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Dexter, Democracy, and Nietzsche
Dexter, Democracy, and Nietzsche
Abstract
Introduction
His gloved hands grip the blade, both fists, strong above his victim. The
victim looks horrified, but that doesn't stop the knife that, after hovering
momentarily in pregnant anticipation, descends quickly and mercilessly.
The body is sliced up, packed into a few neat Heftys, and dropped into the
bay. It's a cool Miami evening for Dexter Morgan: officer, family man,
serial killer, protagonist. Not only is Dexter a protagonist, but his
show, Dexter, has shattered the Showtime network's viewing records. The
season four finale had three million viewers, and thousands more online.
As a show, its fan base is growing rapidly, without showing any signs of
receding. How, one may wonder, can such a decadent main character
attract such broad popularity in a country with a firm lawful framework?
Why would such immoral actions fascinate a population that enjoys
arguably extensive freedom and wholesome communities? Why does
Michael C. Hall, who plays Dexter, receive numerous awards for his
performance as such a seemingly evil person? One thing is clear: people
like Dexter. This essay investigates these questions, primarily using
evidence from Nietzschean philosophy, in hopes of providing adequate
answers to the above inquiries. First, Dexter is analyzed as a character;
secondly, the current governmental and economic context of the United
States is classified; and finally, the paper articulates exactly what it is
about America that drives its desire for Dexter.
The Overman
Nietzsche has several characters within his texts. His most famous and
most elusive character is the overman. Nietzsche's overman only exists as
a character in Thus Spoke Zarathustra; his other books never, or very
rarely, mention the overman explicitly. Zarathustra proudly declares “'I
teach you the overman. Man is something that shall be overcome'”
(Nietzsche TSZ 12). Zarathustra describes man as “'a rope, tied between
beast and overman–a rope over an abyss...What is great in man is that he
is a bridge and not an end: what can be loved in man is that he is
an overture and a going under'” (Nietzsche TSZ 13). Just as humans
consider themselves above apes, “man...for the overman” is “a
laughingstock or a painful embarrassment” (Nietzsche TSZ 13). Humans
at their greatest simply perish to make way for the overman. Zarathustra
loves him “'who works and invents to build a house for the overman and to
prepare earth, animal, and plant for him: for thus he wants to go under'”
(Nietzsche TSZ 15). Even Zarathustra himself is only one of the “heavy
drops, falling one by one out of the dark cloud that hangs over men” that
“herald the advent of lightning,” whereas the “lightning [itself] is called
the overman'” (Nietzsche TSZ 16).
The overman lives beyond conscience, and beyond good and evil. One way
of seeing the overman is literal. With such a reading, modern day people
cannot possibly imagine such a man, what he would act like, or even what
he would look like. The overman is a separate species in itself, superior in
every way to man. The overman is a thing of the future; exceptional
human beings can create, become, and overcome great obstacles, but their
lives only serve as progress towards the grander transition of the human
being into the overman. In other words, the overman exists outside of any
human contexts.
Willing liberates; but what is it that puts even the liberator himself in
fetters? 'It was' – that is the name of the will's gnashing of teeth and most
secret melancholy. Powerless against what has been done, he is an angry
spectator of all that is past...that he cannot break time and time's
covetousness, that is the will's loneliest melancholy (Nietzsche TSZ 139).
Feelings of doubt, helplessness, regret, and transience are the real plagues
to liberation. The cripple pines over the hump in his hunchback, or his
blindness, etc., but all of this ties one inextricably to their past limitations.
Regret for 'what could have been' represents a large, perhaps the largest,
impediment to improvement, to saying 'yes' to life. One who is
übermenschlich, that is, one with the overman mindset, works to exercise
his will free regardless of such constraint, to recognize what he does as
having value despite its imperfections and transience, and to exist in the
moment independent of guilt or constraint. To put this thought simply, an
übermenschlich individual recognizes the conditions of his existence,
but does not care. Nietzsche describes such a person:
Men must have issues and problems to overcome, for the overman itself is
just a conviction, and “[men] of convictions are prisoners” (Nietzsche AC
153). No human being can escape the inalienable conditions of his
existence, namely being perspectival and living temporally. Because of
such permanent limitations, one can never truly transcend his human
nature to become an overman. However, “Nietzsche holds that far from
being a hindrance to agency, the situated, perspectival character of action
is in fact a necessary condition of it” (Havas 21). As Zarathustra makes
clear, every overman needs an “overdragon that is worthy of him;”
greatness requires “[your] wildcats” to “first turn into tigers, and your
poisonous toads into crocodiles; for the good hunter shall have good
hunting” (Nietzsche TSZ 144). This notion of overcoming and becoming
suggests that one cannot be great unless he has conquered, and is
conquering, growing issues. There is no 'overman' per se, unless we think
of the overman as a state of mind, as being übermenschlich. Just as
lightning strikes instantaneously and randomly, as do one's deeds in this
temporal existence, it does so without regard to any target and without
any deference to the past, present, or future. Lightning exists as pure
energy, and emerges furiously from the ground reaching towards the sky.
The overman as an agent appears idealistic and unattainable, whereas
übermenschlich qualities and endeavors are entirely attainable, if not
transient and only momentarily evident. One who possesses such
attributes will henceforth be called a 'free spirit,' for such a man is
attainable, yet still human.
‘Free Spirit’?
One might wonder why I choose the seemingly arbitrary ‘free spirit’ as the
manifestation of the overman. The name ‘free spirit’ indeed requires more
justification than just one quote from The Gay Science, but there are
reasons why this title is sufficient for our purposes. Firstly, Zarathustra
discriminates between the overman and the higher man:
The higher its type, the more rarely a thing succeeds. You higher men
here, have you not all failed? Be of good cheer, what does it matter! How
much is still possible!...Is it any wonder that you failed and only half
succeeded, being half broken? Is not something thronging and pushing in
you—man’s future…You higher men, how much is still possible! And
verily, how much has already succeeded! (Nietzsche TSZ 293).
This distinction, present not only in this passage but throughout the
fourth book of Thus Spoke Zarathustra, suggests that aside from the ideal
of the overman, men can indeed be higher. These higher men are fallible,
experimental, often erring, and far from over humanity. However, they are
not herd animals, and they are certainly higher than last men. What
makes them higher is that they are particularly übermenschlich.
To clarify, a free spirit need not be devoid of morality. Indeed, the free
spirit's morality is simply “no longer the bitterness and passion of the
person who has torn himself away and still feels compelled to turn his
unbelief into a new belief, a purpose, a martyrdom” (Nietzsche GS 286).
In other words, the free spirit's morality must be grounded in the
knowledge that “the way of this world is anything but divine,” or else
one's morality will say 'no' to life as does the Christian's (ibid). Even
more explicitly, he identifies “everyhealthy morality [as] governed by an
instinct of life” (Nietzsche TI 174). Excellent people do not necessarily
need to be beyond good and evil, they simply need to be excellent, which
is to constantly struggle towards and aspire to greatness as described by
the four characteristics above.
The Last Man
The ugliest man murdered God, and despises himself just as much as he
loves himself. He hated God for seeing his essence, seeing his ugliness,
and killed him in revenge.
“'How poor man is after all,' he thought in his heart; 'how ugly, how
wheezing, how full of hidden shame! I have been told that man loves
himself: ah, how great must this self-love be! How much contempt stands
against it!...None have I found yet who despised himself more deeply: that
too is a kind of height. Alas, was he perhaps the higher man whose cry I
heard? I love the great despisers. Man, however, is something that must be
overcome'” (Nietzsche TSZ 267).
This ugly man, the man who despises himself the most, resembles the last
man in several important ways. Though the ugliest man lives in solitude,
consumed by grief and self-loathing, does not the last man embody
weakness and self-loathing as well on a fundamental level? Indeed, such
self-loathing forced his hand in killing God, so that he could no longer
recognize himself as ugly. This ugliest man killed God, then, because God's
pity was a mirror which reflected his ugliness and his faults. To the ugly
man, God “'had to die: he saw with eyes that saw...man's depths and
ultimate grounds, all his concealed disgrace and ugliness'” (Nietzsche TSZ
266). In other words, the ugly man and the last man have both
internalized the pervasive self-hatred that is so poisonous to life.
Therefore, the last man is just like the ugliest man, but more ignorant.
The last man is even less aware of his ugliness, and has completely
surrendered to his weakness. Whereas the ugliest man exiles himself to
live alone in the spirit of masochistic self-hatred, the last man does not
even recognize his weakness, and needs to live among others just like him
to achieve happiness. Both the last men and the ugliest man, unlike the
free spirits, have stopped striving for anything. None of the last men can
ever be free spirits, for their existence is entirely passive; they have
stopped struggling. Their sense of agency, will to life, has evaporated, and
no responsibility can be taken for any action, for only the herd exists
anymore. The last man, then, is everything the free spirit is not.
More specifically, there are several conditions upon which we may base
our definition of a last man. First, and most importantly, the last man is
the same as everyone else in the herd. Nothing distinguishes one member
from another, for “'everybody wants the same, everybody is the same'”
(Nietzsche TSZ 18). Second, the last man must exist for the herd. A last
man cannot stand out in any way from any other person, or else he would
go “'voluntarily into a madhouse'” (Nietzsche TSZ 18). With this standard,
one could conceivably imagine a last man as an individual whose
independent actions are done in the name of the herd, in which case he
still has agency; this conception is undermined, however by the first
standard, which eliminates any differences between last men. Third, a last
man does not seek truth or seek to overcome anything. He is content in his
ignorance and “'still loves [his] neighbor and rubs against him, for [he]
needs warmth'” (Nietzsche TSZ 17). In other words, this last standard
suggests that the last man's existence must be passive, and the suggestion
that a last man does not take responsibility for his actions reasonably
follows, and is indeed inherent within this lack of agency. Lastly, because
the last man is the most excellent herd animal, I will characterize him as
an sick moralizer. As Nietzsche makes clear, the fact that a person “needs
a faith in order to flourish...that [cannot] be shaken because [he] clings to
it, that is a measure of...one's weakness” (Nietzsche GS 287).
The antiheroic Dexter Morgan represents many things that Americans are
not, and cannot, be. Independent of any image, or meaning Americans
may project onto Dexter, he exists fundamentally within the show Dexter,
and I will attempt an objective analysis of his character before theorizing
on Americans’ fancy for him. A brief summary of Dexter reveals a man
with an uncontrollable bloodlust. His mother was killed before him when
he was a child, and he was adopted by the police officer who found him;
when this officer, Harry Morgan, discovers Dexter’s bloodlust as a small
child killing animals, he resigns himself to the fact that he cannot change
this fundamental element of Dexter’s nature. Instead, he teaches Dexter to
harness his urges to do ‘good,’ (that is, to kill other serial killers). He
teaches Dexter how to prove the person’s guilt, and then how to avoid
capture. Dexter calls this method ‘The Code of Harry,’ which includes not
killing innocents, and most importantly, not getting caught. We find
Dexter in his mid-thirties working as a blood-spatter expert in a crime lab,
courting a girlfriend and her kids, spending time with his friends and
police officer foster-sister, and murdering baddies willy-nilly. When he
narrates his thoughts to the audience, they feel as if they are delving into
forbidden, exciting, illicit territory. Such is the necessary context of Dexter
thus far.
The code is mine now, and mine alone. So too are the relationships I
cultivate. They're not disguises anymore...My father might not approve,
but I'm no longer his disciple. I'm a master now, an idea transcended into
life. And so this is my new path, which is a lot like the old one, but mine.
To stay on that path, I need to work harder, explore new rituals, evolve.
Am I evil? Am I good? I'm done asking those questions. I don't have the
answers (Dexter “The British Invasion”).
This quote shows us a different side to Dexter. Unlike the quotes above,
which were always said in conversation with another character, this quote
is a soliloquy, recited only for the audience. In fact, the entire quote is an
epiphany that occurs after escaping a seemingly inescapable situation.
This is not any regular quote, but rather a climactic moment in the show
and for Dexter as a character. Within it Dexter addresses: first, his
adherence to his father's code; second, and somewhat related to the first,
his independence as a person; third, his ambition; and fourth, his
morality.
First, Dexter's view of his father's code of conduct has changed visibly
from our earlier conclusion. In this passage, Dexter renounces his father's
authority over his code, claiming “My father might not approve, but I'm no
longer his disciple” (ibid). Dexter's exertion of his will over his
preordained limitations (as determined by his father) show that he has
wrested the authority his father had previously held over him, and
assumed it as his own. Obviously, he still needs a code, or else he cannot
exist as he does; this code is as necessary and unavoidable as developing a
particular perspective, or even existing temporally. Without the code,
Dexter would be caught, and cease to exist. These limitations, however,
are now his, for as he declares, “[the] code is mine now, and mine alone”
(ibid). By affirming his limitations, he exercises his will over them,
effectively reclaiming control of them by way of imposition.
One might, however, argue that his use of a code whatsoever flatly
disqualifies his free spiritedness. A code of conduct, like Dexter’s code,
indefinitely limits one’s ability to pursue his desires with the animalistic
ferocity characteristic of a free spirit. Is Dexter a slave to his code?
Regardless of whether the code is his, can he really be free if he operates
in such a technical or mechanical way? This opposition is merited, but
not necessarily true. Though Dexter operates by a code, the code was
developed reasonably to avoid capture. Each step is provocative and
important, not arbitrary. Dexter uses his code to channel his energy, not
to demolish his desires. The code is but a vessel for Dexter’s ambition.
Jonas articulates that the “goal of higher men is not merely to discharge
their will to power in haphazard and impulse driven ways, but to
moderate, control, and direct them thoughtfully, even rationally” (Jonas
9). If Dexter unleashed his energy without constraint, or without his
methodical code, he would be captured and put to death. Such an end is
not conducive to further living and further growing, which is why “one
should use one’s reason to determine which expressions of power will
lead to greater power, and which will lead to a diminution of power”
(Jonas 12). Without his code and his routines, Dexter risks “coming
undone,” as he calls it, and falling prey to his own powerful drives and
desires (Dexter “First Blood”). Because a code is important, even
preferable to a free spirit like Dexter, our main concern lies in whether
the code belongs to him, or his father.
This newfound power, and his refutation of his father, also separates him
on a fundamental level from his father, explicitly with the word 'disciple.'
Clearly, Dexter has become an independent human being much more in
the vein of a free spirit than of a last man. Indeed, he even reclaims “the
relationships [he] cultivate[s]” (ibid). Dexter acknowledges his need for
relationships with others, while simultaneously identifying himself as the
one in control of those relationships, and further, as fundamentally
separate from others. In no way does he actually long to be a part of the
herd, for the herd has no individuality. His actions are also obviously
not for the herd either, in that when he identifies his future course of
action, he says “this is my new path” (ibid). Dexter, therefore, no longer
satisfies the last man qualities of existing as the herd, existing for the herd,
or living in a contented, ignorant state.
Just as a free spirit abandons “all faith and every wish for certainty,” so,
too, does Dexter express a desire to rejoice even in uncertainty (Nietzsche
GS 290). When Dexter says “Am I evil? Am I good? I'm done asking those
questions. I don't have the answers,” he renounces society's imposed
morality in favor of discovering his own more important truths
(Dexter “The British Invasion”). He's exchanging questions
that society finds important with questions that he's curious about, hence
his drive to explore and evolve. Dexter’s “assessments of pleasure and pain
have no cosmic...[or] metaphysical[] significance” to them, and he most
definitely realizes that the world is not a divine place (Nietzsche WP 417).
This godless foundation gives Dexter an “awareness” of his “rare freedom
[and] power over [himself] and over fate,” and this becomes his
“dominating instinct;” an instinct he calls “conscience” (Nietzsche GM
60). Therefore, Dexter simultaneously affirms his own independent
conscience, and takes responsibility for everything he does. In order to
become übermenschlich, one must “establish a certain kind of relationship
to others…[for] in relationship to others…the temporality of agency
is…lived out” (Havas 31). As he notes, the answers to questions like “Am I
evil? Am I good?” are of no value to him; only through “work[ing] harder”
and “explor[ing] new rituals” will Dexter find any satisfaction. Like the
free spirit, Dexter is “practiced in maintaining himself on insubstantial
ropes and possibilities and dancing even near abysses,” for his serial-
killing activities, like dancing, reject all preordained norms of everyday
herd activity (Nietzsche GS 290). While the last man walks, talks, and
remains passive and content in his fetters, Dexter dances, exuding
creativity, expression, and the will to power in the pursuit of his passions.
Though he may falter, his creative pursuit is overall steadfast and clear.
Dionysian Dexter
Now that I have shown how Dexter is a free spirit, I would like to highlight
another aspect of his character. This aspect is perhaps the most pertinent
to interpreting how Americans perceive Dexter, which will be discussed
later. Dexter exemplifies the free spirit through his existence as an artist.
After obtaining a victim, he plunges his paintbrush (knife) into the paint,
the body of the work, the spirit, the life essence (blood) and creates for the
sake of creation. He lives to create, to evolve, to experiment, to pursue. His
familiarity with his creative essence brings him joy every day, especially in
his job as a blood-spatter analyst for the Miami Metro Homicide
Department. Dexter's most fundamental instincts are creative, his
“[thoughts] [light] up in a flash, with necessity, without hesitation as to
[their] form...[he] never had any choice” (Nietzsche 126 EH). Indeed, in
the first episode of the series, he claims: “Blood, sometimes it sets my
teeth on edge. Other times it helps me control the chaos” (Dexter “Pilot”)
Such familiarity, such intuitive recognition of blood gives Dexter a rare
happiness. Only when creating, painting, becoming, eviscerating (for
Dexter, all are one and the same) does he feel alive and whole. His
willingness to express his overflowing creative energy, to exercise his will,
makes him free. Dionysian indulgence liberates Dexter. One might wonder
how I can be sure if Dexter's drive to indulge is actually Dionysian and
healthy, or whether it is a product of ressentiment towards criminals on
the one hand, and society's laws on the other. Is not Dexter simply stifled
by the legal system? Why are his trespasses considered Dionysian when
the real motive behind them is unquenchable hatred? In other words, why
do I have any reason to believe that Dexter's energy is healthy as opposed
to sick? Nietzsche addresses this issue:
America in a Nutshell
The herd thrives in civil society, for laws generally favor the weak, and
even encourage weakness as opposed to banning and punishing strength.
Life, instead of spontaneous adventure and creative realization, becomes
“[m]echanical activity” characterized by “unthinking obedience [in one's]
mode of life fixed once and for all” (Nietzsche GM 134). A certain type of
nihilism is present within such a perfunctory life, and for all those who
recognize the worthlessness of that life. This profound depression in both
being and perceiving the herd animal, or the last men,
“constitutes our greatest danger, for the sight of him makes us weary.—
We can see nothing today that wants to grow greater...what is nihilism
today if it is not that?” (Nietzsche GM 44). One might wonder if this is the
legacy that society inevitably creates. Are all societies doomed to nihilism?
Cannot community ease loneliness, and nurture familial and friendly
relations alike? Unfortunately, the potential Nietzschean answers to either
of these questions are far too complicated and extensive to be addressed
fully in this paper. Nietzsche does acknowledge that the “formation of a
herd is a significant victory and advance in the struggle against
depression,” for within a community, “a new interest grows for the
individual [which] lifts him above the most personal element in his
discontent, his aversion to himself” (Nietzsche GM 135). Obviously, people
can be self-interested within the context of a society; there are a great
many interests in all societies, and one's struggle for those interests hardly
ever ends. To a certain extent, this can dull the nihilism inherent in
extensive, perfunctory jobs and well-conditioned daily routines. Self
interest within a society can distract one from his ultimately pervasive
confinementsomewhat, though he will no doubt still be tormented by
masochism and sick conscience. Despite this brief escape from complete
nihilism, however, the “violent transition to the peace and tranquility of
civil society left the human animal incomplete and indeterminate” on a
fundamental level (Conway 15). Again, Nietzsche's philosophy on the
state, or society, is far too extensive for my purposes here to be addressed
in full. What I seek to outline is that society inevitably causes repression
on an individual's instincts, and alters his nature into something sick,
tired, and nihilistic. With this insight, I can begin to hypothesize on the
current state of American society.
America, like all other civilized countries, has a set of laws and
a government to impose them. The governing structure, in a broad sense,
is split up into three main branches, the executive, the legislative, and the
judicial. The only time citizens are directly involved, aside from voting, is
when they selected for a jury. Citizens effectively have no authority in
enforcing legislation passed, or in creating legislation, or in exacting
justice. Even those on a jury often feel burdened by the many rules
limiting their right to speak about what they hear, as well as the obligation
to cooperate amongst each other to reach a conclusion. There are several
objections one may raise at this point in the argument: is not the human
animal naturally social? Does not voting allow citizens a voice in their
government? Also, just because citizens are not directly involved in
decision making or effective politics, does this mean that cooperation
negates all satisfaction derived from civic duty or civic participation?
Indeed, most children have a fundamental understanding that ‘American
freedom’ exists in the context of American laws, and seem to be content
with living amongst such laws, in a broad, generalized sense. Morals, not
entirely separate from laws, are some of the first societal principles that
parents, religions, and schools expose children to. In general, such
institutions curb aggression, selfishness, dishonesty, and more
importantly disobedience. Here again one might argue that such
tendencies must be curbed in order to ensure a proper civil order.
One could arguably say that the 2008 economic crisis changed the
common American mindset significantly. Considering the causes and
explanations of what happened, a few things are generally clear: first, that
a majority of Americans are upset about the government bailout of large
corporations; second, that certain larger moneyed powers in America
could easily topple the inveterate institution of capitalism under the right
conditions; third, that underlying the financial system is a complex
network of immaterial conditions as best embodied by the modern stock
market, and these immaterial conditions have made Americans
increasingly detached from the financial structure that so drastically
affects their lives. For this analysis, I will periodically employ Marx as well
as Nietzsche, though I do not mean to equate the two theorists.
The American dream is a myth, and many people have begun to realize
this. Before I continue, let me clarify just what I mean by 'myth.' There
are, broadly speaking, two American dreams: one consists in becoming
rich, owning many cars, having an attractive wife, etc.; the other, however,
is more simple in that it imagines a house in the suburbs with a white
picket-fence, a lawn, a loving family, and a dog. Both of these dreams are
altogether unsatisfying, which is partly what I mean by 'myth.' The former,
that of the rich man, is almost entirely impossible for most people. This
particular dream attributes abundant social mobility to American life, an
immaterial and transient if not altogether nonexistent class structure, and
compensation for an individual's work ethic and risk-taking temperament.
America's liberal institutions promise jobs and fair working conditions,
among other illusions, like financial security, and job security. As
Nietzsche predicted, however, “nothing damages freedom more terribly or
more thoroughly than liberal institutions” (213 Nietzsche TI). These
institutions simply hold the promises of freedom without ever actually
delivering them. Someone might object here, that America's social
mobility is evident and prevalent still, or further, that the free market
provides people with many choices of potential jobs and products in an
ever growing marketplace. However, when the wealthiest ten percent of
people owns over ninety percent of the wealth, a concrete lack of social
mobility, and prominence of class structure becomes apparent, which
wreaks upon the country's “moral and intellectual climate” a “heavy,
strangulating sense of the emptiness and futility of life” (Baran and
Sweezy 281). Though there may seem to be a lot of choices for jobs and
products, these choices are streamlined more to make money than to fully
satisfy the customer. In other words, the choices are external; one has no
control over the American context. A being “only regards himself as
independent when he stands on his own feet, and he stands on his own
feet only when he owes his existence to himself” (Marx SW 77). In this
sense, the first American dream is a 'myth' due to its impossibility.
Are Americans last man-ish? In some ways, they seem to be. Their
nihilism and contentedness with mediocrity in their own lives surely
resembles last man-ish tendencies. However, there is a shadow side to
such tendencies as seen above. Unlike the last men, or the traditional
herd, Americans subconsciously feel squandered by the herd. On the one
hand, they do not feel adequately human in the herd. On the other hand,
they are too afraid to leave it for a higher life, and would probably prefer
the easy life of the last man to difficult struggles of the free spirit.
Americans have, one might say, a love-hate relationship to America. They
do not want to live with it (to a certain extent), but they really do not want
to live without it. There is, then, a potentially disconnect between how
people act every day, and what they like to read, watch, or think about.
This, I argue, is the primary separation between most Americans and free
spiritedness.
Fandom
Though one might, at first glance, assume that Dexter's audience consists
of disillusioned 18 to 20 year old males, at second glance Dexter's fan base
reveals itself as large and quite ecletic. As blogger HieroHero notes,
Dexter's audience is 50% female. Wendy Dennis, an author for
“Maclean's” articulates how “Men aspire to Dexter's 'James Bond-like
power and clarity,'...whereas women admire his 'etiquette among thieves'”
(Dennis 2). She candidly describes why women like Dexter in more detail:
“Sure, he keeps a ghoulish stash of his victims' blood samples behind his
air conditioner, and leads a sinister double life. But he's brilliant at his job,
mordantly funny...deeply aware of his limitations, and gallant toward
women (he thoughtfully made [his girlfriend's] troublesome ex
disappear)” (Dennis 2).
The show has much more than a cult following, and though not
comparable to shows like American Idol in its audience, it has generated
enough attention to inquire into what makes so many Americans so
attracted to Dexter. From this point forward, I will refer to Dexter's
particular audience as both 'America,' and 'Dexter's audience,' for the
demographic is widespread and eclectic enough to suggest more-or-less
normalcy inDexter's American fan base. Rather than identifying some
discernible difference between Dexter fans and regular Americans, I
postulate that there indeed are none. Other than the fact that fans might
enjoy the crime-drama genre more, or a variety of other inconclusive
variables, I believe the most important reasons some are drawn to Dexter
are found in their status as Americans, not their status as weird people. In
other words, I will ignore any distinction between 'Dexter's audience' and
'America' for facility in writing, and also because the generally American
conditions listed above, when juxtaposed with Dexter as the Nietzschean
free spirit, are the concepts that will give us insight into why so many
normal Americans are drawn to Dexter.
As of now this wildly popular show is nearly five seasons in, and has not
showed any signs of cancellation. I will argue that Americans must
somewhat identify with Dexter's superior liberty: first, within the thrill of
transgression; second, as a creative being, an artist who expresses himself
without limitation. Though this artistic element is somewhat connected to
the thrill of transgression, it is fundamentally separate. Transgression
assumes some form of ressentiment in its completion, a ressentiment
directed against societal laws or criminals. Dexter as an artist, however,
does not inherently express ressentiment. Because Dexter is a free spirit,
he constantly strives to avoid ressentiment (as well as other limitations)
and I have argued that such ill-will is indeed absent from his actions on
the show; Americans, on the other hand, enjoy Dexter partly due to
feelings of both ressentiment in witnessing Dexter's transgression and in
admiration of his artistic self-creation. More on this later.
However, one might wonder how Americans, with their last man-ish
tendencies, could ever harbor ressentiment against society at all. Would
not all the ressentiment be directed against the criminals Dexter kills? Are
not Dexter’s victims the very threats to society that herd animals fear the
most? This view employs a perspective that sees Dexter as an instrument
of the herd, and as a sick moralizer. On Dexter’s character, I have already
set aside the notion that Dexter is a last man, and argued that he is a free
spirit. However, Americans do have last man-ish tendencies, and such
tendencies would never harbor ressentiment against society. Therefore,
because Americans have a twofold existence, referred to above as a sort of
‘love-hate’ relationship with society, they express ressentiment both
against Dexter’s victims and against society. Dexter, then, satisfies both
the last man-ish urges as well as the more free spirited urges
simultaneously: the audience gets to live out ressentiment against
criminals and society. Because this satisfaction arrives via fictional
television, namely Dexter, the more predominant last man-ish qualities
within Americans are not disgusted; the viewer never intends to commit
any actual transgression. In other words, watching Dexter is a safe activity
that does not disrupt one’s actual world or daily routine. This still,
however, does not fully address certain visible aspects of Dexter’s
character, his creativity in particular.
[I]deas are worse seductresses than our senses, for all their cold and
anemic appearance, and not even in spite of this appearance: they have
always lived on the 'blood' of the philosopher, they always consumed his
senses and even, if you will believe us, his 'heart'...philosophizing was
always a kind of vampirism...What is amor [love], what deus[God], if
there is not a drop of blood in them? (Nietzsche GS 333).
Conclusion
Through the course of this inquiry, I first concluded that Dexter was
neither the last man nor the overman, but rather the free spirit, a type of
higher man who exudes übermenschlich qualities and creativity while still
remaining conceivably human. Shortly after, I attempt a brief
Nietzschean-Marxist analysis of American governmental and economic
limitations. I concluded that Americans feel frustrated and trapped in
their work and their home. They have renounced the American dream as a
myth, which resembles that last man-ish capitulation of the will to
ignorance and nihilism, as directly opposed to Dexter, the free spirit who
transcends, or at least strives to transcend, these limitations perpetually,
comfortable maintaining himself on insubstantial ropes and dancing even
near abysses. Next, I identified exactly who Dexter's audience was, and
discussed the trouble with separating Dexter fans from the rest of
Americans. There is nothing special about Dexter fans, other than they
prefer the crime-drama genre to other genres. Other than such a
characteristic, no other significant differences delineate Americans from
Dexter fans. In other words, the extreme repression present in American
society, for many, simply manifests itself in enjoyment of Dexter. Finally, I
came to conclude that Americans enjoy, but misunderstand Dexter. While
Dexter creates himself artistically and without significant limitations,
Americans primarily experience ressentiment through Dexter's violence
and its protagonist's barbarous deeds. Though I concede that
Americans somewhat understand Dexter in that they can admire him as a
free spirit, and his ability to remain independent and forthright in his
actions, I still believe that at a deeper level all Americans, including Dexter
fans, are still subject to the ressentiment and nihilism pervasive within
American society.
There are many areas in which this essay does not go far enough, or
rather cannot go much further, in either diagnosing American society or
explaining why American Dexter fans like Dexter. The audience statistics I
have for Dexter are not large enough, and do not represent enough people,
to make any reliable conclusions about Americans in general. This
essay can, however, provide a case study into a modern American
antihero. Though I was not able to address the genre of the antihero,
Dexter represents one of the larger, more mainstream names in a broader
community of antiheroic figures in modern American television: Walter
White of Breaking Bad, Al Swearengen of Deadwood, Nancy Botwin
of Weeds, Don Draper of Mad Men, and many others. In a further study, I
might take a handful of such popular antiheroic characters and conduct a
larger analysis on their popularity using more information from audience
demographics as well as political surveys.
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