THE PHILOLOGY OF EXISTENCE, THE
DRAMATURGY
OF FORCE ?
Peter-Sloterdijk-Thinker-on-Stage
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THE PHILOLOGY OF EXISTENCE, THE DRAMATURGY OF FORCE ?
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with depth psychology and ? because these are merely descriptively positive titles for something that radically defies clear definition, something that is evasive and negative. In any case, it would appear to be a stage upon which modern individuals act out a drama that ? risking a falsely pos- itive nomenclature) could be characterized as their search for self. Elevated to such a stage, theory becomes ? porous, and is permeated with the most powerfully instinctual existential tensions of those who do their thinking upon it. Thus even philology, initially so well behaved, can become adventurous. Within this context, theory is no longer a discursive mechanism that is served and reconstructed by the functionaries of thought, but instead represents a stage upon which life is transformed into an "experiment on the part of the
He who steps out upon this stage wants to distinguish himself in a specific intention is to betray himself. But he wants to so do in order to force the dilemma, whose mask he feels himself to be, into plain view to the point at which it will betray itself. A mode of thought that has been existentially blown open in this way intends no affront toward so-called serious research, even if the its incurable ? ? understands it as such. Rather, its in- tention is to replenish the vital essence of this research. He who permits himself to think in this way does so not to get away with accomplishing less but to risk He who takes the stage as a thinker and takes a chance as a spokesman for an experimental existence must, from that point onward, assume an all-encom- passing responsibility for the immediate and the indirect truth-value of his per- formance. At the same time, he has earned the right to have everything that he brings forward used against him "before the ? him, and, at the same time, in his defense ? this right means a great deal to anyone who has placed himself, by way of a radical self-sacrifice, beyond the shallow position of
being simply either "for or
"Before the would indicate a second stage, upon which the ad- venturer of theory and the hero of thought no longer figures personally, but upon which, instead, his critics, his fans, and all those who, because of their openness to his suggestions, feel they have earned the right to hold the ground-breaking thinker accountable for his ? The extremely specific relationship be- tween Nietzsche's writing and both his contemporary public and posterity can best be characterized through the image of the dual stage ? upon which the thinker exposes and implicates himself, and the other upon which those who agree with him and follow his thought test the applicability of the protagonist's truths to their own lives.
If a dramatized reflection is really an "experiment on the part of the per- then the ? gained from this experimental arrangement must at- tract attention as the self-realizations of the thinker, while his mistakes are rec- ognized as his personal failings. Thinking on stage is more likely to generate truth by following the archaic models of the wager or divine judgment than
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through the modern schematic of discursive inference from principles. In accor- dance with a totally apothecary concept of truth
what appears here as truth is not what has been proved to be theoretically the most but rather what best proves itself within the context of a suc- cessful ? Whenever the thinker brings the truth about himself to light upon the stage, he reveals himself, eo ipso, in the process of becoming what he is. If he does not do so, he exposes the truth about himself and his hypothesis in that, like the heroes of antiquity, he succumbs to his dilemma and runs aground on his own inability to understand himself.
Whatever one thinks of Nietzsche, he must impress even his detractors in one respect, since, in his willingness to risk intellectual truths, he was the most au- dacious thinker of the new era. He paid the price for the danger inherent in his thinking to a degree unparalleled by almost anyone else. In his program for the stage, which was intended to lend him credibility as the new Dionysian hero, he ultimately proved himself to be above all else a hero of his own times, a hero of
Posing and reflecting upon an open stage, he submitted himself to the laws of an unrelenting self-exposure. In his attempt to become what he was, he implicated himself in the most tortuous of comedies -- so as to become what he was not: a hero, a superhuman, a "Superman" ? The greatest dis- covery made in his heroic search for truth was therefore an unintentional one: he brought to light the truth about heroism as representing the continuation of a fun- damental
The first victim of Nietzsche's debut on the stage of truth was his standing within his own profession. One ? ? ? be ? was common practice within the field of classical philology and its critical methodology, which, with its conjecturing and ? was part renunciatory and part subordinate, before one can appreciate the grotesque gap between Nietzsche's attempt to push forward and what was customary within the field. What Nietzsche carried out was not a mere switch to a different specialization, a transfer from philology to philosophy; what he accomplished was nothing less than academic suicide. From this point forward, Nietzsche no longer addresses antiquity as a classical scholar. Whenever he does call upon the ancients, it is as a modern mystagogue and leader of orgies who always speaks from a perspective of inner simultaneity with the early Greek mysteries. Dionysus, Apollo, Ariadne, the Sphinx, the Minotaur,
that point on, these are simply mythological names for contem- porary forces and allegories for acute sensations of pain. Modernity is thus no longer merely a name given to a volcanic process of repulsion on the part of an undetermined present in the face of its own prehistory (Vorzeit); for Nietzsche, it becomes concurrently the almost accidental point of departure for the rediscov- ery of the basic truths of Greece. (As is the intellectual custom, Sigmund Freud proved himself a generation later to be the truest of Nietzsche's indirect students
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in that he also attempted to formulate his psychological opinions in the language of a time-obliterating modern mythology. )
But how is an "actualism" (Aktualismus) of this sort possible? How can a modern individual, contrary to all the rules of historical consciousness, want to place himself into a position of contemporaneousness with concepts that are so temporally and culturally far removed? What right does a modern thinker extinguish an interval of two thousand five hundred years so that he can about the drama of the ancient Greeks as though he were discussing an
personal experience? Two observations on Nietzsche's way of positioning himself on the stage of thought can provide us with answers to these questions.
First, even before he had voiced a single word upon the stage, Nietzsche was made ripe for it by his decision before the fact to present "something great" on the subject of the Greeks. What has been described here as his characteristic "cult of genius" refers not only to a psychic disposition on his part but also to a preliminary methodological decision on what his relationship with the historical material would be. As Faust called upon the spirit of the earth (Erdgeist), so Nietzsche calls upon the spirit of genius in early Greece to answer the question, How does one mind speak to another? And he himself provides the answer. The Greek world discusses its most puzzling mysteries to its greatest advantage with a certain professor in Basel who, because he is on scandalously intimate terms with Lady Antiquity, will one day be a former and ridiculed professor. Nietz- sche's radical "actualism" is therefore an expression of his "cult of genius" a-vis early Greek thought and poetry. The cult of genius, however, is to a sub- stantial degree one of concurrent genius ? ? and consequently it results in the conviction that anything exceptional can be understood only by its
that ? greatness can be recognized only by an equal ? depth by an equal degree of ? suffering by an equal suffering, and the heroic through an equal heroism. Nietzsche's concept of concurrent genius in any case forced the issue to such an extent that it conceived of the intellectual history of Europe as representing merely a spiritual migration on the part of the great intellects, whose path had led from Homer and Heraclitus to Kant and Schopenhauer and, through them, to Wagner and Nietzsche ? migration that always took place, of course, at the lonely heights where, aside from these thinkers, only eagles could survive.
The second prerequisite for Nietzsche's actualistic conjuring up of Hellenism lies in his historical-philosophical claims. Whenever Nietzsche takes the stage as prophetic Greek scholar, he is wearing not only the mask of the genial hero of thought but also that of a philosopher of history or, more correctly, a mythologist of history. Equipped with its powers of authority, he condenses the past two thou-
sand five hundred years ? a pathetic lack of concern ? a simple
like or circular movement. Accordingly, the initial depth of the early Greek tragic consciousness is lost in favor of a vulgar, optimistic conception of the world that succeeds in the form of a Socratic ? the ruthless insipidity of
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which is eventually denounced and must lead sooner or later to the rebirth of a tragic consciousness. European intellectual history thus appears as the ebb and flow of a single motif that circles around or undulates between ascent, descent, and return. Nietzsche's construction of history possesses the primitive circularity of myth. What circles is a heroic pessimism that is born and dies like a being, certain of being reborn. We observe here an archaic triad: the birth of trag- edy out of the spirit of music, the death of tragedy because of the optimistic
program of a so-called enlightenment, and the rebirth of tragedy out of spirit of German music ? which he meant the music of the present, which bore the mark of Richard
He who speaks in such mythic formulas has ceased to report as a historian on things that have actually existed. He has left the dust-gray archives and entered the arena or, to put it a better way, the maternity ward in which European culture is reborn as a tragic one. In this way, the mythologist of history is transformed into a midwife at the rebirth of phenomena that will burst forth today or, at the latest, tomorrow. Even this formulation does not go far enough: Nietzsche cannot be content to sit as a kind of tragic gynecologist before the birth canal of the intellect and wait for whatever might appear. He himself begins, surreptitiously and yet as if he were being enticed by an irresistible allure, to play the role of the one who is again giving birth. In the ardor of his prophecy, he simultaneously becomes the pregnant mother, the gynecologist, and the divine child. In repre- senting himself as the assistant present at the rebirth, Nietzsche was no doubt alluding to Wagner, the musical orgy leader, who had once again lifted the mu- sical drama of the present to tragic heights ? in making this allusion he also included himself as its ? incarnate logos and true ? in whom the master could be well
In doing ? Nietzsche drew attention not to the epic but rather to the dra- matic basic structure of modern philosophies of history. For that which occurs on the level of greatness is staged not in terms of narrative but of in terms of
However peaceful the tone might be in which one expresses these his- torical-philosophical theses, they always include the dramatic intervention of the speaker in a phenomenon that is understood as one of universal historical impor- tance. He who proclaims a theory of progress inevitably includes himself as a participant, supporter, and culmination point in the drama of progress; he who presents a theory of decline asserts himself as someone affected by that decline, whether this takes the form of lamentation, resignation, or simply standing one's ground. He who diagnoses rebirths or periods of change brings himself into play as an ? an agent of ? or even as a candidate for
And, finally, he who prophesies decline declares himself a ? a prac- titioner of euthanasia, a hired mourner, or ultimately someone who exploits the carrion of a dying culture. This was true of Spengler, who was not content with simply diagnosing the decline of the West, but who also presented himself as an
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fatally clever (sterbensklug) latter-day barbarian who kept a stoic, cynical watch during the death agony of European civilization.
Viewed in this light, historical-philosophical speech acts are the speech acts of a cultural orientation par excellence. The description of one's own historical sition determines the quality of one's historical pose. Where, however, should these speech acts be performed if not on the dramatic stage of thought, upon which the engaged actors themselves intervene in the fate of their culture? We are able to recognize in Nietzsche more clearly than in anyone ? Lenin being the only exception of equal stature ? fact that great historical-philo- sophical oratory allows the speaker to burst forth like a force ? whereby this oratory reaches a crisis point in a self-realization as a proclamation of self on the part of the speaker, and not without this realization being inserted most nar- rowly into the tendencies and potentiality of the moment. He who speaks like a modern mythologist of history always does so because the time for it is ripe within him. For this reason, the choice of words governed by convenience (Ge- legenheit) also comprises consistently ? (kairologische) phenom- ena, by which I mean, in the highest sense of the term, timely condensations of circumstances into phenomenological verbalizations and personifications. The thinker on the stage does not speak as a fool so much on his own initiative; rather, he speaks ? that he is pursuing his own ? the name of the "uni-
versal moment" that is being interpreted through him. The subjectivity of the speaker is elevated by this, purified of the interests of arrogance, and transformed into a phenomenon. Every essential historical moment is, ? Walter Benjamin ? "moment of danger," and it is this danger that mediates all subjectivity. Thus, one can also ? a slight taste for dark formula-
it is not the thinker who is engaging himself and thinking. Rather, it is this danger that engages itself and thinks through him.
We must be adamant on this point: from behind the camouflage of genius and a historical-mythological enthusiasm, Nietzsche is able to set about discussing his concept of Hellenism with an unrestrained sense of contemporaneity. From here on, historical references serve only as ? foundation for the performance of the most contemporary of plays. To be sure, the fable upon which Nietzsche bases his attempt is of an archetypal simplicity, as elementary as the most ancient losophy and as monotonic as archaic What is a human being? What is the world? Why must the world cause us to how can we be released from this suffering? These questions have an almost flat and superficial ring when measured against the shocking violence with which the isolated consciousness, awakened to the dilemma that is raging within it, is frightened by its own indi-
and, after having been thus frightened, no longer is anything but the craving to understand what within it is really of any consequence. Who am I? What will be my fate? Why must I be "I"? There are no other questions.
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In the initial stages of his performance, Nietzsche is still somewhat removed from reducing his undertaking to this primary form. This does not hinder him from already expressing himself within ? with his Hellenist decorum, his Schopenhauerian vocabulary, his illusionist-rhetorical coquetry, and the edu- cated-bourgeois cast of his drapery. None of this can alter the fact that in his first book (as will be the case in general in his later literary work), the dramatic pri- mary structure of the search for the genuine self begins to function with great clarity. Motivated by a powerful need to express himself, the thinker steps out onto the stage, borne up by the certainty that his previous presentiments were sufficient to warrant making a spectacular entrance--whatever might still sepa- rate him from the latest views. Certainly, the actor does not yet know how his compulsion will express itself, and he is certain that the last word cannot be spoken for a long time ? At the same ? because he is beset by the feeling that he is pregnant with great things, he is convinced that he has said something of the utmost significance ? else can a man do who is convinced that the greatest man of his time, Richard Wagner, has acknowledged him as an equal? The drama begins as if the actor wants to say, "I am here, but I am not yet myself. I must therefore become myself. I would therefore wager that what I really have to say will be revealed as the drama runs its ? This might possibly be the fundamental formulation of that thought that is marked by the dynamic between the search for self and the attempt to release oneself from The thinker is not yet in possession of himself to such an extent that he can present himself to the world with the gesticulation of Ecce Homo, but he does promise that he will succeed in retrieving himself through a process of radical self-searching coram publico. The overall effect is as if his shadow should say to the wanderer, " I f I pursue you with a sufficient degree of intensity, I will finally possess ? Or, the reverse, as if the wanderer were to say to the shadow, "I must first jump over you before I can arrive at
As paradoxical as this all may sound, these duplications of the ego into the seeker and what is sought, the questioner and he who answers, the present self and the self that is yet to be, belong inexorably to the structure of an impassioned existential search for ? (In Chapter 3 I will comment further on the paradox- ical nature of the search as a means for avoiding the truth. )
In order to discover the truth about himself, therefore, the thinker must ini- tially proceed from himself as relentlessly as he can because, otherwise, nothing else that could be found would be available for ? for the nonobjective impulse. Like all of those who think creatively, Nietzsche must first rehearse what he has to say before he can know what he has been actually carrying within himself. This reminds us of the familiar joke: "How can I know what I am think- ing before I have heard what I am ? This makes it clear, in any case, that the joke has more descriptive power than the serious postulation that "thinking" precedes its expression. In truth, the joke illustrates in the most abbreviated form
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THE PHILOLOGY OF EXISTENCE, THE DRAMATURGY OF FORCE ? 23
the structure of the search for ? Therefore, he who seeks the truth about him- self in a positive representation must first realize himself positively in order to find anything in this realization that would permit him to discover himself. For previously there had been, for lack of expression, nothing to discover because nothing had been expressed for lack of its having been sought.
Assuming that we are now in a position appropriately to follow Nietzsche's appearance as the announcer of another Hellenism, what does he say about the Greeks and, through them, about himself? To what extent could a new approach to the psychology of the Greek populace and Greek art also bring to light any truth about the reckless Greek scholar?
One ? I believe, summarize the fundamental assertions of Nietzsche's def- inition of the world as it is introduced to us in the book on tragedy in two state- ments. The first of these would be the following: the usual individual life is a hell made up of suffering, brutality, baseness, and entanglement, for which there is no more apt assessment than the dark wisdom of the Dionysian ? that the best thing for man would be to have never been born; the next best, to die as soon as possible. The second statement would read: this life is made bearable only by intoxication and by dreams, by this twofold path to ecstasy that is open to indi- viduals for ? The Birth of Tragedy is to a great extent a paraphrase of this second statement and a fantasy on the possibility of unifying both forms of ecstasy in a single religious artistic phenomenon ? phenomenon Nietzsche identified as early Greek tragedy.
The path of intoxication is delegated to the god Dionysus and his orgiastic manifestations; the way of the dream to the god Apollo and his love for clarity, visibility, and beautiful limitation. To Dionysus belongs music and its narcotic and cathartic power; to Apollo belongs the epic Mythos with its blissful clarity and visionary ? The individual who is weighed down by everyday misery therefore has available to him these two paths for lifting himself out of his
paths that can unite to form the royal path of a single tragic art, provided one has chosen one's birth date appropriately so that one can be incar- nated either as an ancient Greek or a modern Wagnerian. Both paths, that of in- toxication and that of the ? concern themselves in different ways with the overcoming of individuation, which is the source of all suffering. Thus, intoxi- cation ? ? individual out of the limitations of his ego, in order to release him into the ocean of a cosmic unity of pain and pleasure, whereas the dream has the capacity ? the ? as necessary forms of existence under the ? ? ? beau- tiful form. The ? ? ? ? ? Apollo- nian with each other. This fusion takes place, for Nietzsche, under the Dionysian sign because it comprehends the Apollonian ele- ments of epic stage plot and the mythic fate of the ? only the
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dreams of the ecstatic chorus, which sees in the visible fates of the heroes ob- of the suffering god Dionysus.
In fecTTWetzsclieVTJooR~r5n~tragedy is almost always fixed to the apparent dimension of its contents and read as a Dionysian manifesto. However, a dram- aturgical reading leads with the greatest possible certainty to the opposite con- clusion. What Nietzsche brings forth upon the stage is not so much the
of ? ? ? Even this reading would seem somewhat scandalous ? the classical image of Greek culture, because it no longer recognizes the serene authority of Apollo as ? given, but instead teaches it as representing a courageous vic- tory over an alternative world of dark and obscene ? This does not alter the fact that in Nietzsche, from the dramaturgical perspective, the Apollonian world of illusion has the last ? or not this illusion dances henceforth before our eyes with an infinitely deeper opalescence. It is almost as if the hu- manistic enthusiasts of Greek culture were suddenly being expected to acknowl- edge that this beautiful Apollonian man's world actually represented a Dionysian
theater and that, in the future, there could be no more relying on the edifying unequivocality of the Apollonian empire of light.
If one examined closely the fabric of Nietzsche's tragic universe, one would deliberately have to falsify one's gaze to not perceive that, in Nietzsche, the Dionysian element is never in power as such. The orgiastic musical element is never in danger of breaking through the Apollonian barriers, for the stage itself, the tragic ? Nietzsche constructed ? in keeping with his overall plan, nothing other than a sort of Apollonian catch mechanism that ensures that no orgy will result from the orgiastic song of the ? The music of the
ing he-goats is a Dionysian paroxysm set apart in Apollonian quotation
And only because the quotation marks are summoned in order to make the sounc s of Dionysian savagery palatable for the stage are the great dark driving force s able, their impersonal casualness ? notwithstanding, to bring fort their contribution to a higher culture. Within this arrangement, the impossible can also be raised to the ? it acquiesces to the Apollonian quo- tation marks, that is, to the compulsion to articulate, symbolize, disembody, rep- resent. Without these quotation marks there would be, so to ? no perfor- mance rights granted. Only when the passions have promised to behave as they should are they permitted to conduct themselves as they wish. The price paid for the freedom of art is the constraint imposed upon it.
Nietzsche's appearance on stage thus assumes a profile that goes beyond empty ? If we only saw it previously in its most superficial appearance on stage masked by the cult of genius and its mythological ? it now puts on a second mask, penetrating deeper into itself and into the ancient presentation of the play. From this moment on, the empty craving for and formless claim to a great self become a stage phenomenon of illuminating ? Nietz-
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sche's second masking as a Greek scholar tells us that this self has borne itself into a conflict, and that this conflict is between two deities who interact with each other like impulse and constraint, passion and control, release and moderation, movement and contemplation, compulsion and vision, music and image, w i l l and representation.
In our further discussion, we must accept that everything that happens on stage is being impelled forward by a conflict within the actor, a conflict that is intended to be reflected in the opposition between the two deities of art. It does seem, however, as if Nietzsche was unwilling actually to settle this conflict. To a much greater ? he insisted on exposing it as something that ? to a certain
meant to stand before us as an eternal polarity, comparable to a sculpture carved in stone of two superhuman wrestlers whose potential for violence is im- mediately apparent to anyone without their ever having to move. Both deities seem to have been frozen in a vision of struggling movement.
What is the significance of this state of affairs? We must first understand what it was that Nietzsche was decreeing with such great ? Apollo Dionysus, after an initial ? counterbalance each other and have our in- terests at heart exclusively in their compromise. A resulting attention to symme- try, to a principle of equilibrium ? can therefore be attributed to Nietzsche's second mask; however, the idea of a balance is nowhere established conscientiously as ? but is instead inserted in a manner that is as surreptitious as it is energetic. In truth, the polarity between Apollo and Dionysus is not a turbulent opposition that vacillates freely between the two extremes; we are deal- ing much more here with a stationary polarity that leads to a clandestine doubling of the Apollonian. The Apollonian Unified Subject ? makes certain, through the mechanism of the silently established axiom of balance, that the Dionysian Other never comes into play as itself, but only as the dialectical or symmetrical Other to the Unified Subject. An Apollonian principle governs the antagonism between the Apollonian and the ? This permits us to understand why Nietzsche, although he presents himself as the herald of the Dionysian, at the same time perpetually appears with the demeanor of heroic self-control, to such an extent that what must control itself is named, emphasized, and celebrated as a Dionysian musical force ? always with the sort of emphasis whereby what is stressed remains under Apollonian control. Apollo is, even within Nietzsche himself, the ruler in the antithetical relationship with his Other.
W ith the establishment of this symmetrically frozen mask made up of the two halves of the faces of both deities, Nietzsche accomplished a stroke of genius vis-a-vis self-representation that has fascinated us to this day. For, far from reproaching him for not "really" giving full license to the Dionysian ? we would imagine the case to be after a century of liberalization and
tion ? must wonder at the mythological device that enabled him to open up the passage to the Dionysian a crack wider. Manfred Frank has demonstrated
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most impressively in his book Der kommende Gott (The god to come) that this device was not without preconditions, but that the groundwork for it had been laid by the thought of early romanticism and Richard
Nietzsche's thought is established within this Dionysian fissure. However, he who begins thinking with the fissure of origin must be prepared to accept, as a logical consequence, the condition of having escaped as also being one of disso- lution and separation. Having made this acceptance possible within a cultural context is the greatest profoundly depth-psychological accomplishment of ro- mantic ? Nietzsche is able to risk putting on the double mask of Apollo and Dionysus because, since romanticism, the motif of a psychological fissure had become culturally acceptable. Even for those who were the most cissistically sensitive and chaste, this high-cultural symbolism had in the mean- time made a noncontemptible means of expression available for ambivalent psy- chological self-representation. Nietzsche made use of the romantic capability for looking back from the rationality of the day into the reason of the night in order to scout out, in his own way, the Dionysian energetics of the foundation of being. We cannot overlook the fact that this represents an extremely mediated and guarded form of playing with primordial
The recollection of Dionysus is precisely not a naturalistic Propddeutik of bar- barism; rather, it is the attempt to sink the foundation of culture deeper into an era of barbaric menace. In any case, Nietzsche's Dionysian fissure proves to be the most promising form for maintaining a relationship to that which precedes a con- scious awareness of ? arrangement to which one continually returns whenever the question arises as to how the Dionysian truths contained within the foundation of pain and pleasure ? can be "integrated" into the forms of modern life without our having to succumb to the barbaric risks of mad- ness and violence. My observations with respect to Nietzsche's acknowledgment of symmetry and his opting for the submission of the Dionysian to the com- pulsion toward the symbolic corroborate the thesis that few nineteenth-century books are quite as Apollonian as The Birth of Tragedy. The extent to which it can also be read as a Dionysian text will become apparent in Chapter 4 ? we imag- ine the esoteric concept of the "Dionysian" as representing philosophical
Nevertheless, what has been said must seem astonishing when dealing with an author who considered himself to be the rediscoverer of Dionysus. We cannot delude ourselves about one thing: whenever Nietzsche referred in his later work to The Birth of Tragedy, as he did in the famous "Attempt at a Self-Criticism" and in the preface to Ecce Homo, he did so in spite of all his reservations about the "immature" features of his first book, and was consistently aware that this
of its new understanding of the ? His own Dionysian reading of The Birth of Tragedy can ? all
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through the fact that, for the later Nietzsche, the word "Dionysian" was the equivalent of ? "heathen," "immoral,"
that correspond overwhelmingly to the tendencies of the book on its semantic
But this thematic prominence of the Dionysian cannot diminish the fact of the the Apollonian.
? ? ? ? ? I suggest that we take a
sian. This degree of exactness is justifiable, not least of all because, in the book on tragedy, there is one point at which the mystery of Nietzsche's Greek scholar concept of the Dionysian is laid bare ? bare, in fact, that there is nothing left that would require ? Nietzsche exposes his Dionysian alchemy, that is, his talent for changing a he-goat into a musician, at this one point more clearly than anywhere else. Let us slowly read through this most important first chapter once again.
What is happening here? Before our eyes, Nietzsche splits the Dionysian throng into two severely differentiated, almost oppositional choruses, which relate to each other like culture and nature or like civilization and barbarism. Ac- cording to the author, a "monstrous gap" separates the Dionysians of Greece from those of the a gap the highly cultured individual will never again bridge will never even be able to want to bridge. This gap ? take on immeasurable significance for the theory of tragedy. We can convince ourselves of this whenever we wait for the moment at which the fictive procession of the approaching god with its followers rolls toward us, only to be divided at the very second at which the winged (beschwingt) classical philologist is attempting to join it. The element that had fascinated the philologist in the distant and as yet undivided view of this chorus of Dionysian throngs is too evident to require an explanation. For, from a distance and presuming a grandiose disregard for de- tails, the vulgar chorus is condensed into a humanistic dream image with an ir- resistible power to entice:
Under the charm of the Dionysian not only is the union between man and man reaffirmed, but nature which has become alienated, hostile, or subjugated, celebrates once more her reconciliation with her lost son, man. ? ? ? Now the slave is a free man; now all the rigid, hostile barriers that necessity, caprice, or "impudent convention" have fixed between man and man are broken. Now, with the gospel of universal harmony, each one feels himself not only united, reconciled, and fused with his neighbor, but as one with him, as if the veil of had been torn aside and were now merely fluttering in tatters before the mysterious primordial unity. In song and dance man expresses himself as a member of a higher community. p. 37)
This is what Nietzsche has written though the reader might not believe his own eyes. If the text were to continue in the vein in which it has ? The Birth
construction of the Diony-
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of Tragedy would be read today as The Socialist Manifesto, one that would not have to shrink from being compared with The Communist Manifesto. The work would be read as the program for an aesthetic socialism and as the Magna Carta of a cosmic ? one would glean from this book precisely those character- istics that only vestigially shared in the image of the corresponding political or- ganizations and ideologies. But the temptation Nietzsche feels to enter into tory as the spokesman for a socialism lasts only for a
long as it takes for the throngs of the to ? past at the appropriate hisj torical distance ? the reconciliation with man and nature is directly
of no
As soon as proximity provides for the dissolution of an idealistic inexactitude,
all previous premises are reversed. Admittedly, to the same extent that the fusion with the whole appeared as pure impossibility, nothing stood in the way of a sac- rifice to the ? But if the raving chorus of sounds, bodies, and appe- tites comes closer, the abyss of primordial origin is opened up into that to which the individualized subject cannot want to revert for anything in the world. Images of horror immediately rise ? of fatal constriction and death by suffo- cation in the cavern of eros. What appeared previously as a blessed disentangle- ment is now seen as a horrible dismemberment; that which longing purported to crave now causes it to recoil in horror with a definite sense of nausea in the face of its realization. The impulse toward unification suddenly changes over into a frenzy of ? and the eros of the return to the womb of earth and com- munity is transformed into a panic of dissolution and revulsion at the prospect of the socialist vulvocracy
This is the decisive moment. The bacchanalian festival procession is now split apart, and while the Dionysian barbarians continue to revel in their group rut, a noble minority branches off that has placed itself under the command of the Greek will to ? And thus, away with the barbaric ? of the Orient! Away with the orgiastic sexuality of the cult of ? Away with the compulsion toward physical contact among the people and other unappetizing ? Away with this leftist, Green Party, all-embracing crudeness! An Apollonian interven- tion is demanded here; a masculine, self-aware, individualistic principle should intervene, one that would confront with its purity and selectivity any sort of ob- scene confusion. Before the common Dionysians can become Greek and Nietz- schean Dionysians, they must be filtered through a sort of preliminary purifica- tion process. This I will call, following Nietzsche's description of it, the process of "Doric
Early Hellenism erected, so we are told, a masculine dam to protect itself against the Dionysian flood. It heroically resisted the "extravagant sexual licen- tiousness" that was characteristic of the Walpurgis Nights of the barbarian Dionysus. The Doric dam construction was responsible whenever the "horrible
of sensuality and cruelty" became ? The Diony-
? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ?
with depth psychology and ? because these are merely descriptively positive titles for something that radically defies clear definition, something that is evasive and negative. In any case, it would appear to be a stage upon which modern individuals act out a drama that ? risking a falsely pos- itive nomenclature) could be characterized as their search for self. Elevated to such a stage, theory becomes ? porous, and is permeated with the most powerfully instinctual existential tensions of those who do their thinking upon it. Thus even philology, initially so well behaved, can become adventurous. Within this context, theory is no longer a discursive mechanism that is served and reconstructed by the functionaries of thought, but instead represents a stage upon which life is transformed into an "experiment on the part of the
He who steps out upon this stage wants to distinguish himself in a specific intention is to betray himself. But he wants to so do in order to force the dilemma, whose mask he feels himself to be, into plain view to the point at which it will betray itself. A mode of thought that has been existentially blown open in this way intends no affront toward so-called serious research, even if the its incurable ? ? understands it as such. Rather, its in- tention is to replenish the vital essence of this research. He who permits himself to think in this way does so not to get away with accomplishing less but to risk He who takes the stage as a thinker and takes a chance as a spokesman for an experimental existence must, from that point onward, assume an all-encom- passing responsibility for the immediate and the indirect truth-value of his per- formance. At the same time, he has earned the right to have everything that he brings forward used against him "before the ? him, and, at the same time, in his defense ? this right means a great deal to anyone who has placed himself, by way of a radical self-sacrifice, beyond the shallow position of
being simply either "for or
"Before the would indicate a second stage, upon which the ad- venturer of theory and the hero of thought no longer figures personally, but upon which, instead, his critics, his fans, and all those who, because of their openness to his suggestions, feel they have earned the right to hold the ground-breaking thinker accountable for his ? The extremely specific relationship be- tween Nietzsche's writing and both his contemporary public and posterity can best be characterized through the image of the dual stage ? upon which the thinker exposes and implicates himself, and the other upon which those who agree with him and follow his thought test the applicability of the protagonist's truths to their own lives.
If a dramatized reflection is really an "experiment on the part of the per- then the ? gained from this experimental arrangement must at- tract attention as the self-realizations of the thinker, while his mistakes are rec- ognized as his personal failings. Thinking on stage is more likely to generate truth by following the archaic models of the wager or divine judgment than
? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? 18 ? THE PHILOLOGY OF EXISTENCE, THE DRAMATURGY OF FORCE
through the modern schematic of discursive inference from principles. In accor- dance with a totally apothecary concept of truth
what appears here as truth is not what has been proved to be theoretically the most but rather what best proves itself within the context of a suc- cessful ? Whenever the thinker brings the truth about himself to light upon the stage, he reveals himself, eo ipso, in the process of becoming what he is. If he does not do so, he exposes the truth about himself and his hypothesis in that, like the heroes of antiquity, he succumbs to his dilemma and runs aground on his own inability to understand himself.
Whatever one thinks of Nietzsche, he must impress even his detractors in one respect, since, in his willingness to risk intellectual truths, he was the most au- dacious thinker of the new era. He paid the price for the danger inherent in his thinking to a degree unparalleled by almost anyone else. In his program for the stage, which was intended to lend him credibility as the new Dionysian hero, he ultimately proved himself to be above all else a hero of his own times, a hero of
Posing and reflecting upon an open stage, he submitted himself to the laws of an unrelenting self-exposure. In his attempt to become what he was, he implicated himself in the most tortuous of comedies -- so as to become what he was not: a hero, a superhuman, a "Superman" ? The greatest dis- covery made in his heroic search for truth was therefore an unintentional one: he brought to light the truth about heroism as representing the continuation of a fun- damental
The first victim of Nietzsche's debut on the stage of truth was his standing within his own profession. One ? ? ? be ? was common practice within the field of classical philology and its critical methodology, which, with its conjecturing and ? was part renunciatory and part subordinate, before one can appreciate the grotesque gap between Nietzsche's attempt to push forward and what was customary within the field. What Nietzsche carried out was not a mere switch to a different specialization, a transfer from philology to philosophy; what he accomplished was nothing less than academic suicide. From this point forward, Nietzsche no longer addresses antiquity as a classical scholar. Whenever he does call upon the ancients, it is as a modern mystagogue and leader of orgies who always speaks from a perspective of inner simultaneity with the early Greek mysteries. Dionysus, Apollo, Ariadne, the Sphinx, the Minotaur,
that point on, these are simply mythological names for contem- porary forces and allegories for acute sensations of pain. Modernity is thus no longer merely a name given to a volcanic process of repulsion on the part of an undetermined present in the face of its own prehistory (Vorzeit); for Nietzsche, it becomes concurrently the almost accidental point of departure for the rediscov- ery of the basic truths of Greece. (As is the intellectual custom, Sigmund Freud proved himself a generation later to be the truest of Nietzsche's indirect students
? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? THE PHILOLOGY OF EXISTENCE, THE DRAMATURGY OF FORCE ? 19
in that he also attempted to formulate his psychological opinions in the language of a time-obliterating modern mythology. )
But how is an "actualism" (Aktualismus) of this sort possible? How can a modern individual, contrary to all the rules of historical consciousness, want to place himself into a position of contemporaneousness with concepts that are so temporally and culturally far removed? What right does a modern thinker extinguish an interval of two thousand five hundred years so that he can about the drama of the ancient Greeks as though he were discussing an
personal experience? Two observations on Nietzsche's way of positioning himself on the stage of thought can provide us with answers to these questions.
First, even before he had voiced a single word upon the stage, Nietzsche was made ripe for it by his decision before the fact to present "something great" on the subject of the Greeks. What has been described here as his characteristic "cult of genius" refers not only to a psychic disposition on his part but also to a preliminary methodological decision on what his relationship with the historical material would be. As Faust called upon the spirit of the earth (Erdgeist), so Nietzsche calls upon the spirit of genius in early Greece to answer the question, How does one mind speak to another? And he himself provides the answer. The Greek world discusses its most puzzling mysteries to its greatest advantage with a certain professor in Basel who, because he is on scandalously intimate terms with Lady Antiquity, will one day be a former and ridiculed professor. Nietz- sche's radical "actualism" is therefore an expression of his "cult of genius" a-vis early Greek thought and poetry. The cult of genius, however, is to a sub- stantial degree one of concurrent genius ? ? and consequently it results in the conviction that anything exceptional can be understood only by its
that ? greatness can be recognized only by an equal ? depth by an equal degree of ? suffering by an equal suffering, and the heroic through an equal heroism. Nietzsche's concept of concurrent genius in any case forced the issue to such an extent that it conceived of the intellectual history of Europe as representing merely a spiritual migration on the part of the great intellects, whose path had led from Homer and Heraclitus to Kant and Schopenhauer and, through them, to Wagner and Nietzsche ? migration that always took place, of course, at the lonely heights where, aside from these thinkers, only eagles could survive.
The second prerequisite for Nietzsche's actualistic conjuring up of Hellenism lies in his historical-philosophical claims. Whenever Nietzsche takes the stage as prophetic Greek scholar, he is wearing not only the mask of the genial hero of thought but also that of a philosopher of history or, more correctly, a mythologist of history. Equipped with its powers of authority, he condenses the past two thou-
sand five hundred years ? a pathetic lack of concern ? a simple
like or circular movement. Accordingly, the initial depth of the early Greek tragic consciousness is lost in favor of a vulgar, optimistic conception of the world that succeeds in the form of a Socratic ? the ruthless insipidity of
? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? 20 ? THE PHILOLOGY OF EXISTENCE, THE DRAMATURGY OF FORCE
which is eventually denounced and must lead sooner or later to the rebirth of a tragic consciousness. European intellectual history thus appears as the ebb and flow of a single motif that circles around or undulates between ascent, descent, and return. Nietzsche's construction of history possesses the primitive circularity of myth. What circles is a heroic pessimism that is born and dies like a being, certain of being reborn. We observe here an archaic triad: the birth of trag- edy out of the spirit of music, the death of tragedy because of the optimistic
program of a so-called enlightenment, and the rebirth of tragedy out of spirit of German music ? which he meant the music of the present, which bore the mark of Richard
He who speaks in such mythic formulas has ceased to report as a historian on things that have actually existed. He has left the dust-gray archives and entered the arena or, to put it a better way, the maternity ward in which European culture is reborn as a tragic one. In this way, the mythologist of history is transformed into a midwife at the rebirth of phenomena that will burst forth today or, at the latest, tomorrow. Even this formulation does not go far enough: Nietzsche cannot be content to sit as a kind of tragic gynecologist before the birth canal of the intellect and wait for whatever might appear. He himself begins, surreptitiously and yet as if he were being enticed by an irresistible allure, to play the role of the one who is again giving birth. In the ardor of his prophecy, he simultaneously becomes the pregnant mother, the gynecologist, and the divine child. In repre- senting himself as the assistant present at the rebirth, Nietzsche was no doubt alluding to Wagner, the musical orgy leader, who had once again lifted the mu- sical drama of the present to tragic heights ? in making this allusion he also included himself as its ? incarnate logos and true ? in whom the master could be well
In doing ? Nietzsche drew attention not to the epic but rather to the dra- matic basic structure of modern philosophies of history. For that which occurs on the level of greatness is staged not in terms of narrative but of in terms of
However peaceful the tone might be in which one expresses these his- torical-philosophical theses, they always include the dramatic intervention of the speaker in a phenomenon that is understood as one of universal historical impor- tance. He who proclaims a theory of progress inevitably includes himself as a participant, supporter, and culmination point in the drama of progress; he who presents a theory of decline asserts himself as someone affected by that decline, whether this takes the form of lamentation, resignation, or simply standing one's ground. He who diagnoses rebirths or periods of change brings himself into play as an ? an agent of ? or even as a candidate for
And, finally, he who prophesies decline declares himself a ? a prac- titioner of euthanasia, a hired mourner, or ultimately someone who exploits the carrion of a dying culture. This was true of Spengler, who was not content with simply diagnosing the decline of the West, but who also presented himself as an
? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? THE PHILOLOGY OF EXISTENCE, THE DRAMATURGY OF FORCE
fatally clever (sterbensklug) latter-day barbarian who kept a stoic, cynical watch during the death agony of European civilization.
Viewed in this light, historical-philosophical speech acts are the speech acts of a cultural orientation par excellence. The description of one's own historical sition determines the quality of one's historical pose. Where, however, should these speech acts be performed if not on the dramatic stage of thought, upon which the engaged actors themselves intervene in the fate of their culture? We are able to recognize in Nietzsche more clearly than in anyone ? Lenin being the only exception of equal stature ? fact that great historical-philo- sophical oratory allows the speaker to burst forth like a force ? whereby this oratory reaches a crisis point in a self-realization as a proclamation of self on the part of the speaker, and not without this realization being inserted most nar- rowly into the tendencies and potentiality of the moment. He who speaks like a modern mythologist of history always does so because the time for it is ripe within him. For this reason, the choice of words governed by convenience (Ge- legenheit) also comprises consistently ? (kairologische) phenom- ena, by which I mean, in the highest sense of the term, timely condensations of circumstances into phenomenological verbalizations and personifications. The thinker on the stage does not speak as a fool so much on his own initiative; rather, he speaks ? that he is pursuing his own ? the name of the "uni-
versal moment" that is being interpreted through him. The subjectivity of the speaker is elevated by this, purified of the interests of arrogance, and transformed into a phenomenon. Every essential historical moment is, ? Walter Benjamin ? "moment of danger," and it is this danger that mediates all subjectivity. Thus, one can also ? a slight taste for dark formula-
it is not the thinker who is engaging himself and thinking. Rather, it is this danger that engages itself and thinks through him.
We must be adamant on this point: from behind the camouflage of genius and a historical-mythological enthusiasm, Nietzsche is able to set about discussing his concept of Hellenism with an unrestrained sense of contemporaneity. From here on, historical references serve only as ? foundation for the performance of the most contemporary of plays. To be sure, the fable upon which Nietzsche bases his attempt is of an archetypal simplicity, as elementary as the most ancient losophy and as monotonic as archaic What is a human being? What is the world? Why must the world cause us to how can we be released from this suffering? These questions have an almost flat and superficial ring when measured against the shocking violence with which the isolated consciousness, awakened to the dilemma that is raging within it, is frightened by its own indi-
and, after having been thus frightened, no longer is anything but the craving to understand what within it is really of any consequence. Who am I? What will be my fate? Why must I be "I"? There are no other questions.
? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? 22 ? THE PHILOLOGY OF EXISTENCE, THE DRAMATURGY OF FORCE
In the initial stages of his performance, Nietzsche is still somewhat removed from reducing his undertaking to this primary form. This does not hinder him from already expressing himself within ? with his Hellenist decorum, his Schopenhauerian vocabulary, his illusionist-rhetorical coquetry, and the edu- cated-bourgeois cast of his drapery. None of this can alter the fact that in his first book (as will be the case in general in his later literary work), the dramatic pri- mary structure of the search for the genuine self begins to function with great clarity. Motivated by a powerful need to express himself, the thinker steps out onto the stage, borne up by the certainty that his previous presentiments were sufficient to warrant making a spectacular entrance--whatever might still sepa- rate him from the latest views. Certainly, the actor does not yet know how his compulsion will express itself, and he is certain that the last word cannot be spoken for a long time ? At the same ? because he is beset by the feeling that he is pregnant with great things, he is convinced that he has said something of the utmost significance ? else can a man do who is convinced that the greatest man of his time, Richard Wagner, has acknowledged him as an equal? The drama begins as if the actor wants to say, "I am here, but I am not yet myself. I must therefore become myself. I would therefore wager that what I really have to say will be revealed as the drama runs its ? This might possibly be the fundamental formulation of that thought that is marked by the dynamic between the search for self and the attempt to release oneself from The thinker is not yet in possession of himself to such an extent that he can present himself to the world with the gesticulation of Ecce Homo, but he does promise that he will succeed in retrieving himself through a process of radical self-searching coram publico. The overall effect is as if his shadow should say to the wanderer, " I f I pursue you with a sufficient degree of intensity, I will finally possess ? Or, the reverse, as if the wanderer were to say to the shadow, "I must first jump over you before I can arrive at
As paradoxical as this all may sound, these duplications of the ego into the seeker and what is sought, the questioner and he who answers, the present self and the self that is yet to be, belong inexorably to the structure of an impassioned existential search for ? (In Chapter 3 I will comment further on the paradox- ical nature of the search as a means for avoiding the truth. )
In order to discover the truth about himself, therefore, the thinker must ini- tially proceed from himself as relentlessly as he can because, otherwise, nothing else that could be found would be available for ? for the nonobjective impulse. Like all of those who think creatively, Nietzsche must first rehearse what he has to say before he can know what he has been actually carrying within himself. This reminds us of the familiar joke: "How can I know what I am think- ing before I have heard what I am ? This makes it clear, in any case, that the joke has more descriptive power than the serious postulation that "thinking" precedes its expression. In truth, the joke illustrates in the most abbreviated form
? ? ?
THE PHILOLOGY OF EXISTENCE, THE DRAMATURGY OF FORCE ? 23
the structure of the search for ? Therefore, he who seeks the truth about him- self in a positive representation must first realize himself positively in order to find anything in this realization that would permit him to discover himself. For previously there had been, for lack of expression, nothing to discover because nothing had been expressed for lack of its having been sought.
Assuming that we are now in a position appropriately to follow Nietzsche's appearance as the announcer of another Hellenism, what does he say about the Greeks and, through them, about himself? To what extent could a new approach to the psychology of the Greek populace and Greek art also bring to light any truth about the reckless Greek scholar?
One ? I believe, summarize the fundamental assertions of Nietzsche's def- inition of the world as it is introduced to us in the book on tragedy in two state- ments. The first of these would be the following: the usual individual life is a hell made up of suffering, brutality, baseness, and entanglement, for which there is no more apt assessment than the dark wisdom of the Dionysian ? that the best thing for man would be to have never been born; the next best, to die as soon as possible. The second statement would read: this life is made bearable only by intoxication and by dreams, by this twofold path to ecstasy that is open to indi- viduals for ? The Birth of Tragedy is to a great extent a paraphrase of this second statement and a fantasy on the possibility of unifying both forms of ecstasy in a single religious artistic phenomenon ? phenomenon Nietzsche identified as early Greek tragedy.
The path of intoxication is delegated to the god Dionysus and his orgiastic manifestations; the way of the dream to the god Apollo and his love for clarity, visibility, and beautiful limitation. To Dionysus belongs music and its narcotic and cathartic power; to Apollo belongs the epic Mythos with its blissful clarity and visionary ? The individual who is weighed down by everyday misery therefore has available to him these two paths for lifting himself out of his
paths that can unite to form the royal path of a single tragic art, provided one has chosen one's birth date appropriately so that one can be incar- nated either as an ancient Greek or a modern Wagnerian. Both paths, that of in- toxication and that of the ? concern themselves in different ways with the overcoming of individuation, which is the source of all suffering. Thus, intoxi- cation ? ? individual out of the limitations of his ego, in order to release him into the ocean of a cosmic unity of pain and pleasure, whereas the dream has the capacity ? the ? as necessary forms of existence under the ? ? ? beau- tiful form. The ? ? ? ? ? Apollo- nian with each other. This fusion takes place, for Nietzsche, under the Dionysian sign because it comprehends the Apollonian ele- ments of epic stage plot and the mythic fate of the ? only the
? ? ? ? ? ? ? 24 ? THE PHILOLOGY OF EXISTENCE, THE DRAMATURGY OF FORCE
dreams of the ecstatic chorus, which sees in the visible fates of the heroes ob- of the suffering god Dionysus.
In fecTTWetzsclieVTJooR~r5n~tragedy is almost always fixed to the apparent dimension of its contents and read as a Dionysian manifesto. However, a dram- aturgical reading leads with the greatest possible certainty to the opposite con- clusion. What Nietzsche brings forth upon the stage is not so much the
of ? ? ? Even this reading would seem somewhat scandalous ? the classical image of Greek culture, because it no longer recognizes the serene authority of Apollo as ? given, but instead teaches it as representing a courageous vic- tory over an alternative world of dark and obscene ? This does not alter the fact that in Nietzsche, from the dramaturgical perspective, the Apollonian world of illusion has the last ? or not this illusion dances henceforth before our eyes with an infinitely deeper opalescence. It is almost as if the hu- manistic enthusiasts of Greek culture were suddenly being expected to acknowl- edge that this beautiful Apollonian man's world actually represented a Dionysian
theater and that, in the future, there could be no more relying on the edifying unequivocality of the Apollonian empire of light.
If one examined closely the fabric of Nietzsche's tragic universe, one would deliberately have to falsify one's gaze to not perceive that, in Nietzsche, the Dionysian element is never in power as such. The orgiastic musical element is never in danger of breaking through the Apollonian barriers, for the stage itself, the tragic ? Nietzsche constructed ? in keeping with his overall plan, nothing other than a sort of Apollonian catch mechanism that ensures that no orgy will result from the orgiastic song of the ? The music of the
ing he-goats is a Dionysian paroxysm set apart in Apollonian quotation
And only because the quotation marks are summoned in order to make the sounc s of Dionysian savagery palatable for the stage are the great dark driving force s able, their impersonal casualness ? notwithstanding, to bring fort their contribution to a higher culture. Within this arrangement, the impossible can also be raised to the ? it acquiesces to the Apollonian quo- tation marks, that is, to the compulsion to articulate, symbolize, disembody, rep- resent. Without these quotation marks there would be, so to ? no perfor- mance rights granted. Only when the passions have promised to behave as they should are they permitted to conduct themselves as they wish. The price paid for the freedom of art is the constraint imposed upon it.
Nietzsche's appearance on stage thus assumes a profile that goes beyond empty ? If we only saw it previously in its most superficial appearance on stage masked by the cult of genius and its mythological ? it now puts on a second mask, penetrating deeper into itself and into the ancient presentation of the play. From this moment on, the empty craving for and formless claim to a great self become a stage phenomenon of illuminating ? Nietz-
? ? ? ? ? ? ? THE PHILOLOGY OF EXISTENCE, THE DRAMATURGY OF FORCE ? 25
sche's second masking as a Greek scholar tells us that this self has borne itself into a conflict, and that this conflict is between two deities who interact with each other like impulse and constraint, passion and control, release and moderation, movement and contemplation, compulsion and vision, music and image, w i l l and representation.
In our further discussion, we must accept that everything that happens on stage is being impelled forward by a conflict within the actor, a conflict that is intended to be reflected in the opposition between the two deities of art. It does seem, however, as if Nietzsche was unwilling actually to settle this conflict. To a much greater ? he insisted on exposing it as something that ? to a certain
meant to stand before us as an eternal polarity, comparable to a sculpture carved in stone of two superhuman wrestlers whose potential for violence is im- mediately apparent to anyone without their ever having to move. Both deities seem to have been frozen in a vision of struggling movement.
What is the significance of this state of affairs? We must first understand what it was that Nietzsche was decreeing with such great ? Apollo Dionysus, after an initial ? counterbalance each other and have our in- terests at heart exclusively in their compromise. A resulting attention to symme- try, to a principle of equilibrium ? can therefore be attributed to Nietzsche's second mask; however, the idea of a balance is nowhere established conscientiously as ? but is instead inserted in a manner that is as surreptitious as it is energetic. In truth, the polarity between Apollo and Dionysus is not a turbulent opposition that vacillates freely between the two extremes; we are deal- ing much more here with a stationary polarity that leads to a clandestine doubling of the Apollonian. The Apollonian Unified Subject ? makes certain, through the mechanism of the silently established axiom of balance, that the Dionysian Other never comes into play as itself, but only as the dialectical or symmetrical Other to the Unified Subject. An Apollonian principle governs the antagonism between the Apollonian and the ? This permits us to understand why Nietzsche, although he presents himself as the herald of the Dionysian, at the same time perpetually appears with the demeanor of heroic self-control, to such an extent that what must control itself is named, emphasized, and celebrated as a Dionysian musical force ? always with the sort of emphasis whereby what is stressed remains under Apollonian control. Apollo is, even within Nietzsche himself, the ruler in the antithetical relationship with his Other.
W ith the establishment of this symmetrically frozen mask made up of the two halves of the faces of both deities, Nietzsche accomplished a stroke of genius vis-a-vis self-representation that has fascinated us to this day. For, far from reproaching him for not "really" giving full license to the Dionysian ? we would imagine the case to be after a century of liberalization and
tion ? must wonder at the mythological device that enabled him to open up the passage to the Dionysian a crack wider. Manfred Frank has demonstrated
? ? ? ? ? 26 ? THE PHILOLOGY OF EXISTENCE, THE DRAMATURGY OF FORCE
most impressively in his book Der kommende Gott (The god to come) that this device was not without preconditions, but that the groundwork for it had been laid by the thought of early romanticism and Richard
Nietzsche's thought is established within this Dionysian fissure. However, he who begins thinking with the fissure of origin must be prepared to accept, as a logical consequence, the condition of having escaped as also being one of disso- lution and separation. Having made this acceptance possible within a cultural context is the greatest profoundly depth-psychological accomplishment of ro- mantic ? Nietzsche is able to risk putting on the double mask of Apollo and Dionysus because, since romanticism, the motif of a psychological fissure had become culturally acceptable. Even for those who were the most cissistically sensitive and chaste, this high-cultural symbolism had in the mean- time made a noncontemptible means of expression available for ambivalent psy- chological self-representation. Nietzsche made use of the romantic capability for looking back from the rationality of the day into the reason of the night in order to scout out, in his own way, the Dionysian energetics of the foundation of being. We cannot overlook the fact that this represents an extremely mediated and guarded form of playing with primordial
The recollection of Dionysus is precisely not a naturalistic Propddeutik of bar- barism; rather, it is the attempt to sink the foundation of culture deeper into an era of barbaric menace. In any case, Nietzsche's Dionysian fissure proves to be the most promising form for maintaining a relationship to that which precedes a con- scious awareness of ? arrangement to which one continually returns whenever the question arises as to how the Dionysian truths contained within the foundation of pain and pleasure ? can be "integrated" into the forms of modern life without our having to succumb to the barbaric risks of mad- ness and violence. My observations with respect to Nietzsche's acknowledgment of symmetry and his opting for the submission of the Dionysian to the com- pulsion toward the symbolic corroborate the thesis that few nineteenth-century books are quite as Apollonian as The Birth of Tragedy. The extent to which it can also be read as a Dionysian text will become apparent in Chapter 4 ? we imag- ine the esoteric concept of the "Dionysian" as representing philosophical
Nevertheless, what has been said must seem astonishing when dealing with an author who considered himself to be the rediscoverer of Dionysus. We cannot delude ourselves about one thing: whenever Nietzsche referred in his later work to The Birth of Tragedy, as he did in the famous "Attempt at a Self-Criticism" and in the preface to Ecce Homo, he did so in spite of all his reservations about the "immature" features of his first book, and was consistently aware that this
of its new understanding of the ? His own Dionysian reading of The Birth of Tragedy can ? all
? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? THE PHILOLOGY OF EXISTENCE, THE DRAMATURGY OF FORCE ? 27
through the fact that, for the later Nietzsche, the word "Dionysian" was the equivalent of ? "heathen," "immoral,"
that correspond overwhelmingly to the tendencies of the book on its semantic
But this thematic prominence of the Dionysian cannot diminish the fact of the the Apollonian.
? ? ? ? ? I suggest that we take a
sian. This degree of exactness is justifiable, not least of all because, in the book on tragedy, there is one point at which the mystery of Nietzsche's Greek scholar concept of the Dionysian is laid bare ? bare, in fact, that there is nothing left that would require ? Nietzsche exposes his Dionysian alchemy, that is, his talent for changing a he-goat into a musician, at this one point more clearly than anywhere else. Let us slowly read through this most important first chapter once again.
What is happening here? Before our eyes, Nietzsche splits the Dionysian throng into two severely differentiated, almost oppositional choruses, which relate to each other like culture and nature or like civilization and barbarism. Ac- cording to the author, a "monstrous gap" separates the Dionysians of Greece from those of the a gap the highly cultured individual will never again bridge will never even be able to want to bridge. This gap ? take on immeasurable significance for the theory of tragedy. We can convince ourselves of this whenever we wait for the moment at which the fictive procession of the approaching god with its followers rolls toward us, only to be divided at the very second at which the winged (beschwingt) classical philologist is attempting to join it. The element that had fascinated the philologist in the distant and as yet undivided view of this chorus of Dionysian throngs is too evident to require an explanation. For, from a distance and presuming a grandiose disregard for de- tails, the vulgar chorus is condensed into a humanistic dream image with an ir- resistible power to entice:
Under the charm of the Dionysian not only is the union between man and man reaffirmed, but nature which has become alienated, hostile, or subjugated, celebrates once more her reconciliation with her lost son, man. ? ? ? Now the slave is a free man; now all the rigid, hostile barriers that necessity, caprice, or "impudent convention" have fixed between man and man are broken. Now, with the gospel of universal harmony, each one feels himself not only united, reconciled, and fused with his neighbor, but as one with him, as if the veil of had been torn aside and were now merely fluttering in tatters before the mysterious primordial unity. In song and dance man expresses himself as a member of a higher community. p. 37)
This is what Nietzsche has written though the reader might not believe his own eyes. If the text were to continue in the vein in which it has ? The Birth
construction of the Diony-
? ? ? ? ? ? 28 ? THE PHILOLOGY OF EXISTENCE, THE DRAMATURGY OF FORCE
of Tragedy would be read today as The Socialist Manifesto, one that would not have to shrink from being compared with The Communist Manifesto. The work would be read as the program for an aesthetic socialism and as the Magna Carta of a cosmic ? one would glean from this book precisely those character- istics that only vestigially shared in the image of the corresponding political or- ganizations and ideologies. But the temptation Nietzsche feels to enter into tory as the spokesman for a socialism lasts only for a
long as it takes for the throngs of the to ? past at the appropriate hisj torical distance ? the reconciliation with man and nature is directly
of no
As soon as proximity provides for the dissolution of an idealistic inexactitude,
all previous premises are reversed. Admittedly, to the same extent that the fusion with the whole appeared as pure impossibility, nothing stood in the way of a sac- rifice to the ? But if the raving chorus of sounds, bodies, and appe- tites comes closer, the abyss of primordial origin is opened up into that to which the individualized subject cannot want to revert for anything in the world. Images of horror immediately rise ? of fatal constriction and death by suffo- cation in the cavern of eros. What appeared previously as a blessed disentangle- ment is now seen as a horrible dismemberment; that which longing purported to crave now causes it to recoil in horror with a definite sense of nausea in the face of its realization. The impulse toward unification suddenly changes over into a frenzy of ? and the eros of the return to the womb of earth and com- munity is transformed into a panic of dissolution and revulsion at the prospect of the socialist vulvocracy
This is the decisive moment. The bacchanalian festival procession is now split apart, and while the Dionysian barbarians continue to revel in their group rut, a noble minority branches off that has placed itself under the command of the Greek will to ? And thus, away with the barbaric ? of the Orient! Away with the orgiastic sexuality of the cult of ? Away with the compulsion toward physical contact among the people and other unappetizing ? Away with this leftist, Green Party, all-embracing crudeness! An Apollonian interven- tion is demanded here; a masculine, self-aware, individualistic principle should intervene, one that would confront with its purity and selectivity any sort of ob- scene confusion. Before the common Dionysians can become Greek and Nietz- schean Dionysians, they must be filtered through a sort of preliminary purifica- tion process. This I will call, following Nietzsche's description of it, the process of "Doric
Early Hellenism erected, so we are told, a masculine dam to protect itself against the Dionysian flood. It heroically resisted the "extravagant sexual licen- tiousness" that was characteristic of the Walpurgis Nights of the barbarian Dionysus. The Doric dam construction was responsible whenever the "horrible
of sensuality and cruelty" became ? The Diony-
? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ?
