Friday, November 29, 2013

Wagner's Influence on Sexual Mores and Gay Culture

I believe that Wagner had a significant impact on Western cultures sexual mores. However, from my research, I can’t find much that directly supports my hypothesis. Indirectly, though, there is ample evidence to support it. Thus, I will have to make the case obliquely, with the hope that some academic in need of a doctorate will take this topic up in depth.1 

There is one exception, however, in which there is much direct evidence of his influence on sexual mores: in the area of gay culture throughout the Western world, which I will cover in the second section.

Music and Sexual Desire

Before writing about Wagner’s time, I want to say a few things about the era of my youth: the 60s and 70s.

To say music—and the musicians who create it—can influence our view of sexuality is a very difficult proposition to prove in any era. However, I think it is clear that rock n roll was a significant part of the modern “sexual revolution” that began in the 1960s, helped along by reduced inhibitions that resulted from the embrace of drugs. The phrase is “sex, drugs and rock n roll” for a reason. I am not saying that the potent combination of drugs and rock caused the sexual revolution; but it was absolutely tied into the youth movement of the time, and indivisible from it. 

Of course, the development of this movement is enmeshed with a number of cultural and political changes—such as the rise of the civil rights movement, the assassinations of the Kennedys and Martin Luther King, the Vietnam war—that led to a general revolt against the dominant powers of that period. As well, the widespread availability of effective contraception, particularly “the pill,” was also an important component. But, for me, growing up in that era, there is no doubt that music—and identification with some musicians—greatly influenced my views of both sex and drugs, and made it easy for me to reject the view that sexuality should be confined to marriage, and was in some way “dirty.” And the music itself was directly related to my sexual desire. While I can’t prove it was the same for everyone, I am quite sure that Beatlemania—and similar phenomena—was not “innocent” for many, but part their sexual awakening.

With that as prelude, I will now return to Wagner’s time. The move away from a repressive sexuality had long been gaining steam, ever since the advent of the enlightenment, when the church lost control over matters of the flesh. A recent book called The Origins of Sex: A History of the First Sexual Revolution by Famamerz Dabhoiwala details the massive changes in Western sexual mores that was evident by the early 1800s. Men benefited from these changes much more than women, as female sexual desire was repressed during most of the century for “respectable women.”

In Germany, one manifestation of these broad changes in sexual mores was “the Young Germany” movement of the 1830s, whose agenda was—among other liberal things—“free love” and reform of laws that treated women as property within marriage. Wagner was an enthusiastic supporter of this group, and formed his ideas about love and emancipation of women in this era, all of which became firmly implanted in his music dramas, as I wrote about here and here.

In the epilogue to Laurence Dreyfus’s study of Wagner’s erotics, he writes, “It is clear that Wagner’s devotion to depictions of sexual desire was exceedingly unconventional, indeed unprecedented in the history of art.”2 This is certainly because his belief that the repression of female sexual desire as one of the big ills of society was very unconventional. Eva Rieger called the depiction of female sexual desire via Isolde “all but revolutionary.”3  I have covered all this in the posts I referenced above, but I want to make one clear point: all his female characters exhibited very strong desire, including the “virginal” ones such as Elisabeth in Tannhäuser. This was particularly subversive to the dominant sexual culture.
Beardsley's Wagner Nights

Women–“respectable women”–flocked to hear Wagner’s works, and were among his strongest, most consistent supporters.4 And, while they didn’t scream à la Beatlemania, there were repeated reports of audience members—mostly women or gay men—fainting, having sobbing fits and other sorts of delirium.5 This outsized reaction to him made his critics react in horror, seeing his work as both a manifestation of illness, and a cause of it. They deemed—with their own brand of hysteria— that Wagner seduced the women (and gay men) to mental disease through his over-wrought music. He was damned as degenerate—just as critics damned rock n rollers in the same way. Nonetheless, Wagner won the cultural battle—at least for a time—as a large share of the intelligentsia reacted by embracing him, and Wagnerism was born.

Wagner’s stunning popularity and vast influence (as I wrote about here) opened the floodgates to much more sexual expressiveness in music and, for that matter, all art. He got away with it, so others now fearlessly followed in his path. In this way, he both directly and indirectly influenced the cultural perception of sexuality. The acceleration of trends towards more open sexuality of the fin de sìecle period, particularly within Germany, France and England, can certainly be traced directly to Wagner.

Wagner and Gay Cultural Development

What wrong
did those two do
when spring united them in love? 

 Wotan, in Die Walküre

As with the last section, I want to kick off this part from a more contemporary perspective: being a lesbian in America before the very recent acceptance of this identity. Back in the day, if you were gay and wanted to meet a partner, this was rather tricky. Unless they were independently wealthy, the vast majority of gay people were in the closet. You risked your life, your livelihood, your family, and membership in the community if you came out. Thus, to meet another gay person you needed codes—through dress, mannerisms, interests, activities, euphemisms. When I came out, the best way to meet other lesbians—other than a gay bar—was to get on a sports team. (Or, in my case, I officiated, and that worked just as well!) 

Geez, I was skinny then.
Anyway, this was a great way to meet fellow lesbians.
It’s not that there weren’t a lot of straight women playing sports; there certainly were. Its just that there was always a whole lot of lesbians there, too. Way more than you would find at, say, a dance class. As soon as you could identify just one safely, the door to the club was open. If you met a woman that you thought might be gay somewhere other than at a sports field or gym, you could always ask, “do you play softball?” as a sort of code. If the person was a lesbian—even if she detested sports—she could answer, “No, I hate sports, but I do admire Babe Didrikson.”6 Ah ha! By dropping that particular icon’s name, she has just safely cued you in to her status as a lesbian. (Later, one would have dropped the name Billie Jean King or, later still, Martina Navratilova. By the time Martina came out, the need to use icons instead of just honest communication, of course, had mostly subsided.) 

Babe at the 1932 Olympics.
She won 5 Gold Medals, and set 4 world records.

In the period Wagner’s greatest popularity—from the 1880s to World War I—he served as a gay icon, just like Babe or Billie Jean did to me. Essentially, if someone asked in the right tone, in the right place, “Do you enjoy Wagner’s music?” that was a code for asking if the person was gay. How did a straight man became a gay icon? Well first, as I argued here, he wasn’t considered all that straight.

In his book, Opera In The Flesh: Sexuality In Operatic Performance, the author Sam Abel offers a number of reasons:

Why, of all opera composers, did Wagner in the nineteenth century became the focal point for operatic queerness? Arguably, Wagner invited this identification through his own excessive and illicit sexual dealings, as well as a certain ambiguity in them, especially his complex feelings toward his young, attractive gay patron, King Ludwig of Bavaria. Wagner’s grandiose and self-inflated personality cult had queer undercurrents, where even the most vague associations could become amplified into a secret code. One can also argue that, if opera in general evokes marginal sexuality, then Wagner, the grandest of the composers of grand opera, the self-appointed peak of the operatic hierarchy, must necessarily represent the furthest reach of sexual marginalization. Above all, it is Wagner’s blatant evocation of sexual transgression in his music-dramas that labels his work as queer.7 

The embrace of Wagner’s music by gay music lovers certainly existed during his life. For instance, a political journalist, using code of his own, wrote in the 1870s: “Women from the upper echelons of society, those who are sensual by nature and men of an effeminate stamp made it their special concern to cultivate Wagner’s music.”8 

Magnus Hirschfeld, the heroic German sexologist and gay rights advocate, had much to do with promulgating Wagner’s association with the incipient gay rights movement that he founded in the late 1800s. Essentially, he attempted to surf the wave of Wagner’s popularity by associating him as queer, both within his own writings (coining the term transvestism to partially explain Wagner’s queerness) and by commissioning the writer Hans Fuchs to write a book on homosexuality and music, with the intent that Wagner would be among those featured. This commission turned into the first sympathetic portrait of Wagner as queer: the book Richard Wagner and Homosexuality. While they both did acknowledge that Wagner’s sexual inclinations was straight, they still saw his “feminine traits” as being akin to homosexuality.9  Fuchs called Wagner “homosexual in spirit.”10

Hirschfeld described in his 1914 book, The Homosexuality of Man and Women, the attraction of opera, and particularly Wagner, to gay men:

It is the romantic, more colorful, more sensual music, the modern music with a “literary” feature, which attracts homosexuals, while they remain more indifferent toward the classical and older music, which demands more intellectual participation. Homosexuals love the mixing of styles; they do not like purely lyrical or theatrical music, songs or symphonies, but rather “program music,” in which the sequence of musical patterns is determined by clearly establish images, ideas, and by a text; even more: they love—opera... [particularly] the modern music dramas since Wagner, especially Wagner himself.11 

Hirschfeld did interview many gay men in his research so this certainly is the opinion of more than just him, but I get the idea he is really talking about himself. Kraft-Ebbing, in his 1886 book on sexual pathology, quotes a gay man as saying: “I passionately love music, and am an enthusiastic devotee of Richard Wagner’s, which partiality I have noticed most homosexuals have; I find that this music corresponds so closely to our nature.”12  This sort of sentiment—that gay men of that era find themselves within his music—I have read in various forms multiple times. Indeed, for gay men (and lesbian women) their lives were often ones of suffering and passion, so I can see why they felt the connection to Wagner and his music.

Bayreuth—and other Wagner performances—became a destination for gay men. A sensational article in 1895 by the writer Oskar Panniza, entitled “Bayreuth and the Homosexual” characterized the festival as a noted place for homosexual rendezvous. The composer Alban Berg wrote to his fiancee in 1909 from Bayreuth about “...the ghastly horde of Wagnerian homosexuals.”13  As the softball field or a gym served lesbians, it was at Wagner’s operas that gay folks could safely find each other.

The fact that Wagner was known in his lifetime to be at least near-queer and wrote music widely seen as homoerotic, yet was given such wide-spread acceptance in Europe in spite of this fact, gave tremendous hope to gay people.  This encouraged gay artists to extend the representation of gay lives in their work, as well as to peak their heads out of the closet a bit more. It also didn’t hurt that Wagner’s son Siegfried was gay—something known in gay musical circles—which reinforced the feeling that Wagner was “one of us.” 

The world, though, wasn’t quite ready for gay folks, and some of those who peaked out their heads suffered for it. Oscar Wilde is the most notable example and the most relevant to this post. He, along with the painter Aubrey Beardsley, were the leading figures in Great Britain of what was called the “decadent movement” in fin de sìecle Europe. According to Emma Hutton in her study of the movement, Aubrey Beardsley and British Wagnerism in the 1890s, “Histories of the decadent movement of the fin de sìecle are inseparable from histories of homosexuality in Britain.”14 While hostile critics had originally coined the phrase for the movement, it was embraced by the movement itself, much as queers have recaptured that word in modern day. While many members of the movement were Wagnerians, the direct association of Wagnerism with the Decadents came via the most famous broadside against the movement, Max Nordau’s 1892 book Degeneration. He lays at the feet of Wagner the rise of the movement, and consider him the über-decadent: “Richard Wagner is in himself alone charged with a greater abundance of degeneration that all of the degenerates put together.15

A drawing of Wilde and Beardsley by Eskavi

Both Beardsley and Wilde were Wagnerians, though Wilde was irreverently so, and both made Wagner and his works a frequent subject in their art. Beardsley drew many Wagnerian scenes, but one of his most famous pieces is the drawing “The Wagnerites,” which I posted above. It is striking, of course, because it shows a largely female audience at a performance of Tristan and Isolde. At that point in time, women rarely went to the theater unaccompanied by a man. The implications of a female audience choosing to experience by themselves the most erotic opera existing was why the drawing—and phenomenon—was considered shocking and decadent.16

As for Wilde, Sutton documented that his frequent use of Wagner “indicated to informed readers his sexual tastes.” While no direct reference was made to Wagner’s works in Wilde’s trial, Sutton argues that the connection was clear:

Dorian Gray, with its Wagnerian protagonist, was a central text in the construction of Wilde’s homosexuality, and of the homoeroticism of his work... The “contrived spectacle” of the “discovery” of Wilde’s homosexuality made the association of decadence and homosexuality explicit, an association augmented, I would suggest, by Dorian Gray’s fervent Wagernism. The convention of “pathological” Wagnerism, the recent promotion of Wagner’s works by British decadent artists (notably Beardsley) and the fusion of Wagnerism with androgynous and homoerotic subjects, had made Wagnerism, in this content, a resonant indicator of homoeroticism and homosexuality.17 

Wilde’s trial served as a warning to gay people: stay in the shadows or you will be persecuted. The repression of gay sexuality continued throughout the West until the modern rise of the gay rights movement in 1969 finally led to a number of reforms, though there is a long way to go for full equality. 

The only place where real in-roads were made in the struggle for gay acceptance before the modern era was in Germany, and that was as a direct result of the work of Hirschfeld. He founded in 1897 the pioneering gay rights organization Scientific-Humantarian Committee to advance gay rights in general, with a specific goal to overturn Bismark’s 1871 law, Paragraph 175, which prohibited gay male sex.18  After the war, during the more liberal period of the Weimer republic, he founded the Institute for Sex Research, which housed thousands of books, letters and images related to the subject.  He had worked tirelessly all those years getting the word out and bringing homosexuality into the open, and the seeds he planted in the late 1890s were now bearing fruit. By the 1920s in Germany, homosexuality was roughly where it was in the early 1980s in the United States: part of the public discourse, not hidden in the shadows, with those on the left advocating repeal of anti-gay statues. In 1929, a Reichstag Committee voted for repeal of the anti-gay statutes, but that is as far as the movement advanced.

Magnus Hirschfeld
To what extent this advance was helped by Wagner’s music and Wagner’s association with gay culture, it is impossible to say. But just the fact of the discussion of his sexuality, which was on-going from the 1890s through the 1920s, certainly brought the topic of homosexuality and transvestism into the open. Because Wagner was the celebrated cultural hero of the era, and his music championed non-traditional forms of love, I would argue that it certainly was part of the reason that Germany was so far advanced in the area of gay rights.

The Nazi suppression of the movement begin in February, 1933.  All the gay bars were closed, the Institute and its library were burned, and gay rights activists were rounded up and taken to concentration camps. 

The Nazi burning of the Institution for Sexual Research's library

Hirschfeld, on a world tour at the time of the suppression, never returned to Germany. An estimated 5,000-15,000 gay people (mostly men) perished in the holocaust. Sadly ironic, of those imprisoned for being gay who did survive the Nazi regime, several were re-imprisoned by the Allies to serve out their terms.19 

Leaving that depressing tale, gay men’s appreciation of opera and Wagner’s work has extended to this day—seriously, it is impossible to go to a Wagner opera without seeing a gaggle of gay men—but the coding of him and his works as particularly queer has not; Nazi appropriation of his work killed that.

End Notes

A Postscript:

While Hitler obviously approved the decimation of gay culture, he did look the other way where homosexuals were of use to him or his friends. Thus, when Winifred Wagner wanted to protect key homosexual singers at Bayreuth, such as Max Lorenz, Hitler would accede. See here. Of particular interest in this area is the 1937 Kurt Ludecke memoir, I Knew Hitler.  He had been a confidant of Hitler, but ended up on the wrong side of the 1934 power struggle within the Nazi party that led to the “blood purge” (aka “Night of the Long Knives”) of the Sturmabteilung (SA) in 1934. The relevant passage concerns his attempt to get Hitler to deal with his complaints about homosexuals in the SA, and he quotes Hitler as dismissing his concern by saying, “Ach, why should I concern myself with the private lives of my followers. I love Richard Wagner’s music—must I shut my ears because he was a pederast?” (As quoted in Hidden Hitler, 280)

1 Perhaps there is some German study on this topic that I am unaware of; it is to the literature in English that I am, unfortunately, confined.
2 Dreyfus, Wagner and the Erotic Impulse, 218
3 Rieger, Richard Wagner’s Women, 83
4. For an example of this, read Wagner Nights, which discusses the American cult of Wagner that centered around the conductor Anton Seidl, who was indeed a cult-like figure in himself.  This excerpt from Wagner in Performance gives a sense of this cult.
5 While this phenomenon has been noted by many, the material tends to show up in  the Wagner-as-disease motif as in this book and this article.  
6 Babe's mannish appearance led to much speculation about her, and much pressure on her.  To relieve that pressure she begin wearing more feminine clothing and make-up, and she married.  Though she remained married to her husband until her early death at age 42, for the last six years of her life she was involved with, and lived with, the golfer Betty Dodd. I don't think any lesbian believed the marriage was real, but it seemed to work for everybody else.  The issue of lesbians in sports—and the regressive reaction to it—has been written about in depth by my former romantic partner, historian Susan Cahn, in her wonderful book Coming on Strong, Gender and Sexuality in 20th Century Women's Sports. And, yes, we met at a gym.  She was the player; I was the ref.
7 Abel, Sam, Opera in the Flesh, 67
8 Spencer, ed., Wagner Remembered, 57
9 Hirschfeld, The Homosexuality of Man and Women, 580
10 As quoted by Dreyfus, 194
11 Hirschfeld, 579-580
12 As quoted in the article by Mitchell Morris, “Tristan’s Wounds: On Homosexual Men at the Fin de Sìcele.”  This piece is going to be part of a book that Morris, a UCLA professor, is writing related to Wagner and homosexuality.
13 As quoted in Morris
14 Emma Hutton, Aubrey Beardsley and British Wagnerism in the 1890s27. This book is great, and luckily for me the UCSC library had it, but it’s $100 on Amazon.  Such a pity.
15 See this quote and more of Nordau on Wagner here.  
16 Here is an interesting analysis of that drawing and one can be found, as well,  in chapter 3 of Hutton’s book. 
17 Hutton, 52. The first two interior quotes are from Barlett, Who Was that Man, 128. 
18 Lesbian sex was never explicitly prohibited, though there were movements to do so from time to time.  It is generally true that gay men were far more persecution then lesbians throughout the Western world.  The reasons for this would make an excellent blog post, but in a different blog, for sure.
19  See here

Friday, November 22, 2013

My Feminist Critique of the Feminist Critique of Wagner

In the modern era, many feminists find Wagner to be sexist or even misogynist, both personally and in his works.  I have already written about my view of Wagner and women in his personal life in these chapters.  My conclusion was that Wagner was much more progressive then most men of his era in many ways, but that he did strongly believe that women and men were fundamentally different and had different roles to fulfill in society. To single him out as sexist for these traditional—and still widely held—views, when virtually everybody in the Western world agreed with him, is logically indefensible unless his views were much more retrogressive than his peers. They were not.

There is no doubt he had idiosyncratic ideas about women and men.  He had idiosyncratic ideas about everything. In his era, emerging feminists championed his works for the many ways they pushed the envelope.  Wagner’s women characters showed strong sexual desire, which was absolutely revolutionary at the time. They were also confident and courageous, willing to do what they desired regardless of what society impelled. This was true of Senta, Elizabeth, Sieglinde, Brünnhilde, Isolde, and Eva.1  He also embedded in his works, particularly The Ring, a critique of women treated as property, of the horrors of rape, and of the importance of woman’s partnership with men to create the revolutionary society that he envisioned.  All of this was extremely progressive.  From reading his letters to his many women friends and lovers—as well as from “knowing” his characters—it is very clear to me that he absolutely loved and respected woman.

One of my favorite moments in the whole Ring cycle is when Wotan strips Brünnhilde of her godhead in punishment for her defiance of him, and tells the other Walküries of her fate:

A husband will win
her womanly favors.
To this domineering man
she will belong thenceforward.
She will sit by the fire and spin,
the topic and butt of all jokers.
Does her fate terrify you?2

They all react in horror to being a subordinate wife.  Isn’t that great?  What feminist wouldn’t like that? 

On Death and his Music Dramas

So what is the beef that some feminists have with his works?  One central problem feminists have with Wagner, elaborated in Opera, the Undoing of Woman by Catherine Clément, is that the woman dies “for the man.”  It seems, to them, misogynistic that a woman cannot live without a man.  The problem with this critique is that Wagner felt just as strongly that men couldn’t live without women; personally, he certainly could not. Tristan and Isolde both die for love.  Siegmund is ready to kill Sieglinde, his unborn child, and himself rather than live without her love.  Siegfried, as he is dying, finally stops being the stupid bore that he has been since we met him, and thinks, now, only of his beloved Brünnhilde and dies to these words:

Sweet passing,
blessed terror:
Brünnhilde bids me welcome!

In turn, Brünnhilde dies for his love, too. Her last words:

Siegfried! Siegfried! See!
Your wife joyfully greets you!

Wagner made very clear that he believed that men alone could not create a revolutionary society, and in fact that the problem with modern society was that it was built solely by men.  It required that women awaken and, together with men, create a new humankind. He expressed these views in a 1854 letter to August Röckel:

Not even Siegfried alone (man alone) is the complete “human being”: he is merely the half, only with Brünnhilde does he become the redeemer; one man alone cannot do everything; many are needed, and a suffering, self-immolating woman finally becomes the true, conscious redeemer: for it is love which is really “the eternal feminine” itself.3

 The heroic images of the new man and women together.
(Just ignore it is a Soviet statue for this post.
I will circle back to the implications of this later.)
Since Wagner wanted to remake society so that love was at the center, not property and power, obviously women had the crucial role to play from his perspective. They were the antidote to what Wagner considered a loveless society, controlled by and for men.  This was not just a passing idea for Wagner, but at the very center of his thought.  His unfinished final prose work, “On the Feminine in the Human Race,” restated these ideas. 

Even if you disagree with Wagner’s view that women and men are fundamentally different—and I do only partially—I think it is fairly clear that his views aren’t based on hatred of women at all.

The other serious problem with these critiques is that there is an assumption that death is bad.  Wagner absolutely disagreed with this view, which is abundantly clear in his music dramas, his prose, and letters. In the same letter I quoted above, Wagner wrote Röckel:

Without the necessity of death, there is no possibility of life…. Therefore, to be consumed by truth is to abandon oneself as a sentient human being to total reality: to experience procreation, growth, bloom—withering and decay, to apprehend them unreservedly, in joy and in sorrow, and to choose to live—and die—a life of happiness and suffering.
We must learn to die, and to die in the fullest sense of the word; fear of the end is the source of all lovelessness.4

For Wagner, his life until the mid-1860s was dominated by pain and suffering. Death was attractive to him in a very real, as well as theoretical, way. Life was the tragedy; death represented the release from suffering. Thus, Wagner turns tragedy on its head. Death, at least of the principals, is almost always a good thing in his music dramas.  In fact, he only wrote one true tragedy: Lohengrin.  The hero, sadly, lives to suffer on.

This truth is in the experience of his works. I never leave Götterdämmerung sad or frustrated that Brünnhilde dies:  she dies because she wants to.  She is the truly wise person who understands it is time for a new beginning.  She leaves in order to join her love Siegfried, and to make a way for, hopefully, a better future.  I never leave Tristan and Isolde sad or frustrated for either of them: this is what they wanted ever since they fell in love. The suffering of love was too great, the reality too daunting, and the rewards of total darkness too tempting to remain alive.  I am sad, though, for the living,  King Marke and Brangane, who are both brokenhearted because it is a tragedy to them.  It is their pain I feel. But for the lovers, I only feel Isolde and Tristan’s ecstatic release from suffering. In both those cases, it is the woman who gets the last word.  The men have already passed.  Here is Wagner’s description of the bliss of death through the united voices of Tristan and Isolde from Act 2:

I myself the world;
floating in sublime bliss,
life of love most sacred,
the sweetly conscious
undeluded wish
never again to waken.

Thus might we die,
that together,
ever one,
without end,
never waking,
never fearing,
enveloped in love,
given up to each other,
to live only for love!

Now banish dread,
sweet death,
yearned for, longed for

In the case of Brünnhilde and Isolde, they die by choice, not to redeem men, but to join them. In both cases, the man wanted the very same thing. Wagner also wrote female characters, Senta and Elizabeth, whose deaths do redeem the men (and the men die, too.)  Again, though, this is not a tragedy in the works. It feels good to the listener—the music, supported by the libretto, makes it so.

Basically, some feminists really don’t like that Wagner is killing women within the dramas for what they perceive as his own bizarre needs, even though they acknowledge that the female characters are strong and brave in his works, and their deaths are heroic. What can I say? Yes, Wagner did seem to have this intense need for a woman to love him so much they would die with and for him. The thing is, he wanted the reverse to be true, too. Just like Tristan and Isolde, he wanted to become one with a woman, forever united in blissful love, blissful death. Since he realized this was impossible to get in actual life, he poured this need out in his music. And it led to this awesome, inspiring, uplifting music.  I’m truly glad he was a weirdo when it came to love.

To defend his death obsession, I do agree with him absolutely about the importance of embracing death.  I actually wrote about that here a few years ago in a blog about a cancer that I had. 
Death is just a part of the wonderful cycle of life, and it is true we will all get much more out of life if we don’t fear death and view it as a negative, but as inevitable and, in its own way, wonderful part of that cycle.

Sexism in the music itself?

The other feminist critique, most clearly expounded by Eva Rieger in her book Richard Wagner’s Women, is that the music itself sometimes or often denigrates women, while venerating men.  You can hear her critique in a lecture she gave here.  

Eva Rieger giving her lecture cited here.
In this lecture, she gives two examples of this process. 

First she discusses the music of Wotan compared to his wife Fricka.  She asserts that Wagner gives Wotan this ennobled motif, while giving Fricka less rich music, sometimes with no accompaniment. In this way, she claims, “[i]t makes her seem unpleasant.  This helps us side with Wotan.”5   

Fricka has one great scene in the cycle, in the second act of Walküre.  It is the pivotal scene of The Ring, in which Wotan realizes he has set in motion an inescapable chain of events which will lead, no matter what he does, to the downfall of the gods.  Rieger invites listeners to hear the scene and see how Wagner manipulates us to dislike Fricka. If you want to watch the scene it is here. (It is 19 minutes). 

I did just that and guess what?  That is not close to my take. Instead, I see a righteously angry woman and a delusional man, who is made to understand and accept reality by a forceful, clear presentation of  the facts.  Wotan is the irrational one; Fricka the rational.  The fact is that I do side with Wotan's point of view as he is arguing for love, but I understand that Fricka is completely correct at the same time. Her music is strong, demanding and sometimes quite beautiful in her anger.  What a fantastic scene in which the “lowly” wife brings the god Wotan to his knees. This is Eva Rieger’s idea of sexism?  Really?

About the music itself, the Valhalla/Woton theme doesn’t even make an appearance during their argument, so I don’t know how it can possibly influence me “to side with Wotan” in its absence. In any case, though his music could be considered “noble” if there were no lyrics, what I hear is pomposity, as the theme is associated with his duplicity and his morally bankrupt project, Valhalla.

Anyway, back to their musical dispute. I certainly disagree with Rieger’s contention that there is a big contrast between the music of Woton and Fricka that subconsciously pulls you to Woton’s side. Both of them sing without accompaniment at various times.  The music of Fricka is absolutely compelling and wonderful; listen at the 6:00 mark if you want to hear some beautiful, angry music.   As for Wotan's underlying music, when it is clearly “better” in the sense of beautiful and moving, it is the love music of Sieglinde and Siegmund as he fights for their right to love.  

Fricka is actually a great example of why I love Wagner’s music dramas so much:  he is very fair to all sides.  There is no doubt that Fricka was written with his wife Minna, and their arguments, in mind.  She comes off as extremely strong, capable and very hurt. If that was Minna, she was awesome. 

Rieger's other example is Brünnhilde.  She sees her change from a goddess to mortal as, essentially, degrading: that she is “tamed.”6 Certainly, it was meant as a punishment for her disobedience to Wotan's command, so, this is true on one level.  But as a goddess, she lived in a loveless world.  As a woman, she experiences the passionate wonders of love, and realizes that, in comparison, her former life had been empty.  She had been a puppet to a god; now, she made her own choice to join with Siegfried and let the gods perish. Sure, Brünnhilde originally thought of the experience of being stripped of her godhead as degrading, but then she awaken to the realization that it was as a goddess that she was truly degraded, not as a mortal woman.

Rieger makes the easily disproven claim in her book that after Brünnhilde’s role in plotting Siegfried’s death, she is denied an active role in the remainder of the plot.”7   Far from passive, offstage, she does something that Siegfried refused to do: listen to the Rhine daughters.  Armed with the knowledge given to her by them, through her commanding presence, she staves off Hagen’s quest for the Ring, gets it herself, commands a funeral pyre be built for Siegfried, commands the ravens to go to Valhalla and burn it, and returns the ring to the Rhine daughters. And, yeah, she rides her horse Grane into the fire to join Siegfried.  Even if you don’t like her self-immolation, to say she was passive, when she personally ordered the blaze that brought the downfall of the gods and cleansed the curse of the Ring, is a bizarre claim.

As for the music, Rieger claims that it shows this alleged taming.  The theme associated with Brünnhilde (and all the Walküries) is this famous one.  After she becomes mortal, some leitmotif labelers say this one then becomes her theme. Rieger seems to agree with the sentiment of Anna Russell, who joked that “love certainly took the ginger out of her.”  First, this later theme is not just associated with her.  It first appears in an orchestral piece, with instruments overlapping, high for Brünnhilde and low for Siegfried.  Then, this motif underlies both Siegfried and Brünnhilde’s following duet, along with several others.  So the idea that it is hers alone is simply wrong. That’s the trouble with leitmotif labeling: it normally conceals more than it reveals.  It is some of their love music, of which it is just a partial example. And only in the entry of the theme in the orchestra could it be considered “tame,” in any case, though this is a ridiculous word to describe this beautifully sensuous music of their love.

Rieger claims that there are no other themes associated with Brünnhilde, but that is clearly not true. Here is one. And here is another, and here another, though these two are associated with Siegfried, too, because, duh, it’s love music.  And of course, there is the most glorious leitmotif of them all, that is associated with Brünnhilde.  This one

Rieger also tries to argue that the Walkürie theme essentially doesn’t define Brünnhilde any more once she turns into a woman, and that it shows up only in reference to Grane or “as memory,” as if it has no more importance to her present. But this is just another piece of easily refuted nonsense.  For instance, she sings these lyrics to Siegfried to the Walkürie motif:

As my blood surges
like a sea towards you,
do you not feel
its raging fire?
Siegfried, do you not fear,
do you not fear
this wild, passionate woman?

Clearly, she has merely traded the excitement of collecting dead bodies for passionate love; she hasn’t changed her personality. 

Another erroneous claim—it is true that I disagree with nearly every one of Rieger's assertions—is that “the text shows [Brünnhilde] is only thinking of Siegfried” during the final scene of Götterdämerung, and therefore the implication is that she wasn't really doing anything heroic or for the larger good.  I have already enumerated above that is absolutely not true.  Sure, she is entering the fire because of Siegfried, but when she is returning the Ring to the Rhine daughters and directs the burning of Valhalla, she isn't thinking of Siegfried.

Okay. Look, I don’t want to spend any more space taking down Rieger’s dubious arguments, but she is just consistently, confidently, wrong.  She knows a lot about Wagner’s women in real life, but in trying to construct a narrative that the women in his operas are somehow demeaned, she fails utterly. This is because they, the true heros of his story, are not.

Just to be fair, she does give credit to Wagner for many things, and certainly sees various aspects of him that are proto-feminist.  The problem with her critique—and any other feminist critique I have read—is that they really have to stack the deck in the sort of ways I have just shown to paint his works as misogynistic.  They read things into his works from knowledge of his life, but that actually leads them astray, imposing a narrative on the work that isn’t supported by the libretto, the music, and most importantly, the emotional reaction to the music. As for sexism: sure, the works contain within them some of the traditional views of women and men.  They don’t, in this way, transcend their time. That said, in most every other respect, Wagner’s female characters are far ahead of their time, and remain a tremendous joy to watch and hear now.

If you have a chance to get to Washington DC this May,  you should certainly see Francisco Zambello's wonderful Ring Cycle, which brings out the feminist qualities of his work far better than most - and without changing text or meaning, as do so many of the so-called 
regietheatre (aka Eurotrash) productions.

There is book available by Nila Parly called Vocal Victories that I think elaborates my position. 
Unfortunately, it is $50 on Amazon, so I haven’t read it. But the books blurb does state my position:

Vocal Victories claims that Wagner was far ahead of his time in terms of equality between the sexes, and the musicological analyses are supported by quotations from the composer's own writings, so that a picture of Wagner as a radical critic of the oppressive patriarchal society emerges clearly and unmistakably.

The book cover. If anyone has read it,
I'd love to know what you think.
A few bloggers have also taken up this issue.  Another critique of Rieger from a feminist perspective is here.  And from the always thoughtful blog Think Classical, an interesting blog post entitled Richard Wagner and the Divine Feminine: Wagner and Feminism is here.

There are very few explicitly feminist operas in the repertoire. The only one that comes to mind is Louise by Charpentier. But I came to Wagner’s music—and I’m writing this blog—because I am an opera-loving feminist, and he is the only composer who consistently wrote women I truly like and admire. Until a batch of equally good feminist operas comes along, Wagner’s works fill this void nicely, with music of incredible richness and beauty, and female characters who are strong, pro-active, loving and inspiring.   

End Notes

1 I am not going to address the role of Kundry here because she, and Parsifal itself, are a special case. I do want to say that I don’t think of Parsifal as an anti-woman piece as many people contend, nor do I consider it to be a retreat from his views about sexuality. From his mid-twenties on, Wagner believed that sex without love was debasing for both women and men. All the sex alluded to in Parsifal was of the debasing, loveless variety. I wrote about his views on this here, previously. Also, on Kundrys death: it is a wonderful thing in the work.  She has lived for thousands of years (via reincarnation), and is seeking peace, rest, death.  She finally gets it. Anyone who thinks it is somehow a negative that she died is missing the point completely.
2 All Wagner libretti can be found at this site.  All quotations from the operas come from here.
3 Spencer and Millington, ed., The Selected Letters of Richard Wagner, 307
4 Ibid., 302
5 This quote is from the talk I referenced above. She discusses this scene beginning at 15:00. 
6 This is as quoted here by Chris Walton in a review of Rieger’s Richard Wagner’s Women 
7 As quoted by Walton.

Friday, November 15, 2013

Parallels with Hunter Thompson, Part 3: What the hell is wrong with Wagner’s fans?

I have devoted the last two posts to the similarities between the writer Hunter S. Thompson and Richard Wagner. I promised to explore their contrasts in this post, which is in a section below. But first, there is one more similarity I saved for this post.  I believe that the key to both of them—and the thing explains their massive contradictions—is their crushed, if never quite extinguished, idealism. I will then conclude with why I think all this is relevant in general, and specifically, to Wagner’s fans.

Idealism and Disillusionment

Optimism and hope are different. Optimist tends to be based on the notion that there is enough evidence out there that allows us to think things are going to be better.  Whereas hope looks at the evidence and says it doesn’t look good at all.  Doesn’t look good AT ALL.  We are going to go beyond the evidence and attempt to create new possibilities based on visions that become contagious to allow us to engage in heroic actions always against the odds, no guarantees whatsoever.  That’s hope.  I’m a prisoner of hope.  I’m dying a prisoner of hope.  Though never believe that misery and despair have the last word.”1  Cornel West

This quote perfectly captures the essence of Hunter S. Thompson and Richard Wagner’s quixotic quests to make a difference in the world in their respective centuries, despite massive odds against them and their own pessimism. 

They both lived in times of tremendous cultural and political change, and joined the tide of those who tried to create a better society. At the core of both men’s personality was sensitivity, stubbornness, and an unshakeable belief in what they considered to be right and wrong. So they both fought what they thought was the good fight.  While others disagreed with their viewpoints, their hearts were pure. Their guiding light was their ideals, which they clung to—fanatically—to the day of their deaths.

Thompson’s son Juan said of his father:

His perspective was an absolute one, lacking the shades of gray favored by so-called realists.  He believed in the darkest as well as the highest potential of the human heart… I learned both idealism and deep cynicism from him.2 

To me, Wagner’s son could have just as easily said the same thing as it readily captures the truth about Wagner.

Of all their similarities, I believe the most significant one was the pain of their disillusionment with politics and, indeed, with most people. They both begin their early adulthood with optimism that the world could change, and they could play—because of their talent and drive—a significant role in such change. Every time their hopes were dashed, bitterness ensued.  However, new hopes would emerge, only to be crushed again.  They both felt particularly intense—world-changing—pain because they were both enormously sensitive and earnest.

The beginning of Thompson’s profound disillusionment was the assassination of John F. Kennedy.  He wrote on that day to his friend, the writer William Kennedy:

There is no human being within 500 miles to whom I can communicate anything—much less the fear and loathing that is on me after today’s murder….

The killing has put me in a state of shock.  The rage is trebled.  I was not prepared at this time for the death of hope, but here it is.  Ignore it at your peril…. No matter what, today is the end of an era.  No more fair play.  From now on it is dirty pool and judo in the clinches.  The savage nuts have shattered the great myth of American decency.  They can count me in —I feel ready for a dirty game.3 

With the rise of the youth counter-culture, Thompson did have renewed optimism, but that was shattered by the 1968 Democratic convention. He said of that event, “I went to the Democratic convention as a journalist, and returned a cold-blooded revolutionary.”4 

Sandy said of this seminal event in his life:

I saw Hunter cry exactly twice in my life.  One had to do with our dog, and the other was the night he got  back from Chicago.  He broke down telling me what happened.  The police had fired tear gas into the crowd of people demonstrating at the convention, and he was right in there.  He talked about being hit, and brutally hurt, and the violence, the horror of it all.5

Hunter wrote in Rolling Stone about his transformation:

For me that week in Chicago was far worse than the worst bad acid trip I’d even heard rumors about.  It permanently altered my brain chemistry, and my first new idea—when I calmed down—was an absolute conviction that there was no possibility for any personal truce, for me, in a nation that could hatch and be proud of a malignant monster like Chicago.  Suddenly, it seemed imperative to get a grip on those who had somehow slipped into power and caused the thing to happen.6 

George McGovern’s Democratic primary win brought another wave of profound optimism to Thompson, but his complete rejection by the nation was wrenching for Thompson. McGovern relates Thompson’s reaction:

The week after my campaign ended, Hunter flew into Washington for a final interview in my office.  He teared up more than once.  He took it very hard.  It was almost as though he was brokenhearted.  He alternated between fury and grief.  He could hardly look at me, he felt so miserable about what happened.7

George McGovern and Hunter Thompson on the campaign trail.
 Rolling Stone writer Mikal Gilmore8 sums it up about as well as possible:

Thompson’s fear and loathing was about disillusion—the feelings that gnawed at you after a dream that proved only a hallucination. It was also about the terror of losing that illusion, and having no refuge.... Behind it all, Thompson was a man of morals and ideals. He had believed that American could be led to reaffirm its best principles and truths.  Following 1972, he was disabused of that notion, and almost everything he did and wrote – or just as important, didn’t write – afterward was his way of coping with that awful verity.9

Thompsons friend William Geider explained why people forgave him his many excesses:

[I]nnocence and sweetness was the core of who he was. He knew the world was big and bad and ugly, and he would take it on the way a little boy takes on a demon. After you saw that up close, you felt protective and forgiving toward him. Whatever outrageous and repugnant thing he did, you were willing to write them off after seeing that. People are easily defeated by the irreconcilable pains they have in their lives, their disappointments and injures. It required a real act of heroism for Hunter to stand up and swing his sword and pound on the table his whole life, just rebelling against that pain.10

In Wagner’s life, the events that turned him from idealist to pessimist were the collapse of the revolutionary movement of 1849, and the coup d’etat orchestrated by Louis Napoléon in 1851. He went through a serious depression because of these events, only coming out of it after several years. His hope would re-emerge throughout his life, only to have it extinguished time after time, causing a new cycle of pain. Contrary to his reputation now, most of Wagner’s friends considered him at his core to be a kind and loving man. Of course that kindness could disappear quickly, as his moods always ebbed and flowed violently. They understood his outbursts were from pain; they knew his heart was in the right place so, just as with Thompson, they forgave him his excesses.

For Thompson and Wagner, both trapped by their intense idealism and moral beliefs, they were indeed prisoners of hope.

The Contrasts

For every moment of triumph, for every instant of beauty, many souls must be trampled — Hunter Thompson (who claimed it was “a crude Mongolian adage.”)11

I like to think of Wagner and Thompson as conjoined, like the yin and yang; Wagner was the yin to Thompson’s yang. Or, putting it in The Ring terms, Thompson was dark-Wagner to, relatively speaking, light-Wagner.12

Thompson was a man’s man—very macho.  He generally didn’t reveal his sensitivities—though they were extreme—except indirectly, via his anger mostly.  Wagner, on the other hand, wore his heart on his sleeve; and his heart was very feminine.  He showed his soft side to everybody, which was part of his charm.

The young Thompson

The young Wagner

While Wagner got easily angry about a whole lot of things, and as passionate as Thompson, he wasn’t a violent man. Like Thompson, Wagner could be cruel, but he didn’t revel in it, and abhorred—at least anywhere near him—the violence that Thompson celebrated. He was always a man who recoiled from seeing any suffering, and was known for being very kind to those less fortunate than him. He could be a yeller, but was not a hitter.  He got no joy from violence, nor was he physically violent except on rare occasions.  Here is one exception in which he describes participating in an assault when he was a young man on a guy, Andre, who his friend, Frolich, disliked.  He wrote in Mein Leben:

He tried to chase him from our table by striking him with a stick: the result was a fight in which Frolichs friends felt they must take part, though they all seemed to do so with some reluctance. A mad longing to join the fray also took possession of me. With the others I helped in knocking our poor victim about, and I even heard the sound of one terrible blow which I struck Andre on the head, whilst he fixed his eyes on me in bewilderment.

I relate this incident to atone for a sin which has weighed very heavily on my conscience ever since. I have never quite forgotten some of my thoughtless and reckless actions.13

If Thompson had any fits of conscience about his various assaults over the years, he kept them quiet. His first wife Sandy, who was one victim of his violence, asked him in a moment of tenderness if he knew where his violence came from, which they called his “monster.” Sandy quotes Thompson as saying, “It’s like this. I sense it first, and before I have completely turned around he is there. He is me.”14 That is about as close as Thompson comes to an apology.

Hunter and Sandy (and friend Paul Semonin) in their early years.
Like Thompson, Wagner was often verbally abuse to his wives; this is particular true in his early years of marriage to Minna.  However, it never got anywhere near the level that Sandy describes about Thompson. Here is her summary of their relationship from Sandy's point of view:

With Hunter, there was never a hint of a mature relationship. It was two people who couldn’t really be honest with each other, who couldn’t really communicate with each other, we weren’t working out differences, working out problems, making compromises—nothing like that. Hunter was the king, and I was the slave. I was the happy slave—until I was neither happy nor a slave.... I didn’t have friends because I couldn’t just bring them into the house, with the chaos and violence and bad tempers—you couldn’t subject your friends to that. 15

Thompson with second wife Anita, 35 years younger.
 Their marriage lasted only two years, ended by his suicide.

While Wagner and Thompson did expect their wives to help them in a similar ways,16 for Wagner there was always a give and take in a way that just didn’t exist with Thompson. Wagner had real marriages, with real compromises, real—if often strained—communication (particularly with Minna). Beyond all that, Thompson was a big-time philanderer, having frequent casual sex (and some not so casual) while married.  Wagner was nothing like this as I described here.

Wagner with Cosima (25 years younger) and son Seigfried

While Wagner was not a fan of homosexual behavior, he didn’t beat any gays up and, in fact, had several gay male friends. Thompson was just a much more violent and abusive guy in all areas.

Their childhood domestic traumas were very similar, but Wagner wasn’t saddled with an alcoholic mom. And while Wagner was a wild and uncontrollable youth, he was not a vandal like Thompson.

Wagner did use drugs to help his creative process, as I described here, but much more effectively.  He never lost his artistic ability; his addictions remained within working bounds, unlike Thompson’s.

While Wagner did have focused prejudice on some groups more than others, I am quite sure he would generally agree with Thompson’s sentiment about most people, i.e that most people are bastards, thieves, and yes—even pigfuckers. That said, this is the one area that Thompson comes out better than Wagner, if you can ignore his violence.

Wagner’s central life passion was creating a society in which love and art were central to existence. He did overlap with Thompson’s core passion in some respects—particularly the evil of money and power— but he was not anything like the libertarian that Thompson was.

The differences between them clearly showed up in their art. Thompson chose the dark; Wagner the light. While both were deeply disillusioned, Thompson’s primary answer was comic vitriol. Partly it was to channel his pain, partly he hoped it inspired others to rebel. His works played to some of our worst emotions, particularly rage and resentment (and in this, unfortunately, he is not much different than what Limbaugh has done on the right, though Limbaugh’s fans don’t seem to notice he is primarily a comedian.)

Wagner, in contrast, though deeply alienated from the society, focused his works to illuminate the values he craved for the new society. He wanted to replace money, power and militarism as the driving forces of society, with one in which love, compassion, community and art were at the center. While the dark side of humanity is certainly integral to his work, his point was to reject it, and embrace a more ennobled future.

If they met in the flesh, I think they would have big problems with each other. Thompson would not have liked Wagner’s feminine attributes such as his frequent tears, and certainly would have mocked his taste for women’s clothes, perfume, satin, and silk. Wagner would have been scared of Thompson, and found him to be a brute. However, if they just read each other’s letters, they certainly would have recognized a kindred spirit. Thompson, in fact, was a fan of Wagner’s. He wrote here, in a piece entitled “The War Drums Roll,” that even if there was war and other insanity in the world, for him, “that’s why I live out here in the mountains with a flag on my porch and loud Wagner music blaring out of my speakers. I feel lucky, and I have plenty of ammunition.”

To be an original

 believe their similarities show what it takes to become a true original in art, someone not chained, in Socrates words, to the yoke of custom and convention. To me this is a person who cannot be successfully imitated because they sear their personal brand so deeply into their work. And, yet, through their unique voice, they are still able to illuminate truths about humankind. The example of Wagner and Thompson shows the traits necessary to becoming both a successful and original artist:

  • be meticulous—perfectionist—in you craft; first learn the rules so you can break them beautifully
  • possess a creative drive that is so strong that you are willing to forego making a secure living to follow your intuitions and not the crowd.
  • have a focused and consuming passion.
  • have enough charisma, talent and organization to get people to do your bidding, and pay for your existence so you can concentrate of your craft.
  • have brutal honesty and the willingness to be completely audacious.
  • have utmost faith in your talent and ability (and have that talent and ability, of course).
  • be endowed with tremendous energy.
  • have the ability to live with constant stress.
  • be able to tolerate massive amount of pain.
It’s not fun being an original artist. By definition it means you are doing something that no one else has done. Opposition is inevitable. What one gets from being original, according to Thompson in a 1967 letter, is “the dead-end loneliness of a man who makes his own rules.” If Thompson and Wagner are guides, this both originates from pain and creates more pain. It’s not a life anyone would choose; it comes from an inner drive that only a few extraordinary people have.  And those that become celebrated for their originality, they suffer from it.

The point of this comparison

There is no way Thompson can be separated from his works. “Gonzo journalism” is his alone, utterly unique and completely integral to this exasperating man. His work—and life—does create ambivalence in me but the fact is, I love his writing, particularly the Campaign Trail book (originally serialized in Rolling Stone magazine over the course of the campaign.) I had the same feelings as he did about Kennedy’s assassination, which still haunts me almost 50 years to the day after the event. I had the same feeling of despair at the election of Nixon, and a tremendous horror at the actions of the police against the demonstrators in Chicago, Kent State and elsewhere. This woman reacting to the killing of a student at the Kent State demonstration captures the angst of my generation:

Student gunned down by Ohio National Guard at Kent State.

I was, like Thompson, an idealist. The first $500 I made at my first job, I sent to George McGovern’s campaign. I wanted that America, the George McGovern one, and so did Thompson, desperately. And for that, I can only love him, despite his many flaws as a human being. Thompson gave voice to my frustration, my rage, my feelings of powerlessness. Sure, he was outrageous, saying things that I would have never voiced in public or even thought. (I’m not that dark.) But, his scathingly funny attacks hit their marks time and again; he made me think, he made me laugh. He was issuing a clarion call of warning in the most provocative terms. He was also absolutely correct in the warning that the forces of the right, both in the Republican Party and the Democratic party, were gaining strength and were going to do a host of horrible things when they were in charge.

He wasn’t always a disconsolate Cassandra; hope flickers through his writings on a regular basis. If you want to see that side, read his writings on McGovern within Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail, 1972 or his reflections on Jimmy Carter’s Law Day speech in The Great Shark Hunt to see the other side of the man. This is the guy that all his friends saw underneath his bluster. When he believed in the goodness of someone, the idealist in him was on full, heart-warming display. 

Yes, as a human being, he was often as dark as his works. To live with that level of rage and frustration, it is inevitable that he would be so. A “nicer” man couldn’t have written the works. I embrace him, as all his fans do, as a complicated, contradictory, extraordinarily flawed man who working tirelessly for what he believed was right, and shone a harsh light on all that he believed was wrong.

He said of himself, and I think he pegged it, “About nine-tenths of the time I feel like an obvious fool – but the rest of the time I know I’m a saint and a hero.  I seem to be in a state of conflict at all times – most of it wasted energy.”17 I celebrate him for that 10%, and understand that without his severe discontent, his heroic side would not have existed.

Wagner was the nicer, kinder man in almost all respects and wrote ennobling works, yet he has a much worse reputation than Thompson. This is utterly insane! Most of this is because while Thompson is treated well—maybe a little too well, even—by contemporary writers and biographers, Wagner has been been reduced to a caricature, and most biographical writing is utter trash, as I wrote about here. This state of affairs—obviously—exists because of Nazi Germany and the Holocaust. Before the rise of Nazi Germany, he had no shortage of fans who would defend him against unfair attacks. That is no longer the case, which is a pitiful thing. He is quite deserving of understanding and celebration.

Wagner is just as entwined in his works as Thompson is in his. He had to be exactly like he was to write his works. Anyone who knows his works, and his intentions about his works, cannot reasonably separate him from them. As his friend Hans Von Wolzogen put it: “all his works and all that moves us so deeply in his works springing, as [they do], from the depths of his own human nature) is an expression of his true personality and could not have been created by any other ‘self’.”18 His works are a direct manifestation of his highest ideals as well as his deepest agony. They are beautiful, wondrous works and give compelling evidence that there was much beauty in his soul (and, yes, ugliness, too.) 

So, wake up, Wagner fans, and stop running away from him.  In sum, my point is: If Thompson’s fans can understand and forgive him, what the hell is the matter with Wagner’s fans?

End Notes

1 The quote is from Anna Deavere Smith’s extraordinary documentary theater piece in which she "acts" Cornel Wests quote, Twilight: Los Angles.
2 Rolling Stone magazine, September 19, 2007, Hunter Thompson tribute issue, 72
3 Brinkley, ed., Hunter S. Thompson: Proud HighwayThe Gonzo Letters, Vol , Nov 22, 63. This is the first instance of Thompson using the phrase “fear and loathing” in his writing. A copy of that letter is here.
5 Wenner and Seymour ed., Gonzo: The Life of Hunter S. Thompson 100
6 as quoted by Mikal Gilmore in Rolling Stone tribute, 46
7 Rolling Stone tribute, 57
8 I am not sure if this is at all relevant, but the fact that Gilmore is the brother of the mass murderer Gary Gilmore strikes me as at least interesting.
9 Rolling Stone tribute, 47
10 Rolling Stone tribute, 62
11 Proud Highway, xxxi
12 In Der Ring des Neibilungen, the god Woton acknowledges his power-hungry, if more noble, side, by calling himself Licht-Alberich to his nemisis, the completely evil Alberich, who he terms Schwarz-Alberich.
13 Wagner, Mein Leben, 75
14 Rolling Stone tribute, 52
15 Gonzo, 220
16 I would love to do a quote-by-quote parallel of all their similarities, but it would be book length. Here is just one example, illustrating my assertion. This is how Wagner explained the role of his wife: “She has relieved the pressure of daily life, and keeps watch over my tranquility. Her only care is when she becomes aware that not all life’s disturbances can be kept at bay.” How Thompson put it: “I’ve grown accustomed to letting her deal with my day-to-day reality and keeping the fucking weasels off my back.”
17 Proud Highway429
18 Spencer ed., Wagner Remembered, 259