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Dionysus: god of drunkenness, unchecked merriment and debauchery. He is a figure twice-born: once rescued by his father Zeus from the divine blaze that consumed his pregnant mortal mother, then concealed until birth stitched up in his father's thigh. He is described as non-Greek in origen, he has traveled extensively in Asia and returns, in the famous play The Bacchae by Euripides, with a cult following of bacchantes, or possessed women, to bring revenge on his mother's family that continues to doubt his godliness.

The Dionysus we see in the play is petulant and dangerous in his somewhat unjustified anger, and exacts a violent revenge upon the family that doubts him. In the descriptions of others he is "foreign" and "womanly," but the Dionysus usually seen in Western art is a different creature. He is, in a way, the original jock. He can be seen in the midst of his cult following, enjoying a personal mantra of "eat, drink and be merry." At his most dignified, painted by Caravaggio, he is a sleek, handsome youth, yet still somewhat blearily trying to keep his head up under the weight of his garland of grapes, his eyes fixed unapologetically upon the viewer, and the inevitable flask of wine sitting ready to hand. At his worst, as painted by Guido Reni, he is a corpulent old man inexplicably trapped in the body of a baby, swigging from his flask of wine and simultaneously urinating, naked in all his ugly, tree-trunk legged glory. Other artistic representations have focused on the cult itself, with Dionysus frequently looking on with a befuddled expression as his followers play in an ecstasy of artfully-falling-away drapery.

The Bacchae was the sort of play that sent my first year literature class to sleep, or left us groaning, trying not to laugh as one ridiculous event followed another in this classic "tragedy." Yet really, first year university is the best place for Dionysus, a point that was driven home the day of our review class for the final exam. One classmate, a tall, curly-haired, good-looking frat boy, stumbled in a little after the fact, and there was a suspicious clanking noise from outside the door, which later turned out to have been him hiding his bottle of beer in the garbage outside. He survived the class with a series of burps and afterwards, reclined exhausted in the lounge, described to us his fraternity morning, which had begun with a "champagne and orange juice breakfast." Dionysus would have been proud, I thought, so why is it so difficult to reconnect with this Ancient Greek prototype of modern young men throughout the ages?

Learn more about this author, Emily Mcbride.
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