? Beauty and the Abyss The Criminal Role of the Artist in Thomas Mann’s Death in Venice By Eric Layer The German sociologist and critic Theodor Adorno, who later advised Thomas Mann on his novel Doctor Faustus, once famously asserted, “Every work of art is an uncommitted crime.” Death in Venice exemplifies this concept by offering a grim assessment on the nature of the artist. Late into the novel, the protagonist Aschenbach, in the grips of an infatuation with his version of Beauty as personified by Tadzio, a 14-year old boy, claims that artists are unable to be “wise nor dignified,” and that “the use of art to educate the nation and its youth is a reprehensible undertaking which should be forbidden by law.” (Mann, DIV 86). Is Mann also implying that all artists are essentially criminal in nature? Or is there any suggestion of a possible balance between the ordered, refined, and repressed writer Aschenbach appears to be at the outset of the novel, and the lustful, vain, and passionate man he allows himself to become by the book’s end? And which state is more responsible for his final demise -- the suppression of his sensual side, or his obsession with it? The final verdict remains ambiguous, but there are clues, as well as glimmers of hope, both on and off the pages of this early Modernist work. Throughout the book, Aschenbach wrestles with these dual sides of his nature, which, in keeping with his propensity to invoke Greek myth, can be described using the terms Apollonian and Dionysian. Apollo, the noble and industrious god, represents a solid and productive nature, the “power to create harmonious and measured beauty” (Kaufman 128). On the other side of the Greek coin, Dionysus signifies the erotic and chaotic forces of man’s unbridled nature, the “frenzy that threatens to destroy all forms and codes” (128). The former exemplifies Aschenbach’s rigorous perfectionism at the onset of the novel, whereas the latter is what his increasing obsession with Tadzio slowly reveals. An easy explanation would be that Apollonian qualities are a positive force, whereas Dionysian can be negative, and lead to chaos and destruction. However, the quest for perfection demands repression of our basic human instincts, our emotions, and our sensuality, which can lead to a “bland and sterile disengagement” (Holman 3). On the other side, the Dionysian state can make one “spiritually aware, usually through euphoria”(Foster 155). It’s this illicit intoxication that Aschenbach eventually welcomes with open arms, proclaiming the words “I love you,” the “standing formula of the heart’s desire – impossible here, absurd, depraved, ludicrous and sacred nevertheless.”(Mann 67) These Greek terms and their conceptual roots resurfaced in Nietzsche’s Birth of a Tragedy at the latter part of the 19th Century, which Mann was commonly believed to have drawn heavily from (Bornedal). Nietzsche saw the two forces “as indispensable to the development of culture -- the Dionysian, in the form of disease and hardship, spurs the artist to create things of beauty” (Symington 128). In another, related work, The Will to Power, Nietzsche also wrote, “It does not seem possible to be an artist and not to be sick.” Aschenbach’s previous creative success was achieved by a conscious attempt “to construct a bulwark against, if not to conquer, the Dionysian elements”(128) that, in the end, he is unable to keep at bay. Mann is perhaps inferring that artists are drawn to uncover the hidden, Dionysian depths that civilized society covers up, even if it is by Apollonian means. This propensity that leads them into emotionally volatile territory in their work can also bleed into their lives, which is perhaps why throughout history, many artists have fallen victim to drug and alcohol abuse, madness, and even suicide. Nietzsche goes on to theorize that human existence as we know it would not be possible without the fragile balance between these two contrasting forces. The so-called civilized society, often corrupt and repressive, needs “the rapturous vision, the pleasurable illusion, for its continuous redemption.” (Nietzsche, 45) Similarly, the Dionysian requires the Apollonian to keep it from falling into chaos. So an artist must embrace their own duality if they hope to survive. They need both the emotional inspiration (Dionysus) and the competent diligence (Apollonian) to complete a great work of art. The problem occurs when one leans to heavily to one side, as the uneven sway of Aschenbach demonstrates. Osc