To separate this primitive8 and all-powerful Dionysian element from tragedy, and to build up a new and purified form of tragedy on the basis of a non-Dionysian art, morality, and conception of things—such is the tendency of Euripides which now reveals itself to us in a clear light.
In a myth composed in the eve of his life, Euripides himself most urgently propounded9 to his contemporaries the question as to the value and signification of this tendency. Is the Dionysian entitled to exist at all? Should it not be forcibly rooted out of the Hellenic soil? Certainly, the poet tells us, if only it were possible: but the god Dionysus is too powerful; his most intelligent adversary10—like Pentheus in the "Bacch?"—is unwittingly enchanted11 by him, and in this enchantment12 meets his fate. The judgment13 of the two old sages14, Cadmus and Tiresias, seems to be also the judgment of the[Pg 95] aged3 poet: that the reflection of the wisest individuals does not overthrow15 old popular traditions, nor the perpetually propagating worship of Dionysus, that in fact it behoves us to display at least a diplomatically cautious concern in the presence of such strange forces: where however it is always possible that the god may take offence at such lukewarm participation16, and finally change the diplomat—in this case Cadmus—into a dragon. This is what a poet tells us, who opposed Dionysus with heroic valour throughout a long life—in order finally to wind up his career with a glorification17 of his adversary, and with suicide, like one staggering from giddiness, who, in order to escape the horrible vertigo18 he can no longer endure, casts himself from a tower. This tragedy—the Bacch?—is a protest against the practicability of his own tendency; alas19, and it has already been put into practice! The surprising thing had happened: when the poet recanted, his tendency had already conquered. Dionysus had already been scared from the tragic stage, and in fact by a demonic power which spoke21 through Euripides. Even Euripides was, in a certain sense, only a mask: the deity22 that spoke through him was neither Dionysus nor Apollo, but an altogether new-born demon20, called Socrates. This is the new antithesis23: the Dionysian and the Socratic, and the art-work of Greek tragedy was wrecked24 on it. What if even Euripides now seeks to comfort us by his recantation? It is of no avail: the most magnificent temple lies in ruins. What avails the lamentation25 of the destroyer, and his[Pg 96] confession26 that it was the most beautiful of all temples? And even that Euripides has been changed into a dragon as a punishment by the art-critics of all ages—who could be content with this wretched compensation?
Let us now approach this Socratic tendency with which Euripides combated and vanquished27 ?schylean tragedy.
We must now ask ourselves, what could be the ulterior aim of the Euripidean design, which, in the highest ideality of its execution, would found drama exclusively on the non-Dionysian? What other form of drama could there be, if it was not to be born of the womb of music, in the mysterious twilight28 of the Dionysian? Only the dramatised epos: in which Apollonian domain29 of art the tragic effect is of course unattainable. It does not depend on the subject-matter of the events here represented; indeed, I venture to assert that it would have been impossible for Goethe in his projected "Nausikaa" to have rendered tragically31 effective the suicide of the idyllic32 being with which he intended to complete the fifth act; so extraordinary is the power of the epic33-Apollonian representation, that it charms, before our eyes, the most terrible things by the joy in appearance and in redemption through appearance. The poet of the dramatised epos cannot completely blend with his pictures any more than the epic rhapsodist. He is still just the calm, unmoved embodiment of Contemplation whose wide eyes see the picture before them. The actor in this dramatised epos still remains34 intrinsically rhapsodist: the consecration[Pg 97] of inner dreaming is on all his actions, so that he is never wholly an actor.
How, then, is the Euripidean play related to this ideal of the Apollonian drama? Just as the younger rhapsodist is related to the solemn rhapsodist of the old time. The former describes his own character in the Platonic35 "Ion" as follows: "When I am saying anything sad, my eyes fill with tears; when, however, what I am saying is awful and terrible, then my hair stands on end through fear, and my heart leaps." Here we no longer observe anything of the epic absorption in appearance, or of the unemotional coolness of the true actor, who precisely36 in his highest activity is wholly appearance and joy in appearance. Euripides is the actor with leaping heart, with hair standing37 on end; as Socratic thinker he designs the plan, as passionate38 actor he executes it. Neither in the designing nor in the execution is he an artist pure and simple. And so the Euripidean drama is a thing both cool and fiery39, equally capable of freezing and burning; it is impossible for it to attain30 the Apollonian, effect of the epos, while, on the other hand, it has severed40 itself as much as possible from Dionysian elements, and now, in order to act at all, it requires new stimulants41, which can no longer lie within the sphere of the two unique art-impulses, the Apollonian and the Dionysian. The stimulants are cool, paradoxical thoughts, in place of Apollonian intuitions—and fiery passions—in place Dionysean ecstasies42; and in fact, thoughts and passions very realistically copied, and not at all steeped in the ether of art.
[Pg 98]
Accordingly, if we have perceived this much, that Euripides did not succeed in establishing the drama exclusively on the Apollonian, but that rather his non-Dionysian inclinations43 deviated44 into a naturalistic and inartistic tendency, we shall now be able to approach nearer to the character ?sthetic Socratism. supreme45 law of which reads about as follows: "to be beautiful everything must be intelligible," as the parallel to the Socratic proposition, "only the knowing is one virtuous46." With this canon in his hands Euripides measured all the separate elements of the drama, and rectified47 them according to his principle: the language, the characters, the dramaturgic structure, and the choric music. The poetic48 deficiency and retrogression, which we are so often wont49 to impute50 to Euripides in comparison with Sophoclean tragedy, is for the most part the product of this penetrating51 critical process, this daring intelligibility52. The Euripidian prologue53 may serve us as an example of the productivity of this, rationalistic method. Nothing could be more opposed to the technique of our stage than the prologue in the drama of Euripides. For a single person to appear at the outset of the play telling us who he is, what precedes the action, what has happened thus far, yea, what will happen in the course of the play, would be designated by a modern playwright54 as a wanton and unpardonable abandonment of the effect of suspense55. Everything that is about to happen is known beforehand; who then cares to wait for it actually to happen?—considering, moreover, that here there is not by any means the exciting relation of a predicting dream to a reality[Pg 99] taking place later on. Euripides speculated quite differently. The effect of tragedy never depended on epic suspense, on the fascinating uncertainty56 as to what is to happen now and afterwards: but rather on the great rhetoro-lyric scenes in which the passion and dialectics of the chief hero swelled57 to a broad and mighty58 stream. Everything was arranged for pathos59, not for action: and whatever was not arranged for pathos was regarded as objectionable. But what interferes60 most with the hearer's pleasurable satisfaction in such scenes is a missing link, a gap in the texture61 of the previous history. So long as the spectator has to divine the meaning of this or that person, or the presuppositions of this or that conflict of inclinations and intentions, his complete absorption in the doings and sufferings of the chief persons is impossible, as is likewise breathless fellow-feeling and fellow-fearing. The ?schyleo-Sophoclean tragedy employed the most ingenious devices in the first scenes to place in the hands of the spectator as if by chance all the threads requisite62 for understanding the whole: a trait in which that noble artistry is approved, which as it were masks the inevitably63 formal, and causes it to appear as something accidental. But nevertheless Euripides thought he observed that during these first scenes the spectator was in a strange state of anxiety to make out the problem of the previous history, so that the poetic beauties and pathos of the exposition were lost to him. Accordingly he placed the prologue even before the exposition, and put it in the mouth of a person who could be trusted: some deity had often[Pg 100] as it were to guarantee the particulars of the tragedy to the public and remove every doubt as to the reality of the myth: as in the case of Descartes, who could only prove the reality of the empiric world by an appeal to the truthfulness64 of God and His inability to utter falsehood. Euripides makes use of the same divine truthfulness once more at the close of his drama, in order to ensure to the public the future of his heroes; this is the task of the notorious deus ex machina. Between the preliminary and the additional epic spectacle there is the dramatico-lyric present, the "drama" proper.
Thus Euripides as a poet echoes above all his own conscious knowledge; and it is precisely on this account that he occupies such a notable position in the history of Greek art. With reference to his critico-productive activity, he must often have felt that he ought to actualise in the drama the words at the beginning of the essay of Anaxagoras: "In the beginning all things were mixed together; then came the understanding and created order." And if Anaxagoras with his "νο??" seemed like the first sober person among nothing but drunken philosophers, Euripides may also have conceived his relation to the other tragic poets under a similar figure. As long as the sole ruler and disposer of the universe, the νο??, was still excluded from artistic activity, things were all mixed together in a chaotic65, primitive mess;—it is thus Euripides was obliged to think, it is thus he was obliged to condemn66 the "drunken" poets as the first "sober" one among them. What Sophocles said of ?schylus, that he did what was[Pg 101] right, though unconsciously, was surely not in the mind of Euripides: who would have admitted only thus much, that ?schylus, because he wrought67 unconsciously, did what was wrong. So also the divine Plato speaks for the most part only ironically of the creative faculty68 of the poet, in so far as it is not conscious insight, and places it on a par7 with the gift of the soothsayer and dream-interpreter; insinuating70 that the poet is incapable71 of composing until he has become unconscious and reason has deserted72 him. Like Plato, Euripides undertook to show to the world the reverse of the "unintelligent" poet; his ?sthetic principle that "to be beautiful everything must be known" is, as I have said, the parallel to the Socratic "to be good everything must be known." Accordingly we may regard Euripides as the poet of ?sthetic Socratism. Socrates, however, was that second spectator who did not comprehend and therefore did not esteem73 the Old Tragedy; in alliance with him Euripides ventured to be the herald74 of a new artistic activity. If, then, the Old Tragedy was here destroyed, it follows that ?sthetic Socratism was the murderous principle; but in so far as the struggle is directed against the Dionysian element in the old art, we recognise in Socrates the opponent of Dionysus, the new Orpheus who rebels against Dionysus; and although destined75 to be torn to pieces by the M?nads of the Athenian court, yet puts to flight the overpowerful god himself, who, when he fled from Lycurgus, the king of Edoni, sought refuge in the depths of the ocean—namely, in the mystical flood of a secret cult69 which gradually overspread the earth.
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1 previously | |
adv.以前,先前(地) | |
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2 discordant | |
adj.不调和的 | |
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3 aged | |
adj.年老的,陈年的 | |
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4 astonishment | |
n.惊奇,惊异 | |
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5 tragic | |
adj.悲剧的,悲剧性的,悲惨的 | |
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6 artistic | |
adj.艺术(家)的,美术(家)的;善于艺术创作的 | |
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7 par | |
n.标准,票面价值,平均数量;adj.票面的,平常的,标准的 | |
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8 primitive | |
adj.原始的;简单的;n.原(始)人,原始事物 | |
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9 propounded | |
v.提出(问题、计划等)供考虑[讨论],提议( propound的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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10 adversary | |
adj.敌手,对手 | |
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11 enchanted | |
adj. 被施魔法的,陶醉的,入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
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12 enchantment | |
n.迷惑,妖术,魅力 | |
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13 judgment | |
n.审判;判断力,识别力,看法,意见 | |
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14 sages | |
n.圣人( sage的名词复数 );智者;哲人;鼠尾草(可用作调料) | |
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15 overthrow | |
v.推翻,打倒,颠覆;n.推翻,瓦解,颠覆 | |
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16 participation | |
n.参与,参加,分享 | |
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17 glorification | |
n.赞颂 | |
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18 vertigo | |
n.眩晕 | |
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19 alas | |
int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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20 demon | |
n.魔鬼,恶魔 | |
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21 spoke | |
n.(车轮的)辐条;轮辐;破坏某人的计划;阻挠某人的行动 v.讲,谈(speak的过去式);说;演说;从某种观点来说 | |
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22 deity | |
n.神,神性;被奉若神明的人(或物) | |
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23 antithesis | |
n.对立;相对 | |
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24 wrecked | |
adj.失事的,遇难的 | |
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25 lamentation | |
n.悲叹,哀悼 | |
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26 confession | |
n.自白,供认,承认 | |
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27 vanquished | |
v.征服( vanquish的过去式和过去分词 );战胜;克服;抑制 | |
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28 twilight | |
n.暮光,黄昏;暮年,晚期,衰落时期 | |
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29 domain | |
n.(活动等)领域,范围;领地,势力范围 | |
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30 attain | |
vt.达到,获得,完成 | |
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31 tragically | |
adv. 悲剧地,悲惨地 | |
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32 idyllic | |
adj.质朴宜人的,田园风光的 | |
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33 epic | |
n.史诗,叙事诗;adj.史诗般的,壮丽的 | |
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34 remains | |
n.剩余物,残留物;遗体,遗迹 | |
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35 platonic | |
adj.精神的;柏拉图(哲学)的 | |
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36 precisely | |
adv.恰好,正好,精确地,细致地 | |
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37 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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38 passionate | |
adj.热情的,热烈的,激昂的,易动情的,易怒的,性情暴躁的 | |
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39 fiery | |
adj.燃烧着的,火红的;暴躁的;激烈的 | |
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40 severed | |
v.切断,断绝( sever的过去式和过去分词 );断,裂 | |
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41 stimulants | |
n.兴奋剂( stimulant的名词复数 );含兴奋剂的饮料;刺激物;激励物 | |
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42 ecstasies | |
狂喜( ecstasy的名词复数 ); 出神; 入迷; 迷幻药 | |
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43 inclinations | |
倾向( inclination的名词复数 ); 倾斜; 爱好; 斜坡 | |
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44 deviated | |
v.偏离,越轨( deviate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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45 supreme | |
adj.极度的,最重要的;至高的,最高的 | |
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46 virtuous | |
adj.有品德的,善良的,贞洁的,有效力的 | |
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47 rectified | |
[医]矫正的,调整的 | |
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48 poetic | |
adj.富有诗意的,有诗人气质的,善于抒情的 | |
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49 wont | |
adj.习惯于;v.习惯;n.习惯 | |
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50 impute | |
v.归咎于 | |
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51 penetrating | |
adj.(声音)响亮的,尖锐的adj.(气味)刺激的adj.(思想)敏锐的,有洞察力的 | |
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52 intelligibility | |
n.可理解性,可理解的事物 | |
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53 prologue | |
n.开场白,序言;开端,序幕 | |
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54 playwright | |
n.剧作家,编写剧本的人 | |
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55 suspense | |
n.(对可能发生的事)紧张感,担心,挂虑 | |
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56 uncertainty | |
n.易变,靠不住,不确知,不确定的事物 | |
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57 swelled | |
增强( swell的过去式和过去分词 ); 肿胀; (使)凸出; 充满(激情) | |
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58 mighty | |
adj.强有力的;巨大的 | |
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59 pathos | |
n.哀婉,悲怆 | |
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60 interferes | |
vi. 妨碍,冲突,干涉 | |
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61 texture | |
n.(织物)质地;(材料)构造;结构;肌理 | |
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62 requisite | |
adj.需要的,必不可少的;n.必需品 | |
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63 inevitably | |
adv.不可避免地;必然发生地 | |
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64 truthfulness | |
n. 符合实际 | |
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65 chaotic | |
adj.混沌的,一片混乱的,一团糟的 | |
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66 condemn | |
vt.谴责,指责;宣判(罪犯),判刑 | |
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67 wrought | |
v.引起;以…原料制作;运转;adj.制造的 | |
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68 faculty | |
n.才能;学院,系;(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
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69 cult | |
n.异教,邪教;时尚,狂热的崇拜 | |
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70 insinuating | |
adj.曲意巴结的,暗示的v.暗示( insinuate的现在分词 );巧妙或迂回地潜入;(使)缓慢进入;慢慢伸入 | |
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71 incapable | |
adj.无能力的,不能做某事的 | |
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72 deserted | |
adj.荒芜的,荒废的,无人的,被遗弃的 | |
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73 esteem | |
n.尊敬,尊重;vt.尊重,敬重;把…看作 | |
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74 herald | |
vt.预示...的来临,预告,宣布,欢迎 | |
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75 destined | |
adj.命中注定的;(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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