already started to change how they cover these events. Many refuse to show the "manifestos." They refuse to say the names of the "performers." They try to deny the perpetrator the "glory" of the spectacle.
But it’s hard. Our brains are wired to look at the explosion.
The complexity here is that the more we analyze the "artistry," the more we risk validating the ego of the person behind it. Yet, ignoring it is worse. Ignoring the aesthetic appeal of extremist propaganda is how we lose the "war of ideas." You can't fight a beautiful (even if darkly beautiful) lie with a boring truth. You have to understand the emotional pull of the imagery to counteract it.
What You Can Actually Do
Understanding this isn't just for professors or counter-terrorism experts. It changes how you consume news.
- Audit your "Spectacle" consumption. When a major tragedy happens, ask yourself: "Am I watching this for information, or am I being drawn into the spectacle?" If you find yourself watching a loop of an explosion or a grainy cell phone video of panic, you are participating in the "audience" the perpetrator wanted.
- De-emphasize the "Iconography." Avoid sharing images that were clearly designed to be "iconic." The masked figure, the posed photo with the flag, the specific colors. These are symbols. When you share them, you’re helping the "brand" grow.
- Focus on the "Un-Artistic" Reality. Art is about the abstract and the elevated. Real violence is messy, pathetic, and mundane. It’s blood on a sidewalk, a crying child, a shattered family. These things aren't "sublime." They are just sad. Shifting the focus back to the human cost strips the "artistic" veneer off the act.
- Support "Counter-Narrative" Content. If terror uses the tools of art to recruit, then the response must also be creative. Supporting art, film, and literature that humanizes the "other" and deconstructs extremist logic is a practical way to fight back.
The idea of terrorism considered as one of the fine arts is a bitter pill to swallow. It forces us to admit that humans can find a twisted kind of "beauty" or "awe" in the most horrific places. But by naming it, we take away its power. We stop being a captive audience and start being critical observers who refuse to be moved by the "performance."
The next time a major global event flashes across your screen, look past the framing. Look past the "production value." See the act for what it is: a desperate, cruel attempt to turn human suffering into a digital asset. When you refuse to give it the "awe" it demands, the "art" fails.