23.5.2010
In previous posts (see here: part 1 and part 2) I have started to list Thomas
Mann's uses of prefiguration, a writing technique; and I noted that instances
of this technique, at the points when they occur in the story, not only
signify some later elements in the story for us (the readers), but that also
each time Aschenbach (the protagonist) notices something strange going on,
he's got a feeling that the world shifts towards the dreamy, away from the
real.
Two interesting questions arise at this point: first, since Mann makes
some effort to arrange these repeated invocations of a drift into unreality,
there must be some point to it. What is going on? As the plot develops,
Aschenbach gradually loses touch with reality, and it is at least suggested
that this is a prime factor in his eventual death. (Without his delusions,
he wouldn't have stayed on in Venice despite his knowledge of a cholera
outbreak, 256–257; he wouldn't have exhausted himself in the streets
and then bought and eaten over-ripe strawberries, 262; and so on.) Still it
isn't fully clear what the driving force behind this development is.
Possibly what we observe are the effects of a decline in health, both
physical and mental, and the description of Aschenbach's losing grip is just
to express this, to make the symptoms visible. On the other hand, most of
what happens in the plot has at least some external causes. The stranger at
the cemetery isn't merely imagined, and the fake youth and the gondolier are
real enough, though we are meant, in the overtones of what we are told about
them, to perceive a significance in their appearance which transcends the
mere physical and social goings-on. And although Aschenbach is portrayed to
actively seek the seductiveness of Venice in its otherness and magic ("Was
er suchte, war das Fremdartige und Bezuglose, welches jedoch rasch zu
erreichen wäre"; and again, "Wenn man über Nacht das
Unvergleichliche, das märchenhaft Abweichende zu erreichen suchte,
wohin ging man?", both at 200), the fact is that this quality of the place
isn't merely in his imagination, but actually inheres in it. (And one
might add that this is not only so in the world of the novella, but even in
reality, too.)
The second question (apart from whether the forces driving the
development of the plot are external or integral to Aschenbach's person) is
how we are to understand the underlying valuation.
It's not the only story by Mann in which a well-working life philosophy
based on a fundamentally sound strategy is narratively reduced ad
absurdum. Viz. "Der kleine Herr Friedemann",[1] where an Epicurean
philosophy of life finally fails the protagonist in the face of strong
passion. Similarly, Aschenbach's strict and ascetic, and determinedly kept,
attitude is demonstratively displayed as working for a while, and
deceptively successful at first, but eventually unmaintainable. One might try
and look for a pattern or even a strategy here.
So does Mann want to show us that a focused, determined and controlled,
a strict and ascetic life like Aschenbach's is in the end not sustainable?
Are we told, poetically, that admiration for it is based on an illusion,
that we might be disenchanted once we cease to look only from the outside?
Or is it the weaker point that even though it might work for a while, it
can't be fully taken to the end? Moreover, the forces that are shown, in his
opinion, to be really at the base of what we do, seem to be partly
aesthetical forces. Captivated by an instance of beauty, Aschenbach
subordinates all other concerns. Are we to welcome or to fear the power of
the aesthetic; are we to take it as good or bad for us?
In Aschenbach's life as an artist, there is also an element of career
and a will to produce; he is described to painstakingly ration his energy and
mental focus in order to enable the creation of his literary works. (Which,
it is made clear, requires patience and a long, persistent will, 194.) But at
the time at which the events of the story take place, this overriding motive
is trumped by the impact of the aesthetic. Reasoned organization of one's
life, then, is overcome in the end by the more powerful eros of beauty.[2]
Let us examine this more closely. Aschenbach has centered his life around
his being a successful writer of literary works. This focus of his life
was strong enough not just to make him diligent and thorough when crafting
his texts, but also to help him methodically overcome a weak constitution
(194) and master the huge amount of work (such as correspondence) that comes
with fame and a network of intellectual connections (193). What might be the
principal content of a life for others, like romantic and other personal
relationships, family life or simply enjoyment of lifestyle was merely a
peripheral presence for Aschenbach: his brief marriage is mentioned only
in passing (198), and at one point it is reported of him that "'Sehen Sie,
Aschenbach hat von jeher nur so gelebt' — und der Sprecher
schloß die Finger seiner Linken fest zur Faust — 'niemals so'
— und er ließ die geöffnete Hand bequem von der Lehne des
Sessels hängen." (193)
All this life-long consequence and determination, however, is no match
for what directs Aschenbach's actions as the story unfolds. It is precisely
not his work and stature as an artist that is the topmost relevant
consideration; something else replaces his grounding concern. And it is
really a change in the very foundation of his entire life philosophy. It's
not as if Aschenbach would see it as appropriate to relax and enjoy, at
his advanced age (he's over fifty when the story begins), the good things of
life; it is not as if he'd see the central occupation with literature, fame
and discipline which has dominated both his youth and his adult live
rightfully give way to a more indulgent lifestyle. Quite the contrary:
"[er] wünschte sehnlichst, alt zu werden, denn er hatte von jeher
dafür gehalten, da§ wahrhaft groß, umfassend, ja wahrhaft
ehrenwert nur das Künstlertum zu nennen sei, dem es beschieden war,
auf allen Stufen des Menschlichen charakteristisch fruchtbar zu sein."
(194)
The fulfillment of this desire, as the story will insistently and
mercilessly bring out, isn't to be granted. Something else takes over and
prescribes a new direction. Down that path there is only weakness, disease,
and destruction; yet this is where Aschenbach decides to go. So the
grounding idea of his life has been replaced by a new one, on the lines
of blindly following an instance of beauty whereever it leads, and whatever
the consequences may be.
This is aestheticism, the idea that only an aesthetic life (with its
worship of beauty and the unquestioning observance to its incarnations) is
worth living: and with it the corresponding idea that an ethical life, a
life based on character and its improvement, has to fail in the end. Or,
more precisely, what fails is the synthesis that Aschenbach attempts between
discipline, hard work and dedication on the one hand and the service of
beauty on the other. But how are we to understand the fact that in Mann's
narrative strategy, this realization corresponds to a gradual loss of sense
of reality?
So the two questions are, in short: first, what is the cause of, and
second, what's the reason for, Aschenbach's losing touch with reality?
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[1] Thomas Mann, "Der kleine Herr Friedemann", in: Der Wille
zum Glück. Erzählungen 1893–1903. Frankfurt a.M: Fischer
1991, 66–94.
[2] Shortly before the end, an exhausted and delirious Aschenbach
states this insight in terms that allude to Plato's Phaedrus,
263–264; this invocation of the theory of beauty and its relation to
the artist's mind and spirit I'd very much like to comment on more
extensively, but not now.
