Interlude XIII. Nietzsche - part 2 - mere appearance

Intro & Preface & Contents

Previous: Interlude XII. Nietzsche - part 1

From The Birth of Tragedy by Friedrich Nietzsche...

Sec 4 - mere appearance of mere appearance

...Though it is certain that of the two halves of our existence, the waking and the dreaming states, the former appeals to us as infinitely preferable, more important, excellent, and worthy of being lived, indeed, as that alone which is lived -- yet in relation to that mysterious ground of our being of which we are the phenomena, I should, paradoxically as it may seem, maintain the very opposite estimate of the value of dreams. For the more clearly I perceive in nature those omnipotent art impulses, and in them an ardent longing for illusion, for redemption through illusion, the more I feel myself impelled to the metaphysical assumption that the truly existent primal unity, eternally suffering and contradictory, also needs the rapturous vision, the pleasurable illusion, for its continuous redemption. And we, completely wrapped up in this illusion and composed of it, are compelled to consider this illusion as the truly nonexistent -- i.e., as a perpetual becoming in time, space, and causality -- in other words, as empirical reality. If, for the moment, we do not consider the question of our own ‘reality,’ if we conceive of our empirical existence, and of that of the world in general, as a continuously manifested representation of the primal unity, we shall then have to look upon the dream as a mere appearance of mere appearance, hence as a still higher appeasement of the primordial desire for mere appearance. And that is why the innermost heart of nature feels ineffable joy in the naive artist and the naive work of art, which is likewise only ‘mere appearance of mere appearance.’

I can’t help feeling that this relates to Hans's dream in “Snow” (in The Magic Mountain). Also, as I am very interested in dreams, the relative reality of dreams, and also the nature of the dreamer, I find this passage particularly interesting.

Nietzsche seems to claim to understand his dreams better than has been my experience -- I am most often puzzled at best and often completely confused -- but what I find interesting is that in dreams “I” am able to create, seemingly instantaneously and with no effort, entire worlds that I could not draw or model while awake if you gave me days or weeks. This struck me years ago when I spent several weeks walking around my new neighborhood with a camera snapping photos of particularly fine architectural details. In a dream I ran into a truly wonderful such architectural feature inside a building and was irritated that I didn’t have my camera with me to capture something so beautiful and so beyond my ability to describe or reproduce. This was the sort of dream where you are at least dimly aware that you are dreaming and the question of “who” created this, if not me, so jarred me that I woke up.

...Because of his titanic love for man, Prometheus must be torn to pieces by vultures; because of his excessive wisdom, which could solve the riddle of the Sphinx, Oedipus must be plunged into a bewildering vortex of crime. Thus did the Delphic god interpret the Greek past.

The effects wrought by the Dionysian also seemed ‘titanic’ and ‘barbaric’ to the Apollinian Greek; while at the same time he could not conceal from himself that he, too, was inwardly related to these overthrown Titans and heroes. Indeed, he had to recognize even more than this: despite all its beauty and moderation, his entire existence rested on a hidden substratum of suffering and of knowledge, revealed to him by the Dionysian. And behold: Apollo could not live without Dionysus! The ‘titanic’ and the ‘barbaric’ were in the last analysis as necessary as the Apollinian.

This passage is particularly interesting when you consider Settembrini’s crusade (ha) to rid the world of suffering. Not only is it Faustian, it is also, from this perspective, futile; suffering -- as perhaps portrayed in Hans's dream in “Snow” -- is the foundation of the Apollinian existence.

And now let us imagine how into this world, built on mere appearance and moderation and artificially dammed up, there penetrated, in tones ever more bewitching and alluring, the ecstatic sound of the Dionysian festival; how in these strains all of nature’s excess in pleasure, grief, and knowledge became audible, even in piercing shrieks... The muses of the arts of ‘illusion’ paled before an art that, in its intoxication, spoke the truth... The individual, with his restraint and proportion, succumbed to the self-oblivion of the Dionysian states, forgetting the precepts of Apollo. Excess revealed itself as truth. Contradiction, the bliss born of pain, spoke out from the very heart of nature. And so wherever the Dionysian prevailed, the Apollinian was checked and destroyed....

Since I came to The Birth of Tragedy looking for connections with The Magic Mountain, it is hard not to see Clavdia and even Peeperkorn in this passage. If Settembrini is the Apollinian then Clavdia is at least a tool, if not an agent of the Dionysian. And Peeperkorn certainly shares qualities with the satyr god.

This section concludes with a passage that talks about the “Doric” or Spartan art as the last vestige and holdout of the pure Apollinian, and of  ”Attic tragedy and the dramatic dithyramb” as the “mysterious union” of the Apollinian and Dionysian tendencies which... “found glorious consummation in this child -- at once Antigone and Cassandra.”

In my edition of the translation by Walter Kaufmann, there is a footnote here referring to a criticism of this passage by Wilamowitz (another young philologist and contemporary of Nietzsche’s) who offers a prize to anyone who can explain what Nietzsche means here about Antigone and Cassandra. I have to admit the man does have a point. Kaufmann thinks Antigone must represent the Apollinian while Cassandra represents the Dionysian. Cassandra happens to be one of my favorite characters in Hellenic myth and drama so my ears pricked up at this passage, but I don’t know what he means either.

Cassandra was given the gift of prophecy by Apollo, as she was a priestess of his. This gift was turned into a curse when she refused the sexual advances of the god, so that no one believed her prophecies. Now the Greeks played fast and loose with their myths to make a point (there are many variations on this story), but the thing I love about the Cassandra story is that it is possibly the only example of prophecy in literature that is handled honestly. The curse is absurd because it is the nature of true prophecy that you can’t change the future, because if you did, then it would not have been the future you saw in the first place. If you announce that your city’s enemies are going to sneak inside the walls by hiding in a big wooden horse -- and people believe you -- how is that horse going to get into the city?

Next: Interlude XIV. Nietzsche - part 3.

Summer XV. Age + online communities

Intro & Preface & Contents

Previous: Summer XIV. Climate

I have been at the seaside -- enjoying it, yes, but in what a doddering, senile sort of way! Is it I who used to drink the strong wind like wine, who ran exultingly along the wet sands and leapt from rock to rock, barefoot, on the slippery seaweed, who breasted the swelling breakers, and shouted with joy as it buried me in gleaming foam? At the seaside I knew no such thing as bad weather; there were but changes of eager mood and full-blooded life. Now, if the breeze blows too roughly, if there comes a pelting shower, I must look for shelter, and sit with my cloak about me. It is but a new reminder that I do best to stay at home, travelling only in reminiscence.

At Weymouth I enjoyed a hearty laugh, one of the good things not easy to get after middle age. There was a notice of steamboats which ply along the coast, steamboats recommended to the public as being “replete with lavatories and a ladies’ saloon.” Think how many people read this without a chuckle!

Generations.

One of the annoyances of growing older is that you begin to feel like an old fogey for liking music that, strictly speaking, belongs to a younger generation. I lay claim to the music of the ‘60s and ‘70s, but I view the music from the following three decades as belonging to the generations going to high school and college at the time.

In public places I hear far too much of the music of my generation -- it isn’t that I don’t like it, but I’ve been listening to much of it steadily for four decades or longer. My personal music collection goes back in time as much as it goes forward, with much from the 1930’s and 1940’s, Jazz mostly. But I’ve also picked up a fair amount of more recent Pop and what would have been termed Folk Rock in the ‘70s.

Susanna Hoffs and Mathew Sweet (Sid n Susie) have recorded three “Under the Covers” collections of what I suppose could be termed “Oldies but goodies” today. I’ve always loved Susanna Hoffs’... voice, and she sounds even better on these songs than she does as a Bangle. What I like about these versions are that they are true to the original but with Susanna’s distinctive voice usually featured (they don’t “style” the song so that it is almost unrecognizable). I hope they keep going and cover the ‘90s and oughts as well. If this means Susie has to cover Katy, Gaga, and Adele then so be it.

Online Community.

Being the oldest member of a (small, private) online community can be quite strange. The problems of twenty-somethings (and one has to suppose that people who spend an inordinate amount of time on social media may have more than the normal share of personal problems) are not, for the most part, my problems. I may be able to recall when I was rocked by the stormy seas of hormones, and desperately sought my place in the world and physical, personal contact of most any kind -- in fact I do recall this, though the details have, thank Goat, grown vague -- but it no longer roils my very being.

I’ve tried to provide perspective, but there is so much good advice that is nothing but meaningless words until you yourself learn that lesson. Here I’m reminded of the story of Cassandra, one of my favorite things from Greek literature. What I have in mind is that Cassandra had the gift of seeing the future but the curse of never being believed. (I have a problem with this “curse” idea. The virtue, to my mind, of the Cassandra story is that what she sees is a future that can’t be changed. If you can change it, then it isn’t really the future. You can’t have it both ways.)

I do think people sharing their angst in a safe, private, online place like our forum is a positive thing, though possibly not so much for the person with the problem. The others, who are not currently overwhelmed, can read, recognize that they have been there before, and try to respond with something helpful. Perhaps they think that this person is even worse off than they are (I know that feeling helped me at one point in my college years) or they realize that this despair, which they’ve shared in the past, really doesn’t look quite so bad to them today.

Fortunately, the chances of all the women’s cycles meshing is almost zero... though there have been times when one would doubt even that -- though how that would be possible with a globally distributed population where hardly anyone ever comes into physical contact with another board member, is beyond me.

Next: Summer XVI. On the road.