Elucidating Ékstasis: Nietzsche and the Psychosomatic Search for the Self
Crowned with verdant foliage, surrounded by carafes of wine and spoils of quince, plums, grapes, and figs, often wielding an ivy-entwined fennel scepter dripping with honey: the Greek god of wine and fertility is depicted in this form. Dionysus’ image is one of hedonic decadence and fecundity, impassioned with all-too-human appetitive desires. A paradox, for a god. In Greek mythology, Dionysus is the deity of imbibing, revelry, orchards, fruit, fertility, and festivities. His presence symbolizes a temporary suspension of rational conduct, inviting an ecstatic surrender to the wild and chaotic aspects of life. In Greek, ékstasis refers to an altered state of consciousness that is generally characterized by extreme elation, or a departure from one’s usual state of mind. Dionysus, compared to the god Apollo who represents order, rationality, and aesthetic symmetry, is a bacchanalian merry-maker. The tension between ecstatic Dionysian abandon and impartial Apollonian soundness-of-thought invites philosophical questioning about the value of primal desires versus logical reasoning, and by extension, questions about what it means to be with world, instead of in the world.
Prior to the 19th century, philosophy, generally associated with Apollonian-esque logic and judgment, was traditionally a pursuit of abstract knowledge through ordered reason. This tradition still persists, but it was an iconoclastic German philosopher, Friedrich Nietzsche, who challenged this view, suggesting that the Dionysian approach, which embraces chaos, ecstasy, and even "drunkenness,” proffers abundant philosophical insights. For Nietzsche, “drunkenness” need not only refer to literal intoxication, but also to a heightened, ecstatic experience of life that awakens curiosity and compromises our normal, staid conduct. Such Dionysian “intoxication” can invoke powerful "epistemic emotions" like awe and wonder, feelings that awaken us to the unknown and inspire us to pursue knowledge and that which we do not know. Contemporary research on the emotions of awe and wonder support this idea: Helen de Cruz, in her book Wonderstruck: How Wonder & Awe Shape the Way We Think, explains how awe and wonder (the “sudden surprise of the soul”), prompt us to explore existence, expanding our knowledge and understanding of the universe and ourselves in it. These emotions are not governed solely by either the body or the mind, but are alchemized psychosomatically, that is by both the brain and body. Nietzsche was the first philosopher to place emphasis on the body, instead of the analytical mind, seeing potential in the vulnerabilities of fallible, fleshy existence.
Exploring the symbolic power of Dionysus, Nietzsche lambasted the limitations of purely rational, Apollonian art, like sculptures or stone carvings, which are eternal and unchanging. When observing these works of art, the viewer imposes their mind onto the artwork to interpret its beauty, whereas Dionysian art is embodied in music: ephemeral, deeply emotional, often moving us to elation. Apollonian art endures outside of time, while Dionysian art is alive, mutable, and capable of inciting powerful physical and emotional responses in the listener that may lead to self-abandon.
A contrast emerges between quiet self-reflection and the Dionysian approach to self-knowledge through revelrous epicureanism. The colder, darker months, traditionally a time of cocooning and introspection, invite us to embrace comforting rituals like a warm meal, a hot bath, or a good book. Nietzsche, however, suggests that revelry, a night of carousing, or absorption in Dionysian rapture might serve as another path to self-knowledge. In his words, the Greek festivals where Dionysian ecstasy was embraced show “nature...heaving a sigh at her dismemberment into individuals,” intimating that festivities bring us closer to solidarity and harmony with our fellow earth-travelers and nature, rejecting the fragmented body politic and the liberal individual.
Nietzsche’s philosophy of Dionysus encourages us to see that truth and understanding don’t come solely from orderly thought and rigid logic: they also arise from moments of awe and “drunken” surrender to life’s mysterious pandemonium. Embracing the Dionysian may allow us to “know thyself” in ways that abstemious self reflection cannot.
