Nietzsche & Rembrandt: Painting the structure of reality
Amidst the pantheon of artistic brilliance, Rembrandt stands as a luminary, a maestro of capturing souls in paint. But what secrets lie within his strokes? How did he bestow his characters with such a palpable sense of life and humanity? Prepare to embark on a journey, for an unlikely gateway reveals itself—a theatrical lens crafted by Nietzsche based on the gods of ancient Greece.
Nietzsche and The Birth of Tragedy. Originally written in 1872.
The Birth of Tragedy
In The Birth of Tragedy Nietzsche introduces the concepts of the Apollonian and the Dionysian. Tragedy here referring to a dramatic format, often of story or theatre, in which an overall sombre narrative leads to the demise of the main character(s) – for example, Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet. The Apollonian and Dionysian are two abstract concepts that are based on their respective deities from Greek mythology, Apollo and Dionysus. Nietzsche does this to establish a framework with which to understand and discuss the significance of the Greek Tragedy – a theatrical art form of the ancient civilisation comprising action, music, and dance. The use of two concepts with opposing yet complementary profiles allows in their combination, a complete method of describing a particular event. Rather than sticking to a purely linguistic description (through the use only of their associated adjectives), the method of creating two representational characters can provide far more complex and nuanced insights than the restrictions of single words allow. Furthermore, the characters can take on entire lives of their own and develop with what they are used to describe, rather than remaining stationary relative to them. With their imaginary physical embodiment, characters can engender characteristics that are context specific and that comprise a combination of multiple interwoven properties; something that a single, tightly defined adjective, or even group of adjectives, on the other hand cannot. For example, describing a piece of music as Wagnerian brings with it the entire connotation of Wagner’s life and corpus of work, thus providing a far richer and more nuanced description to the same piece of music than the words of say bombastic, grand, and ambitious do simply by themselves.
Nietzsche claims that the Greek tragedy is the greatest of all art forms, and in The Birth of Tragedy, laments its loss during the Socratic movement. Socrates proposed a philosophy of contentedness and taught methods of coping with the challenges of the natural world, rather than aligning with and embracing them. As such, the artistic movement of the time lost some of the more disordered, creative, and potent aspects of the earlier generation in place of a more optimistic, structured, and less jarring system.
In short, Nietzsche suggests that the tragedies of existence, especially their communication, are good rather than bad for the soul and that the most powerful way of communicating this to society and each other is through the art of theatre.
Perhaps this seems counter intuitive, so how does Nietzsche justify the idea that pessimism yields a healthier society? He believed that bringing attention to life’s suffering and tragedy in the theatrical art form, demonstrates to audiences that life at the universal level can remain inextinguishable and even pleasurable in the face of suffering and death at the level of the individual. This was achieved, Nietzsche concluded, through the interaction between the chorus and the principal characters. Despite the tragic death of a principal character (the individual), the chorus (here representing the collective life), resolutely goes on.
Context
The book was written during a period of rapid scientific development and technological warfare (specifically during the Franco-Prussian war of 1870 – 1871). Nietzsche ponders whether the tendency of modern man towards scientific reason is a defensive tendency against pessimism and existential truths. If anything, The Birth of Tragedy is a call by Nietzsche to revisit the chaotic and creative spirit (what we shall shortly define as Dionysian) in a world increasingly dominated by the exclusively rational way of thinking, and what he called the “decadent” (Verfallsart) mind. During this period, Nietzsche believes he was witness to a growing emphasis on reason, logic, and scientific progress. Continuing the theme of Greek culture, Nietzsche attributes the origins of this sentiment back to the seeds sown by the likes of Socrates and Plato and believes that thinking excessively in this manner leads to a devaluation of instinct, emotion, and vital creative forces.
What Nietzsche refers to as “verfallsart” here signifies the decline of a culture due to a loss of vitality and authentic values. It could equally be translated as “mode of decline” or “mode of decadence”. Nietzsche criticises the shallow pursuit of pleasure and pleasure alone, progress, and herd mentality for stifling individual greatness. He sees it as a sign of losing touch with the fundamental essence of being and a succumbing to a life-denying mindset of ignorant bliss. He therefore calls for a revitalisation of the more primal forces in our lives – engendered, for example, in art. Nietzsche himself advocated music as the most important and direct form of art. He did so for the impression that music is able to contact a deeper level of being without the interference of representation. But more on this later.
The truths that may be approached by examining these primal influences are those that elude scientific and empirical observation. They are not, for example, truths concerned with “how do things work?”, “what happens if I move this or change that?”; rather, they are lived, universal realities that encompass all the richness and complexities of individual existence and cannot be reduced to an analytical expression. Existential truths, if you will.
Now, I am a scientist by training and have years of experience exercising the scientific approach to uncover physical laws and facts. In my opinion, science (or the scientific method) is one of the most powerful tools ever created by mankind. However, where it is unmatched in uncovering objective truths through the process of hypothesis generation and empirical testing, it is not a tool with which truth may be uncovered in its totality. Aspects of universal truth evade the rational, empirical approach alone and it quickly becomes clear that a second, complementary tool is required to ascertain a comprehensive picture.
In essence, I argue that truth is multi-faceted and its components extend beyond the realm of rationality alone. The inclusion and acceptance of what we shortly define as Dionysian forces represents a more holistic approach to truth-seeking, one that embraces intuition, artistic expression, and the deeper, instinctual aspects of human experience. I suggest that through engaging with the Dionysian forces within us, and outside of us, we can tap into a more profound understanding of life's complexities and unveil otherwise hidden truths that rationality alone may fail to grasp.
By advocating for the inclusion of the irrational, I do not reject the scientific process or the pursuit of objective truths. Rather, I seek to complement them by emphasising the importance of embracing the complex emotional and intuitive dimensions of human existence as being equally as real, despite evading scientific logical deduction. In doing so, I propose that this will broaden our understanding of truth and offer a perspective that transcends the limitations of strict rationality.
“In doing so, I propose that this will broaden our understanding of truth and offer a perspective that transcends the limitations of strict rationality.”
The rate at which society rejects the instinctive for the rational, I believe, has continued to increase since the Enlightenment of the 17th and 18th centuries. Due more recently, in part, to the introduction of computational logic and the algorithmic way of thinking entering our lexicon. Logical statements such as IF, WHEN, and ELSE increasingly seem to influence how we think, how we speak, and how we behave. Furthermore, I suggest that there continues to be a rejection of the notion of the transcendental, or things that are chaotic and lie outside of our rational grasp. Metaphorically, what even in the 19th century may have appeared to be the starry firmament of heaven, full of celestial qualities, is increasingly becoming merely a collection of gas balls set a large distance from our mundane piece of rock. In many circles, the belief in accepting a God that lies above the realm of science is at an all-time low. Therefore, I believe it is as important now as it ever has been to look deeply again at the primitive and creative forces that lie within us and all around us and climb back out of the cave of post-modernist perspectives of reductionism and reconnect with the vital, even if often irrational, forces of complex life.
In the next section, I will summarise the key attributes of the Apollonian and the Dionysian before proceeding to demonstrate the powerful results that emerge when these two forces combine in perfect balance through the examination of one of art’s greatest masters – Rembrandt.
Apollonian and Dionysian forces
Statues of the Greek gods Apollo (right) and Dionysius (left).
The god Apollo was the son of Zeus and Leto. Among other things he was the god of prophecy, music, beauty, and light. In Nietzsche’s framework, Apollo (or the Apollonian) represents order, reason, harmony, and structure. The Apollonian brings shape to the rawness of chaos. Dionysus, on the other hand, the son of Zeus and Semele, represents intoxication, ecstasy, fertility, rebirth, and mystical transformation. The Dionysian form in Nietzsche’s framework therefore represents a delving into a more chaotic state, in which the individual is lost and a trance like state of ecstasy is induced. It somewhat approximates to a representation of the primal chaos that the Apollonian force in turn seeks to control and form.
The idea of using characters rather than words to define these two principles is a powerful one. What takes place is the construction of an entity that can be used to describe aspects of an event, an object, or in our case a work of art, in a more nuanced manner than if adjectives alone are used. As multi-faceted representational figures, the Apollonian and Dionysian (or rather, Apollo and Dionysus) are able to convey ideas in a way that is alive and more malleable than a single word. They are in effect descriptive symbols rather than literal descriptions, and somehow provide an understanding that is greater than the sum of their respective adjectives alone. (Harmony, structure, and light for Apollo for example). The act of embodying these descriptors allows the two figures to communicate with one another and to respond to one another, forming a dialogue in thought space. Subconsciously we can’t help but apply the rules of intentionality to these characters, and in doing so are able to derive a far more complex interpretation of what they represent, than words alone.
These contrasting concepts are in fact two sides of the same coin. Existence is not possible with one and not the other. In the context of Nietzsche’s consideration of Greek theatre, it is their combination and interplay that ultimately manifests in the Attic tragedy – considered to be one of the highest forms of art (essentially the works of Aeschylus and Sophocles). Nietzsche postulates that the fusion of these opposing forces in Greek tragedy led to the highest forms of artistic expression through a profound exposition of life’s contradictions. A purely Apollonian play would be pretty, but dull. A purely Dionysian play, frenzied anarchy. The Apollonian contribution is necessary to provide the play with beauty, structure, and poetry. The Dionysian, to provide an unpredictable yet creative potential and a connection to this primal and fertile state. In principle, without the madness of the Dionysian there would be nothing for the Apollonian to form and mould into beautiful forms. Without the Apollonian, there would be nothing with which to make sense of the Dionysian. In short, two necessary sides of the same coin.
This discussion of course refers to how the theatricals are performed. The performance is one level that demands interpretations. The second level is the narrative and embedded symbolism itself. By definition a tragedy ends in the demise of a principal character, representing the ephemeral nature of life and the universe’s natural tendency towards entropy.
Nietzsche attributes the concept of a dream-like state to Apollo. Dreams in that idyllic sense of beauty, peace, and order. He attributes intoxication to Dionysus – as indeed did the ancient Greeks. Drunkenness in this sense reflecting that feeling of rational abandonment, that lightheaded ecstasy and inhibition of order. It is posited that dreams in this sense inspire plastic forms of art. “Plastic” here referring to artforms that require the physical moulding of the otherwise formless building blocks of nature. Turning stone into sculpture, dirt into paintings, metal into gleaming shields and so forth. That is, an art that emphasises the artist’s ability to shape and manipulate materials. Dionysian art forms on the other hand, are those that are inspired by intoxicated states and are characterised by their ability to break free of rational constraints and tap into primal and seemingly irrational forces. For example, that of music (think Ancient Greek festival music here, rather than Bach for this argument to make sense), ritual, and dance.
Temple of Juno in Agrigento, c.1828-1830. C. D. Friedrich. The dream-like idyllic beauty often ascribed to Greek antiquity.
A short detour on the power of music
Nietzsche, who was in correspondence with Richard Wagner during much of his life (as both an admirer and later as a sworn critic), placed a strong emphasis on the power of music as a fundamentally Dionysian art form, capable of stirring deep emotion, transcending the limits of language and logic, and connecting individuals with a primal state of oneness. Part of the justification for this stems from the adoption of Kant’s and then Schopenhauer’s theories on judgement. In short, Kant (in his Critique of Judgement) set about analysing reality in terms of phenomena (erscheinung) and things (ding an sich). Kant argued that the only world available to our senses is that of the phenomena, whereas the true objects themselves exist independently (of our senses) in the world of things, which remains separate and beyond our reach. Kant however, notoriously spent little time concerning himself with music, which he described simply as “a pleasurable play on the senses”. Although, if one extrapolates Kant’s general theories of aesthetics what emerges is somewhat of a contradiction on the role of music. Some passages suggest that music is merely “agreeable” whereas others suggest that music is “beautiful”. (Note that beautiful here is an important concept in philosophical theories of aesthetics and is not the same “beautiful” that we may use in every day language). An interesting discussion on this can be found in a paper by Samantha Matherne in The Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism [3].
Schopenhauer offers a slightly different interpretation, although much along the same lines. In The World as Will and Representation, he breaks the world into two parts. The world of representation (vorstellung) and the world of will (wille). Under this picture, the world as we find it, is the world of representation. This is one step removed from the essence of being and the things themselves, which exist the world of will. It is perhaps for the following reason that Nietzsche places a strong emphasis on musical forms as the purest and most fundamentally direct artform. If visual art is a representation of our experienced world, that makes it in effect a representation of a representation – i.e. two steps removed from the fundamental world of will. Music on the other hand, if wielded properly, can directly represent the world of will and intentions itself, thereby bypassing a level of detachment from the most fundamental level of being and giving us closer access to the true essence of things rather than their representation.
“Music, if wielded properly, can directly represent the world of will and intentions itself, thereby bypassing a level of detachment from the most fundamental level of being”
A quick sketch of the two levels of reality (as described by Schopenhauer) and our relation to them. The world of “will” lies at the deepest level and is inaccessible directly through sensory experience. The world of phenomena is the world which we perceive in our living form. According to Schopenhauer, music provides a representation that is only one step removed from the level of the will, whereas visual arts is effectively a “representation of a representation” (two steps removed). However, in this article I describe how visual arts can encode a metaphor for the dualistic nature of the total universe and therefore re-establish a direct communication to the deepest levels of reality.
It is a curious observation that music, even purely instrumental music, has an ability to create an entity in musical space that somewhat approximates to a “character”. I don’t here refer to the trivial and unsubtle suggestion that music written in a minor key is sad and that written in a major key happy. Rather, the ability of a single piece over the duration of minutes, or even hours, to form a sensation of character that progresses somehow forward in time, encountering issues, being pushed back, overcoming hurdles, reaching climaxes of joy and moments of quiet reflection and so on. It is clearly not possible to understand these concepts purely in collections of sounds one after another. For understanding such qualities as joy, nobility, and melancholy requires emotional sympathy, if the music induces us actually to feel these things while listening it even requires empathy.
However, one does not empathise with sounds, one empathises with another being. These “beings” in music, somehow anthropomorphistic in many cases, Schopenhauer suggests are pure extractions of the qualities themselves and music therefore provides us with a way of encountering them directly and not through an indirect physical manifestation. Schopenhauer’s account perhaps overreaches slightly in this regard, as was typical in the romantic era of a search for grandiose metaphysical truths. In “Music as an Art”, Sir Roger Scruton provides a more pragmatic twist on Schopenhauer’s theory which relies on his theory on the “overreaching intentionality of our interpersonal attitudes”. In short, he suggests that overreaching intentionality occurs when listeners to music extend their interpretations beyond the purely aesthetic qualities of music and respond to the “subject” created intrinsically within the music, in much the same way that we “reach beyond” the human object to the human subject in the “I – you” encounter. Therefore, he concludes that although music does not possess the power to transport us directly to some abstract metaphysical world, it does somehow possess the same qualities of the human subjective experience that somewhat elude our conscious language. Intriguingly however, it does so in a dimension of its own, in which there are places and relations that have no physical or objective reality.
Is this idea founded in the Dionysian forces in music then? I do not think it is exclusively so. I would argue that it is the Apollonian forces in music – bringing order and beauty to the otherwise chaotic collection of sounds and notes at the disposal of an orchestra that achieve this deep and complex form of communication. That is, that the Apollonian forces of structure and representation are still necessary, even in the purer artform of music, to achieve a successful communication between worlds. However, I do agree with the notion that it is the underlying presence of the Dionysian forces in music that might allow listeners to experience unity, reconciliation, and a sense of cosmic harmony, particularly in music involving choruses and ensembles. In the Dionysian state, barriers between people dissolve, and they feel connected as members of a higher community.
In this state, the collective becomes a work of art in and of itself, as the inexplicit communication between bodies, souls, and their relation to the world can induce a sense of divine presence. This musical discussion therefore has two trails of argument. One examining whether music in its totality is a fundamentally Dionysian or Apollonian artform, and second the nature of individual elements within a musical composition. A simple conclusion of the two combined would be something like; music is fundamentally Dionysian since it is chaotic and without representational or plastic form. However, during its inception, production, and the act of listening to it, it takes on an Apollonian form (of varying degrees). There is also an argument that each moment in music is a fleeting but self-contained example of tragedy. In live music in particular, which cannot be played back, by definition each note cannot be sustained indefinitely. It is necessary for two reasons that the note, which for a moment is the heroic centre of the piece, must dissolve and die. First, is the instrumental constraint – the note on a piano, or violin must eventually subside. On the piano, no matter how long the key is depressed, the tone will eventually fade away. On the violin, a note can appear sustained for long periods of time with multiple passes of the bow, however the finite nature of the instrument and the player makes it impossible to generate a tone that lasts for ever. The second reason is that even if it were possible for each note to “live forever” all that would remain is an unintelligible cacophony of sound – anything but music. The metaphor here is that of the necessity of death and rebirth – the most fundamental message of the tragedy artform, taking place at each passing moment in musical space, and demonstrating to the listener the beauty that arises.
By taking a short diversion and exploring the Apollonian and Dionysian influences in the art of music, we have established that it is the combination of the two forces, in perfect balance, that brings forth the development of true musical art. We have done so in such a way that it matters not whether you believe music to provide a direct portal to the deepest metaphysical world of Schopenhauer’s “will”, or whether it is the generation of a non-physical entity with which you can experience the over-reaching intentionality that you might with another human being.
Now we must ask how does this experience map onto the world of the visual arts? I will continue to argue in the following section, that it is possible to imbue a visual and representational artform with the same direct window into the deepest levels of being, in the way that Nietzsche and Schopenhauer posit music does. I shall do this by examining the dualistic nature of the works of Rembrandt at two levels.
Rembrandt
True art, as opposed to say visual imitation, embodies a spirit of authenticity, originality, and vitality. It occurs when an artist successfully captures, from their perspective, insights into truth and life. There are very few artists that succeed in this so frequently throughout their corpus than Rembrandt. So, how did he do it?
My theory, which I shall elaborate below, is that Rembrandt mastered the ability to incorporate both Dionysian and Apollonian forces in his work in a way that is both balanced and representational of their presences in the natural world. Furthermore, the way in which these forces are unveiled reflects how they are revealed to us in reality. When you observe life from a distance, or indeed a painting by Rembrandt, you observe harmonious and structured forms. People, buildings, societies. However, the closer you look and the deeper you dig, the more you realise that the very building blocks upon which both the world and the paintings are based are more chaotic and unpredictable than their observation at a distance might suggest. Structure and causality, in many cases, are merely an illusion of the ensemble. They are what our brains are programmed to see, for survival, but the pulling of this illusion from before our eyes allows on occasion a re-acquaintance with the primal Dionysian structure of things. Our brains are programmed to make sense of things, to draw boundaries around objects, such that we may use them as tools – but this does not allow one to conclude that this is how things really are. It is merely how we perceive them.
There are some analogies here that can be made that draw upon reasonably involved concepts of the philosophy of science, especially quantum mechanics. Originally, this digression was included at this point in our discussion, but was subsequently moved to a separate article as it posed a threat to the continuity of the discourse here on Rembrandt. However, the interested reader can find that discussion here: Unveiling the Harmonies of Nature: Scientific origins of the Apollonian.
For those with some familiarity with the general principles of quantum mechanics, or those simply with an interest in this scientific line of argument, I strongly suggest opening the short post in a separate tab and reading that before proceeding with this one. For those that do not, fear not for you will lose nothing in the overall discussion at hand.
I mentioned previously in the discussion of musical art forms how the Dionysian concept is to some extent, present in music in the form of the infinite collection of potential notes, timbres, dynamics and sounds of the instruments and voices. It is then the Apollonian influence that somehow, through the use of keys, rhythms, and harmonic relations in this case, that moulds this seemingly unwieldly cacophony of potential to create something harmonious and beautiful. I intend now to shift to the same manifestation in the visual arts – we shall hopefully see how some of the most powerful paintings in history can also be broken down into this Apollonian/Dionysian dualistic scheme.
Rembrandt from a distance - Apollonian beauty, harmony, and order
Rembrandt van Rijn: Self portrait with a turned up collar. National Gallery of Art Washington. c. 1659.
From a distance we perceive stability, harmony, structure, and an unnerving sense of deep human life.
A connection to the pure, abstract foundation of the Apollonian – mathematical geometric truths encoded in universal relations that transcend scale and space. In this case, the Golden Ratio, based on the number (phi = 1.618…) which describes the ratio between two geometric lengths such that the ratio of the total segment to the longer is the same as the longest to the shorter. It is also found in the investigation of Archimedean and Platonic solids and is the limit of ratios of consecutive terms in the Fibonacci sequence.
The following argument applies to pretty much the entire portfolio of paintings by Rembrandt. However, to generate a continuous visual narrative I shall focus on a single piece, one of his wonderful portraits the “Self portrait with a turned up collar” housed at the NGA in Washington. Nevertheless, I encourage you next time you visit a gallery or museum to look at the other works of art by great masters around you, particularly for the following argument Rembrandt, and look through the lens I am about to describe. Do this especially if a single painting jumps out at you as being more “full of life” than everything else around it, which some paintings certainly do.
As you enter the gallery and look at the self-portrait painting from one side of the room, what looks back at you is a face, full of the trials and complexities of life. The majority of the picture is dark and brown; however, your eyes still discern a mass where the body might be. The careful composition, with a seemingly infinite range of shadows and light from the depths of backdrop to the highlights falling upon the face, gives a sense of presence, order, and harmony. The careful and muted use of colours gives the entire composition a sense of unity and coherence. The positioning of the hands and shoulders generate a stable triangular form and add weight to the body of Rembrandt. The main feature, the face, is neither too high nor too low. It is not perfectly at centre – that level of symmetry would look artificial – it is carefully placed such that the mouth lies within the golden ratio between the top and the bottom of the picture. The eye – the window into Rembrandt’s soul – sits another golden ratio above the mouth. It is unlikely that Rembrandt sat with ruler and compass at the easel measuring these distances and proportions. However, this mathematical relationship permeates much of his work. Clearly, Rembrandt’s innate visual perception, his eye, was remarkable at discerning structural harmonies in images that align with the natural world.*
*perhaps even the transcendental/platonic world of pure mathematics
In short, from a distance what we observe in Rembrandt and his work is structure, harmony, and balance. But as we look closer, at from what this structure emerges, another world appears to our eyes and appeals to our conscious. The Dionysian under structure.
Rembrandt up close - Dionysian chaos, vibrancy, and primal energy
Look just a little closer, and it is still possible to distinguish an eye, a nose and hair. However, what from a distance registered as real human flesh begins to look less so. What begin to emerge are patches of pink, yellow, and green. Odd textures that certainly are not found on real human skin. What from a distance was a subtle interplay of delicate transitions between light and shadow, are at this level, lively dances of light interweaving the mid and darker tones.
Look closer again and we lose all sense of eye, mouth, or face. We even begin to lose sight of other structural constructs such as “light patch” or “dark patch”. What emerges is a seemingly chaotic, primal arrangement of colour, of texture, and of gesture. Rembrandt’s brush work is not intrinsically structured at the individual level, it is only in its aggregation that the structure and harmony emerge. That is, after the plastic moulding of matter by the master. This dynamic and seemingly uncontrolled brushwork adds a sense of vibrancy and energy to the painting.
The idea that Rembrandt’s energetic brush work brings a sense of vibrancy and life to his paintings is not new. However, what I have tried to uncover here is why this seemingly loose handling of paint adds a sense of life to his work. Why the same image reproduced with flat, monotonous paint would not generate a similar human to human response when viewed. Why the incorporation of the Dionysian force is ontologically necessary to project a sense of life, by the very fact that it aligns the artwork with the emergence of life itself.
For, to me at least, the explanation we are uncovering is not an inherently obvious result.
(Left): Rembrandt van Rijn: “Self portrait with a turned up collar”, as you might view it in a gallery. (Centre): Looking closer and closer into Rembrandt. An eye, nose, and mouth is still discernible but what from a distance was real flesh begins to appear less so. (Right): Up close all that is left is chaotic juxtapositions of colour and light – a metaphorical representation of the primitive Dionysian forces underpinning our existential world.
“Up close we can see it. From a distance we can sense it. But we often struggle to articulate what it actually is”
The lively dances of light across the face of Rembrandt. Their almost spasmodic position and orientation from a distance registers as the dynamic motions of light.
Indeed, let’s consider quickly what the opposite scenario would be. For that, we need to examine another artwork that is also masterful (such that the difference we discern is not simply down to one being “better” than the other). It must demonstrate beauty, harmony and structure at a distance but not the chaotic Dionysian components up close. Fortunately for us the earlier schools of the Florentine Italian renaissance placed such an emphasis on disegno, (design) displaying harmony and beauty in the “line”. Artists such as Perugino, Leonardo, and Raphael demonstrate what was considered to be artistic prowess at that time through the complete disguising of the physical brush strokes that create a painting. In 15th century Italy, a sign of a master was their ability to give the impression of life-like reality in paint while disguising the fact that the painting was indeed made from something as simple as oils, pigments, and brush strokes.
This led typically to very flat, polished, smooth surfaces and pigment handling on the surface of the canvas or panel. The result of this, is the illusion of almost “other worldly” beings such as Raphael’s Madonnas and Leonardo’s mysterious visages. The image shown below is Filippo Lippi’s achingly beautiful, tender Madonna and Child. However, no matter at what level we visually look at the painting, all we can discern is the Apollonian. The lack of Dionysian references (in the form of bravura brush work for example) takes the figures out of the realm of worldly “life” and moves them deeper in the worlds of perception – closer to abstract Apollonian ideals than the human world, here and now, with all its suffering. These entities demonstrate a beauty that is almost entirely Apollonian and not of this world. These figures are alive, but they live in another platonic world, not in our own. They are not a life that we can directly empathise with. Whereas Rembrandt’s self portrait is full of worldly life, the beings in the works of the Florentine masters lack the representational allegories of human strife and wear the visages of purer, apollonian order. That is not to say that they lack the beauty and depth of a painting by Rembrandt, rather, they are a representation of another world and not a reflection of our human own.
Madonna and Child by Filippo Lippi. Apollonian beauty and order at every level places the figures in an abstract world of platonic ideals.
Dionysian life
Nietzsche suggested that the adoption of the Dionysian indicates neuroses of health and youthfulness – particularly again when discussing its presence in the artforms and theatres of the early Greeks. It is similarly commented that despite Rembrandt’s subjects often being elderly and displaying the wrinkles and hardships of life, that they nevertheless project a characteristic vitality and energy. Based on the argument I have presented, I would again attribute this otherwise difficult-to-explain property of Rembrandt’s works to the incorporation of the Dionysian at the level of the handling of the paint. To the amorphous placement of tone and colour.
The calm, serene image often used to represent the Apollonian nature of Greek culture – the beautiful order of the temples, the majestic columns and elegant statuary – is not, Nietzsche might argue, a product of an equally calm, serene, and placated civilisation, but rather, a product of a civilisation following a long struggle against the tragic aspects of human existence and a society that learned to embrace the Dionysian. The misguided modern interpretation of serenity forgets the essential acceptance of tragedy that must go with it and does so at its own peril. The calm and composed Rembrandt looking back at you from within the canvas is not one of superficial tranquillity, but one that has arrived there through a lifetime of struggle and eventual acceptance of tragedy, mortality, and therefore life, manifest in the order emerging from the turbulence and struggles of those individual strokes of paint.
“The misguided modern interpretation of serenity forgets the essential acceptance of tragedy that must go with it and does so at its own peril.”
Rembrandt frequently shows us how great he is at manipulating his medium to produce staggeringly beautiful and emotionally complex images, but even more than that – he pulls back the curtain to give us a small peak, if we look closely enough, at the primal forces of nature that are as essential in art as in creation itself.
Rembrandt’s paintings are no mere reproduction of an image, they couldn’t be further from a photograph of the subject. What we see in his paintings is so much more. What we see is a very metaphor and a vision of life itself.
Thank you for reading,
Angus
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References & acknowledgements
1) Friedrich Nietzsche, "The Birth of Tragedy out of the Spirit of Music”, 1872
2) Walter Kaufmann “Nietzsche: Philosopher, Psychologist, Antichrist”. Princeton, New Jersey: Princeton University Press. 2013
3) Samantha Matherne, “Kant’s Expressive Theory of Music”, The Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism, Vol. 72, No. 2, 2014
4) I would like to acknowledge the National Gallery of Art (Washington) for use of the images of Rembrandt’s “Self portrait with a turned up collar”
5) Roger Scruton, “Music as an art”, Bloomsbury Continuum, 2018
