{"collection":"philosophy-ethics","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_51710/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_51710","id":"gutenberg_51710","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/51710","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Philosophy & Ethics","Strauss, David Friedrich, 1808-1874","Wagner, Richard, 1813-1883"],"text":"THOUGHTS OUT OF SEASON\n\nPART ONE\n\nDAVID STRAUSS, THE CONFESSOR\n\nAND THE WRITER\n\nRICHARD WAGNER IN BAYREUTH\n\nBy\n\nFRIEDRICH NIETZSCHE\n\nTRANSLATED BY\n\nANTHONY M. LUDOVICI\n\n\n\nThe Complete Works of Friedrich Nietzsche\n\nThe First Complete and Authorised English Translation\n\nEdited by Dr Oscar Levy\n\nVolume Four\n\nT.N. FOULIS\n\n13 & 15 FREDERICK STREET\n\nEDINBURGH: AND LONDON\n\n1910\n\n\n\n    CONTENTS.\n    EDITORIAL NOTE\n    NIETZSCHE IN ENGLAND (BY THE EDITOR)\n    TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE TO DAVID STRAUSS\n      AND RICHARD WAGNER IN BAYREUTH\n    DAVID STRAUSS, THE CONFESSOR AND THE WRITER\n    RICHARD WAGNER IN BAYREUTH\n\n\n\n\nEDITORIAL NOTE.\n\n\nThe Editor begs to call attention to some of the difficulties he had\nto encounter in preparing this edition of the complete works of\nFriedrich Nietzsche. Not being English himself, he had to rely upon\nthe help of collaborators, who were somewhat slow in coming forward.\nThey were also few in number; for, in addition to an exact knowledge\nof the German language, there was also required sympathy and a certain\nenthusiasm for the startling ideas of the original, as well as a\nconsiderable feeling for poetry, and that highest form of it,\nreligious poetry.\n\nSuch a combination--a biblical mind, yet one open to new thoughts--was\nnot easily found. And yet it was necessary to find translators with\nsuch a mind, and not be satisfied, as the French are and must be, with\na free though elegant version of Nietzsche. What is impossible and\nunnecessary in French--a faithful and powerful rendering of the\npsalmistic grandeur of Nietzsche--is possible and necessary in\nEnglish, which is a rougher tongue of the Teutonic stamp, and\nmoreover, like German, a tongue influenced and formed by an excellent\nversion of the Bible. The English would never be satisfied, as\nBible-ignorant France is, with a Nietzsche _\u00e0 l'Eau de Cologne_--they\nwould require the natural, strong, real Teacher, and would prefer his\noutspoken words to the finely-chiselled sentences of the _raconteur_. It\nmay indeed be safely predicted that once the English people have\nrecovered from the first shock of Nietzsche's thoughts, their biblical\ntraining will enable them, more than any other nation, to appreciate\nthe deep piety underlying Nietzsche's Cause.\n\nAs this Cause is a somewhat holy one to the Editor himself, he is\nready to listen to any suggestions as to improvements of style or\nsense coming from qualified sources. The Editor, during a recent visit\nto Mrs. Foerster-Nietzsche at Weimar, acquired the rights of\ntranslation by pointing out to her that in this way her brother's\nworks would not fall into the hands of an ordinary publisher and his\nstaff of translators: he has not, therefore, entered into any\nengagement with publishers, not even with the present one, which could\nhinder his task, bind him down to any text found faulty, or make him\nconsent to omissions or the falsification or \"sugaring\" of the\noriginal text to further the sale of the books. He is therefore in a\nposition to give every attention to a work which he considers as of no\nless importance for the country of his residence than for the country\nof his birth, as well as for the rest of Europe.\n\nIt is the consciousness of the importance of this work which makes the\nEditor anxious to point out several difficulties to the younger\nstudent of Nietzsche. The first is, of course, not to begin reading\nNietzsche at too early an age. While fully admitting that others may\nbe more gifted than himself, the Editor begs to state that he began to\nstudy Nietzsche at the age of twenty-six, and would not have been able\nto endure the weight of such teaching before that time. Secondly, the\nEditor wishes to dissuade the student from beginning the study of\nNietzsche by reading first of all his most complicated works. Not\nhaving been properly prepared for them, he will find the _Zarathustra_\nabstruse, the _Ecce Homo_ conceited, and the _Antichrist_ violent. He\nshould rather begin with the little pamphlet on Education, the\n_Thoughts out of Season, Beyond Good and Evil_, or the _Genealogy of\nMorals_. Thirdly, the Editor wishes to remind students of Nietzsche's\nown advice to them, namely: to read him slowly, to think over what\nthey have read, and not to accept too readily a teaching which they\nhave only half understood. By a too ready acceptance of Nietzsche it\nhas come to pass that his enemies are, as a rule, a far superior body\nof men to those who call themselves his eager and enthusiastic\nfollowers. Surely it is not every one who is chosen to combat a\nreligion or a morality of two thousand years' standing, first within\nand then without himself; and whoever feels inclined to do so ought at\nleast to allow his attention to be drawn to the magnitude of his task.\n\n\n\n\nNIETZSCHE IN ENGLAND:\n\n\nAN INTRODUCTORY ESSAY BY THE EDITOR.\n\n\nDEAR ENGLISHMEN,--In one of my former writings I have made the remark\nthat the world would have seen neither the great Jewish prophets nor\nthe great German thinkers, if the people from among whom these eminent\nmen sprang had not been on the whole such a misguided, and, in their\nmisguidedness, such a tough and stubborn race. The arrow that is to\nfly far must be discharged from a well distended bow: if, therefore,\nanything is necessary for greatness, it is a fierce and tenacious\nopposition, an opposition either of open contempt, or of malicious\nirony, or of sly silence, or of gross stupidity, an opposition\nregardless of the wounds it inflicts and of the precious lives it\nsacrifices, an opposition that nobody would dare to attack who was not\nprepared, like the Spartan of old, to return either with his shield or\non it.\n\nAn opposition so devoid of pity is not as a rule found amongst you,\ndear and fair-minded Englishmen, which may account for the fact that\nyou have neither produced the greatest prophets nor the greatest\nthinkers in this world. You would never have crucified Christ, as did\nthe Jews, or driven Nietzsche into madness, as did the Germans--you\nwould have made Nietzsche, on account of his literary faculties,\nMinister of State in a Whig Ministry, you would have invited Jesus\nChrist to your country houses, where he would have been worshipped by\nall the ladies on account of his long hair and interesting looks, and\ntolerated by all men as an amusing, if somewhat romantic, foreigner. I\nknow that the current opinion is to the contrary, and that your\ncountry is constantly accused, even by yourselves, of its insularity;\nbut I, for my part, have found an almost feminine receptivity amongst\nyou in my endeavour to bring you into contact with some ideas of my\nnative country--a receptivity which, however, has also this in common\nwith that of the female mind, that evidently nothing sticks deeply,\nbut is quickly wiped out by what any other lecturer, or writer, or\npolitician has to tell you. I was prepared for indifference--I was not\nprepared for receptivity and that benign lady's smile, behind which\nladies, like all people who are only clever, usually hide their inward\ncontempt for the foolishness of mere men! I was prepared for abuse,\nand even a good fight--I was not prepared for an extremely\nfaint-hearted criticism; I did not expect that some of my opponents\nwould be so utterly inexperienced in that most necessary work of\nliterary execution. No, no: give me the Germans or the Jews for\nexecutioners: they can do the hanging properly, while the English\nhangman is like the Russian, to whom, when the rope broke, the\nhalf-hanged revolutionary said: \"What a country, where they cannot\nhang a man properly!\" What a country, where they do not hang\nphilosophers properly--which would be the proper thing to do to\nthem--but smile at them, drink tea with them, discuss with them, and\nask them to contribute to their newspapers!\n\nTo get to the root of the matter: in spite of many encouraging signs,\nremarks and criticisms, adverse or benevolent, I do not think I have\nbeen very successful in my crusade for that European thought which\nbegan with Goethe and has found so fine a development in Nietzsche.\nTrue, I have made many a convert, but amongst them are very\nundesirable ones, as, for instance, some enterprising publishers, who\nused to be the toughest disbelievers in England, but who have now come\nto understand the \"value\" of the new gospel--but as neither this\ngospel is exactly Christian, nor I, the importer of it, I am not\nallowed to count my success by the conversion of publishers and\nsinners, but have to judge it by the more spiritual standard of the\nquality of the converted. In this respect, I am sorry to say, my\nsuccess has been a very poor one.\n\nAs an eager missionary, I have naturally asked myself the reason of my\nfailure. Why is there no male audience in England willing to listen to\na manly and daring philosophy? Why are there no eyes to see, no ears\nto hear, no hearts to feel, no brains to understand? Why is my\ntrumpet, which after all I know how to blow pretty well, unable to\nshatter the walls of English prejudice against a teacher whose school\ncannot possibly be avoided by any European with a higher purpose in\nhis breast?... There is plenty of time for thought nowadays for a man\nwho does not allow himself to be drawn into that aimless bustle of\npleasure business or politics, which is called modern life because\noutside that life there is--just as outside those noisy Oriental\ncities-a desert, a calmness, a true and almost majestic leisure, a\nleisure unprecedented in any age, a leisure in which one may arrive at\nseveral conclusions concerning English indifference towards the new\nthought.\n\nFirst of all, of course, there stands in the way the terrible abuse\nwhich Nietzsche has poured upon the heads of the innocent Britishers.\nWhile France and the Latin countries, while the Orient and India, are\nwithin the range of his sympathies, this most outspoken of all\nphilosophers, this prophet and poet-philosopher, cannot find words\nenough to express his disgust at the illogical, plebeian, shallow,\nutilitarian Englishman. It must certainly be disagreeable to be\ntreated like this, especially when one has a fairly good opinion of\none's self; but why do you take it so very, very seriously? Did\nNietzsche, perchance, spare the Germans? And aren't you accustomed to\ncriticism on the part of German philosophers? Is it not the ancient\nand time-honoured privilege of the whole range of them from Leibnitz\nto Hegel--even of German poets, like Goethe and Heine--to call you\nbad names and to use unkind language towards you? Has there not always\nbeen among the few thinking heads in Germany a silent consent and an\nopen contempt for you and your ways; the sort of contempt you\nyourselves have for the even more Anglo-Saxon culture of the\nAmericans? I candidly confess that in my more German moments I have\nfelt and still feel as the German philosophers do; but I have also my\nEuropean turns and moods, and then I try to understand you and even\nexcuse you, and take your part against earnest and thinking Germany.\nThen I feel like telling the German philosophers that if you, poor\nfellows, had practised everything they preached, they would have had\nto renounce the pleasure of abusing you long ago, for there would now\nbe no more Englishmen left to abuse! As it is, you have suffered\nenough on account of the wild German ideals you luckily only partly\nbelieved in: for what the German thinker wrote on patient paper in his\nstudy, you always had to write the whole world over on tender human\nskins, black and yellow skins, enveloping ungrateful beings who\nsometimes had no very high esteem for the depth and beauty of German\nphilosophy. And you have never taken revenge upon the inspired masters\nof the European thinking-shop, you have never reabused them, you have\nnever complained of their want of worldly wisdom: you have invariably\nsuffered in silence and agony, just as brave and staunch Sancho Panza\nused to do. For this is what you are, dear Englishmen, and however\nwell you brave, practical, materialistic John Bulls and Sancho Panzas\nmay know this world, however much better you may be able to perceive,\nto count, to judge, and to weigh things than your ideal German Knight:\nthere is an eternal law in this world that the Sancho Panzas have to\nfollow the Don Quixotes; for matter has to follow the spirit, even the\npoor spirit of a German philosopher! So it has been in the past, so it\nis at present, and so it will be in the future; and you had better\nprepare yourselves in time for the eventuality. For if Nietzsche were\nnothing else but this customary type of German philosopher, you would\nagain have to pay the bill largely; and it would be very wise on your\npart to study him: Sancho Panza may escape a good many sad experiences\nby knowing his master's weaknesses. But as Nietzsche no longer belongs\nto the Quixotic class, as Germany seems to emerge with him from her\nyouthful and cranky nebulosity, you will not even have the pleasure of\nbeing thrashed in the company of your Master: no, you will be thrashed\nall alone, which is an abominable thing for any right-minded human\nbeing. \"_Solamen miseris socios habuisse malorum_.\"[1]\n\n[1] It is a comfort to the afflicted to have companions in their\ndistress.\n\nThe second reason for the neglect of Nietzsche in this country is that\nyou do not need him yet. And you do not need him yet because you have\nalways possessed the British virtue of not carrying things to\nextremes, which, according to the German version, is an euphemism for\nthe British want of logic and critical capacity. You have, for\ninstance, never let your religion have any great influence upon your\npolitics, which is something quite abhorrent to the moral German, and\nmakes him so angry about you. For the German sees you acting as a\nmoral and law-abiding Christian at home, and as an unscrupulous and\nMachiavellian conqueror abroad; and if he refrains from the reproach\nof hypocrisy, with which the more stupid continentals invariably\ncharge you, he will certainly call you a \"British muddlehead.\" Well, I\nmyself do not take things so seriously as that, for I know that men of\naction have seldom time to think. It is probably for this reason also\nthat liberty of thought and speech has been granted to you, the\nlaw-giver knowing very well all the time that you would be much too\nbusy to use and abuse such extraordinary freedom. Anyhow, it might now\nbe time to abuse it just a little bit, and to consider what an\nextraordinary amalgamation is a Christian Power with imperialistic\nideas. True, there has once before been another Christian conquering\nand colonising empire like yours, that of Venice--but these Venetians\nwere thinkers compared with you, and smuggled their gospel into the\npaw of their lion.... Why don't you follow their example, in order not\nto be unnecessarily embarrassed by it in your enterprises abroad? In\nthis manner you could also reconcile the proper Germans, who\ninvariably act up to their theories, their Christianity, their\ndemocratic principles, although, on the other hand, in so doing you\nwould, I quite agree, be most unfaithful to your own traditions, which\nare of a more democratic character than those of any other European\nnation.\n\nFor Democracy, as every schoolboy knows, was born in an English\ncradle: individual liberty, parliamentary institutions, the sovereign\nrights of the people, are ideas of British origin, and have been\npropagated from this island over the whole of Europe. But as the\nprophet and his words are very often not honoured in his own country,\nthose ideas have been embraced with much more fervour by other nations\nthan by that in which they originated. The Continent of Europe has\ntaken the desire for liberty and equality much more seriously than\ntheir levelling but also level-headed inventors, and the fervent\nimagination of France has tried to put into practice all that was\nquite hidden to the more sober English eye. Every one nowadays knows\nthe good and the evil consequences of the French Revolution, which\nswept over the whole of Europe, throwing it into a state of unrest,\nshattering thrones and empires, and everywhere undermining authority\nand traditional institutions. While this was going on in Europe, the\noriginator of the merry game was quietly sitting upon his island\nsmiling broadly at the excitable foreigners across the Channel,\nfishing as much as he could out of the water he himself had so\ncleverly disturbed, and thus in every way reaping the benefit from the\nmighty fight for the apple of Eros which he himself had thrown amongst\nthem. As I have endeavoured above to draw a parallel between the\nGermans and the Jews, I may now be allowed to follow this up with one\nbetween the Jews and the English. It is a striking parallel, which\nwill specially appeal to those religious souls amongst you who\nconsider themselves the lost tribes of our race (and who are perhaps\neven more lost than they think),--and it is this: Just as the Jews\nhave brought Christianity into the world, but never accepted it\nthemselves, just as they, in spite of their democratic offspring, have\nalways remained the most conservative, exclusive, aristocratic, and\nreligious people, so have the English never allowed themselves to be\nintoxicated by the strong drink of the natural equality of men, which\nthey once kindly offered to all Europe to quaff; but have, on the\ncontrary, remained the most sober, the most exclusive, the most\nfeudal, the most conservative people of our continent.\n\nBut because the ravages of Democracy have been less felt here than\nabroad, because there is a good deal of the medi\u00e6val building left\nstanding over here, because things have never been carried to that\nexcess which invariably brings a reaction with it--this reaction has\nnot set in in this country, and no strong desire for the necessity of\nit, no craving for the counterbalancing influence of a Nietzsche, has\narisen yet in the British mind. I cannot help pointing out the grave\nconsequences of this backwardness of England, which has arisen from\nthe fact that you have never taken any ideas or theories, not even\nyour own, seriously. Democracy, dear Englishmen, is like a stream,\nwhich all the peoples of Europe will have to cross: they will come out\nof it cleaner, healthier, and stronger, but while the others are\nalready in the water, plunging, puffing, paddling, losing their\nground, trying to swim, and even half-drowned, you are still standing\non the other side of it, roaring unmercifully about the poor swimmers,\nscreamers, and fighters below,--but one day you will have to cross\nthis same river too, and when you enter it the others will just be out\nof it, and will laugh at the poor English straggler in their turn!\n\nThe third and last reason for the icy silence which has greeted\nNietzsche in this country is due to the fact that he has--as far as I\nknow--no literary ancestor over here whose teachings could have\nprepared you for him. Germany has had her Goethe to do this; France\nher Stendhal; in Russia we find that fearless curiosity for all\nproblems, which is the sign of a youthful, perhaps too youthful\nnation; while in Spain, on the other hand, we have an old and\nexperienced people, with a long training away from Christianity under\nthe dominion of the Semitic Arabs, who undoubtedly left some of their\nblood behind,--but I find great difficulty in pointing out any man\nover here who could serve as a useful guide to the heights of the\nNietzschean thought, except one, who was not a Britisher. I am\nalluding to a man whose politics you used to consider and whose\nwritings you even now consider as fantastic, but who, like another\nfantast of his race, may possess the wonderful gift of resurrection,\nand come again to life amongst you--to Benjamin Disraeli.\n\nThe Disraelian Novels are in my opinion the best and only preparation\nfor those amongst you who wish gradually to become acquainted with the\nNietzschean spirit. There, and nowhere else, will you find the true\nheroes of coming times, men of moral courage, men whose failures and\nsuccesses are alike admirable, men whose noble passions have\naltogether superseded the ordinary vulgarities and moralities of lower\nbeings, men endowed with an extraordinary imagination, which, however,\nis balanced by an equal power of reason, men already anointed with a\ndrop of that sacred and noble oil, without which the High\nPriest-Philosopher of Modern Germany would not have crowned his Royal\nRace of the Future.\n\nBoth Disraeli and Nietzsche you perceive starting from the same\npessimistic diagnosis of the wild anarchy, the growing melancholy, the\nthreatening Nihilism of Modern Europe, for both recognised the danger\nof the age behind its loud and forced \"shipwreck gaiety,\" behind its\nbig-mouthed talk about progress and evolution, behind that veil of\nbusiness-bustle, which hides its fear and utter despair--but for all\nthat black outlook they are not weaklings enough to mourn and let\nthings go, nor do they belong to that cheap class of society doctors\nwho mistake the present wretchedness of Humanity for sinfulness, and\nwish to make their patient less sinful and still more wretched. Both\nNietzsche and Disraeli have clearly recognised that this patient of\ntheirs is suffering from weakness and not from sinfulness, for which\nlatter some kind of strength may still be required; both are therefore\nentirely opposed to a further dieting him down to complete moral\nemaciation, but are, on the contrary, prescribing a tonic, a\nroborating, a natural regime for him--advice for which both doctors\nhave been reproached with Immorality by their contemporaries as well\nas by posterity. But the younger doctor has turned the tables upon\ntheir accusers, and has openly reproached his Nazarene colleagues with\nthe Immorality of endangering life itself, he has clearly demonstrated\nto the world that their trustful and believing patient was shrinking\nbeneath their very fingers, he has candidly foretold these Christian\nquacks that one day they would be in the position of the quack\nskin-specialist at the fair, who, as a proof of his medical skill,\nused to show to the peasants around him the skin of a completely cured\npatient of his. Both Nietzsche and Disraeli know the way to health,\nfor they have had the disease of the age themselves, but they\nhave--the one partly, the other entirely--cured themselves of it,\nthey have resisted the spirit of their time, they have escaped the\nfate of their contemporaries; they therefore, and they alone, know\ntheir danger. This is the reason why they both speak so violently, why\nthey both attack with such bitter fervour the utilitarian and\nmaterialistic attitude of English Science, why they both so ironically\nbrush aside the airy and fantastic ideals of German Philosophy--this\nis why they both loudly declare (to use Disraeli's words) \"that we are\nthe slaves of false knowledge; that our memories are filled with ideas\nthat have no origin in truth; that we believe what our fathers\ncredited, who were convinced without a cause; that we study human\nnature in a charnel house, and, like the nations of the East, pay\ndivine honours to the maniac and the fool.\" But if these two great men\ncannot refrain from such outspoken vituperation--they also lead the\nway: they both teach the divinity of ideas and the vileness of action\nwithout principle; they both exalt the value of personality and\ncharacter; they both deprecate the influence of society and\nsocialisation; they both intensely praise and love life, but they both\npour contempt and irony upon the shallow optimist, who thinks it\ndelightful, and the quietist, who wishes it to be calm, sweet, and\npeaceful. They thus both preach a life of danger, in opposition to\nthat of pleasure, of comfort, of happiness, and they do not only\npreach this noble life, they also act it: for both have with equal\ndetermination staked even their lives on the fulfilment of their\nideal.\n\nIt is astonishing--but only astonishing to your superficial student of\nthe Jewish character--that in Disraeli also we find an almost\nNietzschean appreciation of that eternal foe of the Jewish race, the\nHellenist, which makes Disraeli, just like Nietzsche, confess that the\nGreek and the Hebrew are both amongst the highest types of the human\nkind. It is not less astonishing--but likewise easily intelligible for\none who knows something of the great Jews of the Middle Ages--that in\nDisraeli we discover that furious enmity against the doctrine of the\nnatural equality of men which Nietzsche combated all his life. It was\ncertainly the great Maimonides himself, that spiritual father of\nSpinoza, who guided the pen of his Sephardic descendant, when he thus\nwrote in his _Tancred_: \"It is to be noted, although the Omnipotent\nCreator might have formed, had it pleased him, in the humblest of his\ncreations, an efficient agent for his purpose that Divine Majesty has\nnever thought fit to communicate except with human beings of the very\nhighest order.\"\n\nBut what about Christianity, to which Disraeli was sincerely attached,\nand whose creation he always considered as one of the eternal glories\nof his race? Did not the Divine Majesty think it fit then to\ncommunicate with the most humble of its creatures, with the fishermen\nof Galilee, with the rabble of Corinth, with the slaves, the women,\nthe criminals of the Roman Empire? As I wish to be honest about\nDisraeli, I must point out here, that his genius, although the most\nprominent in England during his lifetime, and although violently\nopposed to its current superstitions, still partly belongs to his\nage--and for this very pardonable reason, that in his Jewish pride he\noverrated and even misunderstood Christianity. He all but overlooked\nthe narrow connection between Christianity and Democracy. He did not\nsee that in fighting Liberalism and Nonconformity all his life, he was\nreally fighting Christianity, the Protestant Form of which is at the\nroot of British Liberalism and Individualism to this very day. And\nwhen later in his life Disraeli complained that the disturbance in the\nmind of nations has been occasioned by \"the powerful assault on the\nDivinity of the Semitic Literature by the Germans,\" he overlooked\nlikewise the connection of this German movement with the same\nProtestantism, from the narrow and vulgar middle-class of which have\nsprung all those rationalising, unimaginative, and merely clever\nprofessors, who have so successfully undermined the ancient and\nvenerable lore. And thirdly, and worst of all, Disraeli never\nsuspected that the French Revolution, which in the same breath he once\ncontemptuously denounced as \"the Celtic Rebellion against Semitic\nlaws,\" was, in spite of its professed attack against religion, really\na profoundly Christian, because a democratic and revolutionary\nmovement. What a pity he did not know all this! What a shower of\nsplendid additional sarcasms he would have poured over those\nflat-nosed Franks, had he known what I know now, that it is the\neternal way of the Christian to be a rebel, and that just as he has\nonce rebelled against us, he has never ceased pestering and rebelling\nagainst any one else either of his own or any other creed.\n\nBut it is so easy for me to be carried away by that favourite sport of\nmine, of which I am the first inventor among the Jews--Christian\nbaiting. You must forgive this, however, in a Jew, who, while he has\nbeen baited for two thousand years by you, likes to turn round now\nthat the opportunity has come, and tries to indulge on his part also\nin a little bit of that genial pastime. I candidly confess it is\ndelightful, and I now quite understand your ancestors hunting mine as\nmuch as they could--had I been a Christian, I would, probably, have\ndone the same; perhaps have done it even better, for no one would now\nbe left to write any such impudent truisms against me--rest assured\nof that! But as I am a Jew, and have had too much experience of the\nother side of the question, I must try to control myself in the midst\nof victory; I must judge things calmly; I must state fact honestly; I\nmust not allow myself to be unjust towards you. First of all, then,\nthis rebelling faculty of yours is a Jewish inheritance, an\ninheritance, however, of which you have made a more than generous, a\ntruly Christian use, because you did not keep it niggardly for\nyourselves, but have distributed it all over the earth, from Nazareth\nto Nishni-Novgorod, from Jerusalem to Jamaica, from Palestine to\nPimlico, so that every one is a rebel and an anarchist nowadays. But,\nsecondly, I must not forget that in every Anarchist, and therefore in\nevery Christian, there is also, or may be, an aristocrat--a man who,\njust like the anarchist, but with a perfectly holy right, wishes to\nobey no laws but those of his own conscience; a man who thinks too\nhighly of his own faith and persuasion, to convert other people to it;\na man who, therefore, would never carry it to Caffres and Coolis; a\nman, in short, with whom even the noblest and exclusive Hebrew could\nshake hands. In Friedrich Nietzsche this aristocratic element which\nmay be hidden in a Christian has been brought to light, in him the\nChristian's eternal claim for freedom of conscience, for his own\npriesthood, for justification by his own faith, is no longer used for\npurposes of destruction and rebellion, but for those of command and\ncreation; in him--and this is the key to the character of this\nextraordinary man, who both on his father's and mother's side was the\ndescendant of a long line of Protestant Parsons--the Christian and\nProtestant spirit of anarchy became so strong that he rebelled even\nagainst his own fellow-Anarchists, and told them that Anarchy was a\nlow and contemptible thing, and that Revolution was an occupation fit\nonly for superior slaves. But with this event the circle of\nChristianity has become closed, and the exclusive House of Israel is\nnow under the delightful obligation to make its peace with its once\nlost and now reforming son.\n\nThe venerable Owner of this old house is still standing on its\nthreshold: his face is pale, his expression careworn, his eyes\napparently scanning something far in the distance. The wind--for there\nis a terrible wind blowing just now--is playing havoc with his long\nwhite Jew-beard, but this white Jew-beard of his is growing black\nagain at the end, and even the sad eyes are still capable of quite\nyouthful flashes, as may be noticed at this very moment. For the eyes\nof the old Jew, apparently so dreamy and so far away, have suddenly\nbecome fixed upon something in the distance yonder. The old Jew looks\nand looks--and then he rubs his eyes--and then he eagerly looks\nagain. And now he is sure of himself. His old and haggard face is\nlighting up, his stooped figure suddenly becomes more erect, and a\ntear of joy is seen running over his pale cheek into that long beard\nof his. For the old Jew has recognised some one coming from afar--some\none whom he had missed, but never mentioned, for his Law forbade him\nto do this--some one, however, for whom he had secretly always\nmourned, as only the race of the psalmists and the prophets can\nmourn--and he rushes toward him, and he falls on his neck and he\nkisses him, and he says to his servants: \"Bring forth the best robe\nand put it on him, and put a ring on his hand and shoes on his feet.\nAnd bring hither the fatted calf, and kill it and let us eat and be\nmerry!\" AMEN.\n\n                                                         OSCAR LEVY.\n\nLONDON,\n January 1909.\n\n\n\n\nTRANSLATOR'S PREFACE.\n\n\nTo the reader who knows Nietzsche, who has studied his _Zarathustra_ and\nunderstood it, and who, in addition, has digested the works entitled\n_Beyond Good and Evil, The Genealogy of Morals, The Twilight of the\nIdols_, and _The Antichrist_,--to such a reader everything in this\nvolume will be perfectly clear and comprehensible. In the attack on\nStrauss he will immediately detect the germ of the whole of\nNietzsche's subsequent attitude towards too hasty contentment and the\nfoolish beatitude of the \"easily pleased\"; in the paper on Wagner he\nwill recognise Nietzsche the indefatigable borer, miner and\nunderminer, seeking to define his ideals, striving after\nself-knowledge above all, and availing himself of any contemporary\napproximation to his ideal man, in order to press it forward as the\nincarnation of his thoughts. Wagner the reformer of mankind! Wagner\nthe dithyrambic dramatist!--The reader who knows Nietzsche will not be\nmisled by these expressions.\n\nTo the uninitiated reader, however, some words of explanation are due,\nnot only in regard to the two papers before us, but in regard to\nNietzsche himself. So much in our time is learnt from hearsay\nconcerning prominent figures in science, art, religion, or philosophy,\nthat it is hardly possible for anybody to-day, however badly informed\nhe may be, to begin the study of any great writer or scientist with a\nperfectly open mind. It were well, therefore, to begin the study of\nNietzsche with some definite idea as to his unaltered purpose, if he\never possessed such a thing; as to his lifelong ideal, if he ever kept\none so long; and as to the one direction in which he always travelled,\ndespite apparent deviations and windings. Had he such a purpose, such\nan ideal, such a direction? We have no wish to open a controversy\nhere, neither do we think that in replying to this question in the\naffirmative we shall give rise to one; for every careful student of\nNietzsche, we know, will uphold us in our view. Nietzsche had one very\ndefinite and unaltered purpose, ideal and direction, and this was \"the\nelevation of the type man.\" He tells us in _The Will to Power_: \"All is\ntruth to me that tends to elevate man!\" To this principle he was\nalready pledged as a student at Leipzig; we owe every line that he\never wrote to his devotion to it, and it is the key to all his\ncomplexities, blasphemies, prolixities, and terrible earnestness. All\nwas good to Nietzsche that tended to elevate man; all was bad that\nkept man stationary or sent him backwards. Hence he wrote _David\nStrauss, the Confessor and Writer_ (1873).\n\nThe Franco-German War had only just come to an end, and the keynote of\nthis polemical pamphlet is, \"Beware of the intoxication of success.\"\nWhen the whole of Germany was delirious with joy over her victory, at\na time when the unquestioned triumph of her arms tended rather to\nreflect unearned glory upon every department of her social\norganisation, it required both courage and discernment to raise the\nwarning voice and to apply the wet blanket. But Nietzsche did both,\nand with spirit, because his worst fears were aroused. Smug content\n(_erb\u00e4rmliches Behagen_) was threatening to thwart his one purpose--the\nelevation of man; smug content personified in the German scholar was\ngiving itself airs of omniscience, omnipotence, and ubiquity, and all\nthe while it was a mere cover for hidden rottenness and jejune\npedantry.\n\nNietzsche's attack on Hegelian optimism alone (pp. 46, 53-54), in the\nfirst paper, fully reveals the fundamental idea underlying this essay;\nand if the personal attack on Strauss seems sometimes to throw the\nmain theme into the background, we must remember the author's own\nattitude towards this aspect of the case. Nietzsche, as a matter of\nfact, had neither the spite nor the meanness requisite for the purely\npersonal attack. In his _Ecce Homo_, he tells us most emphatically: \"I\nhave no desire to attack particular persons--I do but use a\npersonality as a magnifying glass; I place it over the subject to\nwhich I wish to call attention, merely that the appeal may be\nstronger.\" David Strauss, in a letter to a friend, soon after the\npublication of the first _Thought out of Season_, expresses his utter\nastonishment that a total stranger should have made such a dead set at\nhim. The same problem may possibly face the reader on every page of\nthis essay: if, however, we realise Nietzsche's purpose, if we\nunderstand his struggle to be one against \"Culture-Philistinism\" in\ngeneral, as a stemming, stultifying and therefore degenerate factor,\nand regard David Strauss--as the author himself did, that is to say,\nsimply as a glass, focusing the whole light of our understanding upon\nthe main theme--then the Strauss paper is seen to be one of such\nenormous power, and its aim appears to us so lofty, that, whatever our\nviews may be concerning the nature of the person assailed, we are\nforced to conclude that, to Nietzsche at least, he was but the\nincarnation and concrete example of the evil and danger then\nthreatening to overtake his country, which it was the object of this\nessay to expose.\n\nWhen we read that at the time of Strauss's death (February 7th, 1874)\nNietzsche was greatly tormented by the fear that the old scholar might\nhave been hastened to his end by the use that had been made of his\npersonality in the first _Unzeitgem\u00e4sse Betrachtung_; when we remember\nthat in the midst of this torment he ejaculated, \"I was indeed not\nmade to hate and have enemies!\"--we are then in a better position to\njudge of the motives which, throughout his life, led him to engage\nsuch formidable opponents and to undertake such relentless attacks. It\nwas merely his ruling principle that, all is true and good that tends\nto elevate man; everything is bad and false that keeps man stationary\nor sends him backwards.\n\nThose who may think that his attacks were often unwarrantable and\nill-judged will do well, therefore, to bear this in mind, that\nwhatever his value or merits may have been as an iconoclast, at least\nthe aim he had was sufficiently lofty and honourable, and that he\nnever shirked the duties which he rightly or wrongly imagined would\nhelp him to.\n\nIn that Wagner paper (1875-1876) we are faced by a somewhat different problem.\nMost readers who will have heard of Nietzsche's subsequent\ndenunciation of Wagner's music will probably stand aghast before this\npanegyric of him; those who, like Professor Saintsbury, will fail to\ndiscover the internal evidence in this essay which points so\ninfallibly to Nietzsche's _real_ but still subconscious opinion of his\nhero, may even be content to regard his later attitude as the result\nof a complete _volte-face_, and at any rate a flat contradiction of the\none revealed in this paper. Let us, however, examine the internal\nevidence we speak of, and let us also discuss the purpose and spirit\nof the essay.\n\nWe have said that Nietzsche was a man with a very fixed and powerful\nideal, and we have heard what this ideal was. Can we picture him,\nthen,--a young and enthusiastic scholar with a cultured love of music,\nand particularly of Wagner's music, eagerly scanning all his circle,\nthe whole city and country in which he lived--yea, even the whole\ncontinent on which he lived--for something or some one that would set\nhis doubts at rest concerning the feasibility of his ideal? Can we now\npicture this young man coming face to face with probably one of the\ngreatest geniuses of his age--with a man whose very presence must have\nbeen electric, whose every word or movement must have imparted some\npower to his surroundings--with Richard Wagner?\n\nIf we can conceive of what the mere attention, even, of a man like\nWagner must have meant to Nietzsche in his twenties, if we can form\nany idea of the intoxicating effect produced upon him when this\nattention developed into friendship, we almost refuse to believe that\nNietzsche could have been critical at all at first. In Wagner, as was\nbut natural, he soon began to see the ideal, or at least the means to\nthe ideal, which was his one obsession. All his hope for the future of\nGermany and Europe cleaved, as it were, to this highest manifestation\nof their people's life, and gradually he began to invest his already\ngreat friend with all the extra greatness which he himself drew from\nthe depths of his own soul.\n\nThe friendship which grew between them was of that rare order in which\nneither can tell who influences the other more. Wagner would often\ndeclare that the beautiful music in the third act of Siegfried was to\nbe ascribed to Nietzsche's influence over him; he also adopted the\nyoung man's terminology in art matters, and the concepts implied by\nthe words \"Dionysian\" and \"Apollonian\" were borrowed by him from his\nfriend's discourses. How much Nietzsche owed to Wagner may perhaps\nnever be definitely known; to those who are sufficiently interested to\nundertake the investigation of this matter, we would recommend Hans\nB\u00e9lart's book, _Nietzsche's Ethik_; in it references will be found which\ngive some clue as to the probable sources from which the necessary\ninformation may be derived. In any case, however, the reciprocal\neffects of their conversations will never be exactly known; and\nalthough it would be ridiculous to assume that Nietzsche was\nessentially the same when he left as when he met him, what the real\nnature of the change was it is now difficult to say.\n\nFor some years their friendship continued firm, and grew ever more and\nmore intimate. _The Birth Of Tragedy_ was one of the first public\ndeclarations of it, and after its publication many were led to\nconsider that Wagner's art was a sort of resurrection of the Dionysian\nGrecian art. Enemies of Nietzsche began to whisper that he was merely\nWagner's \"literary lackey\"; many friends frowned upon the promising\nyoung philologist, and questioned the exaggerated importance he was\nbeginning to ascribe to the art of music and to art in general, in\ntheir influence upon the world; and all the while Nietzsche's one\nthought and one aim was to help the cause and further the prospects of\nthe man who he earnestly believed was destined to be the salvation of\nEuropean culture.\n\nEvery great ideal coined in his own brain he imagined to be the ideal\nof his hero; all his sublimest hopes for society were presented\ngratis, in his writings, to Wagner, as though products of the latter's\nown mind; and just as the prophet of old never possessed the requisite\nassurance to suppose that his noblest ideas were his own, but\nattributed them to some higher and supernatural power, whom he thereby\nlearnt to worship for its fancied nobility of sentiment, so Nietzsche,\nstill doubting his own powers, created a fetich out of his most\ndistinguished friend, and was ultimately wounded and well-nigh wrecked\nwith disappointment when he found that the Wagner of the\nG\u00f6tterd\u00e4mmerung and Parsifal was not the Wagner of his own mind.\n\nWhile writing _Ecce Homo_, he was so well aware of the extent to which\nhe had gone in idealising his friend, that he even felt able to say:\n\"_Wagner in Bayreuth_ is a vision of my own future.... Now that I can\nlook back upon this work, I would not like to deny that, at bottom, it\nspeaks only of myself\" (p. 74). And on another page of the same book\nwe read: \"... What I heard, as a young man, in Wagnerian music, had\nabsolutely nothing to do with Wagner: when I described Dionysian\nmusic, I only described what I had heard, and I thus translated and\ntransfigured all that I bore in my own soul into the spirit of the new\nart. The strongest proof of this is my essay, _Wagner in Bayreuth_: in\nall decidedly psychological passages of this book the reader may\nsimply read my name, or the name 'Zarathustra,' wherever the text\ncontains the name 'Wagner'\" (p. 68).\n\nAs we have already hinted, there are evidences of his having\nsubconsciously discerned the _real_ Wagner, even in the heyday of their\nfriendship, behind the ideal he had formed of him; for his eyes were\ntoo intelligent to be deceived, even though his understanding refused\nat first to heed the messages they sent it: both the _Birth of Tragedy_\nand _Wagner in Bayreuth_ are with us to prove this, and not merely when\nwe read these works between the lines, but when we take such passages\nas those found on pp. 115, 149, 150, 151, 156, 158, 159 of this book\nquite literally.\n\nNietzsche's infatuation we have explained; the consequent idealisation\nof the object of his infatuation he himself has confessed; we have\nalso pointed certain passages which we believe show beyond a doubt\nthat almost everything to be found in _The Case of Wagner_ and _Nietzsche\ncontra Wagner_ was already subconscious in our author, long before he\nhad begun to feel even a coolness towards his hero: let those who\nthink our interpretation of the said passages is either strained or\nunjustified turn to the literature to which we have referred and judge\nfor themselves. It seems to us that those distinguished critics who\ncomplain of Nietzsche's complete _volte-face_ and his uncontrollable\nrecantations and revulsions of feeling have completely overlooked this\naspect of the question.\n\nIt were well for us to bear in mind that we are not altogether free to\ndispose of Nietzsche's attitude to Wagner, at any given period in\ntheir relationship, with a single sentence of praise or of blame.\nAfter all, we are faced by a problem which no objectivity or\ndispassionate detachment on our parts can solve. Nietzsche endowed\nboth Schopenhauer and Wagner with qualities and aspirations so utterly\nforeign to them both, that neither of them would have recognised\nhimself in the images he painted of them. His love for them was\nunusual; perhaps it can only be fully understood emotionally by us:\nlike all men who are capable of very great love, Nietzsche lent the\nobjects of his affection anything they might happen to lack in the way\nof greatness, and when at last his eyes were opened, genuine pain, not\nmalice, was the motive of even the most bitter of his diatribes.\n\nFinally, we should just like to give one more passage from _Ecce Homo_\nbearing upon the subject under discussion. It is particularly\ninteresting from an autobiographical standpoint, and will perhaps\nafford the best possible conclusion to this preface.\n\nNietzsche is writing about Wagner's music, and he says: \"The world\nmust indeed be empty for him who has never been unhealthy enough for\nthis 'infernal voluptuousness'; it is allowable and yet almost\nforbidden to use a mystical expression in this behalf. I suppose I\nknow better than any one the prodigies Wagner was capable of, the\nfifty worlds of strange raptures to which no one save him could soar;\nand as I stand to-day--strong enough to convert even the most\nsuspicious and dangerous phenomenon to my own use and be the stronger\nfor it--I declare Wagner to be the great benefactor of my life.\nSomething will always keep our names associated in the minds of men,\nand that is, that we are two who have suffered more\nexcruciatingly--even at each other's hands--than most men are able to\nsuffer nowadays. And just as Wagner is merely a misunderstanding among\nGermans, so am I and ever will be. You lack two centuries of\npsychological and artistic discipline, my dear countrymen!... But it\nwill be impossible for you ever to recover the time now lost\" (p. 43).\n\n                                                   ANTHONY M. LUDOVICI.\n\n\n\n\nDAVID STRAUSS,\n\n\nTHE CONFESSOR AND THE WRITER.\n\n\nDAVID STRAUSS\n\n\n\nI.\n\n\nPublic opinion in Germany seems strictly to forbid any allusion to the\nevil and dangerous consequences of a war, more particularly when the\nwar in question has been a victorious one. Those writers, therefore,\ncommand a more ready attention who, regarding this public opinion as\nfinal, proceed to vie with each other in their jubilant praise of the\nwar, and of the powerful influences it has brought to bear upon\nmorality, culture, and art. Yet it must be confessed that a great\nvictory is a great danger. Human nature bears a triumph less easily\nthan a defeat; indeed, it might even be urged that it is simpler to\ngain a victory of this sort than to turn it to such account that it\nmay not ultimately prove a serious rout.\n\nBut of all evil results due to the last contest with France, the most\ndeplorable, perhaps, is that widespread and even universal error of\npublic opinion and of all who think publicly, that German culture was\nalso victorious in the struggle, and that it should now, therefore, be\ndecked with garlands, as a fit recognition of such extraordinary\nevents and successes. This error is in the highest degree pernicious:\nnot because it is an error,--for there are illusions which are both\nsalutary and blessed,--but because it threatens to convert our victory\ninto a signal defeat. A defeat?--I should say rather, into the\nuprooting of the \"German Mind\" for the benefit of the \"German Empire.\"\n\nEven supposing that the fight had been between the two cultures, the\nstandard for the value of the victor would still be a very relative\none, and, in any case, would certainly not justify such exaggerated\ntriumph or self-glorification. For, in the first place, it would be\nnecessary to ascertain the worth of the conquered culture. This might\nbe very little; in which case, even if the victory had involved the\nmost glorious display of arms, it would still offer no warrant for\ninordinate rapture.\n\nEven so, however, there can be no question, in our case, of the\nvictory of German culture; and for the simple reason, that French\nculture remains as heretofore, and that we depend upon it as\nheretofore. It did not even help towards the success of our arms.\nSevere military discipline, natural bravery and sustaining power, the\nsuperior generalship, unity and obedience in the rank and file--in\nshort, factors which have nothing to do with culture, were\ninstrumental in making us conquer an opponent in whom the most\nessential of these factors were absent. The only wonder is, that\nprecisely what is now called \"culture\" in Germany did not prove an\nobstacle to the military operations which seemed vitally necessary to\na great victory. Perhaps, though, this was only owing to the fact that\nthis \"thing\" which dubs itself \"culture\" saw its advantage, for once,\nin keeping in the background.\n\nIf however, it be permitted to grow and to spread, if it be spoilt by\nthe flattering and nonsensical assurance that it has been\nvictorious,--then, as I have said, it will have the power to extirpate\nGerman mind, and, when that is done, who knows whether there will\nstill be anything to be made out of the surviving German body!\n\nProvided it were possible to direct that calm and tenacious bravery\nwhich the German opposed to the pathetic and spontaneous fury of the\nFrenchman, against the inward enemy, against the highly suspicious\nand, at all events, unnative \"cultivation\" which, owing to a dangerous\nmisunderstanding, is called \"culture\" in Germany, then all hope of a\nreally genuine German \"culture\"--the reverse of that\n\"cultivation\"--would not be entirely lost. For the Germans have never\nknown any lack of clear-sighted and heroic leaders, though these,\noften enough, probably, have lacked Germans. But whether it be\npossible to turn German bravery into a new direction seems to me to\nbecome ever more and more doubtful; for I realise how fully convinced\nevery one is that such a struggle and such bravery are no longer\nrequisite; on the contrary, that most things are regulated as\nsatisfactorily as they possibly can be--or, at all events, that\neverything of moment has long ago been discovered and accomplished: in\na word, that the seed of culture is already sown everywhere, and is\nnow either shooting up its fresh green blades, or, here and there,\neven bursting forth into luxuriant blossom. In this sphere, not only\nhappiness but ecstasy reigns supreme. I am conscious of this ecstasy\nand happiness, in the ineffable, truculent assurance of German\njournalists and manufacturers of novels, tragedies, poems, and\nhistories (for it must be clear that these people belong to one\ncategory), who seem to have conspired to improve the leisure and\nruminative hours--that is to say, \"the intellectual lapses\"--of the\nmodern man, by bewildering him with their printed paper. Since the\nwar, all is gladness, dignity, and self-consciousness in this merry\nthrong. After the startling successes of German culture, it regards\nitself, not only as approved and sanctioned, but almost as sanctified.\nIt therefore speaks with gravity, affects to apostrophise the German\nPeople, and issues complete works, after the manner of the classics;\nnor does it shrink from proclaiming in those journals which are open\nto it some few of its adherents as new German classical writers and\nmodel authors. It might be supposed that the dangers of such an _abuse\nof success_ would be recognised by the more thoughtful and enlightened\namong cultivated Germans; or, at least, that these would feel how\npainful is the comedy that is being enacted around them: for what in\ntruth could more readily inspire pity than the sight of a cripple\nstrutting like a cock before a mirror, and exchanging complacent\nglances with his reflection! But the \"scholar\" caste willingly allow\nthings to remain as they are, and are too much concerned with their own\naffairs to busy themselves with the care of the German mind. Moreover,\nthe units of this caste are too thoroughly convinced that their own\nscholarship is the ripest and most perfect fruit of the age--in fact,\nof all ages--to see any necessity for a care of German culture in\ngeneral; since, in so far as they and the legion of their brethren are\nconcerned, preoccupations of this order have everywhere been, so to\nspeak, surpassed. The more conscientious observer, more particularly\nif he be a foreigner, cannot help noticing withal that no great\ndisparity exists between that which the German scholar regards as his\nculture and that other triumphant culture of the new German classics,\nsave in respect of the quantum of knowledge. Everywhere, where\nknowledge and not ability, where information and not art, hold the\nfirst rank,--everywhere, therefore, where life bears testimony to the\nkind of culture extant, there is now only one specific German\nculture--and this is the culture that is supposed to have conquered\nFrance?\n\nThe contention appears to be altogether too preposterous. It was\nsolely to the more extensive knowledge of German officers, to the\nsuperior training of their soldiers, and to their more scientific\nmilitary strategy, that all impartial Judges, and even the French\nnation, in the end, ascribed the victory. Hence, if it be intended to\nregard German erudition as a thing apart, in what sense can German\nculture be said to have conquered? In none whatsoever; for the moral\nqualities of severe discipline, of more placid obedience, have nothing\nin common with culture: these were characteristic of the Macedonian\narmy, for instance, despite the fact that the Greek soldiers were\ninfinitely more cultivated. To speak of German scholarship and culture\nas having conquered, therefore, can only be the outcome of a\nmisapprehension, probably resulting from the circumstance that every\nprecise notion of culture has now vanished from Germany.\n\nCulture is, before all things, the unity of artistic style, in every\nexpression of the life of a people. Abundant knowledge and learning,\nhowever, are not essential to it, nor are they a sign of its\nexistence; and, at a pinch, they might coexist much more harmoniously\nwith the very opposite of culture--with barbarity: that is to say,\nwith a complete lack of style, or with a riotous jumble of all styles.\nBut it is precisely amid this riotous jumble that the German of to-day\nsubsists; and the serious problem to be solved is: how, with all his\nlearning, he can possibly avoid noticing it; how, into the bargain, he\ncan rejoice with all his heart in his present \"culture\"? For\neverything conduces to open his eyes for him--every glance he casts at\nhis clothes, his room, his house; every walk he takes through the\nstreets of his town; every visit he pays to his art-dealers and to his\ntrader in the articles of fashion. In his social intercourse he ought\nto realise the origin of his manners and movements; in the heart of\nour art-institutions, the pleasures of our concerts, theatres, and\nmuseums, he ought to become apprised of the super- and juxta-position\nof all imaginable styles. The German heaps up around him the forms,\ncolours, products, and curiosities of all ages and zones, and thereby\nsucceeds in producing that garish newness, as of a country fair, which\nhis scholars then proceed to contemplate and to define as \"Modernism\nper se\"; and there he remains, squatting peacefully, in the midst of\nthis conflict of styles. But with this kind of culture, which is, at\nbottom, nothing more nor less than a phlegmatic insensibility to real\nculture, men cannot vanquish an enemy, least of all an enemy like the\nFrench, who, whatever their worth may be, do actually possess a\ngenuine and productive culture, and whom, up to the present, we have\nsystematically copied, though in the majority of cases without skill.\n\nEven supposing we had really ceased copying them, it would still not\nmean that we had overcome them, but merely that we had lifted their\nyoke from our necks. Not before we have succeeded in forcing an\noriginal German culture upon them can there be any question of the\ntriumph of German culture. Meanwhile, let us not forget that in all\nmatters of form we are, and must be, just as dependent upon Paris now\nas we were before the war; for up to the present there has been no\nsuch thing as a original German culture.\n\nWe all ought to have become aware of this, of our own accord. Besides,\none of the few who had he right to speak to Germans in terms of\nreproach Publicly drew attention to the fact. \"We Germans are of\nyesterday,\" Goethe once said to Eckermann. \"True, for the last hundred\nyears we have diligently cultivated ourselves, but a few centuries may\nyet have to run their course before our fellow-countrymen become\npermeated with sufficient intellectuality and higher culture to have\nit said of them, _it is a long time since they were barbarians_.\"\n\n\n\nII.\n\n\nIf, however, our public and private life is so manifestly devoid of\nall signs of a productive and characteristic culture; if, moreover,\nour great artists, with that earnest vehemence and honesty which is\npeculiar to greatness admit, and have admitted, this monstrous\nfact--so very humiliating to a gifted nation; how can it still be\npossible for contentment to reign to such an astonishing extent among\nGerman scholars? And since the last war this complacent spirit has\nseemed ever more and more ready to break forth into exultant cries and\ndemonstrations of triumph. At all events, the belief seems to be rife\nthat we are in possession of a genuine culture, and the enormous\nincongruity of this triumphant satisfaction in the face of the\ninferiority which should be patent to all, seems only to be noticed by\nthe few and the select. For all those who think with the public mind\nhave blindfolded their eyes and closed their ears. The incongruity is\nnot even acknowledged to exist. How is this possible? What power is\nsufficiently influential to deny this existence? What species of men\nmust have attained to supremacy in Germany that feelings which are so\nstrong and simple should be denied or prevented from obtaining\nexpression? This power, this species of men, I will name--they are the\n_Philistines of Culture_.\n\nAs every one knows, the word \"Philistine\" is borrowed from the\nvernacular of student-life, and, in its widest and most popular sense,\nit signifies the reverse of a son of the Muses, of an artist, and of\nthe genuine man of culture. The Philistine of culture, however, the\nstudy of whose type and the hearing of whose confessions (when he\nmakes them) have now become tiresome duties, distinguishes himself\nfrom the general notion of the order \"Philistine\" by means of a\nsuperstition: he fancies that he is himself a son of the Muses and a\nman of culture. This incomprehensible error clearly shows that he does\nnot even know the difference between a Philistine and his opposite. We\nmust not be surprised, therefore, if we find him, for the most part,\nsolemnly protesting that he is no Philistine. Owing to this lack of\nself-knowledge, he is convinced that his \"culture\" is the consummate\nmanifestation of real German culture; and, since he everywhere meets\nwith scholars of his own type, since all public institutions, whether\nschools, universities, or academies, are so organised as to be in\ncomplete harmony with his education and needs, wherever he goes he\nbears with him the triumphant feeling that he is the worthy champion\nof prevailing German culture, and he frames his pretensions and claims\naccordingly.\n\nIf, however, real culture takes unity of style for granted (and even\nan inferior and degenerate culture cannot be imagined in which a\ncertain coalescence of the profusion of forms has not taken place), it\nis just possible that the confusion underlying the Culture-Philistine's\nerror may arise from the fact that, since he comes into contact\neverywhere with creatures cast in the same mould as himself, he\nconcludes that this uniformity among all \"scholars\" must point to a\ncertain uniformity in German education--hence to culture. All round\nhim, he sees only needs and views similar to his own; wherever he goes,\nhe finds himself embraced by a ring of tacit conventions concerning\nalmost everything, but more especially matters of religion and art.\nThis imposing sameness, this _tutti unisono_ which, though it responds to\nno word of command, is yet ever ready to burst forth, cozens him into\nthe belief that here a culture must be established and flourishing. But\nPhilistinism, despite its systematic organisation and power, does not\nconstitute a culture by virtue of its system alone; it does not even\nconstitute an inferior culture, but invariably the reverse--namely,\nfirmly established barbarity. For the uniformity of character which is\nso apparent in the German scholars of to-day is only the result of a\nconscious or unconscious exclusion and negation of all the artistically\nproductive forms and requirements of a genuine style. The mind of the\ncultured Philistine must have become sadly unhinged; for precisely\nwhat culture repudiates he regards as culture itself; and, since he\nproceeds logically, he succeeds in creating a connected group of these\nrepudiations--a system of non-culture, to which one might at a pinch\ngrant a certain \"unity of style,\" provided of course it were not\nnonsense to attribute style to barbarity. If he have to choose between\na stylish act and its opposite, he will invariably adopt the latter,\nand, since this rule holds good throughout, every one of his acts bears\nthe same negative stamp. Now, it is by means of this stamp that he is\nable to identify the character of the \"German culture,\" which is his\nown patent; and all things that do not bear it are so many enemies and\nobstacles drawn up against him. In the presence of these arrayed forces\nthe Culture-Philistine either does no more than ward off the blows, or\nelse he denies, holds his tongue, stops his ears, and refuses to face\nfacts. He is a negative creature--even in his hatred and animosity.\nNobody, however, is more disliked by him than the man who regards him\nas a Philistine, and tells him what he is--namely, the barrier in the\nway of all powerful men and creators, the labyrinth for all who doubt\nand go astray, the swamp for all the weak and the weary, the fetters\nof those who would run towards lofty goals, the poisonous mist that\nchokes all germinating hopes, the scorching sand to all those German\nthinkers who seek for, and thirst after, a new life. For the mind of\nGermany is seeking; and ye hate it because it is seeking, and because\nit will not accept your word, when ye declare that ye have found what\nit is seeking. How could it have been possible for a type like that of\nthe Culture-Philistine to develop? and even granting its development,\nhow was it able to rise to the powerful position of supreme judge\nconcerning all questions of German culture? How could this have been\npossible, seeing that a whole procession of grand and heroic figures\nhas already filed past us, whose every movement, the expression of\nwhose every feature, whose questioning voice and burning eye betrayed\nthe one fact, _that they were seekers_, and that they sought that which\nthe Culture-Philistine had long fancied he had found--to wit, a genuine\noriginal German culture? Is there a soil--thus they seemed to ask--a\nsoil that is pure enough, unhandselled enough, of sufficient virgin\nsanctity, to allow the mind of Germany to build its house upon it?\nQuestioning thus, they wandered through the wilderness, and the woods\nof wretched ages and narrow conditions, and as seekers they disappeared\nfrom our vision; one of them, at an advanced age, was even able to\nsay, in the name of all: \"For half a century my life has been hard and\nbitter enough; I have allowed myself no rest, but have ever striven,\nsought and done, to the best and to the utmost of my ability.\"\n\nWhat does our Culture-Philistinism say of these seekers? It regards\nthem simply as discoverers, and seems to forget that they themselves\nonly claimed to be seekers. We have our culture, say her sons; for\nhave we not our \"classics\"? Not only is the foundation there, but the\nbuilding already stands upon it--we ourselves constitute that\nbuilding. And, so saying, the Philistine raises his hand to his brow.\n\nBut, in order to be able thus to misjudge, and thus to grant\nleft-handed veneration to our classics, people must have ceased to\nknow them. This, generally speaking, is precisely what has happened.\nFor, otherwise, one ought to know that there is only one way of\nhonouring them, and that is to continue seeking with the same spirit\nand with the same courage, and not to weary of the search. But to\nfoist the doubtful title of \"classics\" upon them, and to \"edify\"\noneself from time to time by reading their works, means to yield to\nthose feeble and selfish emotions which all the paying public may\npurchase at concert-halls and theatres. Even the raising of monuments\nto their memory, and the christening of feasts and societies with\ntheir names--all these things are but so many ringing cash payments by\nmeans of which the Culture-Philistine discharges his indebtedness to\nthem, so that in all other respects he may be rid of them, and, above\nall, not bound to follow in their wake and prosecute his search\nfurther. For henceforth inquiry is to cease: that is the Philistine\nwatchword.\n\nThis watchword once had some meaning. In Germany, during the first\ndecade of the nineteenth century, for instance, when the heyday and\nconfusion of seeking, experimenting, destroying, promising, surmising,\nand hoping was sweeping in currents and cross-currents over the land,\nthe thinking middle-classes were right in their concern for their own\nsecurity. It was then quite right of them to dismiss from their minds\nwith a shrug of their shoulders the _omnium gatherum_ of fantastic and\nlanguage-maiming philosophies, and of rabid special-pleading\nhistorical studies, the carnival of all gods and myths, and the\npoetical affectations and fooleries which a drunken spirit may be\nresponsible for. In this respect they were quite right; for the\nPhilistine has not even the privilege of licence. With the cunning\nproper to base natures, however, he availed himself of the\nopportunity, in order to throw suspicion even upon the seeking spirit,\nand to invite people to join in the more comfortable pastime of\nfinding. His eye opened to the joy of Philistinism; he saved himself\nfrom wild experimenting by clinging to the idyllic, and opposed the\nrestless creative spirit that animates the artist, by means of a\ncertain smug ease--the ease of self-conscious narrowness,\ntranquillity, and self-sufficiency. His tapering finger pointed,\nwithout any affectation of modesty, to all the hidden and intimate\nincidents of his life, to the many touching and ingenuous joys which\nsprang into existence in the wretched depths of his uncultivated\nexistence, and which modestly blossomed forth on the bog-land of\nPhilistinism.\n\nThere were, naturally, a few gifted narrators who, with a nice touch,\ndrew vivid pictures of the happiness, the prosaic simplicity, the\nbucolic robustness, and all the well-being which floods the quarters\nof children, scholars, and peasants. With picture-books of this class\nin their hands, these smug ones now once and for all sought to escape\nfrom the yoke of these dubious classics and the command which they\ncontained--to seek further and to find. They only started the notion\nof an epigone-age in order to secure peace for themselves, and to be\nable to reject all the efforts of disturbing innovators summarily as\nthe work of epigones. With the view of ensuring their own\ntranquillity, these smug ones even appropriated history, and sought to\ntransform all sciences that threatened to disturb their wretched ease\ninto branches of history--more particularly philosophy and classical\nphilology. Through historical consciousness, they saved themselves\nfrom enthusiasm; for, in opposition to Goethe, it was maintained that\nhistory would no longer kindle enthusiasm. No, in their desire to\nacquire an historical grasp of everything, stultification became the\nsole aim of these philosophical admirers of \"_nil admirari_.\" While\nprofessing to hate every form of fanaticism and intolerance, what they\nreally hated, at bottom, was the dominating genius and the tyranny of\nthe real claims of culture. They therefore concentrated and utilised\nall their forces in those quarters where a fresh and vigorous movement\nwas to be expected, and then paralysed, stupefied, and tore it to\nshreds. In this way, a philosophy which veiled the Philistine\nconfessions of its founder beneath neat twists and flourishes of\nlanguage proceeded further to discover a formula for the canonisation\nof the commonplace. It expatiated upon the rationalism of all reality,\nand thus ingratiated itself with the Culture-Philistine, who also\nloves neat twists and flourishes, and who, above all, considers\nhimself real, and regards his reality as the standard of reason for\nthe world. From this time forward he began to allow every one, and\neven himself, to reflect, to investigate, to \u00e6stheticise, and, more\nparticularly, to make poetry, music, and even pictures--not to\nmention systems philosophy; provided, of course, that everything were\ndone according to the old pattern, and that no assault were made upon\nthe \"reasonable\" and the \"real\"--that is to say, upon the Philistine.\nThe latter really does not at all mind giving himself up, from time to\ntime, to the delightful and daring transgressions of art or of\nsceptical historical studies, and he does not underestimate the charm\nof such recreations and entertainments; but he strictly separates \"the\nearnestness of life\" (under which term he understands his calling, his\nbusiness, and his wife and child) from such trivialities, and among\nthe latter he includes all things which have any relation to culture.\nTherefore, woe to the art that takes itself seriously, that has a\nnotion of what it may exact, and that dares to endanger his income,\nhis business, and his habits! Upon such an art he turns his back, as\nthough it were something dissolute; and, affecting the attitude of a\nguardian of chastity, he cautions every unprotected virtue on no\naccount to look.\n\nBeing such an adept at cautioning people, he is always grateful to any\nartist who heeds him and listens to caution. He then assures his\nprotege that things are to be made more easy for him; that, as a\nkindred spirit, he will no longer be expected to make sublime\nmasterpieces, but that his work must be one of two kinds--either the\nimitation of reality to the point of simian mimicry, in idylls or\ngentle and humorous satires, or the free copying of the best-known and\nmost famous classical works, albeit with shamefast concessions to the\ntaste of the age. For, although he may only be able to appreciate\nslavish copying or accurate portraiture of the present, still he knows\nthat the latter will but glorify him, and increase the well-being of\n\"reality\"; while the former, far from doing him any harm, rather helps\nto establish his reputation as a classical judge of taste, and is not\notherwise troublesome; for he has, once and for all, come to terms\nwith the classics. Finally, he discovers the general and effective\nformula \"Health\" for his habits, methods of observation, judgments,\nand the objects of his patronage; while he dismisses the importunate\ndisturber of the peace with the epithets \"hysterical\" and \"morbid.\" It\nis thus that David Strauss--a genuine example of the _satisfait_ in\nregard to our scholastic institutions, and a typical Philistine--it is\nthus that he speaks of \"the philosophy of Schopenhauer\" as being\n\"thoroughly intellectual, yet often unhealthy and unprofitable.\" It is\nindeed a deplorable fact that intellect should show such a decided\npreference for the \"unhealthy\" and the \"unprofitable\"; and even the\nPhilistine, if he be true to himself, will admit that, in regard to\nthe philosophies which men of his stamp produce, he is conscious of a\nfrequent lack of intellectuality, although of course they are always\nthoroughly healthy and profitable.\n\nNow and again, the Philistines, provided they are by themselves,\nindulge in a bottle of wine, and then they grow reminiscent, and speak\nof the great deeds of the war, honestly and ingenuously. On such\noccasions it often happens that a great deal comes to light which\nwould otherwise have been most stead-fastly concealed, and one of them\nmay even be heard to blurt out the most precious secrets of the whole\nbrotherhood. Indeed, a lapse of this sort occurred but a short while\nago, to a well-known \u00e6sthete of the Hegelian school of reasoning. It\nmust, however, be admitted that the provocation thereto was of an\nunusual character. A company of Philistines were feasting together, in\ncelebration of the memory of a genuine anti-Philistine--one who,\nmoreover, had been, in the strictest sense of the words, wrecked by\nPhilistinism. This man was H\u00f6lderlin, and the aforementioned \u00e6sthete\nwas therefore justified, under the circumstances, in speaking of the\ntragic souls who had foundered on \"reality\"--reality being understood,\nhere, to mean Philistine reason. But the \"reality\" is now different,\nand it might well be asked whether H\u00f6lderlin would be able to find his\nway at all in the present great age. \"I doubt,\" says Dr. Vischer,\n\"whether his delicate soul could have borne all the roughness which is\ninseparable from war, and whether it had survived the amount of\nperversity which, since the war, we now see flourishing in every\nquarter. Perhaps he would have succumbed to despair. His was one of\nthe unarmed souls; he was the Werther of Greece, a hopeless lover; his\nlife was full of softness and yearning, but there was strength and\nsubstance in his will, and in his style, greatness, riches and life;\nhere and there it is even reminiscent of \u00c6schylus. His spirit,\nhowever, lacked hardness. He lacked the weapon humour; he could not\ngrant that one may be a Philistine and still be no barbarian.\" Not the\nsugary condolence of the post-prandial speaker, but this last sentence\nconcerns us. Yes, it is admitted that one is a Philistine; but, a\nbarbarian?--No, not at any price! Unfortunately, poor H\u00f6lderlin could\nnot make such fine distinctions. If one reads the reverse of\ncivilisation, or perhaps sea-pirating, or cannibalism, into the word\n\"barbarian,\" then the distinction is justifiable enough. But what the\n\u00e6sthete obviously wishes to prove to us is, that we may be\nPhilistines and at the same time men of culture. Therein lies the\nhumour which poor H\u00f6lderlin lacked and the need of which ultimately\nwrecked him.[2]\n\n[2] Nietzsche's allusion to H\u00f6lderlin here is full of tragic\nsignificance; for, like H\u00f6lderlin, he too was ultimately wrecked and\ndriven insane by the Philistinism of his age.--Translator's note.\n\nOn this occasion a second admission was made by the speaker: \"It is\nnot always strength of will, but weakness, which makes us superior to\nthose tragic souls which are so passionately responsive to the\nattractions of beauty,\" or words to this effect. And this was said in\nthe name of the assembled \"We\"; that is to say, the \"superiors,\" the\n\"superiors through weakness.\" Let us content ourselves with these\nadmissions. We are now in possession of information concerning two\nmatters from one of the initiated: first, that these \"We\" stand beyond\nthe passion for beauty; secondly, that their position was reached by\nmeans of weakness. In less confidential moments, however, it was just\nthis weakness which masqueraded in the guise of a much more beautiful\nname: it was the famous \"healthiness\" of the Culture-Philistine. In\nview of this very recent restatement of the case, however, it would be\nas well not to speak of them any longer as the \"healthy ones,\" but as\nthe \"weakly,\" or, still better, as the \"feeble.\" Oh, if only these\nfeeble ones were not in power! How is it that they concern themselves\nat all about what we call them! They are the rulers, and he is a poor\nruler who cannot endure to be called by a nickname. Yes, if one only\nhave power, one soon learns to poke fun--even at oneself. It cannot\nmatter so very much, therefore, even if one do give oneself away; for\nwhat could not the purple mantle of triumph conceal? The strength of\nthe Culture-Philistine steps into the broad light of day when he\nacknowledges his weakness; and the more he acknowledges it--the more\ncynically he acknowledges it--the more completely he betrays his\nconsciousness of his own importance and superiority. We are living in\na period of cynical Philistine confessions. Just as Friedrich Vischer\ngave us his in a word, so has David Strauss handed us his in a book;\nand both that word and that book are cynical.\n\n\n\nIII.\n\n\nConcerning Culture-Philistinism, David Strauss makes a double\nconfession, by word and by deed; that is to say, by the word of the\nconfessor, and the act of the writer. His book entitled _The Old Faith\nand the New _is, first in regard to its contents, and secondly in\nregard to its being a book and a literary production, an uninterrupted\nconfession; while, in the very fact that he allows himself to write\nconfessions at all about his faith, there already lies a confession.\nPresumably, every one seems to have the right to compile an\nautobiography after his fortieth year; for the humblest amongst us may\nhave experienced things, and may have seen them at such close\nquarters, that the recording of them may prove of use and value to the\nthinker. But to write a confession of one's faith cannot but be\nregarded as a thousand times more pretentious, since it takes for\ngranted that the writer attaches worth, not only to the experiences\nand investigations of his life, but also to his beliefs. Now, what the\nnice thinker will require to know, above all else, is the kind of\nfaith which happens to be compatible with natures of the Straussian\norder, and what it is they have \"half dreamily conjured up\" (p. 10)\nconcerning matters of which those alone have the right to speak who\nare acquainted with them at first hand. Whoever would have desired to\npossess the confessions, say, of a Ranke or a Mommsen? And these men\nwere scholars and historians of a very different stamp from David\nStrauss. If, however, they had ever ventured to interest us in their\nfaith instead of in their scientific investigations, we should have\nfelt that they were overstepping their limits in a most irritating\nfashion. Yet Strauss does this when he discusses his faith. Nobody\nwants to know anything about it, save, perhaps, a few bigoted\nopponents of the Straussian doctrines, who, suspecting, as they do, a\nsubstratum of satanic principles beneath these doctrines, hope that he\nmay compromise his learned utterances by revealing the nature of those\nprinciples. These clumsy creatures may, perhaps, have found what they\nsought in the last book; but we, who had no occasion to suspect a\nsatanic substratum, discovered nothing of the sort, and would have\nfelt rather pleased than not had we been able to discern even a dash\nof the diabolical in any part of the volume. But surely no evil spirit\ncould speak as Strauss speaks of his new faith. In fact, spirit in\ngeneral seems to be altogether foreign to the book--more particularly\nthe spirit of genius. Only those whom Strauss designates as his \"We,\"\nspeak as he does, and then, when they expatiate upon their faith to\nus, they bore us even more than when they relate their dreams; be they\n\"scholars, artists, military men, civil employ\u00e9s, merchants, or landed\nproprietors; come they in their thousands, and not the worst people in\nthe land either!\" If they do not wish to remain the peaceful ones in\ntown or county, but threaten to wax noisy, then let not the din of\ntheir _unisono_ deceive us concerning the poverty and vulgarity of the\nmelody they sing. How can it dispose us more favourably towards a\nprofession of faith to hear that it is approved by a crowd, when it is\nof such an order that if any individual of that crowd attempted to\nmake it known to us, we should not only fail to hear him out, but\nshould interrupt him with a yawn? If thou sharest such a belief, we\nshould say unto him, in Heaven's name, keep it to thyself! Maybe, in\nthe past, some few harmless types looked for the thinker in David\nStrauss; now they have discovered the \"believer\" in him, and are\ndisappointed. Had he kept silent, he would have remained, for these,\nat least, the philosopher; whereas, now, no one regards him as such.\nHe no longer craved the honours of the thinker, however; all he wanted\nto be was a new believer, and he is proud of his new belief. In making\na written declaration of it, he fancied he was writing the catechism\nof \"modern thought,\" and building the \"broad highway of the world's\nfuture.\" Indeed, our Philistines have ceased to be faint-hearted and\nbashful, and have acquired almost cynical assurance. There was a time,\nlong, long ago, when the Philistine was only tolerated as something\nthat did not speak, and about which no one spoke; then a period ensued\nduring which his roughness was smoothed, during which he was found\namusing, and people talked about him. Under this treatment he\ngradually became a prig, rejoiced with all his heart over his rough\nplaces and his wrongheaded and candid singularities, and began to\ntalk, on his own account, after the style of Riehl's music for the\nhome.\n\n\"But what do I see? Is it a shadow? Is it reality? How long and broad\nmy poodle grows!\"\n\nFor now he is already rolling like a hippopotamus along \"the broad\nhighway of the world's future,\" and his growling and barking have\nbecome transformed into the proud incantations of a religious founder.\nAnd is it your own sweet wish, Great Master, to found the religion of\nthe future? \"The times seem to us not yet ripe (p. 7). It does not\noccur to us to wish to destroy a church.\" But why not, Great Master?\nOne but needs the ability. Besides, to speak quite openly in the\nlatter, you yourself are convinced that you Possess this ability. Look\nat the last page of your book. There you actually state, forsooth,\nthat your new way \"alone is the future highway of the world, which now\nonly requires partial completion, and especially general use, in order\nalso to become easy and pleasant.\"\n\nMake no further denials, then. The religious founder is unmasked, the\nconvenient and agreeable highway leading to the Straussian Paradise is\nbuilt. It is only the coach in which you wish to convey us that does\nnot altogether satisfy you, unpretentious man that you are! You tell\nus in your concluding remarks: \"Nor will I pretend that the coach to\nwhich my esteemed readers have been obliged to trust themselves with\nme fulfils every requirement,... all through one is much jolted\" (p.\n438). Ah! you are casting about for a compliment, you gallant old\nreligious founder! But let us be straightforward with you. If your\nreader so regulates the perusal of the 368 pages of your religious\ncatechism as to read only one page a day--that is to say, if he take\nit in the smallest possible doses-then, perhaps, we should be able to\nbelieve that he might suffer some evil effect from the book--if only\nas the outcome of his vexation when the results he expected fail to\nmake themselves felt. Gulped down more heartily, however, and as much\nas possible being taken at each draught, according to the prescription\nto be recommended in the case of all modern books, the drink can work\nno mischief; and, after taking it, the reader will not necessarily be\neither out of sorts or out of temper, but rather merry and\nwell-disposed, as though nothing had happened; as though no religion\nhad been assailed, no world's highway been built, and no profession of\nfaith been made. And I do indeed call this a result! The doctor, the\ndrug, and the disease--everything forgotten! And the joyous laughter!\nThe continual provocation to hilarity! You are to be envied, Sir; for\nyou have founded the most attractive of all religions--one whose\nfollowers do honour to its founder by laughing at him.\n\n\n\nIV.\n\n\nThe Philistine as founder of the religion of the future--that is the\nnew belief in its most emphatic form of expression. The Philistine\nbecomes a dreamer--that is the unheard-of occurrence which\ndistinguishes the German nation of to-day. But for the present, in any\ncase, let us maintain an attitude of caution towards this fantastic\nexaltation. For does not David Strauss himself advise us to exercise\nsuch caution, in the following profound passage, the general tone of\nwhich leads us to think of the Founder of Christianity rather than of\nour particular author? (p. 92): \"We know there have been noble\nenthusiasts--enthusiasts of genius; the influence of an enthusiast can\nrouse, exalt, and produce prolonged historic effects; but we do not\nwish to choose him as the guide of our life. He will be sure to\nmislead us, if we do not subject his influence to the control of\nreason.\" But we know something more: we know that there are\nenthusiasts who are not intellectual, who do not rouse or exalt, and\nwho, nevertheless, not only expect to be the guides of our lives, but,\nas such, to exercise a very lasting historical influence into the\nbargain, and to rule the future;--all the more reason why we should\nplace their influence under the control of reason. Lichtenberg even\nsaid: \"There are enthusiasts quite devoid of ability, and these are\nreally dangerous people.\" In the first place, as regards the\nabove-mentioned control of reason, we should like to have candid\nanswers to the three following questions: First, how does the new\nbeliever picture his heaven? Secondly, how far does the courage lent\nhim by the new faith extend? And, thirdly, how does he write his\nbooks? Strauss the Confessor must answer the first and second\nquestions; Strauss the Writer must answer the third.\n\nThe heaven of the new believer must, perforce, be a heaven upon earth;\nfor the Christian \"prospect of an immortal life in heaven,\" together\nwith the other consolations, \"must irretrievably vanish\" for him who\nhas but \"one foot\" on the Straussian platform. The way in which a\nreligion represents its heaven is significant, and if it be true that\nChristianity knows no other heavenly occupations than singing and\nmaking music, the prospect of the Philistine, _\u00e0 la_ Strauss, is truly\nnot a very comforting one. In the book of confessions, however, there\nis a page which treats of Paradise (p. 342). Happiest of Philistines,\nunroll this parchment scroll before anything else, and the whole of\nheaven will seem to clamber down to thee! \"We would but indicate how\nwe act, how we have acted these many years. Besides our\nprofession--for we are members of the most various professions, and by\nno means exclusively consist of scholars or artists, but of military\nmen and civil employ\u00e9s, of merchants and landed proprietors;... and\nagain, as I have said already, there are not a few of us, but many\nthousands, and not the worst people in the country;--besides our\nprofession, then, I say, we are eagerly accessible to all the higher\ninterests of humanity; we have taken a vivid interest, during late\nyears, and each after his manner has participated in the great\nnational war, and the reconstruction of the German State; and we have\nbeen profoundly exalted by the turn events have taken, as unexpected\nas glorious, for our much tried nation. To the end of forming just\nconclusions in these things, we study history, which has now been made\neasy, even to the unlearned, by a series of attractively and popularly\nwritten works; at the same time, we endeavour to enlarge our knowledge\nof the natural sciences, where also there is no lack of sources of\ninformation; and lastly, in the writings of our great poets, in the\nperformances of our great musicians, we find a stimulus for the\nintellect and heart, for wit and imagination, which leaves nothing to\nbe desired. Thus we live, and hold on our way in joy.\"\n\n\"Here is our man!\" cries the Philistine exultingly, who reads this:\n\"for this is exactly how we live; it is indeed our daily life.\"[3]\nAnd how perfectly he understands the euphemism! When, for example, he\nrefers to the historical studies by means of which we help ourselves\nin forming just conclusions regarding the political situation, what\ncan he be thinking of, if it be not our newspaper-reading? When he\nspeaks of the active part we take in the reconstruction of the German\nState, he surely has only our daily visits to the beer-garden in his\nmind; and is not a walk in the Zoological Gardens implied by 'the\nsources of information through which we endeavour to enlarge our\nknowledge of the natural sciences'? Finally, the theatres and\nconcert-halls are referred to as places from which we take home 'a\nstimulus for wit and imagination which leaves nothing to be\ndesired.'--With what dignity and wit he describes even the most\nsuspicious of our doings! Here indeed is our man; for his heaven is\nour heaven!\"\n\n[3] This alludes to a German student-song.\n\nThus cries the Philistine; and if we are not quite so satisfied as he,\nit is merely owing to the fact that we wanted to know more. Scaliger\nused to say: \"What does it matter to us whether Montaigne drank red or\nwhite wine?\" But, in this more important case, how greatly ought we to\nvalue definite particulars of this sort! If we could but learn how\nmany pipes the Philistine smokes daily, according to the prescriptions\nof the new faith, and whether it is the _Spener_ or the _National Gazette_\nthat appeals to him over his coffee! But our curiosity is not\nsatisfied. With regard to one point only do we receive more exhaustive\ninformation, and fortunately this point relates to the heaven in\nheaven--the private little art-rooms which will be consecrated to the\nuse of great poets and musicians, and to which the Philistine will go\nto edify himself; in which, moreover, according to his own showing, he\nwill even get \"all his stains removed and wiped away\" (p. 433); so\nthat we are led to regard these private little art-rooms as a kind of\nbath-rooms. \"But this is only effected for some fleeting moments; it\nhappens and counts only in the realms of phantasy; as soon as we\nreturn to rude reality, and the cramping confines of actual life, we\nare again on all sides assailed by the old cares,\"--thus our Master\nsighs. Let us, however, avail ourselves of the fleeting moments during\nwhich we remain in those little rooms; there is just sufficient time\nto get a glimpse of the apotheosis of the Philistine--that is to say,\nthe Philistine whose stains have been removed and wiped away, and who\nis now an absolutely pure sample of his type. In truth, the\nopportunity we have here may prove instructive: let no one who happens\nto have fallen a victim to the confession-book lay it aside before\nhaving read the two appendices, \"Of our Great Poets\" and \"Of our Great\nMusicians.\" Here the rainbow of the new brotherhood is set, and he who\ncan find no pleasure in it \"for such an one there is no help,\" as\nStrauss says on another occasion; and, as he might well say here, \"he\nis not yet ripe for our point of view.\" For are we not in the heaven\nof heavens? The enthusiastic explorer undertakes to lead us about, and\nbegs us to excuse him if, in the excess of his joy at all the beauties\nto be seen, he should by any chance be tempted to talk too much. \"If I\nshould, perhaps, become more garrulous than may seem warranted in this\nplace, let the reader be indulgent to me; for out of the abundance of\nthe heart the mouth speaketh. Let him only be assured that what he is\nnow about to read does not consist of older materials, which I take\nthe opportunity of inserting here, but that these remarks have been\nwritten for their present place and purpose\" (pp. 345-46). This\nconfession surprises us somewhat for the moment. What can it matter to\nus whether or not the little chapters were freshly written? As if it\nwere a matter of writing! Between ourselves, I should have been glad\nif they had been written a quarter of a century earlier; then, at\nleast, I should have understood why the thoughts seem to be so\nbleached, and why they are so redolent of resuscitated antiquities.\nBut that a thing should have been written in 1872 and already smell of\ndecay in 1872 strikes me as suspicious. Let us imagine some one's\nfalling asleep while reading these chapters--what would he most\nprobably dream about? A friend answered this question for me, because\nhe happened to have had the experience himself. He dreamt of a\nwax-work show. The classical writers stood there, elegantly\nrepresented in wax and beads. Their arms and eyes moved, and a screw\ninside them creaked an accompaniment to their movements. He saw\nsomething gruesome among them--a misshapen figure, decked with tapes\nand jaundiced paper, out of whose mouth a ticket hung, on which\n\"Lessing\" was written. My friend went close up to it and learned the\nworst: it was the Homeric Chimera; in front it was Strauss, behind it\nwas Gervinus, and in the middle Chimera. The _tout-ensemble_ was\nLessing. This discovery caused him to shriek with terror: he waked,\nand read no more. In sooth, Great Master, why have you written such\nfusty little chapters?\n\nWe do, indeed, learn something new from them; for instance, that\nGervinus made it known to the world how and why Goethe was no dramatic\ngenius; that, in the second part of Faust, he had only produced a\nworld of phantoms and of symbols; that Wallenstein is a Macbeth as\nwell as a Hamlet; that the Straussian reader extracts the short\nstories out of the _Wanderjahre_ \"much as naughty children pick the\nraisins and almonds out of a tough plum-cake\"; that no complete effect\ncan be produced on the stage without the forcible element, and that\nSchiller emerged from Kant as from a cold-water cure. All this is\ncertainly new and striking; but, even so, it does not strike us with\nwonder, and so sure as it is new, it will never grow old, for it never\nwas young; it was senile at birth. What extraordinary ideas seem to\noccur to these Blessed Ones, after the New Style, in their \u00e6sthetic\nheaven! And why can they not manage to forget a few of them, more\nparticularly when they are of that un\u00e6sthetic, earthly, and ephemeral\norder to which the scholarly thoughts of Gervinus belong, and when\nthey so obviously bear the stamp of puerility? But it almost seems as\nthough the modest greatness of a Strauss and the vain insignificance\nof a Gervinus were only too well able to harmonise: then long live all\nthose Blessed Ones! may we, the rejected, also live long, if this\nunchallenged judge of art continues any longer to teach his borrowed\nenthusiasm, and the gallop of that hired steed of which the honest\nGrillparzer speaks with such delightful clearness, until the whole of\nheaven rings beneath the hoof of that galumphing enthusiasm. Then, at\nleast, things will be livelier and noisier than they are at the\npresent moment, in which the carpet-slippered rapture of our heavenly\nleader and the lukewarm eloquence of his lips only succeed in the end\nin making us sick and tired. I should like to know how a Hallelujah\nsung by Strauss would sound: I believe one would have to listen very\ncarefully, lest it should seem no more than a courteous apology or a\nlisped compliment. Apropos of this, I might adduce an instructive and\nsomewhat forbidding example. Strauss strongly resented the action of\none of his opponents who happened to refer to his reverence for\nLessing. The unfortunate man had misunderstood;--true, Strauss did\ndeclare that one must be of a very obtuse mind not to recognise that\nthe simple words of paragraph 86 come from the writer's heart. Now, I\ndo not question this warmth in the very least; on the contrary, the\nfact that Strauss fosters these feelings towards Lessing has always\nexcited my suspicion; I find the same warmth for Lessing raised almost\nto heat in Gervinus--yea, on the whole, no great German writer is so\npopular among little German writers as Lessing is; but for all that,\nthey deserve no thanks for their predilection; for what is it, in\nsooth, that they praise in Lessing? At one moment it is his\ncatholicity--the fact that he was critic and poet, arch\u00e6ologist and\nphilosopher, dramatist and theologian. Anon, \"it is the unity in him\nof the writer and the man, of the head and the heart.\" The last\nquality, as a rule, is just as characteristic of the great writer as\nof the little one; as a rule, a narrow head agrees only too fatally\nwith a narrow heart. And as to the catholicity; this is no\ndistinction, more especially when, as in Lessing's case, it was a dire\nnecessity. What astonishes one in regard to Lessing-enthusiasts is\nrather that they have no conception of the devouring necessity which\ndrove him on through life and to this catholicity; no feeling for the\nfact that such a man is too prone to consume himself rapidly, like a\nflame; nor any indignation at the thought that the vulgar narrowness\nand pusillanimity of his whole environment, especially of his learned\ncontemporaries, so saddened, tormented, and stifled the tender and\nardent creature that he was, that the very universality for which he\nis praised should give rise to feelings of the deepest compassion.\n\"Have pity on the exceptional man!\" Goethe cries to us; \"for it was\nhis lot to live in such a wretched age that his life was one long\npolemical effort.\" How can ye, my worthy Philistines, think of Lessing\nwithout shame? He who was ruined precisely on account of your\nstupidity, while struggling with your ludicrous fetiches and idols,\nwith the defects of your theatres, scholars, and theologists, without\nonce daring to attempt that eternal flight for which he had been born.\nAnd what are your feelings when ye think of Winckelman, who, in order\nto turn his eyes from your grotesque puerilities, went begging to the\nJesuits for help, and whose ignominious conversion dishonours not him,\nbut you? Dare ye mention Schiller's name without blushing? Look at his\nportrait. See the flashing eyes that glance contemptuously over your\nheads, the deadly red cheek--do these things mean nothing to you? In\nhim ye had such a magnificent and divine toy that ye shattered it.\nSuppose, for a moment, it had been possible to deprive this harassed\nand hunted life of Goethe's friendship, ye would then have been\nresponsible for its still earlier end. Ye have had no finger in any one\nof the life-works of your great geniuses, and yet ye would make a\ndogma to the effect that no one is to be helped in the future. But for\nevery one of them, ye were \"the resistance of the obtuse world,\" which\nGoethe calls by its name in his epilogue to the Bell; for all of them\nye were the grumbling imbeciles, or the envious bigots, or the\nmalicious egoists: in spite of you each of them created his works,\nagainst you each directed his attacks, and thanks to you each\nprematurely sank, while his work was still unfinished, broken and\nbewildered by the stress of the battle. And now ye presume that ye are\ngoing to be permitted, tamquam re bene gesta, to praise such men! and\nwith words which leave no one in any doubt as to whom ye have in your\nminds when ye utter your encomiums, which therefore \"spring forth with\nsuch hearty warmth\" that one must be blind not to see to whom ye are\nreally bowing. Even Goethe in his day had to cry: \"Upon my honour, we\nare in need of a Lessing, and woe unto all vain masters and to the\nwhole \u00e6sthetic kingdom of heaven, when the young tiger, whose\nrestless strength will be visible in his every distended muscle and\nhis every glance, shall sally forth to seek his prey!\"\n\n\n\nV.\n\n\nHow clever it was of my friend to read no further, once he had been\nenlightened (thanks to that chimerical vision) concerning the\nStraussian Lessing and Strauss himself. We, however, read on further,\nand even craved admission of the Doorkeeper of the New Faith to the\nsanctum of music. The Master threw the door open for us, accompanied\nus, and began quoting certain names, until, at last, overcome with\nmistrust, we stood still and looked at him. Was it possible that we\nwere the victims of the same hallucination as that to which our friend\nhad been subjected in his dream? The musicians to whom Strauss\nreferred seemed to us to be wrongly designated as long as he spoke\nabout them, and we began to think that the talk must certainly be\nabout somebody else, even admitting that it did not relate to\nincongruous phantoms. When, for instance, he mentioned Haydn with that\nsame warmth which made us so suspicious when he praised Lessing, and\nwhen he posed as the epopt and priest of a mysterious Haydn cult;\nwhen, in a discussion upon quartette-music, if you please, he even\nlikened Haydn to a \"good unpretending soup\" and Beethoven to\n\"sweetmeats\" (p. 432); then, to our minds, one thing, and one thing\nalone, became certain--namely, that his Sweetmeat-Beethoven is not our\nBeethoven, and his Soup-Haydn is not our Haydn. The Master was\nmoreover of the opinion that our orchestra is too good to perform\nHaydn, and that only the most unpretentious amateurs can do justice to\nthat music--a further proof that he was referring to some other artist\nand some other work, possibly to Riehl's music for the home.\n\nBut whoever can this Sweetmeat-Beethoven of Strauss's be? He is said\nto have composed nine symphonies, of which the Pastoral is \"the least\nremarkable\"; we are told that \"each time in composing the third, he\nseemed impelled to exceed his bounds, and depart on an adventurous\nquest,\" from which we might infer that we are here concerned with a\nsort of double monster, half horse and half cavalier. With regard to a\ncertain _Eroica_, this Centaur is very hard pressed, because he did not\nsucceed in making it clear \"whether it is a question of a conflict on\nthe open field or in the deep heart of man.\" In the Pastoral there is\nsaid to be \"a furiously raging storm,\" for which it is \"almost too\ninsignificant\" to interrupt a dance of country-folk, and which, owing\nto \"its arbitrary connection with a trivial motive,\" as Strauss so\nadroitly and correctly puts it, renders this symphony \"the least\nremarkable.\" A more drastic expression appears to have occurred to the\nMaster; but he prefers to speak here, as he says, \"with becoming\nmodesty.\" But no, for once our Master is wrong; in this case he is\nreally a little too modest. Who, indeed, will enlighten us concerning\nthis Sweetmeat-Beethoven, if not Strauss himself--the only person who\nseems to know anything about him? But, immediately below, a strong\njudgment is uttered with becoming non-modesty, and precisely in regard\nto the Ninth Symphony. It is said, for instance, that this symphony\n\"is naturally the favourite of a prevalent taste, which in art, and\nmusic especially, mistakes the grotesque for the genial, and the\nformless for the sublime\" (p. 428). It is true that a critic as severe\nas Gervinus was gave this work a hearty welcome, because it happened\nto confirm one of his doctrines; but Strauss is \"far from going to\nthese problematic productions\" in search of the merits of his\nBeethoven. \"It is a pity,\" cries our Master, with a convulsive sigh,\n\"that one is compelled, by such reservations, to mar one's enjoyment\nof Beethoven, as well as the admiration gladly accorded to him.\" For\nour Master is a favourite of the Graces, and these have informed him\nthat they only accompanied Beethoven part of the way, and that he then\nlost sight of them. \"This is a defect,\" he cries, \"but can you believe\nthat it may also appear as an advantage?\" \"He who is painfully and\nbreathlessly rolling the musical idea along will seem to be moving the\nweightier one, and thus appear to be the stronger\" (pp. 423-24). This\nis a confession, and not necessarily one concerning Beethoven alone,\nbut concerning \"the classical prose-writer\" himself. He, the\ncelebrated author, is not abandoned by the Graces. From the play of\nairy jests--that is to say, Straussian jests--to the heights of\nsolemn earnestness--that is to say, Straussian earnestness--they\nremain stolidly at his elbow. He, the classical prose-writer, slides\nhis burden along playfully and with a light heart, whereas Beethoven\nrolls his painfully and breathlessly. He seems merely to dandle his\nload; this is indeed an advantage. But would anybody believe that it\nmight equally be a sign of something wanting? In any case, only those\ncould believe this who mistake the grotesque for the genial, and the\nformless for the sublime--is not that so, you dandling favourite of\nthe Graces? We envy no one the edifying moments he may have, either in\nthe stillness of his little private room or in a new heaven specially\nfitted out for him; but of all possible pleasures of this order, that\nof Strauss's is surely one of the most wonderful, for he is even\nedified by a little holocaust. He calmly throws the sublimest works of\nthe German nation into the flames, in order to cense his idols with\ntheir smoke. Suppose, for a moment, that by some accident, the Eroica,\nthe Pastoral, and the Ninth Symphony had fallen into the hands of our\npriest of the Graces, and that it had been in his power to suppress\nsuch problematic productions, in order to keep the image of the Master\npure, who doubts but what he would have burned them? And it is\nprecisely in this way that the Strausses of our time demean\nthemselves: they only wish to know so much of an artist as is\ncompatible with the service of their rooms; they know only the\nextremes--censing or burning. To all this they are heartily welcome;\nthe one surprising feature of the whole case is that public opinion,\nin matters artistic, should be so feeble, vacillating, and corruptible\nas contentedly to allow these exhibitions of indigent Philistinism to\ngo by without raising an objection; yea, that it does not even possess\nsufficient sense of humour to feel tickled at the sight of an\nun\u00e6sthetic little master's sitting in judgment upon Beethoven. As to\nMozart, what Aristotle says of Plato ought really to be applied here:\n\"Insignificant people ought not to be permitted even to praise him.\"\nIn this respect, however, all shame has vanished--from the public as\nwell as from the Master's mind: he is allowed, not merely to cross\nhimself before the greatest and purest creations of German genius, as\nthough he had perceived something godless and immoral in them, but\npeople actually rejoice over his candid confessions and admission of\nsins--more particularly as he makes no mention of his own, but only of\nthose which great men are said to have committed. Oh, if only our\nMaster be in the right! his readers sometimes think, when attacked by\na paroxysm of doubt; he himself, however, stands there, smiling and\nconvinced, perorating, condemning, blessing, raising his hat to\nhimself, and is at any minute capable of saying what the Duchesse\nDelaforte said to Madame de Sta\u00ebl, to wit: \"My dear, I must confess\nthat I find no one but myself invariably right.\"\n\n\n\nVI.\n\n\nA corpse is a pleasant thought for a worm, and a worm is a dreadful\nthought for every living creature. Worms fancy their kingdom of heaven\nin a fat body; professors of philosophy seek theirs in rummaging among\nSchopenhauer's entrails, and as long as rodents exist, there will\nexist a heaven for rodents. In this, we have the answer to our first\nquestion: How does the believer in the new faith picture his heaven?\nThe Straussian Philistine harbours in the works of our great poets and\nmusicians like a parasitic worm whose life is destruction, whose\nadmiration is devouring, and whose worship is digesting.\n\nNow, however, our second question must be answered: How far does the\ncourage lent to its adherents by this new faith extend? Even this\nquestion would already have been answered, if courage and\npretentiousness had been one; for then Strauss would not be lacking\neven in the just and veritable courage of a Mameluke. At all events,\nthe \"becoming modesty\" of which Strauss speaks in the above-mentioned\npassage, where he is referring to Beethoven, can only be a stylistic\nand not a moral manner of speech. Strauss has his full share of the\ntemerity to which every successful hero assumes the right: all flowers\ngrow only for him--the conqueror; and he praises the sun because it\nshines in at his window just at the right time. He does not even spare\nthe venerable old universe in his eulogies--as though it were only now\nand henceforward sufficiently sanctified by praise to revolve around\nthe central monad David Strauss. The universe, he is happy to inform\nus, is, it is true, a machine with jagged iron wheels, stamping and\nhammering ponderously, but: \"We do not only find the revolution of\npitiless wheels in our world-machine, but also the shedding of\nsoothing oil\" (p. 435). The universe, provided it submit to Strauss's\nencomiums, is not likely to overflow with gratitude towards this\nmaster of weird metaphors, who was unable to discover better similes\nin its praise. But what is the oil called which trickles down upon the\nhammers and stampers? And how would it console a workman who chanced\nto get one of his limbs caught in the mechanism to know that this oil\nwas trickling over him? Passing over this simile as bad, let us turn\nour attention to another of Strauss's artifices, whereby he tries to\nascertain how he feels disposed towards the universe; this question of\nMarguerite's, \"He loves me--loves me not--loves me?\" hanging on his\nlips the while. Now, although Strauss is not telling flower-petals or\nthe buttons on his waistcoat, still what he does is not less harmless,\ndespite the fact that it needs perhaps a little more courage. Strauss\nwishes to make certain whether his feeling for the \"All\" is either\nparalysed or withered, and he pricks himself; for he knows that one\ncan prick a limb that is either paralysed or withered without causing\nany pain. As a matter of fact, he does not really prick himself, but\nselects another more violent method, which he describes thus: \"We open\nSchopenhauer, who takes every occasion of slapping our idea in the\nface\" (p. 167). Now, as an idea--even that of Strauss's concerning the\nuniverse--has no face, if there be any face in the question at all it\nmust be that of the idealist, and the procedure may be subdivided into\nthe following separate actions:--Strauss, in any case, throws\nSchopenhauer open, whereupon the latter slaps Strauss in the face.\nStrauss then reacts religiously; that is to say, he again begins to\nbelabour Schopenhauer, to abuse him, to speak of absurdities,\nblasphemies, dissipations, and even to allege that Schopenhauer could\nnot have been in his right senses. Result of the dispute: \"We demand\nthe same piety for our Cosmos that the devout of old demanded for his\nGod\"; or, briefly, \"He loves me.\" Our favourite of the Graces makes\nhis life a hard one, but he is as brave as a Mameluke, and fears\nneither the Devil nor Schopenhauer. How much \"soothing oil\" must he\nuse if such incidents are of frequent occurrence!\n\nOn the other hand, we readily understand Strauss's gratitude to this\ntickling, pricking, and slapping Schopenhauer; hence we are not so\nvery much surprised when we find him expressing himself in the\nfollowing kind way about him: \"We need only turn over the leaves of\nArthur Schopenhauer's works (although we shall on many other accounts\ndo well not only to glance over but to study them), etc.\" (p. 166).\nNow, to whom does this captain of Philistines address these words? To\nhim who has clearly never even studied Schopenhauer, the latter might\nwell have retorted, \"This is an author who does not even deserve to be\nscanned, much less to be studied.\" Obviously, he gulped Schopenhauer\ndown \"the wrong way,\" and this hoarse coughing is merely his attempt\nto clear his throat. But, in order to fill the measure of his\ningenuous encomiums, Strauss even arrogates to himself the right of\ncommending old Kant: he speaks of the latter's _General History of the\nHeavens of the Year 1755_ as of \"a work which has always appeared to me\nnot less important than his later _Critique of Pure Reason_. If in the\nlatter we admire the depth of insight, the breadth of observation\nstrikes us in the former. If in the latter we can trace the old man's\nanxiety to secure even a limited possession of knowledge--so it be but\non a firm basis--in the former we encounter the mature man, full of\nthe daring of the discoverer and conqueror in the realm of thought.\"\nThis judgment of Strauss's concerning Kant did not strike me as being\nmore modest than the one concerning Schopenhauer. In the one case, we\nhave the little captain, who is above all anxious to express even the\nmost insignificant opinion with certainty, and in the other we have\nthe famous prose-writer, who, with all the courage of ignorance,\nexudes his eulogistic secretions over Kant. It is almost incredible\nthat Strauss availed himself of nothing in Kant's _Critique of Pure\nReason _while compiling his Testament of modern ideas, and that he knew\nonly how to appeal to the coarsest realistic taste must also be\nnumbered among the more striking characteristics of this new gospel,\nthe which professes to be but the result of the laborious and\ncontinuous study of history and science, and therefore tacitly\nrepudiates all connection with philosophy. For the Philistine captain\nand his \"We,\" Kantian philosophy does not exist. He does not dream of\nthe fundamental antinomy of idealism and of the highly relative sense\nof all science and reason. And it is precisely reason that ought to\ntell him how little it is possible to know of things in themselves. It\nis true, however, that people of a certain age cannot possibly\nunderstand Kant, especially when, in their youth, they understood or\nfancied they understood that \"gigantic mind,\" Hegel, as Strauss did;\nand had moreover concerned themselves with Schleiermacher, who,\naccording to Strauss, \"was gifted with perhaps too much acumen.\" It\nwill sound odd to our author when I tell him that, even now, he stands\nabsolutely dependent upon Hegel and Schleiermacher, and that his\nteaching of the Cosmos, his way of regarding things _sub specie\nbiennii_, his salaams to the state of affairs now existing in Germany,\nand, above all, his shameless Philistine optimism, can only be\nexplained by an appeal to certain impressions of youth, early habits,\nand disorders; for he who has once sickened on Hegel and\nSchleiermacher never completely recovers.\n\nThere is one passage in the confession-book where the incurable\noptimism referred to above bursts forth with the full joyousness of\nholiday spirits (pp. 166-67). \"If the universe is a thing which had\nbetter not have existed,\" says Strauss, \"then surely the speculation\nof the philosopher, as forming part of this universe, is a speculation\nwhich had better not have speculated. The pessimist philosopher fails\nto perceive that he, above all, declares his own thought, which\ndeclares the world to be bad, as bad also; but if the thought which\ndeclares the world to be bad is a bad thought, then it follows\nnaturally that the world is good. As a rule, optimism may take things\ntoo easily. Schopenhauer's references to the colossal part which\nsorrow and evil play in the world are quite in their right place as a\ncounterpoise; but every true philosophy is necessarily optimistic, as\notherwise she hews down the branch on which she herself is sitting.\"\nIf this refutation of Schopenhauer is not the same as that to which\nStrauss refers somewhere else as \"the refutation loudly and jubilantly\nacclaimed in higher spheres,\" then I quite fail to understand the\ndramatic phraseology used by him elsewhere to strike an opponent. Here\noptimism has for once intentionally simplified her task. But the\nmaster-stroke lay in thus pretending that the refutation of\nSchopenhauer was not such a very difficult task after all, and in\nplayfully wielding the burden in such a manner that the three Graces\nattendant on the dandling optimist might constantly be delighted by\nhis methods. The whole purpose of the deed was to demonstrate this one\ntruth, that it is quite unnecessary to take a pessimist seriously; the\nmost vapid sophisms become justified, provided they show that, in\nregard to a philosophy as \"unhealthy and unprofitable\" as\nSchopenhauer's, not proofs but quips and sallies alone are suitable.\nWhile perusing such passages, the reader will grasp the full meaning\nof Schopenhauer's solemn utterance to the effect that, where optimism\nis not merely the idle prattle of those beneath whose flat brows words\nand only words are stored, it seemed to him not merely an absurd _but a\nvicious attitude of mind_, and one full of scornful irony towards the\nindescribable sufferings of humanity. When a philosopher like Strauss\nis able to frame it into a system, it becomes more than a vicious\nattitude of mind--it is then an imbecile gospel of comfort for the \"I\"\nor for the \"We,\" and can only provoke indignation.\n\nWho could read the following psychological avowal, for instance,\nwithout indignation, seeing that it is obviously but an offshoot from\nthis vicious gospel of comfort?--\"Beethoven remarked that he could\nnever have composed a text like Figaro or Don Juan. _Life had not been\nso profuse of its snubs to him that he could treat it so gaily, or\ndeal so lightly with the foibles of men_\" (p. 430). In order, however,\nto adduce the most striking instance of this dissolute vulgarity of\nsentiment, let it suffice, here, to observe that Strauss knows no\nother means of accounting for the terribly serious negative instinct\nand the movement of ascetic sanctification which characterised the\nfirst century of the Christian era, than by supposing the existence of\na previous period of surfeit in the matter of all kinds of sexual\nindulgence, which of itself brought about a state of revulsion and\ndisgust.\n\n\n    \"The Persians call it _bidamag buden_,\n     Germans say '_Katzenjammer_.'\"[4]\n\n\n[4] Remorse for the previous night's excesses.--Translator's note.\n\nStrauss quotes this himself, and is not ashamed. As for us, we turn\naside for a moment, that we may overcome our loathing.\n\n\n\nVII.\n\n\nAs a matter of fact, our Philistine captain is brave, even audacious,\nin words; particularly when he hopes by such bravery to delight his\nnoble colleagues--the \"We,\" as he calls them. So the asceticism and\nself-denial of the ancient anchorite and saint was merely a form of\n_Katzenjammer_? Jesus may be described as an enthusiast who nowadays\nwould scarcely have escaped the madhouse, and the story of the\nResurrection may be termed a \"world-wide deception.\" For once we will\nallow these views to pass without raising any objection, seeing that\nthey may help us to gauge the amount of courage which our \"classical\nPhilistine\" Strauss is capable of. Let us first hear his confession:\n\"It is certainly an unpleasant and a thankless task to tell the world\nthose truths which it is least desirous of hearing. It prefers, in\nfact, to manage its affairs on a profuse scale, receiving and spending\nafter the magnificent fashion of the great, as long as there is\nanything left; should any person, however, add up the various items of\nits liabilities, and anxiously call its attention to the sum-total, he\nis certain to be regarded as an importunate meddler. And yet this has\nalways been the bent of my moral and intellectual nature.\" A moral and\nintellectual nature of this sort might possibly be regarded as\ncourageous; but what still remains to be proved is, whether this\ncourage is natural and inborn, or whether it is not rather acquired\nand artificial. Perhaps Strauss only accustomed himself by degrees to\nthe r\u00f4le of an importunate meddler, until he gradually acquired the\ncourage of his calling. Innate cowardice, which is the Philistine's\nbirthright, would not be incompatible with this mode of development,\nand it is precisely this cowardice which is perceptible in the want of\nlogic of those sentences of Strauss's which it needed courage to\npronounce. They sound like thunder, but they do not clear the air. No\naggressive action is performed: aggressive words alone are used, and\nthese he selects from among the most insulting he can find. He\nmoreover exhausts all his accumulated strength and energy in coarse\nand noisy expression, and when once his utterances have died away he\nis more of a coward even than he who has always held his tongue. The\nvery shadow of his deeds--his morality--shows us that he is a\nword-hero, and that he avoids everything which might induce him to\ntransfer his energies from mere verbosity to really serious things.\nWith admirable frankness, he announces that he is no longer a\nChristian, but disclaims all idea of wishing to disturb the\ncontentment of any one: he seems to recognise a contradiction in the\nnotion of abolishing one society by instituting another--whereas there\nis nothing contradictory in it at all. With a certain rude\nself-satisfaction, he swathes himself in the hirsute garment of our\nSimian genealogists, and extols Darwin as one of mankind's greatest\nbenefactors; but our perplexity is great when we find him constructing\nhis ethics quite independently of the question, \"What is our\nconception of the universe?\" In this department he had an opportunity\nof exhibiting native pluck; for he ought to have turned his back on\nhis \"We,\" and have established a moral code for life out of _bellum\nomnium contra omnes_ and the privileges of the strong. But it is to be\nfeared that such a code could only have emanated from a bold spirit\nlike that of Hobbes', and must have taken its root in a love of truth\nquite different from that which was only able to vent itself in\nexplosive outbursts against parsons, miracles, and the \"world-wide\nhumbug\" of the Resurrection. For, whereas the Philistine remained on\nStrauss's side in regard to these explosive outbursts, he would have\nbeen against him had he been confronted with a genuine and seriously\nconstructed ethical system, based upon Darwin's teaching.\n\nSays Strauss: \"I should say that all moral action arises from the\nindividual's acting in consonance with the idea of kind\" (p. 274). Put\nquite clearly and comprehensively, this means: \"Live as a man, and not\nas an ape or a seal.\" Unfortunately, this imperative is both useless\nand feeble; for in the class _Man_ what a multitude of different types\nare included--to mention only the Patagonian and the Master, Strauss;\nand no one would ever dare to say with any right, \"Live like a\nPatagonian,\" and \"Live like the Master Strauss\"! Should any one,\nhowever, make it his rule to live like a genius--that is to say, like\nthe ideal type of the genus Man--and should he perchance at the same\ntime be either a Patagonian or Strauss himself, what should we then\nnot have to suffer from the importunities of genius-mad eccentrics\n(concerning whose mushroom growth in Germany even Lichtenberg had\nalready spoken), who with savage cries would compel us to listen to\nthe confession of their most recent belief! Strauss has not yet\nlearned that no \"idea\" can ever make man better or more moral, and\nthat the preaching of a morality is as easy as the establishment of it\nis difficult. His business ought rather to have been, to take the\nphenomena of human goodness, such--for instance--as pity, love, and\nself-abnegation, which are already to hand, and seriously to explain\nthem and show their relation to his Darwinian first principle. But no;\nhe preferred to soar into the imperative, and thus escape the task of\nexplaining. But even in his flight he was irresponsible enough to soar\nbeyond the very first principles of which we speak.\n\n\"Ever remember,\" says Strauss, \"that thou art human, not merely a\nnatural production; ever remember that all others are human also, and,\nwith all individual differences, the same as thou, having the same\nneeds and claims as thyself: this is the sum and the substance of\nmorality\" (p. 277). But where does this imperative hail from? How can\nit be intuitive in man, seeing that, according to Darwin, man is\nindeed a creature of nature, and that his ascent to his present stage\nof development has been conditioned by quite different laws--by the\nvery fact that he was continually forgetting that others were\nconstituted like him and shared the same rights with him; by the very\nfact that he regarded himself as the stronger, and thus brought about\nthe gradual suppression of weaker types. Though Strauss is bound to\nadmit that no two creatures have ever been quite alike, and that the\nascent of man from the lowest species of animals to the exalted height\nof the Culture-Philistine depended upon the law of individual\ndistinctness, he still sees no difficulty in declaring exactly the\nreverse in his law: \"Behave thyself as though there were no such\nthings as individual distinctions.\" Where is the Strauss-Darwin\nmorality here? Whither, above all, has the courage gone?\n\nIn the very next paragraph we find further evidence tending to show us\nthe point at which this courage veers round to its opposite; for\nStrauss continues: \"Ever remember that thou, and all that thou\nbeholdest within and around thee, all that befalls thee and others, is\nno disjointed fragment, no wild chaos of atoms or casualties, but\nthat, following eternal law, it springs from the one primal source of\nall life, all reason, and all good: this is the essence of religion\"\n(pp. 277-78). Out of that \"one primal source,\" however, all ruin and\nirrationality, all evil flows as well, and its name, according to\nStrauss, is Cosmos.\n\nNow, how can this Cosmos, with all the contradictions and the\nself-annihilating characteristics which Strauss gives it, be worthy of\nreligious veneration and be addressed by the name \"God,\" as Strauss\naddresses it?--\"Our God does not, indeed, take us into His arms from\nthe outside (here one expects, as an antithesis, a somewhat miraculous\nprocess of being \"taken into His arms from the inside\"), but He\nunseals the well-springs of consolation within our own bosoms. He\nshows us that although Chance would be an unreasonable ruler, yet\nnecessity, or the enchainment of causes in the world, is Reason\nitself.\" (A misapprehension of which only the \"We\" can fail to\nperceive the folly; because they were brought up in the Hegelian\nworship of Reality as the Reasonable--that is to say, in the\ncanonisation of success.) \"He teaches us to perceive that to demand an\nexception in the accomplishment of a single natural law would be to\ndemand the destruction of the universe\" (pp. 435-36). On the contrary,\nGreat Master: an honest natural scientist believes in the\nunconditional rule of natural laws in the world, without, however,\ntaking up any position in regard to the ethical or intellectual value\nof these laws. Wherever neutrality is abandoned in this respect, it is\nowing to an anthropomorphic attitude of mind which allows reason to\nexceed its proper bounds. But it is just at the point where the\nnatural scientist resigns that Strauss, to put it in his own words,\n\"reacts religiously,\" and leaves the scientific and scholarly\nstandpoint in order to proceed along less honest lines of his own.\nWithout any further warrant, he assumes that all that has happened\npossesses the highest intellectual value; that it was therefore\nabsolutely reasonably and intentionally so arranged, and that it even\ncontained a revelation of eternal goodness. He therefore has to appeal\nto a complete cosmodicy, and finds himself at a disadvantage in regard\nto him who is contented with a theodicy, and who, for instance,\nregards the whole of man's existence as a punishment for sin or a\nprocess of purification. At this stage, and in this embarrassing\nposition, Strauss even suggests a metaphysical hypothesis--the driest\nand most palsied ever conceived--and, in reality, but an unconscious\nparody of one of Lessing's sayings. We read on page 255: \"And that\nother saying of Lessing's--'If God, holding truth in His right hand,\nand in His left only the ever-living desire for it, although on\ncondition of perpetual error, left him the choice of the two, he\nwould, considering that truth belongs to God alone, humbly seize His\nleft hand, and beg its contents for Himself'--this saying of\nLessing's has always been accounted one of the most magnificent which\nhe has left us. It has been found to contain the general expression of\nhis restless love of inquiry and activity. The saying has always made\na special impression upon me; because, behind its subjective meaning,\nI still seemed to hear the faint ring of an objective one of infinite\nimport. For does it not contain the best possible answer to the rude\nspeech of Schopenhauer, respecting the ill-advised God who had nothing\nbetter to do than to transform Himself into this miserable world? if,\nfor example, the Creator Himself had shared Lessing's conviction of\nthe superiority of struggle to tranquil possession?\" What!--a God who\nwould choose _perpetual error_, together with a striving after truth,\nand who would, perhaps, fall humbly at Strauss's feet and cry to\nhim, \"Take thou all Truth, it is thine!\"? If ever a God and a man were\nill-advised, they are this Straussian God, whose hobby is to err and\nto fail, and this Straussian man, who must atone for this erring and\nfailing. Here, indeed, one hears \"a faint ring of infinite import\";\nhere flows Strauss's cosmic soothing oil; here one has a notion of the\n_rationale_ of all becoming and all natural laws. Really? Is not our\nuniverse rather the work of an inferior being, as Lichtenberg\nsuggests?--of an inferior being who did not quite understand his\nbusiness; therefore an experiment, an attempt, upon which work is\nstill proceeding? Strauss himself, then, would be compelled to admit\nthat our universe is by no means the theatre of reason, but of error,\nand that no conformity to law can contain anything consoling, since\nall laws have been promulgated by an erratic God who even finds\npleasure in blundering. It really is a most amusing spectacle to watch\nStrauss as a metaphysical architect, building castles in the air. But\nfor whose benefit is this entertainment given? For the smug and noble\n\"We,\" that they may not lose conceit with themselves: they may\npossibly have taken sudden fright, in the midst of the inflexible and\npitiless wheel-works of the world-machine, and are tremulously\nimploring their leader to come to their aid. That is why Strauss pours\nforth the \"soothing oil,\" that is why he leads forth on a leash a God\nwhose passion it is to err; it is for the same reason, too, that he\nassumes for once the utterly unsuitable r\u00f4le of a metaphysical\narchitect. He does all this, because the noble souls already referred\nto are frightened, and because he is too. And it is here that we reach\nthe limit of his courage, even in the presence of his \"We.\" He does\nnot dare to be honest, and to tell them, for instance: \"I have\nliberated you from a helping and pitiful God: the Cosmos is no more\nthan an inflexible machine; beware of its wheels, that they do not\ncrush you.\" He dare not do this. Consequently, he must enlist the help\nof a witch, and he turns to metaphysics. To the Philistine, however,\neven Strauss's metaphysics is preferable to Christianity's, and the\nnotion of an erratic God more congenial than that of one who works\nmiracles. For the Philistine himself errs, but has never yet performed\na miracle. Hence his hatred of the genius; for the latter is justly\nfamous for the working of miracles. It is therefore highly instructive\nto ascertain why Strauss, in one passage alone, suddenly takes up the\ncudgels for genius and the aristocracy of intellect in general.\nWhatever does he do it for? He does it out of fear--fear of the social\ndemocrat. He refers to Bismarck and Moltke, \"whose greatness is the\nless open to controversy as it manifests itself in the domain of\ntangible external facts. No help for it, therefore; even the most\nstiff-necked and obdurate of these fellows must condescend to look up\na little, if only to get a sight, be it no farther than the knees, of\nthose august figures\" (p. 327). Do you, Master Metaphysician, perhaps\nintend to instruct the social democrats in the art of getting kicks?\nThe willingness to bestow them may be met with everywhere, and you are\nperfectly justified in promising to those who happen to be kicked a\nsight of those sublime beings as far as the knee. \"Also in the domain\nof art and science,\" Strauss continues, \"there will never be a dearth\nof kings whose architectural undertakings will find employment for a\nmultitude of carters.\" Granted; but what if the carters should begin\nbuilding? It does happen at times, Great Master, as you know, and then\nthe kings must grin and bear it.\n\nAs a matter of fact, this union of impudence and weakness, of daring\nwords and cowardly concessions, this cautious deliberation as to which\nsentences will or will not impress the Philistine or smooth him down\nthe right way, this lack of character and power masquerading as\ncharacter and power, this meagre wisdom in the guise of\nomniscience,--these are the features in this book which I detest. If I\ncould conceive of young men having patience to read it and to value\nit, I should sorrowfully renounce all hope for their future. And is\nthis confession of wretched, hopeless, and really despicable\nPhilistinism supposed to be the expression of the thousands\nconstituting the \"We\" of whom Strauss speaks, and who are to be the\nfathers of the coming generation? Unto him who would fain help this\ncoming generation to acquire what the present one does not yet\npossess, namely, a genuine German culture, the prospect is a horrible\none. To such a man, the ground seems strewn with ashes, and all stars\nare obscured; while every withered tree and field laid waste seems to\ncry to him: Barren! Forsaken! Springtime is no longer possible here!\nHe must feel as young Goethe felt when he first peered into the\nmelancholy atheistic twilight of the _Syst\u00e8me de la Nature_; to him this\nbook seemed so grey, so Cimmerian and deadly, that he could only\nendure its presence with difficulty, and shuddered at it as one\nshudders at a spectre.\n\n\n\nVIII.\n\n\nWe ought now to be sufficiently informed concerning the heaven and the\ncourage of our new believer to be able to turn to the last question:\nHow does he write his books? and of what order are his religious\ndocuments?\n\nHe who can answer this question uprightly and without prejudice will\nbe confronted by yet another serious problem, and that is: How this\nStraussian pocket-oracle of the German Philistine was able to pass\nthrough six editions? And he will grow more than ever suspicious when\nhe hears that it was actually welcomed as a pocket-oracle, not only in\nscholastic circles, but even in German universities as well. Students\nare said to have greeted it as a canon for strong intellects, and,\nfrom all accounts, the professors raised no objections to this view;\nwhile here and there people have declared it to be a _religions book\nfor scholars_. Strauss himself gave out that he did not intend his\nprofession of faith to be merely a reference-book for learned and\ncultured people; but here let us abide by the fact that it was first\nand foremost a work appealing to his colleagues, and was ostensibly a\nmirror in which they were to see their own way of living faithfully\nreflected. For therein lay the feat. The Master feigned to have\npresented us with a new ideal conception of the universe, and now\nadulation is being paid him out of every mouth; because each is in a\nposition to suppose that he too regards the universe and life in the\nsame way. Thus Strauss has seen fulfilled in each of his readers what\nhe only demanded of the future. In this way, the extraordinary success\nof his book is partly explained: \"Thus we live and hold on our way in\njoy,\" the scholar cries in his book, and delights to see others\nrejoicing over the announcement. If the reader happen to think\ndifferently from the Master in regard to Darwin or to capital\npunishment, it is of very little consequence; for he is too conscious\nthroughout of breathing an atmosphere that is familiar to him, and of\nhearing but the echoes of his own voice and wants. However painfully\nthis unanimity may strike the true friend of German culture, it is his\nduty to be unrelenting in his explanation of it as a phenomenon, and\nnot to shrink from making this explanation public.\n\nWe all know the peculiar methods adopted in our own time of\ncultivating the sciences: we all know them, because they form a part\nof our lives. And, for this very reason, scarcely anybody seems to ask\nhimself what the result of such a cultivation of the sciences will\nmean to culture in general, even supposing that everywhere the highest\nabilities and the most earnest will be available for the promotion of\nculture. In the heart of the average scientific type (quite\nirrespective of the examples thereof with which we meet to-day) there\nlies a pure paradox: he behaves like the veriest idler of independent\nmeans, to whom life is not a dreadful and serious business, but a\nsound piece of property, settled upon him for all eternity; and it\nseems to him justifiable to spend his whole life in answering\nquestions which, after all is said and done, can only be of interest\nto that person who believes in eternal life as an absolute certainty.\nThe heir of but a few hours, he sees himself encompassed by yawning\nabysses, terrible to behold; and every step he takes should recall the\nquestions, Wherefore? Whither? and Whence? to his mind. But his soul\nrather warms to his work, and, be this the counting of a floweret's\npetals or the breaking of stones by the roadside, he spends his whole\nfund of interest, pleasure, strength, and aspirations upon it. This\nparadox--the scientific man--has lately dashed ahead at such a frantic\nspeed in Germany, that one would almost think the scientific world\nwere a factory, in which every minute wasted meant a fine. To-day the\nman of science works as arduously as the fourth or slave caste: his\nstudy has ceased to be an occupation, it is a necessity; he looks\nneither to the right nor to the left, but rushes through all\nthings--even through the serious matters which life bears in its\ntrain--with that semi-listlessness and repulsive need of rest so\ncharacteristic of the exhausted labourer. _This is also his attitude\ntowards culture_. He behaves as if life to him were not only _otium_ but\n_sine dignitate_: even in his sleep he does not throw off the yoke, but\nlike an emancipated slave still dreams of his misery, his forced haste\nand his floggings. Our scholars can scarcely be distinguished--and,\neven then, not to their advantage--from agricultural labourers, who in\norder to increase a small patrimony, assiduously strive, day and\nnight, to cultivate their fields, drive their ploughs, and urge on\ntheir oxen. Now, Pascal suggests that men only endeavour to work hard\nat their business and sciences with the view of escaping those\nquestions of greatest import which every moment of loneliness or\nleisure presses upon them--the questions relating to the _wherefore_,\nthe _whence_, and the _whither_ of life. Curiously enough, our scholars\nnever think of the most vital question of all--the wherefore of their\nwork, their haste, and their painful ecstasies. Surely their object is\nnot the earning of bread or the acquiring of posts of honour? No,\ncertainly not. But ye take as much pains as the famishing and\nbreadless; and, with that eagerness and lack of discernment which\ncharacterises the starving, ye even snatch the dishes from the\nsideboard of science. If, however, as scientific men, ye proceed with\nscience as the labourers with the tasks which the exigencies of life\nimpose upon them, what will become of a culture which must await the\nhour of its birth and its salvation in the very midst of all this\nagitated and breathless running to and fro--this sprawling\nscientifically?\n\nFor _it_ no one has time--and yet for what shall science have time if\nnot for culture? Answer us here, then, at least: whence, whither,\nwherefore all science, if it do not lead to culture? Belike to\nbarbarity? And in this direction we already see the scholar caste\nominously advanced, if we are to believe that such superficial books\nas this one of Strauss's meet the demand of their present degree of\nculture. For precisely in him do we find that repulsive need of rest\nand that incidental semi-listless attention to, and coming to terms\nwith, philosophy, culture, and every serious thing on earth. It will\nbe remembered that, at the meetings held by scholars, as soon as each\nindividual has had his say in his own particular department of\nknowledge, signs of fatigue, of a desire for distraction at any price,\nof waning memory, and of incoherent experiences of life, begin to be\nnoticeable. While listening to Strauss discussing any worldly\nquestion, be it marriage, the war, or capital punishment, we are\nstartled by his complete lack of anything like first-hand experience,\nor of any original thought on human nature. All his judgments are so\nredolent of books, yea even of newspapers. Literary reminiscences do\nduty for genuine ideas and views, and the assumption of a moderate and\ngrandfatherly tone take the place of wisdom and mature thought. How\nperfectly in keeping all this is with the fulsome spirit animating the\nholders of the highest places in German science in large cities! How\nthoroughly this spirit must appeal to that other! for it is precisely\nin those quarters that culture is in the saddest plight; it is\nprecisely there that its fresh growth is made impossible--so\nboisterous are the preparations made by science, so sheepishly are\nfavourite subjects of knowledge allowed to oust questions of much\ngreater import. What kind of lantern would be needed here, in order to\nfind men capable of a complete surrender to genius, and of an intimate\nknowledge of its depths--men possessed of sufficient courage and\nstrength to exorcise the demons that have forsaken our age? Viewed\nfrom the outside, such quarters certainly do appear to possess the\nwhole pomp of culture; with their imposing apparatus they resemble\ngreat arsenals fitted with huge guns and other machinery of war; we\nsee preparations in progress and the most strenuous activity, as\nthough the heavens themselves were to be stormed, and truth were to be\ndrawn out of the deepest of all wells; and yet, in war, the largest\nmachines are the most unwieldy. Genuine culture therefore leaves such\nplaces as these religiously alone, for its best instincts warn it that\nin their midst it has nothing to hope for, and very much to fear. For\nthe only kind of culture with which the inflamed eye and obtuse brain\nof the scholar working-classes concern themselves is of that\nPhilistine order of which Strauss has announced the gospel. If we\nconsider for a moment the fundamental causes underlying the sympathy\nwhich binds the learned working-classes to Culture-Philistinism, we\nshall discover the road leading to Strauss the Writer, who has been\nacknowledged classical, and thence to our last and principal theme.\n\nTo begin with, that culture has contentment written in its every\nfeature, and will allow of no important changes being introduced into\nthe present state of German education. It is above all convinced of\nthe originality of all German educational institutions, more\nparticularly the public schools and universities; it does not cease\nrecommending these to foreigners, and never doubts that if the Germans\nhave become the most cultivated and discriminating people on earth, it\nis owing to such institutions. Culture-Philistinism believes in\nitself, consequently it also believes in the methods and means at its\ndisposal. Secondly, however, it leaves the highest judgment concerning\nall questions of taste and culture to the scholar, and even regards\nitself as the ever-increasing compendium of scholarly opinions\nregarding art, literature, and philosophy. Its first care is to urge\nthe scholar to express his opinions; these it proceeds to mix, dilute,\nand systematise, and then it administers them to the German people in\nthe form of a bottle of medicine. What comes to life outside this\ncircle is either not heard or attended at all, or if heard, is heeded\nhalf-heartedly; until, at last, a voice (it does not matter whose,\nprovided it belong to some one who is strictly typical of the scholar\ntribe) is heard to issue from the temple in which traditional\ninfallibility of taste is said to reside; and from that time forward\npublic opinion has one conviction more, which it echoes and re-echoes\nhundreds and hundreds of times. As a matter of fact, though, the\n\u00e6sthetic infallibility of any utterance emanating from the temple is\nthe more doubtful, seeing that the lack of taste, thought, and\nartistic feeling in any scholar can be taken for granted, unless it\nhas previously been proved that, in his particular case, the reverse\nis true. And only a few can prove this. For how many who have had a\nshare in the breathless and unending scurry of modern science have\npreserved that quiet and courageous gaze of the struggling man of\nculture--if they ever possessed it--that gaze which condemns even the\nscurry we speak of as a barbarous state of affairs? That is why these\nfew are forced to live in an almost perpetual contradiction. What\ncould they do against the uniform belief of the thousands who have\nenlisted public opinion in their cause, and who mutually defend each\nother in this belief? What purpose can it serve when one individual\nopenly declares war against Strauss, seeing that a crowd have decided\nin his favour, and that the masses led by this crowd have learned to\nask six consecutive times for the Master's Philistine\nsleeping-mixture?\n\nIf, without further ado, we here assumed that the Straussian\nconfession-book had triumphed over public opinion and had been\nacclaimed and welcomed as conqueror, its author might call our\nattention to the fact that the multitudinous criticisms of his work in\nthe various public organs are not of an altogether unanimous or even\nfavourable character, and that he therefore felt it incumbent upon him\nto defend himself against some of the more malicious, impudent, and\nprovoking of these newspaper pugilists by means of a postscript. How\ncan there be a public opinion concerning my book, he cries to us, if\nevery journalist is to regard me as an outlaw, and to mishandle me as\nmuch as he likes? This contradiction is easily explained, as soon as\none considers the two aspects of the Straussian book--the theological\nand the literary, and it is only the latter that has anything to do\nwith German culture. Thanks to its theological colouring, it stands\nbeyond the pale of our German culture, and provokes the animosity of\nthe various theological groups--yea, even of every individual German,\nin so far as he is a theological sectarian from birth, and only\ninvents his own peculiar private belief in order to be able to dissent\nfrom every other form of belief. But when the question arises of\ntalking about Strauss _the writer_, pray listen to what the theological\nsectarians have to say about him. As soon as his literary side comes\nunder notice, all theological objections immediately subside, and the\ndictum comes plain and clear, as if from the lips of one congregation:\n_In spite of it all, he is still a classical writer!_\n\nEverybody--even the most bigoted, orthodox Churchman--pays the writer\nthe most gratifying compliments, while there is always a word or two\nthrown in as a tribute to his almost Lessingesque language, his\ndelicacy of touch, or the beauty and accuracy of his \u00e6sthetic views.\nAs a book, therefore, the Straussian performance appears to meet all\nthe demands of an ideal example of its kind. The theological\nopponents, despite the fact that their voices were the loudest of all,\nnevertheless constitute but an infinitesimal portion of the great\npublic; and even with regard to them, Strauss still maintains that he\nis right when he says: \"Compared with my thousands of readers, a few\ndozen public cavillers form but an insignificant minority, and they\ncan hardly prove that they are their faithful interpreters. It was\nobviously in the nature of things that opposition should be clamorous\nand assent tacit.\" Thus, apart from the angry bitterness which\nStrauss's profession of faith may have provoked here and there, even\nthe most fanatical of his opponents, to whom his voice seems to rise\nout of an abyss, like the voice of a beast, are agreed as to his\nmerits as a writer; and that is why the treatment which Strauss has\nreceived at the hands of the literary lackeys of the theological\ngroups proves nothing against our contention that Culture-Philistinism\ncelebrated its triumph in this book. It must be admitted that the\naverage educated Philistine is a degree less honest than Strauss, or\nis at least more reserved in his public utterances. But this fact only\ntends to increase his admiration for honesty in another. At home, or\nin the company of his equals, he may applaud with wild enthusiasm, but\ntakes care not to put on paper how entirely Strauss's words are in\nharmony with his own innermost feelings. For, as we have already\nmaintained, our Culture-Philistine is somewhat of a coward, even in\nhis strongest sympathies; hence Strauss, who can boast of a trifle\nmore courage than he, becomes his leader, notwithstanding the fact\nthat even Straussian pluck has its very definite limits. If he\noverstepped these limits, as Schopenhauer does in almost every\nsentence, he would then forfeit his position at the head of the\nPhilistines, and everybody would flee from him as precipitately as\nthey are now following in his wake. He who would regard this artful if\nnot sagacious moderation and this mediocre valour as an Aristotelian\nvirtue, would certainly be wrong; for the valour in question is not\nthe golden mean between two faults, but between a virtue and a\nfault--and in this mean, between virtue and fault, all Philistine\nqualities are to be found.\n\n\n\nIX.\n\n\n\"In spite of it all, he is still a classical writer.\" Well, let us\nsee! Perhaps we may now be allowed to discuss Strauss the stylist and\nmaster of language; but in the first place let us inquire whether, as\na literary man, he is equal to the task of building his house, and\nwhether he really understands the architecture of a book. From this\ninquiry we shall be able to conclude whether he is a respectable,\nthoughtful, and experienced author; and even should we be forced to\nanswer \"No\" to these questions, he may still, as a last shift, take\nrefuge in his fame as a classical prose-writer. This last-mentioned\ntalent alone, it is true, would not suffice to class him with the\nclassical authors, but at most with the classical improvisers and\nvirtuosos of style, who, however, in regard to power of expression and\nthe whole planning and framing of the work, reveal the awkward hand\nand the embarrassed eye of the bungler. We therefore put the question,\nwhether Strauss really possesses the artistic strength necessary for\nthe purpose of presenting us with a thing that is a whole, _totum\nponere_?\n\nAs a rule, it ought to be possible to tell from the first rough sketch\nof a work whether the author conceived the thing as a whole, and\nwhether, in view of this original conception, he has discovered the\ncorrect way of proceeding with his task and of fixing its proportions.\nShould this most important Part of the problem be solved, and should\nthe framework of the building have been given its most favourable\nproportions, even then there remains enough to be done: how many\nsmaller faults have to be corrected, how many gaps require filling in!\nHere and there a temporary partition or floor was found to answer the\nrequirements; everywhere dust and fragments litter the ground, and no\nmatter where we look, we see the signs of work done and work still to\nbe done. The house, as a whole, is still uninhabitable and gloomy, its\nwalls are bare, and the wind blows in through the open windows. Now,\nwhether this remaining, necessary, and very irksome work has been\nsatisfactorily accomplished by Strauss does not concern us at present;\nour question is, whether the building itself has been conceived as a\nwhole, and whether its proportions are good? The reverse of this, of\ncourse, would be a compilation of fragments--a method generally\nadopted by scholars. They rely upon it that these fragments are\nrelated among themselves, and thus confound the logical and the\nartistic relation between them. Now, the relation between the four\nquestions which provide the chapter-headings of Strauss's book cannot\nbe called a logical one. Are we still Christians? Have we still a\nreligion? What is our conception of the universe? What is our rule of\nlife? And it is by no means contended that the relation is illogical\nsimply because the third question has nothing to do with the second,\nnor the fourth with the third, nor all three with the first. The\nnatural scientist who puts the third question, for instance, shows his\nunsullied love of truth by the simple fact that he tacitly passes over\nthe second. And with regard to the subject of the fourth\nchapter--marriage, republicanism, and capital punishment--Strauss\nhimself seems to have been aware that they could only have been\nmuddled and obscured by being associated with the Darwinian theory\nexpounded in the third chapter; for he carefully avoids all reference\nto this theory when discussing them. But the question, \"Are we still\nChristians?\" destroys the freedom of the philosophical standpoint at\none stroke, by lending it an unpleasant theological colouring.\nMoreover, in this matter, he quite forgot that the majority of men\nto-day are not Christians at all, but Buddhists. Why should one,\nwithout further ceremony, immediately think of Christianity at the\nsound of the words \"old faith\"? Is this a sign that Strauss has never\nceased to be a Christian theologian, and that he has therefore never\nlearned to be a philosopher? For we find still greater cause for\nsurprise in the fact that he quite fails to distinguish between belief\nand knowledge, and continually mentions his \"new belief\" and the still\nnewer science in one breath. Or is \"new belief\" merely an ironical\nconcession to ordinary parlance? This almost seems to be the case; for\nhere and there he actually allows \"new belief\" and \"newer science\" to\nbe interchangeable terms, as for instance on page II, where he asks on\nwhich side, whether on that of the ancient orthodoxy or of modern\nscience, \"exist more of the obscurities and insufficiencies\nunavoidable in human speculation.\"\n\nMoreover, according to the scheme laid down in the Introduction, his\ndesire is to disclose those proofs upon which the modern view of life\nis based; but he derives all these proofs from science, and in this\nrespect assumes far more the attitude of a scientist than of a\nbeliever.\n\nAt bottom, therefore, the religion is not a new belief, but, being of\na piece with modern science, it has nothing to do with religion at\nall. If Strauss, however, persists in his claims to be religious, the\ngrounds for these claims must be beyond the pale of recent science.\nOnly the smallest portion of the Straussian book--that is to say, but\na few isolated pages--refer to what Strauss in all justice might call\na belief, namely, that feeling for the \"All\" for which he demands the\npiety that the old believer demanded for his God. On the pages in\nquestion, however, he cannot claim to be altogether scientific; but if\nonly he could lay claim to being a little stronger, more natural, more\noutspoken, more pious, we should be content. Indeed, what perhaps\nstrikes us most forcibly about him is the multitude of artificial\nprocedures of which he avails himself before he ultimately gets the\nfeeling that he still possesses a belief and a religion; he reaches it\nby means of stings and blows, as we have already seen. How indigently\nand feebly this emergency-belief presents itself to us! We shiver at\nthe sight of it.\n\nAlthough Strauss, in the plan laid down in his Introduction, promises\nto compare the two faiths, the old and the new, and to show that the\nlatter will answer the same purpose as the former, even he begins to\nfeel, in the end, that he has promised too much. For the question\nwhether the new belief answers the same purpose as the old, or is\nbetter or worse, is disposed of incidentally, so to speak, and with\nuncomfortable haste, in two or three pages (p. 436 et seq.), and is\nactually bolstered up by the following subterfuge: \"He who cannot help\nhimself in this matter is beyond help, is not yet ripe for our\nstandpoint\" (p. 436). How differently, and with what intensity of\nconviction, did the ancient Stoic believe in the All and the\nrationality of the All! And, viewed in this light, how does Strauss's\nclaim to originality appear? But, as we have already observed, it\nwould be a matter of indifference to us whether it were new, old,\noriginal, or imitated, so that it were only more powerful, more\nhealthy, and more natural. Even Strauss himself leaves this\ndouble-distilled emergency-belief to take care of itself as often as\nhe can do so, in order to protect himself and us from danger, and to\npresent his recently acquired biological knowledge to his \"We\" with a\nclear conscience. The more embarrassed he may happen to be when he\nspeaks of faith, the rounder and fuller his mouth becomes when he\nquotes the greatest benefactor to modern men--Darwin. Then he not only\nexacts belief for the new Messiah, but also for himself--the new\napostle. For instance, while discussing one of the most intricate\nquestions in natural history, he declares with true ancient pride: \"I\nshall be told that I am here speaking of things about which I\nunderstand nothing. Very well; but others will come who will\nunderstand them, and who will also have understood me\" (p. 241).\n\nAccording to this, it would almost seem as though the famous \"We\" were\nnot only in duty bound to believe in the \"All,\" but also in the\nnaturalist Strauss; in this case we can only hope that in order to\nacquire the feeling for this last belief, other processes are\nrequisite than the painful and cruel ones demanded by the first\nbelief. Or is it perhaps sufficient in this case that the subject of\nbelief himself be tormented and stabbed with the view of bringing the\nbelievers to that \"religious reaction\" which is the distinguishing\nsign of the \"new faith.\" What merit should we then discover in the\npiety of those whom Strauss calls \"We\"?\n\nOtherwise, it is almost to be feared that modern men will pass on in\npursuit of their business without troubling themselves overmuch\nconcerning the new furniture of faith offered them by the apostle:\njust as they have done heretofore, without the doctrine of the\nrationality of the All. The whole of modern biological and historical\nresearch has nothing to do with the Straussian belief in the All, and\nthe fact that the modern Philistine does not require the belief is\nproved by the description of his life given by Strauss in the\nchapter,\"What is our Rule of Life?\" He is therefore quite right in\ndoubting whether the coach to which his esteemed readers have been\nobliged to trust themselves \"with him, fulfils every requirement.\" It\ncertainly does not; for the modern man makes more rapid progress when\nhe does not take his place in the Straussian coach, or rather, he got\nahead much more quickly long before the Straussian coach ever existed.\nNow, if it be true that the famous \"minority\" which is \"not to be\noverlooked,\" and of which, and in whose name, Strauss speaks,\n\"attaches great importance to consistency,\" it must be just as\ndissatisfied with Strauss the Coachbuilder as we are with Strauss the\nLogician.\n\nLet us, however, drop the question of the logician. Perhaps, from the\nartistic point of view, the book really is an example of a\nwell-conceived plan, and does, after all, answer to the requirements\nof the laws of beauty, despite the fact that it fails to meet with the\ndemands of a well-conducted argument. And now, having shown that he is\nneither a scientist nor a strictly correct and systematic scholar, for\nthe first time we approach the question: Is Strauss a capable writer?\nPerhaps the task he set himself was not so much to scare people away\nfrom the old faith as to captivate them by a picturesque and graceful\ndescription of what life would be with the new. If he regarded\nscholars and educated men as his most probable audience, experience\nought certainly to have told him that whereas one can shoot such men\ndown with the heavy guns of scientific proof, but cannot make them\nsurrender, they may be got to capitulate all the more quickly before\n\"lightly equipped\" measures of seduction. \"Lightly equipped,\" and\n\"intentionally so,\" thus Strauss himself speaks of his own book. Nor\ndo his public eulogisers refrain from using the same expression in\nreference to the work, as the following passage, quoted from one of\nthe least remarkable among them, and in which the same expression is\nmerely paraphrased, will go to prove:--\n\n\"The discourse flows on with delightful harmony: wherever it directs\nits criticism against old ideas it wields the art of demonstration,\nalmost playfully; and it is with some spirit that it prepares the new\nideas it brings so enticingly, and presents them to the simple as well\nas to the fastidious taste. The arrangement of such diverse and\nconflicting material is well thought out for every portion of it\nrequired to be touched upon, without being made too prominent; at\ntimes the transitions leading from one subject to another are\nartistically managed, and one hardly knows what to admire most--the\nskill with which unpleasant questions are shelved, or the discretion\nwith which they are hushed up.\"\n\nThe spirit of such eulogies, as the above clearly shows, is not quite\nso subtle in regard to judging of what an author is able to do as in\nregard to what he wishes. What Strauss wishes, however, is best\nrevealed by his own emphatic and not quite harmless commendation of\nVoltaire's charms, in whose service he might have learned precisely\nthose \"lightly equipped\" arts of which his admirer speaks--granting,\nof course, that virtue may be acquired and a pedagogue can ever be a\ndancer.\n\nWho could help having a suspicion or two, when reading the following\npassage, for instance, in which Strauss says of Voltaire, \"As a\nphilosopher [he] is certainly not original, but in the main a mere\nexponent of English investigations: in this respect, however, he shows\nhimself to be completely master of his subject, which he presents with\nincomparable skill, in all possible lights and from all possible\nsides, and is able withal to meet the demands of thoroughness,\nwithout, however, being over-severe in his method\"? Now, all the\nnegative traits mentioned in this passage might be applied to Strauss.\nNo one would contend, I suppose, that Strauss is original, or that he\nis over-severe in his method; but the question is whether we can\nregard him as \"master of his subject,\" and grant him \"incomparable\nskill\"? The confession to the effect that the treatise was\nintentionally \"lightly equipped\" leads us to think that it at least\naimed at incomparable skill.\n\nIt was not the dream of our architect to build a temple, nor yet a\nhouse, but a sort of summer-pavilion, surrounded by everything that\nthe art of gardening can provide. Yea, it even seems as if that\nmysterious feeling for the All were only calculated to produce an\n\u00e6sthetic effect, to be, so to speak, a view of an irrational element,\nsuch as the sea, looked at from the most charming and rational of\nterraces. The walk through the first chapters--that is to say,\nthrough the theological catacombs with all their gloominess and their\ninvolved and baroque embellishments--was also no more than an\n\u00e6sthetic expedient in order to throw into greater relief the purity,\nclearness, and common sense of the chapter \"What is our Conception of\nthe Universe?\" For, immediately after that walk in the gloaming and\nthat peep into the wilderness of Irrationalism, we step into a hall\nwith a skylight to it. Soberly and limpidly it welcomes us: its mural\ndecorations consist of astronomical charts and mathematical figures;\nit is filled with scientific apparatus, and its cupboards contain\nskeletons, stuffed apes, and anatomical specimens. But now, really\nrejoicing for the first time, we direct our steps into the innermost\nchamber of bliss belonging to our pavilion-dwellers; there we find\nthem with their wives, children, and newspapers, occupied in the\ncommonplace discussion of politics; we listen for a moment to their\nconversation on marriage, universal suffrage, capital punishment, and\nworkmen's strikes, and we can scarcely believe it to be possible that\nthe rosary of public opinions can be told off so quickly. At length an\nattempt is made to convince us of the classical taste of the inmates.\nA moment's halt in the library, and the music-room suffices to show us\nwhat we had expected all along, namely, that the best books lay on the\nshelves, and that the most famous musical compositions were in the\nmusic-cabinets. Some one actually played something to us, and even if\nit were Haydn's music, Haydn could not be blamed because it sounded\nlike Riehl's music for the home. Meanwhile the host had found occasion\nto announce to us his complete agreement with Lessing and Goethe,\nalthough with the latter only up to the second part of Faust. At last\nour pavilion-owner began to praise himself, and assured us that he who\ncould not be happy under his roof was beyond help and could not be\nripe for his standpoint, whereupon he offered us his coach, but with\nthe polite reservation that he could not assert that it would fulfil\nevery requirement, and that, owing to the stones on his road having\nbeen newly laid down, we were not to mind if we were very much jolted.\nOur Epicurean garden-god then took leave of us with the incomparable\nskill which he praised in Voltaire.\n\nWho could now persist in doubting the existence of this incomparable\nskill? The complete master of his subject is revealed; the lightly\nequipped artist-gardener is exposed, and still we hear the voice of\nthe classical author saying, \"As a writer I shall for once cease to be\na Philistine: I will not be one; I refuse to be one! But a\nVoltaire--the German Voltaire--or at least the French Lessing.\"\n\nWith this we have betrayed a secret. Our Master does not always know\nwhich he prefers to be--Voltaire or Lessing; but on no account will he\nbe a Philistine. At a pinch he would not object to being both Lessing\nand Voltaire--that the word might be fulfilled that is written, \"He\nhad no character, but when he wished to appear as if he had, he\nassumed one.\"\n\n\n\nX.\n\n\nIf we have understood Strauss the Confessor correctly, he must be a\ngenuine Philistine, with a narrow, parched soul and scholarly and\ncommon-place needs; albeit no one would be more indignant at the title\nthan David Strauss the Writer. He would be quite happy to be regarded\nas mischievous, bold, malicious, daring; but his ideal of bliss would\nconsist in finding himself compared with either Lessing or\nVoltaire--because these men were undoubtedly anything but Philistines.\nIn striving after this state of bliss, he often seems to waver between\ntwo alternatives--either to mimic the brave and dialectical petulance\nof Lessing, or to affect the manner of the faun-like and free-spirited\nman of antiquity that Voltaire was. When taking up his pen to write,\nhe seems to be continually posing for his portrait; and whereas at\ntimes his features are drawn to look like Lessing's, anon they are\nmade to assume the Voltairean mould. While reading his praise of\nVoltaire's manner, we almost seem to see him abjuring the consciences\nof his contemporaries for not having learned long ago what the modern\nVoltaire had to offer them. \"Even his excellences are wonderfully\nuniform,\" he says: \"simple naturalness, transparent clearness,\nvivacious mobility, seductive charm. Warmth and emphasis are also not\nwanting where they are needed, and Voltaire's innermost nature always\nrevolted against stiltedness and affectation; while, on the other\nhand, if at times wantonness or passion descend to an unpleasantly low\nlevel, the fault does not rest so much with the stylist as with the\nman.\" According to this, Strauss seems only too well aware of the\nimportance of _simplicity in style_; it is ever the sign of genius,\nwhich alone has the privilege to express itself naturally and\nguilelessly. When, therefore, an author selects a simple mode of\nexpression, this is no sign whatever of vulgar ambition; for although\nmany are aware of what such an author would fain be taken for, they\nare yet kind enough to take him precisely for that. The genial writer,\nhowever, not only reveals his true nature in the plain and\nunmistakable form of his utterance, but his super-abundant strength\nactually dallies with the material he treats, even when it is\ndangerous and difficult. Nobody treads stiffly along unknown paths,\nespecially when these are broken throughout their course by thousands\nof crevices and furrows; but the genius speeds nimbly over them, and,\nleaping with grace and daring, scorns the wistful and timorous step of\ncaution.\n\nEven Strauss knows that the problems he prances over are dreadfully\nserious, and have ever been regarded as such by the philosophers who\nhave grappled with them; yet he calls his book _lightly equipped_! But\nof this dreadfulness and of the usual dark nature of our meditations\nwhen considering such questions as the worth of existence and the\nduties of man, we entirely cease to be conscious when the genial\nMaster plays his antics before us, \"lightly equipped, and\nintentionally so.\" Yes, even more lightly equipped than his Rousseau,\nof whom he tells us it was said that he stripped himself below and\nadorned himself on top, whereas Goethe did precisely the reverse.\nPerfectly guileless geniuses do not, it appears, adorn themselves at\nall; possibly the words \"lightly equipped\" may simply be a euphemism\nfor \"naked.\" The few who happen to have seen the Goddess of Truth\ndeclare that she is naked, and perhaps, in the minds of those who have\nnever seen her, but who implicitly believe those few, nakedness or\nlight equipment is actually a proof, or at least a feature, of truth.\nEven this vulgar superstition turns to the advantage of the author's\nambition. Some one sees something naked, and he exclaims: \"What if\nthis were the truth!\" Whereupon he grows more solemn than is his wont.\nBy this means, however, the author scores a tremendous advantage; for\nhe compels his reader to approach him with greater solemnity than\nanother and perhaps more heavily equipped writer. This is\nunquestionably the best way to become a classical author; hence\nStrauss himself is able to tell us: \"I even enjoy the unsought honour\nof being, in the opinion of many, a classical writer of prose. \"He has\ntherefore achieved his aim. Strauss the Genius goes gadding about the\nstreets in the garb of lightly equipped goddesses as a classic, while\nStrauss the Philistine, to use an original expression of this\ngenius's, must, at all costs, be \"declared to be on the decline,\" or\n\"irrevocably dismissed.\"\n\nBut, alas! in spite of all declarations of decline and dismissal, the\nPhilistine still returns, and all too frequently. Those features,\ncontorted to resemble Lessing and Voltaire, must relax from time to\ntime to resume their old and original shape. The mask of genius falls\nfrom them too often, and the Master's expression is never more sour\nand his movements never stiffer than when he has just attempted to\ntake the leap, or to glance with the fiery eye, of a genius. Precisely\nowing to the fact that he is too lightly equipped for our zone, he\nruns the risk of catching cold more often and more severely than\nanother. It may seem a terrible hardship to him that every one should\nnotice this; but if he wishes to be cured, the following diagnosis of\nhis case ought to be publicly presented to him:--Once upon a time\nthere lived a Strauss, a brave, severe, and stoutly equipped scholar,\nwith whom we sympathised as wholly as with all those in Germany who\nseek to serve truth with earnestness and energy, and to rule within\nthe limits of their powers. He, however, who is now publicly famous as\nDavid Strauss, is another person. The theologians may be to blame for\nthis metamorphosis; but, at any rate, his present toying with the mask\nof genius inspires us with as much hatred and scorn as his former\nearnestness commanded respect and sympathy. When, for instance, he\ntells us, \"it would also argue ingratitude towards _my genius_ if I were\nnot to rejoice that to the faculty of an incisive, analytical\ncriticism was added the innocent pleasure in artistic production,\" it\nmay astonish him to hear that, in spite of this self-praise, there are\nstill men who maintain exactly the reverse, and who say, not only that\nhe has never possessed the gift of artistic production, but that the\n\"innocent\" pleasure he mentions is of all things the least innocent,\nseeing that it succeeded in gradually undermining and ultimately\ndestroying a nature as strongly and deeply scholarly and critical as\nStrauss's--in fact, the _real Straussian Genius_. In a moment of\nunlimited frankness, Strauss himself indeed adds: \"Merck was always in\nmy thoughts, calling out, 'Don't produce such child's play again;\nothers can do that too!'\" That was the voice of the real Straussian\ngenius, which also asked him what the worth of his newest, innocent,\nand lightly equipped modern Philistine's testament was. Others can do\nthat too! And many could do it better. And even they who could have\ndone it best, _i.e._ those thinkers who are more widely endowed than\nStrauss, could still only have made nonsense of it.\n\nI take it that you are now beginning to understand the value I set on\nStrauss the Writer. You are beginning to realise that I regard him as\na mummer who would parade as an artless genius and classical writer.\nWhen Lichtenberg said, \"A simple manner of writing is to be\nrecommended, if only in view of the fact that no honest man trims and\ntwists his expressions,\" he was very far from wishing to imply that a\nsimple style is a proof of literary integrity. I, for my part, only\nwish that Strauss the Writer had been more upright, for then he would\nhave written more becomingly and have been less famous. Or, if he\nwould be a mummer at all costs, how much more would he not have\npleased me if he had been a better mummer--one more able to ape the\nguileless genius and classical author! For it yet remains to be said\nthat Strauss was not only an inferior actor but a very worthless\nstylist as well.\n\n\n\nXI.\n\n\nOf course, the blame attaching to Strauss for being a bad writer is\ngreatly mitigated by the fact that it is extremely difficult in\nGermany to become even a passable or moderately good writer, and that\nit is more the exception than not, to be a really good one. In this\nrespect the natural soil is wanting, as are also artistic values and\nthe proper method of treating and cultivating oratory. This latter\naccomplishment, as the various branches of it, _i.e._ drawing-room,\necclesiastical and Parliamentary parlance, show, has not yet reached\nthe level of a national style; indeed, it has not yet shown even a\ntendency to attain to a style at all, and all forms of language in\nGermany do not yet seem to have passed a certain experimental stage.\nIn view of these facts, the writer of to-day, to some extent, lacks an\nauthoritative standard, and he is in some measure excused if, in the\nmatter of language, he attempts to go ahead of his own accord. As to\nthe probable result which the present dilapidated condition of the\nGerman language will bring about, Schopenhauer, perhaps, has spoken\nmost forcibly. \"If the existing state of affairs continues,\" he says,\n\"in the year 1900 German classics will cease to be understood, for the\nsimple reason that no other language will be known, save the trumpery\njargon of the noble present, the chief characteristic of which is\nimpotence.\" And, in truth, if one turn to the latest periodicals, one\nwill find German philologists and grammarians already giving\nexpression to the view that our classics can no longer serve us as\nexamples of style, owing to the fact that they constantly use words,\nmodes of speech, and syntactic arrangements which are fast dropping\nout of currency. Hence the need of collecting specimens of the finest\nprose that has been produced by our best modern writers, and of\noffering them as examples to be followed, after the style of Sander's\npocket dictionary of bad language. In this book, that repulsive\nmonster of style Gutzkow appears as a classic, and, according to its\ninjunctions, we seem to be called upon to accustom ourselves to quite\na new and wondrous crowd of classical authors, among which the first,\nor one of the first, is David Strauss: he whom we cannot describe more\naptly than we have already--that is to say, as a worthless stylist.\nNow, the notion which the Culture-Philistine has of a classic and\nstandard author speaks eloquently for his pseudo-culture--he who only\nshows his strength by opposing a really artistic and severe style, and\nwho, thanks to the persistence of his opposition, finally arrives at a\ncertain uniformity of expression, which again almost appears to\npossess unity of genuine style. In view, therefore, of the right which\nis granted to every one to experiment with the language, how is it\npossible at all for individual authors to discover a generally\nagreeable tone? What is so generally interesting in them? In the first\nplace, a negative quality--the total lack of offensiveness: but _every\nreally productive thing is offensive_. The greater part of a German's\ndaily reading matter is undoubtedly sought either in the pages of\nnewspapers, periodicals, or reviews. The language of these journals\ngradually stamps itself on his brain, by means of its steady drip,\ndrip, drip of similar phrases and similar words. And, since he\ngenerally devotes to reading those hours of the day during which his\nexhausted brain is in any case not inclined to offer resistance, his\near for his native tongue so slowly but surely accustoms itself to\nthis everyday German that it ultimately cannot endure its absence\nwithout pain. But the manufacturers of these newspapers are, by virtue\nof their trade, most thoroughly inured to the effluvia of this\njournalistic jargon; they have literally lost all taste, and their\npalate is rather gratified than not by the most corrupt and arbitrary\ninnovations. Hence the _tutti unisono_ with which, despite the general\nlethargy and sickliness, every fresh solecism is greeted; it is with\nsuch impudent corruptions of the language that her hirelings are\navenged against her for the incredible boredom she imposes ever more\nand more upon them. I remember having read \"an appeal to the German\nnation,\" by Berthold Auerbach, in which every sentence was un-German,\ndistorted and false, and which, as a whole, resembled a soulless\nmosaic of words cemented together with international syntax. As to the\ndisgracefully slipshod German with which Edward Devrient solemnised\nthe death of Mendelssohn, I do not even wish to do more than refer to\nit. A grammatical error--and this is the most extraordinary feature of\nthe case--does not therefore seem an offence in any sense to our\nPhilistine, but a most delightful restorative in the barren wilderness\nof everyday German. He still, however, considers all _really_ productive\nthings to be offensive. The wholly bombastic, distorted, and\nthreadbare syntax of the modern standard author--yea, even his\nludicrous neologisms--are not only tolerated, but placed to his credit\nas the spicy element in his works. But woe to the stylist with\ncharacter, who seeks as earnestly and perseveringly to avoid the trite\nphrases of everyday parlance, as the \"yester-night monster blooms of\nmodern ink-flingers,\" as Schopenhauer says! When platitudes,\nhackneyed, feeble, and vulgar phrases are the rule, and the bad and\nthe corrupt become refreshing exceptions, then all that is strong,\ndistinguished, and beautiful perforce acquires an evil odour. From\nwhich it follows that, in Germany, the well-known experience which\nbefell the normally built traveller in the land of hunchbacks is\nconstantly being repeated. It will be remembered that he was so\nshamefully insulted there, owing to his quaint figure and lack of\ndorsal convexity, that a priest at last had to harangue the people on\nhis behalf as follows: \"My brethren, rather pity this poor stranger,\nand present thank-offerings unto the gods, that ye are blessed with\nsuch attractive gibbosities.\"\n\nIf any one attempted to compose a positive grammar out of the\ninternational German style of to-day, and wished to trace the\nunwritten and unspoken laws followed by every one, he would get the\nmost extraordinary notions of style and rhetoric. He would meet with\nlaws which are probably nothing more than reminiscences of bygone\nschooldays, vestiges of impositions for Latin prose, and results\nperhaps of choice readings from French novelists, over whose\nincredible crudeness every decently educated Frenchman would have the\nright to laugh. But no conscientious native of Germany seems to have\ngiven a thought to these extraordinary notions under the yoke of which\nalmost every German lives and writes.\n\nAs an example of what I say, we may find an injunction to the effect\nthat a metaphor or a simile must be introduced from time to time, and\nthat it must be new; but, since to the mind of the shallow-pated\nwriter newness and modernity are identical, he proceeds forthwith to\nrack his brain for metaphors in the technical vocabularies of the\nrailway, the telegraph, the steamship, and the Stock Exchange, and is\nproudly convinced that such metaphors must be new because they are\nmodern. In Strauss's confession-book we find liberal tribute paid to\nmodern metaphor. He treats us to a simile, covering a page and a half,\ndrawn from modern road-improvement work; a few pages farther back he\nlikens the world to a machine, with its wheels, stampers, hammers, and\n\"soothing oil\" (p. 432); \"A repast that begins with champagne\" (p.\n384); \"Kant is a cold-water cure\" (p. 309); \"The Swiss constitution is\nto that of England as a watermill is to a steam-engine, as a\nwaltz-tune or a song to a fugue or symphony\" (p. 301); \"In every\nappeal, the sequence of procedure must be observed. Now the mean\ntribunal between the individual and humanity is the nation\" (p. 165);\n\"If we would know whether there be still any life in an organism which\nappears dead to us, we are wont to test it by a powerful, even painful\nstimulus, as for example a stab\" (p. 161); \"The religious domain in\nthe human soul resembles the domain of the Red Indian in America\" (p.\n160); \"Virtuosos in piety, in convents\" (p. 107); \"And place the\nsum-total of the foregoing in round numbers under the account\" (p.\n205); \"Darwin's theory resembles a railway track that is just marked\nout ... where the flags are fluttering joyfully in the breeze.\" In this\nreally highly modern way, Strauss has met the Philistine injunction to\nthe effect that a new simile must be introduced from time to time.\n\nAnother rhetorical rule is also very widespread, namely, that didactic\npassages should be composed in long periods, and should be drawn out\ninto lengthy abstractions, while all persuasive passages should\nconsist of short sentences followed by striking contrasts. On page 154\nin Strauss's book we find a standard example of the didactic and\nscholarly style--a passage blown out after the genuine Schleiermacher\nmanner, and made to stumble along at a true tortoise pace: \"The reason\nwhy, in the earlier stages of religion, there appear many instead of\nthis single Whereon, a plurality of gods instead of the one, is\nexplained in this deduction of religion, from the fact that the\nvarious forces of nature, or relations of life, which inspire man with\nthe sentiment of unqualified dependence, still act upon him in the\ncommencement with the full force of their distinctive characteristics;\nthat he has not as yet become conscious how, in regard to his\nunmitigated dependence upon them, there is no distinction between\nthem, and that therefore the Whereon of this dependence, or the Being\nto which it conducts in the last instance, can only be one.\"\n\nOn pages 7 and 8 we find an example of the other kind of style, that\nof the short sentences containing that affected liveliness which so\nexcited certain readers that they cannot mention Strauss any more\nwithout coupling his name with Lessing's. \"I am well aware that what I\npropose to delineate in the following pages is known to multitudes as\nwell as to myself, to some even much better. A few have already spoken\nout on the subject. Am I therefore to keep silence? I think not. For\ndo we not all supply each other's deficiencies? If another is better\ninformed as regards some things, I may perhaps be so as regards\nothers; while yet others are known and viewed by me in a different\nlight. Out with it, then! let my colours be displayed that it may be\nseen whether they are genuine or not.'\"\n\nIt is true that Strauss's style generally maintains a happy medium\nbetween this sort of merry quick-march and the other funereal and\nindolent pace; but between two vices one does not invariably find a\nvirtue; more often rather only weakness, helpless paralysis, and\nimpotence. As a matter of fact, I was very disappointed when I glanced\nthrough Strauss's book in search of fine and witty passages; for, not\nhaving found anything praiseworthy in the Confessor, I had actually\nset out with the express purpose of meeting here and there with at\nleast some opportunities of praising Strauss the Writer. I sought and\nsought, but my purpose remained unfulfilled. Meanwhile, however,\nanother duty seemed to press itself strongly on my mind--that of\nenumerating the solecisms, the strained metaphors, the obscure\nabbreviations, the instances of bad taste, and the distortions which I\nencountered; and these were of such a nature that I dare do no more\nthan select a few examples of them from among a collection which is\ntoo bulky to be given in full. By means of these examples I may\nsucceed in showing what it is that inspires, in the hearts of modern\nGermans, such faith in this great and seductive stylist Strauss: I\nrefer to his eccentricities of expression, which, in the barren waste\nand dryness of his whole book, jump out at one, not perhaps as\npleasant but as painfully stimulating, surprises. When perusing such\npassages, we are at least assured, to use a Straussian metaphor, that\nwe are not quite dead, but still respond to the test of a stab. For\nthe rest of the book is entirely lacking in offensiveness--that\nquality which alone, as we have seen, is productive, and which our\nclassical author has himself reckoned among the positive virtues. When\nthe educated masses meet with exaggerated dulness and dryness, when\nthey are in the presence of really vapid commonplaces, they now seem\nto believe that such things are the signs of health; and in this\nrespect the words of the author of the _dialogus de oratoribus_ are very\nmuch to the point: \"_illam ipsam quam jactant sanitatem non firmitate\nsed jejunio consequuntur_.\" That is why they so unanimously hate every\nfirmitas, because it bears testimony to a kind of health quite\ndifferent from theirs; hence their one wish to throw suspicion upon\nall austerity and terseness, upon all fiery and energetic movement,\nand upon every full and delicate play of muscles. They have conspired\nto twist nature and the names of things completely round, and for the\nfuture to speak of health only there where we see weakness, and to\nspeak of illness and excitability where for our part we see genuine\nvigour. From which it follows that David Strauss is to them a\nclassical author.\n\nIf only this dulness were of a severely logical order! but simplicity\nand austerity in thought are precisely what these weaklings have lost,\nand in their hands even our language has become illogically tangled.\nAs a proof of this, let any one try to translate Strauss's style into\nLatin: in the case of Kant, be it remembered, this is possible, while\nwith Schopenhauer it even becomes an agreeable exercise. The reason\nwhy this test fails with Strauss's German is not owing to the fact\nthat it is more Teutonic than theirs, but because his is distorted and\nillogical, whereas theirs is lofty and simple. Moreover, he who knows\nhow the ancients exerted themselves in order to learn to write and\nspeak correctly, and how the moderns omit to do so, must feel, as\nSchopenhauer says, a positive relief when he can turn from a German\nbook like the one under our notice, to dive into those other works,\nthose ancient works which seem to him still to be written in a new\nlanguage. \"For in these books,\" says Schopenhauer, \"I find a regular\nand fixed language which, throughout, faithfully follows the laws of\ngrammar and orthography, so that I can give up my thoughts completely\nto their matter; whereas in German I am constantly being disturbed by\nthe author's impudence and his continual attempts to establish his own\northographical freaks and absurd ideas--the swaggering foolery of\nwhich disgusts me. It is really a painful sight to see a fine old\nlanguage, possessed of classical literature, being botched by asses\nand ignoramuses!\"\n\nThus Schopenhauer's holy anger cries out to us, and you cannot say\nthat you have not been warned. He who turns a deaf ear to such\nwarnings, and who absolutely refuses to relinquish his faith in\nStrauss the classical author, can only be given this last word of\nadvice--to imitate his hero. In any case, try it at your own risk; but\nyou will repent it, not only in your style but in your head, that it\nmay be fulfilled which was spoken by the Indian prophet, saying, \"He\nwho gnaweth a cow's horn gnaweth in vain and shorteneth his life; for\nhe grindeth away his teeth, yet his belly is empty.\"\n\n\n\nXII.\n\n\nBy way of concluding, we shall proceed to give our classical\nprose-writer the promised examples of his style which we have\ncollected. Schopenhauer would probably have classed the whole lot as\n\"new documents serving to swell the trumpery jargon of the present\nday\"; for David Strauss may be comforted to hear (if what follows can\nbe regarded as a comfort at all) that everybody now writes as he does;\nsome, of course, worse, and that among the blind the one-eyed is king.\nIndeed, we allow him too much when we grant him one eye; but we do\nthis willingly, because Strauss does not write so badly as the most\ninfamous of all corrupters of German--the Hegelians and their crippled\noffspring. Strauss at least wishes to extricate himself from the mire,\nand he is already partly out of it; still, he is very far from being\non dry land, and he still shows signs of having stammered Hegel's\nprose in youth. In those days, possibly, something was sprained in\nhim, some muscle must have been overstrained. His ear, perhaps, like\nthat of a boy brought up amid the beating of drums, grew dull, and\nbecame incapable of detecting those artistically subtle and yet mighty\nlaws of sound, under the guidance of which every writer is content to\nremain who has been strictly trained in the study of good models. But\nin this way, as a stylist, he has lost his most valuable possessions,\nand stands condemned to remain reclining, his life long, on the\ndangerous and barren shifting sand of newspaper style--that is, if he\ndo not wish to fall back into the Hegelian mire. Nevertheless, he has\nsucceeded in making himself famous for a couple of hours in our time,\nand perhaps in another couple of hours people will remember that he\nwas once famous; then, however, night will come, and with her\noblivion; and already at this moment, while we are entering his sins\nagainst style in the black book, the sable mantle of twilight is\nfalling upon his fame. For he who has sinned against the German\nlanguage has desecrated the mystery of all our Germanity. Throughout\nall the confusion and the changes of races and of customs, the German\nlanguage alone, as though possessed of some supernatural charm, has\nsaved herself; and with her own salvation she has wrought that of the\nspirit of Germany. She alone holds the warrant for this spirit in\nfuture ages, provided she be not destroyed at the sacrilegious hands\nof the modern world. \"But _Di meliora!_ Avaunt, ye pachyderms, avaunt!\nThis is the German language, by means of which men express themselves,\nand in which great poets have sung and great thinkers have written.\nHands off!\" [5]\n\n[5] Translator's note.--Nietzsche here proceeds to quote those passages\nhe has culled from _The Old and the New Faith_ with which he undertakes\nto substantiate all he has said relative to Strauss's style; as,\nhowever, these passages, with his comments upon them, lose most of\ntheir point when rendered into English, it was thought best to omit\nthem altogether.\n\nTo put it in plain words, what we have seen have been feet of clay,\nand what appeared to be of the colour of healthy flesh was only\napplied paint. Of course, Culture-Philistinism in Germany will be very\nangry when it hears its one living God referred to as a series of\npainted idols. He, however, who dares to overthrow its idols will not\nshrink, despite all indignation, from telling it to its face that it\nhas forgotten how to distinguish between the quick and the dead, the\ngenuine and the counterfeit, the original and the imitation, between a\nGod and a host of idols; that it has completely lost the healthy and\nmanly instinct for what is real and right. It alone deserves to be\ndestroyed; and already the manifestations of its power are sinking;\nalready are its purple honours falling from it; but when the purple\nfalls, its royal wearer soon follows.\n\nHere I come to the end of my confession of faith. This is the\nconfession of an individual; and what can such an one do against a\nwhole world, even supposing his voice were heard everywhere! In order\nfor the last time to use a precious Straussism, his judgment only\npossesses \"_that amount of subjective truth which is compatible with a\ncomplete lack of objective demonstration_\"--is not that so, my dear\nfriends? Meanwhile, be of good cheer. For the time being let the\nmatter rest at this \"amount which is compatible with a complete lack\"!\nFor the time being! That is to say, for as long as that is held to be\nout of season which in reality is always in season, and is now more\nthan ever pressing; I refer to ... speaking the truth.[6]\n\n[6] Translator's note.--All quotations from _The Old Faith and the New_\nwhich appear in the above translation have either been taken bodily\nout of Mathilde Blind's translation (Asher and Co., 1873), or are\nadaptations from that translation.\n\n\n\n\nRICHARD WAGNER IN BAYREUTH.\n\n\nI.\n\n\nFor an event to be great, two things must be united--the lofty\nsentiment of those who accomplish it, and the lofty sentiment of those\nwho witness it. No event is great in itself, even though it be the\ndisappearance of whole constellations, the destruction of several\nnations, the establishment of vast empires, or the prosecution of wars\nat the cost of enormous forces: over things of this sort the breath of\nhistory blows as if they were flocks of wool. But it often happens,\ntoo, that a man of might strikes a blow which falls without effect\nupon a stubborn stone; a short, sharp report is heard, and all is\nover. History is able to record little or nothing of such abortive\nefforts. Hence the anxiety which every one must feel who, observing\nthe approach of an event, wonders whether those about to witness it\nwill be worthy of it. This reciprocity between an act and its\nreception is always taken into account when anything great or small is\nto be accomplished; and he who would give anything away must see to it\nthat he find recipients who will do justice to the meaning of his\ngift. This is why even the work of a great man is not necessarily\ngreat when it is short, abortive, or fruitless; for at the moment when\nhe performed it he must have failed to perceive that it was really\nnecessary; he must have been careless in his aim, and he cannot have\nchosen and fixed upon the time with sufficient caution. Chance thus\nbecame his master; for there is a very intimate relation between\ngreatness and the instinct which discerns the proper moment at which\nto act.\n\nWe therefore leave it to those who doubt Wagner's power of discerning\nthe proper time for action, to be concerned and anxious as to whether\nwhat is now taking place in Bayreuth is really opportune and\nnecessary. To us who are more confident, it is clear that he believes\nas strongly in the greatness of his feat as in the greatness of\nfeeling in those who are to witness it. Be their number great or\nsmall, therefore, all those who inspire this faith in Wagner should\nfeel extremely honoured; for that it was not inspired by everybody, or\nby the whole age, or even by the whole German people, as they are now\nconstituted, he himself told us in his dedicatory address of the 22nd\nof May 1872, and not one amongst us could, with any show of\nconviction, assure him of the contrary. \"I had only you to turn to,\"\nhe said, \"when I sought those who I thought would be in sympathy with\nmy plans,--you who are the most personal friends of my own particular\nart, my work and activity: only you could I invite to help me in my\nwork, that it might be presented pure and whole to those who manifest\na genuine interest in my art, despite the fact that it has hitherto\nmade its appeal to them only in a disfigured and adulterated form.\"\n\nIt is certain that in Bayreuth even the spectator is a spectacle worth\nseeing. If the spirit of some observant sage were to return, after the\nabsence of a century, and were to compare the most remarkable\nmovements in the present world of culture, he would find much to\ninterest him there. Like one swimming in a lake, who encounters a\ncurrent of warm water issuing from a hot spring, in Bayreuth he would\ncertainly feel as though he had suddenly plunged into a more temperate\nelement, and would tell himself that this must rise out of a distant\nand deeper source: the surrounding mass of water, which at all events\nis more common in origin, does not account for it. In this way, all\nthose who assist at the Bayreuth festival will seem like men out of\nseason; their _raison-d'\u00eatre_ and the forces which would seem to account\nfor them are elsewhere, and their home is not in the present age. I\nrealise ever more clearly that the scholar, in so far as he is\nentirely the man of his own day, can only be accessible to all that\nWagner does and thinks by means of parody,--and since everything is\nparodied nowadays, he will even get the event of Bayreuth reproduced\nfor him, through the very un-magic lanterns of our facetious\nart-critics. And one ought to be thankful if they stop at parody; for\nby means of it a spirit of aloofness and animosity finds a vent which\nmight otherwise hit upon a less desirable mode of expression. Now, the\nobservant sage already mentioned could not remain blind to this\nunusual sharpness and tension of contrasts. They who hold by gradual\ndevelopment as a kind of moral law must be somewhat shocked at the\nsight of one who, in the course of a single lifetime, succeeds in\nproducing something absolutely new. Being dawdlers themselves, and\ninsisting upon slowness as a principle, they are very naturally vexed\nby one who strides rapidly ahead, and they wonder how on earth he does\nit. No omens, no periods of transition, and no concessions preceded\nthe enterprise at Bayreuth; no one except Wagner knew either the goal\nor the long road that was to lead to it. In the realm of art it\nsignifies, so to speak, the first circumnavigation of the world, and\nby this voyage not only was there discovered an apparently new art,\nbut Art itself. In view of this, all modern arts, as arts of luxury\nwhich have degenerated through having been insulated, have become\nalmost worthless. And the same applies to the nebulous and\ninconsistent reminiscences of a genuine art, which we as modern\nEuropeans derive from the Greeks; let them rest in peace, unless they\nare now able to shine of their own accord in the light of a new\ninterpretation. The last hour has come for a good many things; this\nnew art is a clairvoyante that sees ruin approaching--not for art\nalone. Her warning voice must strike the whole of our prevailing\ncivilisation with terror the instant the laughter which its parodies\nhave provoked subsides. Let it laugh and enjoy itself for yet a while\nlonger!\n\nAnd as for us, the disciples of this revived art, we shall have time\nand inclination for thoughtfulness, deep thoughtfulness. All the talk\nand noise about art which has been made by civilisation hitherto must\nseem like shameless obtrusiveness; everything makes silence a duty\nwith us--the quinquennial silence of the Pythagoreans. Which of us has\nnot soiled his hands and heart in the disgusting idolatry of modern\nculture? Which of us can exist without the waters of purification? Who\ndoes not hear the voice which cries, \"Be silent and cleansed\"? Be\nsilent and cleansed! Only the merit of being included among those who\ngive ear to this voice will grant even us the _lofty_ look necessary to\nview the event at Bayreuth; and only upon this look depends the _great\nfuture_ of the event.\n\nWhen on that dismal and cloudy day in May 1872, after the foundation\nstone had been laid on the height of Bayreuth, amid torrents of rain,\nand while Wagner was driving back to the town with a small party of\nus, he was exceptionally silent, and there was that indescribable look\nin his eyes as of one who has turned his gaze deeply inwards. The day\nhappened to be the first of his sixtieth year, and his whole past now\nappeared as but a long preparation for this great moment. It is almost\na recognised fact that in times of exceptional danger, or at all\ndecisive and culminating points in their lives, men see the remotest\nand most recent events of their career with singular vividness, and in\none rapid inward glance obtain a sort of panorama of a whole span of\nyears in which every event is faithfully depicted. What, for instance,\nmust Alexander the Great have seen in that instant when he caused Asia\nand Europe to be drunk out of the same goblet? But what went through\nWagner's mind on that day--how he became what he is, and what he will\nbe--we only can imagine who are nearest to him, and can follow him, up\nto a certain point, in his self-examination; but through his eyes\nalone is it possible for us to understand his grand work, and by the\nhelp of this understanding vouch for its fruitfulness.\n\n\n\nII.\n\n\nIt were strange if what a man did best and most liked to do could not\nbe traced in the general outline of his life, and in the case of those\nwho are remarkably endowed there is all the more reason for supposing\nthat their life will present not only the counterpart of their\ncharacter, as in the case of every one else, but that it will present\nabove all the counterpart of their intellect and their most individual\ntastes. The life of the epic poet will have a dash of the Epos in\nit--as from all accounts was the case with Goethe, whom the Germans\nvery wrongly regarded only as a lyrist--and the life of the dramatist\nwill probably be dramatic.\n\nThe dramatic element in Wagner's _development_ cannot be ignored, from\nthe time when his ruling passion became self-conscious and took\npossession of his whole being. From that time forward there is an end\nto all groping, straying, and sprouting of offshoots, and over his\nmost tortuous deviations and excursions, over the often eccentric\ndisposition of his plans, a single law and will are seen to rule, in\nwhich we have the explanation of his actions, however strange this\nexplanation may sometimes appear. There was, however, an ante-dramatic\nperiod in Wagner's life--his childhood and youth--which it is\nimpossible to approach without discovering innumerable problems. At\nthis period there seems to be no promise yet of himself, and what one\nmight now, in a retrospect, regard as a pledge for his future\ngreatness, amounts to no more than a juxta-position of traits which\ninspire more dismay than hope; a restless and excitable spirit,\nnervously eager to undertake a hundred things at the same time,\npassionately fond of almost morbidly exalted states of mind, and ready\nat any moment to veer completely round from calm and profound\nmeditation to a state of violence and uproar. In his case there were\nno hereditary or family influences at work to constrain him to the\nsedulous study of one particular art. Painting, versifying, acting,\nand music were just as much within his reach as the learning and the\ncareer of a scholar; and the superficial inquirer into this stage of\nhis life might even conclude that he was born to be a dilettante. The\nsmall world within the bounds of which he grew up was not of the kind\nwe should choose to be the home of an artist. He ran the constant risk\nof becoming infected by that dangerously dissipated attitude of mind\nin which a person will taste of everything, as also by that condition\nof slackness resulting from the fragmentary knowledge of all things,\nwhich is so characteristic of University towns. His feelings were\neasily roused and but indifferently satisfied; wherever the boy turned\nhe found himself surrounded by a wonderful and would-be learned\nactivity, to which the garish theatres presented a ridiculous\ncontrast, and the entrancing strains of music a perplexing one. Now,\nto the observer who sees things relatively, it must seem strange that\nthe modern man who happens to be gifted with exceptional talent should\nas a child and a youth so seldom be blessed with the quality of\ningenuousness and of simple individuality, that he is so little able\nto have these qualities at all. As a matter of fact, men of rare\ntalent, like Goethe and Wagner, much more often attain to\ningenuousness in manhood than during the more tender years of\nchildhood and youth. And this is especially so with the artist, who,\nbeing born with a more than usual capacity for imitating, succumbs to\nthe morbid multiformity of modern life as to a virulent disease of\ninfancy. As a child he will more closely resemble an old man. The\nwonderfully accurate and original picture of youth which Wagner gives\nus in the Siegfried of the Nibelungen Ring could only have been\nconceived by a man, and by one who had discovered his youthfulness but\nlate in life. Wagner's maturity, like his adolesence, was also late in\nmaking its appearance, and he is thus, in this respect alone, the very\nreverse of the precocious type.\n\nThe appearance of his moral and intellectual strength was the prelude\nto the drama of his soul. And how different it then became! His nature\nseems to have been simplified at one terrible stroke, and divided\nagainst itself into two instincts or spheres. From its innermost\ndepths there gushes forth a passionate will which, like a rapid\nmountain torrent, endeavours to make its way through all paths,\nravines, and crevices, in search of light and power. Only a force\ncompletely free and pure was strong enough to guide this will to all\nthat is good and beneficial. Had it been combined with a narrow\nintelligence, a will with such a tyrannical and boundless desire might\nhave become fatal; in any case, an exit into the open had to be found\nfor it as quickly as possible, whereby it could rush into pure air and\nsunshine. Lofty aspirations, which continually meet with failure,\nultimately turn to evil. The inadequacy of means for obtaining success\nmay, in certain circumstances, be the result of an inexorable fate,\nand not necessarily of a lack of strength; but he who under such\ncircumstances cannot abandon his aspirations, despite the inadequacy\nof his means, will only become embittered, and consequently irritable\nand intolerant. He may possibly seek the cause of his failure in other\npeople; he may even, in a fit of passion, hold the whole world guilty;\nor he may turn defiantly down secret byways and secluded lanes, or\nresort to violence. In this way, noble natures, on their road to the\nmost high, may turn savage. Even among those who seek but their own\npersonal moral purity, among monks and anchorites, men are to be found\nwho, undermined and devoured by failure, have become barbarous and\nhopelessly morbid. There was a spirit full of love and calm belief,\nfull of goodness and infinite tenderness, hostile to all violence and\nself-deterioration, and abhorring the sight of a soul in bondage. And\nit was this spirit which manifested itself to Wagner. It hovered over\nhim as a consoling angel, it covered him with its wings, and showed\nhim the true path. At this stage we bring the other side of Wagner's\nnature into view: but how shall we describe this other side?\n\nThe characters an artist creates are not himself, but the succession\nof these characters, to which it is clear he is greatly attached, must\nat all events reveal something of his nature. Now try and recall\nRienzi, the Flying Dutchman and Senta, Tannh\u00e4user and Elizabeth,\nLohengrin and Elsa, Tristan and Marke, Hans Sachs, Woden and\nBrunhilda,--all these characters are correlated by a secret current of\nennobling and broadening morality which flows through them and becomes\never purer and clearer as it progresses. And at this point we enter\nwith respectful reserve into the presence of the most hidden\ndevelopment in Wagner's own soul. In what other artist do we meet with\nthe like of this, in the same proportion? Schiller's characters, from\nthe Robbers to Wallenstein and Tell, do indeed pursue an ennobling\ncourse, and likewise reveal something of their author's development;\nbut in Wagner the standard is higher and the distance covered is much\ngreater. In the Nibelungen Ring, for instance, where Brunhilda is\nawakened by Siegfried, I perceive the most moral music I have ever\nheard. Here Wagner attains to such a high level of sacred feeling that\nour mind unconsciously wanders to the glistening ice- and snow-peaks of\nthe Alps, to find a likeness there;--so pure, isolated, inaccessible,\nchaste, and bathed in love-beams does Nature here display herself,\nthat clouds and tempests--yea, and even the sublime itself--seem to\nlie beneath her. Now, looking down from this height upon Tannhauser\nand the Flying Dutchman, we begin to perceive how the man in Wagner\nwas evolved: how restlessly and darkly he began; how tempestuously he\nstrove to gratify his desires, to acquire power and to taste those\nrapturous delights from which he often fled in disgust; how he wished\nto throw off a yoke, to forget, to be negative, and to renounce\neverything. The whole torrent plunged, now into this valley, now into\nthat, and flooded the most secluded chinks and crannies. In the night\nof these semi-subterranean convulsions a star appeared and glowed high\nabove him with melancholy vehemence; as soon as he recognised it, he\nnamed it _Fidelity--unselfish fidelity_. Why did this star seem to him\nthe brightest and purest of all? What secret meaning had the word\n\"fidelity\" to his whole being? For he has graven its image and\nproblems upon all his thoughts and compositions. His works contain\nalmost a complete series of the rarest and most beautiful examples of\nfidelity: that of brother to sister, of friend to friend, of servant\nto master; of Elizabeth to Tannhauser, of Senta to the Dutchman, of\nElsa to Lohengrin, of Isolde, Kurvenal, and Marke to Tristan, of\nBrunhilda to the most secret vows of Woden--and many others. It is\nWagner's most personal and most individual experience, which he\nreveres like a religious mystery, and which he calls Fidelity; he\nnever wearies of breathing it into hundreds of different characters,\nand of endowing it with the sublimest that in him lies, so overflowing\nis his gratitude. It is, in short, the recognition of the fact that\nthe two sides of his nature remained faithful to each other, that out\nof free and unselfish love, the creative, ingenuous, and brilliant\nside kept loyally abreast of the dark, the intractable, and the\ntyrannical side.\n\n\n\nIII.\n\n\nThe relation of the two constituent forces to each other, and the\nyielding of the one to the other, was the great requisite by which\nalone he could remain wholly and truly himself. At the same time, this\nwas the only thing he could not control, and over which he could only\nkeep a watch, while the temptations to infidelity and its threatening\ndangers beset him more and more. The uncertainty derived therefrom is\nan overflowing source of suffering for those in process of\ndevelopment. Each of his instincts made constant efforts to attain to\nunmeasured heights, and each of the capacities he possessed for\nenjoying life seemed to long to tear itself away from its companions\nin order to seek satisfaction alone; the greater their exuberance the\nmore terrific was the tumult, and the more bitter the competition\nbetween them. In addition, accident and life fired the desire for\npower and splendour in him; but he was more often tormented by the\ncruel necessity of having to live at all, while all around him lay\nobstacles and snares. How is it possible for any one to remain\nfaithful here, to be completely steadfast? This doubt often depressed\nhim, and he expresses it, as an artist expressed his doubt, in\nartistic forms. Elizabeth, for instance, can only suffer, pray, and\ndie; she saves the fickle and intemperate man by her loyalty, though\nnot for this life. In the path of every true artist, whose lot is cast\nin these modern days, despair and danger are strewn. He has many means\nwhereby he can attain to honour and might; peace and plenty\npersistently offer themselves to him, but only in that form recognised\nby the modern man, which to the straightforward artist is no better\nthan choke-damp. In this temptation, and in the act of resisting it,\nlie the dangers that threaten him--dangers arising from his disgust at\nthe means modernity offers him of acquiring pleasure and esteem, and\nfrom the indignation provoked by the selfish ease of modern society.\nImagine Wagner's filling an official position, as for instance that of\nbandmaster at public and court theatres, both of which positions he\nhas held: think how he, a serious artist, must have struggled in order\nto enforce seriousness in those very places which, to meet the demands\nof modern conventions, are designed with almost systematic frivolity\nto appeal only to the frivolous. Think how he must have partially\nsucceeded, though only to fail on the whole. How constantly disgust\nmust have been at his heels despite his repeated attempts to flee it,\nhow he failed to find the haven to which he might have repaired, and\nhow he had ever to return to the Bohemians and outlaws of our society,\nas one of them. If he himself broke loose from any post or position,\nhe rarely found a better one in its stead, while more than once\ndistress was all that his unrest brought him. Thus Wagner changed his\nassociates, his dwelling-place and country, and when we come to\ncomprehend the nature of the circles into which he gravitated, we can\nhardly realise how he was able to tolerate them for any length of\ntime. The greater half of his past seems to be shrouded in heavy mist;\nfor a long time he appears to have had no general hopes, but only\nhopes for the morrow, and thus, although he reposed no faith in the\nfuture, he was not driven to despair. He must have felt like a\nnocturnal traveller, broken with fatigue, exasperated from want of\nsleep, and tramping wearily along beneath a heavy burden, who, far\nfrom fearing the sudden approach of death, rather longs for it as\nsomething exquisitely charming. His burden, the road and the\nnight--all would disappear! The thought was a temptation to him. Again\nand again, buoyed up by his temporary hopes, he plunged anew into the\nturmoil of life, and left all apparatus behind him. But his method of\ndoing this, his lack of moderation in the doing, betrayed what a\nfeeble hold his hopes had upon him; how they were only stimulants to\nwhich he had recourse in an extremity. The conflict between his\naspirations and his partial or total inability to realise them,\ntormented him like a thorn in the flesh. Infuriated by constant\nprivations, his imagination lapsed into the dissipated, whenever the\nstate of want was momentarily relieved. Life grew ever more and more\ncomplicated for him; but the means and artifices that he discovered in\nhis art as a dramatist became evermore resourceful and daring. Albeit,\nthese were little more than palpable dramatic makeshifts and\nexpedients, which deceived, and were invented, only for the moment. In\na flash such means occurred to his mind and were used up. Examined\nclosely and without prepossession, Wagner's life, to recall one of\nSchopenhauer's expressions, might be said to consist largely of\ncomedy, not to mention burlesque. And what the artist's feelings must\nhave been, conscious as he was, during whole periods of his life, of\nthis undignified element in it,--he who more than any one else,\nperhaps, breathed freely only in sublime and more than sublime\nspheres,--the thinker alone can form any idea.\n\nIn the midst of this mode of life, a detailed description of which is\nnecessary in order to inspire the amount of pity, awe, and admiration\nwhich are its due, he developed a _talent for acquiring knowledge_,\nwhich even in a German--a son of the nation learned above all\nothers--was really extraordinary. And with this talent yet another\ndanger threatened Wagner--a danger more formidable than that involved\nin a life which was apparently without either a stay or a rule, borne\nhither and thither by disturbing illusions. From a novice trying his\nstrength, Wagner became a thorough master of music and of the theatre,\nas also a prolific inventor in the preliminary technical conditions\nfor the execution of art. No one will any longer deny him the glory of\nhaving given us the supreme model for lofty artistic execution on a\nlarge scale. But he became more than this, and in order so to develop,\nhe, no less than any one else in like circumstances, had to reach the\nhighest degree of culture by virtue of his studies. And wonderfully he\nachieved this end! It is delightful to follow his progress. From all\nsides material seemed to come unto him and into him, and the larger\nand heavier the resulting structure became, the more rigid was the\narch of the ruling and ordering thought supporting it. And yet access\nto the sciences and arts has seldom been made more difficult for any\nman than for Wagner; so much so that he had almost to break his own\nroad through to them. The reviver of the simple drama, the discoverer\nof the position due to art in true human society, the poetic\ninterpreter of bygone views of life, the philosopher, the historian,\nthe \u00e6sthete and the critic, the master of languages, the mythologist\nand the myth poet, who was the first to include all these wonderful\nand beautiful products of primitive times in a single Ring, upon which\nhe engraved the runic characters of his thoughts--what a wealth of\nknowledge must Wagner have accumulated and commanded, in order to have\nbecome all that! And yet this mass of material was just as powerless\nto impede the action of his will as a matter of detail--however\nattractive--was to draw his purpose from its path. For the exceptional\ncharacter of such conduct to be appreciated fully, it should be\ncompared with that of Goethe,--he who, as a student and as a sage,\nresembled nothing so much as a huge river-basin, which does not pour\nall its water into the sea, but spends as much of it on its way there,\nand at its various twists and turns, as it ultimately disgorges at its\nmouth. True, a nature like Goethe's not only has, but also engenders,\nmore pleasure than any other; there is more mildness and noble\nprofligacy in it; whereas the tenor and tempo of Wagner's power at\ntimes provoke both fear and flight. But let him fear who will, we\nshall only be the more courageous, in that we shall be permitted to\ncome face to face with a hero who, in regard to modern culture, \"has\nnever learned the meaning of fear.\"\n\nBut neither has he learned to look for repose in history and\nphilosophy, nor to derive those subtle influences from their study\nwhich tend to paralyse action or to soften a man unduly. Neither the\ncreative nor the militant artist in him was ever diverted from his\npurpose by learning and culture. The moment his constructive powers\ndirect him, history becomes yielding clay in his hands. His attitude\ntowards it then differs from that of every scholar, and more nearly\nresembles the relation of the ancient Greek to his myths; that is to\nsay, his subject is something he may fashion, and about which he may\nwrite verses. He will naturally do this with love and a certain\nbecoming reverence, but with the sovereign right of the creator\nnotwithstanding. And precisely because history is more supple and more\nvariable than a dream to him, he can invest the most individual case\nwith the characteristics of a whole age, and thus attain to a\nvividness of narrative of which historians are quite incapable. In\nwhat work of art, of any kind, has the body and soul of the Middle\nAges ever been so thoroughly depicted as in Lohengrin? And will not\nthe Meistersingers continue to acquaint men, even in the remotest ages\nto come, with the nature of Germany's soul? Will they not do more than\nacquaint men of it? Will they not represent its very ripest fruit--the\nfruit of that spirit which ever wishes to reform and not to overthrow,\nand which, despite the broad couch of comfort on which it lies, has\nnot forgotten how to endure the noblest discomfort when a worthy and\nnovel deed has to be accomplished?\n\nAnd it is just to this kind of discomfort that Wagner always felt\nhimself drawn by his study of history and philosophy: in them he not\nonly found arms and coats of mail, but what he felt in their presence\nabove all was the inspiring breath which is wafted from the graves of\nall great fighters, sufferers, and thinkers. Nothing distinguishes a\nman more from the general pattern of the age than the use he makes of\nhistory and philosophy. According to present views, the former seems\nto have been allotted the duty of giving modern man breathing-time, in\nthe midst of his panting and strenuous scurry towards his goal, so\nthat he may, for a space, imagine he has slipped his leash. What\nMontaigne was as an individual amid the turmoil of the\nReformation--that is to say, a creature inwardly coming to peace with\nhimself, serenely secluded in himself and taking breath, as his best\nreader, Shakespeare, understood him,--this is what history is to the\nmodern spirit to-day. The fact that the Germans, for a whole century,\nhave devoted themselves more particularly to the study of history,\nonly tends to prove that they are the stemming, retarding, and\nbecalming force in the activity of modern society--a circumstance\nwhich some, of course, will place to their credit. On the whole,\nhowever, it is a dangerous symptom when the mind of a nation turns\nwith preference to the study of the past. It is a sign of flagging\nstrength, of decline and degeneration; it denotes that its people are\nperilously near to falling victims to the first fever that may happen\nto be rif--the political fever among others. Now, in the history of\nmodern thought, our scholars are an example of this condition of\nweakness as opposed to all reformative and revolutionary activity. The\nmission they have chosen is not of the noblest; they have rather been\ncontent to secure smug happiness for their kind, and little more.\nEvery independent and manly step leaves them halting in the\nbackground, although it by no means outstrips history. For the latter\nis possessed of vastly different powers, which only natures like\nWagner have any notion of; but it requires to be written in a much\nmore earnest and severe spirit, by much more vigorous students, and\nwith much less optimism than has been the case hitherto. In fact, it\nrequires to be treated quite differently from the way German scholars\nhave treated it until now. In all their works there is a continual\ndesire to embellish, to submit and to be content, while the course of\nevents invariably seems to have their approbation. It is rather the\nexception for one of them to imply that he is satisfied only because\nthings might have turned out worse; for most of them believe, almost\nas a matter of course, that everything has been for the best simply\nbecause it has only happened once. Were history not always a disguised\nChristian theodicy, were it written with more justice and fervent\nfeeling, it would be the very last thing on earth to be made to serve\nthe purpose it now serves, namely, that of an opiate against\neverything subversive and novel. And philosophy is in the same plight:\nall that the majority demand of it is, that it may teach them to\nunderstand approximate facts--very approximate facts--in order that\nthey may then become adapted to them. And even its noblest exponents\npress its soporific and comforting powers so strongly to the fore,\nthat all lovers of sleep and of loafing must think that their aim and\nthe aim of philosophy are one. For my part, the most important\nquestion philosophy has to decide seems to be, how far things have\nacquired an unalterable stamp and form, and, once this question has\nbeen answered, I think it the duty of philosophy unhesitatingly and\ncourageously to proceed with the task of _improving that part of the\nworld which has been recognised as still susceptible to change_. But\ngenuine philosophers do, as a matter of fact, teach this doctrine\nthemselves, inasmuch as they work at endeavouring to alter the very\nchangeable views of men, and do not keep their opinions to themselves.\nGenuine disciples of genuine philosophies also teach this doctrine;\nfor, like Wagner, they understand the art of deriving a more decisive\nand inflexible will from their master's teaching, rather than an\nopiate or a sleeping draught. Wagner is most philosophical where he is\nmost powerfully active and heroic. It was as a philosopher that he\nwent, not only through the fire of various philosophical systems\nwithout fear, but also through the vapours of science and scholarship,\nwhile remaining ever true to his highest self. And it was this highest\nself which exacted _from his versatile spirit works as complete as his\nwere_, which bade him suffer and learn, that he might accomplish such\nworks.\n\n\n\nIV.\n\n\nThe history of the development of culture since the time of the Greeks\nis short enough, when we take into consideration the actual ground it\ncovers, and ignore the periods during which man stood still, went\nbackwards, hesitated or strayed. The Hellenising of the world--and to\nmake this possible, the Orientalising of Hellenism--that double\nmission of Alexander the Great, still remains the most important\nevent: the old question whether a foreign civilisation may be\ntransplanted is still the problem that the peoples of modern times are\nvainly endeavouring to solve. The rhythmic play of those two factors\nagainst each other is the force that has determined the course of\nhistory heretofore. Thus Christianity appears, for instance, as a\nproduct of Oriental antiquity, which was thought out and pursued to\nits ultimate conclusions by men, with almost intemperate thoroughness.\nAs its influence began to decay, the power of Hellenic culture was\nrevived, and we are now experiencing phenomena so strange that they\nwould hang in the air as unsolved problems, if it were not possible,\nby spanning an enormous gulf of time, to show their relation to\nanalogous phenomena in Hellenistic culture. Thus, between Kant and the\nEleatics, Schopenhauer and Empedocles, \u00c6schylus and Wagner, there is\nso much relationship, so many things in common, that one is vividly\nimpressed with the very relative nature of all notions of time. It\nwould even seem as if a whole diversity of things were really all of a\npiece, and that time is only a cloud which makes it hard for our eyes\nto perceive the oneness of them. In the history of the exact sciences\nwe are perhaps most impressed by the close bond uniting us with the\ndays of Alexander and ancient Greece. The pendulum of history seems\nmerely to have swung back to that point from which it started when it\nplunged forth into unknown and mysterious distance. The picture\nrepresented by our own times is by no means a new one: to the student\nof history it must always seem as though he were merely in the\npresence of an old familiar face, the features of which he recognises.\nIn our time the spirit of Greek culture is scattered broadcast. While\nforces of all kinds are pressing one upon the other, and the fruits of\nmodern art and science are offering themselves as a means of exchange,\nthe pale outline of Hellenism is beginning to dawn faintly in the\ndistance. The earth which, up to the present, has been more than\nadequately Orientalised, begins to yearn once more for Hellenism. He\nwho wishes to help her in this respect will certainly need to be\ngifted for speedy action and to have wings on his heels, in order to\nsynthetise the multitudinous and still undiscovered facts of science\nand the many conflicting divisions of talent so as to reconnoitre and\nrule the whole enormous field. It is now necessary that a generation\nof _anti-Alexanders_ should arise, endowed with the supreme strength\nnecessary for gathering up, binding together, and joining the\nindividual threads of the fabric, so as to prevent their being\nscattered to the four winds. The object is not to cut the Gordian knot\nof Greek culture after the manner adopted by Alexander, and then to\nleave its frayed ends fluttering in all directions; it is rather to\n_bind it after it has been loosed_. That is our task to-day. In the\nperson of Wagner I recognise one of these anti-Alexanders: he rivets\nand locks together all that is isolated, weak, or in any way\ndefective; if I may be allowed to use a medical expression, he has an\n_astringent_ power. And in this respect he is one of the greatest\ncivilising forces of his age. He dominates art, religion, and\nfolklore, yet he is the reverse of a polyhistor or of a mere\ncollecting and classifying spirit; for he constructs with the\ncollected material, and breathes life into it, and is a _Simplifier of\nthe Universe_. We must not be led away from this idea by comparing the\ngeneral mission which his genius imposed upon him with the much\nnarrower and more immediate one which we are at present in the habit\nof associating with the name of Wagner. He is expected to effect a\nreform in the theatre world; but even supposing he should succeed in\ndoing this, what would then have been done towards the accomplishment\nof that higher, more distant mission?\n\nBut even with this lesser theatrical reform, modern man would also be\naltered and reformed; for everything is so intimately related in this\nworld, that he who removes even so small a thing as a rivet from the\nframework shatters and destroys the whole edifice. And what we here\nassert, with perhaps seeming exaggeration, of Wagner's activity would\nhold equally good of any other genuine reform. It is quite impossible\nto reinstate the art of drama in its purest and highest form without\neffecting changes everywhere in the customs of the people, in the\nState, in education, and in social intercourse. When love and justice\nhave become powerful in one department of life, namely in art, they\nmust, in accordance with the law of their inner being, spread their\ninfluence around them, and can no more return to the stiff stillness\nof their former pupal condition. In order even to realise how far the\nattitude of the arts towards life is a sign of their decline, and how\nfar our theatres are a disgrace to those who build and visit them,\neverything must be learnt over again, and that which is usual and\ncommonplace should be regarded as something unusual and complicated.\nAn extraordinary lack of clear judgment, a badly-concealed lust of\npleasure, of entertainment at any cost, learned scruples, assumed airs\nof importance, and trifling with the seriousness of art on the part of\nthose who represent it; brutality of appetite and money-grubbing on\nthe part of promoters; the empty-mindedness and thoughtlessness of\nsociety, which only thinks of the people in so far as these serve or\nthwart its purpose, and which attends theatres and concerts without\ngiving a thought to its duties,--all these things constitute the\nstifling and deleterious atmosphere of our modern art conditions:\nwhen, however, people like our men of culture have grown accustomed to\nit, they imagine that it is a condition of their healthy existence,\nand would immediately feel unwell if, for any reason, they were\ncompelled to dispense with it for a while. In point of fact, there is\nbut one speedy way of convincing oneself of the vulgarity, weirdness,\nand confusion of our theatrical institutions, and that is to compare\nthem with those which once flourished in ancient Greece. If we knew\nnothing about the Greeks, it would perhaps be impossible to assail our\npresent conditions at all, and objections made on the large scale\nconceived for the first time by Wagner would have been regarded as the\ndreams of people who could only be at home in outlandish places. \"For\nmen as we now find them,\" people would have retorted, \"art of this\nmodern kind answers the purpose and is fitting--and men have never\nbeen different.\" But they have been very different, and even now there\nare men who are far from satisfied with the existing state of\naffairs--the fact of Bayreuth alone demonstrates this point. Here you\nwill find prepared and initiated spectators, and the emotion of men\nconscious of being at the very zenith of their happiness, who\nconcentrate their whole being on that happiness in order to strengthen\nthemselves for a higher and more far-reaching purpose. Here you will\nfind the most noble self-abnegation on the part of the artist, and the\nfinest of all spectacles--that of a triumphant creator of works which\nare in themselves an overflowing treasury of artistic triumphs. Does\nit not seem almost like a fairy tale, to be able to come face to face\nwith such a personality? Must not they who take any part whatsoever,\nactive or passive, in the proceedings at Bayreuth, already feel\naltered and rejuvenated, and ready to introduce reforms and to effect\nrenovations in other spheres of life? Has not a haven been found for\nall wanderers on high and desert seas, and has not peace settled over\nthe face of the waters? Must not he who leaves these spheres of ruling\nprofundity and loneliness for the very differently ordered world with\nits plains and lower levels, cry continually like Isolde: \"Oh, how\ncould I bear it? How can I still bear it?\" And should he be unable to\nendure his joy and his sorrow, or to keep them egotistically to\nhimself, he will avail himself from that time forward of every\nopportunity of making them known to all. \"Where are they who are\nsuffering under the yoke of modern institutions?\" he will inquire.\n\"Where are my natural allies, with whom I may struggle against the\never waxing and ever more oppressive pretensions of modern erudition?\"\nFor at present, at least, we have but one enemy--at present!--and it\nis that band of \u00e6sthetes, to whom the word Bayreuth means the\ncompletest rout--they have taken no share in the arrangements, they\nwere rather indignant at the whole movement, or else availed\nthemselves effectively of the deaf-ear policy, which has now become\nthe trusty weapon of all very superior opposition. But this proves\nthat their animosity and knavery were ineffectual in destroying\nWagner's spirit or in hindering the accomplishment of his plans; it\nproves even more, for it betrays their weakness and the fact that all\nthose who are at present in possession of power will not be able to\nwithstand many more attacks. The time is at hand for those who would\nconquer and triumph; the vastest empires lie at their mercy, a note of\ninterrogation hangs to the name of all present possessors of power, so\nfar as possession may be said to exist in this respect. Thus\neducational institutions are said to be decaying, and everywhere\nindividuals are to be found who have secretly deserted them. If only\nit were possible to invite those to open rebellion and public\nutterances, who even now are thoroughly dissatisfied with the state of\naffairs in this quarter! If only it were possible to deprive them of\ntheir faint heart and lukewarmness! I am convinced that the whole\nspirit of modern culture would receive its deadliest blow if the tacit\nsupport which these natures give it could in any way be cancelled.\nAmong scholars, only those would remain loyal to the old order of\nthings who had been infected with the political mania or who were\nliterary hacks in any form whatever. The repulsive organisation which\nderives its strength from the violence and injustice upon which it\nrelies--that is to say, from the State and Society--and which sees its\nadvantage in making the latter ever more evil and unscrupulous,--this\nstructure which without such support would be something feeble and\neffete, only needs to be despised in order to perish. He who is\nstruggling to spread justice and love among mankind must regard this\norganisation as the least significant of the obstacles in his way; for\nhe will only encounter his real opponents once he has successfully\nstormed and conquered modern culture, which is nothing more than their\noutworks.\n\nFor us, Bayreuth is the consecration of the dawn of the combat. No\ngreater injustice could be done to us than to suppose that we are\nconcerned with art alone, as though it were merely a means of healing\nor stupefying us, which we make use of in order to rid our\nconsciousness of all the misery that still remains in our midst. In\nthe image of this tragic art work at Bayreuth, we see, rather, the\nstruggle of individuals against everything which seems to oppose them\nwith invincible necessity, with power, law, tradition, conduct, and\nthe whole order of things established. Individuals cannot choose a\nbetter life than that of holding themselves ready to sacrifice\nthemselves and to die in their fight for love and justice. The gaze\nwhich the mysterious eye of tragedy vouchsafes us neither lulls nor\nparalyses. Nevertheless, it demands silence of us as long as it keeps\nus in view; for art does not serve the purposes of war, but is merely\nwith us to improve our hours of respite, before and during the course\nof the contest,--to improve those few moments when, looking back, yet\ndreaming of the future, we seem to understand the symbolical, and are\ncarried away into a refreshing reverie when fatigue overtakes us. Day\nand battle dawn together, the sacred shadows vanish, and Art is once\nmore far away from us; but the comfort she dispenses is with men from\nthe earliest hour of day, and never leaves them. Wherever he turns,\nthe individual realises only too clearly his own shortcomings, his\ninsufficiency and his incompetence; what courage would he have left\nwere he not previously rendered impersonal by this consecration! The\ngreatest of all torments harassing him, the conflicting beliefs and\nopinions among men, the unreliability of these beliefs and opinions,\nand the unequal character of men's abilities--all these things make\nhim hanker after art. We cannot be happy so long as everything about\nus suffers and causes suffering; we cannot be moral so long as the\ncourse of human events is determined by violence, treachery, and\ninjustice; we cannot even be wise, so long as the whole of mankind\ndoes not compete for wisdom, and does not lead the individual to the\nmost sober and reasonable form of life and knowledge. How, then, would\nit be possible to endure this feeling of threefold insufficiency if\none were not able to recognise something sublime and valuable in one's\nstruggles, strivings, and defeats, if one did not learn from tragedy\nhow to delight in the rhythm of the great passions, and in their\nvictim? Art is certainly no teacher or educator of practical conduct:\nthe artist is never in this sense an instructor or adviser; the things\nafter which a tragic hero strives are not necessarily worth striving\nafter. As in a dream so in art, the valuation of things only holds\ngood while we are under its spell. What we, for the time being, regard\nas so worthy of effort, and what makes us sympathise with the tragic\nhero when he prefers death to renouncing the object of his desire,\nthis can seldom retain the same value and energy when transferred to\neveryday life: that is why art is the business of the man who is\nrecreating himself. The strife it reveals to us is a simplification of\nlife's struggle; its problems are abbreviations of the infinitely\ncomplicated phenomena of man's actions and volitions. But from this\nvery fact--that it is the reflection, so to speak, of a simpler world,\na more rapid solution of the riddle of life--art derives its greatness\nand indispensability. No one who suffers from life can do without this\nreflection, just as no one can exist without sleep. The more difficult\nthe science of natural laws becomes, the more fervently we yearn for\nthe image of this simplification, if only for an instant; and the\ngreater becomes the tension between each man's general knowledge of\nthings and his moral and spiritual faculties. Art is with us _to\nprevent the bow from snapping_.\n\nThe individual must be consecrated to something impersonal--that is\nthe aim of tragedy: he must forget the terrible anxiety which death\nand time tend to create in him; for at any moment of his life, at any\nfraction of time in the whole of his span of years, something sacred\nmay cross his path which will amply compensate him for all his\nstruggles and privations. This means having _a sense for the tragic_.\nAnd if all mankind must perish some day--and who could question this!\n--it has been given its highest aim for the future, namely, to\nincrease and to live in such unity that it may confront its final\nextermination as a whole, with one spirit--with a common sense of the\ntragic: in this one aim all the ennobling influences of man lie\nlocked; its complete repudiation by humanity would be the saddest blow\nwhich the soul of the philanthropist could receive. That is how I feel\nin the matter! There is but one hope and guarantee for the future of\nman, and that is _that his sense for the tragic may not die out_. If he\never completely lost it, an agonised cry, the like of which has never\nbeen heard, would have to be raised all over the world; for there is\nno more blessed joy than that which consists in knowing what we\nknow--how tragic thought was born again on earth. For this joy is\nthoroughly impersonal and general: it is the wild rejoicing of\nhumanity, anent the hidden relationship and progress of all that is\nhuman.\n\n\n\nV.\n\n\nWagner concentrated upon life, past and present, the light of an\nintelligence strong enough to embrace the most distant regions in its\nrays. That is why he is a simplifier of the universe; for the\nsimplification of the universe is only possible to him whose eye has\nbeen able to master the immensity and wildness of an apparent chaos,\nand to relate and unite those things which before had lain hopelessly\nasunder. Wagner did this by discovering a connection between two\nobjects which seemed to exist apart from each other as though in\nseparate spheres--that between music and life, and similarly between\nmusic and the drama. Not that he invented or was the first to create\nthis relationship, for they must always have existed and have been\nnoticeable to all; but, as is usually the case with a great problem,\nit is like a precious stone which thousands stumble over before one\nfinally picks it up. Wagner asked himself the meaning of the fact that\nan art such as music should have become so very important a feature of\nthe lives of modern men. It is not necessary to think meanly of life\nin order to suspect a riddle behind this question. On the contrary,\nwhen all the great forces of existence are duly considered, and\nstruggling life is regarded as striving mightily after conscious\nfreedom and independence of thought, only then does music seem to be a\nriddle in this world. Should one not answer: Music could not have been\nborn in our time? What then does its presence amongst us signify? An\naccident? A single great artist might certainly be an accident, but\nthe appearance of a whole group of them, such as the history of modern\nmusic has to show, a group only once before equalled on earth, that is\nto say in the time of the Greeks,--a circumstance of this sort leads\none to think that perhaps necessity rather than accident is at the\nroot of the whole phenomenon. The meaning of this necessity is the\nriddle which Wagner answers.\n\nHe was the first to recognise an evil which is as widespread as\ncivilisation itself among men; language is everywhere diseased, and\nthe burden of this terrible disease weighs heavily upon the whole of\nman's development. Inasmuch as language has retreated ever more and\nmore from its true province--the expression of strong feelings, which\nit was once able to convey in all their simplicity--and has always had\nto strain after the practically impossible achievement of\ncommunicating the reverse of feeling, that is to say thought, its\nstrength has become so exhausted by this excessive extension of its\nduties during the comparatively short period of modern civilisation,\nthat it is no longer able to perform even that function which alone\njustifies its existence, to wit, the assisting of those who suffer, in\ncommunicating with each other concerning the sorrows of existence. Man\ncan no longer make his misery known unto others by means of language;\nhence he cannot really express himself any longer. And under these\nconditions, which are only vaguely felt at present, language has\ngradually become a force in itself which with spectral arms coerces\nand drives humanity where it least wants to go. As soon as they would\nfain understand one another and unite for a common cause, the\ncraziness of general concepts, and even of the ring of modern words,\nlays hold of them. The result of this inability to communicate with\none another is that every product of their co-operative action bears\nthe stamp of discord, not only because it fails to meet their real\nneeds, but because of the very emptiness of those all-powerful words\nand notions already mentioned. To the misery already at hand, man thus\nadds the curse of convention--that is to say, the agreement between\nwords and actions without an agreement between the feelings. Just as,\nduring the decline of every art, a point is reached when the morbid\naccumulation of its means and forms attains to such tyrannical\nproportions that it oppresses the tender souls of artists and converts\nthese into slaves, so now, in the period of the decline of language,\nmen have become the slaves of words. Under this yoke no one is able to\nshow himself as he is, or to express himself artlessly, while only few\nare able to preserve their individuality in their fight against a\nculture which thinks to manifest its success, not by the fact that it\napproaches definite sensations and desires with the view of educating\nthem, but by the fact that it involves the individual in the snare of\n\"definite notions,\" and teaches him to think correctly: as if there\nwere any value in making a correctly thinking and reasoning being out\nof man, before one has succeeded in making him a creature that feels\ncorrectly. If now the strains of our German masters' music burst upon\na mass of mankind sick to this extent, what is really the meaning of\nthese strains? Only _correct feeling_, the enemy of all convention, of\nall artificial estrangement and misunderstandings between man and man:\nthis music signifies a return to nature, and at the same time a\npurification and remodelling of it; for the need of such a return took\nshape in the souls of the most loving of men, and, _through their art,\nnature transformed into love makes its voice heard_.\n\nLet us regard this as _one_ of Wagner's answers to the question, What\ndoes music mean in our time? for he has a second. The relation between\nmusic and life is not merely that existing between one kind of\nlanguage and another; it is, besides, the relation between the perfect\nworld of sound and that of sight. Regarded merely as a spectacle, and\ncompared with other and earlier manifestations of human life, the\nexistence of modern man is characterised by indescribable indigence\nand exhaustion, despite the unspeakable garishness at which only the\nsuperficial observer rejoices. If one examines a little more closely\nthe impression which this vehement and kaleidoscopic play of colours\nmakes upon one, does not the whole seem to blaze with the shimmer and\nsparkle of innumerable little stones borrowed from former\ncivilisations? Is not everything one sees merely a complex of\ninharmonious bombast, aped gesticulations, arrogant superficiality?--a\nragged suit of motley for the naked and the shivering? A seeming dance\nof joy enjoined upon a sufferer? Airs of overbearing pride assumed by\none who is sick to the backbone? And the whole moving with such\nrapidity and confusion that it is disguised and masked--sordid\nimpotence, devouring dissension, assiduous ennui, dishonest distress!\nThe appearance of present-day humanity is all appearance, and nothing\nelse: in what he now represents man himself has become obscured and\nconcealed; and the vestiges of the creative faculty in art, which\nstill cling to such countries as France and Italy, are all\nconcentrated upon this one task of concealing. Wherever form is still\nin demand in society, conversation, literary style, or the relations\nbetween governments, men have unconsciously grown to believe that it\nis adequately met by a kind of agreeable dissimulation, quite the\nreverse of genuine form conceived as a necessary relation between the\nproportions of a figure, having no concern whatever with the notions\n\"agreeable\" or \"disagreeable,\" simply because it is necessary and not\noptional. But even where form is not openly exacted by civilised\npeople, there is no greater evidence of this requisite relation of\nproportions; a striving after the agreeable dissimulation, already\nreferred to, is on the contrary noticeable, though it is never so\nsuccessful even if it be more eager than in the first instance. How\nfar this dissimulation is _agreeable_ at times, and why it must please\neverybody to see how modern men at least endeavour to dissemble, every\none is in a position to judge, according to, the extent to which he\nhimself may happen to be modern. \"Only galley slaves know each other,\"\nsays Tasso, \"and if we _mistake_ others, it is only out of courtesy, and\nwith the hope that they, in their turn, should mistake us.\"\n\nNow, in this world of forms and intentional misunderstandings, what\npurpose is served by the appearance of souls overflowing with music?\nThey pursue the course of grand and unrestrained rhythm with noble\ncandour--with a passion more than personal; they glow with the mighty\nand peaceful fire of music, which wells up to the light of day from\ntheir unexhausted depths--and all this to what purpose?\n\nBy means of these souls music gives expression to the longing that it\nfeels for the company of its natural ally, _gymnastics_--that is to say,\nits necessary form in the order of visible phenomena. In its search\nand craving for this ally, it becomes the arbiter of the whole visible\nworld and the world of mere lying appearance of the present day. This\nis Wagner's second answer to the question, What is the meaning of\nmusic in our times? \"Help me,\" he cries to all who have ears to hear,\n\"help me to discover that culture of which my music, as the\nrediscovered language of correct feeling, seems to foretell the\nexistence. Bear in mind that the soul of music now wishes to acquire a\nbody, that, by means of you all, it would find its way to visibleness\nin movements, deeds, institutions, and customs!\" There are some men\nwho understand this summons, and their number will increase; they have\nalso understood, for the first time, what it means to found the State\nupon music. It is something that the ancient Hellenes not only\nunderstood but actually insisted upon; and these enlightened creatures\nwould just as soon have sentenced the modern State to death as modern\nmen now condemn the Church. The road to such a new though not\nunprecedented goal would lead to this: that we should be compelled to\nacknowledge where the worst faults of our educational system lie, and\nwhy it has failed hitherto to elevate us out of barbarity: in reality,\nit lacks the stirring and creative soul of music; its requirements and\narrangements are moreover the product of a period in which the music,\nto which We seem to attach so much importance, had not yet been born.\nOur education is the most antiquated factor of our present conditions,\nand it is so more precisely in regard to the one new educational force\nby which it makes men of to-day in advance of those of bygone\ncenturies, or by which it would make them in advance of their remote\nancestors, provided only they did not persist so rashly in hurrying\nforward in meek response to the scourge of the moment. Through not\nhaving allowed the soul of music to lodge within them, they have no\nnotion of gymnastics in the Greek and Wagnerian sense; and that is why\ntheir creative artists are condemned to despair, as long as they wish\nto dispense with music as a guide in a new world of visible phenomena.\nTalent may develop as much as may be desired: it either comes too late\nor too soon, and at all events out of season; for it is in the main\nsuperfluous and abortive, just as even the most perfect and the\nhighest products of earlier times which serve modern artists as models\nare superfluous and abortive, and add not a stone to the edifice\nalready begun. If their innermost consciousness can perceive no new\nforms, but only the old ones belonging to the past, they may certainly\nachieve something for history, but not for life; for they are already\ndead before having expired. He, however, who feels genuine and\nfruitful life in him, which at present can only be described by the\none term \"Music,\" could he allow himself to be deceived for one moment\ninto nursing solid hopes by this something which exhausts all its\nenergy in producing figures, forms, and styles? He stands above all\nsuch vanities, and as little expects to meet with artistic wonders\noutside his ideal world of sound as with great writers bred on our\neffete and discoloured language. Rather than lend an ear to illusive\nconsolations, he prefers to turn his unsatisfied gaze stoically upon\nour modern world, and if his heart be not warm enough to feel pity,\nlet it at least feel bitterness and hate! It were better for him to\nshow anger and scorn than to take cover in spurious contentment or\nsteadily to drug himself, as our \"friends of art\" are wont to do. But\nif he can do more than condemn and despise, if he is capable of\nloving, sympathising, and assisting in the general work of\nconstruction, he must still condemn, notwithstanding, in order to\nprepare the road for his willing soul. In order that music may one day\nexhort many men to greater piety and make them privy to her highest\naims, an end must first be made to the whole of the pleasure-seeking\nrelations which men now enjoy with such a sacred art. Behind all our\nartistic pastimes--theatres, museums, concerts, and the like--that\naforementioned \"friend of art\" is to be found, and he it is who must\nbe suppressed: the favour he now finds at the hands of the State must\nbe changed into oppression; public opinion, which lays such particular\nstress upon the training of this love of art, must be routed by better\njudgment. Meanwhile we must reckon the _declared enemy of art_ as our\nbest and most useful ally; for the object of his animosity is\nprecisely art as understood by the \"friend of art,\"--he knows of no\nother kind! Let him be allowed to call our \"friend of art\" to account\nfor the nonsensical waste of money occasioned by the building of his\ntheatres and public monuments, the engagement of his celebrated\nsingers and actors, and the support of his utterly useless schools of\nart and picture-galleries--to say nothing of all the energy, time, and\nmoney which every family squanders in pretended \"artistic interests.\"\nNeither hunger nor satiety is to be noticed here, but a dead-and-alive\ngame is played--with the semblance of each, a game invented by the\nidle desire to produce an effect and to deceive others. Or, worse\nstill, art is taken more or less seriously, and then it is itself\nexpected to provoke a kind of hunger and craving, and to fulfil its\nmission in this artificially induced excitement. It is as if people\nwere afraid of sinking beneath the weight of their loathing and\ndulness, and invoked every conceivable evil spirit to scare them and\ndrive them about like wild cattle. Men hanker after pain, anger, hate,\nthe flush of passion, sudden flight, and breathless suspense, and they\nappeal to the artist as the conjurer of this demoniacal host. In the\nspiritual economy of our cultured classes art has become a spurious or\nignominious and undignified need--a nonentity or a something evil. The\nsuperior and more uncommon artist must be in the throes of a\nbewildering nightmare in order to be blind to all this, and like a\nghost, diffidently and in a quavering voice, he goes on repeating\nbeautiful words which he declares descend to him from higher spheres,\nbut whose sound he can hear only very indistinctly. The artist who\nhappens to be moulded according to the modern pattern, however,\nregards the dreamy gropings and hesitating speech of his nobler\ncolleague with contempt, and leads forth the whole brawling mob of\nassembled passions on a leash in order to let them loose upon modern\nmen as he may think fit. For these modern creatures wish rather to be\nhunted down, wounded, and torn to shreds, than to live alone with\nthemselves in solitary calm. Alone with oneself!--this thought\nterrifies the modern soul; it is his one anxiety, his one ghastly\nfear.\n\nWhen I watch the throngs that move and linger about the streets of a\nvery populous town, and notice no other expression in their faces than\none of hunted stupor, I can never help commenting to myself upon the\nmisery of their condition. For them all, art exists only that they may\nbe still more wretched, torpid, insensible, or even more flurried and\ncovetous. For _incorrect feeling_ governs and drills them unremittingly,\nand does not even give them time to become aware of their misery.\nShould they wish to speak, convention whispers their cue to them, and\nthis makes them forget what they originally intended to say; should\nthey desire to understand one another, their comprehension is maimed\nas though by a spell: they declare that to be their joy which in\nreality is but their doom, and they proceed to collaborate in wilfully\nbringing about their own damnation. Thus they have become transformed\ninto perfectly and absolutely different creatures, and reduced to the\nstate of abject slaves of incorrect feeling.\n\n\n\nVI.\n\n\nI shall only give two instances showing how utterly the sentiment of\nour time has been perverted, and how completely unconscious the\npresent age is of this perversion. Formerly financiers were looked\ndown upon with honest scorn, even though they were recognised as\nneedful; for it was generally admitted that every society must have\nits viscera. Now, however, they are the ruling power in the soul of\nmodern humanity, for they constitute the most covetous portion\nthereof. In former times people were warned especially against taking\nthe day or the moment too seriously: the _nil admirari_ was recommended\nand the care of things eternal. Now there is but one kind of\nseriousness left in the modern mind, and it is limited to the news\nbrought by the newspaper and the telegraph. Improve each shining hour,\nturn it to some account and judge it as quickly as possible!--one\nwould think modern men had but one virtue left--presence of mind.\nUnfortunately, it much more closely resembles the omnipresence of\ndisgusting and insatiable cupidity, and spying inquisitiveness become\nuniversal. For the question is whether mind is _present at all\nto-day_;--but we shall leave this problem for future judges to solve;\nthey, at least, are bound to pass modern men through a sieve. But that\nthis age is vulgar, even we can see now, and it is so because it\nreveres precisely what nobler ages contemned. If, therefore, it loots\nall the treasures of bygone wit and wisdom, and struts about in this\nrichest of rich garments, it only proves its sinister consciousness of\nits own vulgarity in so doing; for it does not don this garb for\nwarmth, but merely in order to mystify its surroundings. The desire to\ndissemble and to conceal himself seems stronger than the need of\nprotection from the cold in modern man. Thus scholars and philosophers\nof the age do not have recourse to Indian and Greek wisdom in order to\nbecome wise and peaceful: the only purpose of their work seems to be\nto earn them a fictitious reputation for learning in their own time.\nThe naturalists endeavour to classify the animal outbreaks of\nviolence, ruse and revenge, in the present relations between nations\nand individual men, as immutable laws of nature. Historians are\nanxiously engaged in proving that every age has its own particular\nright and special conditions,--with the view of preparing the\ngroundwork of an apology for the day that is to come, when our\ngeneration will be called to judgment. The science of government, of\nrace, of commerce, and of jurisprudence, all have that _preparatorily\napologetic_ character now; yea, it even seems as though the small\namount of intellect which still remains active to-day, and is not used\nup by the great mechanism of gain and power, has as its sole task the\ndefending--and excusing of the present\n\nAgainst what accusers? one asks, surprised.\n\nAgainst its own bad conscience.\n\nAnd at this point we plainly discern the task assigned to modern\nart--that of stupefying or intoxicating, of lulling to sleep or\nbewildering. By hook or by crook to make conscience unconscious! To\nassist the modern soul over the sensation of guilt, not to lead it\nback to innocence! And this for the space of moments only! To defend\nmen against themselves, that their inmost heart may be silenced, that\nthey may turn a deaf ear to its voice! The souls of those few who\nreally feel the utter ignominy of this mission and its terrible\nhumiliation of art, must be filled to the brim with sorrow and pity,\nbut also with a new and overpowering yearning. He who would fain\nemancipate art, and reinstall its sanctity, now desecrated, must first\nhave freed himself from all contact with modern souls; only as an\ninnocent being himself can he hope to discover the innocence of art,\nfor he must be ready to perform the stupendous tasks of\nself-purification and self-consecration. If he succeeded, if he were\never able to address men from out his enfranchised soul and by means\nof his emancipated art, he would then find himself exposed to the\ngreatest of dangers and involved in the most appalling of struggles.\nMan would prefer to tear him and his art to pieces, rather than\nacknowledge that he must die of shame in presence of them. It is just\npossible that the emancipation of art is the only ray of hope\nilluminating the future, an event intended only for a few isolated\nsouls, while the many remain satisfied to gaze into the flickering and\nsmoking flame of their art and can endure to do so. For they do not\n_want_ to be enlightened, but dazzled. They rather _hate_ light--more\nparticularly when it is thrown on themselves.\n\nThat is why they evade the new messenger of light; but he follows\nthem--the love which gave him birth compels him to follow them and to\nreduce them to submission. \"Ye must go through my mysteries,\" he cries\nto them; \"ye need to be purified and shaken by them. Dare to submit to\nthis for your own salvation, and abandon the gloomily lighted corner\nof life and nature which alone seems familiar to you. I lead you into\na kingdom which is also real, and when I lead you out of my cell into\nyour daylight, ye will be able to judge which life is more real,\nwhich, in fact, is day and which night. Nature is much richer, more\npowerful, more blessed and more terrible below the surface; ye cannot\ndivine this from the way in which ye live. O that ye yourselves could\nlearn to become natural again, and then suffer yourselves to be\ntransformed through nature, and into her, by the charm of my ardour\nand love!\"\n\nIt is the voice _of Wagner's art_ which thus appeals to men. And that\nwe, the children of a wretched age, should be the first to hear it,\nshows how deserving of pity this age must be: it shows, moreover, that\nreal music is of a piece with fate and primitive law; for it is quite\nimpossible to attribute its presence amongst us precisely at the\npresent time to empty and meaningless chance. Had Wagner been an\naccident, he would certainly have been crushed by the superior\nstrength of the other elements in the midst of which he was placed,\nout in the coming of Wagner there seems to have been a necessity which\nboth justifies it and makes it glorious. Observed from its earliest\nbeginnings, the development of his art constitutes a most magnificent\nspectacle, and--even though it was attended with great\nsuffering--reason, law, and intention mark its course throughout.\nUnder the charm of such a spectacle the observer will be led to take\npleasure even in this painful development itself, and will regard it\nas fortunate. He will see how everything necessarily contributes to\nthe welfare and benefit of talent and a nature foreordained, however\nsevere the trials may be through which it may have to pass. He will\nrealise how every danger gives it more heart, and every triumph more\nprudence; how it partakes of poison and sorrow and thrives upon them.\nThe mockery and perversity of the surrounding world only goad and spur\nit on the more. Should it happen to go astray, it but returns from its\nwanderings and exile loaded with the most precious spoil; should it\nchance to slumber, \"it does but recoup its strength.\" It tempers the\nbody itself and makes it tougher; it does not consume life, however\nlong it lives; it rules over man like a pinioned passion, and allows\nhim to fly just in the nick of time, when his foot has grown weary in\nthe sand or has been lacerated by the stones on his way. It can do\nnought else but impart; every one must share in its work, and it is no\nstinted giver. When it is repulsed it is but more prodigal in its\ngifts; ill used by those it favours, it does but reward them with the\nrichest treasures it possesses,--and, according to the oldest and most\nrecent experience, its favoured ones have never been quite worthy of\nits gifts. That is why the nature foreordained, through which music\nexpresses itself to this world of appearance, is one of the most\nmysterious things under the sun--an abyss in which strength and\ngoodness lie united, a bridge between self and non-self. Who would\nundertake to name the object of its existence with any\ncertainty?--even supposing the sort of purpose which it would be\nlikely to have could be divined at all. But a most blessed foreboding\nleads one to ask whether it is possible for the grandest things to\nexist for the purpose of the meanest, the greatest talent for the\nbenefit of the smallest, the loftiest virtue and holiness for the sake\nof the defective and faulty? Should real music make itself heard,\nbecause mankind of all creatures _least deserves to hear it, though it\nperhaps need it most_? If one ponder over the transcendental and\nwonderful character of this possibility, and turn from these\nconsiderations to look back on life, a light will then be seen to\nascend, however dark and misty it may have seemed a moment before.\n\n\n\nVII.\n\n\nIt is quite impossible otherwise: the observer who is confronted with\na nature such as Wagner's must, willy-nilly, turn his eyes from time\nto time upon himself, upon his insignificance and frailty, and ask\nhimself, What concern is this of thine? Why, pray, art thou there at\nall? Maybe he will find no answer to these questions, in which case he\nwill remain estranged and confounded, face to face with his own\npersonality. Let it then suffice him that he has experienced this\nfeeling; let the fact _that he has felt strange and embarrassed in the\npresence of his own soul_ be the answer to his question For it is\nprecisely by virtue of this feeling that he shows the most powerful\nmanifestation of life in Wagner--the very kernel of his strength--that\ndemoniacal _magnetism_ and gift of imparting oneself to others, which is\npeculiar to his nature, and by which it not only conveys itself to\nother beings, but also absorbs other beings into itself; thus\nattaining to its greatness by giving and by taking. As the observer is\napparently subject to Wagner's exuberant and prodigally generous\nnature, he partakes of its strength, and thereby becomes formidable\n_through him and to him_. And every one who critically examines himself\nknows that a certain mysterious antagonism is necessary to the process\nof mutual study. Should his art lead us to experience all that falls\nto the lot of a soul engaged upon a journey, _i.e._ feeling sympathy\nwith others and sharing their fate, and seeing the world through\nhundreds of different eyes, we are then able, from such a distance,\nand under such strange influences, to contemplate him, once we have\nlived his life. We then feel with the utmost certainty that in Wagner\nthe whole visible world desires to be spiritualised, absorbed, and\nlost in the world of sounds. In Wagner, too, the world of sounds seeks\nto manifest itself as a phenomenon for the sight; it seeks, as it\nwere, to incarnate itself. His art always leads him into two distinct\ndirections, from the world of the play of sound to the mysterious and\nyet related world of visible things, and _vice vers\u00e2_. He is continually\nforced--and the observer with him--to re-translate the visible into\nspiritual and primeval life, and likewise to perceive the most hidden\ninterstices of the soul as something concrete and to lend it a visible\nbody. This constitutes the nature of the _dithyrambic dramatist_, if the\nmeaning given to the term includes also the actor, the poet, and the\nmusician; a conception necessarily borrowed from \u00c6schylus and the\ncontemporary Greek artists--the only perfect examples of the\ndithyrambic dramatist before Wagner. If attempts have been made to\ntrace the most wonderful developments to inner obstacles or\ndeficiencies, if, for instance, in Goethe's case, poetry was merely\nthe refuge of a foiled talent for painting; if one may speak of\nSchiller's dramas as of vulgar eloquence directed into uncommon\nchannels; if Wagner himself tries to account for the development of\nmusic among the Germans by showing that, inasmuch as they are devoid\nof the entrancing stimulus of a natural gift for singing, they were\ncompelled to take up instrumental music with the same profound\nseriousness as that with which their reformers took up\nChristianity,--if, on the same principle, it were sought to associate\nWagner's development with an inner barrier of the same kind, it would\nthen be necessary to recognise in him a primitive dramatic talent,\nwhich had to renounce all possibility of satisfying its needs by the\nquickest and most methods, and which found its salvation and its means\nof expression in drawing all arts to it for one great dramatic\ndisplay. But then one would also have to assume that the most powerful\nmusician, owing to his despair at having to appeal to people who were\neither only semi-musical or not musical at all, violently opened a\nroad for himself to the other arts, in order to acquire that capacity\nfor diversely communicating himself to others, by which he compelled\nthem to understand him, by which he compelled the masses to understand\nhim. However the development of the born dramatist may be pictured, in\nhis ultimate expression he is a being free from all inner barriers and\nvoids: the real, emancipated artist cannot help himself, he must think\nin the spirit of all the arts at once, as the mediator and intercessor\nbetween apparently separated spheres, the one who reinstalls the unity\nand wholeness of the artistic faculty, which cannot be divined or\nreasoned out, but can only be revealed by deeds themselves. But he in\nwhose presence this deed is performed will be overcome by its gruesome\nand seductive charm: in a flash he will be confronted with a power\nwhich cancels both resistance and reason, and makes every detail of\nlife appear irrational and incomprehensible. Carried away from\nhimself, he seems to be suspended in a mysterious fiery element; he\nceases to understand himself, the standard of everything has fallen\nfrom his hands; everything stereotyped and fixed begins to totter;\nevery object seems to acquire a strange colour and to tell us its tale\nby means of new symbols;--one would need to be a Plato in order to\ndiscover, amid this confusion of delight and fear, how he accomplishes\nthe feat, and to say to the dramatist: \"Should a man come into our\nmidst who possessed sufficient knowledge to simulate or imitate\nanything, we would honour him as something wonderful and holy; we\nwould even anoint him and adorn his brow with a sacred diadem; but we\nwould urge him to leave our circle for another, notwithstanding.\" It\nmay be that a member of the Platonic community would have been able to\nchasten himself to such conduct: we, however, who live in a very\ndifferent community, long for, and earnestly desire, the charmer to\ncome to us, although we may fear him already,--and we only desire his\npresence in order that our society and the mischievous reason and\nmight of which it is the incarnation may be confuted. A state of human\ncivilisation, of human society, morality, order, and general\norganisation which would be able to dispense with the services of an\nimitative artist or mimic, is not perhaps so utterly inconceivable;\nbut this Perhaps is probably the most daring that has ever been\nposited, and is equivalent to the gravest expression of doubt. The\nonly man who ought to be at liberty to speak of such a possibility is\nhe who could beget, and have the presentiment of, the highest phase of\nall that is to come, and who then, like Faust, would either be obliged\nto turn blind, or be permitted to become so. For we have no right to\nthis blindness; whereas Plato, after he had cast that one glance into\nthe ideal Hellenic, had the right to be blind to all Hellenism. For\nthis reason, we others are in much greater need of art; because it was\n_in the presence of the realistic that our eyes began to see_, and we\nrequire the complete dramatist in order that he may relieve us, if\nonly for an hour or so, of the insufferable tension arising from our\nknowledge of the chasm which lies between our capabilities and the\nduties we have to perform. With him we ascend to the highest pinnacle\nof feeling, and only then do we fancy we have returned to nature's\nunbounded freedom, to the actual realm of liberty. From this point of\nvantage we can see ourselves and our fellows emerge as something\nsublime from an immense mirage, and we see the deep meaning in our\nstruggles, in our victories and defeats; we begin to find pleasure in\nthe rhythm of passion and in its victim in the hero's every footfall\nwe distinguish the hollow echo of death, and in its proximity we\nrealise the greatest charm of life: thus transformed into tragic men,\nwe return again to life with comfort in our souls. We are conscious of\na new feeling of security, as if we had found a road leading out of\nthe greatest dangers, excesses, and ecstasies, back to the limited and\nthe familiar: there where our relations with our fellows seem to\npartake of a superior benevolence, and are at all events more noble\nthan they were. For here, everything seemingly serious and needful,\nwhich appears to lead to a definite goal, resembles only detached\nfragments when compared with the path we ourselves have trodden, even\nin our dreams,--detached fragments of that complete and grand\nexperience whereof we cannot even think without a thrill. Yes, we\nshall even fall into danger and be tempted to take life too easily,\nsimply because in art we were in such deadly earnest concerning it, as\nWagner says somewhere anent certain incidents in his own life. For if\nwe who are but the spectators and not the creators of this display of\ndithyrambic dramatic art, can almost imagine a dream to be more real\nthan the actual experiences of our wakeful hours, how much more keenly\nmust the creator realise this contrast! There he stands amid all the\nclamorous appeals and importunities of the day, and of the necessities\nof life; in the midst of Society and State--and as what does he stand\nthere? Maybe he is the only wakeful one, the only being really and\ntruly conscious, among a host of confused and tormented sleepers,\namong a multitude of deluded and suffering people. He may even feel\nlike a victim of chronic insomnia, and fancy himself obliged to bring\nhis clear, sleepless, and conscious life into touch with somnambulists\nand ghostly well-intentioned creatures. Thus everything that others\nregard as commonplace strikes him as weird, and he is tempted to meet\nthe whole phenomenon with haughty mockery. But how peculiarly this\nfeeling is crossed, when another force happens to join his quivering\npride, the craving of the heights for the depths, the affectionate\nyearning for earth, for happiness and for fellowship--then, when he\nthinks of all he misses as a hermit-creator, he feels as though he\nought to descend to the earth like a god, and bear all that is weak,\nhuman, and lost, \"in fiery arms up to heaven,\" so as to obtain love\nand no longer worship only, and to be able to lose himself completely\nin his love. But it is just this contradiction which is the miraculous\nfact in the soul of the dithyrambic dramatist, and if his nature can\nbe understood at all, surely it must be here. For his creative moments\nin art occur when the antagonism between his feelings is at its height\nand when his proud astonishment and wonder at the world combine with\nthe ardent desire to approach that same world as a lover. The glances\nhe then bends towards the earth are always rays of sunlight which\n\"draw up water,\" form mist, and gather storm-clouds. _Clear-sighted and\nprudent, loving and unselfish at the same time_, his glance is\nprojected downwards; and all things that are illumined by this double\nray of light, nature conjures to discharge their strength, to reveal\ntheir most hidden secret, and this through bashfulness. It is more\nthan a mere figure of speech to say that he surprised Nature with that\nglance, that he caught her naked; that is why she would conceal her\nshame by seeming precisely the reverse. What has hitherto been\ninvisible, the inner life, seeks its salvation in the region of the\nvisible; what has hitherto been only visible, repairs to the dark\nocean of sound: _thus Nature, in trying to conceal herself, unveils the\ncharacter of her contradictions_. In a dance, wild, rhythmic and\ngliding, and with ecstatic movements, the born dramatist makes known\nsomething of what is going on within him, of what is taking place in\nnature: the dithyrambic quality of his movements speaks just as\neloquently of quivering comprehension and of powerful penetration as\nof the approach of love and self-renunciation. Intoxicated speech\nfollows the course of this rhythm; melody resounds coupled with\nspeech, and in its turn melody projects its sparks into the realm of\nimages and ideas. A dream-apparition, like and unlike the image of\nNature and her wooer, hovers forward; it condenses into more human\nshapes; it spreads out in response to its heroically triumphant will,\nand to a most delicious collapse and cessation of will:--thus tragedy\nis born; thus life is presented with its grandest knowledge--that of\ntragic thought; thus, at last, the greatest charmer and benefactor\namong mortals--the dithyrambic dramatist--is evolved.\n\n\n\nVIII.\n\n\nWagner's actual life--that is to say, the gradual evolution of the\ndithyrambic dramatist in him--was at the same time an uninterrupted\nstruggle with himself, a struggle which never ceased until his\nevolution was complete. His fight with the opposing world was grim and\nghastly, only because it was this same world--this alluring\nenemy--which he heard speaking out of his own heart, and because he\nnourished a violent demon in his breast--the demon of resistance. When\nthe ruling idea of his life gained ascendancy over his mind--the idea\nthat drama is, of all arts, the one that can exercise the greatest\namount of influence over the world--it aroused the most active\nemotions in his whole being. It gave him no very clear or luminous\ndecision, at first, as to what was to be done and desired in the\nfuture; for the idea then appeared merely as a form of\ntemptation--that is to say, as the expression of his gloomy, selfish,\nand insatiable will, eager for _power and glory_. Influence--the\ngreatest amount of influence--how? over whom?--these were henceforward\nthe questions and problems which did not cease to engage his head and\nhis heart. He wished to conquer and triumph as no other artist had\never done before, and, if possible, to reach that height of tyrannical\nomnipotence at one stroke for which all his instincts secretly craved.\nWith a jealous and cautious eye, he took stock of everything\nsuccessful, and examined with special care all that upon which this\ninfluence might be brought to bear. With the magic sight of the\ndramatist, which scans souls as easily as the most familiar book, he\nscrutinised the nature of the spectator and the listener, and although\nhe was often perturbed by the discoveries he made, he very quickly\nfound means wherewith he could enthral them. These means were ever\nwithin his reach: everything that moved him deeply he desired and\ncould also produce; at every stage in his career he understood just as\nmuch of his predecessors as he himself was able to create, and he\nnever doubted that he would be able to do what they had done. In this\nrespect his nature is perhaps more presumptuous even than Goethe's,\ndespite the fact that the latter said of himself: \"I always thought I\nhad mastered everything; and even had I been crowned king, I should\nhave regarded the honour as thoroughly deserved.\" Wagner's ability,\nhis taste and his aspirations--all of which have ever been as closely\nrelated as key to lock--grew and attained to freedom together; but\nthere was a time when it was not so. What did he care about the feeble\nbut noble and egotistically lonely feeling which that friend of art\nfosters, who, blessed with a literary and \u00e6sthetic education, takes\nhis stand far from the common mob! But those violent spiritual\ntempests which are created by the crowd when under the influence of\ncertain climactic passages of dramatic song, that sudden bewildering\necstasy of the emotions, thoroughly honest and selfless--they were but\nechoes of his own experiences and sensations, and filled him with\nglowing hope for the greatest possible power and effect. Thus he\nrecognised _grand opera_ as the means whereby he might express his\nruling thoughts; towards it his passions impelled him; his eyes turned\nin the direction of its home. The larger portion of his life, his most\ndaring wanderings, and his plans, studies, sojourns, and acquaintances\nare only to be explained by an appeal to these passions and the\nopposition of the outside world, which the poor, restless,\npassionately ingenuous German artist had to face. Another artist than\nhe knew better how to become master of this calling, and now that it\nhas gradually become known by means of what ingenious artifices of all\nkinds Meyerbeer succeeded in preparing and achieving every one of his\ngreat successes, and how scrupulously the sequence of \"effects\" was\ntaken into account in the opera itself, people will begin to\nunderstand how bitterly Wagner was mortified when his eyes were opened\nto the tricks of the _m\u00e9tier_ which were indispensable to a great public\nsuccess. I doubt whether there has ever been another great artist in\nhistory who began his career with such extraordinary illusions and who\nso unsuspectingly and sincerely fell in with the most revolting form\nof artistic trickery. And yet the way in which he proceeded partook of\ngreatness and was therefore extraordinarily fruitful. For when he\nperceived his error, despair made him understand the meaning of modern\nsuccess, of the modern public, and the whole prevaricating spirit of\nmodern art. And while becoming the critic of \"effect,\" indications of\nhis own purification began to quiver through him. It seems as if from\nthat time forward the spirit of music spoke to him with an\nunprecedented spiritual charm. As though he had just risen from a long\nillness and had for the first time gone into the open, he scarcely\ntrusted his hand and his eye, and seemed to grope along his way. Thus\nit was an almost delightful surprise to him to find that he was still\na musician and an artist, and perhaps then only for the first time.\n\nEvery subsequent stage in Wagner's development may be distinguished\nthus, that the two fundamental powers of his nature drew ever more\nclosely together: the aversion of the one to the other lessened, the\nhigher self no longer condescended to serve its more violent and baser\nbrother; it loved him and felt compelled to serve him. The tenderest\nand purest thing is ultimately--that is to say, at the highest stage\nof its evolution--always associated with the mightiest; the storming\ninstincts pursue their course as before, but along different roads, in\nthe direction of the higher self; and this in its turn descends to\nearth and finds its likeness in everything earthly. If it were\npossible, on this principle, to speak of the final aims and\nunravelments of that evolution, and to remain intelligible, it might\nalso be possible to discover the graphic terms with which to describe\nthe long interval preceding that last development; but I doubt whether\nthe first achievement is possible at all, and do not therefore attempt\nthe second. The limits of the interval separating the preceding and\nthe subsequent ages will be described historically in two sentences:\nWagner was the _revolutionist of society_; Wagner recognised the only\nartistic element that ever existed hitherto--_the poetry of the people_.\nThe ruling idea which in a new form and mightier than it had ever\nbeen, obsessed Wagner, after he had overcome his share of despair and\nrepentance, led him to both conclusions. Influence, the greatest\npossible amount of influence to be exercised by means of the stage!\n--but over whom? He shuddered when he thought of those whom he had,\nuntil then, sought to influence. His experience led him to realise the\nutterly ignoble position which art and the artist adorn; how a callous\nand hard-hearted community that calls itself the good, but which is\nreally the evil, reckons art and the artist among its slavish retinue,\nand keeps them both in order to minister to its need of deception.\nModern art is a luxury; he saw this, and understood that it must stand\nor fall with the luxurious society of which it forms but a part. This\nsociety had but one idea, to use its power as hard-heartedly and as\ncraftily as possible in order to render the impotent--the people--ever\nmore and more serviceable, base and unpopular, and to rear the modern\nworkman out of them. It also robbed them of the greatest and purest\nthings which their deepest needs led them to create, and through which\nthey meekly expressed the genuine and unique art within their soul:\ntheir myths, songs, dances, and their discoveries in the department of\nlanguage, in order to distil therefrom a voluptuous antidote against\nthe fatigue and boredom of its existence--modern art. How this\nsociety came into being, how it learned to draw new strength for\nitself from the seemingly antagonistic spheres of power, and how, for\ninstance, decaying Christianity allowed itself to be used, under the\ncover of half measures and subterfuges, as a shield against the masses\nand as a support of this society and its possessions, and finally how\nscience and men of learning pliantly consented to become its\ndrudges--all this Wagner traced through the ages, only to be convulsed\nwith loathing at the end of his researches. Through his compassion for\nthe people, he became a revolutionist. From that time forward he loved\nthem and longed for them, as he longed for his art; for, alas! in them\nalone, in this fast disappearing, scarcely recognisable body,\nartificially held aloof, he now saw the only spectators and listeners\nworthy and fit for the power of his masterpieces, as he pictured them.\nThus his thoughts concentrated themselves upon the question, How do\nthe people come into being? How are they resuscitated?\n\nHe always found but one answer: if a large number of people were\nafflicted with the sorrow that afflicted him, that number would\nconstitute the people, he said to himself. And where the same sorrow\nleads to the same impulses and desires, similar satisfaction would\nnecessarily be sought, and the same pleasure found in this\nsatisfaction. If he inquired into what it was that most consoled him\nand revived his spirits in his sorrow, what it was that succeeded best\nin counteracting his affliction, it was with joyful certainty that he\ndiscovered this force only in music and myth, the latter of which he\nhad already recognised as the people's creation and their language of\ndistress. It seemed to him that the origin of music must be similar,\nthough perhaps more mysterious. In both of these elements he steeped\nand healed his soul; they constituted his most urgent need:--in this\nway he was able to ascertain how like his sorrow was to that of the\npeople, when they came into being, and how they must arise anew if\n_many Wagners_ are going to appear. What part did myth and music play in\nmodern society, wherever they had not been actually sacrificed to it?\nThey shared very much the same fate, a fact which only tends to prove\ntheir close relationship: myth had been sadly debased and usurped by\nidle tales and stories; completely divested of its earnest and sacred\nvirility, it was transformed into the plaything and pleasing bauble of\nchildren and women of the afflicted people. Music had kept itself\nalive among the poor, the simple, and the isolated; the German\nmusician had not succeeded in adapting himself to the luxurious\ntraffic of the arts; he himself had become a fairy tale full Of\nmonsters and mysteries, full of the most touching omens and\nauguries--a helpless questioner, something bewitched and in need of\nrescue. Here the artist distinctly heard the command that concerned\nhim alone--to recast myth and make it virile, to break the spell lying\nover music and to make music speak: he felt his strength for drama\nliberated at one stroke, and the foundation of his sway established\nover the hitherto undiscovered province lying between myth and music.\nHis new masterpiece, which included all the most powerful, effective,\nand entrancing forces that he knew, he now laid before men with this\ngreat and painfully cutting question: \"Where are ye all who suffer and\nthink as I do? Where is that number of souls that I wish to see become\na people, that ye may share the same joys and comforts with me? In\nyour joy ye will reveal your misery to me.\" These were his questions\nin Tannhauser and Lohengrin, in these operas he looked about him for\nhis equals--the anchorite yearned for the number.\n\nBut what were his feelings withal? Nobody answered him. Nobody had\nunderstood his question. Not that everybody remained silent: on the\ncontrary, answers were given to thousands of questions which he had\nnever put; people gossipped about the new masterpieces as though they\nhad only been composed for the express purpose of supplying subjects\nfor conversation. The whole mania of \u00e6sthetic scribbling and small\ntalk overtook the Germans like a pestilence, and with that lack of\nmodesty which characterises both German scholars and German\njournalists, people began measuring, and generally meddling with,\nthese masterpieces, as well as with the person of the artist. Wagner\ntried to help the comprehension of his question by writing about it;\nbut this only led to fresh confusion and more uproar,--for a musician\nwho writes and thinks was, at that time, a thing unknown. The cry\narose: \"He is a theorist who wishes to remould art with his\nfar-fetched notions--stone him!\" Wagner was stunned: his question was\nnot understood, his need not felt; his masterpieces seemed a message\naddressed only to the deaf and blind; his people--an hallucination.\nHe staggered and vacillated. The feasibility of a complete upheaval of\nall things then suggested itself to him, and he no longer shrank from\nthe thought: possibly, beyond this revolution and dissolution, there\nmight be a chance of a new hope; on the other hand, there might not.\nBut, in any case, would not complete annihilation be better than the\nwretched existing state of affairs? Not very long afterwards, he was a\npolitical exile in dire distress.\n\nAnd then only, with this terrible change in his environment and in his\nsoul, there begins that period of the great man's life over which as a\ngolden reflection there is stretched the splendour of highest mastery.\nNow at last the genius of dithyrambic drama doffs its last disguise.\nHe is isolated; the age seems empty to him; he ceases to hope; and his\nall-embracing glance descend once more into the deep, and finds the\nbottom, there he sees suffering in the nature of things, and\nhenceforward, having become more impersonal, he accepts his portion of\nsorrow more calmly. The desire for great power which was but the\ninheritance of earlier conditions is now directed wholly into the\nchannel of creative art; through his art he now speaks only to\nhimself, and no longer to a public or to a people, and strives to lend\nthis intimate conversation all the distinction and other qualities in\nkeeping with such a mighty dialogue. During the preceding period\nthings had been different with his art; then he had concerned himself,\ntoo, albeit with refinement and subtlety, with immediate effects: that\nartistic production was also meant as a question, and it ought to have\ncalled forth an immediate reply. And how often did Wagner not try to\nmake his meaning clearer to those he questioned! In view of their\ninexperience in having questions put to them, he tried to meet them\nhalf way and to conform with older artistic notions and means of\nexpression. When he feared that arguments couched in his own terms\nwould only meet with failure, he had tried to persuade and to put his\nquestion in a language half strange to himself though familiar to his\nlisteners. Now there was nothing to induce him to continue this\nindulgence: all he desired now was to come to terms with himself, to\nthink of the nature of the world in dramatic actions, and to\nphilosophise in music; _what desires_ he still possessed turned in the\ndirection of the _latest philosophical views_. He who is worthy of\nknowing what took place in him at that time or what questions were\nthrashed out in the darkest holy of holies in his soul--and not many\nare worthy of knowing all this--must hear, observe, and experience\nTristan and Isolde, the real _opus metaphysicum_ of all art, a work upon\nwhich rests the broken look of a dying man with his insatiable and\nsweet craving for the secrets of night and death, far away from life\nwhich throws a horribly spectral morning light, sharply, upon all that\nis evil, delusive, and sundering: moreover, a drama austere in the\nseverity of its form, overpowering in its simple grandeur, and in\nharmony with the secret of which it treats--lying dead in the midst of\nlife, being one in two. And yet there is something still more\nwonderful than this work, and that is the artist himself, the man who,\nshortly after he had accomplished it, was able to create a picture of\nlife so full of clashing colours as the Meistersingers of N\u00fcrnberg,\nand who in both of these compositions seems merely to have refreshed\nand equipped himself for the task of completing at his ease that\ngigantic edifice in four parts which he had long ago planned and\nbegun--the ultimate result of all his meditations and poetical flights\nfor over twenty years, his Bayreuth masterpiece, the Ring of the\nNibelung! He who marvels at the rapid succession of the two operas,\nTristan and the Meistersingers, has failed to understand one important\nside of the life and nature of all great Germans: he does not know the\npeculiar soil out of which that essentially German gaiety, which\ncharacterised Luther, Beethoven, and Wagner, can grow, the gaiety\nwhich other nations quite fail to understand and which even seems to\nbe missing in the Germans of to-day--that clear golden and thoroughly\nfermented mixture of simplicity, deeply discriminating love,\nobservation, and roguishness which Wagner has dispensed, as the most\nprecious of drinks, to all those who have suffered deeply through\nlife, but who nevertheless return to it with the smile of\nconvalescents. And, as he also turned upon the world the eyes of one\nreconciled, he was more filled with rage and disgust than with sorrow,\nand more prone to renounce the love of power than to shrink in awe\nfrom it. As he thus silently furthered his greatest work and gradually\nlaid score upon score, something happened which caused him to stop and\nlisten: _friends_ were coming, a kind of subterranean movement of many\nsouls approached with a message for him--it was still far from being\nthe people that constituted this movement and which wished to bear him\nnews, but it may have been the nucleus and first living source of a\nreally human community which would reach perfection in some age still\nremote. For the present they only brought him the warrant that his\ngreat work could be entrusted to the care and charge of faithful men,\nmen who would watch and be worthy to watch over this most magnificent\nof all legacies to posterity. In the love of friends his outlook began\nto glow with brighter colours; his noblest care--the care that his\nwork should be accomplished and should find a refuge before the\nevening of his life--was not his only preoccupation, something\noccurred which he could only understand as a symbol: it was as much as\na new comfort and a new token of happiness to him. A great German war\ncaused him to open his eyes, and he observed that those very Germans\nwhom he considered so thoroughly degenerate and so inferior to the\nhigh standard of real Teutonism, of which he had formed an ideal both\nfrom self-knowledge and the conscientious study of other great Germans\nin history; he observed that those very Germans were, in the midst of\nterrible circumstances, exhibiting two virtues of the highest\norder--simple bravery and prudence; and with his heart bounding with\ndelight he conceived the hope that he might not be the last German,\nand that some day a greater power would perhaps stand by his works\nthan that devoted yet meagre one consisting of his little band of\nfriends--a power able to guard it during that long period preceding\nits future glory, as the masterpiece of this future. Perhaps it was\nnot possible to steel this belief permanently against doubt, more\nparticularly when it sought to rise to hopes of immediate results:\nsuffice it that he derived a tremendous spur from his environment,\nwhich constantly reminded him of a lofty duty ever to be fulfilled.\n\nHis work would not have been complete had he handed it to the world\nonly in the form of silent manuscript. He must make known to the world\nwhat it could not guess in regard to his productions, what was his\nalone to reveal--the new style for the execution and presentation of\nhis works, so that he might set that example which nobody else could\nset, and thus establish a _tradition of style_, not on paper, not by\nmeans of signs, but through impressions made upon the very souls of\nmen. This duty had become all the more pressing with him, seeing that\nprecisely in regard to the style of their execution his other works\nhad meanwhile succumbed to the most insufferable and absurd of fates:\nthey were famous and admired, yet no one manifested the slightest sign\nof indignation when they were mishandled. For, strange to say, whereas\nhe renounced ever more and more the hope of success among his\ncontemporaries, owing to his all too thorough knowledge of them, and\ndisclaimed all desire for power, both \"success\" and \"power\" came to\nhim, or at least everybody told him so. It was in vain that he made\nrepeated attempts to expose, with the utmost clearness, how worthless\nand humiliating such successes were to him: people were so unused to\nseeing an artist able to differentiate at all between the effects of\nhis works that even his most solemn protests were never entirely\ntrusted. Once he had perceived the relationship existing between our\nsystem of theatres and their success, and the men of his time, his\nsoul ceased to be attracted by the stage at all. He had no further\nconcern with \u00e6sthetic ecstasies and the exultation of excited crowds,\nand he must even have felt angry to see his art being gulped down\nindiscriminately by the yawning abyss of boredom and the insatiable\nlove of distraction. How flat and pointless every effect proved under\nthese circumstances--more especially as it was much more a case of\nhaving to minister to one quite insatiable than of cloying the hunger\nof a starving man--Wagner began to perceive from the following\nrepeated experience: everybody, even the performers and promoters,\nregarded his art as nothing more nor less than any other kind of\nstage-music, and quite in keeping with the repulsive style of\ntraditional opera; thanks to the efforts of cultivated conductors, his\nworks were even cut and hacked about, until, after they had been\nbereft of all their spirit, they were held to be nearer the\nprofessional singer's plane. But when people tried to follow Wagner's\ninstructions to the letter, they proceeded so clumsily and timidly\nthat they were not incapable of representing the midnight riot in the\nsecond act of the Meistersingers by a group of ballet-dancers. They\nseemed to do all this, however, in perfectly good faith--without the\nsmallest evil intention. Wagner's devoted efforts to show, by means of\nhis own example, the correct and complete way of performing his works,\nand his attempts at training individual singers in the new style, were\nfoiled time after time, owing only to the thoughtlessness and iron\ntradition that ruled all around him. Moreover, he was always induced\nto concern himself with that class of theatricals which he most\nthoroughly loathed. Had not even Goethe, in his time, once grown tired\nof attending the rehearsals of his Iphigenia? \"I suffer unspeakably,\"\nhe explained, \"when I have to tumble about with these spectres, which\nnever seem to act as they should.\" Meanwhile Wagner's \"success\" in the\nkind of drama which he most disliked steadily increased; so much so,\nindeed, that the largest theatres began to subsist almost entirely\nupon the receipts which Wagner's art, in the guise of operas, brought\ninto them. This growing passion on the part of the theatre-going\npublic bewildered even some of Wagner's friends; but this man who had\nendured so much, had still to endure the bitterest pain of all--he had\nto see his friends intoxicated with his \"successes\" and \"triumphs\"\neverywhere where his highest ideal was openly belied and shattered. It\nseemed almost as though a people otherwise earnest and reflecting had\ndecided to maintain an attitude of systematic levity only towards its\nmost serious artist, and to make him the privileged recipient of all\nthe vulgarity, thoughtlessness, clumsiness, and malice of which the\nGerman nature is capable. When, therefore, during the German War, a\ncurrent of greater magnanimity and freedom seemed to run through every\none, Wagner remembered the duty to which he had pledged himself,\nnamely, to rescue his greatest work from those successes and affronts\nwhich were so largely due to misunderstandings, and to present it in\nhis most personal rhythm as an example for all times. Thus he\nconceived _the idea of Bayreuth_. In the wake of that current of better\nfeeling already referred to, he expected to notice an enhanced sense\nof duty even among those with whom he wished to entrust his most\nprecious possession. Out of this two-fold duty, that event took shape\nwhich, like a glow of strange sunlight, will illumine the few years\nthat lie behind and before us, and was designed to bless that distant\nand problematic future which to our time and to the men of our time\ncan be little more than a riddle or a horror, but which to the few\nwho are allowed to assist in its realisation is a foretaste of coming\njoy, a foretaste of love in a higher sphere, through which they know\nthemselves to be blessed, blessing and fruitful, far beyond their span\nof years; and which to Wagner himself is but a cloud of distress,\ncare, meditation, and grief, a fresh passionate outbreak of\nantagonistic elements, but all bathed in the starlight of _selfless\nfidelity_, and changed by this light into indescribable joy.\n\nIt scarcely need be said that it is the breath of tragedy that fills\nthe lungs of the world. And every one whose innermost soul has a\npresentiment of this, every one unto whom the yoke of tragic deception\nconcerning the aim of life, the distortion and shattering of\nintentions, renunciation and purification through love, are not\nunknown things, must be conscious of a vague reminiscence of Wagner's\nown heroic life, in the masterpieces with which the great man now\npresents us. We shall feel as though Siegfried from some place far\naway were relating his deeds to us: the most blissful of touching\nrecollections are always draped in the deep mourning of waning summer,\nwhen all nature lies still in the sable twilight.\n\n\n\nIX.\n\n\nAll those to whom the thought of Wagner's development as a man may\nhave caused pain will find it both restful and healing to reflect upon\nwhat he was as an artist, and to observe how his ability and daring\nattained to such a high degree of independence. If art mean only the\nfaculty of communicating to others what one has oneself experienced,\nand if every work of art confutes itself which does not succeed in\nmaking itself understood, then Wagner's greatness as an artist would\ncertainly lie in the almost demoniacal power of his nature to\ncommunicate with others, to express itself in all languages at once,\nand to make known its most intimate and personal experience with the\ngreatest amount of distinctness possible. His appearance in the\nhistory of art resembles nothing so much as a volcanic eruption of the\nunited artistic faculties of Nature herself, after mankind had grown\nto regard the practice of a special art as a necessary rule. It is\ntherefore a somewhat moot point whether he ought to be classified as a\npoet, a painter, or a musician, even using each these words in its\nwidest sense, or whether a new word ought not to be invented in order\nto describe him.\n\nWagner's _poetic_ ability is shown by his thinking in visible and actual\nfacts, and not in ideas; that is to say, he thinks mythically, as the\npeople have always done. No particular thought lies at the bottom of a\nmyth, as the children of an artificial culture would have us believe;\nbut it is in itself a thought: it conveys an idea of the world, but\nthrough the medium of a chain of events, actions, and pains. The Ring\nof the Nibelung is a huge system of thought without the usual\nabstractness of the latter. It were perhaps possible for a philosopher\nto present us with its exact equivalent in pure thought, and to purge\nit of all pictures drawn from life, and of all living actions, in\nwhich case we should be in possession of the same thing portrayed in\ntwo completely different forms--the one for the people, and the other\nfor the very reverse of the people; that is to say, men of theory. But\nWagner makes no appeal to this last class, for the man of theory can\nknow as little of poetry or myth as the deaf man can know of music;\nboth of them being conscious only of movements which seem meaningless\nto them. It is impossible to appreciate either one of these completely\ndifferent forms from the standpoint of the other: as long as the\npoet's spell is upon one, one thinks with him just as though one were\nmerely a feeling, seeing, and hearing creature; the conclusions thus\nreached are merely the result of the association of the phenomena one\nsees, and are therefore not logical but actual causalities.\n\nIf, therefore, the heroes and gods of mythical dramas, as understood\nby Wagner, were to express themselves plainly in words, there would be\na danger (inasmuch as the language of words might tend to awaken the\ntheoretical side in us) of our finding ourselves transported from the\nworld of myth to the world of ideas, and the result would be not only\nthat we should fail to understand with greater ease, but that we\nshould probably not understand at all. Wagner thus forced language\nback to a more primeval stage in its development a stage at which it\nwas almost free of the abstract element, and was still poetry,\nimagery, and feeling; the fearlessness with which Wagner undertook\nthis formidable mission shows how imperatively he was led by the\nspirit of poetry, as one who must follow whithersoever his phantom\nleader may direct him. Every word in these dramas ought to allow of\nbeing sung, and gods and heroes should make them their own--that was\nthe task which Wagner set his literary faculty. Any other person in\nlike circumstances would have given up all hope; for our language\nseems almost too old and decrepit to allow of one's exacting what\nWagner exacted from it; and yet, when he smote the rock, he brought\nforth an abundant flow. Precisely owing to the fact that he loved his\nlanguage and exacted a great deal from it, Wagner suffered more than\nany other German through its decay and enfeeblement, from its manifold\nlosses and mutilations of form, from its unwieldy particles and clumsy\nconstruction, and from its unmusical auxiliary verbs. All these are\nthings which have entered the language through sin and depravity. On\nthe other hand, he was exceedingly proud to record the number of\nprimitive and vigorous factors still extant in the current speech; and\nin the tonic strength of its roots he recognised quite a wonderful\naffinity and relation to real music, a quality which distinguished it\nfrom the highly evolved and artificially rhetorical Latin languages.\nWagner's poetry is eloquent of his affection for the German language,\nand there is a heartiness and candour in his treatment of it which are\nscarcely to be met with in any other German writer, save perhaps\nGoethe. Forcibleness of diction, daring brevity, power and variety in\nrhythm, a remarkable wealth of strong and striking words, simplicity\nin construction, an almost unique inventive faculty in regard to\nfluctuations of feeling and presentiment, and therewithal a perfectly\npure and overflowing stream of colloquialisms--these are the qualities\nthat have to be enumerated, and even then the greatest and most\nwonderful of all is omitted. Whoever reads two such poems as Tristan\nand the Meistersingers consecutively will be just as astonished and\ndoubtful in regard to the language as to the music; for he will wonder\nhow it could have been possible for a creative spirit to dominate so\nperfectly two worlds as different in form, colour, and arrangement, as\nin soul. This is the most wonderful achievement of Wagner's talent;\nfor the ability to give every work its own linguistic stamp and to\nfind a fresh body and a new sound for every thought is a task which\nonly the great master can successfully accomplish. Where this rarest\nof all powers manifests itself, adverse criticism can be but petty and\nfruitless which confines itself to attacks upon certain excesses and\neccentricities in the treatment, or upon the more frequent obscurities\nof expression and ambiguity of thought. Moreover, what seemed to\nelectrify and scandalise those who were most bitter in their criticism\nwas not so much the language as the spirit of the Wagnerian\noperas--that is to say, his whole manner of feeling and suffering. It\nwere well to wait until these very critics have acquired another\nspirit themselves; they will then also speak a different tongue, and,\nby that time, it seems to me things will go better with the German\nlanguage than they do at present.\n\nIn the first place, however, no one who studies Wagner the poet and\nword-painter should forget that none of his dramas were meant to be\nread, and that it would therefore be unjust to judge them from the\nsame standpoint as the spoken drama. The latter plays upon the\nfeelings by means of words and ideas, and in this respect it is under\nthe dominion of the laws of rhetoric. But in real life passion is\nseldom eloquent: in spoken drama it perforce must be, in order to be\nable to express itself at all. When, however, the language of a people\nis already in a state of decay and deterioration, the word-dramatist\nis tempted to impart an undue proportion of new colour and form both\nto his medium and to his thoughts; he would elevate the language in\norder to make it a vehicle capable of conveying lofty feelings, and by\nso doing he runs the risk of becoming abstruse. By means of sublime\nphrases and conceits he likewise tries to invest passion with some\nnobility, and thereby runs yet another risk, that of appearing false\nand artificial. For in real life passions do not speak in sentences,\nand the poetical element often draws suspicion upon their genuineness\nwhen it departs too palpably from reality. Now Wagner, who was the\nfirst to detect the essential feeling in spoken drama, presents every\ndramatic action threefold: in a word, in a gesture, and in a sound.\nFor, as a matter of fact, music succeeds in conveying the deepest\nemotions of the dramatic performers direct to the spectators, and\nwhile these see the evidence of the actors' states of soul in their\nbearing and movements, a third though more feeble confirmation of\nthese states, translated into conscious will, quickly follows in the\nform of the spoken word. All these effects fulfil their purpose\nsimultaneously, without disturbing one another in the least, and urge\nthe spectator to a completely new understanding and sympathy, just as\nif his senses had suddenly grown more spiritual and his spirit more\nsensual, and as if everything which seeks an outlet in him, and which\nmakes him thirst for knowledge, were free and joyful in exultant\nperception. Because every essential factor in a Wagnerian drama is\nconveyed to the spectator with the utmost clearness, illumined and\npermeated throughout by music as by an internal flame, their author\ncan dispense with the expedients usually employed by the writer of the\nspoken play in order to lend light and warmth to the action. The whole\nof the dramatist's stock in trade could be more simple, and the\narchitect's sense of rhythm could once more dare to manifest itself in\nthe general proportions of the edifice; for there was no more need of\n\"the deliberate confusion and involved variety of styles, whereby the\nordinary playwright strove in the interests of his work to produce\nthat feeling of wonder and thrilling suspense which he ultimately\nenhanced to one of delighted amazement. The impression of ideal\ndistance and height was no more to be induced by means of tricks and\nartifices. Language withdrew itself from the length and breadth of\nrhetoric into the strong confines of the speech of the feelings, and\nalthough the actor spoke much less about all he did and felt in the\nperformance, his innermost sentiments, which the ordinary playwright\nhad hitherto ignored for fear of being undramatic, was now able to\ndrive the spectators to passionate sympathy, while the accompanying\nlanguage of gestures could be restricted to the most delicate\nmodulations. Now, when passions are rendered in song, they require\nrather more time than when conveyed by speech; music prolongs, so to\nspeak, the duration of the feeling, from which it follows, as a rule,\nthat the actor who is also a singer must overcome the extremely\nunplastic animation from which spoken drama suffers. He feels himself\nincited all the more to a certain nobility of bearing, because music\nenvelopes his feelings in a purer atmosphere, and thus brings them\ncloser to beauty.\n\nThe extraordinary tasks which Wagner set his actors and singers will\nprovoke rivalry between them for ages to come, in the personification\nof each of his heroes with the greatest possible amount of clearness,\nperfection, and fidelity, according to that perfect incorporation\nalready typified by the music of drama. Following this leader, the eye\nof the plastic artist will ultimately behold the marvels of another\nvisible world, which, previous to him, was seen for the first time\nonly by the creator of such works as the Ring of the Nibelung--that\ncreator of highest rank, who, like \u00c6schylus, points the way to a\ncoming art. Must not jealousy awaken the greatest talent, if the\nplastic artist ever compares the effect of his productions with that\nof Wagnerian music, in which there is so much pure and sunny happiness\nthat he who hears it feels as though all previous music had been but\nan alien, faltering, and constrained language; as though in the past\nit had been but a thing to sport with in the presence of those who\nwere not deserving of serious treatment, or a thing with which to\ntrain and instruct those who were not even deserving of play? In the\ncase of this earlier kind of music, the joy we always experience while\nlistening to Wagner's compositions is ours only for a short space of\ntime, and it would then seem as though it were overtaken by certain\nrare moments of forgetfulness, during which it appears to be communing\nwith its inner self and directing its eyes upwards, like Raphael's\nCecilia, away from the listeners and from all those who demand\ndistraction, happiness, or instruction from it.\n\nIn general it may be said of Wagner the Musician, that he endowed\neverything in nature which hitherto had had no wish to speak with the\npower of speech: he refuses to admit that anything must be dumb, and,\nresorting to the dawn, the forest, the mist, the cliffs, the hills,\nthe thrill of night and the moonlight, he observes a desire common to\nthem all--they too wish to sing their own melody. If the philosopher\nsays it is will that struggles for existence in animate and inanimate\nnature, the musician adds: And this will wherever it manifests itself,\nyearns for a melodious existence.\n\nBefore Wagner's time, music for the most part moved in narrow limits:\nit concerned itself with the permanent states of man, or with what the\nGreeks call ethos. And only with Beethoven did it begin to find the\nlanguage of pathos, of passionate will, and of the dramatic\noccurrences in the souls of men. Formerly, what people desired was to\ninterpret a mood, a stolid, merry, reverential, or penitential state\nof mind, by means of music; the object was, by means of a certain\nstriking uniformity of treatment and the prolonged duration of this\nuniformity, to compel the listener to grasp the meaning of the music\nand to impose its mood upon him. To all such interpretations of mood\nor atmosphere, distinct and particular forms of treatment were\nnecessary: others were established by convention. The question of\nlength was left to the discretion of the musician, whose aim was not\nonly to put the listener into a certain mood, but also to avoid\nrendering that mood monotonous by unduly protracting it. A further\nstage was reached when the interpretations of contrasted moods were\nmade to follow one upon the other, and the charm of light and shade\nwas discovered; and yet another step was made when the same piece of\nmusic was allowed to contain a contrast of the ethos--for instance,\nthe contest between a male and a female theme. All these, however, are\ncrude and primitive stages in the development of music. The fear of\npassion suggested the first rule, and the fear of monotony the second;\nall depth of feeling and any excess thereof were regarded as\n\"unethical.\" Once, however, the art of the ethos had repeatedly been\nmade to ring all the changes on the moods and situations which\nconvention had decreed as suitable, despite the most astounding\nresourcefulness on the part of its masters, its powers were exhausted.\nBeethoven was the first to make music speak a new language--till then\nforbidden--the language of passion; but as his art was based upon the\nlaws and conventions of the ETHOS, and had to attempt to justify\nitself in regard to them, his artistic development was beset with\npeculiar difficulties and obscurities. An inner dramatic factor--and\nevery passion pursues a dramatic course--struggled to obtain a new\nform, but the traditional scheme of \"mood music\" stood in its way, and\nprotested--almost after the manner in which morality opposes\ninnovations and immorality. It almost seemed, therefore, as if\nBeethoven had set himself the contradictory task of expressing pathos\nin the terms of the ethos. This view does not, however, apply to\nBeethoven's latest and greatest works; for he really did succeed in\ndiscovering a novel method of expressing the grand and vaulting arch\nof passion. He merely selected certain portions of its curve; imparted\nthese with the utmost clearness to his listeners, and then left it to\nthem to divine its whole span. Viewed superficially, the new form\nseemed rather like an aggregation of several musical compositions, of\nwhich every one appeared to represent a sustained situation, but was\nin reality but a momentary stage in the dramatic course of a passion.\nThe listener might think that he was hearing the old \"mood\" music over\nagain, except that he failed to grasp the relation of the various\nparts to one another, and these no longer conformed with the canon of\nthe law. Even among minor musicians, there flourished a certain\ncontempt for the rule which enjoined harmony in the general\nconstruction of a composition and the sequence of the parts in their\nworks still remained arbitrary. Then, owing to a misunderstanding, the\ndiscovery of the majestic treatment of passion led back to the use of\nthe single movement with an optional setting, and the tension between\nthe parts thus ceased completely. That is why the symphony, as\nBeethoven understood it, is such a wonderfully obscure production,\nmore especially when, here and there, it makes faltering attempts at\nrendering Beethoven's pathos. The means ill befit the intention, and\nthe intention is, on the whole, not sufficiently clear to the\nlistener, because it was never really clear, even in the mind of the\ncomposer. But the very injunction that something definite must be\nimparted, and that this must be done as distinctly as possible,\nbecomes ever more and more essential, the higher, more difficult, and\nmore exacting the class of work happens to be.\n\nThat is why all Wagner's efforts were concentrated upon the one object\nof discovering those means which best served the purpose of\n_distinctness_, and to this end it was above all necessary for him to\nemancipate himself from all the prejudices and claims of the old\n\"mood\" music, and to give his compositions--the musical\ninterpretations of feelings and passion--a perfectly unequivocal mode\nof expression. If we now turn to what he has achieved, we see that his\nservices to music are practically equal in rank to those which that\nsculptor-inventor rendered to sculpture who introduced \"sculpture in\nthe round.\" All previous music seems stiff and uncertain when compared\nwith Wagner's, just as though it were ashamed and did not wish to be\ninspected from all sides. With the most consummate skill and\nprecision, Wagner avails himself of every degree and colour in the\nrealm of feeling; without the slightest hesitation or fear of its\nescaping him, he seizes upon the most delicate, rarest, and mildest\nemotion, and holds it fast, as though it had hardened at his touch,\ndespite the fact that it may seem like the frailest butterfly to every\none else. His music is never vague or dreamy; everything that is\nallowed to speak through it, whether it be of man or of nature, has a\nstrictly individual passion; storm and fire acquire the ruling power\nof a personal will in his hands. Over all the clamouring characters\nand the clash of their passions, over the whole torrent of contrasts,\nan almighty and symphonic understanding hovers with perfect serenity,\nand continually produces concord out of war. Taken as a whole,\nWagner's music is a reflex of the world as it was understood by the\ngreat Ephesian poet--that is to say, a harmony resulting from strife,\nas the union of justice and enmity. I admire the ability which could\ndescribe the grand line of universal passion out of a confusion of\npassions which all seem to be striking out in different directions:\nthe fact that this was a possible achievement I find demonstrated in\nevery individual act of a Wagnerian drama, which describes the\nindividual history of various characters side by side with a general\nhistory of the whole company. Even at the very beginning we know we\nare watching a host of cross currents dominated by one great violent\nstream; and though at first this stream moves unsteadily over hidden\nreefs, and the torrent seems to be torn asunder as if it were\ntravelling towards different points, gradually we perceive the central\nand general movement growing stronger and more rapid, the convulsive\nfury of the contending waters is converted into one broad, steady, and\nterrible flow in the direction of an unknown goal; and suddenly, at\nthe end, the whole flood in all its breadth plunges into the depths,\nrejoicing demoniacally over the abyss and all its uproar. Wagner is\nnever more himself than when he is overwhelmed with difficulties and\ncan exercise power on a large scale with all the joy of a law-giver. To\nbring restless and contending masses into simple rhythmic movement,\nand to exercise one will over a bewildering host of claims and\ndesires--these are the tasks for which he feels he was born, and in\nthe performance of which he finds freedom. And he never loses his\nbreath withal, nor does he ever reach his goal panting. He strove just\nas persistently to impose the severest laws upon himself as to lighten\nthe burden of others in this respect. Life and art weigh heavily upon\nhim when he cannot play wit their most difficult questions. If one\nconsiders the relation between the melody of song and that of speech,\none will perceive how he sought to adopt as his natural model the\npitch, strength, and tempo of the passionate man's voice in order to\ntransform it into art; and if one further considers the task of\nintroducing this singing passion into the general symphonic order of\nmusic, one gets some idea of the stupendous difficulties he had to\novercome. In this behalf, his inventiveness in small things as in\ngreat, his omniscience and industry are such, that at the sight of one\nof Wagner's scores one is almost led to believe that no real work or\neffort had ever existed before his time. It seems almost as if he too\ncould have said, in regard to the hardships of art, that the real\nvirtue of the dramatist lies in self-renunciation. But he would\nprobably have added, There is but one kind of hardship--that of the\nartist who is not yet free: virtue and goodness are trivial\naccomplishments.\n\nViewing him generally as an artist, and calling to mind a more famous\ntype, we see that Wagner is not at all unlike Demosthenes: in him also\nwe have the terrible earnestness of purpose and that strong prehensile\nmind which always obtains a complete grasp of a thing; in him, too, we\nhave the hand's quick clutch and the grip as of iron. Like\nDemosthenes, he conceals his art or compels one to forget it by the\nperemptory way he calls attention to the subject he treats; and yet,\nlike his great predecessor, he is the last and greatest of a whole\nline of artist-minds, and therefore has more to conceal than his\nforerunners: his art acts like nature, like nature recovered and\nrestored. Unlike all previous musicians, there is nothing bombastic\nabout him; for the former did not mind playing at times with their\nart, and making an exhibition of their virtuosity. One associates\nWagner's art neither with interest nor with diversion, nor with Wagner\nhimself and art in general. All one is conscious of is of the great\n_necessity_ of it all. No one will ever be able to appreciate what\nseverity evenness of will, and self-control the artist required during\nhis development, in order, at his zenith, to be able to do the\nnecessary thing joyfully and freely. Let it suffice if we can\nappreciate how, in some respects, his music, with a certain cruelty\ntowards itself, determines to subserve the course of the drama, which\nis as unrelenting as fate, whereas in reality his art was ever\nthirsting for a free ramble in the open and over the wilderness.\n\n\n\nX.\n\n\nAn artist who has this empire over himself subjugates all other\nartists, even though he may not particularly desire to do so. For him\nalone there lies no danger or stemming-force in those he has\nsubjugated--his friends and his adherents; whereas the weaker natures\nwho learn to rely on their friends pay for this reliance by forfeiting\ntheir independence. It is very wonderful to observe how carefully,\nthroughout his life, Wagner avoided anything in the nature of heading\na party, notwithstanding the fact that at the close of every phase in\nhis career a circle of adherents formed, presumably with the view of\nholding him fast to his latest development He always succeeded,\nhowever, in wringing himself free from them, and never allowed himself\nto be bound; for not only was the ground he covered too vast for one\nalone to keep abreast of him with any ease, but his way was so\nexceptionally steep that the most devoted would have lost his breath.\nAt almost every stage in Wagner's progress his friends would have\nliked to preach to him, and his enemies would fain have done so\ntoo--but for other reasons. Had the purity of his artist's nature been\none degree less decided than it was, he would have attained much\nearlier than he actually did to the leading position in the artistic\nand musical world of his time. True, he has reached this now, but in a\nmuch higher sense, seeing that every performance to be witnessed in\nany department of art makes its obeisance, so to speak, before the\njudgment-stool of his genius and of his artistic temperament. He has\novercome the most refractory of his contemporaries; there is not one\ngifted musician among them but in his innermost heart would willingly\nlisten to him, and find Wagner's compositions more worth listening to\nthan his own and all other musical productions taken together. Many\nwho wish, by hook or by crook, to make their mark, even wrestle with\nWagner's secret charm, and unconsciously throw in their lot with the\nolder masters, preferring to ascribe their \"independence\" to Schubert\nor Handel rather than to Wagner. But in vain! Thanks to their very\nefforts in contending against the dictates of their own consciences,\nthey become ever meaner and smaller artists; they ruin their own\nnatures by forcing themselves to tolerate undesirable allies and\nfriends And in spite of all these sacrifices, they still find perhaps\nin their dreams, that their ear turns attentively to Wagner. These\nadversaries are to be pitied: they imagine they lose a great deal when\nthey lose themselves, but here they are mistaken.\n\nAlbeit it is obviously all one to Wagner whether musicians compose in\nhis style, or whether they compose at all, he even does his utmost to\ndissipate the belief that a school of composers should now necessarily\nfollow in his wake; though, in so far as he exercises a direct\ninfluence upon musicians, he does indeed try to instruct them\nconcerning the art of grand execution. In his opinion, the evolution\nof art seems to have reached that stage when the honest endeavour to\nbecome an able and masterly exponent or interpreter is ever so much\nmore worth talking about than the longing to be a creator at all\ncosts. For, at the present stage of art, universal creating has this\nfatal result, that inasmuch as it encourages a much larger output, it\ntends to exhaust the means and artifices of genius by everyday use,\nand thus to reduce the real grandeur of its effect. Even that which is\ngood in art is superfluous and detrimental when it proceeds from the\nimitation of what is best. Wagnerian ends and means are of one piece:\nto perceive this, all that is required is honesty in art matters, and\nit would be dishonest to adopt his means in order to apply them to\nother and less significant ends.\n\nIf, therefore, Wagner declines to live on amid a multitude of creative\nmusicians, he is only the more desirous of imposing upon all men of\ntalent the new duty of joining him in seeking the _law of style for\ndramatic performances_. He deeply feels the need of establishing a\n_traditional style_ for his art, by means of which his work may continue\nto live from one age to another in a pure form, until it reaches that\n_future_ which its creator ordained for it.\n\nWagner is impelled by an undaunted longing to make known everything\nrelating to that foundation of a style, mentioned above, and,\naccordingly, everything relating to the continuance of his art. To\nmake his work--as Schopenhauer would say--a sacred depository and the\nreal fruit of his life, as well as the inheritance of mankind, and to\nstore it for the benefit of a posterity better able to appreciate\nit,--these were _the supreme objects_ of his life, and for these he bore\nthat crown of thorns which, one day, will shoot forth leaves of bay.\nLike the insect which, in its last form, concentrates all its energies\nupon the one object of finding a safe depository for its eggs and of\nensuring the future welfare of its posthumous brood,--then only to die\ncontent, so Wagner strove with equal determination to find a place of\nsecurity for his works.\n\nThis subject, which took precedence of all others with him, constantly\nincited him to new discoveries; and these he sought ever more and more\nat the spring of his demoniacal gift of communicability, the more\ndistinctly he saw himself in conflict with an age that was both\nperverse and unwilling to lend him its ear. Gradually however, even\nthis same age began to mark his indefatigable efforts, to respond to\nhis subtle advances, and to turn its ear to him. Whenever a small or a\ngreat opportunity arose, however far away, which suggested to Wagner a\nmeans wherewith to explain his thoughts, he availed himself of it: he\nthought his thoughts anew into every fresh set of circumstances, and\nwould make them speak out of the most paltry bodily form. Whenever a\nsoul only half capable of comprehending him opened itself to him, he\nnever failed to implant his seed in it. He saw hope in things which\ncaused the average dispassionate observer merely to shrug his\nshoulders; and he erred again and again, only so as to be able to\ncarry his point against that same observer. Just as the sage, in\nreality, mixes with living men only for the purpose of increasing his\nstore of knowledge, so the artist would almost seem to be unable to\nassociate with his contemporaries at all, unless they be such as can\nhelp him towards making his work eternal. He cannot be loved otherwise\nthan with the love of this eternity, and thus he is conscious only of\none kind of hatred directed at him, the hatred which would demolish\nthe bridges bearing his art into the future. The pupils Wagner\neducated for his own purpose, the individual musicians and actors whom\nhe advised and whose ear he corrected and improved, the small and\nlarge orchestras he led, the towns which witnessed him earnestly\nfulfilling the duties of us calling, the princes and ladies who half\nboastfully and half lovingly participated in the framing of his plans,\nthe various European countries to which he temporarily belonged as the\njudge and evil conscience of their arts,--everything gradually became\nthe echo of his thought and of his indefatigable efforts to attain to\nfruitfulness in the future. Although this echo often sounded so\ndiscordant as to confuse him, still the tremendous power of his voice\nrepeatedly crying out into the world must in the end call forth\nreverberations, and it will soon be impossible to be deaf to him or to\nmisunderstand him. It is this reflected sound which even now causes\nthe art-institutions of modern men to shake: every time the breath of\nhis spirit blew into these coverts, all that was overripe or withered\nfell to the ground; but the general increase of scepticism in all\ndirections speaks more eloquently than all this trembling. Nobody any\nlonger dares to predict where Wagner's influence may not unexpectedly\nbreak out. He is quite unable to divorce the salvation of art from any\nother salvation or damnation: wherever modern life conceals a danger,\nhe, with the discriminating eye of mistrust, perceives a danger\nthreatening art. In his imagination he pulls the edifice of modern\ncivilisation to pieces, and allows nothing rotten, no unsound\ntimber-work to escape: if in the process he should happen to encounter\nweather-tight walls or anything like solid foundations, he immediately\ncasts about for means wherewith he can convert them into bulwarks and\nshelters for his art. He lives like a fugitive, whose will is not to\npreserve his own life, but to keep a secret--like an unhappy woman\nwho does not wish to save her own soul, but that of the child lying in\nher lap: in short, he lives like Sieglinde, \"for the sake of love.\"\n\nFor life must indeed be full of pain and shame to one who can find\nneither rest nor shelter in this world, and who must nevertheless\nappeal to it, exact things from it, contemn it, and still be unable to\ndispense with the thing contemned,--this really constitutes the\nwretchedness of the artist of the future, who, unlike the philosopher,\ncannot prosecute his work alone in the seclusion of a study, but who\nrequires human souls as messengers to this future, public institutions\nas a guarantee of it, and, as it were, bridges between now and\nhereafter. His art may not, like the philosopher's, be put aboard the\nboat of written documents: art needs _capable men_, not letters and\nnotes, to transmit it. Over whole periods in Wagner's life rings a\nmurmur of distress--his distress at not being able to meet with these\ncapable interpreters before whom he longed to execute examples of his\nwork, instead of being confined to written symbols; before whom he\nyearned to practise his art, instead of showing a pallid reflection of\nit to those who read books, and who, generally speaking, therefore are\nnot artists.\n\nIn Wagner the man of letters we see the struggle of a brave fighter,\nwhose right hand has, as it were, been lopped off, and who has\ncontinued the contest with his left. In his writings he is always the\nsufferer, because a temporary and insuperable destiny deprives him of\nhis own and the correct way of conveying his thoughts--that is to say,\nin the form of apocalyptic and triumphant examples. His writings\ncontain nothing canonical or severe: the canons are to be found in his\nworks as a whole. Their literary side represents his attempts to\nunderstand the instinct which urged him to create his works and to get\na glimpse of himself through them. If he succeeded in transforming his\ninstincts into terms of knowledge, it was always with the hope that\nthe reverse process might take place in the souls of his readers--it\nwas with this intention that he wrote. Should it ultimately be proved\nthat, in so doing, Wagner attempted the impossible, he would still\nonly share the lot of all those who have meditated deeply on art; and\neven so he would be ahead of most of them in this, namely, that the\nstrongest instinct for all arts harboured in him. I know of no written\n\u00e6sthetics that give more light than those of Wagner; all that can\npossibly be learnt concerning the origin of a work of art is to be\nfound in them. He is one of the very great, who appeared amongst us a\nwitness, and who is continually improving his testimony and making it\never clearer and freer; even when he stumbles as a scientist, sparks\nrise from the ground. Such tracts as \"Beethoven,\" \"Concerning the Art\nof Conducting,\" \"Concerning Actors and Singers,\" \"State and Religion,\"\nsilence all contradiction, and, like sacred reliquaries, impose upon\nall who approach them a calm, earnest, and reverential regard. Others,\nmore particularly the earlier ones, including \"Opera and Drama,\"\nexcite and agitate one; their rhythm is so uneven that, as prose they\nare bewildering. Their dialectics is constantly interrupted, and their\ncourse is more retarded than accelerated by outbursts of feeling; a\ncertain reluctance on the part of the writer seems to hang over them\nlike a pall, just as though the artist were somewhat ashamed of\nspeculative discussions. What the reader who is only imperfectly\ninitiated will probably find most oppressive is the general tone of\nauthoritative dignity which is peculiar to Wagner, and which is very\ndifficult to describe: it always strikes me as though Wagner were\ncontinually _addressing enemies_; for the style of all these tracts more\nresembles that of the spoken than of the written language, hence they\nwill seem much more intelligible if heard read aloud, in the presence\nof his enemies, with whom he cannot be on familiar terms, and towards\nwhom he must therefore show some reserve and aloofness. The entrancing\npassion of his feelings, however, constantly pierces this intentional\ndisguise, and then the stilted and heavy periods, swollen with\naccessary words, vanish, and his pen dashes off sentences, and even\nwhole pages, which belong to the best in German prose. But even\nadmitting that while he wrote such passages he was addressing friends,\nand that the shadow of his enemies had been removed for a while, all\nthe friends and enemies that Wagner, as a man of letters, has, possess\none factor in common, which differentiates them fundamentally from the\n\"people\" for whom he worked as an artist. Owing to the refining and\nfruitless nature of their education, they are quite_ devoid of the\nessential traits of the national character_, and he who would appeal to\nthem must speak in a way which is not of the people--that is to say,\nafter the manner of our best prose-writers and Wagner himself; though\nthat he did violence to himself in writing thus is evident. But the\nstrength of that almost maternal instinct of prudence in him, which is\nready to make any sacrifice, rather tends to reinstall him among the\nscholars and men of learning, to whom as a creator he always longed to\nbid farewell. He submits to the language of culture and all the laws\ngoverning its use, though he was the first to recognise its profound\ninsufficiency as a means of communication.\n\nFor if there is anything that distinguishes his art from every other\nart of modern times, it is that it no longer speaks the language of\nany particular caste, and refuses to admit the distinctions \"literate\"\nand \"illiterate.\" It thus stands as a contrast to every culture of the\nRenaissance, which to this day still bathes us modern men in its light\nand shade. Inasmuch as Wagner's art bears us, from time to time,\nbeyond itself, we are enabled to get a general view of its uniform\ncharacter: we see Goethe and Leopardi as the last great stragglers of\nthe Italian philologist-poets, Faust as the incarnation of a most\nunpopular problem, in the form of a man of theory thirsting for life;\neven Goethe's song is an imitation of the song of the people rather\nthan a standard set before them to which they are expected to attain,\nand the poet knew very well how truly he spoke when he seriously\nassured his adherents: \"My compositions cannot become popular; he who\nhopes and strives to make them so is mistaken.\"\n\nThat an art could arise which would be so clear and warm as to flood\nthe base and the poor in spirit with its light, as well as to melt the\nhaughtiness of the learned--such a phenomenon had to be experienced\nthough it could not be guessed. But even in the mind of him who\nexperiences it to-day it must upset all preconceived notions\nconcerning education and culture; to such an one the veil will seem to\nhave been rent in twain that conceals a future in which no highest\ngood or highest joys exist that are not the common property of all.\nThe odium attaching to the word \"common\" will then be abolished.\n\nIf presentiment venture thus into the remote future, the discerning\neye of all will recognise the dreadful social insanity of our present\nage, and will no longer blind itself to the dangers besetting an art\nwhich seems to have roots only in the remote and distant future, and\nwhich allows its burgeoning branches to spread before our gaze when it\nhas not yet revealed the ground from which it draws its sap. How can\nwe protect this homeless art through the ages until that remote future\nis reached? How can we so dam the flood of a revolution seemingly\ninevitable everywhere, that the blessed prospect and guarantee of a\nbetter future--of a freer human life--shall not also be washed away\nwith all that is destined to perish and deserves to perish?\n\nHe who asks himself this question shares Wagner's care: he will feel\nhimself impelled with Wagner to seek those established powers that\nhave the goodwill to protect the noblest passions of man during the\nperiod of earthquakes and upheavals. In this sense alone Wagner\nquestions the learned through his writings, whether they intend\nstoring his legacy to them--the precious Ring of his art--among their\nother treasures. And even the wonderful confidence which he reposes in\nthe German mind and the aims of German politics seems to me to arise\nfrom the fact that he grants the people of the Reformation that\nstrength, mildness, and bravery which is necessary in order to divert\n\"the torrent of revolution into the tranquil river-bed of a calmly\nflowing stream of humanity\": and I could almost believe that this and\nonly this is what he meant to express by means of the symbol of his\nImperial march.\n\nAs a rule, though, the generous impulses of the creative artist and\nthe extent of his philanthropy are too great for his gaze to be\nconfined within the limits of a single nation. His thoughts, like\nthose of every good and great German, are _more_ than German, and the\nlanguage of his art does not appeal to particular races but to mankind\nin general.\n_\nBut to the men of the future._\n\nThis is the belief that is proper to him; this is his torment and his\ndistinction. No artist, of what past soever, has yet received such a\nremarkable portion of genius; no one, save him, has ever been obliged\nto mix this bitterest of ingredients with the drink of nectar to which\nenthusiasm helped him. It is not as one might expect, the\nmisunderstood and mishandled artist, the fugitive of his age, who\nadopted this faith in self-defence: success or failure at the hands of\nhis contemporaries was unable either to create or to destroy it\nWhether it glorified or reviled him, he did not belong to this\ngeneration: that was the conclusion to which his instincts led him.\nAnd the possibility of any generation's ever belonging to him is\nsomething which he who disbelieves in Wagner can never be made to\nadmit. But even this unbeliever may at least ask, what kind of\ngeneration it will be in which Wagner will recognise his \"people,\" and\nin which he will see the type of all those who suffer a common\ndistress, and who wish to escape from it by means of an art common to\nthem all. Schiller was certainly more hopeful and sanguine; he did not\nask what a future must be like if the instinct of the artist that\npredicts it prove true; his command to every artist was rather--\n\n    Soar aloft in daring flight\n    Out of sight of thine own years!\n    In thy mirror, gleaming bright,\n    Glimpse of distant dawn appears.\n\n\n\nXI.\n\n\nMay blessed reason preserve us from ever thinking that mankind will at\nany time discover a final and ideal order of things, and that\nhappiness will then and ever after beam down upon us uniformly, like\nthe rays of the sun in the tropics. Wagner has nothing to do with such\na hope; he is no Utopian. If he was unable to dispense with the belief\nin a future, it only meant that he observed certain properties in\nmodern men which he did not hold to be essential to their nature, and\nwhich did not seem to him to form any necessary part of their\nconstitution; in fact, which were changeable and transient; and that\nprecisely _owing to these properties_ art would find no home among them,\nand he himself had to be the precursor and prophet of another epoch.\nNo golden age, no cloudless sky will fall to the portion of those\nfuture generations, which his instinct led him to expect, and whose\napproximate characteristics may be gleaned from the cryptic characters\nof his art, in so far as it is possible to draw conclusions concerning\nthe nature of any pain from the kind of relief it seeks. Nor will\nsuperhuman goodness and justice stretch like an everlasting rainbow\nover this future land. Belike this coming generation will, on the\nwhole, seem more evil than the present one--for in good as in evil it\nwill be more straightforward. It is even possible, if its soul were\never able to speak out in full and unembarrassed tones, that it might\nconvulse and terrify us, as though the voice of some hitherto\nconcealed and evil spirit had suddenly cried out in our midst. Or how\ndo the following propositions strike our ears?--That passion is better\nthan stoicism or hypocrisy; that straightforwardness, even in evil, is\nbetter than losing oneself in trying to observe traditional morality;\nthat the free man is just as able to be good as evil, but that the\nunemancipated man is a disgrace to nature, and has no share in\nheavenly or earthly bliss; finally, that all who wish to be free must\nbecome so through themselves, and that freedom falls to nobody's lot\nas a gift from Heaven. However harsh and strange these propositions\nmay sound, they are nevertheless reverberations from that future\nworld, which _is verily in need of art_, and which expects genuine\npleasure from its presence; they are the language of nature--_reinstated_\neven in mankind; they stand for what I have already termed correct\nfeeling as opposed to the incorrect feeling that reigns to-day.\n\nBut real relief or salvation exists only for nature not for that which\nis contrary to nature or which arises out of incorrect feeling. When\nall that is unnatural becomes self-conscious, it desires but one\nthing--nonentity; the natural thing, on the other hand, yearns to be\ntransfigured through love: the former would fain _not_ be, the latter\nwould fain be _otherwise_. Let him who has understood this recall, in\nthe stillness of his soul, the simple themes of Wagner's art, in order\nto be able to ask himself whether it were nature or nature's opposite\nwhich sought by means of them to achieve the aims just described.\n\nThe desperate vagabond finds deliverance from his distress in the\ncompassionate love of a woman who would rather die than be unfaithful\nto him: the theme of the Flying Dutchman. The sweet-heart, renouncing\nall personal happiness, owing to a divine transformation of Love into\nCharity, becomes a saint, and saves the soul of her loved one: the\ntheme of Tannhauser. The sublimest and highest thing descends a\nsuppliant among men, and will not be questioned whence it came; when,\nhowever, the fatal question is put, it sorrowfully returns to its\nhigher life: the theme of Lohengrin. The loving soul of a wife, and\nthe people besides, joyfully welcome the new benevolent genius,\nalthough the retainers of tradition and custom reject and revile him:\nthe theme of the Meistersingers. Of two lovers, that do not know they\nare loved, who believe rather that they are deeply wounded and\ncontemned, each demands of the other that he or she should drink a cup\nof deadly poison, to all intents and purposes as an expiation of the\ninsult; in reality, however, as the result of an impulse which neither\nof them understands: through death they wish to escape all possibility\nof separation or deceit. The supposed approach of death loosens their\nfettered souls and allows them a short moment of thrilling happiness,\njust as though they had actually escaped from the present, from\nillusions and from life: the theme of Tristan and Isolde.\n\nIn the Ring of the Nibelung the tragic hero is a god whose heart\nyearns for power, and who, since he travels along all roads in search\nof it, finally binds himself to too many undertakings, loses his\nfreedom, and is ultimately cursed by the curse inseparable from power.\nHe becomes aware of his loss of freedom owing to the fact that he no\nlonger has the means to take possession of the golden Ring--that\nsymbol of all earthly power, and also of the greatest dangers to\nhimself as long as it lies in the hands of his enemies. The fear of\nthe end and the twilight of all gods overcomes him, as also the\ndespair at being able only to await the end without opposing it. He is\nin need of the free and fearless man who, without his advice or\nassistance--even in a struggle against gods--can accomplish\nsingle-handed what is denied to the powers of a god. He fails to see\nhim, and just as a new hope finds shape within him, he must obey the\nconditions to which he is bound: with his own hand he must murder the\nthing he most loves, and purest pity must be punished by his sorrow.\nThen he begins to loathe power, which bears evil and bondage in its\nlap; his will is broken, and he himself begins to hanker for the end\nthat threatens him from afar off. At this juncture something happens\nwhich had long been the subject of his most ardent desire: the free\nand fearless man appears, he rises in opposition to everything\naccepted and established, his parents atone for having been united by\na tie which was antagonistic to the order of nature and usage; they\nperish, but Siegfried survives. And at the sight of his magnificent\ndevelopment and bloom, the loathing leaves Wotan's soul, and he follows\nthe hero's history with the eye of fatherly love and anxiety. How he\nforges his sword, kills the dragon, gets possession of the ring,\nescapes the craftiest ruse, awakens Brunhilda; how the curse abiding\nin the ring gradually overtakes him; how, faithful in faithfulness, he\nwounds the thing he most loves, out of love; becomes enveloped in the\nshadow and cloud of guilt, and, rising out of it more brilliantly than\nthe sun, ultimately goes down, firing the whole heavens with his\nburning glow and purging the world of the curse,--all this is seen by\nthe god whose sovereign spear was broken in the contest with the\nfreest man, and who lost his power through him, rejoicing greatly over\nhis own defeat: full of sympathy for the triumph and pain of his\nvictor, his eye burning with aching joy looks back upon the last\nevents; he has become free through love, free from himself.\n\nAnd now ask yourselves, ye generation of to-day, Was all this composed\n_for you_? Have ye the courage to point up to the stars of the whole of\nthis heavenly dome of beauty and goodness and to say, This is our\nlife, that Wagner has transferred to a place beneath the stars?\n\nWhere are the men among you who are able to interpret the divine image\nof Wotan in the light of their own lives, and who can become ever\ngreater while, like him, ye retreat? Who among you would renounce\npower, knowing and having learned that power is evil? Where are they\nwho like Brunhilda abandon their knowledge to love, and finally rob\ntheir lives of the highest wisdom, \"afflicted love, deepest sorrow,\nopened my eyes\"? and where are the free and fearless, developing and\nblossoming in innocent egoism? and where are the Siegfrieds, among\nyou?\n\nHe who questions thus and does so in vain, will find himself compelled\nto look around him for signs of the future; and should his eye, on\nreaching an unknown distance, espy just that \"people\" which his own\ngeneration can read out of the signs contained in Wagnerian art, he\nwill then also understand _what Wagner will mean to this\npeople_--something that he cannot be to all of us, namely, not the\nprophet of the future, as perhaps he would fain appear to us, but the\ninterpreter and clarifier of the past.","title":"Thoughts out of Season, Part I: David Strauss, the Confessor and the Writer - Richard Wagner in Bayreuth.","tradition":"philosophy-ethics","translated_text":null,"word_count":61414}