The Duality of Man

The Commonalities Between Nietzsche and Stevenson

Untitled (Reflections),
Norman Lindsay

The duality of man is a concept that has crossed generations, a longstanding explanation for the possibility that sin and God's image could dwell simultaneously in one being. While Neitzche and Stevenson’s ideas of man’s two halves differ slightly, they have the same general idea: man is at once both degenerate and glorious. It is a very humanistic idea, in the sense that it suggests man has the capacity to reach a heightened state, yet the concept of man’s duality also manages to romanticize man’s animalistic faults.

"And yet when I looked upon that ugly idol in the glass, I was conscious of no repugnance, rather of a leap of welcome. This, too, was myself. It seemed natural and human."

This romanticization is especially prevalent in Nietzsche’s work. While Stevenson presents the totally evil Mr. Hyde as objectively bad, Netizsche paints man’s Dionysian layers as a form of artistry. In our degenerate reveling and animalistic, rash drunkenness – whether literal intoxication or metaphorical – Nietzsche suggests that there is beauty. He proposes that even the debased, twisted aspects of humanity are admirable simply because they are an inherent part of the human experience. He suggests that we cannot exclude any part of life from the admiration of living, and this includes experiences that are conventionally perceived as corrupt or bastardly. Their worth lies solely in the acknowledgment that they too are human experiences.

"I was now confined to the better part of my existence; and O, how I rejoiced to think of it! With what willing humanity I embraced anew the restrictions of natural life!"

While Dionysianism romanticizes man’s faults, Apolloniasm romanticizes man’s potential for good. It suggests that in an idealist light, man should be praised for all his traditionally “good” aspects. Man should be applauded for his kindness, creativity, and mimicry of the Lord. In a way, this lines up with the Biblical perspective. Just as we mourn each time Dr. Jekyll slips into the debased Mr. Hyde, we rejoice each time he is restored to his former glory, though his so-called "good side" really contains the average mix of good and bad, rather than being solely good. Christianity perceives the human moral compass in a similar light. We acknowledge that we cannot be only Apollonian glory or Dionysian artistry, but rather are trapped in the Dr. Jekyll of the middle ground, the man in whom both good and evil reside. As image-bearers, we embody in some capacity the glory of God, yet as sinners, we partake in the forbidden fruit each day. This is the very thing that brings forth the dilemma in the first place.

"In the agonised womb of consciousness, these polar twins should be continuously struggling."

It is here that Nietzsche is right. There is artistry in the way man is internally and inherently entangled. Humanity has lived in personal combat and turmoil forever, and it provokes emotion to watch someone triumph one half in order to claim the other. Perhaps we watch in defeated sorrow as Jekyll embraces Hyde, or perhaps we watch in awe as someone abandons the Dionysian aspects of their lifestyle to rest in the Apollonian. Either way, to witness someone overcoming the eternal battle is something we can't tear our eyes away from, and the reason is that none of us are capable of overcoming either of our halves. Try as we might, we can't simply remove part of our existence. This is why we enjoy stories such as Stevenson's. They allow us to imagine that man has more control over his life than he really does, and to imagine that we too can reach a point of complete goodness.

"Nature were bemoaning the fact of her fragmentation, her decomposition into separate individuals."

Even in our attempt to journey toward the traditional good, however, there is a sorrow. If we abandon either half of our nature – whether we strive to be wholly good or wholly bad – we are leaving a part of ourselves behind. We are stripping ourselves in some way of the skin in which we were born, leaving half of our nature to rot alone, while the other half goes on without it.

This is one reason why we will never be able to make a complete separation between our halves. We are too committed to ourselves to give up an entire half of our being. We fear our souls would grow lonely and that we would feel lost. We would not know ourselves if we left part of our being behind. Perhaps we would be entirely good, but we would not be the tormented soul we have grown so used to. Without both halves, the degeneracy and the glory, we have no whole.

"It is one thing to mortify curiosity, another to conquer it."

Of course, the Biblical perspective combats this idea. We are told that we must give ourselves up for Christ. While it is true that we would not know our former selves, we must consider the painful idea that perhaps the double-sided man is not one we should want to know. While it is sorrowful to abandon ourselves, we must come to acknowledge that in the end, depending on which half we embrace, we may be better off.

And would we not come to know ourselves again? How many times have we had to be reintroduced, to emerge from a period of rehabilitation to shake our own hand and say "Hello, this is the new me." Surely, if we were to shed one of our halves, we would overcome the initial pain and relearn our inner workings. Surely we would grow used to our purification. Still, the impossibility of splitting our nature is so large that no matter which direction we strive, we will forever maintain both our halves.

"Think of it -- I did not even exist!"