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| The Birth of Tragedy (08) |
of myth; people had to destroy them in order to be able to live detached from their home soil, unrestrained in a wilderness of thought, custom, and action. But now that metaphysical drive still tries to create, even in a toned down form, a transfiguration for itself, in the Socratism of science which pushes forward into life. But on the lower steps this very drive led only to a feverish search, which gradually lost itself in a pandemonium of myths and superstitions from all over the place, all piled up together, in the middle of which, nonetheless, the Hellene sat with an unquenched heart, until he understood to mask that fever with Greek cheerfulness and Greek negligence, in the form of Graeculus, or to plunge completely into some stupefying oriental superstition or other. In the most obvious way, since the reawakening of Alexandrian- Roman antiquity in the fifteenth century, after a long and difficult to describe interval, we have come closer to this condition in the most conspicuous manner. Up on the heights this same abundant desire for knowledge, the same dissatisfied happiness in discovery, the same immense secularization, alongside a homeless wandering around, a greedy thronging at foreign tables, a reckless idolizing of the present, or an apathetic, numbed turning away, with everything sub specie saeculi [under the eye of the secular], of the “present age”; these same symptoms lead us to suspect the same lack at the heart of this culture, the destruction of myth. It seems hardly possible that grafting on a foreign myth would have any lasting success, without in the process irreparably damaging the tree. Perhaps it is at some point strong and healthy enough to slice out this foreign element again with a dreadful struggle, but usually it must waste away infirm and faded or live on in a morbid state. We have such a high regard for the pure and powerful core of the German being that we dare to expect from it, in particular, that elimination of powerfully grafted foreign elements and consider it possible that the German spirit will come back into an awareness of itself on its own. Perhaps some people will think that spirit would have to start its struggle with the elimination of the Romantic, and for that he could recognize an external preparation and encouragement in the victorious courage and bloody glory of the recent war. But the internal necessity must be sought in the competitive striving always to be worthy of the noble pioneers on this road, including Luther just as much as our great artists and poets. But let him never believe that he can fight similar battles without his house gods, without his mythic homeland, without a “bringing back” of all things German! And if the German in his hesitation should look around him for a leader who will take him back again to his long-lost home land, whose roads and pathways he hardly knows any more — then let him only listen to the sweet, enticing call of the Dionysian bird hovering above him seeking to show him the way. 24Among the characteristic artistic effects of musical tragedy we had to stress an Apollonian illusion through which we are to be rescued from immediate unity of being with the Dionysian music, while our musical excitement can discharge itself in an Apollonian sphere and in a visible middle world which interposed itself. By doing this we thought we had noticed how, simply through this discharge, that middle world of the scenic action, the drama in general, to a certain degree became visible and comprehensible from within, in a way which is unattainable in all other Apollonian art, so that here, where the Apollonian is energized and raised aloft, as it were, through the spirit of the music, we had to acknowledge the highest intensification of its power and, therefore, in that fraternal bond of Apollo and Dionysus the peak of both the Apollonian and the Dionysian artistic aims. Of course, the projected Apollonian image with this particular inner illumination through the music does not achieve the effect characteristic of the weaker degrees of Apollonian art, what epic or animated stone is capable of, compelling the contemplating eye to that calm delight in the world of the individual — in spite of a higher animation and clarity, that effect will not permit itself to be attained here.We looked at drama and with a penetrating gaze forced our way into the inner moving world of its motives — and nonetheless for us it was as if only an allegorical picture passed before us, whose most profound meaning we thought we could almost guess and which we wanted to pull aside, like a curtain, in order to look at the primordial image behind it. The brightest clarity of the image did not satisfy us, for this seemed to hide just as much as it revealed. And while, with its allegorical-like revelation, it seemed to promise to rip aside the veil, to disclose the mysterious background, once again it was precisely that penetrating light illuminating everything which held the eye in its spell and prevented it from probing more deeply. Anyone who has not had this experience of having to watch and, at the same time, of yearning to go above and beyond watching will have difficulty imagining how definitely and clearly these two processes exist together and are felt alongside each other, as one observes the tragic myth. However, the truly aesthetic spectators will confirm for me that among the peculiar effects of tragedy that co-existence may be the most remarkable. If we now translate this phenomenon going on in the aesthetic spectator into an analogous process in the tragic artist, we will have understood the genesis of the tragic myth. He shares with the Apollonian sphere of art the full joy in appearances and in watching — at the same time he denies this joy and has an even higher satisfaction in the destruction of the visible world of appearances. The content of the tragic myth is at first an epic event with the glorification of the struggling hero. But what is the origin of that inherently mysterious feature, the fact that the suffering in the fate of the hero, the most painful victories, the most agonizing opposition of motives, in short, the exemplification of that wisdom of Silenus, or, expressing it aesthetically, of the ugly and dissonant, in so many countless forms, is presented with such fondness, always renewed, and precisely in the richest and most youthful age of a people, unless we recognize in all this a higher pleasure? For the fact that in life things are really so tragic would not in the least account for the development of an art form, if art is not only an imitation of natural reality but a metaphysical supplement to that reality, set beside it in order to overcome it. The tragic myth, in so far as it belongs to art at all, also participates fully in this general purpose of art to provide metaphysical transfiguration. But what does it transfigure, when it leads out the world of appearance in the image of the suffering hero? Least of all the “Reality” of this world of appearances, for it says directly to us: “Look here! Look right here! This is your life! This is the hour hand on the clock of your existence!” And did the myth show us this life in order to transfigure it for us? If not, in what does the aesthetic joy consist with which we also allow those images to pass in front of us? I ask about aesthetic delight and know full well that many of these images can in addition now and then still produce a moral pleasure, for example, in the form of pity or a moral triumph. But whoever wants to derive the effect of the tragic merely from these moral origins, as, of course, has been customary in aesthetics for far too long, should not think that, in so doing, he has then done anything for art, which above all must demand purity in its realm. For an explanation of the tragic myth the very first demand is that he seek that joy characteristic of it in the purely aesthetic sphere, without reaching over into the territory of pity, fear, and the morally sublime. How can the ugly and dissonant, the content of the tragic myth, excite an aesthetic delight? Here it is necessary for us to vault with a bold leap into a metaphysics of art, in which I repeat an earlier sentence — that existence and the world appear justified only as an aesthetic phenomenon. It’s in this sense that the tragic myth has to convince us that even the ugly and dissonant are an artistic game, which the will, in the eternal abundance of its joy, plays with itself. But there’s a direct way to make this ur- phenomenon of Dionysian art, so difficult to comprehend, completely understandable and to enable one to grasp it immediately — through the miraculous meaning of musical dissonance, the way the music in general, set next to the world, is the only thing that can give an idea of what it means to understand a justification of the world as an aesthetic phenomenon. The joy which the tragic myth produces has the same homeland as the delightful sensation of dissonance in music. The Dionysian, together with its primordial joy felt even in pain, is the common birth womb of music and the tragic myth. Thus, is it not possible that we have made that difficult problem of the tragic effect really much easier now that we have called on the relation of musical dissonance to help us? For now we understand what it means in tragedy to want to keep looking and at the same time to yearn for something beyond what we see. We would have to characterize this condition in relation to the artistic use of dissonance precisely as the fact that we want to keep listening and at the same time yearn to get beyond what we hear. That striving for the infinite, the wing beat of longing, associated with the highest delight in clearly perceived reality, reminds us that in both states we must recognize a Dionysian phenomenon, which always reveals to us all over again the playful cracking apart and destruction of the world of the individual as the discharge of primordial delight, in a manner similar to the one in which gloomy Heraclitus compares the force constructing the world to a child who playfully sets stones here and there, builds sand piles, and then knocks them down again. And thus in order to assess the Dionysian capability of a people correctly, we have to think not just about their music; we must also think about their tragic myth as the second feature of that capacity. Given this closest of relationships between music and myth, now we can in a similar way assume that a degeneration and deprivation of one of them will be linked to a decline in the other, if in a weakening of myth generally a waning of the Dionysian capability really does manifest itself. But concerning both of these, a look at the development of the German being should leave us in no doubt: in the opera, as well as in the abstract character of our myth-deprived existence, in an art which has sunk down to entertainment, as well as in a life guided by concepts, that inartistic and equally life-draining nature of Socratic optimism stands revealed. For our consolation, however, there were indications that in spite of everything the German spirit rests and dreams in magnificent health, profundity, and Dionysian power undamaged, like a knight sunk down in slumber in an inaccessible abyss. And from this abyss, the Dionysian song rises up to us in order to make us understand that this German knight is also still dreaming his age-old Dionysian myth in solemn, blissful visions. Let no one believe that the German spirit has lost for ever its mythic homeland, when it still understands so clearly the voice of the birds which tell of that homeland. One day it will find itself awake in all the morning freshness of an immense sleep. Then it will kill dragons, destroy the crafty dwarf, and awake Brunhilde — and even Wotan’s spear itself will not be able to block its way!*
My friends, you who have faith in Dionysian music, you also know what tragedy means to us. In it we have the tragic myth, reborn from music — and in it you must hope for everything and forget what is most distressing! The most painful thing, however, for all of us is this — the long degradation under which the German genius, alienated from house and home, has lived in service to that crafty dwarf. You understand my words — as you will also understand my hopes as I conclude.
25Music and tragic myth are equally an expression of the Dionysian capacity of a people and are inseparable from each other. Both derive from an artistic realm that lies beyond the Apollonian. Both transfigure a region in whose joyful chords dissonance as well as the terrible image of world fade delightfully away. Both play with the sting of joylessness, trusting in the extreme power of their magical arts. Through this play both justify the existence of even the “worst of worlds.” Here the Dionysian shows itself, measured against the Apollonian, as the eternal and primordial artistic force, which, in general, summons the entire world of appearances into existence. In its midst a new transfiguring illusion becomes necessary in order to keep alive the living world of the individual. Could we imagine dissonance becoming human — and what is a man other than that? — then this dissonance, in order to be able to live on, would need a marvellous illusion, which covered it with a veil of beauty over its essential being. This is the true artistic purpose of Apollo, in whose name we put together all those countless illusions of beautiful appearances which render existence at every moment generally worth living and push us to experience the next moment. But in this process, from that basis for all existence, from the Dionysian bed rock of the world, only as much can come into the consciousness of the human individual as can be overcome once more by that Apollonian power of transfiguration, so that both of these artistic drives are compelled to display their powers in a strictly mutual proportion, in accordance with the law of eternal justice. Wherever Dionysian power rises up too impetuously, as we are experiencing it, there Apollo must already have come down to us, hidden in a cloud. The next generation may well see the richest of his beautiful effects. However, the fact that this effect is necessary each man will experience most surely through his intuition, if he once, even if only in a dream, feels himself set back into the life of the ancient Greeks. As he wanders under high Ionic colonnades, glancing upwards to a horizon marked off with pure and noble lines, with reflections of his transfigured form beside him in shining marble, around him people solemnly striding or moving delicately, with harmoniously resounding sounds and a speech of rhythmic gestures — faced with this constant stream of beauty, would he not have to extend his hand to Apollo and cry out: “Blessed Hellenic people! How great Dionysus must be among you, if the Delphic god thinks such magic necessary to heal your dithyrambic madness!” — To a person in such a mood as this, however, an old Athenian, looking at him with the noble eye of Aeschylus, might reply: “But, you strange foreigner, say this as well: How much these people must have suffered in order to be able to become so beautiful! But now follow me to the tragedy and sacrifice with me in the temple of both divinities.”
Notes
Note that this first section of the Birth of Tragedy was added to the book many years after it first appeared, as the text makes clear. Nietzsche wrote this “Attempt at Self-Criticism” in 1886. The original text, written in 1870-71, begins with the Preface to Richard Wagner, the second major section in this text.
The Battle of Wörth occurred in August 1870. The German army defeated the French forces. Nietzsche contracted a serious and lingering illness while serving as a medical orderly with the Prussian forces in the Franco-Prussian War. The illness forced him eventually to give up his academic position. In Greek mythology, Dionysus, son of Zeus and the mortal Semele, was the god of wine, associated with ecstatic and intoxicated group rituals. Socrates: (470-399 BC), Athenian philosopher famous for his devotion to challenging the beliefs of his contemporaries with intense questioning. Also as the main character in Plato’s early dialogues, Socrates becomes the chief spokesman for a more rational understanding of life. Epicurus: (341-270 BC), Greek philosopher who stressed that the purpose of thinking was the attainment of a tranquil, pain-free existence. Nietzsche’s word Wissenschaft, an important term in his argument, is here translated as science, or scholarship, or scientific scholarship. The words refers to much more than natural science alone. Richard Wagner: (1813-1883), German composer and essayist, most famous for his operas. Early in Nietzsche’s career he and Wagner (who met in 1868) were close friends. . . . maenad-like: a maenad is an ecstatic follower of the god Dionysus. Pericles: (495-429 BC) political leader of Athens at the height of its power; his Funeral Oration commemorating those Athenians killed in the first year of the Peloponnesian War, as it is described by the great contemporary historian Thucydides (460-395 BC), celebrates the glories of Athens and its citizens. Schopenhauer: Arthur Schopenhauer (1788-1860), German philosopher whose work had a strong influence on Nietzsche. Kant: Immanuel Kant (1724-1804), German philosopher, one of the most important figures in the Enlightenment. A quotation from Goethe’s Faust II, 7438-9. The prose quotation before these lines is from Section 18 of The Birth of Tragedy. Zarathustra: the name Nietzsche uses throughout his works for his re-interpretation of Zoroaster, the ancient Persian prophet, in order to make him a spokesman for his own ideas, notably in Thus Spake Zarathustra (1883-1885), from which these concluding paragraphs are quoted. The original version of Birth of Tragedy (1871) starts with this section. Apollo: in Greek mythology the son of Zeus and Leto (hence a half-brother of Dionysus), associated with the sun and prophecy. Lucretius: Titus Lucretius Carus (99 BC to 55 BC), Roman philosopher and poet, author of De Rerum Natura (On the Nature of Things). Hans Sachs: a historical person and a character portrayed in Richard Wagner’s opera Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg. . . . the veil of Maja: a phrase used by Schopenhauer to describe a screen which exists between “the world inside my head and the world outside my head,” that is, the world of human representation which has no true objectivity. . . . head of Medusa: In Greek mythology, Medusa was one of the three monstrous sisters called the Gorgons; her face could turn those who looked at it into stone. Doric art: An older form of Greek art and architecture which arose in the seventh century BC. Prometheus, a Titan, brought fire down from heaven to human beings. Zeus punished him by chaining him on a mountain and sending a vulture to feed on his liver during the day. Oedipus’ fatal destiny had him unknowingly kill his father and marry his mother. When he learned the truth, he tore out his own eyes. The House of Atreus suffered from a savage curse which pitted Atreus, father of Agamemnon, against his brother Thyestes. Thyestes’ son, Aegisthus, seduced Agamemnon’s wife, Clytaemnestra, and together they murdered Agamemnon. Orestes, Agamemnon’s only son, avenged his father by killing Aegisthus and his own mother, Clytaemnestra. The Etruscans were the dominant group in central Italy before the rise of the Roman Republic. The shade of the dead Achilles makes this claim to Odysseus in Book XI of the Odyssey. Schiller: Johann Christoph Friedrich von Schiller (1759-1805), German poet, dramatist, and philosopher. Rousseau: Jean-Jacques Rousseau (1712-1778), French philosopher, novelist, and political theorist. His book Emile, published in 1762, presents his extremely influential philosophy and program of education. Raphael: Raphael Sanzio (1483-1520) a major artist of the Renaissance. Titans: In Greek mythology these were the divine figures before the Olympians. Zeus overthrew and imprisoned them. The barbarian world, for the Greeks, included those people who did not speak Greek, whose language sounded like gibberish to them (“bar . . . bar . . . bar”). The sphinx was a monster who terrorized the city of Thebes. Oedipus solved the riddle posed by the Sphinx and was made king of Thebes. The Delphic god is Apollo, who had his major shrine at Delphi. Dorian art was associated with Sparta, a city state preoccupied with military training, warfare, and an inflexible political system. Antigone, a daughter of Oedipus, who killed herself rather than obey the state, is the famous tragic heroine of Sophocles’ tragedy Antigone. Cassandra, daughter of Priam, king of Troy, was a prophetess. She was given to Agamemnon as a war prize and murdered along with him by Aegisthus and Clytaemnestra when the Greek armies returned home after the Trojan War. Homer: the name given by the Greeks to the author of the Iliad and Odyssey (composed in the eighth century BC); Archilochus: (680 BC to c. 645 BC), Greek poet from the island of Paros. . . .maenads: These are the ecstatic female worshippers of Dionysus. Euripides: (480-406 BC), famous Greek tragedian. His last play, the Bacchae, was first produced after his death. Terpander: Greek poet in the first half of seventh century BC. Pindar: (c. 522 BC to 443 BC), Greek lyric poet. Aristotle: (384 BC to 322 BC), Greek philosopher. The authority for this claim is Aristotle’s Poetics. A. W. Schlegel: August Wilhelm von Schlegel: German poet and critic, a major figure in German Romanticism. In the Greek theatre the stage area (sometimes called here the acting area) was an elevated platform stage where the principal actors played their roles. The orchestra, the flat semi-circular area extending in front of the stage area, was the territory of the Chorus. . . . the Bacchae: the enraptured followers of the god Dionysus. . . . dithyrambic chorus: The dithyramb was an choral hymn of praise to Dionysus, characterised by a much more ecstatic style than other hymns to the gods, especially to Apollo. . . . Admetus . . . Alcestis: In Greek mythology, when Admetus, king of Thessaly, was dying from illness, Apollo spared him if he could find someone to die in his place. His wife Alcestis volunteered, and Admetus was spared. Hercules later saved Alcestis from death, and she was reunited with her husband. Sophocles wrote two surviving plays about the tragedy of Oedipus, king of Thebes: Oedipus the King and Oedipus at Colonus. The first tells the story of how Oedipus, the wisest man in Thebes, suffers horribly from his own investigations into the murder of his predecessor. The second depicts the reception, years later, of the very old and suffering Oedipus, now near death, by the Athenians. Memnon’s Column: an immense structure in Thebes (in Egypt) beside the temple of Amenhotep III (1400 BC) which gave out sounds when warmed by the sun. Prometheus addresses these words to Zeus, the chief Olympian god. Prometheus, a Titan, was punished savagely by Zeus for stealing fire from heaven and giving it to human beings. Prometheus also knew a secret prophecy that the minor goddess Thetis, whom Zeus wanted to have sex with, would have a son more powerful than his father. Aeschylus (525-456 BC), an Athenian tragedian, presents a version of the story in his play Prometheus Bound (part of a trilogy in which two plays have not survived). Goethe: Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749-1832), German’s greatest writer, author of a poem called Prometheus, in which the mythic Prometheus hurls his defiance at Zeus. Palladium: The Palladium is the divine image or statue which acted as the protector of the state. In a famous incident in the Trojan War, Odysseus and Diomedes stole the Palladium from Troy. Atlas: in Greek mythology one of the primordial Titans, brother of Prometheus, condemned by Zeus to hold up the sky so that it would remain separated from earth. A quotation from Goethe’s Faust. Euripides: (480-406 BC), a major Athenian tragic dramatist, the last of the celebrated trio of Aeschylus, Sophocles, and Euripides. Dionysus is a principal character in Euripides’ last play, The Bacchae. The claim Nietzsche refers to is made by Aristotle in his Poetics. Plato: (428-348 BC), the most important philosopher in classical Greece, who distinguished between a real word of ideal forms and the phenomenal world of sense experience, with the latter being an inferior imitation of the former. According to some Greek myths Zeus and the goddess Demeter were the parents of Zagreus, a child who was torn to pieces by the Titans but who was later born again, either reassembled by Demeter or born to the mortal Semele. Zagreus was identified with the god Dionysus, child of Zeus and Semele. Tartarus: a region underground, where Zeus imprisoned the Titans after overcoming them. Lucians: Lucian of Samosata (125 AD-180 AD), a popular satirist in Roman Syria who wrote in Greek and, among other things, made fun of traditional stories. Tiberius: Tiberius Caesar August (42 BC to 37 AD), second Roman emperor, after Augustus. Pan: in Greek mythology, a god of the wilderness, hunting, and shepherds. The quotation comes from Plutarch, a Greek historian (46 AD to 120 AD). Philemon: (c. 362 BC to c. 262 BC), very successful Athenian playwright; Menander: (c. 342 to 291 BC), Greek dramatist, famous for his works of New Comedy. Graeculus: “little Greek,” a pejorative name for a Greek; Aristophanes (456 BC to 386 BC), the greatest dramatist of Old Comedy; his play Frogs features a long satiric verbal duel between Euripides and Aeschylus in Hades, an argument about which of them is the better poet and what the features of the best poetry must be. Pythagoras: a Greek philosopher in the sixth century BC; Heraclitus: ( 535 BC to 475 BC), Ionian philosopher. Lessing: Gotthold Ephraim Lessing (1729 to 1781), German dramatist, writer, and art critic. Cadmus and Tiresias: Cadmus, founder of Thebes, and Tiresias, the blind prophet, are two old men in Euripides’ Bacchae. They are mocked in the play for their desire to observe the Dionysian rites. At the end of the play, Cadmus is transformed into a dragon. Euripides wrote the Bacchae at the very end of his life when he had left Athens for Macedonia. The work was discovered and performed after his death. deus ex machina (lit. “god out of a machine), a term describing the resolution of a complex action by an extremely implausible event (e.g., by having a god come down from on high to sort out all the problems on the spot and to indicate what will happen in future to the main characters). Anaxagoras: (c. 500 BC to 428 BC), an Ionian materialistic philosopher. Socrates was charged by the Athenians with impiety, put on trial, and sentenced to death. He died by drinking hemlock, the official method of execution. Battle of Marathon: (490 BC) one of the highest points of Greek (and especially Athenian) history, when a small force of Greeks, led by the Athenians, defeated the Persian expeditionary force at Marathon, near Athens. The Sophists were professional teachers of rhetoric, who had the reputation of using clever arguments to criticize traditional truths and to help their clients and pupils succeed in legal disputes with sophisticated new reasoning, which many people regarded as specious. Aristophanes portrays Socrates as the leader of a school of sophistic reasoning in his play Clouds. Alcibiades: (c. 450 BC to 404 BC), erratic and charismatic Athenian politician and military officer, who repeatedly changed his allegiance during the Peloponnesian War (defecting to Sparta and Persia and then returning). The quotation comes from Goethe’s Faust. Cyclops: In Greek mythology a cyclops was a huge, one-eyed, cannibal monster living in the wilderness. Gellert: Christian Fürchtegott Gellert (1715 to 1769), German poet and professor of philosophy, famous for his moralistic fables. In Plato’s theory of knowledge, reality is ideal and can be apprehended only through the intellect, not through the senses. The sensible world around us contains copies of that ideal reality (empirical objects copy or participate in the Idea of the object). Achilles: the principal character of Homer’s Iliad, is the pre-eminent warrior hero of Greek culture. Mephistopheles . . . Lamia: In Goethe’s Faust, Mephistopheles is a representation of the Devil. Lamia is an alternative name for Lilith, Adam’s first wife. In Faust she is portrayed as a beautiful seductive woman. Palestrina: Giovanni Pierluigi da Palestrina (1525 to 1594), Italian musician, famous for his polyphonic vocal harmonies. In Dante’s Divine Comedy, the Roman poet Virgil is the narrator’s guide through the circles of Hell but has to leave him as the narrator moves up into Purgatory and Paradise. Hercules . . . Omphale: In Greek mythology, the great hero Hercules had to serve for three years as a slave to Omphale, queen of Lydia, in retribution for murder. Otto Jahn: (1813 to 1869), German scholar of archaeology and philology and writer on music. Heraclitus: ( c. 535 to 475 BC), pre-Socratic Greek philosopher from Asia Minor. Winckelmann: Johann Joachim Winckelmann (1717 to 1768), German art historian and archaeologist, an important figure in the study of the classical Greeks. Dürer: Albrecht Dürer (1471 to 1528), German painter, particularly famous for his prints. Persian Wars: Persian forces invaded Greece twice, in 490 and in 480 BC. The first expedition ended with the Battle of Marathon and the second with the naval battle of Salamis and the land battle of Plataea. These victories were high points of classical Hellenic experience, particularly for the spirit of courage and cooperation they displayed in the face of what looked like insuperable odds. Gervinus: Georg Gottfried Gervinus (1805 to 1871), German literary and political historian. Tristan and Isolde: an opera by Richard Wagner, first performed in 1865. These lines come from Wagner’s opera Tristan and Isolde, Act III. Lohengrin: an opera by Richard Wagner first produced in 1848.
Wotan and his daughter, Brunhilde are characters in Richard Wagner’s opera cycle The Ring of the Nibelungen. The crafty dwarf, also a character in the work, is Alberich who guards the Rhinegold treasure.
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