This chapter explores the postcolonial resonances of Nietzsche’s Greeks by focusing on their appearance in the writings of the Nigerian political activist and Nobel Laureate Wole Soyinka. Soyinka encountered Nietzsche’s Birth of Tragedy as a student of G. Wilson Knight at Leeds in the 1950s; this experience was part of the syncretic vision of dramatic traditions that he developed and which he later theorised in his essay ‘The Fourth Stage’ (1969). In this essay Soyinka argues for a globalised understanding of tragedy that does not rely solely on an exclusivist narrative of its ancient Greek origins, such as can be found in Nietzsche’s invocations of Aryanism in The Birth of Tragedy, and which can incorporate his own Yoruba identity. Soyinka draws links between Dionysus and the Yoruba god Ogun, and he later weaves these into his adaptation of ancient Greek tragedy, The Bacchae of Euripides: A Communion Rite (1973). The postcolonial ambivalence that Soyinka writes into this adaptation is the subject of the final section of this chapter, as is his amalgamation of contemporary discourses of heroic black nationalism such as négritude in the character of the Slave Leader.

This chapter examines the antagonistic relationship with Nietzsche’s Greeks that was managed by one of the main writers of modernism, D. H. Lawrence. By thinking about the position of Nietzsche in the British intellectual climate of the early twentieth century, and in particular his association to the anti-Germanic feeling surrounding the First World War, this chapter contextualises the tension between Lawrence’s antipathy towards Nietzsche and the clear resonances between the two authors’ attitudes towards the irrational nature of ancient Greece. The chapter examines the differing attitudes towards tragedy that Lawrence puts forward across his voluminous writings, including especially his 1920 novel Women in Love, his critical-theoretical essay ‘Study of Thomas Hardy’ (written 1914/1915, published posthumously in 1946), and his travel writings about his visits to Etruscan tombs. It uses the idea of the ‘gay science’, which Lawrence took from Nietzsche’s work of the same name from 1882, to situate Lawrence’s desire to establish an anti-tragic form of art and literature with a genealogy that stretches back to antiquity.

The focus of this chapter is the German philosopher Martin Heidegger. It focuses on Heidegger’s changing attitude toward Presocratic philosophy in works surrounding his involvement with the National Socialists during the Second World War. It is particularly concerned with the shifting temporalities of Presocratic philosophy in Heidegger’s thinking: from representing a rupturous, revolutionary force in his ‘Rektoratsrede’ of 1933, it becomes a long-lost, cyclical mode of thinking in his 1946 essay ‘The Saying of Anaximander’. The chapter examines the links between Heidegger’s articulations of this particular archaic era of philosophy and a contemporary discourse of responding to the National Socialists by means of the Presocratics both positively, in the work of critics like Antony M. Ludovici, and negatively, in the writings of Georges Bataille. Furthermore, it connects Heidegger’s attitude towards the significance of the Presocratics to Nietzsche’s writings about Greek philosophy both in The Birth of Tragedy and in other works of the same time, such as his unpublished tract Philosophy in the Tragic Age of the Greeks.

Though the main figure of this chapter is the American theatre director and theorist Richard Schechner, it ranges widely in its attempt to understand the philosophical implications of the irrationalism that Nietzsche makes a central part of his vision of ancient Greece. Focusing on Dionysus and Oedipus in The Birth of Tragedy and beyond, it argues that the latter mythical hero represents the negative and harmful consequences of irrational, ecstatic knowledge and experience. After a detour through writings of Freud, Lévi-Strauss and Derrida on this subject, the chapter returns to Schechner and to his iconoclastic production Dionysus in 69. The version of Dionysus that emerged from this performative experience was connected to the contemporary discourse of the Dionysiac that expressed so many of the revolutionary and counter-cultural tendencies of the 1960s. In this way the chapter explores the way that Nietzsche’s Greeks underwrote some of the major symbolism of this significant cultural moment.

The Epilogue explores the Nero-Antichrist paradigm in TV and film. Directors and the actors they cast made their own, often personal, decisions about how to portray Nero. It would have been impossible for any one actor to relate every aspect of Nero’s character from literature: cruel, theatrical, violent, militarily inept, destructive, decadent, paranoid, volatile, sexually promiscuous with women and men, and supernatural in his role as the Antichrist. Like those creating Neronian paradigms, they picked, chose, and emphasised the bits they found useful. However, one thing that players of Nero such as Alberto Sordi, Christopher Biggins, and Michael Sheen all had in common was their debt to Peter Ustinov’s portrayal of the emperor in the 1951 Hollywood epic Quo Vadis. This film was based on Sienkiewicz’s 1895 novel, and this novel in turn drew heavily from Farrar’s Darkness and Dawn. As such, Nero’s position in Christian history continued to underpin the idea of the emperor in TV and film into the twentieth and twenty-first centuries.