again, when he suddenly turned towards us, and said in a softer tone--
"I cannot be surprised if you young men behave rashly and
thoughtlessly; for it is hardly likely that you have ever seriously
considered what I have just said to you. Don't be in a hurry; carry
this question about with you, but do at any rate consider it day and
night. For you are now at the parting of the ways, and now you know
where each path leads. If you take the one, your age will receive you
with open arms, you will not find it wanting in honours and
decorations: you will form units of an enormous rank and file; and
there will be as many people like-minded standing behind you as in
front of you. And when the leader gives the word it will be re-echoed
from rank to rank. For here your first duty is this: to fight in rank
and file; and your second: to annihilate all those who refuse to form
part of the rank and file. On the other path you will have but few
fellow-travellers: it is more arduous, winding and precipitous; and
those who take the first path will mock you, for your progress is more
wearisome, and they will try to lure you over into their own ranks.
When the two paths happen to cross, however, you will be roughly
handled and thrust aside, or else shunned and isolated.
"Now, take these two parties, so different from each other in every
respect, and tell me what meaning an educational establishment would
have for them. That enormous horde, crowding onwards on the first path
towards its goal, would take the term to mean an institution by which
each of its members would become duly qualified to take his place in
the rank and file, and would be purged of everything which might tend
to make him strive after higher and more remote aims. I don't deny, of
course, that they can find pompous words with which to describe their
aims: for example, they speak of the 'universal development of free
personality upon a firm social, national, and human basis,' or they
announce as their goal: 'The founding of the peaceful sovereignty of
the people upon reason, education, and justice.'
"An educational establishment for the other and smaller company,
however, would be something vastly different. They would employ it to
prevent themselves from being separated from one another and
overwhelmed by the first huge crowd, to prevent their few select
spirits from losing sight of their splendid and noble task through
premature weariness, or from being turned aside from the true path,
corrupted, or subverted. These select spirits must complete their
work: that is the _raison d'être_ of their common institution--a work,
indeed, which, as it were, must be free from subjective traces, and
must further rise above the transient events of future times as the
pure reflection of the eternal and immutable essence of things. And
all those who occupy places in that institution must co-operate in the
endeavour to engender men of genius by this purification from
subjectiveness and the creation of the works of genius. Not a few,
even of those whose talents may be of the second or third order, are
suited to such co-operation, and only when serving in such an
educational establishment as this do they feel that they are truly
carrying out their life's task. But now it is just these talents I
speak of which are drawn away from the true path, and their instincts
estranged, by the continual seductions of that modern 'culture.'
"The egotistic emotions, weaknesses, and vanities of these few select
minds are continually assailed by the temptations unceasingly murmured
into their ears by the spirit of the age: 'Come with me! There you are
servants, retainers, tools, eclipsed by higher natures; your own
peculiar characteristics never have free play; you are tied down,
chained down, like slaves; yea, like automata: here, with me, you will
enjoy the freedom of your own personalities, as masters should, your
talents will cast their lustre on yourselves alone, with their aid you
may come to the very front rank; an innumerable train of followers
will accompany you, and the applause of public opinion will yield you
more pleasure than a nobly-bestowed commendation from the height of
genius.' Even the very best of men now yield to these temptations: and
it cannot be said that the deciding factor here is the degree of
talent, or whether a man is accessible to these voices or not; but
rather the degree and the height of a certain moral sublimity, the
instinct towards heroism, towards sacrifice--and finally a positive,
habitual need of culture, prepared by a proper kind of education,
which education, as I have previously said, is first and foremost
obedience and submission to the discipline of genius. Of this
discipline and submission, however, the present institutions called by
courtesy 'educational establishments' know nothing whatever, although
I have no doubt that the public school was originally intended to be
an institution for sowing the seeds of true culture, or at least as a
preparation for it. I have no doubt, either, that they took the first
bold steps in the wonderful and stirring times of the Reformation, and
that afterwards, in the era which gave birth to Schiller and Goethe,
there was again a growing demand for culture, like the first
protuberance of that wing spoken of by Plato in the _Phaedrus_, which,
at every contact with the beautiful, bears the soul aloft into the
upper regions, the habitations of the gods."
"Ah," began the philosopher's companion, "when you quote the divine
Plato and the world of ideas, I do not think you are angry with me,
however much my previous utterance may have merited your disapproval
and wrath. As soon as you speak of it, I feel that Platonic wing
rising within me; and it is only at intervals, when I act as the
charioteer of my soul, that I have any difficulty with the resisting
and unwilling horse that Plato has also described to us, the
'crooked, lumbering animal, put together anyhow, with a short, thick
neck; flat-faced, and of a dark colour, with grey eyes and blood-red
complexion; the mate of insolence and pride, shag-eared and deaf,
hardly yielding to whip or spur.'[8] Just think how long I have lived
at a distance from you, and how all those temptations you speak of
have endeavoured to lure me away, not perhaps without some success,
even though I myself may not have observed it. I now see more clearly
than ever the necessity for an institution which will enable us to
live and mix freely with the few men of true culture, so that we may
have them as our leaders and guiding stars. How greatly I feel the
danger of travelling alone! And when it occurred to me that I could
save myself by flight from all contact with the spirit of the time, I
found that this flight itself was a mere delusion. Continuously, with
every breath we take, some amount of that atmosphere circulates
through every vein and artery, and no solitude is lonesome or distant
enough for us to be out of reach of its fogs and clouds. Whether in
the guise of hope, doubt, profit, or virtue, the shades of that
culture hover about us; and we have been deceived by that jugglery
even here in the presence of a true hermit of culture. How steadfastly
and faithfully must the few followers of that culture--which might
almost be called sectarian--be ever on the alert! How they must
strengthen and uphold one another! How adversely would any errors be
criticised here, and how sympathetically excused! And thus, teacher, I
ask you to pardon me, after you have laboured so earnestly to set me
in the right path!"
"You use a language which I do not care for, my friend," said the
philosopher, "and one which reminds me of a diocesan conference. With
that I have nothing to do. But your Platonic horse pleases me, and on
its account you shall be forgiven. I am willing to exchange my own
animal for yours. But it is getting chilly, and I don't feel inclined
to walk about any more just now. The friend I was waiting for is
indeed foolish enough to come up here even at midnight if he promised
to do so. But I have waited in vain for the signal agreed upon; and I
cannot guess what has delayed him. For as a rule he is punctual, as we
old men are wont, to be, something that you young men nowadays look
upon as old-fashioned. But he has left me in the lurch for once: how
annoying it is! Come away with me! It's time to go!"
At this moment something happened.
FOOTNOTES:
[6] It will be apparent from these words that Nietzsche is still under
the influence of Schopenhauer.--TR.
[7] This prophecy has come true.--TR.
[8] _Phaedrus_; Jowett's translation.
FIFTH LECTURE.
(_Delivered on the 23rd of March 1872._)
LADIES AND GENTLEMEN,--If you have lent a sympathetic ear to what I
have told you about the heated argument of our philosopher in the
stillness of that memorable night, you must have felt as disappointed
as we did when he announced his peevish intention. You will remember
that he had suddenly told us he wished to go; for, having been left in
the lurch by his friend in the first place, and, in the second, having
been bored rather than animated by the remarks addressed to him by his
companion and ourselves when walking backwards and forwards on the
hillside, he now apparently wanted to put an end to what appeared to
him to be a useless discussion. It must have seemed to him that his
day had been lost, and he would have liked to blot it out of his
memory, together with the recollection of ever having made our
acquaintance. And we were thus rather unwillingly preparing to depart
when something else suddenly brought him to a standstill, and the foot
he had just raised sank hesitatingly to the ground again.
A coloured flame, making a crackling noise for a few seconds,
attracted our attention from the direction of the Rhine; and
immediately following upon this we heard a slow, harmonious call,
quite in tune, although plainly the cry of numerous youthful voices.
"That's his signal," exclaimed the philosopher, "so my friend is
really coming, and I haven't waited for nothing, after all. It will be
a midnight meeting indeed--but how am I to let him know that I am
still here? Come! Your pistols; let us see your talent once again! Did
you hear the severe rhythm of that melody saluting us? Mark it well,
and answer it in the same rhythm by a series of shots."
This was a task well suited to our tastes and abilities; so we loaded
up as quickly as we could and pointed our weapons at the brilliant
stars in the heavens, whilst the echo of that piercing cry died away
in the distance. The reports of the first, second, and third shots
sounded sharply in the stillness; and then the philosopher cried
"False time!" as our rhythm was suddenly interrupted: for, like a
lightning flash, a shooting star tore its way across the clouds after
the third report, and almost involuntarily our fourth and fifth shots
were sent after it in the direction it had taken.
"False time!" said the philosopher again, "who told you to shoot
stars! They can fall well enough without you! People should know what
they want before they begin to handle weapons."
And then we once more heard that loud melody from the waters of the
Rhine, intoned by numerous and strong voices. "They understand us,"
said the philosopher, laughing, "and who indeed could resist when
such a dazzling phantom comes within range?" "Hush!" interrupted his
friend, "what sort of a company can it be that returns the signal to
us in such a way? I should say they were between twenty and forty
strong, manly voices in that crowd--and where would such a number come
from to greet us? They don't appear to have left the opposite bank of
the Rhine yet; but at any rate we must have a look at them from our
own side of the river. Come along, quickly!"
We were then standing near the top of the hill, you may remember, and
our view of the river was interrupted by a dark, thick wood. On the
other hand, as I have told you, from the quiet little spot which we
had left we could have a better view than from the little plateau on
the hillside; and the Rhine, with the island of Nonnenwörth in the
middle, was just visible to the beholder who peered over the
tree-tops. We therefore set off hastily towards this little spot,
taking care, however, not to go too quickly for the philosopher's
comfort. The night was pitch dark, and we seemed to find our way by
instinct rather than by clearly distinguishing the path, as we walked
down with the philosopher in the middle.
We had scarcely reached our side of the river when a broad and fiery,
yet dull and uncertain light shot up, which plainly came from the
opposite side of the Rhine. "Those are torches," I cried, "there is
nothing surer than that my comrades from Bonn are over yonder, and
that your friend must be with them. It is they who sang that peculiar
song, and they have doubtless accompanied your friend here. See!
Listen! They are putting off in little boats. The whole torchlight
procession will have arrived here in less than half an hour."
The philosopher jumped back. "What do you say?" he ejaculated, "your
comrades from Bonn--students--can my friend have come here with
_students_?"
This question, uttered almost wrathfully, provoked us. "What's your
objection to students?" we demanded; but there was no answer. It was
only after a pause that the philosopher slowly began to speak, not
addressing us directly, as it were, but rather some one in the
distance: "So, my friend, even at midnight, even on the top of a
lonely mountain, we shall not be alone; and you yourself are bringing
a pack of mischief-making students along with you, although you well
know that I am only too glad to get out of the way of _hoc genus
omne_. I don't quite understand you, my friend: it must mean something
when we arrange to meet after a long separation at such an
out-of-the-way place and at such an unusual hour. Why should we want a
crowd of witnesses--and such witnesses! What calls us together to-day
is least of all a sentimental, soft-hearted necessity; for both of us
learnt early in life to live alone in dignified isolation. It was not
for our own sakes, not to show our tender feelings towards each other,
or to perform an unrehearsed act of friendship, that we decided to
meet here; but that here, where I once came suddenly upon you as you
sat in majestic solitude, we might earnestly deliberate with each
other like knights of a new order. Let them listen to us who can
understand us; but why should you bring with you a throng of people
who don't understand us! I don't know what you mean by such a thing,
my friend!"
We did not think it proper to interrupt the dissatisfied old grumbler;
and as he came to a melancholy close we did not dare to tell him how
greatly this distrustful repudiation of students vexed us.
At last the philosopher's companion turned to him and said: "I am
reminded of the fact that even you at one time, before I made your
acquaintance, occupied posts in several universities, and that reports
concerning your intercourse with the students and your methods of
instruction at the time are still in circulation. From the tone of
resignation in which you have just referred to students many would be
inclined to think that you had some peculiar experiences which were
not at all to your liking; but personally I rather believe that you
saw and experienced in such places just what every one else saw and
experienced in them, but that you judged what you saw and felt more
justly and severely than any one else. For, during the time I have
known you, I have learnt that the most noteworthy, instructive, and
decisive experiences and events in one's life are those which are of
daily occurrence; that the greatest riddle, displayed in full view of
all, is seen by the fewest to be the greatest riddle, and that these
problems are spread about in every direction, under the very feet of
the passers-by, for the few real philosophers to lift up carefully,
thenceforth to shine as diamonds of wisdom. Perhaps, in the short time
now left us before the arrival of your friend, you will be good enough
to tell us something of your experiences of university life, so as to
close the circle of observations, to which we were involuntarily
urged, respecting our educational institutions. We may also be allowed
to remind you that you, at an earlier stage of your remarks, gave me
the promise that you would do so. Starting with the public school, you
claimed for it an extraordinary importance: all other institutions
must be judged by its standard, according as its aim has been
proposed; and, if its aim happens to be wrong, all the others have to
suffer. Such an importance cannot now be adopted by the universities
as a standard; for, by their present system of grouping, they would be
nothing more than institutions where public school students might go
through finishing courses. You promised me that you would explain this
in greater detail later on: perhaps our student friends can bear
witness to that, if they chanced to overhear that part of our
conversation."
"We can testify to that," I put in. The philosopher then turned to us
and said: "Well, if you really did listen attentively, perhaps you can
now tell me what you understand by the expression 'the present aim of
our public schools.' Besides, you are still near enough to this sphere
to judge my opinions by the standard of your own impressions and
experiences."
My friend instantly answered, quickly and smartly, as was his habit,
in the following words: "Until now we had always thought that the sole
object of the public school was to prepare students for the
universities. This preparation, however, should tend to make us
independent enough for the extraordinarily free position of a
university student;[9] for it seems to me that a student, to a greater
extent than any other individual, has more to decide and settle for
himself. He must guide himself on a wide, utterly unknown path for
many years, so the public school must do its best to render him
independent."
I continued the argument where my friend left off. "It even seems to
me," I said, "that everything for which you have justly blamed the
public school is only a necessary means employed to imbue the youthful
student with some kind of independence, or at all events with the
belief that there is such a thing. The teaching of German composition
must be at the service of this independence: the individual must enjoy
his opinions and carry out his designs early, so that he may be able
to travel alone and without crutches. In this way he will soon be
encouraged to produce original work, and still sooner to take up
criticism and analysis. If Latin and Greek studies prove insufficient
to make a student an enthusiastic admirer of antiquity, the methods
with which such studies are pursued are at all events sufficient to
awaken the scientific sense, the desire for a more strict causality of
knowledge, the passion for finding out and inventing. Only think how
many young men may be lured away for ever to the attractions of
science by a new reading of some sort which they have snatched up with
youthful hands at the public school! The public school boy must learn
and collect a great deal of varied information: hence an impulse will
gradually be created, accompanied with which he will continue to learn
and collect independently at the university. We believe, in short,
that the aim of the public school is to prepare and accustom the
student always to live and learn independently afterwards, just as
beforehand he must live and learn dependently at the public school."
The philosopher laughed, not altogether good-naturedly, and said: "You
have just given me a fine example of that independence. And it is this
very independence that shocks me so much, and makes any place in the
neighbourhood of present-day students so disagreeable to me. Yes, my
good friends, you are perfect, you are mature; nature has cast you and
broken up the moulds, and your teachers must surely gloat over you.
What liberty, certitude, and independence of judgment; what novelty
and freshness of insight! You sit in judgment--and the cultures of all
ages run away. The scientific sense is kindled, and rises out of you
like a flame--let people be careful, lest you set them alight! If I go
further into the question and look at your professors, I again find
the same independence in a greater and even more charming degree:
never was there a time so full of the most sublime independent folk,
never was slavery more detested, the slavery of education and culture
included.
"Permit me, however, to measure this independence of yours by the
standard of this culture, and to consider your university as an
educational institution and nothing else. If a foreigner desires to
know something of the methods of our universities, he asks first of
all with emphasis: 'How is the student connected with the university?'
We answer: 'By the ear, as a hearer.' The foreigner is astonished.
'Only by the ear?' he repeats. 'Only by the ear,' we again reply. The
student hears. When he speaks, when he sees, when he is in the company
of his companions when he takes up some branch of art: in short, when
he _lives_ he is independent, _i.e._ not dependent upon the
educational institution. The student very often writes down something
while he hears; and it is only at these rare moments that he hangs to
the umbilical cord of his alma mater. He himself may choose what he is
to listen to; he is not bound to believe what is said; he may close
his ears if he does not care to hear. This is the 'acroamatic' method
of teaching.
"The teacher, however, speaks to these listening students. Whatever
else he may think and do is cut off from the student's perception by
an immense gap. The professor often reads when he is speaking. As a
rule he wishes to have as many hearers as possible; he is not content
to have a few, and he is never satisfied with one only. One speaking
mouth, with many ears, and half as many writing hands--there you have
to all appearances, the external academical apparatus; the university
engine of culture set in motion. Moreover, the proprietor of this one
mouth is severed from and independent of the owners of the many ears;
and this double independence is enthusiastically designated as
'academical freedom.' And again, that this freedom may be broadened
still more, the one may speak what he likes and the other may hear
what he likes; except that, behind both of them, at a modest distance,
stands the State, with all the intentness of a supervisor, to remind
the professors and students from time to time that _it_ is the aim,
the goal, the be-all and end-all, of this curious speaking and hearing
procedure.
"We, who must be permitted to regard this phenomenon merely as an
educational institution, will then inform the inquiring foreigner that
what is called 'culture' in our universities merely proceeds from the
mouth to the ear, and that every kind of training for culture is, as I
said before, merely 'acroamatic.' Since, however, not only the
hearing, but also the choice of what to hear is left to the
independent decision of the liberal-minded and unprejudiced student,
and since, again, he can withhold all belief and authority from what
he hears, all training for culture, in the true sense of the term,
reverts to himself; and the independence it was thought desirable to
aim at in the public school now presents itself with the highest
possible pride as 'academical self-training for culture,' and struts
about in its brilliant plumage.