If, however, our public and private life is so manifestly devoid of
all signs of a productive and characteristic culture; if, moreover,
our great artists, with that earnest vehemence and honesty which is
peculiar to greatness admit, and have admitted, this monstrous
fact--so very humiliating to a gifted nation; how can it still be
possible for contentment to reign to such an astonishing extent among
German scholars? And since the last war this complacent spirit has
seemed ever more and morerready to break forth into exultant cries and
demonstrations of triumph. At all events, the belief seems to be rife
that we are in possession of a genuine culture, and the enormous
incongruity of this triumphant satisfaction in the face of the
inferiority which should be patent to all, seems only to be noticed by
the few and the select. For all those who think with the public mind
have blindfolded their eyes and closed their ears. The incongruity is
not even acknowledged to exist. How is this possible? What power is
sufficiently influential to deny this existence? What species of men
must have attained to supremacy in Germany that feelings which are so
strong and simple should he denied or prevented from obtaining
expression? This power, this species of men, I will name--they are the
Philistines of Culture.
As every one knows, the word "Philistine" is borrowed from the
vernacular of student-life, and, in its widest and most popular sense,
it signifies the reverse of a son of the Muses, of an artist, and of
the genuine man of culture. The Philistine of culture, however, the
study of whose type and the hearing of whose confessions (when he
makes them) have now become tiresome duties, distinguishes himself
from the general notion of the order "Philistine" by means of a
superstition: he fancies that he is himself a son of the Muses and a
man of culture. This incomprehensible error clearly shows that he does
not even know the difference between a Philistine and his opposite. We
must not be surprised, therefore, if we find him, for the most part,
solemnly protesting that he is no Philistine. Owing to this lack of
self-knowledge, he is convinced that his "culture" is the consummate
manifestation of real German culture; and, since he everywhere meets
with scholars of his own type, since all public institutions, whether
schools, universities, or academies, are so organised as to be in
complete harmony with his education and needs, wherever he goes he
bears with him the triumphant feeling that he is the worthy champion
of prevailing German culture, and he frames his pretensions and claims
accordingly.
If, however, real culture takes unity of style for granted (and even
an inferior and degenerate culture cannot be imagined in which a
certain coalescence of the profusion of forms has not taken place), it
is just possible that the confusion underlying the
Culture-Philistine's error may arise from the fact that, since he
comes into contact everywhere with creatures cast in the same mould as
himself, he concludes that this uniformity among all "scholars" must
point to a certain uniformity in German education--hence to culture.
All round him, he sees only needs and views similar to his own;
wherever he goes, he finds himself embraced by a ring of tacit
conventions concerning almost everything, but more especially matters
of religion and art. This imposing sameness, this tutti unisono which,
though it responds to no word of command, is yet ever ready to burst
forth, cozens him into the belief that here a culture must be
established and flourishing. But Philistinism, despite its systematic
organisation and power, does not constitute a culture by virtue of its
system alone; it does not even constitute an inferior culture, but
invariably the reverse--namely, firmly established barbarity. For the
uniformity of character which is so apparent in the German scholars of
to-day is only the result of a conscious or unconscious exclusion and
negation of all the artistically productive forms and requirements of
a genuine style. The mind of the cultured Philistine must have become
sadly unhinged; for precisely what culture repudiates he regards as
culture itself; and, since he proceeds logically, he succeeds in
creating a connected group of these repudiations--a system of
non-culture, to which one might at a pinch grant a certain "unity of
style," provided of course it were Ot nonsense to attribute style to
barbarity. If he have to choose between a stylish act and its
opposite, he will invariably adopt the latter, and, since this rule
holds good throughout, every one of his acts bears the same negative
stamp. Now, it is by means of this stamp that he is able to identify
the character of the "German culture," which is his own patent; and
all things that do not bear it are so many enemies and obstacles drawn
up against him. In the presence of these arrayed forces the
Culture-Philistine either does no more than ward off the blows, or
else he denies, holds his tongue, stops his ears, and refuses to face
facts. He is a negative creature--even in his hatred and animosity.
Nobody, however, is more disliked by him than the man who regards him
as a Philistine, and tells him what he is--namely, the barrier in the
way of all powerful men and creators, the labyrinth for all who doubt
and go astray, the swamp for all the weak and the weary, the fetters
of those who would run towards lofty goals, the poisonous mist that
chokes all germinating hopes, the scorching sand to all those German
thinkers who seek for, and thirst after, a new life. For the mind of
Germany is seeking; and ye hate it because it is seeking, and because
it will not accept your word, when ye declare that ye have found what
it is seeking. How could it have been possible for a type like that of
the Culture-Philistine to develop? and even granting its development,
how was it able to rise to the powerful Position of supreme judge
concerning all questions of German culture? How could this have been
possible, seeing that a whole procession of grand and heroic figures
has already filed past us, whose every movement, the expression of
whose every feature, whose questioning voice and burning eye betrayed
the one fact, that they were seekers, and that they sought that which
the Culture-Philistine had long fancied he had found--to wit, a
genuine original German culture? Is there a soil--thus they seemed to
ask--a soil that is pure enough, unhandselled enough, of sufficient
virgin sanctity, to allow the mind of Germany to build its house upon
it? Questioning thus, they wandered through the wilderness, and the
woods of wretched ages and narrow conditions, and as seekers they
disappeared from our vision; one of them, at an advanced age, was even
able to say, in the name of all: "For half a century my life has been
hard and bitter enough; I have allowed myself no rest, but have ever
striven, sought and done, to the best and to the utmost of my
ability."
What does our Culture-Philistinism say of these seekers? It regards
them simply as discoverers, and seems to forget that they themselves
only claimed to be seekers. We have our culture, say her sons; for
have we not our "classics"? Not only is the foundation there, but the
building already stands upon it--we ourselves constitute that
building. And, so saying, the Philistine raises his hand to his brow.
But, in order to be able thus to misjudge, and thus to grant
left-handed veneration to our classics, people must have ceased to
know them. This, generally speaking, is precisely what has happened.
For, otherwise, one ought to know that there is only one way of
honouring them, and that is to continue seeking with the same spirit
and with the same courage, and not to weary of the search. But to
foist the doubtful title of "classics" upon them, and to "edify"
oneself from time to time by reading their works, means to yield to
those feeble and selfish emotions which all the paying public may
purchase at concert-halls and theatres. Even the raising of monuments
to their memory, and the christening of feasts and societies with
their names--all these things are but so many ringing cash payments by
means of which the Culture-Philistine discharges his indebtedness to
them, so that in all other respects he may be rid of them, and, above
all, not bound to follow in their wake and prosecute his search
further. For henceforth inquiry is to cease: that is the Philistine
watchword.
This watchword once had some meaning. In Germany, during the first
decade of the nineteenth century, for instance, when the heyday and
confusion of seeking, experimenting, destroying, promising, surmising,
and hoping was sweeping in currents and cross-currents over the land,
the thinking middle-classes were right in their concern for their own
security. It was then quite right of them to dismiss from their minds
with a shrug of their shoulders the omnium gatherum of fantastic and
language-maiming philosophies, and of rabid special-pleading
historical studies, the carnival of all gods and myths, and the
poetical affectations and fooleries which a drunken spirit may be
responsible for. In this respect they were quite right; for the
Philistine has not even the privilege of licence. With the cunning
proper to base natures, however, he availed himself of the
opportunity, in order to throw suspicion even upon the seeking spirit,
and to invite people to join in the more comfortable pastime of
finding. His eye opened to the joy of Philistinism; he saved himself
from wild experimenting by clinging to the idyllic, and opposed the
restless creative spirit that animates the artist, by means of a
certain smug ease--the ease of self-conscious narrowness,
tranquillity, and self-sufficiency. His tapering finger pointed,
without any affectation of modesty, to all the hidden and intimate
incidents of his life, to the many touching and ingenuous joys which
sprang into existence in the wretched depths of his uncultivated
existence, and which modestly blossomed forth on the bog-land of
Philistinism.
There were, naturally, a few gifted narrators who, with a nice touch,
drew vivid pictures of the happiness, the prosaic simplicity, the
bucolic robustness, and all the well-being which floods the quarters
of children, scholars, and peasants. With picture-books of this class
in their hands, these smug ones now once and for all sought to escape
from the yoke of these dubious classics and the command which they
contained--to seek further and to find. They only started the notion
of an epigone-age in order to secure peace for themselves, and to be
able to reject all the efforts of disturbing innovators summarily as
the work of epigones. With the view of ensuring their own
tranquillity, these smug ones even appropriated history, and sought to
transform all sciences that threatened to disturb their wretched ease
into branches of history--more particularly philosophy and classical
philology. Through historical consciousness, they saved themselves
from enthusiasm; for, in opposition to Goethe, it was maintained that
history would no longer kindle enthusiasm. No, in their desire to
acquire an historical grasp of everything, stultification became the
sole aim of these philosophical admirers of "nil admirari." While
professing to hate every form of fanaticism and intolerance, what they
really hated, at bottom, was the dominating genius and the tyranny of
the real claims of culture. They therefore concentrated and utilised
all their forces in those quarters where a fresh and vigorous movement
was to be expected, and then paralysed, stupefied, and tore it to
shreds. In this way, a philosophy which veiled the Philistine
confessions of its founder beneath neat twists and flourishes of
language proceeded further to discover a formula for the canonisation
of the commonplace. It expatiated upon the rationalism of all reality,
and thus ingratiated itself with the Culture-Philistine, who also
loves neat twists and flourishes, and who, above all, considers
himself real, and regards his reality as the standard of reason for
the world. From this time forward he began to allow every one, and
even himself, to reflect, to investigate, to astheticise, and, more
particularly, to make poetry, rnusic, and even pictures--not to
mention systems philosophy; provided, of course, that everything were
done according to the old pattern, and that no assault were made upon
the "reasonable" and the "real"--that is to say, upon the Philistine.
The latter really does not at all mind giving himself up, from time to
time, to the delightful and daring transgressions of art or of
sceptical historical studies, and he does not underestimate the charm
of such recreations and entertainments; but he strictly separates "the
earnestness of life" (under which term he understands his calling, his
business, and his wife and child) from such trivialities, and among
the latter he includes all things which have any relation to culture.
Therefore, woe to the art that takes itself seriously, that has a
notion of what it may exact, and that dares to endanger his income,
his business, and his habits! Upon such an art he turns his back, as
though it were something dissolute; and, affecting the attitude of a.
guardian of chastity, he cautions every unprotected virtue on no
account to look.
Being such an adept at cautioning people, he is always grateful to any
artist who heeds him and listens to caution. He then assures his
protege that things are to be made more easy for him; that, as a
kindred spirit, he will no longer be expected to make sublime
masterpieces, but that his work must be one of two kinds--either the
imitation of reality to the point of simian mimicry, in idylls or
gentle and humorous satires, or the free copying of the best-known and
most famous classical works, albeit with shamefast concessions to the
taste of the age. For, although he may only be able to appreciate
slavish copying or accurate portraiture of the present, still he knows
that the latter will but glorify him, and increase the well-being of
"reality"; while the former, far from doing him any harm, rather helps
to establish his reputation as a classical judge of taste, and is not
otherwise troublesome; for he has, once and for all, come to terms
with the classics. Finally, he discovers the general and effective
formula "Health" for his habits, methods of observation, judgments,
and the objects of his patronage; while he dismisses the importunate
disturber of the peace with the epithets "hysterical" and "morbid." It
is thus that David Strauss--a genuine example of the satisfait in
regard to our scholastic institutions, and a typical Philistine--it is
thus that he speaks of "the philosophy of Schopenhauer" as being
"thoroughly intellectual, yet often unhealthy and unprofitable." It is
indeed a deplorable fact that intellect should show such a decided
preference for the "unhealthy" and the "unprofitable"; and even the
Philistine, if he be true to himself, will admit that, in regard to
the philosophies which men of his stamp produce, he is conscious of a
frequent lack of intellectuality, although of course they are always
thoroughly healthy and profitable.
Now and again, the Philistines, provided they are by themselves,
indulge in a bottle of wine, and then they grow reminiscent, and speak
of the great deeds of the war, honestly and ingenuously. On such
occasions it often happens that a great deal comes to light which
would otherwise have been most stead-fastly concealed, and one of them
may even be heard to blurt out the most precious secrets of the whole
brotherhood. Indeed, a lapse of this sort occurred but a short while
ago, to a well-known aesthete of the Hegelian school of reasoning. It
must, however, be admitted that the provocation thereto was of an
unusual character. A company of Philistines were feasting together, in
celebration of the memory of a genuine anti-Philistine--one who,
moreover, had been, in the strictest sense of the words, wrecked by
Philistinism. This man was Holderlin, and the afore-mentioned aesthete
was therefore justified, under the circumstances, in speaking of the
tragic souls who had foundered on "reality"--reality being understood,
here, to mean Philistine reason. But the "reality" is now different,
and it might well be asked whether Holderlin would be able to find his
way at all in the present great age. "I doubt," says Dr. Vischer,
"whether his delicate soul could have borne all the roughness which is
inseparable from war, and whether it had survived the amount of
perversity which, since the war, we now see flourishing in every
quarter. Perhaps he would have succumbed to despair. His was one of
the unarmed souls; he was the Werther of Greece, a hopeless lover; his
life was full of softness and yearning, but there was strength and
substance in his will, and in his style, greatness, riches and life;
here and there it is even reminiscent of AEschylus. His spirit,
however, lacked hardness. He lacked the weapon humour; he could not
grant that one may be a Philistine and still be no barbarian." Not the
sugary condolence of the post-prandial speaker, but this last sentence
concerns us. Yes, it is admitted that one is a Philistine; but, a
barbarian?--No, not at any price! Unfortunately, poor Holderlin could
not make such flne distinctions. If one reads the reverse of
civilisation, or perhaps sea-pirating, or cannibalism, into the word
"barbarian," then the distinction is justifiable enough. But what the
aesthete obviously wishes to prove to us is, that we may be
Philistines and at the same time men of culture. Therein lies the
humour which poor Holderlin lacked and the need of which ultimately
wrecked him.[7]*
[Footnote * : Nietzsche's allusion to Holderlin here is full of tragic
significance; for, like Holderlin, he too was ultimately wrecked and
driven insane by the Philistinism of his age. --Translator's note.]
On this occasion a second admission was made by the speaker: "It is
not always strength of will, but weakness, which makes us superior to
those tragic souls which are so passionately responsive to the
attractions of beauty," or words to this effect. And this was said in
the name of the assembled "We"; that is to say, the "superiors," the
"superiors through weakness." Let us content ourselves with these
admissions. We are now in possession of information concerning two
matters from one of the initiated: first, that these "We" stand beyond
the passion for beauty; secondly, that their position was reached by
means of weakness. In less confidential moments, however, it was just
this weakness which masqueraded in the guise of a much more beautiful
name: it was the famous "healthiness" of the Culture-Philistine. In
view of this very recent restatement of the case, however, it would be
as well not to speak of them any longer as the "healthy ones," but as
the "weakly," or, still better, as the "feeble." Oh, if only these
feeble ones were not in power! How is it that they concern themselves
at all about what we call them! They are the rulers, and he is a poor
ruler who cannot endure to be called by a nickname. Yes, if one only
have power, one soon learns to poke fun--even at oneself. It cannot
matter so very much, therefore, even if one do give oneself away; for
what could not the purple mantle of triumph conceal? The strength of
the Culture-Philistine steps into the broad light of day when he
acknowledges his weakness; and the more he acknowledges it-- the more
cynically he acknowledges it--the more completely he betrays his
consciousness of his own importance and superiority. We are living in
a period of cynical Philistine confessions. Just as Friedrich Vischer
gave us his in a word, so has David Strauss handed us his in a book;
and both that word and that book are cynical.