Mickey Thames Round and Round: Tragedy and Humanity
In my Midterm, I described my initial thoughts upon
entering the class, reflections on a few weeks of reading, but I felt I didn’t
quite get to the true core of what the class was offering. It was after
finishing Birth of Tragedy,
and the last page of Desire Under the Elms,
that I knew I wanted to offer was how I saw Tragedies now. Who would have ever thought that
Nietzsche would actually help to clarify understanding of a subject? All anyone
ever credits him for is robbing humanity of any divine purpose and being a
general grump about things. But what one has to remember is that like all humans
before, and all humans after, Nietzsche was a human. Which means, at one point
in his life, he was a fresh faced young man, full of hope and vision, and this
view shows in Birth of Tragedy,
what I believe is the most influential text I have read this semester.
The magic of Birth
of Tragedy stems from its transformation of the
Greeks, from a pristine, peerless civilization of marble and laurel, to a very
troubled and rowdy gang. Basically, Nietzsche makes them human again. It is this
humanizing of the Greeks that, in my view, made the classic Tragedies of
Oedipus, Agamemnon, and
The Bacchae
relatable and approachable. Because the works are so old, and so lauded, many
people don’t even attempt to approach these great works simply because they
believe them to be “beyond” them. What the conversations I witnessed this
semester told me was very different. They can still stun, surprise, and move to
tears those who take in the ancient words, the stories we grew up with but never
really knew.
By
looking into the works, Nietzsche teased out two very important concepts, the
Dionysian and the Apolline. The Apolline are the contributions and foundations
of Aristotle’s Poetics,
those logical rules that separate and individualize the many and sundry genres,
while the Dionysian are more ethereal in context, containing no specific rules
or categories of their own, merely embodied by a few images and ideas, such as
wine, revelry, ecstasy, and passions, both good and bad. While the Apolline
separated, the Dionysian combined.
These two forces, both in opposition and contained in
human actions, form the basis of Tragedy. When I saw the underlying forces, I
couldn’t help but also begin connecting dots, and those dots seemed to make a
circle. The Apolline would create order, the order would rule for a while until
we came to the events of the plays, when then the Dionysian would tear down the
established order, but by the end, new wisdom would come forth from the loss,
even if it meant the death of (quite a few) characters. A great cycle, turning
throughout every story in some form or another, feeding itself, killing itself,
and then rising once again. It’s these rare,
perspective-shifting moments of understanding that keep me opening new books
that I may not like, what got me through Samson
Agonistes (at least the first time, I’ll have to
read it again), and what keeps me reading in general. What I learned from
Tragedy is that, there is always more to learn, more to uncover, more ideas to
take in, and more old ideas to tear apart. What Tragedy teaches is that loss is
not merely a plot point, but an immutable fact that allows us to grow. Yes, it
hurts, but we grow from it, we adapt and become stronger because of it. And it
prepares us for more pain down the road. A final thought- many of the newer translations of the plays of Sophocles have as their title not “The Tragedy of Oedipus” or “The Theban Plays.” Rather, they are translated as “The Oedipus Cycle.” A cycle that repeats, over and over, waiting for you to go again, to see, what can you learn this time?
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