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250 pages, Kindle Edition
First published January 1, 2003
Zoe and bios both mean life in Greek, but they are not synonymous. Zoe, wrote Kerenyi, refers to 'life in general, without characterization.' Bios characterizes a specific life, the outlines that distinguish one living thing from another.
Zoe is like seeing Earth from space. You get the sense of life on the rotating globe, but without a sense of the individual lives being lived on the planet. Bios involves swooping down from space from the perch of a high-powered spy satellite, closing in on the scene, and seeing the details. Bios distinguishes between one life and another. Zoe refers to the aggregate.
Bios accommodates the notion of death, that each life has a beginning, middle, and end, that each life contains a story. Zoe, wrote Kerenyi, “does not admit of the experience of its own destruction: it is experienced without end, as infinite life.” The difference between zoe and bios is like the difference between sacred and profane. Sacred art is zoe-driven; profane art stems from bios.
Balanchine was the essence of zoe (...) beautiful plotless structures (...) Their content is the essence of life, not the details of living (...) Balanchine’s gestures and steps pluck chords in us that we cannot easily name. Yet they resonate. They seem familiar. That’s the genius of Balanchine.
Robbins, on the other hand, was pure bios—and brilliant at it. When he created a dance, he was always accumulating details about the roles—from what the characters would wear to whom they were sleeping with—and out of these details of life he would construct an engaging narrative. As a man of bios, a master of details, he could tell a story that had, as a subtext, what Balanchine made a text of—namely, life.
I know that my best work comes out of my creative DNA that seeks to reconcile the competing forces of zoe and bios ...