that the possibility of easy and painless self-destruction is the
only thing that constantly and considerably ameliorates the horror
of human life. Suicide is a means of escape from the world and its
tortures--and therefore it is good. It is an ever-present refuge for
the weak, the weary and the hopeless. It is, in Pliny's phrase, "the
greatest of all blessings which Nature gives to man," and one which
even God himself lacks, for "he could not compass his own death, if
he willed to die." In all of this exaltation of surrender, of course,
there is nothing whatever in common with the dionysian philosophy of
defiance. Nietzsche's teaching is all in the other direction. He urges,
not surrender, but battle; not flight, but war to the end. His curse
falls upon those "preachers of death" who counsel "an abandonment
of life"--whether this abandonment be partial, as in asceticism, or
actual, as in suicide. And yet Zarathustra sings the song of "free
death" and says that the higher man must learn "to die at the right
time." Herein an inconsistency appears, but it is on the surface only.
Schopenhauer regards suicide as a means of escape, Nietzsche sees in
it a means of good riddance. It is time to die, says Zarathustra,
when the purpose of life ceases to be attainable--when the fighter
breaks his sword arm or falls into his enemy's hands. And it is time
to die, too, when the purpose of life is attained--when the fighter
triumphs and sees before him no more worlds to conquer. "He who hath
a goal and an heir wisheth death to come at the right time for goal
and heir." One who has "waxed too old for victories," one who is
"yellow and wrinkled," one with a "toothless mouth"--for such an one
a certain and speedy death. The earth has no room for cumberers and
pensioners. For them the highest of duties is the payment of nature's
debt, that there may be more room for those still able to wield a
sword and bear a burden in the heat of the day. The best death is that
which comes in battle "at the moment of victory;" the second best is
death in battle in the hour of defeat. "Would that a storm came,"
sings Zarathustra, "to shake from the tree of life all those apples
that are putrid and gnawed by worms. It is cowardice that maketh them
stick to their branches"--cowardice which makes them afraid to die.
But there is another cowardice which makes men afraid to live, and
this is the cowardice of the Schopenhauerean pessimist. Nietzsche has
no patience with it. To him a too early death seems as abominable as a
death postponed too long. "Too early died that Jew whom the preachers
of slow death revere. Would that he had remained in the desert and far
away from the good and just! Perhaps he would have learned how to live
and how to love the earth--and even how to laugh. He died too early. He
himself would have revoked his doctrine, had he reached mine age!"[1]
Therefore Nietzsche pleads for an intelligent regulation of death. One
must not die too soon and one must not die too late. "Natural death,"
he says, "is destitute of rationality. It is really _ir_rational death,
for the pitiable substance of the shell determines how long the kernel
shall exist. The pining, sottish prison-warder decides the hour at
which his noble prisoner is to die.... The enlightened regulation and
control of death belongs to the morality of the future. At present
religion makes it seem immoral, for religion presupposes that when the
time for death comes, God gives the command."[2]
_The Attitude at Death._--Nietzsche rejects entirely that pious
belief in signs and portents which sees a significance in death-bed
confessions and "dying words." The average man, he says, dies pretty
much as he has lived, and in this Dr. Osler[3] and other unusually
competent and accurate observers agree with him. When the dying man
exhibits unusual emotions or expresses ideas out of tune with his known
creed, the explanation is to be found in the fact that, toward the time
of death the mind commonly gives way and the customary processes of
thought are disordered. "The way in which a man thinks of death, in the
full bloom of his life and strength, is certainly a good index of his
general character and habits of mind, but at the hour of death itself
his attitude is of little importance or significance. The exhaustion
of the last hours--especially when an old man is dying--the irregular
or insufficient nourishment of the brain, the occasional spasms of
severe physical pain, the horror and novelty of the whole situation,
the atavistic return of early impressions and superstitions, and the
feeling that death is a thing unutterably vast and important and that
bridges of an awful kind are about to be crossed--all of these things
make it irrational to accept a man's attitude at death as an indication
of his character during life. Moreover, it is not true that a dying
man is more honest than a man in full vigor. On the contrary, almost
every dying man is led, by the solemnity of those at his bedside,
and by their restrained or flowing torrents of tears, to conscious or
unconscious conceit and make-believe. He becomes, in brief, an actor
in a comedy.... No doubt the seriousness with which every dying man is
treated has given many a poor devil his only moment of real triumph
and enjoyment. He is, _ipso facto_, the star of the play, and so he is
indemnified for a life of privation and subservience."[4]
_The Origin of Philosophy._--Nietzsche believed that introspection
and self-analysis, as they were ordinarily manifested, were signs of
disease, and that the higher man and superman would waste little time
upon them. The first thinkers, he said, were necessarily sufferers,
for it was only suffering that made a man think and only disability
that gave him leisure to do so. "Under primitive conditions," he
said, "the individual, fully conscious of his power, is ever intent
upon transforming it into action. Sometimes this action takes the
form of hunting, robbery, ambuscade, maltreatment or murder, and
at other times it appears as those feebler imitations of these
things which alone are countenanced by the community. But when the
individual's power declines--when he feels fatigued, ill, melancholy
or satiated, and in consequence, temporarily lacks the yearning to
function--he is a comparatively better and less dangerous man." That
is to say, he contents himself with thinking instead of doing, and so
puts into thought and words "his impressions and feelings regarding
his companions, his wife or his gods." Naturally enough, since his
efficiency is lowered and his mood is gloomy his judgments are evil
ones. He finds fault and ponders revenges. He gloats over enemies or
envies his friends. "In such a state of mind he turns prophet and so
adds to his store of superstitions or devises new acts of devotion
or prophesies the downfall of his enemies. Whatever he thinks, his
thoughts reflect his state of mind: his fear and weariness are more
than normal; his tendency to action and enjoyment are less than normal.
Herein we see the genesis of the poetic, thoughtful, priestly mood.
Evil thoughts must rule supreme therein.... In later stages of culture,
there arose a caste of poets, thinkers, priests and medicine men who
all acted the same as, in earlier years, individuals used to act in
their comparatively rare hours of illness and depression. These persons
led sad, inactive lives and judged maliciously.... The masses, perhaps,
yearned to turn them out of the community, because they were parasites,
but in this enterprise there was great risk, because these men were on
terms of familiarity with the gods and so possessed vast and mysterious
power. Thus the most ancient philosophers were viewed. The masses
hearkened unto them in proportion to the amount of dread they inspired.
In such a way contemplation made its appearance in the world, with an
evil heart and a troubled head. It was both weak and terrible, and both
secretly abhorred and openly worshipped.... _Pudenda origo!_"[5]
_Priestcraft._--So long as man feels capable of taking care of himself
he has no need of priests to intercede for him with the deity.
Efficiency is proverbially identified with impiety: it is only when the
devil is sick that the devil a monk would be. Therefore "the priest
must be regarded as the saviour, shepherd and advocate of the sick....
It is his providence to rule over the sufferers...." In order that
he may understand them and appeal to them he must be sick himself,
and to attain this end there is the device of asceticism. The purpose
of asceticism, as we have seen, is to make a man voluntarily destroy
his own efficiency. But the priest must have a certain strength,
nevertheless, for he must inspire both confidence and dread in his
charges, and must be able to defend them--against whom? "Undoubtedly
against the sound and strong.... He must be the natural adversary and
despiser of all barbarous, impetuous, unbridled, fierce, violent,
beast-of-prey healthiness and power."[6] Thus he must fashion himself
into a new sort of fighter--"a new zoological terror, in which the
polar bear, the nimble and cool tiger and the fox are blended into a
unity as attractive as it is awe-inspiring." He appears in the midst
of the strong as "the herald and mouthpiece of mysterious powers, with
the determination to sow upon the soil, whenever and wherever possible,
the seeds of suffering, dissension and contradiction.... Undoubtedly
he brings balms and balsams with him, but he must first inflict the
wound, before he may act as physician.... It is only the unpleasantness
of disease that is combated by him--not the cause, not the disease
itself!" He dispenses, not specifics, but narcotics. He brings surcease
from sorrow, not by showing men how to attain the happiness of
efficiency, but by teaching them that their sufferings have been laid
upon them by a god who will one day repay them with bliss illimitable.
_God._--"A god who is omniscient and omnipotent and yet neglects
to make his wishes and intentions certainly known to his
creatures--certainly this is not a god of goodness. One who for
thousands of years has allowed the countless scruples and doubts
of men to afflict them and yet holds out terrible consequences for
involuntary errors--certainly this is not a god of justice. Is he not
a cruel god if he knows the truth and yet looks down upon millions
miserably searching for it? Perhaps he is good, but is unable to
communicate with his creatures more intelligibly. Perhaps he is wanting
in intelligence--or in eloquence. So much the worse! For, in that
case, he may be mistaken in what he calls the truth. He may, indeed,
be a brother to the 'poor, duped devils' below him. If so, must he not
suffer agonies on seeing his creatures, in their struggle for knowledge
of him, submit to tortures for all eternity? Must it not strike him
with grief to realize that he cannot advise them or help them, except
by uncertain and ambiguous signs?... All religions bear traces of the
fact that they arose during the intellectual immaturity of the human
race--before it had learned the obligation to speak the truth. Not one
of them makes it the duty of its god to be truthful and understandable
in his communications with man."[7]
_Self-Control._--Self-control, says Nietzsche, consists merely in
combating a given desire with a stronger one. Thus the yearning to
commit a murder may be combated and overcome by the yearning to escape
the gallows and to retain the name and dignity of a law-abiding
citizen. The second yearning is as much unconscious and instinctive
as the first, and in the battle between them the intellect plays but
a small part. In general there are but six ways in which a given
craving may be overcome. First, we may avoid opportunities for its
gratification and so, by a long disuse, weaken and destroy it.
Secondly, we may regulate its gratification, and by thus encompassing
its flux and reflux within fixed limits, gain intervals during which
it is faint. Thirdly, we may intentionally give ourselves over to it
and so wear it out by excess--provided we do not act like the rider
who lets a runaway horse gallop itself to death and, in so doing,
breaks his own neck,--which unluckily is the rule in this method.
Fourthly, by an intellectual trick, we may associate gratification with
an unpleasant idea, as we have associated sexual gratification, for
example, with the idea of indecency. Fifthly, we may find a substitute
in some other craving that is measurably less dangerous, Sixthly,
we may find safety in a general war upon all cravings, good and bad
alike, after the manner of the ascetic, who, in seeking to destroy his
sensuality, at the same time destroys his physical strength, his reason
and, not infrequently, his life.
_The Beautiful._--Man's notion of beauty is the fruit of his delight
in his own continued existence. Whatever makes this existence easy,
or is associated, in any manner, with life or vigor, seems to him to
be beautiful. "Man mirrors himself in things. He counts everything
beautiful which reflects his likeness. The word 'beautiful' represents
the conceit of his species.... Nothing is truly ugly except the
degenerating man. But other things are called ugly, too, when they
happen to weaken or trouble man. They remind him of impotence,
deterioration and danger: in their presence he actually suffers a
loss of power. Therefore he calls them ugly. Whenever man is at all
depressed he has an intuition of the proximity of something 'ugly.'
His sense of power, his will to power, his feeling of pride and
efficiency--all sink with the ugly and rise with the beautiful.
The ugly is instinctively understood to be a sign and symptom of
degeneration. That which reminds one, in the remotest degree, of
degeneracy seems ugly. Every indication of exhaustion, heaviness,
age, or lassitude, every constraint--such as cramp or paralysis--and
above all, every odor, color or counterfeit of decomposition--though
it may be no more than a far-fetched symbol--calls forth the idea of
ugliness. Aversion is thereby excited--man's aversion to the decline
of his type."[8] The phrase "art for art's sake" voices a protest
against subordinating art to morality--that is, against making it a
device for preaching sermons--but as a matter of fact, all art must
praise and glorify and so must lay down values. It is the function of
the artist, indeed, to select, to choose, to bring into prominence. The
very fact that he is able to do this makes us call him an artist. And
when do we approve his choice? Only when it agrees with our fundamental
instinct--only when it exhibits "the desirableness of life." "Therefore
art is the great stimulus to life. We cannot conceive it as being
purposeless or aimless. 'Art for art's sake' is a phrase without
meaning."[9]
_Liberty._--The worth of a thing often lies, not in what one attains by
it, but in the difficulty one experiences in getting it. The struggle
for political liberty, for example, has done more than any other one
thing to develop strength, courage and resourcefulness in the human
race, and yet liberty itself, as we know it today, is nothing more or
less than organized morality, and as such, is necessarily degrading and
degenerating. "It undermines the will to power, it levels the racial
mountains and valleys, it makes man small, cowardly and voluptuous.
Under political liberty the herd-animal always triumphs." But the very
fight to attain this burdensome equality develops the self-reliance
and unconformity which stand opposed to it, and these qualities often
persist. Warfare, in brief, makes men fit for real, as opposed to
political freedom. "And what is freedom? The will to be responsible for
one's self. The will to keep that distance which separates man from
man. The will to become indifferent to hardship, severity, privation
and even to life. The will to sacrifice men to one's cause and to
sacrifice one's self, too.... The man who is truly free tramples under
foot the contemptible species of well-being dreamt of by shop-keepers,
Christians, cows, women, Englishmen and other democrats. The free man
is a warrior.... How is freedom to be measured? By the resistance
it has to overcome--by the effort required to maintain it. We must
seek the highest type of freemen where the highest resistance must be
constantly overcome: five paces from tyranny, close to the threshold of
thraldom.... Those peoples who were worth something, who became worth
something, never acquired their greatness under political liberty.
Great danger made something of them--danger of that sort which first
teaches us to know our resources, our virtues, our shields and swords,
our genius--which compels us to be strong."[10]
_Science_--The object of all science is to keep us from drawing wrong
inferences--from jumping to conclusions. Thus it stands utterly opposed
to all faith and is essentially iconoclastic and skeptical. "The
wonderful in science is the reverse of the wonderful in juggling. The
juggler tries to make us see a very simple relation between things
which, in point of fact, have no relation at all. The scientist, on
the contrary, compels us to abandon our belief in simple casualities
and to see the enormous complexity of phenomena. The simplest things,
indeed, are extremely complex--a fact which will never cease to make us
wonder." The effect of science is to show the absurdity of attempting
to reach perfect happiness and the impossibility of experiencing utter
woe. "The gulf between the highest pitch of happiness and the lowest
depth of misery has been created by imaginary things."[11] That is to
say, the heights of religious exaltation and the depths of religious
fear and trembling are alike creatures of our own myth-making. There
is no such thing as perfect and infinite bliss in heaven and there
is no such thing as eternal damnation in hell. Hereafter our highest
happiness must be less than that of the martyrs who saw the heavenly
gates opening for them, and our worst woe must be less than that of
those medieval sinners who died shrieking and trembling and with the
scent of brimstone in their noses. "This space is being reduced further
and further by science, just as through science we have learned to make
the earth occupy less and less space in the universe, until it now
seems infinitely small and our whole solar system appears as a mere
point."[12]
_The Jews._--For the Jewish slave-morality which prevails in the
western world today, under the label of Christianity, Nietzsche had,
as we know, the most violent aversion and contempt, but he saw very
clearly that this same morality admirably served and fitted the Jews
themselves; that it had preserved them through long ages and against
powerful enemies, and that its very persistence proved alike its own
ingenuity and the vitality of its inventors as a race. "The Jews," said
Nietzsche, "will either become the masters of Europe or lose Europe,
as they once lost Egypt, And it seems to be improbable that they
will lose again. In Europe, for eighteen centuries; they have passed
through a school more terrible than that known to any other nation,
and the experiences of this time of stress and storm have benefited
the individual even more than the community. In consequence, the
resourcefulness and alertness of the modern Jew are extraordinary....
In times of extremity, the people of Israel less often sought refuge
in drink or suicide than any other race of Europe. Today, every Jew
finds in the history of his forebears a voluminous record of coolness
and perseverance in terrible predicaments--of artful cunning and clever
fencing with chance and misfortune. The Jews have hid their bravery
under the cloak of submissiveness; their heroism in facing contempt
surpasses that of the saints. People tried to make them contemptible
for twenty centuries by refusing them all honors and dignities and
by pushing them down into the mean trades. The process did not make
them cleaner, alas! but neither did it make them contemptible. They
have never ceased to believe themselves qualified for the highest
of activities. They have never failed to show the virtues of all
suffering peoples. Their manner of honoring their parents and their
children and the reasonableness of their marriage customs make them
conspicuous among Europeans. Besides, they have learned how to derive
a sense of power from the very trades forced upon them. We cannot help
observing, in excuse for their usury, that without this pleasant means
of inflicting torture upon their oppressors, they might have lost their
self-respect ages ago, for self-respect depends upon being able to
make reprisals. Moreover, their vengeance has never carried them too
far, for they have that liberality which comes from frequent changes
of place, climate, customs and neighbors. They have more experience
of men than any other race and even in their passions there appears
a caution born of this experience. They are so sure of themselves
that, even in their bitterest straits, they never earn their bread by
manual labor as common workmen, porters or peasants.... Their manners,
it may be admitted, teach us that they have never been inspired by
chivalrous, noble feelings, nor their bodies girt with beautiful arms:
a certain vulgarity always alternates with their submissiveness. But
now they are intermarrying with the gentlest blood of Europe, and
in another hundred years they will have enough good manners to save
them from making themselves ridiculous, as masters, in the sight of
those they have subdued." It was Nietzsche's belief that the Jews
would take the lead before long, in the intellectual progress of the
world. He thought that their training, as a race, fitted them for this
leadership. "Where," he asked, "shall the accumulated wealth of great
impressions which forms the history of every Jewish family--that great
wealth of passions, virtues, resolutions, resignations, struggles and
victories of all sorts--where shall it find an outlet, if not in great
intellectual functioning?" The Jews, he thought, would be safe guides
for mankind, once they were set free from their slave-morality and all
need of it. "Then again," he said, "the old God of the Jews may rejoice
in Himself, in His creation and in His chosen people--and all of us
will rejoice with Him."[13]
_The Gentleman._--A million sages and diagnosticians, in all ages of
the world, have sought to define the gentleman, and their definitions
have been as varied as their own minds. Nietzsche's definition is based
upon the obvious fact that the gentleman is ever a man of more than
average influence and power, and the further fact that this superiority
is admitted by all. The vulgarian may boast of his bluff honesty, but
at heart he looks up to the gentleman, who goes through life serene and
imperturbable. There is in the flatter, in truth, an unmistakable air
of fitness and efficiency, and it is this which makes it possible for
him to be gentle and to regard those below him with tolerance. "The
demeanor of high-born persons," says Nietzsche, "shows plainly that
in their minds the consciousness of power is ever-present. Above all
things, they strive to avoid a show of weakness, whether it takes the
form of inefficiency or of a too-easy yielding to passion or emotion.
They never sink exhausted into a chair. On the train, when the vulgar
try to make themselves comfortable, these higher folk avoid reclining.
They do not seem to get tired after hours of standing at court. They
do not furnish their houses in a comfortable, but in a spacious and
dignified manner, as if they were the abodes of a greater and taller
race of beings. To a provoking speech, they reply with politeness and
self-possession--and not as if horrified, crushed, abashed, enraged or
out of breath, after the manner of plebeians. The aristocrat knows how
to preserve the appearance of ever-present physical strength, and he
knows, too, how to convey the impression that his soul and intellect
are a match to all dangers and surprises, by keeping up an unchanging
serenity and civility, even under the most trying circumstances."[14]
_Dreams._--Dreams are symptoms of the eternal law of compensation. In
our waking hours we develop a countless horde of yearnings, cravings
and desires, and by the very nature of things, the majority of them
must go ungratified. The feeling that something is wanting, thus left
within us, is met and satisfied by our imaginary functionings during
sleep. That is to say, dreams represent the reaction of our yearnings
upon the phenomena actually encountered during sleep--the motions of
our blood and intestines, the pressure of the bedclothes, the sounds of
church-bells, domestic animals, etc., and the state of the atmosphere.
These phenomena are fairly constant, but our dreams vary widely on
successive nights. Therefore, the variable factor is represented by the
yearnings we harbor as we go to bed. Thus, the man who loves music and
must go without it all day, hears celestial harmonies in his sleep.
Thus the slave dreams of soaring like an eagle. Thus the prisoner
dreams that he is free and the sailor that he is safely at home.
Inasmuch as the number of our conscious and unconscious desires, each
day, is infinite, there is an infinite variety in dreams. But always
the relation set forth may be predicated.
[1] "_Also sprach Zarathustra_," I.
[2] "_Menschliches allzu Menschliches_," III, § 185.
[3] "_Science and Immortality_," New York, 1904.
[4] "_Menschliches allzu Menschliches_," II, § 88.
[5] "_Morgenröte_," § 42.
[6] "_Zur Genealogie der Moral_," III, 11 to 17.
[7] "_Morgenröte_," § 91.
[8] "_Götzendämmerung_," IX, § 19.
[9] "_Götzendämmerung_," IX, § 24.
[10] "_Götzendämmerung_," IX, § 38.
[11] "_Morgenröte_," § 6.
[12] "_Morgenröte_," § 7.
[13] "_Morgenröte_," § 205.
[14] "_Morgenröte_," § 201.
XIV
NIETZSCHE VS. WAGNER
Nietzsche believed in heroes and, in his youth, was a hero worshipper.
First Arthur Schopenhauer's bespectacled visage stared from his shrine
and after that the place of sacredness and honor was held by Richard
Wagner. When the Wagner of the philosopher's dreams turned into a
Wagner of very prosaic flesh and blood, there came a time of doubt and
stress and suffering for poor Nietzsche. But he had courage as well as
loyalty, and in the end he dashed his idol to pieces and crunched the
bits underfoot. Faith, doubt, anguish, disillusion--it is not a rare
sequence in this pitiless and weary old world.